I went to The Racquetballer immediately after getting a tip from a reader. He thinks it closed in the mid-80s and the inside probably looked like nothing had changed since. That was all I needed to hear.
I went alone, which I rarely do anymore, and fortunately no one was there. Well, except for your granddad's Army buddy's graffiti.
Turns out, either a lot had changed since 1985, or they liked their racquetball wet back then....With a ceiling of stalactites, as we'll soon see.The Racquetballer? Not so water-soluble.
Notice above, it looks like the shorty troll doors were once full-sized.
This was on Baton Rouge's one rare day of snow that I ever expect to see. I didn't anticipate wading through such a swamp, but my feet, shoulders, and hair were drenched by the end of this visit.
A climb to the second floor was in order since most of the glass on that door was broken, offering a good view in, but not access.
Inside on this overhead viewing level (what sorts of conversations do you suppose took place on this level in the 80s? Every word came out of heads wearing terrycloth headbands): a multicolored living floor, a book, and graffiti reading PANCREAS, where the A is an anarchy symbol.
These are some of the aforementioned stalactites, forming from a court ceiling.
The snow had stopped but water was still dripping from the roof like a steady rain. It echoed here and there in the darkened courts, sounding a lot like volleying balls. Time to scrammo.
Side trip: Nearby was a cool old house that used to be an antique store.