A Commissioner on Deck

By Tom Callahan

Peter Ueberroth lines up work after the Olympics

The only baseball commissioner with an impossible act to follow was Albert B. ("Happy") Chandler, who succeeded Judge Kenesaw Mountain Landis in 1945.

"Ol' Hap," as most folks called Chandler then, and practically everyone does still, gave up a perfectly comfortable Senate seat because he imagined the work might be more restful than politics. "As Governor of Kentucky," says Chandler, 85, "I signed 36 death warrants. Two of them were hanged for rape in the courthouse yard." But as he was soon to learn--and as Ford Frick, Spike Eckert and Bowie Kuhn all discovered in turn--the commissioner's job is not unlike presiding at such an occasion while being the object of the exercise at the same time.

"Baseball owners," Hap says, "are the toughest set of ignoramuses anyone could ever come up against. They always have been. Refreshingly dumb fellows: greedy, shortsighted and stupid. They created this job in 1921 only because, after the 1919 Black Sox scandal, the American people needed a symbol of complete authority and absolute integrity. But I don't expect baseball ever really wanted a commissioner at all. When the clubs pushed me out in 1951, they had a vacancy and decided to keep it.

So they named Ford Frick."

This has been the tone of every turnover since. In 1969, when the owners kindly excused General Eckert ("the unknown soldier"), they hired their own lawyer:

Bowie Kuhn. It took him 13 years, but finally he crossed enough owners (in this business, one-quarter of either league is enough) to be fired. Since November of 1982, while Kuhn has loyally hung around, baseball has been seeking a replacement. At least one Governor, Maryland's Harry Hughes, was coaxed into admitting mild interest, and President Reagan's chief of staff, James Baker, was reportedly approached casually. But, even more than usual, the job hardly seemed worth having.

Then last week Peter Ueberroth, 46, the Los Angeles Olympic Organizing

Committee's president and chief salesman, accepted it with a flourish. In the language of aviation, his first enterprise before the travel business made him a millionaire, he countered baseball's offer with a list of "no go" demands. Unless every item was checked, he was not going anywhere. For example, except in tampering cases, the commissioner's fining authority has been technically limited to $5,000 a club and $500 a player. "That's no good," Ueberroth said. "I have to be able to fine an owner a quarter of a million dollars. Somebody has to be in charge. In the past the position has been too reactive and responsive to ownership. The first responsibility of the commissioner is to the game and to the fans--it starts with them. Then to the managers, the players, the owners--no, the players before the others."

His most adamant and unusual no-go requirement involved Kuhn. During the months that Ueberroth was rumored for the job, it was presumed that he would be unavailable until after the Summer Games, but it was not clear who, if anyone, would replace Kuhn until then. Ueberroth made it clear. He would not take over until Oct. 1, he stipulated precisely, "but I want Bowie Kuhn--and no one else--in charge in the interim. Key leadership shifts need transitions. I want to learn from him. I don't think it would be very smart to take over that kind of responsibility without drawing all I can from his experience."

Kuhn had been firm about calling an end to caretaking. "But when Peter put me on the spot--either I stayed or he went--I had to say yes. You see, I'd been for him all along. He's bright, constructive, courageous and tough. Toughness is important in this job. And there are going to be some rules changes that will be very beneficial to him. I'm even faintly jealous. He'll be in a position of very strong power. There may be a tendency to see him as just a business guy, but I've talked to him about guarding the integrity of the game, and I'm more than satisfied. Though he does not have an extensive baseball background, he has an affection for the game."

Back when Kuhn began his watch, someone quizzed him: "Quick, name two catchers on the St. Louis Browns in the early '40s." Without a blink, Kuhn replied, "Swift and Mancuso." But Ueberroth required a moment to think before mentioning Cincinnati Pitcher Ewell Blackwell among his favorite old players.

Hesitantly, he expressed admiration for past Cleveland Third Baseman Al Rosen.

"I played third, caught a little, pitched," Ueberroth said. "American Legion ball, sandlots, high school. I wasn't very good.

But baseball is a sport I've cared about--it's not a made-up thing. I started out a Cubs fan, moved over to the [minor league] San Francisco Seals, then to the Dodgers."

It will occur to some that, in securing his post-Games position now, Ueberroth is ensuring himself against unknown risks. If the Olympics are pleasing and profitable, he will be honored for it. But any number of lethal or logistical horrors could undo his best work. "I warned the baseball owners that they were electing a commissioner who may be the most criticized man in the country for months before he even arrives." Kuhn, in letting himself in for one more season of criticism, is no more reluctant at heart than Pete Rose.

"That's the joke," he says. "Here's Pete Rose at 75 still playing first base, and panning over to the commissioner's box, on his 588th monthly extension, there's Bowie Kuhn .. ." He laughed, something he has been doing increasingly. "I guess as the wine runs down, it does get sweeter," he said. --By Tom Callahan