Home : Seventy Years At The Arena :Dome Associates
At the eleventh hour, Ralston Purina, with R. Hal Dean at the helm, unburdened Sid Salomon Jr. of the Blues for $4 million and then the Arena for $8 million more. After investing so much, the multinational company figured it had earned the right to rename the building. What was once a white elephant was now The Checkerdome. No one seemed to care as long as Ralston Purina delivered what it promised: upgrades that would turn the building into a year-round indoor sports and entertainment center. That became the job of Dome Associates, a group of investors who took on the management of the building. After witnessing the enthusiasm St. Louisans had for the Blues, the new management understood that the hockey team was central to the dome's survival. They also knew that in order to attract the events that would headline during the Blues' off-season, they had their work cut out for them. First on their list of improvements was a new acoustical ceiling. Canvas material that would drape from the apex to the outer edges of the roof cost Ralston Purina $250,000. But better sound quickly attracted Bob Seeger and the Silver Bullet Band to The Checkerdome on New Year's Eve, 1978. They were followed by Sammy Hagar, Van Halen and Yes. The Who headlined a sell-out concert in April of 1980. And then came the Boss. Bruce Springsteen and his E Street Band played The Checkerdome on Jan. 28, 1981, launching into favorites from his Born to Run album and working his loyal fans into a frenzy. The Stones followed suit that same year and treated fans to the visual spectacle of Mick Jagger. But the Bee Gees were the coolest. They were the first to enjoy a new air-conditioning system installed in the summer of 1979. Lack of air conditioning in the past made the Arena a dormant and profitless structure from May to September. For Stanley Rimkus, all these changes meant new job responsibilities - and new headaches. Stanley was the chief electrician and had worked at the Arena since 1960. His responsibilities were the ice plant, the lighting, the sound and the air conditioning. His headaches came from "those darn concerts. I'm a Guy Lombardo man," Rimkus explains. Yet, it remained Rimkus' job to rig up the "Funkedelics or whoever else came to town." But he worried the whole time about the effect of his work on the audience. "First we'd put up amps that would destroy their hearing. Then we'd put up lights that would make them go blind." During most concerts on Rimkus' watch, you'd know where to find him. "I'd go down to the shop and close the door where I couldn't hear or smell anything." Rimkus' biggest responsibility was the ice machine. The system he worked with required electrical power to pump 10,000 gallons of brine out of a storage tank and through 300 tons of refrigerant and into a piping network buried in the concert floor of the Arena. During those first years of ownership, Ralston Purina and its Dome Associates were nothing if not optimistic, not even letting the requisite disaster dampen their spirits. A five-alarm fire destroyed the west exhibition hall known as the "A" Building on Aug. 2, 1980. Susie Mathieu got the call at home. "They said, `You better get down here, The Checkerdome is on fire."' When she arrived, she found the annex building in ruin but the Arena intact. As a precaution, the fire department had cut the building's power. The place went dark, including the locker room, where then-coach Barclay Plager was taking a sauna. "He was in there the whole time and no one knew it until he wandered out of the darkened building in a bath towel. He had no idea what was going on out there," Mathieu says. The Checkerdome had only minor damage. But electrical wires were burned, forcing the cancellation of a closed-circuit television broadcast of a boxing match scheduled for that night. Ralston Purina estimated the damage at $200,000. Ornest, who grew up poor in Edmonton, Alberta, had played minor league baseball and refereed for hockey games before making a fortune in the vending machine business. But owning a sports franchise was his dream. Learning of his interest in the Blues, the city added Ornest to its list of serious contenders for ownership. Soon he was the only man standing. Ornest put up $3 million to buy the Blues from Ralston Purina. He borrowed $9 million to purchase the Arena so the team could stay in St. Louis. Ten local corporate investors put up $300,000 each to provide $3 million in working capital. By the time the Blues hockey season opened in October of 1984, the Arena had a much needed new roof, a new box office on the main concourse and a new electronic marquee. An updated electronic scoreboard would feature instant replay and provide an outlet for advertisers. The exterior of the building received a paint job. Ruth Ornest redecorated the Arena Club to her taste. Acting as vice chairman and treasurer, she also oversaw the building of eight new penthouse boxes, complete with refrigerators and closed-circuit televisions. On opening night, fans gave Harry and Ruth a rousing ovation for their contribution to St. Louis. Ornest, who loved the limelight, wasn't afraid to display his enthusiasm for the game. And even though he stripped the Blues roster, its payroll and its expenses, the team gave its owner three prosperous seasons. When the Blues weren't heating up the ice, the Ornests prided themselves on keeping the Arena hopping. In 1983, the gang from Sesame Street began its annual pilgrimage to St. Louis, often following entertainment events that included everything from truck pulls to the Ice Capades. The Ornests also kept the Arena booked with concerts. Billy Joel's April 19, 1984, concert was a sell-out. Frank Sinatra made a stop. Then Luciano Pavarotti, accompanied by the Saint Louis Symphony Orchestra, filled the cavernous space with arias that made a crowd of 11,000 shiver in their seats. And while the Arena lacked the natural elegance of your typical classical music venue, it cleaned up fairly well. Bobby Johnson, building superintendent, remembers the special measures taken to make the Arena Pavarotti-ready. Before they could roll out the red carpet, he recalls, they had to purchase it. "We had to go to the Ornests for a lot of extras to get the building ready," he says. "In the end, I think we did a pretty fine job." As enthusiastic as Ornest was when watching his team play from his owner's box or meeting famous tenors back stage, he could be tough and controversial in the boardroom. A prominent local politician once quipped, "You know how to tell who's suing Harry this week? Find out who he was partners with last week." When Ornest hit Steamers management with extra charges, the club vacated the Arena and filed suit. Meanwhile, Tom Bowers, managing partner of the Steamers, was suing Ornest for $250 million, claiming that Ornest did not fulfill his contract provisions. Ornest sued back, adding to the long list of cases he created for his attorneys, including a case against the Detroit Red Wings for luring Jacques Demers away from St. Louis. Concessionaires got huffy when Ornest insisted they add onion and relish to their condiment offerings. When they resisted change, he opened his own concession in the Arena Club. Ornest sold the Arena for $15 million to the city. Then he sold the Blues for $19 million to a group of investors, headed by Mike Shanahan. A St. Louis businessman, Shanahan was hand-picked by Mayor Schoemehl to convince Ornest to sign the team away. The city bought the Arena under the auspices of its Land Clearance and Redevelopment Authority (LCRA). Mayor Schoemehl promised that the LCRA would have extra cash available for seat replacements and rest room repairs and to meet any cash-flow problems. The $2.1 million yearly payments would be met by the city with the help of hotel and restaurant taxes. Plus, the Blues were to pay a yearly rent of $1 million.
The deal proved to be the beginning of the Arena's last chapter as a St. Louis landmark and sports and entertainment center. Driving the city's commitment to the Arena was not a love for the place but a desire to block St. Louis County's campaign to build its own domed stadium. Plus, after Mike Shanahan learned that he would not manage the Arena as he says he had been promised, his enthusiasm for the rent his team would pay to play in the antiquated facility diminished. But, he says, his ensuing campaign for a new home for the Blues was mixed with sentimentality. By then, the Arena came under the management of Facilities Management Corporation of Missouri. Hired by the city in 1986, Facilities Management took over a tired old girl in need of a pampering makeover. But the ripped seats, dysfunctional rest rooms and peeling paint were just the surface problems. As with any old building, the deeper crews dug, the more problems they found. According to Marc Childers, an electrician who came to the Arena during The Checkerdome days, working there was a daily challenge. As with many Arena employees, Childers can remember many a Thanksgiving dinner interrupted by a call from work. "The power would go out, and the hunt was on to find the problem," he says. "It was a great place to work because we did everything. If you didn't know how to do something, you got out a book and learned" Despite its condition, the Arena was still a great place for hockey. At least, NHL officials thought so when they chose it for the 39th All-Star Game.
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