Cold Open

It’s the evening of July 12th, 1979, at Comiskey Park, home of the Chicago White Sox baseball team.

Sitting in the stands, 10-year-old Andrew Brown leans forward and watches the Detroit Tigers’ pitcher wind up and release a pitch. The White Sox player at bat swings—and misses. It’s strike three, for the last out of the game, and the White Sox have lost.

Andrew doesn’t mind much though. He’s having fun with the rest of his Boy Scout troop, eating popcorn and hotdogs and horsing around.

As the players leave the field, a ripple of excitement runs through the capacity crowd. Because tonight is a doubleheader, and between the games, the White Sox have prepared a special event they’re calling Disco Demolition Night.

Andrew watches with amazement as a Jeep roars out from underneath the stands and circles the field. On it, a man wearing a helmet waves to the crowd.

He jumps off the back of the Jeep and begins shouting over the public address system, getting the crowd to chant at top of their voices “disco sucks”. Andrew and his friends laugh and join in enthusiastically as a crate of disco records is placed on the infield. 

Then the man leads the crowd in a countdown. The entire stadium chants out numbers. Three, two, one... and then the crate of disco records explode on the field.

The man on the Jeep speeds away, and Andrew and his friends giggle at the strange stunt. But it’s nothing compared to what comes next. As the Jeep disappears, spectators begin flooding onto the field from the stands.

It's the beginning of a riot.

Some pull up the bases. Others take spare bats from the dugouts and begin smashing anything in sight. As the chaos unfolds, a combination of fear and fascination means that Andrew can’t tear his eyes away. But eventually, his Boy Scout leader pulls him out of his seat and hurries Andrew and his fellow scouts into the safety of the concourse. Andrew doesn’t really understand what he's just witnessed—but he’s pretty sure he’ll never see a baseball game like this for the rest of his life.

Disco Demolition Night will end with a forfeited game, 35 arrests, and an enduring reputation as one of the most infamous moments in sporting history. It will also destroy the career of a rising young baseball executive, whose misjudged promotion successfully attracted a sell-out crowd to Comiskey Park but also provoked a riot by spectators on July 12th, 1979.

Introduction

From Noiser and Airship, I’m Lindsay Graham and this is History Daily.

History is made every day. On this podcast—every day—we tell the true stories of the people and events that shaped our world.

Today is July 12th, 1979: Disco Demolition Night.

Act One

It’s the evening of December 24th, 1978, in Chicago, seven months before a riot breaks out at Comiskey Park.

24-year-old disc jockey Steve Dahl pulls his scarf close to protect him from the bitter wind as he trudges through the streets. Although Chicago is festooned with lights for the holidays, Steve isn’t in a festive mood — he’s just been fired from his job at rock ‘n’ roll radio station WDAI.

Steve feels betrayed by the station’s management. He only moved to Chicago ten months ago after securing his dream job—hosting a radio show in the prestigious morning slot. Steve Dahl’s Rude Awakening was unlike anything Chicagoans had heard before featuring off-the-wall comedy, crazy characters, and Steve’s own, often controversial opinions on the issues of the day. It defied morning show conventions and tested the limits of talk radio. But it also won a small but dedicated fanbase. Still, earlier today Steve was called in to see the station’s boss and given the news that he is being let go. He’s not the only one. WDAI is clearing out many of its DJs as the station shifts from the crowded rock ‘n’ roll market to a different type of music: disco.

Over the past decade, hundreds of disco clubs have opened across America. After years of depressing headlines about Watergate and the Vietnam War, Americans craved an upbeat, more positive vibe—and the electric rhythm of disco was ideal. Songs like “That’s The Way I Like It” by KC and the Sunshine Band, “YMCA” by the Village People and “Dancing Queen” by ABBA topped the charts. And the movie Saturday Night Fever was a smash hit, mainly thanks to its disco soundtrack. But Steve was never a disco fan—and now he has even more reason to dislike the genre.

After a miserable Christmas, Steve hits the streets of Chicago in search of a new job. His reputation as a cult radio personality means that he isn’t out of work for long. By March 1979, Steve has secured a regular show at another Chicago rock ‘n’ roll station, WLUP. And on this new show, Steve makes disco the number-one target of his angry brand of comedy. He rants against the genre. He ruins disco LPs by scratching the vinyl with the needle. He records a satirical anti-disco song, and when disco songwriter Van McCoy dies, Steve celebrates the occasion by snapping a Van McCoy record in two live on air.

Steve’s loyal following of like-minded listeners join his musical crusade. The Cohos, as Steve calls the members of his anti-disco movement, embark on a public campaign against disco music - and those who promote it. Steve’s old employer WDAI is targeted with protests. Police are called in when Steve encourages his listeners to gatecrash a teen disco in the Chicago suburbs. And fights break out at a Coho event in Hanover Park.

To some, Steve’s anti-disco stunts seem in bad taste, but, in the summer of 1979, they catch the attention of Mike Veeck, marketing director for the Chicago White Sox. It’s Mike’s job to fill the seats at Comiskey Park—but it’s tough work. The White Sox are struggling in the shadow of Chicago’s other team, the Cubs. They haven’t progressed to the postseason for twenty years, and most home games are played to a two-thirds empty ballpark.

The White Sox often run promotions to attract new fans. Two years ago, Mike tried to boost attendance with a Disco Night promotion. He hired DJs to play disco music during breaks in play and had a dance squad perform on the field, but the experiment made no difference in ticket sales. Still, Mike liked the idea of a musical tie-in. So, he’s decided to try again—only this time, with a twist. With Steve Dahl’s anti-disco rhetoric on the rise, Mike tweaks his idea into an Anti-Disco Night promotion.

Mike reaches out to Steve and asks him to take part in a lighthearted event to encourage more fans to Comiskey Park. After Steve agrees, the White Sox announce that the doubleheader on July 12th will be “Disco Demolition Night.” That evening, teenagers will get half-price tickets and spectators of all ages will be given discounted entry if they bring an old disco record with them. Steve hypes the game on his radio show, declaring he’ll destroy the records they collect in the break between games.

Mike hopes that a extra few thousand rock ‘n’ rollers might join the fun—and if he’s lucky, a few dozen may become regular fans. But when the night finally arrives, Mike will be stunned at the turnout. The crowd will be three times larger than usual, Comiskey Park will be thrown into chaos, and the doubleheader will enter baseball’s record books for all the wrong reasons.

Act Two

It’s the evening of July 12th, 1979, at Comiskey Park, a few hours before Disco Demolition Night turns into a riot.

28-year-old Mike Veeck glances out of his office window and smiles with satisfaction. For as long as he’s worked for the Chicago White Sox, attendance at games has been poor. But tonight, the line of spectators waiting to get in stretches past the gates. Thousands of young people from across the city have gathered at Comiskey Park on a Thursday night—and it’s all thanks to Mike’s promotional tie-in with local DJ Steve Dahl.

Mike wanders down to the turnstiles for a closer look at the crowd. Many have vinyl records in their hands to claim a discounted entry. After they pay their reduced fee, they toss the records into a big box by the entrance. It’s filling up fast so is the stadium. A security guard spots Mike and hurries across to complain that some spectators are opening emergency exits so their friends can sneak in for free. Other true baseball fans are complaining about the long lines to get in. And with the first game about to start, the mood is turning sour.

Mike’s brow furrows. He's only hired enough security for a crowd of 35,000 people. But now, he’s starting to worry that’s not enough. And as the players take to the field, Mike pulls some of the guards who usually patrol the stands and has them watch the entrances instead. Satisfied that he’s dealt with the problem, Mike then moves on to watch the game. It’s definitely a more boisterous crowd than usual. A few fans who kept hold of their records disrupt the game by flinging them onto the field like frisbees. But Mike considers the disruption to be a small price to pay for tripling the night’s attendance.

A few hours later, the first game ends with a White Sox loss. But no one seems to care. For the majority of spectators, the main event is taking part between the two games.

After Steve Dahl enters the field on the back of a Jeep, Mike joins him on the field. He watches as Steve whips his Coho followers into a frenzy, and stadium workers place a crate filled with disco records in center field.

After a short countdown, the crate explodes in a burst of fireworks. Vinyl records fly into the air. The grass on the outfield catches fire. And as soon as the display has finished, Steve rushes off in the Jeep he came in on. But Mike stays on the field, keeping an eye on the worked-up crowd. And as the smoke from the explosion clears, Mike spots a few teenagers jumping onto the field—his stomach lurches as he realizes that most of the field security team are still at the entrances, and there’s no one on field to enforce order.

As the first few hooligans run around the diamond with no one stopping them, more members of the crowd climb over the barriers to join in. Mike vainly tries to stop them, but his protests are drowned out by the shouts of the excited teenagers. Soon, thousands of fans are storming the field. They start fires. They rip up the bases. They destroy the dugouts.

The scoreboard begins to flash the words “please return to your seats” as the stadium announcer tries to win over the crowd by singing “Take Me Out To The Ballgame” over the PA system, but the Cohos aren’t distracted. They’re too busy enjoying the riot. Baseball fans who are appalled by the behavior try to leave the ballpark but find the exits have been locked by the overrun security staff.

It's bedlam with no end in sight until the Chicago police arrive in full riot gear. The cops arrest more than thirty people, although most of the rioters slink back into the stands and escape unpunished. It soon becomes clear though that no one is seeing any more baseball this evening. Due to damage caused by the rioters, the umpires rule that the White Sox must forfeit the second game of the doubleheader.

It will be only the fourth forfeit in the modern era of baseball. But apart from these consequences of the riot, a debate will rage over whether Disco Demolition Night was merely a promotional idea gone wrong, or something more sinister—and the fallout will cost Mike Veeck his job.

Act Three

It’s July 19th, 2014, at Joseph P. Riley Junior Park in Charleston, South Carolina, 35 years after the Disco Demolition Night riot.

63-year-old Mike Veeck stands on the sidelines and applauds as minor league baseball’s Charleston Riverdogs leave the field. But Mike isn’t just a fan. The man behind the infamous riot at Comiskey Park is the Riverdogs’ owner.

In the aftermath of Disco Demolition Night, Mike and his co-organizer Steve Dahl tried to play off the riot as youthful hijinks gone wrong. But soon, the reporting on Disco Demolition Night suggested that the riot had racist undertones. Steve and his Coho followers were accused of attacking disco music because of its popularity among Black people. Many of the records brought by the crowd weren’t disco at all, but any music by Black artists. And as criticism of the riot intensified, Mike was fired by the White Sox. He never managed to secure another job with a Major League Baseball team. But he did invest in several minor league teams—and, years later, he still has a flair for promotion.

Although tonight’s game is over and the Riverdogs players are back in the locker room, the stands remain full—because the night's entertainment isn’t over yet. To cheers and laughter, stadium staff drag an empty crate onto the field and then fill it with Justin Bieber and Miley Cyrus CDs, T-shirts, and posters. It’s all been gathered from Riverdogs fans who got a reduced ticket price if they brought the merchandise to the game. Mike is recreating his infamous Disco Demolition Night promotion calling it “Disco Demolition 2: You’d Better Belieb It.”

After the crowd counts down, a stadium worker lights a fuse, and the crate explodes in a ball of flame. Mike crosses his fingers that the spectators don’t take the joke too far and invade the field again. But he doesn’t need to worry. The crowd cheers the comical moment, then calmly makes their way to the exit. There’s no riot, no arrests, and no forfeit, a very different ending from the original Disco Demolition Night 35 years earlier, when thousands of records were destroyed in a promotional stunt that saw both disco music and Mike Veeck’s career go up in smoke on July 12th, 1979.

Outro

Next on History Daily. July 15th, 1815. One month after suffering a crushing defeat at the Battle of Waterloo, Napoleon Bonaparte surrenders.

From Noiser and Airship, this is History Daily, hosted, edited, and executive produced by me, Lindsay Graham.

Audio editing by Muhammad Shahzaib.

Sound design by Gabriel Gould.

Music by Thrumm.

This episode is written and researched by Jack O’Brien.

Edited by Scott Reeves.

Managing producer Emily Burke.

Executive Producers are William Simpson for Airship, and Pascal Hughes for Noiser.