Kup's Chicago - Irv Kupcinet [72]
It was here, too, that Andy Frain launched the famous ushering service that has become a fixture at ball games, fights, political conventions, and other events where large crowds gather. By personally crashing the Kentucky Derby and then bluffing his way into the executive offices of Colonel Matt Winn, Frain demonstrated to Winn and others how gate-crashers could substantially cut into gate receipts. Frain’s personal counseling of the hundreds of youths he employs each year ranks him as “headmaster” of one of the largest “prep schools” in the nation. Doctors, lawyers, priests, scientists, public officials – all are among the alumni of “Frain Tech.”
On a given night, Frain may have as many as seven thousand men on duty in two dozen cities, all of whom receive their instructions from his headquarters on West Madison Street across from the Chicago Stadium. By now, there are few gate-crashing alibis they haven’t heard. Some gate-crashers have carried ladders and posed as maintenance men. Others have brought such props as ice buckets and press cameras. One even arrived at a sports event carrying a clock and claiming to be the timekeeper. But Andy has stopped them all. All, that is, but one – his nemesis, the late James “One-Eye” Connelly, king of the gate-crashers.
Over the years, there was almost no event Connelly did not try to crash. With One-Eye, it was more than a sport, it was a code of honor. Once, before a political convention, Frain had given his ushers a detailed description of One-Eye, had briefed them on all the wily free-loader’s standard dodges, and had threatened vague horrors that would dog the life of any man who let him past. No sooner did Andy enter the hall, however, than he saw One-Eye in the middle of the convention floor – selling ice water to the delegates, at fifty cents a glass. Every time that Andy caught One-Eye, he would have him thrown out. And almost invariably, a few minutes later – by means known only to the elusive Connelly – Andy would hear a familiar voice shouting, with a grin, “Hi, Andy.” Shortly before One-Eye’s death in 1953, Andy visited him for a sad good-by.
“I’m sure he crashed the Pearly Gates,” says Andy. “I’d like to have seen St. Peter keep him out.”
For those who like their sports at home, Chicago offers some of the best sports broadcasters in the business, including Cubs-White Sox telecaster Jack Brickhouse, with whom I broadcast the Chicago Bears’ games; Bob Elson, a former Paulist choirboy who broadcasts the White Sox games on radio; WBBM’s John Harrington, a football specialist with a quarterback’s savvy and a lineman’s girth; and Jack Drees, the former U. of Iowa basketball star who is adept in every field.
As his winter afternoon radio programs with disk jockey Eddie Hubbard demonstrate, Jack Brickhouse is quite a guy. Just when listeners expect him to discuss baseball, football, wrestling, or one of his other sports specialties, he’ll launch into an informed discourse on something like the price of tea in Tahiti. Particularly amusing are his stories of his early radio experiences – such as this one, of his first football broadcast, in Peoria, Illinois.
“I lost track of the score in the first quarter,” says Jack, “and I never again got it straight. I incorrectly identified almost every player on the field. After I completely missed a touchdown and called the try for the extra point a field goal attempt, the studio sent another announcer to take over!”
As a baseball town, Chicago really has no equal. Birthplace of both major leagues, ours was the only city that was supporting two ball clubs at the time of the recent expansions. Baseball history has been made here, not only by the players on the field, but by the less conspicuous – though no less colorful – front-office men.
The late Charles A. Comiskey, “The Old Roman,” was both a great player and a great executive. A native Chicagoan, he dedicated fifty years of