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As it turned out, the Astros beat the Yankees 2-1, in the presence of 47,876 considerably distracted fans, including President Johnson. It was the biggest crowd ever to turn out for a baseball game in Houston. In the $1.50 bleacher seats (each with its own arm rest and foam rubber seat), they munched hot dogs and lolled about in shirtsleeved comfort while a $4.5 million, computer-operated air-conditioning system kept the temperature at a steady 74° and filtered smoke out of the air. Luckier fans had "Spacettes" in gold lamé skirts and cowboy boots to guide them to their reserved seats ($2.50 to $3.50), their choice of three restaurants and a private club that offered everything from "king size roast prime eye of beef" ($5.50) to that old Texas standby, son-of-a-gun stew ($2.50). Almost all of them could go home later and boast that they were sitting "right behind the dugout": to ensure that they could, Hofheinz purposely built the Astrodome's dugouts 120 ft. long.
The Most. There were, of course, a few bad seats in the house: the most expensive ones. The 53 sky boxes, as they are called, are all on the sixth deck, about 115 ft. from the playing field (v. 45 ft. for the average bleacher seat), range in size from 24 to 54 seats, and cost from $15,000 to $32,000 a year to rent. Behind the boxes are one-room "suites," each with refrigerator, ice maker, bar, toilet, a closed-circuit TV that broadcasts Dow Jones averages, and a six-foot butler decked out in gold and orange.
In Hofheinz's own penthouse, high above the rightfield stands, the carpet, chairs, telephones, even the toilets, are all gold-colored. Last week, tamping his cigar ash in a gold ashtray, shaped like a fielder' glove, Hofheinz peered anxiously out of his picture windows, awaiting his big moment.
If he were a patient man, he'd still be waiting. After all, the Astros only hit 70 home runs last year, and in the new ballpark it was all they could do just to get the ball out of the infield. Finally, in the eighth inning, Hofheinz gave up, growled an order—and the giant Scoreboard did its home-run trick. Lights flashed, skyrockets soared, gongs sounded, whistles shrieked, bells rang. Two cowboys appeared on the huge screen, firing six-guns, followed by a steer with a U.S. flag on one horn and the Lone Star on the other. Hofheinz sighed happily. "Nobody can ever see this," he said, "and still think that Houston is bush."