I first met Harry Caray in a Clark Street tavern in 1983–the year after he switched from the White Sox to the Cubs–when my job was answering phones at the Tribune city desk. I went up to Caray and introduced myself and my friend, a Cub-hating Sox fan from the South Side. Soon after exchanging pleasantries, she abruptly asked Harry if he considered himself a “traitor” for having bolted the Sox for the enemy.
“Listen, my dear,” Caray replied. “I love the White Sox. I love the ballpark. I love their fans. I just don’t like those (*$ @!!) owners.”
I last saw Caray at the Cubs Convention on Jan. 24 when he sat for what is believed to be his last in-depth interview. He talked about baseball, the Cubs and life in general. Just like the first night I met him, Caray had a strong opinion on everything and was passionate about his beliefs. In my mind, he was Mike Royko with a microphone in his hand, a larger-than-life Chicagoan whom I was privileged to get to know.
Here are some excerpts from the interview.
Question–So, are you ready to say “Mic-key Mor-an-di-ni”?
Answer–Of course. Some guys already have asked me to spell his name backwards. I said, “I’ll have to work at that.”
Q–Baseball seems to be losing so many young fans to the NBA and NFL. What are the main problems baseball faces today?
A–Let me tell you what has worried me about baseball. The last five years, I come to Wrigley Field, I see good crowds. (Detractors) say it’s an old man’s game–well, take a look around. Those fans are young.
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What bothers me, as I’ve always said, baseball has to worry about when the day comes when a man cannot take his wife and two kids to the ballpark because it costs too much, and the day is rapidly approaching, if it isn’t here already. Look what it costs to park a car, to buy a hot dog. It’s not just that the tickets have gone up. How would you like to pay $4 for a skinny little hot dog? Or $4 for a cup of beer?
And that goes for all sports. But it truly is America’s sport. It was there before any other one. It used to be they would get 2,000 people to watch pro basketball.
Q–The Cubs drew nearly 2.2 million fans in ’97 with a 94-loss team. Do you agree that you’re the main draw at Wrigley Field?
A–No. A lot of people say that and some of them are people of stature. And that makes me feel good. But I don’t buy that. I don’t think the announcer can do that. The fan comes to see the player. What the announcer can do is make it so interesting that the fan has the desire to come see the players.
Q–Your signature is the “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” routine you began in old Comiskey Park. How did that start?
A–That’s the only song I know the words to. I used to sing it in St. Louis. Nobody heard me. I sang it in Chicago. Nobody heard me. Then Bill Veeck bought the ballclub. In the middle of the seventh when (organist) Nancy Faust would play it, Jimmy Piersall and I and our producer would be in the booth. When Veeck bought the ballclub, he noticed fans right below our booth were hearing the sound through the flooring, and you could tell they were keeping up with me. The next night, without anyone knowing it, Veeck hides a public-address microphone in the booth.
So in the seventh, Nancy is playing, I’m singing and all of a sudden I hear about 10,000 voices booming back at me. Veeck comes over and I go up to Bill and say, “Bill, what the hell was that all about?” “Harry,” he says, “I’ve been waiting 45 years for the right guy to sing that song during the seventh inning. I’ve finally found the guy, and that’s you. Know why?”
Here I am, blowing up in flattery, and then he says, “Once a guy hears you, he knows he can sing better than you. So when you sing, he joins in. If you had a good singing voice, they’d be intimidated.” And he was right.
Q–Do you think baseball ever will see another Bill Veeck?
A–Yeah, there might be another one–Mike Veeck. He’s a maverick and the son of Bill, and he’s doing a great job (as a promoter of minor-league baseball). The other owners didn’t like Bill Veeck. They respected him but they didn’t like him because he showed them up. While Bill was a businessman, his concept was to make each fan think it was New Year’s Eve or Mardi Gras, have some fun. Naturally, he also wants them to come in to get their money too. But he wanted to give them something extra for the price of admission, which is great. Every owner should have that thought in mind.
Q–What originally brought you to the South Side in ’71 after broadcasting for the A’s for only one year?
A–(Former Sox executive) Stu Holcomb brought me to Chicago. I had been let go by St. Louis in September (of 1969 and had spent one season with Oakland).
The White Sox had only drawn about 500,000 people the year before and Holcomb knew what (A’s owner Charlie) Finley had paid me. He said, “Harry, we can’t pay you that, but if you want to gamble with us, we’ll gamble with you. We drew 500,000, but we could draw more with Chuck Tanner as our manager. We’ll give you $50,000 and $10,000 for each 100,000 fans over 500,000 that we draw. I heard you put people in the seats. This is your chance to prove it.” I said: “OK.”
The first year we drew 837,000. The next year we got Richie Allen, and we drew well over 1 million. Holcomb called me in and said, “Harry, you broke the bank. Now we have to put you on straight salary,” which they did.
Q–What made you switch to the Cubs in ’82?
A–I was negotiating (in ’81) with Jerry Reinsdorf and Eddie Einhorn for a one-year deal. They wanted me to sign a five-year contract. I said, “I don’t know you guys and you don’t know me.” Then they said, “How about a three-year contract?” Same thing. I said, “Let’s make it one year. If we like each other, maybe we’ll go like that.” But I didn’t like what was happening there. I liked Einhorn all right, because you knew where he was coming from. Reinsdorf was one of the tricky guys who you better look at the last line of the contract in very small print. The way he broke up Jimmy and I . . . I wasn’t too hot about that, and now they were coming with pay TV.
So now I’m negotiating for a second year and they’re outlining the pay-TV plan. They were way ahead of their time. They said, “We can sell it in 50,000 homes and make a lot of money.” They offered me a bundle.
Q–So why didn’t you take it?
A–I’m thinking, “Pay TV? I don’t even know what the hell it is. I have to get some security.” So I asked for a five-year contract. They said, “No, we tried to do that deal. We think you had the right idea (with one-year deals), as long as we get along.” So I asked for a three-year contract. They said no, but offered me a lot of money for one year.
We set a meeting for the next week for me to give my final word–yes or no. I can hardly turn this money down, I’m thinking. But driving home to the Ambassador East, I’m thinking, “Fifty-thousand homes?’ A year ago they wanted to give me five years or three years. Now we’re going into an entirely new thing, and all they need me for is to sell 50,000 (pay-TV subscriptions). So I decided I’m not going to take it. I called up (then-Cubs executive) Andy McKenna when I got home.
“Hi, Andy.” “Hi, Harry.” “Andy, I’m really disappointed in you.” “Why’s that, Harry?” “Geez, (Jack) Brickhouse announced his retirement, and you know the job I do for baseball. I’d think you’d have called me.” “Harry, I thought you were under contract with the White Sox?” I said, “No I’m not. I’ve been a free agent since the season ended.”
He said, “Don’t move. You’ll get a call in 10 minutes.” He called (then-WGN boss) Jim Dowdle. Now, Emmet O’Neill (a former aide to Sen. Alan Dixon) had already been talking to Dowdle about how the Cubs don’t have anything, and one thing I could do is bring people into the ballpark. McKenna calls Dowdle and this verified what O’Neill was trying to do. Dowdle called me and said he didn’t want to talk to agents, so I got rid of them (during negotiations) and we made a deal.
We were going to announce it on a Monday, but I had a meeting with Reinsdorf and Einhorn on Tuesday. So first thing Monday I set up a conference call with them. So at the start of the call, I said, “I just wanted to tell you guys that meeting won’t be necessary on Tuesday.” Einhorn says, “Going out of town, Harry?” I said, “No.” Reinsdorf said, “Where you going?” I said, “If you listen in, you’ll find out soon enough.”
Q–Do you ever see your feud with Reinsdorf ending?’
A–Me? If I saw him, I’d say, “Hello, Jerry,” and I’d stop and talk to him. But my feelings would never change. I don’t think he’s good for baseball. I don’t think he’s good for Chicago. I don’t think he’s good for the American League.
Q–You and your grandson Chip Caray are to be working together on Cubs games this year. Could you describe what that means to you?
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A–It’s really an amazing thing. In 1989, when I got that Hall of Fame-Ford Frick Award they give the writers and announcers, and Ralph Kiner was giving me the plaque up there, everyone asked me whether that was my biggest thrill.
It wasn’t that at all. The only thing I could think of–I knew my son Skip was there and I knew Chip was there. Chip was not doing major-league baseball at the time, he was doing the Orlando Magic. But the sudden realization came that I was one of three generations all doing major-league sports at the same time. Now it’s three generations all doing major-league baseball at the same time and two of them working together. I doubt if it will ever be repeated.
Q–The plan is for Chip to succeed you, right?
A–No, it’s not planned. But he’s very good with Fox (Sports) and the Orlando Magic. They really like him there at Fox. He’s 6-5, movie-star handsome. In a city like Chicago . . . you know he’ll be here for the rest of his life.