Crazy as a cat: an entertainment complex costumed as a bowling center outside of St. Louis is our first profile in a new Bowling Digest department - Center spotlight: Cat City Bowl

IS THIS THE FUTURE OF BOWLing? An electronic gimmick-filled center with 32 lanes and a jewelry store instead of a pro shop?

It's not a futuristic architect's drawing we're talking about. It's Cat City Bowl, in O'Fallon, Ill., just 14 miles from downtown St. Louis. Bowlers across the nation will have a chance to see the place when the finals of a PBA tournament, the Greater St. Louis Baby Ruth Open, are shown live on ESPN on February 29.

Depending upon how curious the ESPN cameras are, viewers may see some of the other Cat City attractions that apparently are aimed at solving a problem that hadn't occurred to previous generations: what to do to pass the time while bowling. There is a computer, for instance, for every lane. (With some extras, there are 70 computers in all.) Guests can check their e-mail at home, chat with their broker, or even negotiate business with someone thousands of miles away--all from the unlikeliest of offices, the settee area.

Bowlers can also play games on the computers or order lunch from a lengthy menu as they try to kill the endless minutes while their companions are up on the approach. Food is delivered to the table, which eliminates the irritating P.A. announcements of some centers--"Your food order for Lane 53 is ready! Your food order ... "

Ron Schantz, a non-bowler, is the owner of Cat City--which was named Fat Cat Bowl when it opened last February, but soon changed. ("The PBA had nothing to do with the change," Schantz says. "Fat people were annoyed.")

Whatever, Cat City may be the only bowling center in the world where they don't sell balls or shoes. "They can buy a ball for half the price at Sports Authority," Schantz says. "The jewelry shop catches women's attention as soon as they come in--nothing over $20--and we've done thousands of dollars in business already."

Schantz, 63, was a well-traveled mutual fund manager until he retired two years ago and settled with his wife, Rosalie, in the community where they both grew up. Anxious to stay busy, he recalled that during frequent visits to Kansas City he noticed that new bowling centers were operating successfully and thought they could prosper in the St. Louis area.

"I'd just drop in at a center when I had the time, make some notes, ask a few questions," Schantz recalls. "I bowled a few games when I was a teenager, but that's all. My son, Brandon, did buy me a ball last Christmas."

A bad investment by an acquaintance provided Schantz with the idea for a super-tech pin center.

"A man wanted me to be a partner in an Internet-equipped cafe," Schantz says. "The business failed, but I suspected that it might succeed in a bowling "alley."

At first glance, a visitor at Cat City Bowl may get the impression that he or she is in one of many bowling establishments that have adopted a high-tech atmosphere: It's unusually dark inside, with old-style mirrored globes that revolve and produce sparkling reflections, background music, and modernistic pin decks.

But other differences are soon noticed. There's no smoking, for instance. Patrons can puff away in the enclosed bar, but nowhere else.

"People told me that a no-smoking rule would kill me," Schantz says, "but it's not true. Most family groups welcome the cleaner air, and we rely heavily on families and open play.

"We do want some leagues, and we'll work hard to get them. The Masters League from St. Louis bowled here in the spring, and the atmosphere was so different. They were much more serious than our typical customers, of course. Many of the bowlers would dash into the bar for a cigarette between frames. There were two 300s and an 800 shot that night."

The bar at Cat City, by the way, is a fun place. There is a 10-piece computer-operated "band" with all of the instruments in sight, straight out of a Chuck E. Cheese's. In addition, two life-size hairy creatures play drums and occasionally "sing."

"Over there in the corner of the bar you'll see one of the ugliest animals we could find," Schantz says, smiling. "At some point, a patron who may have over-imbibed is going to look to his left and mumble, 'God, did I bring her in here?'"

When you enter Cat City, an employee snaps your picture, which you can purchase for a dollar. The computer at your lane will accept the photo and you can amuse yourself by running a finger across the screen to distort your likeness--cone head, long jaw, flabby face, etc. Pushing the "restore" button gets the original photo back.

There is a game room with 50 of the industry's latest products--including "The Lost World of Jurassic Park--Something Has Survived!"--that adjoins the lanes, but its location indicates it could easily be replaced by 10 additional lanes, if needed.

"We depend to a great extent on parties," Schantz says. "We had 15 birthday celebrations last Saturday that averaged about 20 children each. On a weekday, though, we had 175 management employees of Target stores in St. Louis for a meeting and bowling."

Schantz intends Cat City to be a display model for others who might be interested in a similar center.

"The cost was $6 million," he says. "I could duplicate it as general contractor for that price, assuming the cost of land was similar."

Just a mile from Cat City, by the way, sits 40-lane O'Fallon Bowl, an apparently prosperous establishment that hosted the PWBA as part of the group's TV tour for the past five years, until 2003.

"We're not concerned about competition," Schantz says. "We intend to draw from an entirely different group. I think our costume jewelry store is a clue."

COPYRIGHT 2003 Century Publishing
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