RIP Jerome Holtzman

Continuing a God-awful week for the baseball writing community. In one week, we've lost Red Foley, Matt McHale, Neil Hohlfeld and now, the Dean. I knew Jerome as one of our card-playing regulars during World Series' and winter meetings. Jerome was the organizer with Dave Nightengale. Other regulars were Phil Pepe, Bob Hertzel, Bill Millsaps, Moss Klein and me, with a number of others joining us whenever available.

Jerome made us laugh during each game, when he would say, feigning seriousness, "I'd rather play poker than fuck."

Yes, the cigar was annoying, but we put up with it because it was the Dean smoking it. And now, please, Angel of Death, give us a break for awhile.

 

Was anywhere there for this?

http://nbcsports.msnbc.com/id/25791009/


But that night, in front of the national press corps like a schoolboy called out in class, Jerome Holtzman was having to defend his column. He wasn't backing down. His suspenders bulged as he explained firmly that there were two other Tribune writers at the game, and he was pretty sure they were going to mention the home runs.

"The stuff from the column won't be in the story," Jerome said. "This is the column."

And then a voice rang out behind him.

"Run the column!"

Maybe it was the writer from USA Today, or the guy from the Sun-Times. Jerome had taken most of the youngsters in the press box under his wing. He'd let anybody come up to the house in Evanston to smoke a cigar and look at his files on Shoeless Joe. And he'd take anybody's money in a poker game. The press box can be a pretty competitive place, but we were all on Jerome's side of this battle.

"Run the column!"

Jerome kept explaining (Yep, but...") as another voice shouted.

"Run the (expletive) column!"

Now we were all into it, and the chant began.

"Run the (expletive) column!"

"Run the (expletive) column!"

"Run the (expletive) column!"

Maybe it went on for 10 seconds or so. The windows of the press box were wide open, and people in the stands below us must have wondered where those voices were coming from.

The editor at Tribune Tower could hear us, too, and backed down. Jerry hung up the phone and smiled.

Who says there's no cheering in the press box?

 

Couple of more things about Jerome:

I was in the Cubs' clubhouse one time when Larry Bowa was at the end of the line and had a bug up his ass about something that had been in the papers. So in typical understated Bowa style, he was screaming at Jerome and the other beat guy (Dave Nightengale, maybe?), ranting and swearing and slamming stuff, yelling that "you (bleeps) are trying to bury me" and all the usual nonsense. It was high volume and naturally had the attention of everyone in the clubhouse. Jerome barely cast a glance Bowa's way, turned and said to someone, "Such language" and headed into the manager's office.

I don't know how many years he did it, but Jerome used to compile and write the massive season in review that was part of The Sporting News Baseball Guide every year. If you've ever had to do some research on the '60s and '70s, you can appreciate his efforts in that regard. He has everything in those pieces. It's not as daunting a task today with website archives, but I'm sure Jerome was saving boxes full of clips back in the day to put those things together

 

I love this part of Dave's Lewis Grizzard story:

Wonder if Holtzman told LG he invented that cliche, too?

:

 

Ah, the good old days. Now a sports editor would have to seek approval in a couple of meetings, slash coverage of an out-of-town event and arrange for at least one layoff to authorize the airfare hit of a changed itinerary, calling the scribe back early.

 

http://www.omnivoracious.com/2008/07/jerome-holtzman.html

Great photo.

 

This is from Hal McCoy's blog at the Dayton Daily News site:


<i>TWO OF MY all-time favorite baseball writers died within the last week - Jerome Holtzman of the Chicago Tribune and Neil Hohlfeld of the Houston Chronicle.

Holtzman was retired but was historian for the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown. Holtzman wrote one of my all-time favorite books, No Cheering in the Press Box, a book, he signed for me and a book I read at least every two years.

Holtzman could be a gruff curmudgeon, but if he liked you, you were golden. He wrote always with a cigar stub between his lips and he hummed as he wrote. I sat next to him at a World Series one year and was entertained by the entire score from South Pacific, as hummed by Holtzman.

And there was the time during the playoffs that Holtzman was seated next to another Chicago writer, Dave Nightengale. They didn't like each other much. The work space was tight and when one thought the other was encroaching, words were spoken harshly, chairs scraped backwards, and the fight was on.

A third Chicago writer said, "I don't like either one of those Bozos. Let 'em duke it to the death."

Hohlfeld was a beat writer for many year for the Houston Astros, mostly when the Astros were the Houston Lastros or the Houston Disastros. Early one year, in April, when only about 10 games had been played, the 'Stros were in first place.

Paul Meyer, beat writer for the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, was needling Hohlfeld early in a game and Hohlfeld said, "Can't talk, Paul. I'm covering a first-place team."

Anyway, if you get the chance, read Holtzman's No Cheerling in the Press Box. It truly is a classic.</i>