Mr. Peanut

When the Astrodome was going through its swan song, one last year of baseball in the old Eighth Wonder, the Houston Astros lined up all the celebrities they could think of to throw out the ceremonial first pitch before each game.

Local baseball veterans like Nolan Ryan and J.R. Richard were natural choices. One night, a balding guy from Cleveland strode confidently up to the mound. He’d never played a game of professional baseball in his life. He’d never had a baseball card with his picture on it. But this man was—and is—an undeniable part of baseball in this city.

And when he made his wind-up and let loose his pitch, Arnie Murphy didn’t send a baseball sailing toward the plate. He threw a bag of peanuts. What else would you expect of a guy known to Astros fans everywhere as the Peanut Dude?

For the past 15 seasons, Arnie has been a peanut vendor at Astros games, both at the old dome and at the newer Minute Maid Park. What can be a humble profession in less inspired hands becomes a stage for a natural show-off like Arnie, who wings bags behind his back and fancies throwing multiple bags at once.

He rarely misses his mark, and it’s not unusual to see him flip a bag to a customer a dozen rows away. The longest toss Arnie can remember was at an All-Star Game—he was invited to work as one of baseball’s best vendors. Encouraged to sling one beyond all hope of collecting any money, “I threw this strike into the upper-deck there in Atlanta, and all the sudden someone was hugging me. Turns out it was Jane Fonda.”

Arnie typically works the field level at Minute Maid, generally around home plate. He is such a fixture year in and year out, “people come up to me and swear that they caught peanuts from me in the 1970s. But (former owner John) McMullen never allowed peanut throwing in the dome. When Drayton McLane bought the team, I started throwing the peanuts. He loved it. He immediately saw the entertainment value.”

The Peanut Dude started his career up in Cleveland, where he was raised, selling peanuts outside Municipal Stadium. He would fling peanuts behind his back, “all that fancy stuff. I eventually drove all the other kids off my corner.”

Arnie did play some baseball as a kid, but it was his experience as a point guard on his high school basketball team that gave him the chops he now uses as the Peanut Dude.

“Watch this, behind the back,” Arnie says now, just before hitting a fan waiting 10 rows away. I am not about to try and match him out here, so I settle for a short toss of maybe two rows, with no one standing nearby to get plunked in the noggin.

“You know, I did hit a federal judge in the head once. The peanuts bounced off the hands of the guy I was throwing to, and they smacked the judge right in the head,” Arnie says, forever killing my desire to make a second toss. “He was not nice about it—not at all.”

When Murphy reached adulthood, he decided to leave Cleveland and down move to Texas. Why?

“That’s a silly question,” Arnie answers with an amazed stare. “Have you ever been to Cleveland?”

Then he grins and laughs. It is that spirit—as much as the flamboyant throwing—that makes the Peanut Dude a success. Customers—many of them season-ticket holders who see him night after night—stop him just to talk and ask about his favorite topics, including the Astros and his golf game.

“He is such a wonderful person,” said 83-year-old Sofia Garza, a diehard fan who started coming to Astros games in 1966 and says she never misses a home game. “He just belongs here.”

Fans like Sofia kept a close watch on Arnie in 1995, the summer his wife died of cancer. “Being out here with all these people, they were so supportive. It was like family out here.”

At 60, Murphy has had some health issues himself. About three seasons ago, he had a heart attack. He conditioned himself to return by walking these same stadium steps in the off-season.

When this year’s baseball season geared up, the Peanut Dude considered retiring. The prospect of another long season almost seemed too long, too grueling.

“I quit at the end of every year. I say, ‘That’s it. I’m done,’ ” Arnie said. “But I always come back. My doctor says it’s good for me. It keeps me young.”

Editor’s Note: Greg Hassell is a contributing writer for The Buzz Magazines. If you have a new adventure for Greg to write about, please e-mail your suggestions to [email protected].