When I started writing sports for the Tribune much earlier this century, I couldn’t quite figure out what to make of Jack Brickhouse.
As a fan, I watched and listened and thought he was just a bit over the edge. Even if the Cubs or White Sox or Bears were losing, which was often, Jack openly rooted for the home team and a better tomorrow. He talked about the sunshine instead of standings.
If you’re not doing anything, c’mon out to the ballpark. It’s a beautiful day. That’s pretty well hit! Back she goes!! Back, back!! Hey, hey!! Way to go, Ernie. Wheeeee!!
Anyway, when I was assigned to cover the Cubs in 1975, I was prepared not to like Jack, and I failed. After 10 minutes in his presence at spring training, I knew that he knew. This is show biz.
Jack took his craft seriously, but not the results and certainly not himself. He was the first to emit a belly laugh about having broadcast more unhappy totals than any announcer in captivity. And if you doubted that he knew the score, he came clean during his Hall of Fame induction speech.
Jack’s fantasy was to do a World Series between the Cubs and Sox that would extend to extra innings in the seventh game . . . then be suspended on account of darkness at Wrigley Field. Jack not only sold tickets, but hope.
He never got his wish, but he did everything else, from wrestling to pro basketball to political conventions. He was a professional broadcaster who happened to major in sports, and when he signed off, he became a star who was easy pickings for any rubber chicken dinner or golf outing or barn dance that needed a marquee name to attract dollars for charity.
Somewhere beneath that shiny disposition, Jack must have had an ego. He was too big not to. But, my, how he kept it hidden. Jack retired in 1981 and, with such dignity, tossed the baton to Milo Hamilton. Then began the Harry Caray era, and he was treated by Jack for what he was, an old friend.
Jack surely could have coasted after he abandoned his play-by-play duties, but that wasn’t his style. On Opening Day 1982, Jack was in the WGN Radio studio to help initiate a new show, “Sports Central.” Bump Wills hit a home run for the Cubs that afternoon in Cincinnati, and they won, and that’s when we saw the other side of Jack. The journalist.
“I was a kid starting up at the station,” recalled Chuck Swirsky, now sports director of WJR in Detroit. “Jack thought we should get Bump Wills for an interview. I said, `We can’t do that, can we?’ He said, `Let’s try it, kid.’ He dialed the clubhouse at Riverfront, left a message, and as soon as the game ended, Bump Wills is on the phone.”
Jack commanded that kind of respect, and owned that kind of black book. When the Baltimore Colts traded John Elway to Denver, nobody could find Bob Irsay, the owner of the Colts. Except Jack, who pulled Irsay from a meeting for an interview in front of the Wrigley Building. When he got wind the Bulls were about to trade Artis Gilmore, Jack bypassed the middle men and called the private line of Arthur Wirtz, who spilled the beans.
We forget, I fear, that Jack Brickhouse is greatly responsible for the popularity the Cubs enjoy. Dallas Green, their former general manager, discussed that phenomenon just recently. Where else but Wrigley Field do you see three generations of fans in the seats? Grandfathers, their sons, and their sons.
When you came home from school, afternoons were for the Cubs and Jack. Channel 9 is celebrating its 50th year; the Cubs are coming up on the 10th anniversary of their first night game. Synonymous with the success of both those industry giants is Jack Brickhouse, a giant in his business. What a raconteur. Nobody could tell a story like Jack.
More Top Picks Netgear Arlo
During the grieving for Harry Caray, we forgot, I fear, to appreciate this legend who was still with us. Jack made it all possible, because he was so unobtrusive. When Jack wasn’t on the air, he didn’t have to be on stage. On call for a good cause, yes, but not on stage.
We should have heeded the warning when Jack became ill on the very morning last February when we all gathered to toast and bury Harry. Jack fought through a brain tumor and the last we heard of him was a phone message, thanking us for some kind words in a bygone column. And to think we dared to misunderstand him.
“When I’m doing a ballgame,” Jack Brickhouse always said, “I’m there to provide a brief moment of joy and relief for those who might have had a bad day. I’m talking to kids at home with their toys, but I’m also talking to moms and dads in hospitals.”
They’re going to erect a statue of Harry Caray outside Wrigley Field, which is proper and fitting. But there just might be room for two of those, don’t you think?