Vincent made impact in short stay

VERO BEACH, Fla. – Twin pillars stand sentry at the house that is part of a Vero Beach gated community. Just beyond the front door lies a living room as spacious as it is immaculate.

Francis “Fay” Vincent Jr. spends more of his time in the cozy room that sits off to the side. A fax machine, telephone and laptop computer are within reach of the recliner where he is settled in on the unseasonably chilly day.

The walls are lined with pictures and all of them come with a story. Take the one where Vincent is flinching as Giants first baseman Will Clark dives into the front row seats during a 1989 World Series game.

Willie Mays happened to be sitting a couple of seats away from Vincent when Clark gave chase to a foul ball. After the “Say Hey Kid” moved quickly to make sure one of Clark’s cleats didn’t catch Vincent in the face, Vincent said, “That’s why you’re in the Hall of Fame.”

That picture documents one of the few times Vincent flinched as Major League Baseball’s commissioner, a big reason why his tenure lasted less than a presidential term. But he is not bitter about getting pushed out as commissioner in 1992. Truth is, his love affair with the game is stronger than ever (as are his opinions).

And why not?

Baseball allowed him to forge close friendships with immortals such as Ted Williams and Joe DiMaggio. And never in his wildest dreams did Vincent think he’d end up heading Major League Baseball.

He had an athletic background but after graduating from Yale Law School he pursued business opportunities.

Vincent’s experience in running a big business prompted MLB’s owners to persuade Bart Giamatti to hire his good friend as his deputy after Giamatti succeeded Peter Ueberroth as the sport’s commissioner in April of 1989.

“We were 50. We thought it would be fun,” Vincent said. “Baseball was just a byway on the road of life.”

If Vincent viewed his move to Park Avenue as just another stop, that is because, as his good friend Elden Auker puts it, “He’s had so many experiences.”

Indeed, Vincent headed Columbia Pictures Industries for nearly 10 years. Even the summer he spent working on oilrigs in Texas put him in close contact with the rich and (soon-to-be) famous. Vincent, who was in college at the time, stayed at the house of two future presidents, though at the time, he and others affectionately called the 9-year-old son of George Herbert Walker Bush “Georgie.”

Driving on one of west Texas’ dusty roads one day, Vincent said, he slammed into a car that had been parked perpendicular to the road and jutted into his lane. The elder Bush sent his doctor to examine Vincent. The doctor, a small man, took one look at the 6-foot-3, 230-pound Vincent, who had broken his nose and had blood streaming down his face, and said, “Well, ordinarily we’d take a lot of stitches, but on you it won’t make any difference.”

Thrust into role of commissioner

Pete Rose, MLB’s all-time hits leader, would later say a lot more unflattering things about Vincent than that doctor did. Vincent is the one who appointed John Dowd to investigate Rose not long after he and Giamatti assumed the top posts in baseball. The infamous Dowd Report led to Rose’s lifetime banishment by Giamatti in August of 1989 for gambling on baseball.

Giamatti died suddenly of a heart attack a week later, thrusting Vincent into the crosshairs of the Rose fallout. His reign, while short, provided its share of challenges. Less than two months into his tenure an earthquake interrupted the 1989 World Series between Oakland and San Francisco.

Vincent took take a hard line against Rose, who for years denied he ever bet on baseball, and George Steinbrenner. He banned the Yankees owner from the club’s day-to-day operations after it was revealed that Steinbrenner paid an admitted gambler to uncover dirt on former Yankee Dave Winfield (Vincent later reinstated Steinbrenner).

Noted baseball historian Bob Costas lauded Vincent for the strong stances he took as well as how he handled the ‘89 World Series.

“I think history will be very favorable to him,” Costas said.

The owners who elected him commissioner after Giamatti died were not so favorable to Vincent. And if Rose is not on Vincent’s holiday card list neither is current commissioner Bud Selig.

Selig, Vincent said, spearheaded the charge that led to his resignation in September of 1992. The owners, Vincent said, wanted to roll back salaries. Vincent maintained that MLB’s Players’ Association was too powerful and he urged the owners and union to work toward a collective bargaining agreement amenable to both sides.

Owners, Vincent said, wanted him to push their agenda and that led to his ouster and Selig’s appointment as commissioner.

“He was one of the guys that ganged up on me,” Vincent said of Selig, “that pushed me out of baseball, so I don’t view him with great affection.”

The impasse between owners and the union eventually led to the 1994 strike that killed the World Series.

“Heart and soul, what (Vincent) was doing, he believed was right for baseball,” said former Dodgers pitcher Ralph Branca, who is close friends with Vincent. “They wanted a push-button commissioner that they could tell what to do. I know certain owners have apologized to him, he’s told me that.”

MLB historian Jerome Holtzman said Vincent had his priorities wrong.

“His biggest mistake is that he thought he was commissioner of the players and not the owners,” Holtzman said. “He was hired by the owners, not the players. He was paid by the owners, not by the players. You can’t represent both sides.”

That is exactly what Vincent, who wrote the book “Baseball’s Last Commissioner,” said he tried to do and it cost him his job. Selig has a credibility problem since he is a former owner, Vincent said. He also pointed out that the economics of the game are still “a mess” and that both sides are still fighting.

“Gosh, I think if they had left (Vincent) in there he would have been a great commissioner,” said Auker, a 94-year-old Vero Beach resident, who is the last living person to have pitched to Babe Ruth. “We need a guy like him in there, someone that has the interest in the whole game.”

Still doing meaningful work

As an undergrad at Williams (Mass.) College, Vincent fell from the ledge of a dormitory, leaving him with a compressed spine and a broken back. Unable to move from the chest down for several months, Vincent still harbored hopes of playing football again. But he was never able to run again, and the 66-year-old Vincent often needs two canes to get around these days.

He could have been just as broken after the owners ran him out as commissioner as he was following that four-story fall.

“It still hurts him that they pushed him out,” said Branca, who talks to Vincent almost every day.

Vincent calls himself “half retired,” but he still sits on several business boards and is still intimately involved in the game.

Vincent has been interviewing old-time players and he has talked to the likes of Hall of Famers Bob Feller and Warren Spahn as well as a handful of former Negro Leaguers. Through those interviews and the friendships he has made in the game, he has accumulated more yarns than a craft store.

Those tales will be turned into a book (Vincent said he will donate all proceeds from it to the Negro League Alumni).

“They lived, they breathed and they slept baseball,” Vincent said. “That’s all they cared about. We’ll never see that again.”