There were tributes to George Steinbrenner and Bob Sheppard last night at Yankee Stadium. Then the Yanks went out and won a tight one 5-4, Nick Swisher providing the heroics. Not only did Swisher have the game-winning base hit in the bottom of the ninth, he also hit a monstrous solo home run to tie the game in the eighth. Good game on a sad night, made to order.
This one was for the Boss and Mr. Sheppard.
[Photo Credit: Jim McIsaac/Getty Images]
Harry James, you guys…
I met George Steinbrenner one time. It was at Doubleday Field about ten or 12 years ago. The Boss was in town to watch his minor league affiliate, the Oneonta Yankees, play in the annual NY-Penn League game that is part of Hall of Fame Weekend. I asked Steinbrenner if he would be willing to do an interview for the Hall of Fame’s video archive. Not only did Steinbrenner say yes to my request, but he expressed enthusiasm about the interview. He asked me my name, showing interest in what I did for the Hall of Fame. Throughout the interview, he was charming, gracious, engaging. At the end of our talk, I felt as if I had just interviewed an old friend at a college reunion. Frankly, the man could not have been nicer.
Quite obviously, George Steinbrenner treated his employees quite differently, particularly his office secretaries, public relations directors, general managers, and field managers. If I had worked for The Boss, I would have lasted about a day and a half. I suspect that I would have reacted to his first tirade with a few choice words of my own, or at least a prompt letter of resignation. Steinbrenner’s mistreatment of his underlings was one of his worst traits, a character flaw that was mocked so skillfully by Larry David in so many of those classic Seinfeld episodes.
While I can offer no defense of the way The Boss treated people in the front office, I have long been a defender of his old habit of railing against Yankee players and performance. He made an art form of critiquing slumping Yankee teams during the 1970s and eighties. My father and I found those media sessions to be great theater, often hysterically funny. And, here’s the thing, they were usually justified. When Steinbrenner issued one of his scathing assessments, they came in response to a prolonged period of poor play, seeming lack of effort, or general underachievement. He reacted just like fans would, just like fans at Bronx Banter usually do when the team fails to win.
I never felt sympathy for the players in those situations. Steinbrenner almost always paid his players well, even the backups and the middle relievers, and generally provided first- class amenities in the clubhouse, on the team’s charter, and at Yankee functions. When you make big money and enjoy the luxury of big league life, and then you don’t perform up to expectation, you have no right to complain when The Boss gets mad about it. Imagine that, a high-paying owner expecting his players to live up to their reputations and their salaries.
On a larger scale, Steinbrenner brought vivid color and personality to the owner’s box. Unlike too many of the owners in today’s corporate front office structure, Steinbrenner was passionate about his team, engrossed fully in the game as a fan, and knowledgeable about its many subtleties. As Bill Madden emphasizes in his new biography, Steinbrenner may very well be the last owner who was larger than life, a fully bloomed character.
I suspect that Madden is right. Now that The Boss is gone for good, the game has become a little less interesting.
What else?
After visiting with Danny Rose, Woody Allen’s most optimistic creation, perhaps it’s best to begin our exploration of The Purple Rose of Cairo with Woody’s take on the film, from Conversations with Woody Allen by Eric Lax:
When I first got the idea, it was just a character comes down from the screen, there are some high jinks, but then I thought, where would it go? Then it hit me: the actor playing the character comes to town. After that it opened up like a great flower. Cecilia had to decide, and chose the real person, which was a step up for her. Unfortunately, we must choose reality, but in the end it crushes us and disappoints. My view of reality is that it is a pretty grim place to be, (pause) but it’s the only place you can get Chinese food.
This should prepare you for the sadness that accompanies a viewing of this film and the sorry state of the lead character, Mia Farrow’s Cecilia.
Set in New Jersey of the 1930s Cecilia is buried beneath a country-wide Depression that has claimed the humanity of her husband Monk, a dastradly Danny Aiello, and, with the help of Allen’s longtime collaborator Gordon Willis, drained the color from the world around her. Woody recollects:
I deliberately wanted her to come out [of the theater] to a very unpleasant situation for her. Gordon was able to do that. I described to him coming out of the movie theater and it suddenly being the real world in all its ugliness.
Cecilia waits tables and trods beaten paths to broken door frames amid drab New Jersey browns. She finds solace at the local movie theater, where, in a neat reversal of the color-coding of The Wizard of Oz, the black-and-white of the fantasy world on screen is a veritable wonderland of richness and possibility and the colors of reality are stifling.
Woody Allen doesn’t appear in this film, and if you squint really hard, I guess you can see some of him in Cecilia. But I think that “looking for Woody” in the films in which he does not appear is sometimes a mistake. And it does a disservice to Mia Farrow’s performance. Woody Allen does not hold a patent on neurotic behavior – I found Mia’s Cecilia to be an original. Her beaming recollections of the previous night’s cinema smoothly countering her fumbling dishes at the diner.
But you can’t break dishes during a Depression. Her job lost and her two-timing abusive husband a constant oppression, she returns again and again to the cinema to lose herself in the latest bit of romantic escapism on display: The Purple Rose of Cairo, featuring an explorer named Tom Baxter, of the Chicago Baxters, whose import to the film is of some contention. Regardless, Cecilia fixates on him to the point that he notices. Upon her fifth viewing, Tom decides to approach her – by walking out of the screen and into the theater.
The Big Guy…
Okay, so this one’s from Katz’s Deli downtown not the Carnegie. They make a better pastrami anyhow, still one of the very few places that slices the pastrami by hand which allows for all the fatty goodness.
Speaking of which, my brother used to go to the 2nd Avenue Deli with my old man all the time. One time, they sat down and dad started in on the complimentary cole slaw. He was a fast talker and a fast eater. He started to choke on the salad just as the waiter arrived. My brother ordered two pastrami sandwiches while the Old Man, eyes wet, face red, downed a glass of water. Before he finished drinking he held up his hand to the waiter. Put the glass down, out-of-breath, and said, “Fatty.”
[Photo Credit: Rachelleb.com]
We’re getting into a definite type of situation here…
My mother took me to see Jason Robards and Collen Dewhurst in Long Day’s Journey Into Night on Broadway for my seventeenth birthday. We went to a Wednesday afternoon matinee in late June, 1988. Before the show I interviewed for a summer job as a messenger at Sound One, at the time the biggest post-production film company on the east coast. Sound One rented out a majority of space in the Brill Building, the city landmark on 49th Street and Broadway.
The Brill Building in the 1930s and Today (New York Times)
The Brill Building was one of the homes to the music business dating back to the Tin Pan Alley Days. Neil Diamond, Laura Nyro and Carol King worked there in the Sixties. By the time I arrived, there were a just few holdovers from the music business—Paul Simon had a suite on the 5th floor—but it was mostly about film. Martin Scorsese had his offices there, so did Paul Schrader, and Lorne Michaels’ company, Broadway Video, ran most of what Sound One didn’t.
It is a small building, only 11 stories. Today, a skyscraper hotel sits to its right on the southwest corner of 49th street. Another skyscraper is across the street on the east side of Broadway between 49th and 50th. In 1988, there was a pornographic movie theater across the street on Broadway, another one on 49th between Broadway and Seventh Avenue, and yet another one on the east side of Broadway between 49th and 48th.
I got the job and spent many days during the hot New York summer walking between the Brill Building and the Technicolor lab down on 44th Street, between 8th and 9th Avenue, passing by hookers with bruised arms and legs and over empty crack vials in the cracks of the sidewalks.
There was one guy left over from the old days of the music business, guy named Benny Ross. He owned “St. Nicholas Music,” which had a dusty office on the sixth floor. St. Nicholas was famous for publishing Rudolf the Red Nosed Reindeer. Benny was a nice man, shrunken little Jewish guy, always ready with a handshake and a kind word. “Hi,howareya?” He’d come upstairs to Sound One and get a cup of coffee and eat a slice of pound cake and schmooze-up whoever was in the vicinity. And he’d take the new messengers into his stuffy little office and offer up any of the dozens of free promotional records that were sent to him.
Benny was from the Old School, the vanishing show business world that is so affectionately depicted in Woody Allen’s 1984 comedy Broadway Danny Rose. Woody plays Danny Rose, a lovable lowlife theatrical manager, whose best act is Lou Canova, an Italian lounge singer. According to Sandy Morse, who edited all of Allen’s movies from Manhattan through Celebrity, they found Nick Apollo Forte, a real-life singer who plays Canova, in the 99-cent cutout bin at Colony Records, downstairs in the Brill Building. They were mixing the sound for Zelig at Sound One, came across a couple of Forte’s records and knew they had their man.
Broadway Danny Rose is all of a piece, a pastrami-on-rye sandwich shot in grainy black-and-white. It’s Allen’s gift to Mia Farrow and a fine tribute to the Broadway Area, from Damon Runyon through Sid Caesar, the Catskills all the way to the Joe Franklin Show.
The Boss was all about winning…or else. It was the “or else” part that brought out the worst in him as he ruled by fear, intimidation and humiliation. It is impossible for me to forget–let alone forgive–his cruelty in the pursuit of success (though it’s easy to laugh at some of his antics now, “hey, remember the time he got into that ‘fight’ in the elevator in L.A…”). But the Boss is an appealing figure because he was more than that. Vicious and generous, an ogre and a sentimental slob, an earnest patriot. Oh, and he was funny too.
I watched most of the George Steinbrenner special on YES last night and thought they did a nice job. I especially liked hearing some of John Sterling’s stories (and it made me reconsider Sterling again; how do I ever let a guy who is this funny get me upset?). The thing I noticed most was Yankee players–from Derek Jeter to retired players like Paul O’Neill–talking about Steinbrenner’s generosity. Financial generosity, that is. David Cone was candid in a phone interview and said that the Boss helped Ron Guidry out of financial problems after Gator retired.
Once you took his money, you were open to his abuse. But for the most part, no matter how ugly things got, once a player retired or left the Yankees, Steinbrenner usually invited them back, wanted them “part of the family.” He brought them back with money and attention. Guys who hated the Boss when they played for him, Nettles, Gossage, Gamble, they all hang around the Yankees these days, go to fantasy camps, they get paid.
Money equals love, or something close to it. And speaking of which, because of a tax-law, the Steinbrenner family gets off easy in George’s death. If not for this bit of fortunate timing, who knows, perhaps they’d have to sell a part of the team.
The New York Post has a terrific tribute to Steinbrenner today, including a funny column by Larry Brooks, and an insightful one by Fay Vincent.
Up in Boston, as usual, Charlie Pierce nails it.
[Drawing by Larry Roibal]
I’m curious to see how Steinbrenner’s death will be covered during the All-Star Game tonight. I’m sure the announcers will talk about it and perhaps a mention of the Boss will be included in the pre-game ceremonies. Should be interesting. No Mariano for the American Leaguers. But I don’t think it’s going to come to that. Says here that the Nationals will get off the schnied and win in hand, 7-3 or maybe worse. All the same, I’ll be pulling for the Junior Circut.
Go git ’em, boys. Dare to be a Special.
Drawing by Kyle Baker.
George always did like his ice cream…
Over at SNY, Cliff and I remember George with Ted Berg:
I wrote an obituary on The Boss for Sports Illustrated.com:
George M. Steinbrenner III, the most visible, vilified and successful baseball owner of the free-agency era, died on Tuesday morning following a massive heart attack.
In his heyday he was known as many things — most notably, as a bad loser — but there is no denying that he made the Yankees into a winner. He was the shipbuilding magnate who bought the ball club for a relative pittance ($10 million in 1973) from CBS and restored the Yankee brand to its former glory. During his reign as owner, Steinbrenner’s Yankees won 11 American League pennants and seven world championships, more than any other team in that span. The franchise’s value soared into more than a billion as it became the staple product of its own cable network while still leading the big leagues in attendance year after year.
Along the way he exerted his will in an indomitable fashion, displaying legendary impatience and volatility. He bought out his 13 limited partners by the end of his first decade as owner, prompting John McMullen, who later owned the Houston Astros, to say, “Nothing is more limited than being a limited partner of George’s.” During his first 20 years with the Yankees, Steinbrenner hired and fired 21 managers, including Billy Martin five times. Before the 1982 season, Steinbrenner announced that manager Bob Lemon should feel secure in his job; Lemon was fired 14 games into the season. Two years later, Steinbrenner talked about his manager, Yogi Berra, before the season again and said “Yogi will be the manager the entire season, win or lose.” After 16 games, Berra was fired. He would not return to Yankee Stadium for 14 years.
…One former employee of the Yankees told Steinbrenner biographer Dick Schaap, “George Steinbrenner doesn’t want to be loved, and he doesn’t want to be hated, George Steinbrenner wants to be feared.”
“Sometimes,” Steinbrenner once told a reporter, “as much as I don’t want to — I have to inflict pain. But I also inflict some joy.”
There will never be another like him. It is somehow fitting that George died on the day of the All Star Game. The man always did have a nose for publicity, didn’t he?
Over at ESPN.com, the great Bill Nack gives his take.
George Steinbrenner has suffered a major heart attack and is in critical condition. He celebrated his 80th birthday less than ten days ago. Our thoughts are with his family.
Update: According to the Daily News, George Steinbrenner, the man who made the Yankees relevant again, who made them into a giant winner, and the most-hated team in America, is dead. Steinbrenner was often a distasteful man who treated his employees poorly and I spent much of my childhood cursing his existence. But he was also without question one of the most visable and important owners in American professional sports, a true icon. Odd as it is to say, he’ll be missed.
John Harper reports on the Nick Swisher Show at the All Star Game:
So none other than Derek Jeter organized an attempted prank by trying to convince Swisher he was supposed to wear his Yankee uniform to the interview session at the hotel ballroom Monday at which everyone wears street clothes.
“Jeet made it his mission to get him,” was the way Alex Rodriguez put it.
Jeter tried to hold back a grin when asked about his plan.
“We had him until this morning,” he said. “They blew it.”
Jeter wasn’t giving up the culprit, but other players said Swisher was spared only because clubhouse manager Robbie Cucuzza didn’t answer his phone Monday morning when the Yankee outfielder called looking for his uniform, and he began to get suspicious.
“If Robbie had answered his phone,” said CC Sabathia, “we had him. Swish asked me like four times, ‘You wearing your uniform?’ Jeet had everyone in on it. We had him going pretty good.”
Swisher didn’t make it out of the first round of the Home Run Derby last night but he wasn’t the worst in the competition either. Either way, the man is soaking it up like we knew he would.
[Photo Credit: Times Square Gossip]
Since the Ding Dong Derby is tonight, how about a good old-fashioned battle from an over-sized ’70s comic?
