This story, by correspondent Richard Dozer, first appeared in The Sporting News dated July 28, 1979, under the headline “Disco Demolition Backfires; Chisox Forced to Forfeit”, covering the ill-fated promotion on July 12 — 45 years ago today — at Chicago’s Comiskey Park.
CHICAGO — The promotional genius of Bill Veeck and the younger minds which have brought the White Sox in touch with today's youth went one step too far July 12.
It was billed as “Disco-Demolition Night,” a chance for rock fans to demonstrate against the intrusion of the disco beat on their musical domain. A crowd of more than 50,000 gained entrance, swelled by teen-agers who brought disco records to burn between games of a doubleheader.
A near-riot ensued when an avalanche of young people stormed the field. And when the second game could not be started, the Tigers, through Manager Sparky Anderson, made an immediate demand for a forfeit. It was granted less than 24 hours later by Lee MacPhail, American League president, who studied reports from all concerned.
MORE: 10-cent Beer Night: The day Cleveland flat lost its head (June 4, 1974)
The forfeit was only the fourth in A.L. history. Fans pouring on the field forced the old Washington Senators to forfeit a game to the Yankees on September 29, 1971. The Indians had to forfeit a game to the Rangers on June 4, 1977, because of an obstreperous Beer Night crowd. And the Orioles forfeited a game at Toronto on September 15, 1977, in an argument over a tarpaulin covering on the mound in the Blue Jays' bullpen.
FROM ANAHEIM, where MacPhail had gone the following day. the statement of forfeit explained, "It was the judgment of the umpire (Dave Phillips) that it was not possible to start the second game because of inadequate crowd control and damage to the playing field, both of which are the responsibility of the home team."
Responded Veeck: "I am amazed, shocked, and chagrined. I think the grounds for forfeiting are specious at best. There was nobody on the field during the playing of the (first) game. It's true there was some sod missing. Otherwise nothing was wrong. We made no further repairs the next day, and the field was ruled playable.
"I'm terribly upset. I can only make apologies to the fans and my players for what turned out to be an ill-advised promotion."
TROUBLE BEGAN brewing during the first game. It was readily apparent that security people were going to be put to the test before the night was over.
It was billed as "Disco-Demolition Night," a promotion devised by Chicago disc jockey Steve Dahl. Fans were admitted for 98 cents, a figure that teamed up nicely with WLUP, an FM station found at 98 on the dial. Part of the gimmick called for each fan to bring a disco record, thousands of which were to be burned in a between-games ritual.
MORE: 50 years later: Remembering Hank Aaron's 715th home run
Dahl even brought a fire goddess for the occasion, a blonde poster girl known only by her obvious attributes and the single name Loreli. But before the fire ritual could be held (under fire department supervision) in center field, many of the youngsters couldn't wait. They began slinging records, Frisbee-style, onto the field during the first game, which had to be halted time and again. The Sox lost, 4-1.
When somebody suggested that casting the discs was in protest at the way the White Sox were playing, boss Veeck said, "These were not baseball fans tonight."
Veeck admitted he had made a dreadful mistake in lending the White Sox name and playing field to such a disaster. Younger minds in his promotional department were chiefly responsible, of course, including Veeck's son Mike, who is into the music scene more than his daddy.
Moments after Dahl and his Loreli made their triumphant exit halfway through the 30-minute period between games, the first of the invaders began skipping over the low box-seat railings.
In a matter of two to three minutes, an estimated 5,000 to 7,000 misbehaving youths had swarmed on to the field. Some carried the same banners, most of them obscene, which had been allowed to hang from the upper deck during the first game. The smell of marijuana wafted upward.
Veeck made a rare visit to the playing field, protected by aides and security people. He stood for fully a half-hour saying over and over, "Please clear the field." It was an impassioned plea that fell on deaf ears. Finally Harry Caray, the Pied Piper of Chicago broadcasters, took the field mike. He got no results either.
"IT WAS NOT a riot," Veeck insisted, and to a degree he was right.
It was just a bunch of kids frolicking on the field — a scene much the same as Yankee pennant clinchings in New York. A strip of turf was taken from in front of the mound, and there was a damaged area near the shortstop position.
The mob dispersed mostly by just running out of things to do. When helmeted police finally came onto the field, they had fewer than 1,000 to chase away. They swung clubs at some, caught and handcuffed others, and had the field cleared in five minutes. But players were not anxious to continue.
MORE: TSN Archives: The day Cal Ripken Jr.'s ironman streak ended
"I was scared," said Ken Kravec, who had gone to the bullpen for his second-game warmups when the first wave of humanity hit.
HE RACED FOR cover. Detriot's pitcher Aurelio Lopez knew what it was about. So did catcher Ed Putman.
They were showered with flying objects while Lopez tried to warm up for his eighth-inning appearance in game one.
They shifted directions, Lopez pitching to the west instead of the east from the bullpen rubber to get his catcher closer to the dugout and farther from the kids.
On one occasion in the first game, center fielder Ron LeFlore said a golf ball bounced between his legs while he was catching a fly ball.
Although it appeared that Gene Bossard and his groundsmen had the place fit to play by tamping black dirt evenly into the gouged area in front of the mound, umpire-in-chief Dave Phillips suddenly ruled that the second game would be called off.
Objections of players had a bearing on the decision. Phillips had conferred with both player representatives, Rusty Torres of the Sox and John Hiller of the Tigers, before announcing the nightcap was off.