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THE DODGERS' DOME
A strange alliance has brought together Walter O'Malley, president of the Brooklyn Dodgers, a score of graduate students at Princeton's School of Architecture and R. Buckminster Fuller, a man who has purged himself of all worldly ambitions save one: to remake the face of the earth. This project has lately been expanded to include a new ball park for the Dodgers.
Mr. Fuller, a white-haired, crew-cut man of 60, built along the lines of a jar of yogurt, says that Mr. O'Malley is solely responsible for bringing the Dodgers into the picture. Having followed Mr. Fuller's distinguished career as a designer of igloolike geodesic structures, Mr. O'Malley one day leaned back in his chair and dictated a two-page, single-spaced letter in which he proposed that Mr. Fuller give thought to a domed stadium for Brooklyn. Mr. Fuller was already conditioned to the idea of taking his theories into the field of baseball. Previously he had been approached by an owner of the Denver, Colo, ball club and had given him some ideas about the kind of ball park Mr. O'Malley had in mind. "The Denver guy," said Mr. Fuller in a scientific tone, "did not have that kind of dough to spend." Later, Mr. Fuller was consulted by planners of a stadium for Minneapolis. For the latter, Mr. Fuller pulled out all stops on his imagination, and the Minneapolis crowd, at last report, was still reeling.
At the time of Mr. O'Malley's proposal, Mr. Fuller was preparing to deliver his annual lectures at Princeton's School of Architecture. He invited the 20-odd graduate students to assist him in constructing a model of the stadium (it could contain a 30 story building) he envisioned for Brooklyn. The Princeton scholars were delighted with the idea and pitched into the building of the model with zest. Two of them went a step further: they chose the Dodgers' Dome and its related problems (traffic, parking, etc.) for their theses.
Over a luncheon table the other day, Mr. Fuller was called upon to explain what a domed, all-weather stadium would do to the old-fashioned concept of baseball—peanuts and cracker jack, fresh air and sunshine and that sort of thing.
Mr. Fuller promptly took a sugar bowl, emptied it and turned it upside down and then, likening the action of air currents to a doughnut, explained that the domed stadium would be self-ventilating, cooler on hot days, warmer on cold days, the sunshine better than ever through the translucent plastic skin of the dome. The grass would grow greener and nature would be improved upon in every way. The Dodgers, he admitted, would be on their own.
The Princeton model has been completed. When Mr. O'Malley returns from a vacation and Mr. Fuller completes a lecture tour, they will put their domes—that is to say, heads—together and decide on the next step.
MORE VIOLATE HUSKINGS
Herewith, for readers who started Professor Howard Chace's frammis-style fable of the farmer's daughter last week, is what Chace calls Pot II—Moan-late an Roaches:
Violate worse jest wile aboard Hairy, hoe worse jester pore form bore firming adjourning form. Sum pimple set debt Hairy Parkings dint half gut since, butter hatter gut dispossession an hay worse medley an luff wet Violate. Infect, Hairy wandered toe merrier, butter worse toe skirt toe aster.