Chuck Tanner
I cannot convey to you how frightening it was to be a frequent presence on a major league baseball field at the age of 17. Every player seemed to be about 30 feet tall, and every club official and stadium security officer seemed to be within 30 seconds of chucking me back into the stands, no matter how many credentials I might have had. And the team managers? Ralph Houk? Billy Martin? Earl Weaver?
To see them approach was to feel the fight-or-flight instinct surge in my veins. And not in that empowering, life-affirming “fight” way, sadly.
I was a photographer, nominally working for the hobby magazine Mike Aronstein had inexplicably put me in charge of the year before, Collectors Quarterly. Certainly we had need of our own images of big league ballplayers, but in fact I was on an illicit mission to snap them for an upcoming second set of the “SSPC Pure Card” baseball cards Mike had published earlier in that year of 1976. I had written the backs for the first set, and another fellow had taken most of the photos for them, only it turned out he didn’t really have any ballpark credentials and was only on the field because he’d been a batboy and knew all of the cops at Shea Stadium and they just let him sneak in. When the leagues and the clubs and Topps and the courts Topps sued us in found out about that, he wasn’t going to again get to be on any fields for a long, long time.
So Mike had written the obligatory letter to the Yankees supplying copies of the magazine and asking them to give me, usually no more than once or twice a homestand, pre-game access to the field to take photos of the players. My instructions were simple: get anybody you can, especially guys in new uniforms. Action shots, candid shots, whatever – but you’ll also have to get some portraits. You’ll have to ask the players to pose for you.
Gulp.
By the end of May I think I had screwed up the courage to ask a few guys to pose before each game. I remember Jim Colborn of the Brewers actually asking me what the magazine I claimed to represent was, and my promising him to send a copy to him, and then he kindly stood still for a few portraits. But by early June, I believe all my other conversations with the big leaguers consisted of “Pardon me, Mr. —-, may I get a couple of shots of you for Collectors Quarterly magazine?” followed by the answer “grunt” or “no” or “silence.”
Then the Oakland A’s came to town. It wasn’t official yet, but with Reggie Jackson and Ken Holtzman traded to Baltimore, Jim Hunter long since gone to New York, and Vida Blue, Joe Rudi, and Rollie Fingers on the block before the June 15 trade deadline, Oakland was already in its post-Championship Era. Still a forceful team that would nearly win the A.L. West that year, but truly in decline. They had their third manager in four years (and would, in fact, trade him that winter in one of owner Charles Finley’s desperate efforts to suck the value out of anybody who might want out of his rapidly collapsing club). We only had a photo of this manager in his previous uniform, and so of all the A’s, I approached him first to pose.
“Pardon me, Mr. Tanner, may I get a couple of shots of you for Collectors Quarterly magazine?”
Chuck Tanner beamed at me. “Of course you can, son.”
He stuck out his hand.
I had no idea what to do.
“I’m Chuck Tanner,” he said, both affably and sincerely. A faint bell dinged slowly in the back of my slow-moving mind. He’s shaking hands with you, dummy. I introduced myself.
“Very nice to meet you, Keith. What do you need me to do?”
I coughed out something about just standing there.
He laughed. “Can I smile?”
I laughed and snapped a few shots.
“I’m an amateur photographer,” he said, pleasantly.
I admitted I was too and suggested he could probably tell that.
He laughed again. “No, I wasn’t suggesting that. I’m just noticing you’re not using a flash but you’ve got me sort of side-saddle to the sun. If I move here it’ll probably come out better.”
This went on for several minutes. Not once did I get the impression that Chuck Tanner was trying to mock me or criticize me. He made it seem the most perfectly natural thing in the world for a major league baseball manager to take the time to give the most elemental of tips to a photographer, an hour or so before a ballgame. Then came something I couldn’t believe.
“Do you need me to get you any of my players so you can shoot them, Keith?”
You can guess how the rest of this went. Before I knew it, Dick Bosman and Paul Lindblad and Jim Todd were jogging in from shagging flies in the outfield to volunteer for my shaky camera lens. And as the old, beloved and lamented ritual of infield practice loomed and the media had to get off the field, Chuck Tanner walked back towards his dugout and stopped by and asked if I’d gotten everybody I needed. “Next time you’re back, find me first and I can get you anybody you want.”
I would meet Chuck Tanner again and again as the years went by. I was there as the reporter for UPI Radio as his Pirates won the 1979 National League Championship Series, and when I reminded him of how he had helped me at Yankee Stadium he either remembered it or did an amazing job pretending to, and then waved away security guards who tried to interrupt him while he gave a five-minute interview to the least important network radio reporter at the game.
A year later, as I took the subway out to Shea Stadium to cover a Mets-Pirates game, I saw somebody who appeared to be Pittsburgh coach Alex Monchak sitting across from me, and then realized the guy to his left was clearly Kent Tekulve, and the fellow standing up holding on to the overhead bar sure looked like Tanner in a jacket and tie. I looked at him, he looked at me, and he suppressed a smile and brought his forefinger to his lips. 45 minutes later, on the field, he walked over and thanked me for not blowing their cover. “It’s so much faster to come out on the subway than the team bus,” he said. “The station is right next to our hotel and it’s really a nice ride, at least on the way out. Wait – you’re that radio photographer guy, aren’t you?”
Chuck Tanner, as you know, died yesterday at the age of 82. When he came back to the big leagues as manager of the White Sox in 1970 he was considered the best managing prospect in the minors. The Pirates thought enough of him to trade Manny Sanguillen to Oakland for him in the winter of 1976-77 (rendering those great shots I’d gotten of him – positioned per his excellent photographic advice – useless) and when the Pirates finally let him go, the Braves quickly snapped him up. He only made the post-season once, winning the World Series in 1979, so Pittsburgh will tell you he is a Hall of Famer anyway.
And of course I would whole-heartedly agree. And I won’t even bother to address his credentials. May I have done once for somebody what he did for me, and countless others.
SPEAKING OF CARDS AND PHOTOGRAPHY:
Chuck Tanner would appreciate this, for the leavening of the sadness, and the continuity of the game, and the nostalgia – and the photography.
I have the privilege of showing you an uncut sheet of the 2011 Topps Heritage Baseball Refractors Series. The glossy metallic treatment causes the sheet to warp a little, but you should be able to live with it. Topps has done another superb job on recreat
ing the historical original, in this case the 1962 set: you’ll notice nearly all the Mets and Astros are capless (just as they were in ’62, for far different reasons) and the lettering and the posing is very precise.
ing the historical original, in this case the 1962 set: you’ll notice nearly all the Mets and Astros are capless (just as they were in ’62, for far different reasons) and the lettering and the posing is very precise.
Of particular note, in Row 8, fourth from the left you’ll find a rather clunky airbrush job in which a Phillies’ cap is poorly painted onto Cliff Lee’s head. This is not a mistake, but more of a deliberate reference to a 1962 card of catcher Sammy White, who joined the Phils of that year just as those cards were going to press, and who appeared in a kind of reddish-pinkish artist’s charcoal colored hat in the same kind of purgatory-like blank environment Mr. Lee seems posed in.
There is one disturbing image – Row 3, third from the right. It’s the first Topps card, I believe, showing Don Mattingly in any uniform other than the Yankees. Not to say he doesn’t deserve it, it’s just that no matter how often I look at it, it doesn’t compute:
Baseball Nerd 
I was four years old in ’63, but I was able to get a few cards from some older kids. The disembodied heads of the “Leaders” cards almost put me off the hobby forever.
You need to know the originals to really appreciate the level of detail here. I can’t wait for them to do the ’56 set.
Beautiful story, Keith. Tanner sounds like a class act – and yes, I think you have followed his lead in many ways. May he rest in peace.
Great tribute to Mr. Tanner. Definitely a great guy!
qn5FpL That’s way more clever than I was expecting. Thanks!
Keith, condolences on the loss of your friend. No doubt in my mind that you have paid forward Mr. Tanner’s kindness towards you many times over, in ways great and small; in ways known and unknown to you.
Admittedly, I’m thick as a plank when it comes to baseball cards, but that refractory, shiny, curled-edge quality is really cool looking. Why does Topps do that?
You really must write a baseball book someday, though I would wager that you probably have enough material/stories to fill several books. I’ll be first in line when it comes out.
Which brings me to this: I have missed seeing you on TV every night. But even more, I’ve missed your writing on this blog. So happy to have you back.
Chief, congrats on the new TeeVee gig. I know it won’t happen overnight, but it is my fervent hope that Current rivals and then ultimately eclipses MSNBC. It would serve those bastids right! 🙂
Keith, as always, a great story.
And I’m glad to see you posting on here again. I somehow thought that your agreement with NBC might have prevented you from commenting on baseball given your longer than usual absence from this blog.
And how exactly do I find Current TV on Cablevision of Westchester?
Thank you so much, Keith, for your wonderful blog entry about Chuck Tanner. As a Pittsburgher, I can attest that he was a very bright spot in our Pirates’ history. Chuck was a true gentleman, a quiet leader, and a very good man. I so very much appreciate your remembering him publicly and your kind words ameliorate our loss.
As an aside, just so you know, this old broad is following you to Current. No question about it! I’ve been going through Keith withdrawal so I can’t wait to be jolted back into my Keith addiction.
Great success to you in 2011 and thank you, again, for your Chuck Tanner story.
1962 was the first year I had an allowance so it was the first year that I avidly collected baseball cards. Everytime I see that wood and the poster with the curl revealing the name of the player, I have my Flaubert moment, lost in my chilhood reverie.
A very sweet and heartwarming story, Keith. There’s something about baseball that brings out the best in people, and the best of people.
how do I follow you on your blog I clicked on the subscription button and nothing happened
Wow, that’s cool. I always thought that if I were ever somebody, I wouldn’t treat anybody like a nobody.
Keith, I am sorry about your loss.
I read about Tanner managing the White Sox and what I consider a terrific story. He had Dick Allen, and his attitude was, I don’t care if he was “difficult” elsewhere, he’s a great player and I can work with him–and he did. But one day, Harry Caray was going out to the bleachers to broadcast. Harry would sit out there with no shirt on, knocking down Budweiser and calling the game, and fans loved it. But Allen despised Caray, and in batting practice, started aiming at him. Finally, he got to about three seats away when Tanner realized what was happening, ran out to the cage, and pulled Allen out of there himself. I’m sure he had no love for Caray either, but he may have saved Harry’s life.
Great memories of Mr. Tanner. Thanks for sharing them.
Now, as for that sheet of Topps Heritage, why would they go with the glossy treatment for that set? Shouldn’t it be simple cardboard, as a true tribute? That would draw my interest more.
The Twitter keystroke constraints stilt the flow of your prose, so this was a real treat. Mr. Tanner clearly was a star who embodied the true meaning of “role model”. You clearly learned his lesson on how to treat a fan with kindness and respect. It’s amazing that you could summon such poise in front of your heroes at the tender age of 17. It was a lovely tribute, and your “voice” has been missed. Are you able to publish at this point, as you cannot yet broadcast? Or, is that constrained as well (damn non-competes)?
When Mr. Tanner was the manager of the Hawaii Islanders in 1970, they were the arch rivals of the Spokane Indians, my employer. As a groundskeeper , we always had full access to the field . Traditionally, the road team hit last,and as we stood around ready to hook up the cage, and do our pre game work, I would screw up my courage and chat up any players or “the skippper” if he was around. Mr Tanner (you can call me Chuck) was the most friendly and kindest baseball person I ever met. When the two teams met in the playoffs, in Honolulu, Bobby V. was drilled by a pitch. I remember thinking, Chuck wouldn’t order up something like that would he? I wish him eternal rest, and know he is in a better place.
Thanks for the wonderful story. Is there any chance you will show the photographs to accompany the story?
In the interests of accuracy, Harry Caray wouldn’t have been drinking Budweisers when Dick Allen was with the White Sox. Either Ballentine or Falstaff.
…Thanks to Chuck Tanner for bringing back optimism to the White Sox franchise after their dismal showing in 1969 and 70. And for introducing Bee Bee Richard to MLB.
In the interests of accuracy, Harry Caray wouldn’t have been drinking Budweisers when Dick Allen was with the White Sox. Either Ballentine or Falstaff.
…Thanks to Chuck Tanner for bringing back optimism to the White Sox franchise after their dismal showing in 1969 and 70. And for introducing Bee Bee Richard to MLB.
When Leyland spoke to Tanner’s son Bruce later in the day, Bruce relayed a message his father had recently given him.
As Leyland explained:
“He told Bruce, ‘You tell Jim Leyland to get his *** to spring trainingand don’t even think about coming up here for the service.’ ”
http://www.freep.com/article/20110213/SPORTS02/102130620/Per-Chuck-Tanner-s-order-Jim-Leyland-will-remain-Lakeland
Keith..How right you are about Donnie Baeball…not quite right…nice tribute to Chuck Tanner…the man always seemed to be smiling.
I remember the excitement of Tanner coming to Atlanta in the 80’s and hoping he could get us to the next level of play. It didn’t happen but we still had some fun and exciting games mixed in with all the awful ones and the heartbreak. Damn good Manager.
Keith, am I suffering from false memory syndrome or did you once mention here on your blog that Donruss had also used some of your photos for their early sets? Any chance you could clarify that for me and if possible, can you fill us in on which cards used your photos?
Thanks for a beautiful and touching memory of your interaction with Tanner. Jan in Santa Clarita.
I have my own Chuck Tanner moment.
Spring training 1988, Braves-Mets in Port St. Lucie & the NY writers are giving me the business. (“Oh, you’re from Milwaukee…that must be the kind of camera they use in Wisconsin…”)
Chuck Tanner sees the crap I’m taking, walks over, looks at my press pass and pretends to know me. He shouts, “Hey, Johnny, how ya doin?” I play along with the gag and reply, “well I just came to see Dale Murphy.” He calls out, “Hey Dale, come over here, Johnny’s here.” Suddenly those writers are wondering, jeez who is this guy?
Chuck Tanner, an ok manager, an even better human being.
I also have a Chuck Tanner story.
In 1979 the Mets and Pirates played a game at Shea that was called due to fog. In extra innings Dave parker tried to catch a fly ball lost in the fog and the umps called the game.
While waiting outside the stadium to get autographs I approached both Dave Parker and Chuck Tanner. While signing my scorecard I asked Chuck if he had ever seen a game as strange as the one he participated in. He paused, and replied, “Only in the Twilight Zone.”
God bless Chuck Tanner.