Friday, Jul. 26, 2002
By Bob Ford
Inquirer Staff Writer

Phantastic for Phanatic
The beloved Phillies mascot will be added to
the Baseball Hall of Fame's collection.

He has been among us for 25 baseball seasons, cheering the successes of the Phillies, frustrated by their defeats, ever supportive of the home team and dismissive of its opponents. The Phillie Phanatic is a clown, a mascot, a comedian, an unusual star in a tiny constellation of marketing gimmicks that actually become accepted and grow beyond their purpose.

He dances on the dugout with pretty girls and once got Tommy Lasorda so mad that spit bubbles foamed from his mouth as if he were a sick dog.

He lets us in on the jokes, though, and that's been the enduring, not-so-subtle secret of success for the Phanatic, the amorphous, green presence that, tomorrow, will have his fuzzy form added to the permanent collection of the Baseball Hall of Fame.

What would the Phanatic say about making the Hall of Fame?

Nothing, of course.

He might grasp his heart at the news, stagger a bit, then strut ceremoniously to the podium, where he would deliver snout kisses all around, followed perhaps - depending on the kissee - by simulated retching and rapid unfurling of his party-favor tongue.

The routines are hardly new, not after a quarter-century, but they are the stuff of something that is very nearly legend in Philadelphia.

The men and women who created the Phanatic had no idea how he would be received. He could have been rejected as stupid or out-of-place, but instead, the Phanatic became ineluctably cool, an obvious delight for children, but also a performer whose humor clicked with adults. If the Phillies had been as consistent in their work for the last 25 years, there would be more than one championship trophy on display in the executive offices.

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After the 1977 season, the Phillies' promotions department was looking for something to add more entertainment to a night at Veterans Stadium. The stadium itself was no longer a draw, and a pair of tired, grinning Revolutionary War-bedecked mascots - Philadelphia Phil and Phyllis - had not exactly captured the city's imagination.

Dennis Lehman, now executive vice president of the Cleveland Indians, but then a Phillies executive with his hand in the game-night presentation, took a road trip to the West Coast in 1977 and was intrigued by the San Diego Chicken, a mascot who did more than just walk around, point and clap his hands.

The Chicken, with a pantomime genius named Ted Giannoulas in the suit, was actually sponsored by the Padres' flagship radio station, but he took over the stadium when he arrived. He was a natural comedian - and, frankly, was sort of filthy - but people loved him.

Lehman told Bill Giles, the club's executive vice president at the time, that the Phillies should look into something similar. Giles, always open to a new promotional concept, gave the go-ahead for Lehman and promotions director Frank Sullivan to pursue the idea.

The Phillies contacted Jim Henson, the puppeteer who developed the Muppets. Henson was not interested, but steered the Phillies to a Brooklyn design studio run by Bonnie Erickson and Wayde Harrison.

Erickson, whose resume includes Miss Piggy, took on the design job and presented the Phillies with several sketches.

"They were all kind of round and oversized, lots of snouts, different feet. They all had a Big Bird kind of feel. But the colors were all the same, that shag-carpet green," Lehman said. "We picked one out, and Frank and I told them to go for it."

The costume cost about $10,000, and Giles was so leery of layering an additional expense on the bill he would present to owner Ruly Carpenter that the Phillies passed on buying the rights to the design. Those stayed with Erickson/Harrison Inc. until fairly recently, costing the team a fair amount of merchandising income.

But who knew it was going to work?

The man in the green suit

Having bought a costume, all the Phillies needed was someone to bring it to life.

"We sent along a personality sketch for the Phanatic," Harrison said, "but we didn't get too specific. You want the performer to fill in the blanks and give him an opportunity to create the character."

The job fell to an intern in the promotions department whose previous summer had been spent mostly collecting all-star ballots and running errands. Dave Raymond was an athletic, energetic 21-year-old, a former football punter and an excellent dancer - or so he would tell anyone who listened. When the Phanatic opportunity came along, he fairly leaped into the costume and latched on the headgear.

"I didn't know what to expect, and neither did anyone else," Raymond said. "They just told me to do what I wanted to do and have fun. I quickly realized the character had a life and an energy of its own. I was really sick one opening day, but as soon as I put the costume on, I felt fine. Then, I'd take a break and I felt horrible. Put the costume back on and felt fine. I went in the hospital the next day with pneumonia and a 104-degree fever."

Raymond brought to the job an appreciation of the classics - Foghorn Leghorn, Daffy Duck, the Roadrunner and, naturally, the Three Stooges - and developed a slapstick world of his own silent comedy.

The Phanatic learned to walk the edge of appropriate behavior the same way he tightroped along the top of the box-seat railings. The Phanatic was something of a scamp, given to pulling young women onto the dugout roof for an impromptu dance.

"I was a red-blooded, all-American, Philadelphia male, and I couldn't believe what some women were wearing to the game. I needed to get a better look. And if I didn't see them, someone else would tell me where they were," Raymond said. "But the biggest lesson I've learned about comedy is that when they think you're going left, you go right."

So, he kept it clean and, in his greatest triumph, Raymond developed a rapport with the players, both the home team and the opposition. He was a master mimic, whose pregame impressions of the Phillies' batting stances as the lineups were announced became a standard. Even in the bulky suit, peering at the world through a slightly de-feathered opening in the neck, Raymond could deliver the nuance of Garry Maddox's splay-legged stance or the hunched-over whip action that defined Pete Rose.

If the players thought the Phanatic was cool - and were willing to play catch with him and engage in mock tussles and minor skits - who could disagree?

"I guess we can all take a little credit for the Phanatic," Lehman said, "but the guy who made it happen was David. He climbed into that character as soon as he stepped into the uniform."

Changing of the gourd

After the 1993 season, after 16 years in the suit, Raymond decided to move on and start his own mascot company. (It is currently designing a new mascot for the Cincinnati Reds.) Fortunately for the Phillies, the Phanatic's understudy, who made appearances when Raymond was not available, was prepared to move into the starting lineup.

Tom Burgoyne brought a nice resume to the blind ad he answered for a mascot in 1989. He had been the Hawk at St. Joseph's Prep and considered himself a local sports fanatic worthy of being a Phanatic. A graduate of Drexel, Burgoyne was the right size (compact), the right age (young), and had the right temperament (outgoing) for the job.

The transfer was nearly seamless in 1994, with Burgoyne doing a faithful impression of the character Raymond had created.

"I wanted to keep things the same, do all the same signature routines: shining bald heads, smashing the other team's batting helmet," Burgoyne said. "You have to have a guy in the costume who can pull that off, and Dave was the perfect guy. I'm lucky to be able to follow the tradition he started."

Physically, it is a challenging job. The suit is hot - its wearer can easily lose five pounds during a day game - generally smells awful, and requires both agility and stamina. It is a basic costume, with a helmet that holds the Phanatic's head in place and a blow tube that extends the character's long tongue. The eyes are fixed and the expression can't change, but Raymond and Burgoyne have been masters of body language delivering a full range of emotions.

"I enjoy being able to present that personality we all know," Burgoyne said. "Philadelphia wears its emotions on its sleeve, and so does the Phanatic. He's a little obnoxious at times but is a good soul at heart."

That could also describe the city itself, and the Phanatic has become more than a sum of his seemingly unrelated parts. He is the symbol of something bigger, although what that might be is open to debate.

"In the big picture, I think it shows that baseball recognized that type of entertainment is important," Raymond said. "It's an important part of the fabric of modern-day baseball. It's no longer seen as a distraction, like it was in the early days.

"And for me, it was just a great job. I was just going along for the ride."

Even if it was not side-by-side on the motorized scooter he drives, the Phanatic has taken everyone on that ride as well. Given the general performance of the team, you could even say he smoothed out some of the bumps.