Triple-Double : How Scully, Vendors and Fans Survived It

When it was all over Wednesday night, Vin Scully packed away the sour-ball candies that saved his voice and the series.

Six games in three days almost busted Dodger Stadium at the seams.

In the end, Scully was the thread that held an edifice and its work force together through the grittiest, sweatiest stretch of home stand in Dodger history.

Scully made silk of the soot, of which there was considerable in the course of three listless doubleheaders that--because of the Los Angeles riots--were forced upon the Dodgers and Montreal Expos in the throes of an oppressive heat wave.

Tuesday evening, as stadium elevator operator John Thompson wiped away the beads of sweat in the heart of the second of three 10-hour shifts in his cubicle, Scully described over the elevator’s radio the smell of hot rain as it steamed from the Los Angeles asphalt, rekindling memories of the announcer’s Brooklyn youth.

Never has humidity been so romanticized.

“If I didn’t have him to listen to, I don’t think I could make it through the day,” Thompson said of Scully.

Six games in three days. Please, never again. Half an hour before the start of Wednesday’s doubleheader, which would drag on for more than seven hours, an usher slept on a bench in the upper deck.

Coffee in the employee offices flowed like Niagara. John Stitnizky, director of maintenance, measured his consumption in gallons. Three consecutive doubleheaders were but the cruelest stretch of an 18-day, 22-game stand that had the mascara dripping from one female usher in the seventh inning of Wednesday’s second game.

At one point, nearly overcome with exhaustion, she squatted at her station, resting against a brick foundation.

For the players, six games in three days added up to more than 19 hours of baseball futility. The Dodgers and Expos split the six games.

“If we would have known we were going to split, we could have saved everybody a lot of time,” first baseman Eric Karros said.

The players had their statistics; the workers had theirs. In the three days, an estimated 69 tons of trash was swept from the stadium. Concessionaires sold about 750,000 Dodger Dogs, 85,000 cups of soft drinks, 40,000 bags of peanuts, 38,000 cups of beer, 35,000 ice creams, 4,500 cotton candies, 3,500 boxes of Cracker Jack.

There were also hundreds of sore feet, aching backs and cold compresses.

After Wednesday’s second game, a security guard summed up the general feeling:

“Thank God it’s over.”

THE ANNOUNCER

Scully was worried about the doubleheaders. Remarkably, he has never lost his voice on the air. But this could have been the week. During Dodger home games, he works all but the third and seventh innings. As he cozied up to the microphone this week, he couldn’t help think of New York Yankee announcer Mel Allen in the 1963 World Series.

Allen began the Series under doctor’s care because of a bad throat. He was supposed to tone down his delivery, but couldn’t contain himself when Mickey Mantle hit a home run against the Dodgers.

Scully had to relieve Allen.

“There but for the grace of God go I,” Scully says.

To keep his voice in tune, Scully keeps a large cup of room temperature water in the booth. Between innings, he sucks on lemon or orange-flavored sour balls to keep his throat lubricated.

He almost never drinks coffee, but admitted to doing so this week to help keep him alert.

“This is not good,” he said, pointing to his coffee cup. “‘It probably dries me out. And the cream might affect the vocal cords.”

When the Dodgers and Expos combined for six runs in the first inning of the first game, Scully immediately allotted an extra inning of work to Don Drysdale.

Humidity was also a concern. Nothing is worse on his voice than walking from the outside heat into an air-conditioned room.

“It’s the bane of my existence, the albatross around my neck,” he said of air-conditioning.

But Scully survived, sounding remarkably fresh.

“It’s a matter of pacing and discipline,” he said. “It’s more difficult because you tend to think what’s at stake, which is not very much. The Dodgers are in last place, Montreal is in third. You have to forget about the standings, everything. Just concentrate on the game, and enjoy it. That’s really what the fans do.”

THE ELEVATOR

For three days, 10 hours a shift, John Thompson pushed the buttons of the Dodger Stadium elevator. He has manned his station for 12 years, but has never been through a stretch like this week.

Thompson won’t complain about the lack of air-conditioning, but one look at his sweating face confirmed that although there might be air in the elevator, none of it is conditioned.

More than 300 times a day this week, he estimated, he told fans how to get to the gift shop.

“You have to suck it up,” he said. “Because after six hours you do get tired of giving directions. You say the same thing over and over. . . .

“When the Dodgers lose, some of the management start to get upset too, so you have to keep on your feet.”

Like many Dodger employees, Thompson had to be excused from his day job to work the doubleheaders. For 25 years he has worked for the city of Los Angeles, currently as senior custodian at the Hollywood Police Station.

Thompson gets two breaks each game. Fortunately, he is not claustrophobic. He does not even know the dimensions of his workplace.

“I’ve been here 12 years and still don’t know the size of it,” he said. “I know I can get seven wheelchairs in it.”

HEY, PEANUTS

Wednesday, the sweat was rolling off Roger Owens’ face in waves. One of the world’s most famous peanut vendors had lost track of time.

“What day is it?” he said. “Seems like I’ve never gone home. Seems like I’ve been here since Sunday.”

Owens, 49, claims to have sold more than 3 million bags of peanuts. This is his 34th season with the Dodgers. He started selling sodas as a kid at the Coliseum when the Dodgers’ moved west in 1958.

The rest is peanut history. But this week didn’t go so well. The crowds were smaller than usual.

“I have to work twice as hard and make no more than I would make in a regular game,” he said.

But Owens’ fans keep him going.

“They get me sodas,” he said. “Yesterday, someone brought me a deli sandwich from over on Fairfax. Someone brought me a brownie.”

But Owens is slowing down. He said he worries about getting “peanut elbow.”

“Every once in a while, my shoulder will tighten up,” he said. “Mostly in April when it’s colder.”

Last year, as a result of walking the stairs for 34 years, Owens developed bursitis in his right hip. It took rest and a few shots of cortisone to get him back to the ballpark.

“Once I get out here, it’s almost like being an entertainer,” he said. “Once you’re on stage, you forget about every ache you have.”

THE FAN

Patrick Dunne, 60, a retired teacher, has been a season ticket-holder for 25 years. He has not missed a game since Fernando Valenzuela made his Dodger debut in 1980.

The streak has become an obsession with him.

“The doubleheaders are a drag,” he said. “I cannot tell you that they are not. But I’m sentenced to be here. I don’t want to miss. It will damage my reputation. It’s a big deal.”

But even the most devout Dodger follower had a tough time with this week’s doubleheaders.

“I don’t know about you, but I have a hard time sitting through a movie for 2 1/2 hours,” he said.

Dunne does admit to being a typical Dodger fan, the kind so often criticized by baseball purists. He arrives late, usually in the bottom of the first, and leaves after the seventh-inning stretch.

“It costs me $4,200 a year to buy these four seats,” he said. “I think I’m entitled to come and go as I please.”

THE UMPIRES

The sight of big John McSherry sitting on a couch in his underwear before a game isn’t a pretty one, but appearances don’t matter much when you’re gearing up to make calls in a summer swelter for seven hours or so.

McSherry took showers between games.

And the umpires called up reinforcements for the three-doubleheader siege, Ron Barnes and Dan Wickham, who were worked into the four-man rotation so that each umpire would get one day off during the series.

It allowed McSherry to spend Tuesday at his hotel in Hollywood.

After Wednesday’s games, McSherry walked unsteadily to his rental car to begin the trek to San Diego.

“My legs feel like lead,” McSherry said. “Twenty-two years in the league and guess who’s driving to San Diego?”

THE WORKERS

The sign was posted in plain view on the employees’ bulletin board: “During the upcoming 22-game homestand, from June 25 through July 12, no one will be given any time off unless there is an emergency. . . . “

But, yes, there were exceptions.

Wednesday, the ticket takers came up about 15 people short because of the noon start. Many of the part-timers could not get excused from their day jobs. The ticket takers borrowed three ushers and made it work.

Stitnizky hired 25 extra sweepers for the home stand to help maintain the stadium’s high standards for cleanliness.

The work force was weary. Jacqueline M. Alder, 64, works as a cashier at the Carl’s Jr. on the upper level. She developed laryngitis six days ago and needed antibiotics to get here through the doubleheaders.

It was an unusually quiet week in security. There were no alcohol-related incidents reported Wednesday.

There was a jacket stolen from the gift shop, but the thief was quickly apprehended.

It was time to go home.

Said one on-the-field participant Wednesday:

“There wasn’t one player on the field that wanted the Dodgers to start a rally in the eighth inning of that second game.”

And you believed him.