Steinbrenner, the Last Lion Of Baseball (2010)

by Madden, Bill

  For his first manager in Columbus, he’d chosen Gene Michael, despite the fact that he had no managerial experience. Michael had risen considerably in Steinbrenner’s estimation since their first encounter in the spring of ’73, when that hot dog had flown from the shortstop’s glove and landed at the foot of the new owner. The lanky, 6-2 Michael, nicknamed “Stick” by his teammates, had played seven years for the Yankees, mostly during the dreary late ’60s period when they were owned by CBS. When Ralph Houk resigned as Yankees manager after the 1973 season, he told Steinbrenner that Michael was an intelligent, winning player who had promise as a manager, coach or scout down the road. Steinbrenner remembered and, when Michael was released by the Boston Red Sox in 1976, he hired him as an extra coach for Martin. Because of that, the insecure Martin never fully trusted Michael, viewing him as Steinbrenner’s man.

  Michael spent most of that first season as the Yankees’ “eye in the sky,” an innovation Steinbrenner brought from his football-coaching days at Northwestern and Purdue by which Michael watched games from the press box and relayed information about the opposing team’s defensive alignment by walkie-talkie to the dugout. Not surprisingly, the “eye in the sky” elicited frequent protests by the opposing teams and was a source of considerable embarrassment for Michael. When the Yankees visited Chicago during Michael’s first season as a coach, Veeck, the ever-mischievous White Sox owner, barred Michael from the press box. The next day, when Michael bought a ticket and sat in the upper deck with his walkie-talkie, Veeck hired a circus clown to sit next to him. That fall, in the World Series against the Cincinnati Reds, Steinbrenner decided three “eyes” were better than one and assigned two scouts to sit with Michael in the press box for game one. When Reds manager Sparky Anderson found out, he complained to the umpires, who stopped play to confer with Kuhn. After an uneasy few minutes, Kuhn ordered two of the Yankee “eyes” out of the press box. After the Yankees lost the game, 5–1, a livid Steinbrenner castigated the front office staff for embarrassing him by getting caught with too many walkie-talkies.

  In 1977, Steinbrenner gave Michael the title of “special assistant” and moved him into the front office, where he advised on trades and player signings. Among the recommendations Michael made was a slick-fielding first baseman, Jim Spencer, with the Texas Rangers. Michael was especially impressed with Spencer’s plate discipline (a hitting attribute nobody paid much attention to in those days), and the Yankees acquired him that winter in a trade for a couple of minor league pitchers. Spencer proved to be a very useful player for the Yankees for three seasons, but Martin never liked him—and Michael, because he had pushed for Spencer, suspected this was because Martin saw him as a potential rival.

  The 1979 Columbus Clippers were not supposed to fare well in the International League. Nevertheless, by late July they were comfortably in first place, prompting Steinbrenner’s visit. In the taxicab on the way to his hotel from the Columbus airport, Steinbrenner was listening to the radio and was surprised to hear Michael being interviewed on a local sports station. It seemed the Cleveland Indians had just fired their manager, Jeff Torborg, and the Columbus radio man was speculating that Michael could be a candidate for the job.

  “Would you be interested?” the radio reporter asked.

  “Well, I’d at least like to hear what they say,” Michael replied.

  Hearing this, Steinbrenner instructed the cabbie to take him directly to the Clippers’ ballpark, Cooper Stadium. As Michael walked into his office after pregame batting practice, he was surprised to see the Yankees owner waiting for him.

  “I hear you’re gonna be the next manager of the Cleveland Indians,” Steinbrenner said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I just heard it on the radio.”

  “All I said, George, was that I’d like to hear what they had to say.”

  “Well, you don’t say that!” Steinbrenner growled. “You work for me!”

  “I know that, George. All I said was if they called, I’d like to hear what they had to say.”

  “Well, you can go ahead and try,” Steinbrenner said, “but I don’t know why you would want to. Managers all become alcoholics. Look at Billy. Look at Lem. Look at [Baltimore’s Earl] Weaver.”

  “To be honest, I hadn’t even thought about managing anywhere beyond this year,” Michael said.

  “Good,” said Steinbrenner, “because this is what I have in mind. At the end of the season, I want you to come back to New York and be my general manager. I’m going to put Cedric on to other things. Or, if you still want, you can go out and try to be a manager.”

  Michael thought about this for a moment. Even though he had no idea what the general manager’s job encompassed, especially Steinbrenner’s general manager, he liked the idea of running the baseball operations for the Yankees. He was only 41, and it was flattering to be considered by Steinbrenner for such a lofty post in the organization.

  “The GM job sounds good to me,” he said.

  Michael’s Clippers won the International League pennant by 8½ games and beat Richmond and Syracuse in the playoffs for the Governor’s Cup. When he returned to New York in October, Steinbrenner gave him a $5,000 bonus for winning the International League (on top of his $25,000 salary) and told him that, as general manager, he’d make a salary of $80,000, starting immediately. But even after setting up in an office at Yankee Stadium, and though he was meeting regularly with Steinbrenner about potential trades and free-agent signings, there was no formal announcement of Michael taking over from Cedric Tallis as Yankees GM. Meanwhile, on October 25, Billy Martin got involved in another public scrap.

  Martin’s latest trouble occurred in the lobby of a hotel in Bloomington, Minnesota, where he was accused of punching one Joseph Cooper, described in news accounts as a 52-year-old marshmallow salesman. As in Reno, when he’d popped the sportswriter Ray Hagar, Martin was once again in the company of his friend, the restaurateur Howard Wong. Though initially telling reporters he would conduct another investigation, Steinbrenner had made up his mind that Martin was just too much of a liability; fortunately, after the last incident, the owner had made sure that Martin’s latest contract allowed him to fire the manager if he got into more off-field trouble. The day after the Bloomington affair, Steinbrenner called Michael into his office at Yankee Stadium and told him he wanted him to manage the Yankees.

  “But you said I was going to be the general manager,” said Michael, who had seen firsthand how Steinbrenner devoured managers.

  “That was before I needed a manager.”

  “What if I get you a manager?” Michael countered.

  “Who?”

  “Dick Howser.”

  “Howser?” said Steinbrenner. “You mean our old third-base coach? Where is he?”

  “He’s at Florida State,” Michael replied. “He’s the head baseball coach down there. Remember? You almost hired him to replace Billy once before. He’s a good baseball man, and I think he’d do a good job.”

  “Get him on the phone.”

  Michael went through his book of phone numbers and dialed the Florida State athletic department as Steinbrenner put the phone on speaker. When the receptionist informed them that Howser was out on the baseball field, Steinbrenner asked to be patched through to the dugout, whereupon he introduced himself to the voice on the other end and asked to speak to Howser.

  Steinbrenner and Michael listened as the voice called out, “Hey, Dick, there’s some asshole on the line here who says he’s George Steinbrenner.”

  “I can’t believe it,” Steinbrenner exclaimed to Michael. “That guy just called me an asshole, and he doesn’t even know me!”

  Michael could barely keep himself from doubling over with laughter. Once Howser came to the phone and realized it was Steinbrenner, he listened carefully as the Yankees owner made his pitch. Yes, Howser said, he’d be interested in managing the Yankees, as long as it was assured Martin wouldn’t be back.

  “I wouldn’t feel right ab
out taking Billy’s job if you weren’t certain of this, George,” Howser said.

  “Don’t worry,” said Steinbrenner. “I’m certain. Billy’s got a lot of problems and I need someone stable.”

  Howser agreed to fly to New York the next day to discuss the details in person.

  At their meeting at Yankee Stadium, Steinbrenner said he was prepared to give Howser a three-year contract for $80,000 per year, adding: “That’s what Stick is making, and I told him you would get the same salary.”

  Howser said nothing.

  “What’s the matter?” Steinbrenner said. “Is there a problem, Dick?”

  “Yeah, a little bit,” replied Howser. “Eighty thousand doesn’t seem like a lot of money. I kind of thought it would be more, especially being it’s New York.”

  “Okay, then how about $100,000?”

  “That sounds good.”

  “There you are, Stick,” Steinbrenner said brightly. “I hope you’re satisfied. Dick just made you an extra twenty thousand.”

  Howser’s pluck in negotiating his first major league managing contract should have been a warning to Steinbrenner that this was a man who wouldn’t be easily intimidated. Though diminutive in size—5-8, 155 pounds—Howser had a lot of bantam rooster in him. He was also very comfortable at Florida State. When they moved to Tallahassee he had assured his wife, Nancy, that Steinbrenner probably couldn’t offer him enough money to go back to New York. Once they agreed to their union, Howser and Steinbrenner didn’t have a lot of direct contact, primarily because Michael took pains to serve as a buffer between them. Michael saw how Steinbrenner could wear down even experienced managers such as Martin, Lemon and Ralph Houk, and he wanted to do all he could to shield Howser in his first season as a big-league manager.

  When spring training arrived, it became clear that Michael had done a very thorough job rebuilding a championship-caliber team from the ruins of the 1979 season, beginning with the November 1 trade that sent first baseman Chris Chambliss, one of the cornerstone players of the 1976–77–78

  World Series teams, to the Toronto Blue Jays for left-handed pitcher Tom Underwood and a promising young catcher, Rick Cerone, who would replace Munson. Later that winter, Michael signed Bob Watson, a slugging first baseman, to a four-year, $1.8 million contract, and Rudy May, another left-handed pitcher, to a three-year, $1 million deal on the free-agent market.

  The 1980 Yankees under Dick Howser’s leadership won 103 games, the most by any Yankee team since 1963, beating out a 100-win Baltimore Orioles team for the American League East title. They also set an all-time American League home attendance record of 2,627,417 and became the first team in AL history to play before a million fans both at home and on the road. But even with Michael’s presence, the 1980 season was anything but easy for the rookie manager. Howser endured constant sniping from veterans Lou Piniella and Bobby Murcer, who were disgruntled over being platooned in the overcrowded outfield, and the loss of third baseman Graig Nettles for 89 games with hepatitis. From the get-go, Steinbrenner seemed to be even angrier than usual, lashing out at his players, Howser’s management of the team and his many perceived enemies—primarily the Mets, whose spring training advertising campaign disparaged the feuding, turbulent Yankees as the “Bronx Zoo.” Jerry Della Femina, the head of the ad agency that created the campaign, was quoted in the newspapers as saying, “This is a town where we had to settle for Reggie Jackson. We’re looking to Mets with star quality, like Lee Mazzilli, who we believe is the big glamour player in this town—a handsome Bucky Dent who can hit and doesn’t do fur commercials.”

  “If this guy thinks he will win fans in New York for the Mets by knocking Reggie Jackson and Bucky Dent, he’s just plain stupid,” Steinbrenner fumed to reporters at spring training in Fort Lauderdale. “My advice to the Mets folks and their Madison Avenue ad agency approach to the fans of New York is to forget sniping at the Yankees and the American League—the one league that never left New Yorkers high and dry—and start concentrating on players who can hit the ball, catch the ball and throw the ball better than other guys. We’ll see where they are on Labor Day.”

  In a rare occurrence, Bowie Kuhn agreed with Steinbrenner and fined the Mets $5,000 for their ad campaign. But once the season pushed into summer and the Mets, as Steinbrenner had predicted, faded to a 95-loss, fourth-place finish, the Yankees owner turned his fire on his own team. The Yankees, in first place, lost six of their first nine games in August, including a three-game sweep at home by the fast-closing, second-place Orioles, prompting Steinbrenner to call Michael on the phone to say that Howser was blowing it. “They’re not responding to him,” he complained. “He’s too laid-back. The umpires are killing us, and he never comes out to argue with them. ”

  Then, in mid-August, after the Yankees lost three of five in Baltimore at the start of a 13-game cross-country road trip to have their lead over the Orioles cut to a scant half game, Steinbrenner could no longer contain himself. For the first time, he issued a public rebuke of Howser, criticizing the manager for not sacrificing with slumping third baseman Eric Soderholm with a man on base and no outs in the ninth inning of the final game against the Orioles.

  “Dick Howser is my manager, and he’s done a helluva job to keep us in first place the way he has. But as a fan, I have the right to question his strategy. He knows his job rests on the bottom line, and the bottom line is winning. You’ve got to give Earl Weaver all the credit. He’s a wizard, and our guy’s a rookie manager. I wouldn’t invite Weaver to Christmas dinner, but you’ve got to give the devil his due.”

  Steinbrenner was at his horse farm in Ocala, Florida, but his roar was heard all the way in Seattle, where the Yankees had begun the second leg of the road trip against the Mariners. After winning the first two games there, Howser was standing with his batting coach, Charlie Lau, and a couple of reporters in the visiting manager’s office at the Kingdome.

  “Did you hear from George?” one of the reporters asked.

  “I don’t know, should I say it?” Howser said to Lau.

  “Say it!” Lau encouraged him. “Get your notebooks out, men.”

  Howser looked at the reporters with a twinkle in his eye and said, “You know, now that I’m competing against a rookie manager [Seattle’s Maury Wills], I know it’s very important for me to win. I’d hate like hell to be intimidated here after being intimidated by the other guy in Baltimore this week. If I can’t be manager of the year, maybe I can at least be rookie manager of the year. Hell, that would really be something to win—especially in my first year!”

  It was as if Howser had freed himself from the pressure of managing under Steinbrenner simply by speaking his mind. From that point on in the 1980 season, he seemed to openly enjoy the verbal parrying with Steinbrenner that played out in the newspapers. The next day, a package addressed to Bobby Murcer, whom Howser had been using intermittently in the outfield, was delivered to the Yankee clubhouse—prompting Dick Young to write in the Daily News, “the last thing Dick Howser needs is George Steinbrenner sending Bobby Murcer a first baseman’s glove for his birthday, nine months before his birthday.” Howser reacted with bemusement. In response to the beat writers’ inquisition as to whether Steinbrenner was, in fact, ordering him to give Murcer more playing time, he said, “George has all the statistics. He obviously feels Murcer can help us at first base.”

  “But what do you think, Dick?” a reporter pressed.

  Howser merely smiled.

  The first baseman’s glove disappeared, never to be seen again, and Murcer stayed in the outfield.

  On September 23, Soderholm pinch-hit in the ninth inning and delivered a two-run single to key an important come-from-behind 5–4 victory over the Cleveland Indians. Afterward, Howser pointedly told reporters in his office, “I understand there were some people around here who gave up on Eric Soderholm, but I wasn’t one of them.”

  Howser’s Yankees managed to hold off the Orioles, winning seven of their last eight games to set up
an American League Championship Series against their perennial AL West rivals, the Kansas City Royals. “You would have thought winning 103 games would’ve made George jump for joy,” said Reggie Jackson, “but for some reason it didn’t. He just didn’t like Dick Howser’s attitude, and he was never satisfied that year.”

  The day after the regular season ended, Steinbrenner assembled the Yankees high command at his office to strategize for the upcoming ALCS. The Yankees had beaten the Royals in the 1976, ’77 and ’78 American League Championship Series, but they’d lost eight of 12 to them during the 1980 season.

  “We didn’t bear down against these guys this season,” Steinbrenner complained. “We have to be prepared.”

  Steinbrenner continued his critique of the team for a few minutes before he was interrupted by a tap at the door.

  “Who is it?” he said.

  “Monahan, Boss,” came the reply.

  “Oh, yeah,” said Steinbrenner, motioning the team trainer, Gene Monahan, into the room. “You got it?”

  “Right here, sir,” Monahan said, brandishing a hypodermic needle.

  “Okay, let’s do it,” said Steinbrenner, lowering his pants. As the others in the room watched in silent astonishment, Monahan proceeded to inject Steinbrenner in the behind with what they later learned was vitamin B-12. Over the years, this became a ritual. Usually Steinbrenner would get his injections in the trainer’s room, but sometimes he’d simply have Monahan come up to his office to perform the deed. Once, Monahan had run out of his supply of B-12 and was in a bit of a panic when Steinbrenner called downstairs asking him to come up to the office with his needle.

  “I don’t know what to tell him,” Monahan said to a couple of players. “He’s gonna go crazy if I tell him I’m out of B-12.”

  “Don’t tell him anything,” Lou Piniella said, laughing. “Just fill that needle up with water and inject him with that. You could put a harpoon in that big, fat ass of his and he’d never tell the difference!”