When I was 10, I wrote Bill Veeck (then owner of the Chicago White Sox) a letter . . . I recall making suggestions as to the club's lineup . . . not only did he write me back, but his response marked the beginning of an occasional series of back-and-forth correspondence that continued until his death . . . . . . he even made my an honorary
White Sox scout and arranged for me to meet one of his real scouts when I attended a Mets game.Veeck thus became my first guru . . . he was a baseball promoter, perhaps most famous for having sent a midget to bat in a major league game . . . but he was also an innovator, plus quite a guy.
I devoured his autobiography, VEECK AS IN WRECK, when
it was published in 1981 . . . since then, I have attempted to
read everything else I could about him . . . yet somehow I
had missed MARKETING YOUR DREAMS: BASEBALL AND
LIFE LESSONS FROM BILL VEECKs by Pat Willaims; i.e., until this past week.
My one word reaction: WOW! . . . what a great book . . . it
made me appreciate Veeck even more, along with Williams--quite
a sports promoter in his own right . . . I found myself taking
countless notes, always a sign that what I'm reading is
really making quite a dent on me.
There were many memorable passages; among them:
* Because there is a reason why Veeck went
to bed in the middle of the night. And a reason
why he woke up four hours later. And a reason
why he was never dulled by routine, why every
day became an opportunity, and every hour,
every moment of his 71 years, was gilded and
precious.
He did not sleep because he could not sleep.
He was afraid to sleep because sleeping
meant missing something. He was so caught
up in the basest virtues of each day that his
mind couldn't let go.
Said Washington writer Tom Boswell after
Veeck's passed away in 1986, "Cause of
death: Life."
"With the amount of sleep he didn't get," says
longtime Chicago White Sox organist Nancy
Faust, "Bill probably died at 85 instead of 71."
* Veeck once sent away for a mail-order toy. When
it arrived, he learned it had to be assembled. He
spent the entire night before Christmas attempting
to put that infernal toy together for one of his
children. When he sent his check to the manufacturer,
he tore it into tiny pieces, put them into an envelope
and wrote: "I put your toy together. You put my
check together."
No doubt he felt a burden lifted.
The manufacturer had no choice but to accept the
check.
* He called amputees in the hospital to console them.
("Look at it this way," he would say. "One pair of socks
will last you twice as long. And in the winter, only one
foot will get cold.") He told one fan whose leg was wrapped
in a heavy brace, "If I had another leg to give you, I would."
He demonstrated the leg to curious children. He consoled
an amateur softball player who had broken his leg,
slipping the wooden leg off and telling him, "Here. Use mine."
"I only fear two things," he'd say, brandishing the leg. "Fire
and termites."
And though I typically like to include only three passages,
I just had to include this one too:
* Soon after the funeral, Mary Frances was digging
through the house when she discovered a note. They'd
always written to each other for more than three decades;
notes of love and sentimentality and humor. Seems he'd
written this one while waiting to be taken to the hospital
for the last time.
On one side he'd expressed the depth of his love for
Mary Frances. On the other, he'd written, "Tell everyone
it has been lots of fun."
You'll also find this book to be a lot of fun, as well as
inspirational.
