Revisiting the Phillies’ Hot Pants Patrol, a sisterhood still going strong

At about 1 p.m. on a recent Sunday, a group of 27 women filtered into an Italian restaurant in South Philadelphia. Most were in their 60s or 70s. There were former doctors, teachers, journalists, and business owners. One was a speech pathologist; another served in logistics for the Department of Defense.

They sat in the dining room and reminisced over plates of pasta and pizza, telling stories of sweltering summers at Veterans Stadium, of days so hot that the soles of their shoes melted to the ground. Of dodging foul balls while climbing the concrete steps, 80 games a year, from first pitch to last.

Of wearing a maroon, zip-up, polyester jumpsuit — with nylon tights underneath and 2½-inch-heeled boots — no matter if it was 40 degrees or 100.

These were the women of the Hot Pants Patrol. For about a decade, they worked for the Phillies as an “elite corps” of usherettes, serving food and drinks while also acting as representatives of the organization.

They debuted in 1971, the brainchild of Bill Giles, the vice president of business operations who was looking for ways to increase attendance. But what began as a marketing gimmick evolved into a sisterhood, one that remains strong.

Some usherettes would travel for promotions and charity events. Others handed out giveaways to fans. Every once in a while, they’d go into the broadcast booth to deliver a two-minute pitch for a specialty item.

They were on the field, in the press box, in the suites — everywhere but the 600 and 700 levels.

“It was really more for our security than other people’s,” said Debra Bruner, who started with the Patrol in 1981. “Everyone knew that the 700 level of the Vet was nothing but trouble, with a capital T.”

Because of their figure-hugging uniforms, assumptions were made about why the women were there in the first place. In 1979, Playboy Magazine published an article, “The Secret Life of Baseball,” which described the group as “usherettes out for action.”

» READ MORE: In 1954, a tiny town handed Wilt Chamberlain one of his three high school losses. This signed syllabus shows he never forgot it.

“Evidently, they aren’t named the Hot Pants Patrol for nothing,” Playboy wrote. “Management has had trouble keeping them in line.”

(Members of the Patrol have said over the years that this unflattering characterization was false.)

The local media referred to the group of women as “fillies.” In an interview with the Associated Press in 1971, Rosemary Sudders, a chief usherette, said “they choose the girls on personality, attractiveness, and manners,” adding that the uniform wouldn’t look good on a woman who was “fat.”

Despite the rampant sexism, the group of 27 had no regrets. If anything, the usherettes felt the opposite. Mae Shoemaker, who worked on the squad from 1977 to 1981, described it as “the best summer job you could ever imagine.”

Most of the women used the Hot Pants Patrol to pay their way through college or postgraduate programs. For some, like Sheila Sacco, who began with the Patrol in 1981, it was their entry into a decades-long career with the Phillies. They met lifelong friends who one day would be guests at each other’s weddings.

So in April, Arlene Nisson Lassin, who was on the Hot Pants Patrol from 1978 to 1981, decided to organize a reunion; a celebration of not just where they’d started, but how far they’d come.

“It was a real, supportive sisterhood,” Lassin said. “It was a wonderful sisterhood. And that’s why I was thrilled to do this.”

What seemed like a glamorous job was, in reality, challenging. The Hot Pants Patrol worked 80 home games a year, as well as playoff games. The usherettes were not paid hourly; toward the late 1970s the women made roughly $12-$14 a day. Most of their money came from tips, which was why they often tried to get into the suites.

Rain delays were lucrative, too.

“As soon as it rained, you’d have to reseat the fans and then wipe their seat down,” said Marge Walsh, a former pediatric occupational therapist who was on the Patrol from 1979 to 1983. “I made $200 a night in tips during a rain delay. During a doubleheader rain delay, I made close to $300.”

» READ MORE: In 1979, the Phillies' all-burgundy uniforms were so ugly the players trashed them

Bernie Manzi, the chief supervisor of the usherettes, was strict. Tardiness was not tolerated. The women had to be at every single game, two hours early, with their shoes polished.

They’d receive a different assignment in the ballpark every homestand. But regardless of where they were stationed, the Patrol knew they’d be on their feet for hours in boots that weren’t made for walking.

“We hated the boots,” said Shirley Bono, a Patrol member from 1978 to 1980.

“That was the worst part of the job,” said Nancy Degidio, who started with the Patrol in 1974.

“My boots melted one time,” Walsh said. “Literally. I was up on the fifth level, and it got so hot that the sole was on the ground.”

In the colder months, they’d wear long jumpsuits with a white jacket on top. This wasn’t much better than the stifling summer heat. Bruner considered quitting after her first day.

“I froze my a— off and almost didn’t go back,” she said. “It was 30-something degrees. We had these little red uniforms, and the jackets hadn’t come in yet.”

Bruner, who worked for the Phillies part-time in guest services for 35 years, had a full-time job as a school superintendent during the day. She’d work games at night. On Sundays, she’d attend services at St. James Episcopal Church in Prospect Park and then head to the Vet from there.

» READ MORE: The A’s moved over 70 years ago, but these Philadelphians are still fans: ‘We’re gonna stick by them’

For efficiency’s sake, the usherette wore her Hot Pants Patrol outfit to church. Neither the priest nor the parishioners took issue.

“[The priest] loved it,” she said.

Like Bruner, Shoemaker worked in education as a seventh- and eighth-grade science teacher. After class, she’d rush from her school in Bucks County to Veterans Stadium, sometimes leaving the ballpark early in the morning, only to wake up and do it all over again a few hours later.

One night in 1978, she returned home with a minor injury. Infielder Richie Hebner hit a foul ball during batting practice that struck Shoemaker in the face. The usherette put some ice on it and worked the rest of the homestand with a black eye.

» READ MORE: An autographed church bulletin tells the story of ‘faith-filled’ Tug McGraw’s friendship with a priest

“Richie Hebner got [the ball] signed for me,” she said.

Maria Aprile, a Patrol member from 1979 to 1984, also had multiple jobs during her time with the Phillies. She worked in finance for the federal government for 46 years, first in the Community Service Administration and then the Department of Defense.

There were some long days, but the part-time job was a welcome respite from the doldrums of bureaucratic work.

“It was just fun,” Aprile said. “I had four brothers, so baseball was big [in our family].”

This genuine love for the Phillies was what united the group. They weren’t doing these jobs to wear short outfits and go-go boots. And there certainly were easier ways to make money.

But they could think of nothing better than watching an entire baseball season, from start to finish, for free. Degidio, who still works for the Phillies in merchandising, said it was a dream come true.

“I’d loved baseball my whole life,” Degidio said. “And I just decided that this what I wanted to do. I’ve been there ever since.”

» READ MORE: He was an undercover cop and Dennis Rodman’s security guard. Now, he keeps the Phillies safe, with a ‘Phil Jackson’ vibe.

She loved it so much that she worked at Veterans Stadium throughout her pregnancy in 1977. When Degidio couldn’t fit in her uniform anymore, she reached out to Mary Ellen Driscoll, who was playing the role of one of the team mascots, Philadelphia Phillis, and asked if they could switch places.

Driscoll said yes.

“I went through the 1977 season as Philadelphia Phillis,” Degidio said. “I actually delivered my son the day after the season ended. I was under this huge [papier-mache] costume. Nobody knew.”

Despite the fact that the women carried themselves professionally, men still would make lewd comments. This came from fans and ballplayers alike, and it only got worse after the Playboy article was published.

Lassin’s role was in promotions, and as a result, she’d often have to travel for events. One weekend, in 1980 — when the Phillies were at the peak of their popularity, en route to their first World Series title — she was working at a casino in Atlantic City when a ballplayer approached her.

“He came up to me, took my hand, and said, ‘I want to talk to you later,’” Lassin said. “I didn’t understand that — [which was] naive. And he said, ‘What’s your name?’ So, I told him. And he goes, ‘I’d like you to come to my room.’ And I said, ‘And leave the promotion?’ And he said, ‘Yes.’ And I said, ‘What for?’ Naive, I know.

» READ MORE: Fredi González managed against the Phillies. Now he’s found a ‘fulfilling’ way to give back: coaching at Ursinus College.

“And he goes, ‘Are you joking?’ And I said, ‘Well, I don’t do that. I’m sorry.’ And he reported me to my boss for being rude.”

At first, she was worried she’d lose her job. But instead, Lassin’s boss defended her.

“He backed me up, 1,000%,” Lassin said. “I really was nervous, because this was a big player. And my boss reassured me. I didn’t even know about sexual harassment — it wasn’t a thing I felt like I could report.”

The Supreme Court didn’t recognize sexual harassment in the workplace as a violation of the Civil Rights Act until 1986, long after the Hot Pants Patrol disbanded. But the Phillies took measures to make sure the women felt safe at the ballpark.

There were off-duty police officers working every game. Many of the male ushers kept an eye out as well, to make sure fans weren’t getting too rowdy.

“The ushers really did turn into our guardians,” said Pat Buchanan, who worked on the Patrol from 1979 to 1982. “They were like dads to us.”

“The ushers [were great], and so was security,” Lassin said. “Sometimes fans would try to get fresh, or demand our phone number, or want too many photos. When they were drunk and obnoxious, I’d just refer to them to security. They made sure they didn’t cross a line.”

The women also helped one another, on the field and off. They’d walk together to their cars at night. Lassin remembers arriving to work after a tough breakup. She was not in the mood to smile, let alone socialize, but she muscled through it with the help of her community.

» READ MORE: He’s a second-generation Phillies spring training employee. But he’s best known for his famous call: ‘Beer, beer, beer, beer, beer’

This support continued even after the Hot Pants Patrol disbanded in 1982. In 1985, Bruner was employed as an assistant principal at Lewis Middle School in Gloucester Township (while working guest services for the Phillies at night).

As part of her job, she ran the athletic department, which included buying new uniforms for the cheerleading squad. She picked out red-and-white dresses — the school’s colors — and placed an order, only to find out that it was delayed. So, she gave Manzi a call.

“Bernie, do you have any of the old red-and-white hot pants outfits?” Bruner asked. “‘Do you mind if I borrow about 20 of them? I have no uniforms for my cheerleaders.”

Manzi laughed, and told Bruner to come to the ballpark. The assistant principal picked up 20 of the smallest uniforms she could find. Her cheerleaders wore them for about a month.

“That’s the kind of organization the Phillies were, you know?” Bruner said. “When Dave Montgomery ran the team, it was a family.”

Because the Hot Pants Patrol represented the Phillies organization for over a decade, it became well known in the Philadelphia area. Sometimes, this worked to the Patrol members’ benefit.

One afternoon in 1979, two usherettes, Bono and Karen Balchiunas, were carpooling to Veterans Stadium from Medford. All of a sudden, while Balchiunas was driving on Route 70, she hit a car in front of her.

When they police arrived, the officer, clearly smitten by their uniforms, let Balchiunas off with a warning. He gave Bono a ride to the ballpark, as Balchiunas stayed with her car.

“He was like, ‘It’s not their fault,’” Bono said.

“I was like, ‘I think it is my fault,’” Balchiunas said, laughing.

“There were perks,” Bono said.

There were other perks, too. The Hot Pants Patrol saw Mike Schmidt in his MVP prime. The usherettes witnessed all of Steve Carlton’s Cy Young Award-winning seasons, and watched Tug McGraw jump in the air after recording the final out of the 1980 World Series.

For a group of baseball fans, this was a thrill. But above all, they found a community; a group of hardworking, motivated women who supported one another when they were at their most vulnerable. It’s something they still treasure, even 50 years later.

“If we were struggling with finances or struggling with a guy, we would share [that stress],” Lassin said. “If we were getting married, we would share that joy. We were like a sisterhood.”