In Memoriam: Bill Veeck

There was a moment of silence for Bill Veeck at the Bulls, Black Hawks and Bears games. There was an overflow crowd of 1,000 at St. Thomas the Apostle Church, paying a solemn final tribute for the beloved baseball huckster.

Solemn silence? Heck. That wasn’t Veeck’s old style. If he had his way there would be a noisy “brew ha-ha” at any old pub.

Master William began his baseball career hustling beer as a vendor at Wrigley Field. His father, the austere William L. Veeck Sr., was top man of the Cubs and young Bill learned the game from the bottom.

Unlike Philip K. Wrigley, who showed little interest in his father’s team, Bill knew all the inside angles. On road trips Bill would assist traveling secretary Robert Lewis in putting slightly inebriated ballplayers back to bed.

It was Bill Veeck’s idea to install ivy on the bleacher walls. In addition, the present-day hand-operated scoreboard was a Veeck innovation. When he went out to operate his own club in Milwaukee in the early 1940s, Veeck was ready.

After a successful stint at Cleveland and a fun-filled, but futile tenure with the St. Louis Browns, Veeck returned to his beloved Chicago as honcho of the 1959 pennant-winning White Sox. That’s when our paths first crossed.

Sun-Times sports editor James C. Mullen brought Veeck to the sports department and introduced him to the staff Mullen nudged Veeck and told him I was an avid Cub fan. “Oh. A horticulturist?” chuckled Veeck, referring to the Wrigley ivy. I then added that among my baseball film library was The Kid From Cleveland, a not-too slick flick, featuring Veeck and his 1948 World Champion Indians.

“Gosh. That was an awful movie,” said Veeck. “I have one standing order at home my children must follow. And that’s not to mention that film.”

We then closed the evening at a watering hole. I took a sip of beer and at the same time Veeck put down an empty bottle. It was then I realized I wasn’t in his league. Baseball trivia overflowed all morning.

Veeck whispered into Mullen’s ear, ready for a real trivia stumper. Bill asked “Who was the first player I acquired when I took over the Indians?” When I replied “Hal Peck,” Veeck’s bleary eyes beamed.

In 1975, the White Sox were in danger of moving to Seattle. Veeck came out of self-imposed retirement, rubbed a few nickels together and purchased the team. I rushed over to the Illinois Athletic Club to cover the event. The years had taken their toll on Veeck. Ol’ Burrhead was now bald. His leathery face was deeply lined and there was quite a weight-loss. He still chain-smoked and coughed.

“Sorry, I’m late,” said Veeck. “My peg leg gave out and I couldn’t find my screwdriver to put it back in place.” The old glint was still in his eyes and he was beaming with fresh ideas.

Veeck enjoyed the spotlight and quoted Thomas Wolfe, stating ”you can come back.” But it was a new era. Free agency broke loose and Bill couldn’t compete financially with shipbuilders, beer barons and cowboy actors. After selling the Sox to some chaps named Einsdorf and Reinhorn, (or is it Einhorn and Reinsdorf?) Veeck took up residence in the Wrigley Field bleachers. But the Tribune Co., which took over the Cubs, had a new policy of even reserving bleacher seats.

Veeck resented that maneuver and boycotted both ballyards. He next held court at a Loop pub and watched the games on the tube. My final session with Veeck was last summer at Miller’s Pub. I huddled with Bill and sports columnist Bill Gleason and we discussed ( what else?) baseball.

The subject was if any infield quartet had driven in 100 runs each. Veeck came up with the 1934 Tigers, stating first baseman Hank Greenberg, second baseman Charley Gehringer, shortstop Bill Rogell and third baseman Freck Owen.

I agreed on the first three, but recalled Freck Owen only drove 96 in runs. “I think you’re short-changing Freck,” said Veeck.

Peck and Freck. Heck. We’ll all miss Veeck.