It Takes a Sharp Eye and a Good Mower to Polish the Diamond

One of the great joys of Al Meyers’ life is to get up, grab breakfast and get out to mow the lawn. He spends nearly three hours a day at it, riding atop his $30,000 mower, scanning every inch of the hybrid turf for bruises and signs of fungus. He likes the grass pool-table smooth, shaved to just .46875 of an inch high--a flawless living carpet for those big kids who tear it up with their cleats.

The lawn, of course, is the baseball field at Dodger Stadium. Meyers, 37, is the head groundskeeper, a onetime high school catcher who lacked the talent to reach the major leagues--as a player. Now, though, he is living a dream, seeing to it that the 2 1/2-acre diamond remains one of baseball’s real gems.

“Being able to maintain a baseball field to its utmost level--or trying to, anyway--is really self-rewarding, it really is,” Meyers said a few days ago, waiting to clear the field of batting screens and practice bases before a game between the Dodgers and the Atlanta Braves. “There’s nothing like it, really. You can stand and go, ‘Wow, I feel good about that!’ We get that feeling every day.”

It was 30 years ago that the late Walter O’Malley, the maverick owner who whisked the Dodgers out of Brooklyn, opened his new, $15-million stadium at Chavez Ravine near downtown Los Angeles.

From the start, urban critics hailed the park as a showcase: a multitiered, multihued amphitheater nestled among majestic, palm-lined hills. Few would doubt that balmy summer nights, hot dogs and beer, and contending teams have accounted for much of the team’s extraordinary attendance, well over 2 million fans each year.

But Meyers--and others--subscribe to the theory that the aesthetics of the ballpark are essential to the experience. “You feel a sense of balance,” observed George Rand, an environmental psychologist with UCLA’s School of Architecture and Urban Planning. “There’s a sense of order and connectedness . . . that is very powerful. Many people are addicted to it, apart from the baseball, because it is so reassuring.”

Marie Henri Beyle, writing long before the Dodgers even existed, put it another way: “Beauty is the promise of happiness.”

During last week’s game--a 2-1 victory for the Braves--the four-man groundskeeping crew of Meyers, Rico Rivera, Matt Seymour and Vince Vazquez took the field hours before the home team and did not hit the showers until long after the game-ending strikeout. As always, Meyers made his morning rounds atop the Dodgers’ $30,000, triple-reel mower. Then there were batting screens to put out, chalk lines to draw, and infield dirt to drag smooth and moisten.

It was a day of unusual recognition for the turf team. From out of left field, as it were, came a supreme compliment: A Buena Park man, having won the chance to live out a baseball fantasy as part of a Dodgers promotion, was going to spend the game as . . . one of the groundskeepers.

That man was Jerry Lewis. And he was not joking.

“I like nice green grass, well-manicured,” a happy Lewis, 49, and no relation to the comedian, said after helping to drag the infield dirt during the fifth inning. “I think (the field) is beautiful. For the activity and all on it, those guys do a remarkable job of keeping it in shape.”

The task is not easy. This week, a Genesis concert is expected to bring 10,000 rock fans onto the playing field, after which the Dodgers begin an unprecedented homestand on June 25: 23 games in 19 days, including four doubleheaders. Meyers said the burden will be enormous. “There won’t be enough time in the day to get (the field) where we want it.”

He brings diligence and science to the effort. On days when the Dodgers are in town, Meyers often sleeps at the stadium, eschewing the commute from San Bernardino so he can start early. Whenever necessary, he is plying his moisture probe, cutting out thatch or planting new sod--patches of the No. 328 “tif-green” hybrid Bermuda that scientists cloned some years ago in Georgia.

Now and then, Meyers even hand-delivers turf samples to UC Riverside for laboratory analysis of fungus and parasites. “I’m in constant contact with agronomists, soil scientists (and) pathologists,” he said.

The rewards of such pains are usually subtle, but telling: the occasional comparison to the splendid lawns of Wimbledon or Pebble Beach; the visiting players who feel compelled to practice their golf swings; the tour groups that come through, under strict orders to stay off the grass.

“What they’ll do is . . . reach down and kind of pet the grass,” Meyers said, grinning. “They’ll say: ‘That is real grass!’ ”