Memories of Armstrong Field

Prologue:

Writer’s note: If you were there, this is mostly for you; here are some of my musings that may spark a synapse or two. If you were not part of this experience, please accept my indulgence, and I hope you enjoy this one as as a peek inside the Mustang baseball family.

The following paragraph in its entirety was taken verbatim from Wikipedia, 3/19/2022:  Armstrong Field was a baseball park located in Dallas, Texas on the campus of Southern Methodist University located where Westcott Field now stands.  It first hosted SMU football from 1915 through 1925 (Ownby Stadium opened in 1926). It was the home of the SMU baseball team (1919–1980) for many years though at least the final four seasons were played off campus. The Mustangs, Southwest Conference participants, were a team of futility during their time at Armstrong Field, scarcely in competition to win the conference. Armstrong Field did have the advantage of being located next to an outdoor school swimming pool. Legend has it that collegians would sit in the two rows at the top of the stands to see the women at the pool instead of watching the ballgame. Some were hit with foul balls due to their concentration on the women at the pool. The pool helped augment attendance by 40%. Armstrong Field was closed after the 1976 season, but before the last game the players stole home plate and concealed it in the storage area of Ownby Stadium.  The plate was signed by the players and ended up in the SMU sports information division.  The final four years (1977–1980) of SMU Mustangs baseball were played off campus at Reverchon Park before the baseball program was phased out.

Armstrong Field, 1972.

I first saw the field in the spring of 1972 when Dad and I went to Dallas to pick up my sister Beth at the end of her freshman year. While on this SMU visit, and while Dad helped Beth pack the car, I was directed to offices in Moody Coliseum to try and meet the baseball coach.  It was there that I learned his name was Bob Finley.  Coach Finley was not in the offices that day, but I did learn from the Sports Information Director, Bob Condron, that the team had finished the prior season at 22-20, and that the team had a strong group of young players returning.  Mr. Condron pointed out to me that right across the street from Moody Coliseum was the chain link fence representing the left field wall of Armstrong. I noticed some tattered wind screen material flapping lazily in the wind. Armstrong was located just north of Ownby Stadium (now the site of Gerald Ford Stadium) on the SMU campus, its presence incongruent and striking; its lush green and contrasting red clay dirt infield shimmered in the Dallas heat, dream-like now in my memory. I shut my eyes and tried to imagine me standing out there on the bump.

The infield itself was beautiful, immaculate, flawless. It was Garland Ridlehuber’s pride and joy.  Garland was the uncle of our first baseman, Ron Ridlehuber, and he was the groundskeeper that worked on the field with a passion unparalleled.   It was so beautiful that I hardly noticed the care-worn bleachers and backstop.  This field would be witness to four baseball seasons of my life.  Untold lazy hours of shagging balls during batting practice, including conversations with teammates both deeply philosophical and silly. As teammates we were undeniably thrown together by the fates. Challenging baseball games with tests of individual toughness.  Tests that forged us in our formative years.  Our record during these four years was dismal for the most part, and our challenge as I see it in the rear-view mirror, was to always continue to compete.  Winning streaks were scarce.  At the time I played there, the Southwest Conference was one of the strongest in the country:  University of Texas, TCU, Texas A&M, Rice, University of Houston, Texas Tech, and Baylor, and SMU.

Armstrong Field now exists only in our memories.  It later became a track facility, then much later added a soccer field as well.

As to memories, it remains a montage of faces, sweeping panoramic scenes, tight images, snippets of conversations and seemingly unrelated incidents that will flash through my mind when I think about Armstrong Field:

 A jumble of words such as these, spoken by teammates and coaches:

“Bite me, Sagehorn!”

(She was a) “Luscious Latunia”

“That’s OK, Rookie, if you were any good, you’d be at Texas.”

”Go home, lift weights, come back next year!”

“The Greeeeen Glove”

“It was raining in Richardson, Coach”

“Whale the Wise”

“Let’s make some memories today, boys!” 

“Come on, Ernie, that’s horseshit!”

“You’re brutal, Blue!”

“We gone” (CB lingo)

“Like a Bullet!” 

“It’s a long way to Omaha!”  

“Right on the corner, ball three!”

“Hey Pitch, your pants are falling up!”

“The Wind?!”

“I got it I got it I got it… you take it”

“You couldn’t throw out the trash!”

“Shotgun Willie sits around in his underwear”  

“Man, RJ, I feel dizzy”

“Do you know Bonaparte’s Retreat?”

 “I’ll be back!”

“Yeah. Hurt too, boy!”

“I only ask you to do what I ask you to do!”

“There’s a team down in Dallas, they’ve lost (insert number here) games in a row”

“Not a bad speech for an a**hole!”

Other random memories: 

• Pitching batting practice one sunny Friday fall afternoon to John Matetich while slightly buzzed from a Friday “TGIF” lunch at a fraternity house during my freshman year (This was not an official baseball practice. I don’t recommend it, but I actually didn’t do too badly which is scary). 
• When the wind was out of the south, Mrs. Baird’s Bread aroma, pleasant and strong.
• Gerald Spivey’s 1000-mile stare.
• Pro pitcher Steve Dunning working out with us in the early spring. 
• Joey Heatherton jogging on the Ownby Stadium track (yes, she looked terrific, even in sweats).
• Coach Finley spitting tobacco juice on his palm and daubing it in dirt to rub up a dozen new baseballs for every game.
• Garland Ridlehuber applying lime to the baselines. 
• Batting helmets repaired with white athletic tape. 
• Bushy long hair pushing out from under caps with the distinctive 1970’s “Bozo the Clown” look.
• Conversations about anything and everything while shagging balls in the outfield, but mostly about women and music. 
• Nicknames–for everyone:  Glasser, Rookie, Hubie, Snake, Whale, Smoke, Mini Whale, Stroke, Gabe, Pandy, Hambone, Billy Goat, Workhorse, Maaaj, Dud, Matty, Jonesy, Ho-art, the Green Glove, Burk, Smitty, Teddy Ballgame, Stick, Fuzzy, Shoo-bear, Congo, Tino Z, Bullet, HS, JP, Cumbo, Reddy Kilowatt, Sammy, Jake, Goose, Easy Ed, Hollywood, Geetz.   A few others lost their first name permanently and completely:  Beard, Hall, Landsmann, Crabtree.  
• “Handles” for the CB radio guys: e.g., Sagebrush, Panda Bear and Pony Express.
• Whiplash from trying to follow a Keith “Zonk” Moreland laser that travelled all the way to Moody Coliseum on one bounce. 
• We took razzing and bench jockeying to a new level; no limits for civility, good taste and sportsmanship.  It was an ugly business, but we did what we had to do.
• Newly arrived football Coach Ron Meyer bumming chewing tobacco and shooting the breeze with the team in the locker room.   The man oozed coolness and charisma. 
• Red Man, Brown Mule and Beechnut chewing tobacco—me trying these just to try to fit in and glad the habit didn’t take. 
• Finley getting pissed at the grass-stains on all the pitchers’ uniforms after playing a lively game of “Flip” before games.
• Pitching with a lead in the fifth inning against Houston and was suddenly struck with a migraine blind spot (tried to pitch through this and it did not work out well).  
• Adding verses to our song, “The Horseshit Blues”.    
• Who literally stole home plate prior to the last game in 1976?  (Pandy, your secret is safe with me, and the Statute of Limitations has long passed).  We all signed it and hid it in the bowels of Ownby.

My wife, Rita found the following map/art in a gift shop in SF and bought it for me. I appreciated the gift, but felt something was missing. I called on Rita’s artistry, and asked her to add Armstrong Field in its original location. This version below hangs in my home office.