When Baseball Was Fun

Carl told me the story. He was a big baseball fan, and he remembered when his love for the national pastime first started. He was 11 years old, and his uncle had taken him to a ballgame at old Sportsman’s Park in St. Louis. The reason he recalled it so well was because of what happened right there in the first inning of the game. Carl said, “This itty bitty guy came up to bat. He was so small everybody thought it was the bat boy except he wasn’t even big enough for that job. Anyway, he came up to the plate and he scrunched way down so that he had no strike zone, see? And the thing about it was, the pitcher couldn’t believe it. Fact of the matter, he was laughing so hard he couldn’t throw a strike even if it was possible.”

What Carl was describing was the day that St. Louis Brown owner Bill Veeck sent little 3’7” Eddie Gaedel up to bat against the Detroit Tigers on August 19, 1951. Little Eddie, wearing uniform number 1/8, was quite a showman. He had participated in a few other of Bill Veeck’s stunts before, and truthfully, Veeck wasn’t sure Eddie would follow directions as given. Bill had told Eddie to stay in a low crouch at the plate and, under no circumstances should he swing the bat. That last part was the one that gave Veeck pause. He knew Eddie was not given to passive participation. If he was going to be part of a show, he wanted to enjoy himself. And if he was going to be a batter, why not try to hit the ball? So Veeck told Eddie, “Listen to me, I have a guy with a rifle up on the grandstand roof out in right field, and if you even look like you’re going to swing, he’s gonna shoot, you hear me?”

Well, Eddie didn’t really think Bill would have him shot, but he was cautious enough not to take a chance, so he watched as four balls sailed passed him and he trotted down to first base, waving his cap at the cheering fans. The very next day the baseball authorities met and wrote into the rules and regulations that no midgets were allowed to play in any more baseball games. This didn’t surprise Veeck. He had already been responsible for other rule changes. When he owned the minor league Milwaukee Brewers, he had a mobile outfield fence that he rolled in or out depending on which team was at bat. Since none of the rule makers had ever thought of that one before, it also needed to be outlawed.

Truth be told, Veeck was quite a showman. He came up with the idea of the exploding scoreboard that would blast fireworks every time a player on the home team hit a home run. That idea stuck, and it is still with us. Then there were the cow-milking contests, and baseball clown Max Patkin doing his shtick as first base coach, and having fans call plays by holding up cards in bleachers. The crowd loved all this. But there was the occasional disaster too. On Disco Demolition Night, July 12, 1979, Veeck had a crate of disco records ignited between games of a doubleheader. After the detonation, fans rushed onto the field in a stampede that resulted in much damage, causing the second game to be forfeited.

It would be wrong, however, to consider Bill Veeck merely a showman and promoter. He was a major force in the desegregation of major league baseball. Veeck attempted to buy the troubled Philadelphia Phillies franchise in 1942 with the stated intention of stocking the team with Negro League players. The move was blocked by baseball commissioner Kenesaw Mountain Landis. As owner of the Cleveland Indians in the late 1940’s, Veeck signed Negro League stars Larry Doby, pitching legend Satchel Paige, and slugger Luke Easter as Cleveland’s first African American players. They all contributed greatly to the Indians’ world championship season of 1948. In 1969, when Cardinal outfielder Curt Flood challenged baseball’s reserve clause in court, Veeck was the only baseball owner to testify in favor of Flood. The irony in this lies in the fact that, although Flood’s court case did not succeed, players did win free agency in the following years, and because of this, Veeck, not a wealthy man, was unable to pay the players the higher salaries they had won.

Veeck was forced to sell his Chicago White Sox team to a man who went on to belittle and disparage Veeck’s unorthodox approach to the sport. Veeck, never deterred from having a good time, merely moved to the north side of town and spent his retirement in the Chicago Cubs bleachers with a cigarette in one hand and a beer in the other. When he got hot, he walked over to the outdoor shower (his original idea) and doused himself with cold water. Bill had a good time in the bleachers. And as he always said, “The knowledge of the game is usually in inverse proportion to the price of the seats.” Wrigley was really like home to Veeck anyway, because his father had been an executive for the Cubs, and as a kid, Bill had help plant the ivy that decorated the outfield walls. Yes, Bill Veeck knew how to have a good time, and how to let fans enjoy themselves too. And in the end, isn’t that what baseball should be all about?