The largest building on Maplewood is also being knocked down to accommodate Bradley University’s expansion. That, of course, would be the A.J. Robertson Memorial Field House.
Having served as airplane hangars during WWII, the two structures comprising the Field House were put together and reincarnated as the Home of the Bradley Braves from 1949 to 1982. On game nights, with the lights glowing out of the glass lobby doors, the Field House reminded me of a giant battleship in the sea of night. And from the lifeboat of our house, we wanted to get in.
We finally got our chance. After listening to many games on the radio during the era of players like Sam Simmons, Henry Sylvester, and Seymour Reed, my dad took my brother Jim and I to a game. As a Alumni B-Club member, dad's ticket was free (I couldn’t believe his good fortune). The general admission tickets were $2.50.
The Field House didn’t disappoint; it was far and away the coolest place I had ever been. The scent in the lobby, a combination of popcorn, sweat, and smoke heralded the excitement within the arena. With its raftered, curved ceilings, the rows of benches that seemed to rise out of sight, and the raised wood floor, the Field House was magical. No marketing genius could create that kind of atmosphere. And then at tip off, at the precise moment the ref tossed the ball between the two centers, all the lights in the arena except those illuminating the floor darkened, focusing your attention on what had to be the center of the universe. How could there be a better place to watch a basketball game? And right across the street.
I am happy to report that Bradley won the first game I saw them play live, against a nonconference foe whose name I can’t recall, though I do remember the Braves won by five points. I was thrilled, but my father not so much. “It was pea soup out there tonight,” he said disgustedly, displeased by Bradley squeaking out a victory against a lesser team. I had my first glimpse that there were victories and losses other than what a final score might indicate.
We didn’t go to that many games as kids, but we still got to participate in the excitement of the outside environment. On game days, the cars and people would start to come in the early evening, especially if there was a JV game beforehand.
We finally got our chance. After listening to many games on the radio during the era of players like Sam Simmons, Henry Sylvester, and Seymour Reed, my dad took my brother Jim and I to a game. As a Alumni B-Club member, dad's ticket was free (I couldn’t believe his good fortune). The general admission tickets were $2.50.
The Field House didn’t disappoint; it was far and away the coolest place I had ever been. The scent in the lobby, a combination of popcorn, sweat, and smoke heralded the excitement within the arena. With its raftered, curved ceilings, the rows of benches that seemed to rise out of sight, and the raised wood floor, the Field House was magical. No marketing genius could create that kind of atmosphere. And then at tip off, at the precise moment the ref tossed the ball between the two centers, all the lights in the arena except those illuminating the floor darkened, focusing your attention on what had to be the center of the universe. How could there be a better place to watch a basketball game? And right across the street.
I am happy to report that Bradley won the first game I saw them play live, against a nonconference foe whose name I can’t recall, though I do remember the Braves won by five points. I was thrilled, but my father not so much. “It was pea soup out there tonight,” he said disgustedly, displeased by Bradley squeaking out a victory against a lesser team. I had my first glimpse that there were victories and losses other than what a final score might indicate.
We didn’t go to that many games as kids, but we still got to participate in the excitement of the outside environment. On game days, the cars and people would start to come in the early evening, especially if there was a JV game beforehand.
We would watch the cars line our streets, waiting for the one who would park illegally in front of our house at the corner. The things Bradley basketball would drive a person to do. We were jealous of our neighbors, the Boeson's, who had a long drive way. They could charge people the exorbitant price of $1 or even $1.50 to park for the evening in their ribbon of a driveway, which could accommodate six cars or more.
We might still be awake when the game was over to hear the car doors slamming and the engines starting. Could we tell by the sound of the crowd whether it was a victory or defeat? Sometimes. The muffled conversations were more animated in the event of a victory.
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