Jimmy Wynn and the inside-the-park home run that brought Astroturf to the Astrodome

Over more than 40 years in operation, the Astrodome carved out a unique legacy. It was the first domed multi-purpose stadium in the country. At one point or another, it housed all three of Houston's major professional teams. It served as the setting for an entire Robert Altman film. And, of course, it was the first major sporting venue to move to artificial turf, scrapping grass in favor of the surface that would bear its name: Astroturf.  
But when it first opened as the Harris County Domed Stadium in 1965, there wasn't any turf to be found in the Eighth Wonder of the World -- that would come a year later, thanks to a very sunny day and one poorly placed fly ball.

Befitting a ballpark inspired by the awning of the Roman Coliseum, the roof at the Astrodome was a bit unusual. Rather than a simple slab, architects opted for a concrete lattice, with criss-crossing beams supporting plexiglass panes that allowed sunlight to stream through:

On one hand, the skylights -- nearly 4,600 of them -- allowed nice natural light into the park during day games and provided enough sun for the field to be made of natural grass. On the other hand, it produced a whole lot of glare. If you're at all familiar with the eternal war that rages between fielders and the sun, you can probably see where this is going. 
Signs of trouble began to pop up almost immediately. Outfielders lost so many balls in the sun during Houston's first scrimmage at the Astrodome that, the very next morning, team owner Roy Hofheinz ordered several shades of sunglasses and specially dyed baseballs. An April 10 exhibition against the Orioles saw the sun claim four more fly balls. Still, with Houston opening on a road trip, Hofheinz wasn't worried: "Never fear," he told reporters, "I will not be the first man to call a game on account of sunshine." 
As it turned out, that might have been the better option.

On May 23, 1965, the Astros welcomed the Giants to the Astrodome on a sunny Sunday afternoon. Houston starter Ken Johnson found himself in a jam in the top of the first, with two men on and two out and Jim Ray Hart stepping to the plate.
Hart lifted a routine fly ball to center field, and it looked like the Astros would get out of trouble. Center fielder Jimmy Wynn took a few steps in, looked to be settling under it and then made a horrifying discovery: He had no idea where the ball was.
Wynn could only watch in confusion -- "like a man caught in an elephant stampede," according to the Houston Post -- as the ball landed a few feet behind him and rolled toward the wall. By the time the dust settled, Hart had an improbable three-run inside-the-park homer, and the Giants were well on their way to a 5-2 win. 

As you might imagine, Hofheinz was furious: His team had lost a game because of his sparkling new ballpark's window problem. He wanted it fixed, and he wanted it fast. So, before Houston's game against the Reds two days later, a crew climbed to the top of the Astrodome to slap a coat of off-white acrylic paint on the ceiling.
The good news: The paint reduced the glare. The bad news: With significantly less sunlight now streaming onto the field, the grass began to die ... fast. Constant watering didn't help, and by the end of May the Astros grounds crew resorted to spraying green paint on the dried-out field -- fine enough from the stands, but brutally difficult to play on.
There wasn't much the team could do in the middle of the season. But, that winter, Hofheinz and advisor Tal Smith asked Monsanto to ship samples of its "Chemgrass" artificial turf to Houston. The two bombarded the turf with everything under the sun -- from horses to elephants to the Harris County Sheriff's patrol car -- but still it held up. So, in January of 1966, it was time for an official test run: Hofheinz built an infield and invited some Astros players to try it out.

The reviews were uniformly positive -- third baseman Bob Aspromonte even deemed it "one of the top two [infields] in baseball." And so, on July 19, 1966, artificial turf (now dubbed "Astroturf" at Monsanto's request) made its American sporting debut in an 8-2 Astros win over the Phillies. 
Even the AP was surprised at how well this newfangled green carpet worked: "[It] caused no flagrant bad hops or handicaps for outfielders. In fact, the players went about their actions just as if it were on grass." Just about everybody approved, and soon, Astroturf spread from the Astrodome -- where it stayed until the Astros said goodbye in 1999 -- to fields all over the country.
Well, everybody except for Leo Durocher. The then-Cubs manager was deeply suspicious of Astroturf, seeing it as an unnatural surface for a ballgame, and even joked that he would force his players to wear sneakers when Chicago came to town. In response, Hofheinz sent him a gift: one of the final patches of Astrodome sod, to help "cover his dome." Twice that season, the Astros rallied against the Cubs at home. Twice, Durocher was so infuriated that he broke the bullpen phone -- and twice Houston sent him a repair bill.