According to the law suit filed by Bud Selig the city of Milwaukee faced an identity crisis if the major league baseball franchise, the Milwaukee Braves, were to be disloyal and leave to go elsewhere. Shortly after I reached John Marshall Junior-Senior High School final word was received from the court freeing the franchise from any obligation to return to Milwaukee County Stadium. So, the team left for Atlanta where they have remained to this day. Five years later Selig would bring a new franchise to Milwaukee and eventually become the commissioner of major league baseball.
However, during the year the suit was argued an injunction was placed on the team forcing them to play a lame duck season in my hometown. Fans, most of whom could probably read the writing on the wall better than a fourteen year old boy, chose to stay home rather than line the pockets of the franchise’s disloyal new owner. This series of events proved highly advantageous for my eleven-year-old brother and myself.
Like many firefighters my father would work odd jobs on his days off to provide a better life for his family. Since my mother was working at this time, too, my parents agreed the ballpark was a safe environment for two adolescent boys while their parents earned a living. My father would drop us off in the parking lot a couple of hours before the game was to start and we would play catch, talk to the attendants and ushers, or visit with other fans who started showing up an hour or so later.
When the ticket office opened we went and purchased two seats in the upper deck for a buck and a half each. Although I am not certain we probably had the remainder of a ten-dollar bill to spend on lunch and snacks. It’s also hard to recall how many daytime games there were during the week at that time, but certainly many more than there are today.
Citizens of the great city of Milwaukee had become so disenchanted with the franchise, which had brought two World Series and a World Championship to the city just seven years earlier, that daily attendance numbered in the hundreds rather than thousands or tens of thousands. For my brother and me this meant we were able to walk down to the lower grandstand and have ushers actually show us where to sit in the second or third inning. Then, if the few season ticket holders that remained loyal failed to show up we were able to sit right up close to the dugout. Usually it was on the third base side, the opposing team’s dugout, but it still meant seeing future hall of fame players like Willie Mays, Frank Robinson and Roberto Clemente.
When a fan behind us threw his beer at Walt Alston after the manager had gone out to talk to the Dodger pitcher, we were glad to see the feisty Alston had the good sense to offer a few choice words and keep going into the dugout. We did turn to see one of our favorite ushers, who appeared to our young eyes to be frail and well beyond retirement age, escort the large boisterous waster of Milwaukee’s finest out of the park.
Despite the animosity between the city and the Braves front office the team still performed well and had a winning season. The great sluggers, Eddie Matthews and Hank Aaron, and the young pitching and catching combination of Tony Cloninger and Joe Torre were never a disappointment, especially for a couple of young kids staying out of trouble and enjoying America’s national pastime. There is little doubt in my mind this unusual set of circumstances influenced my decision to try out for the Marshall baseball team the following spring.
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