Phil and Phillis didn’t last long as the original Phillies mascots. But they live on at Storybook Land.

It didn’t take long for John Sullivan, standing on Paper Mill Road with a thumb raised, to land a ride. It seemed like everyone knew everyone in his Montgomery County hometown. The 15-year-old high school student without a driver’s license was an original mascot of the Phillies, a colonial-era boy who preceded the Phanatic. And Philadelphia Phil started his trek from Springfield to Veterans Stadium in the early 1970s by hitchhiking.

“Pretty soon, somebody’s mom would be driving past,” Sullivan said.

Phil and his sister, Philadelphia Phillis, were created in 1971 when the team moved to South Philly. Bill Giles, a P.T. Barnum type, installed 15-foot animatronic statues of Phil and Phillis as part of a “home run spectacular” over the center-field wall. A year later, the Phils hired teenagers to bring Phil and Phillis — two children dressed like American revolutionaries — to life as mascots who walked around the stadium.

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Mary Ellen Driscoll, a Temple student, was Phillis. Sullivan’s cousin, Tommy Dickinson, was Phil for 1972 before moving away to college and leaving Phil to the hitchhiking Sullivan.

The Vet was new, but the team was terrible. So Giles did whatever he could in the early 1970s to give people a reason to spend a weekend in South Philly instead of Wildwood. He brought in Kite Man, the Great Wallenda, and a fire truck that drove relievers to the mound. The team’s first mascots were another swing. It was the 1970s. Of course, Philadelphia Phil hitchhiked to work.

“I got $10 a game to start, and then it went up to $12,” said Sullivan, whose father was the team’s head of promotions. “After hitchhiking up Paper Mill Road, it was 50 cents to take the train, 25 cents to get a stale Inquirer so I could read the sports page on the way down, and then another 35 cents to take the subway. And I got a Tastykake. So by the time I got down there, I was making $8.50 a game.”

The Phil and Phillis statues cost $80,000 to install and failed to work for the Vet’s 1971 debut. The kinks were soon worked out. After every homer, Phil “hit” a baseball that struck a 15-foot Liberty Bell and then bonked Phillis on the backside. As Phillis fell, she pulled a string to fire a cannon. A fountain of “dancing waters” erupted, a giant American flag unrolled, and a rendition of “Stars and Stripes Forever” played on the speakers.

An article that spring in a New York paper said the spectacle left the Mets in awe and that the Vet “represents all that is good of the new ballparks.” Eventually, the shine wore off. The Phanatic arrived in 1978, and the statues were removed after the 1979 season. Phil and Phillis were retired.

“To be honest about it,” Giles said in 2017, “they weren’t terrifically received.”

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The statues were sold in 1980 at a stadium yard sale to Don Horrow, who owned a Dodge dealership in Camden County and did business with the team. He placed the twins out front, which is how Esther Fricano spotted them. Fricano and her husband, John, created Storybook Land, the amusement park in Egg Harbor Township near Atlantic City. She needed them.

“She liked anything whimsical,” said her granddaughter, Jessica Panetta, the park’s owner/operator. “They reminded her of Raggedy Ann and Andy, and she was a doll collector. So I think she thought they were really cute and would look cute in the park.”

It cost the Fricanos more to transport the statues to Storybook Land in 1981 than the $1,000 they paid Horrow for them. The baseball twins who didn’t last in South Philly fit in perfectly in the old-time amusement park alongside Mother Goose, the Three Little Pigs, and Snow White. Released by the Phillies, Phil and Phillis revived their careers at Storybook Land.

“It’s unique to have them,” Panetta said. “They’re one of a kind. A lot of people remember them, and it means a lot when they see them preserved and taken care of. It’s a nice little finish to the park. A nice little quirk. Our whole park is very nostalgic for a lot of people. We have an old-school feel. They fit in.”

Driscoll started at the Vet in 1971, working her way through Temple as an usherette in the 700 Level.

“I was one of the regular usherettes, not the Hot Pants girls,” said the 72-year-old Driscoll, who grew up at 27th and Allegheny. “We were divided into two groups. The 35 really glamorous, model-looking Hot Pants girls and then the rest of us who were pincher cheeked girls from Delco and Northeast Philly.”

A year later, Driscoll became Philadelphia Phillis. Rosemary Sudders, who oversaw the usherettes, asked Driscoll if she wanted to be the new mascot. Driscoll, then a journalism student, said OK.

“I have absolutely no idea how I got the job,” she said.

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The costumes were one piece with a 20-pound head made of papier mâché and wool arms. They were built by the same people who made Mummers outfits. Phil and Phillis were supported by wooden frames and sat on Sullivan and Driscoll’s shoulders once they twisted their bodies inside.

“It was awful,” said the 68-year-old Sullivan, who became Phil in 1973. “July and August in Philadelphia aren’t exactly the greatest times to be walking around in that kind of thing.”

The mascots were instructed to walk around the stadium for 90 minutes before the game, pat kids on the head, and take photos with fans. They went to the tunnel behind home plate when organist Paul Richardson played “The Merry Widow Waltz” and stood on the field for the national anthem. The costumes came off once the game started.

“One time, I saw someone I went to high school with,” Driscoll said. “I went up to her and said, ‘Mary, Mary. How are you doing?’ She was scared to death. Here was 20 pounds of papier mâché talking out of the chin.”

It was an easy gig, except on Bat Day when kids used their new bats to tee up Phil and Phillis. Or when a boy yanked Phillis’s ponytail. Or when Gerald Ford’s Secret Service had their dogs inspect the mascots before the 1976 All-Star Game. Or when a kid pushed in the black mesh on the mascot head that Sullivan and Driscoll looked through.

“The hazards of mascot jobs,” Sullivan said.

Dennis Lehman, then a Phillies executive, spotted the San Diego Chicken in 1977 and told Giles that the Phillies needed their own creature who could entertain the crowd. Giles agreed as long as the Phils’ mascot was more family-oriented than the often-crude Chicken.

“He told my dad to get in touch with Jim Henson and see what he could do,” Sullivan said.

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Henson put Frank Sullivan in touch with puppeteers Bonnie Erickson and Wayde Harrison, who created Miss Piggy and other characters. The Phanatic debuted in 1978 and was played by Dave Raymond, one of Frank Sullivan’s interns. Phil and Phillis’ days were numbered.

“The Phanatic was the thing,” Driscoll said.

The new green mascot resonated with the city in a way Phil and Phillis never did. Frank Sullivan replaced his own son. The colonial mascots lasted just seven seasons, while the flightless bird from the Galápagos Islands is quickly approaching Year No. 50. It was a short run for Phil and Phillis.

“Just think about this,” Sullivan said. “In 1980, they take those two things down, and what did we do in 1980? We won our first World Series. Phil and Phillis were a jinx.”

Driscoll spent time in California as a sportswriter after starting her career in South Jersey, where the players she covered in the spring would spot her in costume at the Vet in the summer. She returned East to write for politicians in Washington before working in communications for energy companies. Sullivan was the Phanatic’s backup for a few seasons, and his brother was the first Phoebe Phanatic. Sullivan later became a police officer in Upper Dublin and retired in 2019 as a corporal.

“I loved the job,” Driscoll said. “You met so many interesting people. One of the benefits was that Phil and Phillis had to go up and down on the press elevator. So I got to know some of the sportswriters. I would be holding the papier mâché of Philadelphia Phillis and they’d say, ‘I always wondered who was under that.’ I’d say, ‘I’m a journalism student at Temple, and I’m going to be a sportswriter.’ I just ran through that open door.”

The Phillies brought back the Phil and Phillis mascots in 2003 for the Vet’s final season and invited Driscoll to wear the costume again. It was an updated version of the papier mâché she wore decades earlier. Phillis was in two parts this time and a bit more breathable. If only it was like that in the 1970s.

Driscoll played her old role every Sunday, spending the afternoon as Phillis before returning to work on Monday. The Phillies gave out a Phil and Phillis bobblehead during the season’s final weekend. The mascots were not forgotten.

“It was wonderful,” Driscoll said. “I can’t say I loved every minute, but I loved 99 and 44-one hundredths percent of it. I got paid to watch baseball.”

Driscoll walked around the concourse that summer just like she did in the 1970s, greeting fans as they entered. A young boy pointed to Phillis and said it was the character from Storybook Land.

“And then the dad says, ‘Yeah, when Daddy was your age, Phil and Phillis were the mascots,’” Driscoll said. “I’m thinking, ‘God, that makes me feel old.’ But it also makes me happy at the same time. A little kid knew Phil and Phillis. It was absolutely adorable. It makes me feel good that people still remember them.”

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The mascots had been retired for nearly 25 years, but a kid knew Phil and Phillis in 2003 because he saw them every summer. They didn’t last long in South Philly, but the mascots found a home down the Shore. The characters Driscoll and Sullivan brought to life were retired in the 1970s but they never went away.

“I have two grandchildren now,” Sullivan said. “And we’re going to go to Storybook Land. I have to take my two grandkids down. It’s a great memory. Honest to God. From 1973 to 1979, every Phillies home game and whatever playoffs we made, I stood next to the catcher for the national anthem. How do you explain that kind of memory to someone?”