The Night They Blew Up Disco at Comiskey Park

On July 12, 1979, the Chicago White Sox expected about 20,000 fans for a Thursday night doubleheader against the Detroit Tigers. More than 50,000 showed up. At least 20,000 more couldn't get in and milled around outside the stadium. By the end of the evening, the outfield was on fire, riot police had been called, 39 people had been arrested, and the White Sox had been forced to forfeit a game for the first time in the franchise's modern history.

The occasion was Disco Demolition Night, and what was supposed to be a radio promotion became one of the most infamous events in baseball history.

How It Happened

The idea came from Mike Veeck, the White Sox's 28-year-old promotions director and son of team owner Bill Veeck. The elder Veeck was one of baseball's legendary showmen. He was the man who had sent 3'7" Eddie Gaedel to the plate as a publicity stunt in 1951. His son was trying to live up to the family business.

Mike Veeck's partner in the promotion was Steve Dahl, a Chicago rock DJ who had been fired from radio station WDAI on Christmas Eve 1978 when the station switched from rock to an all-disco format. Dahl landed at rock station WLUP and turned his bitterness into a crusade. He launched an on-air "Disco Sucks" campaign that resonated with his young, predominantly white, male audience. He recorded a parody song. He smashed disco records on the air.

The plan for July 12 was simple. Fans who brought a disco record to Comiskey Park would get in for 98 cents, a nod to WLUP's 97.9 frequency. The records would be collected, piled into a crate in center field, and blown up between games of the doubleheader. The explosion coincided with the already-scheduled "Teen Night," which offered half-price admission to teenagers.

Owner Bill Veeck was concerned enough about the promotion that he checked himself out of the hospital, where he had been undergoing tests. When he saw the crowd streaming toward the ballpark that afternoon, many carrying signs with profanity about disco, his fears were confirmed. The stadium's capacity was about 44,500. The official attendance was listed at 47,795. Thousands more climbed fences and snuck in through gaps.

The First Game

The White Sox lost the first game to the Tigers 4-1, but the baseball was almost beside the point. The crowd was drunk, rowdy, and throwing things. Collection boxes for the disco records overflowed almost immediately, and fans who hadn't surrendered their records used them as projectiles, sailing vinyl LPs from the upper deck like flying discs. Beer bottles, firecrackers, and lighters joined the records on the field. Play was stopped several times to clear debris.

The Explosion

Between games, Steve Dahl took the field wearing a military combat jacket and helmet. He stood at a microphone and declared the event "the world's largest anti-disco rally." The crowd chanted "Disco sucks!" The ballpark organist played along. Then Dahl triggered the explosives.

The crate of records detonated in center field. A crater opened in the outfield grass. Flames and shards of vinyl shot into the air. And then, as if the explosion had been a starting pistol, thousands of fans poured out of the stands and onto the field.

The Riot

By various estimates, between 5,000 and 7,000 people stormed the playing surface. Fans climbed the foul poles. Bonfires were set in the outfield. The batting cage was knocked over and destroyed. Bases were pulled out of the ground and stolen. (Literally stolen, not the baserunning kind.) Mike Veeck later said he never left second base during the chaos, standing there and "thinking about what my next job would be."

Bill Veeck took the public address microphone and begged fans to return to their seats. Announcer Harry Caray did the same. The lights were dimmed. A message was put on the scoreboard. None of it worked. Chicago police arrived in riot gear and spent roughly 40 minutes clearing the field. Thirty-nine people were arrested for disorderly conduct.

The Forfeit

The field was wrecked. The explosion had left a crater. The grass was burned and torn. Tigers manager Sparky Anderson refused to let his players take the field, citing safety concerns. The second game was initially postponed, but American League president Lee MacPhail ordered it forfeited to Detroit the following day. The White Sox had been riding a four-game winning streak entering the night.

What It Meant

In the days after, the reaction split along predictable lines. Some called it the worst promotion in baseball history. Others, including White Sox general manager Roland Hemond, called it a great promotion that simply got out of hand. White Sox pitcher Rich Wortham told the Chicago Tribune that "this wouldn't have happened if they had country and western night."

The cultural arguments ran deeper and have never fully been resolved. Disco had originated in black, Latino, and gay clubs before crossing into the mainstream. Many of the records fans brought to Comiskey Park that night were not disco at all but funk, soul, and R&B albums. Ushers at the park noted this at the time. Nile Rodgers, co-founder of the disco group Chic, later said that watching the footage "felt to us like a Nazi book burning." Steve Dahl has always denied any racial or homophobic intent, saying the backlash was about the music and nothing else.

Disco was already declining in commercial popularity by the summer of 1979. Whether Disco Demolition Night accelerated that decline or merely symbolized it depends on who you ask. What is beyond argument is that the genre was driven underground, and what emerged from that underground in Chicago over the next several years was something new. The DJs who had played disco in the clubs took their records, remixed them, manipulated them, and created a different sound entirely. They called it house music, named after the Warehouse, one of Chicago's most prominent clubs.

As one Chicago house music pioneer put it years later, "House music is disco's revenge."