Back to the Carnival

"This is still an entertainment business. Every ball game is not going to be an exciting one. That's where fireworks and baseball personalities and bands come in. Owners should experiment. Maybe the uniforms should be improved--maybe it's better to use green or purple."

So, last week, said Bill Veeck (rhymes with peck), onetime owner of the Cleveland Indians and St. Louis Browns, now the new boss of the Chicago White Sox. For $2,700,000, Veeck and associates bought control from the squabbling Comiskey family, who had controlled the team since 1901. The skill of the good-pitch, no-hit Sox may not improve right away, but the ball games in Comiskey Park are bound to be livelier.

Veeck is the man who gave Cleveland fans a "bartenders' day," staged midget-auto races in the ballpark, and with a pennant winner (1948), posted a major-league record for season attendance that still stands. In St. Louis, he gave the fans clowns, once used a midget as lead-off batter (he drew a base on balls), even let spectators manage the team for several games by flashing "yes" and "no" cards to questions of strategy. Yet the carnival atmosphere was no substitute for success. The Browns did not win, and Veeck tried to get the franchise transferred to Minneapolis or Baltimore, even considered Los Angeles. When American League club owners, nettled by his brashness, blocked every move, all he could do was quit. Says he: "I didn't leave baseball gracefully. I was evicted."

But to Veeck, "being in baseball is like taking dope," and now that he is back, he has marijuana-sized dreams for the White Sox. Chicago is a potential gold mine, says Veeck: "Industry is diversified so that if one sector of the economy is hurting, it doesn't kill you like it would in Detroit or Pittsburgh." He intends to pull all the stops. His first object, he says, is "putting on the field the best ball club." Then come the gimmicks: fireworks shows at $1,000 a clip, a baby-sitting service for mothers, free nylons for the ladies, bands in the stands, special "nights" for fans. Veeck himself will wander through the stands, sitting with the fans to talk baseball and listen to their gripes. At odd moments he will do duty at the turnstiles, taking tickets--and, of course, counting the house.

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