Lighting the Candlestick

By land, sea and air, a capacity crowd of 42,269 San Franciscans last week flocked to see their baseball Giants open the National League season against the St. Louis Cardinals--and to help open their last-word, $15 million Candlestick Park. There has been nothing quite like it since the Romans, who had to struggle along by chariot, converged on the Colosseum.

Home in the Horseshoe. Since Candlestick Park is on a peninsular sort of culdesac, many a San Franciscan feared a traffic jam to end all traffic jams. But on opening day there was not much cause for worry: Candlestick's 8,500-car parking lot was left 2,000 shy of capacity. Dreading to drive, hundreds of San Franciscans came by seaplanes, helicopters, sail and motor boats. It was all remarkably orderly.*

Candlestick is built for the customer--particularly if he happens to have a fat billfold. In the section known as "the Golden Horseshoe," and selling at $500 per place for the 76-day home season, each box is equipped with private lockers, tables, telephones, and, on call, waiters (last week the waiter service was not quite ready). For San Francisco's often chilly weather, there is radiant heating under the seats.

Shells in the Eye. At first, the only persons with reservations about Candlestick were the ballplayers. Candlestick was apparently contrived to make the worst of San Francisco's constant winds. Said the Giants' Willie Mays, after clouting two monumental drives during practice and seeing them land, wind-slowed, just short of the 397-ft. leftfield fence: "This park is too big. Somebody's gonna get some salary cuts around here." Said Giant First Baseman Willie McCovey, after his initial experience with wind-blown debris from the stands: "The peanut shells kept getting in my eyes."

But after the first two games, the Giants, at least, began to agree with the fans about San Francisco's new park. In those games, the Giants beat the Cardinals by 3-1 and 6-1, on three-hitters by Right-Hander Sam Jones and Left-Hander Mike McCormick. Said a satisfied Giant: "This is a park for ballplayers." The Cardinals felt differently. Said St. Louis' Stan Musial: "You'd think they'd ask a few ballplayers before they built a park."

* The exception that proved the rule, in spades: Hilary Belloc, son of British Author-Historian Hilaire Belloc, was letting out the anchor of a 36-ft. ketch when the chain tightened, cutting off half of his ring finger. While Belloc went on to the ballpark and got the remaining part of his finger bandaged at the stadium clinic, his 16-year-old son Martin searched in the shallow water, finally found the missing half. It was delivered to the clinic after Hilary Belloc had left, and was placed in a Dixie cup. Outside the park, Belloc heard that part of his finger had arrived back inside, tried to re-enter Candlestick by telling a gateman his story. The reply: "That's the best yarn I've heard today." Turned away, Belloc got in a cab. Meanwhile, the clinic realized that it had no one to put the finger on. The clinic dispatched a motorcycle patrolman, with finger in Dixie cup, after Belloc's cab. Finger retrieved, Belloc went to a hospital, got the finger sewed back on, returned to Candlestick Park to watch the last seven innings.

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