DURHAM -- They staged a throwback game Monday night at historic Durham Athletic Park, a throwback to an age of innocence in minor league baseball.
To sit in the old ballyard for the Durham Bulls' International League game against the Toledo Mud Hens was to experience a wave of nostalgia. The crowd of 3,911 had not watched a game here since 1994. The game, a 6-2 Bulls loss, was my first at the park in nearly two decades.
Understand, my love affair with this ballpark lasted beyond the six seasons the Bulls were my beat as a cub reporter for the Durham Morning Herald. I courted my wife at Durham Athletic Park. I spent too many late nights standing around the beer truck as former major leaguers Luke Appling, Rube Walker and Jim Bibby told tall tales. I listened intently as managers "Dirty Al" Gallagher, Bobby Dews and Grady Little shared their wisdom about the game.
But it was not about me. It was about a magical ballpark that came back to life at a magical time. I just happened to be around when this enchanting story unfolded, a story that continues with the Bulls now playing their home games in a nouveau-retro ballpark across the downtown railroad tracks.
Though the new Durham Bulls Athletic Park is a crown jewel for the city of Durham and among the best in minor league baseball, it has nothing on the old ballpark when it comes to charm and character.
The original park reopened for the 1980 season without a lot of fanfare. A longtime minor league owner took a brief tour of the yard in the winter of 1979 and declared it was not fit for the rats that infested it. Baseball had not been played there in a decade, but a young entrepreneur from Greensboro saw something in the park that few others could envision.
Miles Wolff liked the way the park's right field backed up to the Brane Office and Nu-Tread Tire buildings. The magnolia tree behind the right-center field wall - it's still there - lent a neighborhood feel to the surroundings, and a turret at the park's entrance served double duty as a quirky landmark and ticket office. Wolff, of course, could not have fathomed the fairy tale that ultimately unfolded at the corner of West Corporation and Morris streets.
To get the franchise off the ground, Wolff first gathered $30,000 from friends and family to form stockholders. When that money ran out before the first pitch was thrown, Wolff borrowed another $16,000, including $4,000 requisitioned illegally from the Carolina League, which desperately needed Durham in its fold.
The health department nearly shut down the operation three days before the home opener. The team's new uniforms - shiny spandex duds designed in Hollywood - were stolen on the eve of the season-opener in Winston-Salem. Water and sewer lines backed up on opening night.
But Durham had pro baseball at a time when it so desperately needed something. A dying tobacco industry and the emergence of the Research Triangle Park had relegated Durham to the shadows of the area. With baseball, Durham had something to hang its hat on, something burgeoning that Raleigh did not have.
The Bulls pulled the city together. Town and gown, black and white gathered at the ballpark. Doctors sat in the same grandstands with custodians. Duke students - when the drinking age was 18, and before the Cameron Crazies were formed - found the best bar in town.
This was Durham's team. Unwilling to sit in the sweatbox of the Durham Athletic Park locker room as the field was being prepared before games, players stood at the base of the right-field grandstand and made friends with fans. Later, the players and fans would gather at local watering holes and restaurants to discuss the games.
(The practice returned Monday as players mingled with fans before the game. Durham outfielder Fernando Perez took to his surroundings, posing for pictures and taking some of his own.)
Then there was the baseball in 1980. The opening homestand provided a spectacular portent of things to come. The Bulls stole nine bases before an opening crowd of 4,418. The next night, right-hander Rick Behenna took a no-hitter into the ninth inning. A night later, Durham pulled off a triple play in the top of the 12th inning, and Paul Runge led off the bottom of the inning with a winning home run.
Then came the first giveaway promotion of the season. The first 1,000 fans received a cheap nylon jacket complete with the Durham Bulls logo. One hour before the first pitch, Wolff and general manager Pete Bock walked the peopled line that stretched more than a block down West Corporation Street and informed fans the park was packed and to go home.
The crowd of 5,791 was the largest at Durham Athletic Park since 1946 and the 10th largest in Carolina League history. By season's end, a Durham-record 175,963 spectators paid to see the Bulls play. It took another five seasons for attendance to increase, jumping to 217,012 by 1987.
By then, the Bulls had established themselves as one of the preeminent franchises in minor league baseball, and Durham Athletic Park was no longer quaint. It was bursting at the seams, and the uncomfortable environs signaled change was on the way.
The release of the movie "Bull Durham" in 1988 officially ended the magical era. The movie depicted the innocence of the minor league team and at the same time stole it.
The ballpark became a tourist attraction. Durham Bulls fans were supplanted by a new crowd who cared little about the game and more about being seen.
Seven years later, the Bulls were playing in a new ballpark complete with all the amenities lacking in the old place. Mike Birling has served as general manager at the new park for the past 12 years and has heard far too often that "he should have seen a game at the old ballpark."
So the Bulls made that possible for one night.
A $5 million renovation has preserved Durham Athletic Park without eliminating all of its charm. Concrete has replaced dirt walkways. A big-league playing field replaced the old worn surface. Light towers were brought in to make certain the game was played to Triple-A standards.
For this one beautiful night, the grandest of old ballparks was alive again. I can only hope the Bulls make it an annual affair. I'd like to see a few more games at the old ballyard before I die and they bury my ashes on the pitcher's mound. That's in my will.
Ron Morris is a columnist for The State newspaper in Columbia, S.C.
