Seventy-six-year-old Gene Chidester has experienced a lot in his life. He’s had two separate but equally successful careers, first in the tech industry with Hewlett-Packard, then in private business with a dietary supplements company. He’s lived in Oregon and Utah and spent three years in Uruguay as a Latter-day Saint mission president. He’s currently on the advisory board for the Center of Hope Food Pantry and serving on the Communications Committee (formerly Public Affairs) for the Church of Jesus Christ. He and his wife, Robyn, have raised five children and spoiled 17 grandchildren and five great-grandchildren. They have a vacation cabin outside of Heber City.
But until four years ago, there was one experience he hadn’t had.
He’d never been a batboy.
The idea of being one had been lodged in his mind for as long as he could remember — ever since he was a young boy and his dad took him to watch the Salt Lake Bees play at Derks Field in the ‘50s and ‘60s. Retrieving balls and bats, hanging out in the dugout, close enough to feel the whir of 90 mph fastballs, all of it looked like it would be a cool experience.
So in the summer of 2022 he decided to do something about it.
He was watching the Bees play at Smith’s Ballpark (the former Derks Field) with his family, sitting above the dugout on the first-base line, soaking in the atmosphere in one of America’s most scenic baseball fields, when he leaned over to his wife and said, “The time has come.”
To which she said: “The time for what?”
“To get a job as a batboy,” he replied.
That night he went online to the Bees website, “and lo and behold there was an opening for a dugout attendant.” AKA batboy.
Gene applied.
There was nothing in the application regarding age so he didn’t put his down.
He was 73.
Then, lo and behold, he got hired.
He met with Marc Amicone, then the Bees general manager, and Chris Simonsen, the clubhouse manager, neither of whom took issue with his age, or stared at his gray hair, or asked him what time he went to bed.
Like the ballplayers, if he could cut it on the field, he was in.
He’s been in ever since.
This year is his fourth season. A good indicator to how well it’s going, when the Bees switched their playing field from downtown Salt Lake to South Jordan this year — turning what had been a 15-minute commute for Gene into an hour when the traffic is heavy (which it usually is) — he didn’t balk at the added time and distance.
“Hey, man, I’m up to $12 an hour,” he grins, noting that he started at $10 an hour.
The experience hasn’t met his expectations, it’s far exceeded them.
“I’ve always loved baseball,” he says, “I just love being a part of all this.”
Except for cleaning cleats after the game, a task Gene calls “the only sucky part.”
Everything else, if anything it’s made him younger.
His shift starts around 5 p.m. with Gene and the other batboy, usually a high school-aged kid, “mudding” the baseballs. It takes about an hour to lightly smear MLB-approved Delaware River mud on 15 dozen baseballs. (The mud improves the grip, Gene explains; it’s a ritual that takes place before every game in every professional baseball league in America.)
During the game, he gets in his 10,000 steps and then some — delivering balls to the umpire, collecting bats and helmets and various other duties. Mentally, he has to stay acutely aware of foul balls, broken bats and everything else that’s going on. “You cannot drift,” he says.
He’s struck up friendships with opposing managers and umpires. “The umpires are very cordial,” he says, “very respectful. I’ve gotten to know some of them because I keep coming back, and it’s fun, because these are young guys trying to build their careers too, just like the players.”
He and Robyn have had Bees players for dinner and hosted them at their cabin. The club has had several Latin ballplayers, “and I make a point to speak to them in Spanish, and they really like that,” says Gene.
His family has a nickname for him. They call him Dug, “short for Dugout Attendant.” Some of the managers and umpires call him “Mr. Gene.” But the name he hears most often, of course, is Batman.
A friend of his has gone so far as to make up a baseball card with “Gene Chidester, Batman.”
“All I need now is some bubblegum and I’ll be in business,” jokes Gene.
“I know I’m an anomaly,” says what might be the world’s oldest batboy. “But I love being around young people and I love being around baseball. I want to do this as long as I can do it, as long as they’ll have me. It’s funny, as each season goes on, the legs just seem to get stronger.”
