For all who have undergone the horrendous experience of losing a limb – especially those in our armed forces – let me recall one Marine Corps veteran of that World War II bloodbath at Bougainville, who lost his leg.
He died almost a quarter of a century ago, but he remains an absolute legend in the field of bringing unforgettable (if controversial) entertainment to that hardly-renowned-for-humor realm called professional baseball.
He should never, ever be forgotten for one night of the 1951 season, when he was owner of the old St. Louis Browns, those perennially cellar-dwellers who were playing the Detroit Tigers.
Suddenly, the crowd let out a great roar of delighted mirth.
Coming up to bat for the St. Louis Browns was a midget!
His name was Eddie Gaedel.
He was three foot, six inches tall.
On his official, tailor-made St. Louis Browns uniform, he wore the number “1/8.”
The crowd went wild! – and so did the umpires – although the umps were wild with indignation!
Then the St. Louis Browns’ flamboyant owner produced a copy of Eddie’s contract, which he had delivered to home plate.
It was all completely legal – signed, sealed and delivered! And the umps were reminded that the league rules had neglected to specify any minimum height.
So, the chief umpire finally shouted: “Play ball!”
And the Tiger pitcher began trying – quite desperately – to hit a strike zone on Eddie that was not very much bigger than the ball.
Quite understandably, Eddie drew a walk. And he walked into baseball history.
The crowd was as delighted as everyone else in this wonderfully humorous country – except several of that St. Louis Browns’ owner’s fellow club owners. They considered him terribly undignified.
He replied by noting:
“All sports entrepreneurs – whether baseball, horse racing, football or whatever – should keep in mind one thing: They should strive to create an atmosphere of fun (!) This is the entertainment business, not religion.”
He did just that, and later he saved the Milwaukee Brewers from bankruptcy.
He doubled attendance in Cleveland where, in 1948, he attracted 2.6 million fans and won the pennant over the New York Yankees, whom he loved to needle as “Their Perennial Majesties.”
He entertained the fans with exploding scoreboards. He provided morning games with orange juice and cereal to nightshift workers. He handed out orchids to ladies. He hired huge brass bands, as well as a corps of clowns. He even manned the concession stands.
In January of 1986, when he died in Chicago the at age of 71, American sports and American humor lost one of its greatest. That night, on WOR New York and later on WWDB in Philadelphia, I broadcast this tribute to Bill Veeck (“rhymes with wreck!”).
I concluded by saying: “I won’t say rest in peace – not Bill Veeck. I will say, may he go from strength to strength in the life of the world to come.”
To stop wildfires, burn wokeism & manage the forests
Victor Joecks