Bill Veeck - Veeck As In Wreck: The Autobiography of Bill Veeck

ABOUT THE AUTHORS

Bill Veeck was treasurer and assistant manager of the Chicago Cubs from 1933 to 1941; he was president and owner of the minor league Milwaukee Brewers (194145), the Cleveland Indians (194749), the St. Louis Browns (195153), and the Chicago White Sox from 1959 to 1961 and again from 1976 to 1980. From 1957 to 1958 Veeck was a sports announcer for NBC-TV, and in 1993 he was elected to the Baseball Hall of Fame. His books include The Hustlers Handbook (written with Ed Linn) and Thirty Tons a Day.

Ed Linn is best known for his writing on the New York Yankees and the Boston Red Sox. His many books include three collaborations with Bill Veeck as well as Inside the New York Yankees: The World Championship Year, Steinbrenners Yankees, Hitter: The Life and Turmoils of Ted Williams, The Great Rivalry: The Yankees and the Red Sox 19011990, and The 100,000,000 Dollar Game (with Mel Durslag). Linns articles appeared in Sports Magazine, The New York Times, and The Saturday Evening Post.

VEECKAs in Wreck

THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF BILL VEECK with Ed Linn

The University of Chicago Press

The University of Chicago Press, Chicago 60637
The University of Chicago Press, Ltd., London
Copyright 1962 by Mary Frances Veeck and Edward Linn
Afterword copyright 1976, 1986 by Edward Linn
Foreword copyright 2001 by Bob Verdi
All rights reserved. Originally published 1962
University of Chicago Press edition 2001
Printed in the United States of America
17 16 15 14 13 12 6 7 8

ISBN-13: 978-0-226-85218-8
ISBN-10: 0-226-85218-0
ISBN-13: 978-0-226-02721-0 (e-book)

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Veeck, Bill.

Veeck as in wreck : the autobiography of Bill Veeck / with Ed Linn.University of Chicago Press ed.

p. cm.

Originally published : New York, Putnam, 1962. With new foreword.

ISBN 0-226-85218-0 (pbk. : alk. paper)

1. Veeck, Bill. 2. Baseball team ownersUnited StatesBiography. 3. Baseball promotersUnited StatesBiography. I. Linn, Edward. II. Title.

GV865.V4A3 2001
659.29796357092dc21
[B] 00-053249

The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of the American National Standard for Information SciencesPermanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI Z39.48-1992.

To MARY FRANCESNot because I think
I should but because I want to

FOREWORD

Its not as much fun anymore. We hear that often these days, about real life and sports, too. People live longer and are stronger than ever, our economy is robust, and if the internet doesnt occupy your time, there are something like 500 television channels available.

But we dont laugh as we once did, and by all means, that applies to the industry of games, where athletes reap salaries we once would have thought unbelievable. In fact, they seem unbelievable as we speak. Yet, the business of pleasure has also become exponentially more serious, and that is one reason why I miss Bill Veeck more than ever. I suspected on the very day he diedJanuary 2, 1986that he would leave a void. But the grim faces around sportsparticularly his passion, baseballserve as a reminder that Bill literally was in a league by himself.

Physically, of course, Veeck was not all there. His body was a mosaic of broken parts on borrowed time, founded in no uncertain terms by the prosthesis, the result of a war injury and his most visible calling card, besides that impish smile. Bill never paid much attention to such minor annoyances and ailments. He built a makeshift ashtray in the stump, and when guests started to fade during his late-night vigils, he would remark, I have an advantage over you... people say I can drink beer as though Ive got a wooden leg.

Bill Veeck never wasted a minute when it came to savoring this precious gift of life. He beat the sun up each morning, then tucked it to bed each evening. He was indefatigable, and expected nothing less of those around him. Sleep was optional, a necessary evil, and Veeck surrendered to bed and pillow only under duress, and then only briefly.

One of my first experiences with Bill occurred at spring training in Sarasota, Florida, in 1976. He had just regained control of the Chicago White Sox, and naturally, there were never enough hours in the day for him. I was young then, and so was Roland Hemond, the White Sox general manager who was on the peripatetic side. But Veeck represented another dimension altogether. Hemond on occasion would dine with someone other than Bill, a wise choice because I dont recall ever seeing him eat, either. Anyway, Hemond would then return to the Soxs hotel headquarters in dire need of some shuteye. He would tiptoe around bushes and sidewalks, unlock the door to his room ever so furtively, brush his teeth in the dark, then collapse in a heap. Sleep at last!!

Not so fast. Hemonds phone would ring. It would be Bill, inviting him over to his room for a cold one and more baseball talk. Roland says he worked five years for Veeck, but it seemed like ten, because he never closed his eyes. Or his mind. Veeck did that to you. He could discuss anything, because everything interested him. Call him a voracious reader and you would be correct. Call him a voracious thinker and you would truly define him. I dont ever recall being bored in his company, and most of those hours were spent listening because I did feel vastly inferior to his intellect, not that he would impose on you with his knowledge. Bill would invariably ask your opinion on a subject. Just as surely, his ideas were better than yours.

Veeck was suspicious of pretense and formality, and if you wore a necktie, especially on a hot afternoon, you were automatically overdressed. This posture did not especially endear him to fellow owners and executives from baseballs grim and officious pinstriped gang. And that was then, when a goodly number of the sports power brokers at least were brought up in or around the game. Now, baseball is overrun by accountants, and I daresay this flock of bean-counters would put even Bills sense of humor to a test. Not that he didnt see the day coming when inflationary spirals would threaten baseballs very essence.

Its not the high price of stardom that bothers me... its the high price of mediocrity. Thats what every baseball mogul is saying now, and Bill said it a quarter of a century ago. He was both a visionary and a man who lived for the present. He was blessed with a fertile imagination and basic values gleaned from his father, who was Bills idol. That combination made it easy for Bill to handle everything from the constant pain of his sore limbs to the aggravation of one run losses. When he got angry or frustrated, rubbing that hearing aid of his, the mood would surely pass. Veeck would figure out today just in time to afford tomorrow a proper and fitting welcome.

I never heard him swear, but I did see him clomp out of the Comiskey Park on a searing summer Sunday afternoon to dive into a fight among fans. That kind of rough stuff didnt belong in the ballpark. It was dangerous and uncouth and besides, it violated Bills lawthe game is about joy. When Bill said that the sweetest sound on earth was that of bat hitting ball, he wasnt selling tickets. He was merely unbuttoning his shirt so his heart could fall out.

By necessity, Bill departed baseball upon the advent of free agencyan era characterized by unprecedented dollar-slinging. Bill simply couldnt cope with the new math; sports has become increasingly corporate. All bankbooks being equal, however, I suspect Bill could have dealt with the new attitudes. For all his old-fashioned virtues, Veeck was modern, contemporary, hip. Could Vince Lombardi coach todays independently wealthy football players? I think so. The great ones always find a way, and besides, Veeck had something you cant buy. He loved baseball.