The Biograph Naturals in 1980. (Original photo by Phil Trumbo.)
Referred to as the “hippie league” by softball players who played in the
polyester-clad softball world governed by recreation and parks
departments, the Fan District Softball League had its own style, which
leaned toward cotton, silk-screened T-shirts. Its games were played on
“open fields,” rather than in softball complexes with fences. Among
other things that meant the Fan League featured a style that put more
emphasis on defensive play, rather than simply a home-run derby, with
big-bellied Bubbas trotting around the bases.
It also meant the league’s activities received less scrutiny by
authorities outside of itself, which was viewed then as a good thing.
The somewhat unorthodox Fan League bubbled up out of the pop culture
ooze of the summer of 1973, which was the heyday of WGOE, the daytime AM
radio station that then dominated the Fan District in a way that's
never been equaled. Its sound could be heard in the shops and on the
sidewalks of the bohemian commercial strip of West Grace Street,
adjacent to Virginia Commonwealth University. Anyway, it was WGOE that
set what eventually became the Fan League in motion, when its
promotional softball team of deejays and a few ringers -- the ‘Nads --
played a few games against impromptu squads representing a few regular
advertisers on the station, mostly bars.
By the next summer teams began to jell into rosters, but there was no
formal schedule. Fields were still being commandeered, rather than
secured by arrangement with any proper authority.
By 1975 the name Fan District Softball League had come into use and the
six-team organization had its first commissioner — Van “Hook” Shepherd.
Cassell’s Upholstery beat the Bamboo Cafe in a one-game playoff for the
first season’s championship finale. The four other teams in the league
that inaugural season were the Back Door, Sea Dream Leather, Uptop Sub
Shop and WGOE.
In 1976, in addition to the regular season the league staged two
tournaments. Teams representing the Biograph Theatre, Hababas, J.W.
Rayle, deTreville, the Pinheads (the VCU sculpture department and
friends) and the Rainbow Inn were formed in 1976.
As the years wore on more bars, and whatnot, came and went. During the
first decade of summers of the league’s existence, next to the music and
bar scene, softball-related activities were at the heart of the Baby
Boomer-driven culture in the Fan District.
Unlike most softball leagues in those days, the FDSL usually had lots of
fans at its games. Of course, the kegs of beer that were around — which
meant free beer — probably had something to do with that. The
freewheeling FDSL was also the only organized-yet-independent softball
league in the Richmond area.
Thus, the Fan League governed itself, made its own schedule, cut its own
deal with the umpires, etc. It remained so through its last season in
1994.
*
On the first Saturday of May, every year since 1980, a softball reunion
is held. Anyone who ever played on one of the Biograph softball teams
from any year has been welcome, along with their families, friends, etc.
Serendipitously, that first reunion/old timers game was staged on the
afternoon in which the Kentucky Derby would be run. The game was played
at Thomas Jefferson HS. Afterward, most of us went to the Track
Restaurant to join a Derby-watching party already underway.
The reunion subsequently became an institution and it’s been Derby Day
ever since. Over the years, the game has moved around to various
locations. Several of the guys at the most recent gathering were
teammates of mine in 1976, the first summer of organized softball at the
Biograph.
We called our team the Swordfish, after a joke in a Marx Brothers movie.
That first year the Swordfish played a schedule that was not set in
advance. Instead, our practice was to challenge established teams to
play us for a keg of beer.
The lucky Swordfish won 15 games of the 17 we played that initial
season. In spite of having few experienced softball players on a roster
made up of employees, old friends and a few film buffs -- including two
French guys who'd never seen a baseball game -- we probably won half of
those keg games by coming from behind in late innings.
Typically, our opponents saw themselves as more experienced/athletically
superior, which only made it more fun when they bumbled their way into
handing us the victory. That first year, it was uncanny how often those
supposedly better teams seemed willing to overplay their hands.
Now, having played and observed a lot of organized softball, I know that
virgin Swordfish squad was absolutely charmed. In any sport, it was the
loosest team with which I’ve ever been associated.
Both of the Swordfish’s losses came in extreme situations. The first was
the championship game of one of the two tournaments we entered. Yes, we
won the other one.
The second was played inside the walls of the old state penitentiary.
Located at Belvidere and Spring Streets, the fortress prison loomed over
the rocky falls of the James River for nearly 200 years (it was
demolished in the early-1990s).
As it happened the guy in charge of recreation at the pen frequented
J.W. Rayle, a popular bar of the era, located at Pine and Cary. During a
conversation there he asked me if the Biograph team — I played outfield
and served as the coach — would consider taking on the prison’s
softball team on a Saturday afternoon. Chuck Wrenn, the bar manager at
Rayle, had already told the guy the restaurant's team would do it. So I
went along with it, too.
As it turned out the first date the prison guy set up was canceled, due to something about a small riot.
OK.
A couple of weeks later the Swordfish entered the Big House. To get into
the prison yard we had to go through a process, which included a
cursory search. We had been told to bring nothing in our pockets.
As we worked our way through the ancient passageways, sets of bars were
unlocked and then locked behind us. Each of us got a stamp on our hands
that could only be seen under a special light. Someone asked what would
happen if the ink got wiped off, inadvertently, during the game. He was
told that was not a good idea.
OK.
The umpire for the games — Rayle played the prison team first, then the
Biograph -- was Dennis “Dr. Death” Johnson, a rather high-profile Fan
District character, at the time, who played on yet another team. Among
other things, Johnson did some professional wrestling, so he was good as
hamming up the umpire's role.
The fence in left field was the same high brick wall that ran along
Belvidere Street. It was only about 230 to 240 feet from home plate.
Yet, because of its height, maybe 30 feet, a lot of hard-hit balls
caromed off of it. What would have been a routine fly ball on most
fields was a home run there. It was a red brick version of Boston’s
Green Monster.
The prison team, known as the Raiders, was quite good at launching
softballs over that towering brick wall. They seemed to have an
unlimited budget for softballs, too. Under the supervision of watchful
guards, about a hundred other prisoners seated in stands cheered for the
home team. Actually, they cheered the loudest for good plays in the
field and sliding collisions on the base paths.
During a conversation with a couple of my teammates behind the backstop,
I referred to the home team as “the prisoners.” Our opponents’ coach,
who was within earshot, immediately stepped toward me. Like his
teammates, he was wearing a typical softball uniform of that era with
“Raiders” printed across the chest in a script and a number on the back.
“Call us the Raiders,” he advised, somewhat sternly, as he pointed to an
awkward-looking mural on the prison wall that said, “Home of the
Raiders.” It looked like a jailhouse tattoo, blown up large.
OK ... it was obvious, I had made a faux pas.
“While we are on this ball-field, we’re not The Prisoners,” he said with, ahem, conviction. “We’re the Raiders.”
“Raiders,” I said. “Right.”
“And, all our games ... are home games,” he deadpanned.
We all laughed, grateful the tension had been broken. The Raiders coach
patted me on the back and thanked us for being there, for agreeing to
play them.
In a tight, high-scoring affair the Raiders prevailed. Johnson knew how
to play to the crowd with his calls, too. Afterward, I was glad the
Swordfish had met the Raiders. And, I was glad to leave them, too.
Located smack dab in the middle of Richmond that prison was a perpetual
nightmare in our midst.
In terms of winning and losing, the Biograph teams that played on in the
FDSL through 1994 never found anything close to the success that first
year's team knew. Still, popups and bad hops aside, I'll wager most of
the guys from the 1976 team remember more details about their meeting
with the Raiders than many of the games we won playing at Chandler
Ballfield, the home of the "hippie league" for 18 years.
*
In 1978 the league expanded to 12 teams. That's the year the FDSL began
throwing a party draped around its All-Star Game, in the middle of each
season. Each summer in mid- to late-June, the stars of the Mars Division
played the stars of the Jupiter Division. As I remember it, Buddy Noble
came up with the notion of using planets for the names of the two
six-team divisions.
The method for selecting the all-stars varied with the year.
Occasionally there were votes held, more times there were caucuses of
the bossiest guys; the best teams always put more men on those squads.
Other times, each manger just named three players from his team. No
matter how it was done, popularity, or the lack of it, always influenced
the results.
In 1980, blonde bombshell Donna Parker and the aforementioned Dennis
Johnson made a memorable appearance at one of the All-Star Games at
Chandler Ballfield. The ever-outrageous Johnson was dressed in his Dr.
Death mask and wrestling costume. His date was outfitted in a black
leather bikini. Space limitations don't allow for elaboration at this
time, but Johnson left town soon afterward.
In 1982, the Bamboo Cafe went through the regular season undefeated,
33-0, but lost to its bitter rival, Hababas, in the finals of the
playoffs. Throughout the decade of the '80s one of those two outfits won
the playoffs every time.
For several years during the ‘80s the all-star exhibition/party was
staged at the Colombian Center in Henrico County. That era had the
largest turnouts for the annual event, as between 200 and 300 people
paid five bucks each to attend. Once admitted the beer was free and the
food was plentiful.
In the foreground: Artie Probst, Fitz Marston and Paul Sobel at the
1985 All-Star Game at the Colombian Center.
One particularly hot day for the party, according to the Budweiser truck
guy, the attendees went through 22 kegs of beer. Figuring 200 beer
drinkers, do the math.
For music, a couple of years Chuck Wrenn deejayed the parties. In 1986
the Motovators played live. The softball games were played on what was a
field always in poor shape -- rocks in the infield and overgrown clumps
of weeds in the outfield. We played with a rule against sliding on the
base paths, to prevent injuries. The late Pudy Stallard was once called
out, when, out of habit, he slid into second to beat a throw from the
outfield.
In 1987 and ’88 the food contest was at the center of festivities. Each
team put out a spread to share and the consumers voted for the best of
them. Some teams went to great lengths to coordinate their overall
entry, others simply had people bring out covered dishes and whatnot.
The most talked about of all the efforts was the 3rd Street Diner’s 100
pound hamburger in ‘88. The beef was packed into a giant patty at the
Diner. It was hauled around with great care, so as not to break it
apart. The huge bun was put together at the Tobacco Company and baked in
one of its large ovens.
Cooking the burger on an open grill at the picnic site turned out to be
the best part of the ordeal. There must have been 25 experts and
assistant experts standing around that grill, opining on how to go about
doing the the job. The burger itself was a good eight inches thick. The
flipping of the thing, to cook it all the way through -- without having
it fall apart -- turned out to be an engineering task.
After all the kibitzing, it was done without mishap, much to the delight
of one and all. A spontaneous celebration ensued ...
smoke-um-if-ya-got-um.
The FDSL also established its Hall of Fame in 1986. The first class was
elected by the 12-team outfit’s designated franchise representatives. To
be eligible then one had to have retired from play and considered to be
among the founders. Ten names were selected as the first class of
Hall-of-Famers.
The same rule held true in 1987, when six new names were put on the
plaque. However, by 1988, a few of those who had been inducted into the
Hall had un-retired.
So, in 1988, eligibility to the Hall was opened up to anyone who seemed
deserving. Those already in got to vote, as well. Nine new members were
selected. The meetings to select new inductees were always quite lively,
as were most FDSL meetings, the voting process was probably no more
twisted than any hall of fame’s way of choosing new names.
For 1989 six additional names were added. The class of ‘90 included
seven names, and in ‘92 the last five names were tacked on. In all, 41
players and two umpires were tapped. The list leans heavily toward those
who made significant contributions to the league's lore in its early
years.
Those men who were inducted into the FDSL’s Hall between 1986 and 1992
are as follows: Ricardo Adams, Herbie Atkinson, Howard Awad, Boogie
Bailey, Yogi Bair, Jay Barrows, Otto Brauer, Ernie Brooks, Hank Brown,
Bobby Cassell, Jack Colan, Willie Collins, Dickie deTreville, Jack
deTreville, Henry Ford, Danny Gammon, Donald Greshham, James Jackson,
Dennis Johnson, Mike Kittle, Leo Koury, Jim Letizia, Junie Loving, Tony
Martin, Kenny Meyer, Cliff Mowells, Buddy Noble, Randy Noble, Henry
Pollard, Artie Probst, Terry Rea, John Richardson, Jerry Robinson, Larry
Rohr, Billy Snead, Jim Story, Hook Shepherd, Pudy Stallard, Durwood
Usry, Jumpy White, Barry Winn, Chuck Wrenn.
At this writing, by my count, 10 guys on the list above have died (I may not have this completely up to date), with Howard Awad being the most recent to pass away.
As an organization, the Fan District Softball League lasted 20 years,
which was a wonder in itself. There are plenty of true stories from
those years that are almost unbelievable.
-- 30 --
For lack of a better term, The Resistance was what we came to call a spontaneous, unprecedented reaction to 2016's presidential
election. The outpourings of marchers who took to the
streets in the days after the election and then the inauguration were amazing. 
