After three unsuccessful swings of the wrecking ball, the top of the southeast corner of Comiskey Park finally peeled off in a chunk and smashed on the ground. Then pandemonium set in. Dozens of onlookers swarmed upon the bricks like buzzards on carrion, while hundreds more on the wrong side of the temporary fence pleaded to have some thrown over. “I’ve gotta getta brick! Hey buddy, gimme a goddamn brick!”
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The Speedway demolition crew became men of power, taunting the crowd with the little morsels of Americana, waving at them through the chain-link. While hundreds of desperate hands grasped for a piece of the corpse, a few people struck out on their own. On the northwest side a young freelancer pried at the stadium with a tire iron, charging the frantic crowd surrounding him $5 per brick. He later said, after amassing $175, “I felt like I was on top of the world. I felt like somebody important.”
Fathers and sons worked side by side to get at the bricks. Michael Sullivan of Hoffman Estates brought his son Mike Jr. to witness the razing. When the steel support beams became visible in the right-field corner, he placed a loving hand atop his boy’s head. “Son, you will cherish this memory. Hey look, you can see its skeleton.” The two clapped with each smash of the wrecking ball, taking special pleasure in the majestic fall and crash of large portions of bricks. “Did you see that hit, Dad? Look at ’em go!”
Art accompanying story in printed newspaper (not available in this archive): photos/Ron Gordon.
