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Kevin Horrigan: The franchise, a
hero, a titan and finally, sun god
It was an amazing sight Thursday, those thousands of people marching through
the right field wagon gate at Busch Stadium, filing around the warning track to
pay their last respects to Jack Buck. Jack would have been touched. He would
also have been amused.
I can hear him now: "Next thing you know, they'll be sending out smoke
signals announcing they've elected the next broadcaster."
A long time ago in a galaxy far away, it was my privilege to run in the some of
the same circles that Jack Buck did. I spent six years in the press box at Busch
Stadium with him, flew on many of the same airplanes, ate at the same tables,
bet on a couple of the same dogs.
Very early in my career as a sports scribe, he invited me to dinner at a swanky
restaurant in Los Angeles, a place full of movie stars and entertainment figures
I should have known, but didn't. He did, but he treated me like the most
important person in the place.
A couple of times, when we both had deadline problems on getaway days at Wrigley
Field or Montreal, we interviewed each other. "Great journalism, huh?"
he'd say. Later, I spent six years working at KMOX radio, where our paths would
sometimes intersect. "Mr. Buck, sir," I would greet him, and then
insult whatever he was wearing.
"Howya doin', kid?" he'd say. "I see they're still feeding you
pretty well."
In those years, the early '90s, an appearance by Jack Buck in the KMOX offices
was something akin to a state visit. Officially, he was the sports director, but
Jack usually showed up only to cut commercials. The station charged a premium to
advertisers who wanted Buck to voice their spots, and he could knock out a dozen
in a half hour, each one worth an extra $200 or so every time it ran. Jack was
the franchise.
He'd park his Lincoln in the underground garage at No. 1 Memorial Drive in
whatever big shot's parking space was open, secure in the knowledge that no one
was going to tow Jack Buck's car. He'd stroll off the private elevator, a
toothpick in his mouth and begin saying hello to people. Sometimes he'd sit in
on whatever show was on the air, talking casually and knowledgeably about
whatever subject came up.
From time to time, I'd write him into the promotional spots for the show Charlie
Brennan and I hosted. The gag was always the same . . . a man on the street
interview with someone who knew nothing about the show. The inside joke, which
every listener would get, was the voice - that gravelly baritone. The promos
were usually better than the show.
Jack was the last of the titans, the people around whom Robert F. Hyland had
built the most successful radio station in the country. Hyland had always
practiced creative accounting, hiring a lot of people just to keep them from
going on the air somewhere else, making special side deals and operating like
Don Corleone, only scarier. Lord only knows what he was paying Jack Buck, but
whatever it was, it was worth it.
"Jack was one of the few guys who could make fun of Hyland and get away
with it," Bob Costas recalled the other day. Hyland discovered Costas, a
boy wonder out of Syracuse University, and helped make him a star. Costas said:
"There was this Cauliflower Ear Banquet in maybe, 1978, and for some
reason, Hyland wanted to introduce Jack. And Jack had on this terrible tan
leather sports coat, wide lapels, the height of bad 1970s fashion, this almost
Naugahyde-looking sports coat. And Hyland says, 'That looks like a chair in my
home,' which for Hyland is like a rare, all-time joke.
"And Jack gets up and says, 'Thank you, Mr. Hyland, and I hope that one day
I'll be invited to your home.' "
After Hyland died in 1992, and after Westinghouse Electric Co. bought CBS Radio
a couple of years later, the new managers began getting a lot of pressure to cut
expenses. Everyone at KMOX was in a panic. The story was that the boss had
summoned Jack to his office and told him that Buck wasn't doing enough to earn
what he was being paid, and Jack had said, "Fine. I'll retire," and
walked out.
He was already at hero to all of us at KMOX. After that, after calling the
boss's bluff and getting away with it, he became our sun god.
Maybe it's just me, but the sun seemed to get a little dimmer this week. |
