Jim Zabel

If There’s a Hawkeye Fan on Your Gift List, Your Shopping Is Over!

Each copy of this First Edition includes a CD of Jim Zabel’s greatest calls and is personally autographed by Jim Zabel. At long last, Jim Zabel tells his incredible Hawkeye stories…Just in time for Christmas.

Jim Zabel—65 Years of Fun & Games is a marvelous, funny, and true account of the absolutely incredible career of the “Voice of Iowa.” Never-before-told, behind-the-scenes stories mixed with great humor plus dozens of priceless photos make this book a “must read” for the hundreds of thousands of Jim Zabel fans.

The remembrances are all here…from his youth growing up in Davenport, his match race with Jesse Owens, his days as a University of Iowa student, and his relationships with Presidents, movie stars, and Hall of Famers. If a basketball or a football could talk, it would sound like Jim Zabel. While Jim Zabel was the soundtrack of Iowa, this book may well be the timetable of your life.

You’ll Love It! You’ll Love It! You’ll Love It!

Each copy of this First Edition includes a CD of Jim Zabel’s greatest calls and is personally autographed by Jim Zabel.

Posted in Hall of Fame, Hawkeye, Iowa, Sports |

HAYDEN – Miracle Maker

The importance of Hayden Fry to the Iowa football program cannot be overstated. To put it simply, he saved it. Iowa football stumbled through twenty years of failure and frustration following the departure of Forest Evashevski and there was some doubt whether it could ever be resurrected. It is a cruel fact of history that schools that hit the skids often stay at the bottom for long periods, football being the numbers game that it is. It was during this dark era of Hawkeye football that a fan hollered at me as I left the stadium: “Hey Zabel, when I die I want to be buried in the Iowa end zone where no one will step on me!” I told Podolak, “Luckily, there were only two bad decades.” Hayden said he took the Iowa job because he felt the Hawkeyes had two of the three things necessary to make a program go—fans and money. “It’s up to me,” he said, “to supply the third—players.”

The first thing Hayden tried to do was bring the warring factions together. He had a two-hour phone conversation with Evashevski. Then he spent time with George Foerstner, CEO of Amana and Raytheon, who controlled the purse strings of financial backing for Iowa football. Foerstner said, “I think I like this guy.” Next, Hayden brought his 16-inch guns to town in the form of an outstanding staff, one of the best, I think, ever assembled. We’re talking about guys like Bill Snyder, Barry Alvarez, Kirk Ferentz, Dan McCarney, Carl Jackson, Bill Brashier, Bobby Elliott and later, graduate assistants like Bobby Stoops, Mike Stoops and Bret Bielema. (“I’m proudest of the fact,” Hayden said, “that 26 of my assistants went on to become head coaches.”). Recruiting was the top priority for this staff, and it paid off with players like Chuck Long, Chuck Hartlieb, Tavian Banks, Tim Dwight,Ronnie Harmon, Quinn Early, Sedrick Shaw, Nick Bell, Larry Station, the stars—“Romanoffs on the Rocks.”

It was a picturesque spot located in the mountain foothills. There was only one catch. There were no stars around. In fact, we were the only two customers in the place. The waiter said, “Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin sit right over there, during the season,” as he pointed at a nearby table. The problem was the season didn’t start until after the first of the year. Brooks said, “They’ve got to have a lot of food back there. Let’s ask them if we can get a cut rate and unload some of that stuff in the kitchen.” No dice. The waiter turned us down. He said he needed all the help he could get until “the season” arrived. I just hope Frank and Dean gave him a big tip. For years, the Amana VIP golf tournament in Iowa City was the biggest summer sports event in Iowa. Virtually all of the top golfers were there with a bevy of country music stars, sports celebrities like Bobby Knight and Joe DiMaggio, and TV and movie personalities like Glen Campbell and Fred MacMurray. In other words, it was a big deal.

Presiding over the whole affair was George Foerstner, a crusty old German who was the head man at Amana, and later at Raytheon. (George is the guy I called when we were having trouble selling the Bob Commings Coach’s Show on WHO-TV. Amana had agreed to buy one-third of the show, so I asked George how to go about selling the remaining two-thirds. “I’ll tell you what you do, Zabel,” George said in that accent that made him Dennis Mosley, Jared Devries, Aaron Kampman and Reggie Roby, to mention some of the best. Trying to pick the greatest games of the Fry regime is tough because there were so many of them. The 1985 win over Michigan, 12-10, has to be high on the list because the Hawkeyes were #1 in the nation, and the Wolverines #2. My personal favorite is the 9–7 victory over Michigan at the Big House in 1981. I like this game because it broke a long and bitter string of Wolverine wins at Ann Arbor and it turned out to be a stepping stone to the Rose Bowl for the Hawkeyes that year.

The game had additional meaning for me because Forest Evashevski and Tom Harmon were both in the booth with me. Evy was my color man, and Tom was there with Evy to honor their great Michigan team of 40 years earlier. I asked Evy where he was going as he left the booth, and he said, “Tom and I are going out to find a new coach.” As it turned out, Bo kept his job. My favorite Iowa play that I called was the sensational Hartlieb to Cook pass at Columbus on November 14, 1987, to give the Hawks a 29-27 win and seal the doom of Buckeye coach Earle Bruce. I went slightly crazy on that one. (In fact, State Musicologist Roger Maxwell set my touchdown call to music. He had a soprano from Simpson College sing my part in perfect harmony—“Six seconds to play— Hartlieb fades back—he passes to Cook—he’s at the ten—he’s at the five—it’s a touchdown! It’s a touchdown— Iowa wins 29 to 27.” The song didn’t make the Hit Parade, but it became the first touchdown at the Horseshoe to become an opera.). For the record, it was Bo Pelini, current coach at Nebraska who missed the tackle on Cook at the 5-yard line.

That information came from Chris Spielman, when I appeared on his phone show in Columbus. What was Hayden’s favorite game? There were those dramatic wins over Penn State, Ohio State, Michigan and Nebraska, but the one nearest and dearest to his heart was the 55-17 walloping of old rival Fred Akers and the Texas Longhorns in the Freedom Bowl at Anaheim, California, on December 26, 1984. The game was played in a driving rainstorm, but that didn’t slow down Chuck Long. The Iowa quarterback set a record with six touchdown passes against the vaunted Longhorns, who had been rated #1 in the nation for five weeks during the season. I also remember the Freedom Bowl for logistical reasons. I was in Hawaii to broadcast Iowa’s appearance in the Rainbow Classic Basketball Tournament. The Hawkeyes lost a 2-point overtime game to Maryland and the late Len Bias on Christmas night. After the game I dashed to the airport to catch a 2:30 a.m. red-eye to Anaheim, 2,500 miles away. After the Freedom Bowl I caught a red-eye back to Honolulu, arriving just in time to broadcast the Hawkeye basketball team in the consolation round of the tournament, which started at noon. Such were the hectic schedules we kept while covering the Hawkeyes in those days. In 20 years of doing Hayden’s pregame radio shows and postgame TV shows I shared many intimate moments with him. He had a running tug-of-war with team doctors over players being sidelined by injury for extended periods. “If you’ve got a hangnail you don’t play,” he once complained to me. On another occasion, star running back David Hudson had been sidelined for several weeks with a strained quadricep (upper leg).

When I arrived at Hayden’s office to do his pregame show, I could tell he was in a testy mood. “The doc called me today,” he told me, “and said I’ve got good news about David Hudson—‘he can pedal a bicycle.’” Hayden said, “I told him, ‘Good, maybe we can get him a paper route.’” Another time we were scheduled to tape the Hayden Fry TV show at 10 a.m. Sunday in the East Hall Studio, and Hayden was late which was unusual for him. He finally showed up and explained he was late because he had to take his dog to the vet. “You know how Dobermans are, they want to investigate everything,” Hayden said. “Our home is near the reservoir and when he saw an eagle holding a fish in his claws he thought he was King Kong and tried to get the fish away. The eagle was the winner. The dog wound up with 84 stitches.” Going to the Rose Bowl with Hayden in 1981 was a fabulous experience. I emceed the Hawkeye pep rally held at the luxurious Century Plaza Hotel. I called Bill Quinn, the hotel manager, who came from Carroll, Iowa and was a friend. Bill assured me the hotel was ready for a big crowd. “We can accommodate a sit-down dinner for 5,000 people,” he said. The problem was that 27,000 fans showed up.

They completely overcrowded the lobby, jamming the escalator and the elevators. I led cheers as best I could, going from one party area to another. Some people were even wading in the pool in front of the hotel. Bill Quinn said afterward, “I hired five extra bartenders. I could have used 50.” Hayden was never at a loss for words when it came to handling the actions of boisterous fans. One time during a game against Wisconsin at Madison, there were complaints about Badger fans getting out of line. On his radio show that I did with him, one Hawkeye fan called in and said, “When we came out of the tunnel, some Wisconsin fans were pouring schnapps on us. What should we have done? ” Hayden said, “Just put your head back and enjoy it.” Another time we got to talking about Texas chili on the show. I asked Hayden what the difference was between 4-alarm and 5-alarm chili. He said, “5-alarm is where you put the armadillo in live.” One night we took a call from a truck driver who said he was just pulling into Denver and was listening to the show. He had a strong Texas accent! He asked, “Are you the same Hayden Fry who played quarterback for Odessa High School? ” Hayden said he was. “This is Gus Johnson,” the caller said, “I played fullback on that team. Remember me?” Hayden gave him a big greeting, and said he did indeed remember him. T

he caller then asked, “Hayden, what are you doing now?” Hayden took it right in stride, and explained he was coaching football at the University of Iowa. “No kidding!” the caller said, “I always knew you was bigger than Odessa. Maybe I’ll catch one of your games some time.” I told Hayden that fame brings many rewards, some when you least expect them. Not everyone was happy with Hayden Fry’s exclusive arrangement with WHO. On June 17, 1990, the Cedar Rapids Gazette carried a two-column full-page story with this headline: “Mitchell Zaps Fry over Deal with WHO Radio”. The article, by Jim Ecker, reads “When (Frosty) Mitchell said ‘Fry has always sold his soul to WHO,’ he was referring to the Thursday night call-in show, hosted by Jim Zabel, and to the post-game interview conducted for WHO by Phil Haddy, Iowa’s assistant sports information director. “Mitchell thinks Fry deliberately withholds information at his Tuesday press conference for use on Thursday night. And he described the postgame session with Haddy as a ‘House Interview’— without substance!”

The truth was that every other coach in the Big 10 had exclusive contracts for radio and television shows so Hayden was no different. The 1998 season was a bad one for Hayden personally and for Iowa football. The Hawkeyes lost five straight games to end the season, finishing with a 3 and 8 record. I did Hayden’s last TV show as Iowa coach, following the Hawkeyes 49-7 loss to Minnesota on Nov. 21, 1998. He looked very tired at the taping. Actually, he was a sick man. (Prostate cancer, and later bladder cancer which required surgery). After a brief period of disappointment felt by his many fans, his popularity produced a host of banquets and tributes which continue today. He remains one of Iowa’s most beloved coaches. “They even named a highway after me,” Hayden exclaimed when I talked with him in December, 2009. “Now the fans who tailgate a little too much after the game can leave by the Fryway.” Rick Klatt, Iowa’s associate athletic director, also organized a “Fryfest ” before the first game in 2009. “It was great,” Hayden said, “I loved seeing all of my old friends, and even the ones who weren’t so friendly when I was coaching. I guess they think I’ve improved with age.” Hayden admits he has had to cut back on his activities — “I was on twelve boards of directors,” he said. “I’ve cut those down to three. One I hated to give up was the Hula Bowl in Hawaii. But I told them I had seen all the grass skirts and had drunk all the coconut milk I could take.” Not everything has been that pleasant.

National Public Radio called him for an interview. They wanted to talk about his famous pink locker room. “All of a sudden,” he said, “they brought in the president of the National Lesbian Society and she started blasting me on the air, telling me how demeaning it was.” “What did you say? ” I asked. Hayden said, “I told her, ‘Lady, I don’t care how badly you had to use the bathroom, I would never let you in my pink locker room.’ Then I hung up on her. After that, “National Public Radio called back and I hung up on them also.” Sometimes Hayden’s popularity resulted in service above and beyond the call of duty. He attended the funeral for the father of the Stoops brothers, who passed away unexpectedly while coaching a game in Youngstown, Ohio. Mrs. Stoops, the widow, asked Hayden for a favor. Could he raise her husband’s body out of the casket and put a Hawkeye jersey on him? Hayden obliged and Coach Stoops was buried in Hawkeye colors.

The search for a new head coach at Iowa took a lot of twists and turns, with the name of Bobby Stoops being most prominently mentioned. But Iowa was up against a deadline because Oklahoma also wanted Stoops. And the Sooners won out. (There were those who swore Stoops really wanted the Iowa job. I interviewed him at half-time of an Arena Football game in Oklahoma City, and asked him that very question. He laughed and said he loved Iowa City and the Hawkeyes, but was happy at Oklahoma. He added, “Iowa has a great coach in Kirk Ferentz.”). It is an open secret that Bob Bowlsby’s favorite candidate was his buddy at UNI, Terry Allen, who was at Kansas at that time. But he was struggling and quickly fell out of the picture. Next came interviews with former Iowa assistants, including Kirk Ferentz. Gradually, Kirk became the favorite and was hired. So once again he was in familiar territory. Obviously, Kirk was the perfect choice, and he seemed to possess the same ability to come from behind and win the race that Bowlsby himself had. I felt it was a great selection from the beginning. I had gotten to know him very well when he was with Hayden and had done many interviews with him because I have always felt a great offensive line coach is the keystone of a successful coaching staff. Those dramatic wins over Michigan in the 1980s—I always believed Kirk deserved a large share of the credit— so from that standpoint, he is really an extension and continuation of the Hayden Fry days. And that’s good enough for me.

Posted in Book Excerpt, Hawkeye, Iowa, Sports |

THE FOUR MUSKETERS – Two Centuries Behind The Mike

Some of my happiest times, as I look back, were spent with the Four Musketeers—Brooksie, Z, Shoe and Gills. By name, Bob Brooks, Jim Zabel, Ron Gonder and Gene Claussen. (Gonder got the Shoe nickname because he wore size 15, and Claussen was Gills because he always ordered fish when we ate out). For more than 40 years, we traveled together, dined together, stayed in the same hotels together and of course did Hawkeye gamestogether. We were fierce competitors on the air, but best buddies off. (Taking into account our coverage of the Hawkeyes before and after play-by-play, it comes to a total of well over 200 years. My total alone was 65 years, as of May 2009.)

Many times we were joined in our socializing by media friends like Ed Podolak, Buck Turnbull of the Register, and George Wine and Phil Haddy of Iowa Sports Information. Our conversationswould range from debates and opinions on current games, to individual performances by key players. One time we took an informal poll on Hayden Fry’s most valuable player during his 20 years at Iowa. The winner? Reggie Roby! Think of it. What a great feeling it is to know that every kickoff is going into the end zone, every punt is going to travel at least 50 yards, and 50-yard field goals are a given. How valuable is that? As Hayden said of the late Reggie Roby, “he had a leg like a cannon.” Sometimes a coach would become involved in our conversations. I remember when Podolak and I were talking with offensive line coach John O’Hara before the 1990 Illinois game in Champaign.

The Illini had two of the best defensive ends in the country in Kevin Hardy and Simeon Rice, and they led the Big 10 in total defense. On top of that, this was the first athletic event between the two schools since the much-publicized Bruce Pearl incident involving the recruiting of basketball star Deon Thomas. All of which left Illinois fans furious. O’Hara, who I always felt was one of Iowa’s best coaches, had this to say: “I think we’ll have some surprises for them.” Indeed, the Hawkeyes did. Iowa led 35-7 after the first quarter, and won the game 54-28 for one of the greatest Hawkeye victories ever. Our “Four Musketeer” evenings usually started this way: Brooksie would say, “CC Manhattan on the rocks, light on the sweet vermouth,” Z and Shoe would order Cutty and soda, and Gills would go with a fine wine from his vast personal knowledge of the grape spirit. (He and his wife spent many years traveling to France.)

Where to eat? Gills would generally make that decision from the gourmet guide book he carried in his head. We were in Los Angeles for a football game, and Claussen recommended an exclusive restaurant in Beverly Hills called Scandia. It was indeed a fancy place—delicious food, and pricey. I ordered prime rib, Gonder and Claussen had fish, and Brooks ordered the “Viking Sword”—a gourmet spectacular consisting of one lamb chop, one beef tenderloin, and one pork chop all skewered together on a metal spear, which arrived at the table in flames. After extinguishing the blaze, Brooksie wolfed down the meat items with relish. As he was wiping his mouth, a Scandia waiter walked by with a silver tray containing the remaining portion of Beef Wellington he had just served. Brooks immediately snapped to attention. “Waiter!” he shouted. Then again, “Waiter! Could I have some of that Beef Wellington?” The waiterstopped, raised himself up to full stature and then in the most haughty voice I have ever heard he said, “Sir, Scandia does not serve leftovers.” So Brooksie was put in his place, but not for long. Someone once said that Brooksie’s idea of the perfect meal was sirloin for two for one. I still have fond memories of our favorite eating places aroundthe Big 10.

Let’s see how many I can remember. I am doing this from scratch, with no guide except my own memory. There was the Gandy Dancer in Ann Arbor (I loved it when trains came through the depot, and Gonder and I loved it when the smelt were running). There were Charlie’s, Harry’s, Jimmy’s, and more recently, the Blue Horse in Minneapolis (Ray Scott and I used to go to Harry’s when we were carrying Twins games); in Columbus, our favorite places were the Jai Lai Club, Morton’s and the Columbus Athletic Club (where Woody Hayes used to hold court); in Bloomington, Indiana, there was Little Zagreb with its famous Yugoslavian menu; the spot in West Lafayette where we went before every Purdue game was Seargent Oaks (Wow! What steaks, and Sarge was ready to arm-wrestle anyone who would take him on); if you wanted a great T-bone or porterhouse, the place to go was Smokey’s in Madison—before facing the Badgers; in Chicago, the restaurant that Brooksie and Gills always steered us to was the Cape Cod Room at the Drake—great seafood. But the place we all loved the best was The Lark in Tiffin where the Hawkeyes held their press parties for years; Owner Bob Thompson served the famed Lark steak as his signature entrée.

Bobby Knight called The Lark the “best steakhouse in the Big 10.” Unfortunately, The Lark is only a memory now, it burned to the ground a few years ago. Brooksie and I had an interesting experience at the Rose Bowl one year. I had interviewed Jack Benny’s bandleader, Phil Harris, at Lake Okoboji the previous summer. He and wife Alice Faye were visiting friends there. After the interview, Harris gave me his phone number in Palm Springs and invited me to call him if I got to California. I told Brooks about it and we decided to drive down to Palm Springs since we had an off day covering the Hawkeyes. In Palm Springs, I called Phil Harris’s number and Alice Faye answered the phone. She explained that Phil was in Hollywood taping a TV special. She gave me his number. Brooks and I decided to stay in Palm Springs and eat dinner.

We went to a place we had seen advertised as the dining room of the stars—“Romanoffs on the Rocks.” It was a picturesque spot located in the mountain foothills. There was only one catch. There were no stars around. In fact, we were the only two customers in the place. The waiter said, “Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin sit right over there, during the season,” as he pointed at a nearby table. The problem was the season didn’t start until after the first of the year. Brooks said, “They’ve got to have a lot of food back there. Let’s ask them if we can get a cut rate and unload some of that stuff in the kitchen.” No dice. The waiter turned us down. He said he needed all the help he could get until “the season” arrived. I just hope Frank and Dean gave him a big tip. For years, the Amana VIP golf tournament in Iowa City was the biggest summer sports event in Iowa. Virtually all of the top golfers were there with a bevy of country music stars, sports celebrities like Bobby Knight and Joe DiMaggio, and TV and movie personalities like Glen Campbell and Fred MacMurray. In other words, it was a big deal.

Presiding over the whole affair was George Foerstner, a crusty old German who was the head man at Amana, and later at Raytheon. (George is the guy I called when we were having trouble selling the Bob Commings Coach’s Show on WHO-TV. Amana had agreed to buy one-third of the show, so I asked George how to go about selling the remaining two-thirds. “I’ll tell you what you do, Zabel,” George said in that accent that made him sound like a Prussian general. “You put your clients in a room, lock the door, then take a damn hatchet to them.”) In short, George meant business. Gonder and I found that out at the VIP media/celebrity party the night before the tournament. After the entertainment that evening, we all retired to a large party room at the motel. The night wore on, and the beverages continued to flow.

The crowd gradually dwindled. Finally, the stalwarts who remained there until about 2 a.m. included baseball star Stan Musial, country stars Roy Clark, Charlie Pride and Glen Campbell, and a few media guys like Gonder, myself and Ray Johnson, a WHO-TV sales executive who came with me. Roy Clark, who had a 7 a.m. tee-off time, continued to perform for us, as did Charlie Pride, and we kept egging them on. And so it went. It was actually a memorable evening and the country stars and Stan Musial were great. But the repercussions were about ready to start. A letter of reprimand from George Foerstner came to Gonder’s boss at WMT, and my boss, Bob Harter, also got a critical letter about me. Even Bump Elliott received notification to take more control of “his people.” But the real bombshell took place six weeks later. Roy Clark appeared on Johnny Carson, and the first thing he did was apologize for missing a scheduled guest shot on the Carson show several weeks earlier. Clark said, “I was at a golf tournament in Iowa, and after a late night of entertainment, and trying to make a 7 a.m. tee-off, I came down with pneumonia. And it was bad.” Roy looked a little thin and pale.

The VIP underwent some changes too. The media had their own party, separate from the contestants and celebrities. It wasn’t quite the same. None of us can sing and play the guitar. The “Four Musketeers” ended their play-by-play days when Iowa went exclusive. It was a great run while it lasted. I feel that collectively we gave fans the most complete coverage of Iowa football they have ever had. I know that I personally received over twelve-hundred cards and letters when the change took place. I feel that Podolak and I fit well together as a broadcast team. Podolak is a superb analyst, the best around. I knew that when I hired him. He also has nine lives. A few years after he started working with me, a newly-hired executive who I knew was a “cost-cutter” took me to lunch at the Des Moines Club.

I knew he wanted something. Shortly after the salad course, he said to me, “Do you realize what we’re paying Ed Podolak?” I said I did. He said, “That’s more than the Bears pay Dick Butkus.” I replied, “That’s because he’s better than Dick Butkus.” He then tried to placate me and asked, “Would you be willing to take soand- so from your sports department as your color man?” (He’s no longer there, and the guy he referred to couldn’t ad lib sleep after drinking Ovaltine). I said, “No.” I added, and these are my exact words, “If Podolak leaves, I leave.” End of conversation.

Podolak put another of those nine lives on the line early in 2009 when he was accused of some unbecoming behavior and imbibing too much following Iowa’s bowl game in Florida. Iowa threatened to fire Podolak from the broadcast team, and Podolak threatened to resign. Eddie was miffed, and Iowa was mad. I got on the phone with Eddie, who was playing golf with Willie Nelson in San Francisco. I told him he needed Iowa, Iowa needed him, that the fans loved him, but he needed to straighten up his personal life. I told him, “You cannot leave the broadcast. I’ll kill you.” Then I called Gary Dolphin and Randy Peterson and got them on our Sunday night show “Two Guys Named Jim,” and they did a great job in Podolak’s defense. Next, I got my boss Joel McCrea and my buddy Dale Howard involved with Iowa A.D. Gary Barta. I also want to thank Coach Kirk Ferentz for calling Eddie, and associate athletic director Rick Klatt for hiring

Eddie in the first place when Iowa went exclusive. It was a great move. How do the Four Musketeers feel today? Gene Claussen of course is gone and we miss him. The rest of us are still closely connected to the Hawkeyes. Brooksie attends all the games, does radio reports, and has a sports show on Mediacom. Of course, I am still gainfully employed by WHO, thanks to Joel McCrea and Van Harden who happens to be one of the most brilliant program directors anywhere. I love doing “Two Jims” with Jim Walden, “Sound-Off” with Jon Miller, the Wednesday “Hawkeye Nation” show with Joe Chmelka’s I-Club Group. I told Brooksie, “We’re not doing too bad for two guys who started out doing chariot races.” (I think Brooksie actually knew Ben Hur.) Talking about our WHO Hawkeye football network, it wouldn’t have been possible without Sally Robson. She was a great manager. Steve Shannon deserves similar praise. He was an early benefactor at WHO.

Ron Gonder, the third surviving member of the Four Musketeers, is completely content. He does regular reports on WMT, and he is always kind enough to send me a copy, and he and his wife Pat lead travel tours around the world. Do we miss doing play-by-play? Of course. It gets in your blood. You love the challenge, the excitement, the color and thrill of game day. In my own case, I will have to admit I enjoyed doing arena football for seven years. I did all of Kurt Warner’s games. And, frankly, it satisfied my thirst for play-by-play. Now I can listen to and watch the Hawkeyes without having to battle the crowds, the weather, and the traffic jams. So, go Gary! Go Ed! Go Hawks! And go Four Musketeers.
We love it! We love it! We love it!

Posted in Book Excerpt, Sports |

MY KIND OF TOWN

Bill Wundram, the Bard of Davenport, wrote in The Quad City Times in 2005, “My town; it’s a lovely place to live. At twilight, gazing at the old Gold Coast Mansions on the bluffs and church spires, the city looks absolutely Florentine. I keep saying it’s agreat town.” Wundram goes on, “At times, we may have needed reassurance, but we’ve always been strong and unafraid. Everyone was poor in the Great Depression, but we were poor with class. When there was a run on the Union Savings Bank, tuxedoed musicians from the Tri-City Symphony played in the lobby to calm hysterical depositors.” This hit home with me when I read it because my father was Executive Vice President of the Union Bank, during that “Run” by the depositors. He told me much later that he left the bank with 6 cents in his pocket that Christmas Eve in 1933.

My father also told me he was the one who hired those Symphony Musicians. We were nothing if not resourceful back in those early Davenport days. We wanted to schedule a Christmas Holiday Dance, but all of the evening and afternoon dates were taken, so, why not a Breakfast Dance? That’s what we did. I co-hosted the affair with two high school chums, Jean Gehrmann and Marilyn Moritz. It made quite a hit. The Davenport Democrat ran a 2-column story and The Daily Times carried a 3-column article, both of them with photos. The Democrat reported “The Party was one of the most unique in the roundthe- clock whirl of holiday events, arranged by the younger set. It was held in the Gold Room of Hotel Blackhawk, where some 200 guests danced to the music of Jack Manthey’s Orchestra.” Yes, indeed, we did have our social side in Davenport! I love Davenport, and I am proud that Davenport saw fit to return the favor for a “Day”

Posted in Book Excerpt, Sports |

DAVENPORT !

If Oklahoma! warrants an exclamation point, why not Davenport? After all, it was the first city in Iowa, the gateway to the early west, the birthplace of jazz great Bix Beiderbecke, and the home of the oldest high school west of the Mississippi River. That’s right—Davenport High celebrated its’ 150th anniversary several years ago, and I did a piece for the Quad City Times talking about my fond memories of my days at DHS. Davenport was a great place to grow up. It was the most social town I have ever seen. (It still is today. When I last checked, my contemporaries had established a new ritual—“the Monday night cocktail party,” the thought being that the normal weekend festivities were not enough. They needed to be expanded. Oh, well, as Humphrey Bogart once said, “One martini is too many, and ten aren’t enough.”)

We had high school fraternities and sororities in my day. There were dances and “hops” every weekend, and during the Christmas holidays we had dances almost every night and tea dances many afternoons, a lot of them formal. I have often said I wore my tux and tails more at Davenport High School than I have ever since. In fact, I don’t know where they are now and I am sure they would not fit. Some of our favorite hangouts included Zoom Inn, by the Davenport Airport, the Honey Malted Shop in Rock Island and the Rendezvous Club in Moline, featuring the Speck Redd Band. We danced at the Coliseum Ballroom, where the big bands played, the Moline Elks, the Outing Club and the Blackhawk Hotel. When we took our dates out for an evening of fine dining, we went to the Plantation in Moline, a stately old mansion renowned for its cuisine.

I came across an old menu from the Plantation and was astounded by some of those Depression Day prices. How about a lobster cocktail for 85 cents, a whole broiled Maine lobster for $3.50, a charcoal broiled New York sirloin steak for $3.50 and a large porterhouse for two for $7.00. (Eat your heart out). Life in Davenport those days revolved around the high school. We were the largest school in the state and we had great athletic programs. DHS won more than 120 state championships over the years, and I must admit I am proud to be a part of that legacy. I captained the Blue Devils track team my senior year.

We won the state indoor track championship, and I will never forget what happened when I presented the trophy to our principal at an auditorium assembly the next Monday. There was no place to put it. The trophy cases were all full. Finally, they found space for it on a table in the basement. We finished second in the state outdoor meet that year. Davenport and Des Moines East were tied at 33 points going into the final event, the mile relay, which I anchored for the Blue Devils. The great Frank Kaiser (who later set a national 400 meter AAU record) anchored for East. He beat me to the tape by about half a step in the sensational time (for that day) of 48.3 seconds. Years later, when I was announcing the auto races at the fairgrounds, I ran into Frank. He was a police officer. We reminisced about the old days, then as we parted, Frank said, “Don’t try anything funny. Remember, I can still catch you.”

One athletic experience I will never forget took place in June of my senior year. My coach, Jesse Day, called and said he wanted me to run an exhibition race before a baseball game at Douglas Ball Park in Rock Island the next night. I was kind of a cocky kid, so I said “Who will I run against? I’ve already beaten everyone in this area.” My coach said “you haven’t beaten this guy. It’s Jesse Owens.” Oh, my God, I thought! My hero! Jesse Owens! He held every world record from the 50-yard dash through the 220-yard dash, the low hurdles and the broad jump. So, I appeared at the Douglas Ball Park the next night in my Blue Devil track outfit. Owens was in his Olympic uniform. How did I do? Well, like I tell people once the race started, I never saw his face. He ran a 9.8 that night. I came in a little bit later. Owens became a friend. I had him on my show many times through the years. (I covered his funeral for NBC when he passed away in Phoenix. body lay in state at the Arizona Statehouse).

I hit another track milestone when the Mississippi Valley Fair invited me to run an exhibition 100-yard dash against a horse and a Model-T in front of the grandstand. I beat the Model-T, but I’ll swear the horse thought it was the Kentucky Derby. Man, could he move. Apparently, my track exploits must have impressed somebody. The University of Iowa offered me a full scholarship; coach George Bresnahan met with me personally. I also got a scholarship offer from Kirksville College in Missouri, and letters of inquiry from Northwestern and Purdue. I will have to admit I had Olympic dreams as a 17-year-old, but reality set in after I ran against Owens. What kind of a kid was I in Davenport? I had a lot of energy, and sometimes it got me in trouble. I wasn’t really bad. I was just adventuresome. One time I stole a steamroller, (that was back in the days when steamrollers were really run by steam). A city crew was paving Forest Road, and they left a steamroller with a full head of steam. My friend Jim Bechtel and I could not resist the temptation. We took the huge machine for a little drive. Finally, some cooler heads appeared on the scene and told us to take the steamroller back where we found it. So, I put it in reverse and moved it back where we started, about a block up the street. We received some pretty stiff reprimands from our parents. But I’ll have to admit a steamroller ride is something special.

I had a number of summer jobs during those early days in Davenport, mainly mowing lawns, delivering newspapers and caddying. Finally, when I was 16, I landed a job ushering at the Capitol Theater. These were Depression Days. I made 25 cents an hour, plus all the free movies I could watch. My boss was “Beefy” Gillon. (In a strange quirk of fate, his son Matt was one of my bosses at WHO). One of the highlights of the week was “Bank Night,” and the highlight for me was that I was selected to turn the drum on stage and then pick the winner of the big prize, usually $500. The emcee for Bank Night was Dutch Reagan’s brother, Moon Reagan, who was an announcer on WOC and did “Man on the Street” shows.

The toughest part of the evening came earlier. Theater admissions in those days were 25 cents. But Bank Night posed a problem. Under Iowa law, you could not charge an entry fee to take part in a game of chance. That meant that people theoretically could get free admissions simply by asking for them. To counter this free give away possibility, our District Manager, Joe Kinskey, coached us on how to embarrass patrons into buying tickets. “You say to them, “What’s the matter, are you too cheap to buy a ticket?” Kinskey said, “Insult them. Make them feel bad.” I hated this part of the job, but I loved being on stage with Moon Reagan. (Incidentally, Moon went on to Hollywood after Dutch did, and became vice president of McCann Erickson Advertising. I had lunch with him when I was covering the Rose Bowl in 1958.

We met at an upscale restaurant in Hollywood. I’ll never forget what he said when we sat down. “I hope your day went better than mine. I spent the morning with Frank Sinatra. Chesterfield is doing a new TV show with him, and he drives a hard bargain.”) I was a favorite of Joe Kinskey, I think. He called me into his office and asked me to pick up his wife at the Rock Island train depot. “She’s coming in from Chicago on the 8 o’clock Rocket,” Kinskey said. “Be sure to wear your uniform”. So, there I was, driving Joe’s big

Buick Roadmaster, and opening the car door for Mrs. Kinskey. Obviously Joe wanted everyone to think he had a chauffeur. And for one night, he did. My theater days lasted until I got out of high school. I was 17, and I had wanderlust. I wanted to see the world. (The reason why I was so young is that you had to be 5 by September 4 to enter kindergarten, and my birthday is Sept. 3.) I knew I wanted to go to college, but figured I could wait a year. I had adventure in my heart, I was restless. Richard Halliburton was the big travel lecturer of the day. I read all of his books and saw his lecture at Davenport High School. He talked about swimming the Panama Canal and crossing the Alps like Hannibal did. I was entranced. I had a friend named Kibby who felt the same way I did. He wanted to travel. (Kibby was state AAU heavyweight wrestling champion, and I was quarter mile track champ. So, between the two of us, I thought we could outfight or out-run trouble).

Kibby and I frankly had more guts than sense. We thought we would hitchhike to New Orleans, and then work our way to Rio de Janeiro on a tramp steamer. My dear mother thought I had seen too many Errol Flynn movies, but went along with my “fantasizing”, thinking that it was a temporary thing. In fact, she even offered to drive us to the edge of town. So shortly after July 4th we started out, two intrepid travelers in search of adventure. As I look back on that whole thing, it is one part of my own life I can hardly believe. Was I crazy? No, we were just young, full of get up and go, and the belief that the sky was the limit.

Remember, this was not today. This was a time when hitchhiking was safer and people helped each other. We made it to St. Louis on the first day, and slept in a hay stack. We went to Memphis and then to New Orleans, sleeping on benches and in an abandoned filling station. Our tramp steamer idea turned out to be a pipe dream. You had to have a Seaman’s card to get on a tramp steamer, and we didn’t have the experience. Then it was over to San Antonio, riding a freight train part of the way, and that night we climbed the wall of the Alamo and slept on the soft grass until we were kicked out in the morning. True story.

After that we went to Nuevo Laredo, just across the border and caught the bus to Mexico City. (Hitchhiking in Mexico? Nada). Mexico City was fascinating to me. I learned a little Spanish so I could order a meal. We had a room at the YMCA, but Kibby left after about a week. He ran out of money. I had enough money to stay for a while, and the rate of exchange for the peso was 10 to 1 in my favor. I discovered that Americans at that time were a sought-after commodity, so, being outgoing myself, I had no trouble making friends. One night we wound up singing American songs in Spanish. I learned El Barrelito, the Beer Barrel Polka, accompanied by the Andrews Sisters. Occasionally I would go to the YMCA dances. The girls would line up on one side of the room with their “aunts “or in other words their chaperones, as required by the Spanish culture. I picked an attractive young lady, and after a few dances, she invited me to dinner at her parents home. I accepted.

She lived in Chapultapec Heights, a pretty exclusive suburb of Mexico City. It turns out that her father was Mexican Ambassador to the Phillipines. I remember their dining room furniture. It was teakwood inlaid with ivory. The food was wonderful, but the budding romance did not last. Her family was called back to Manila. Time went fast in Mexico City even though I was there for 2 months. I would go to the markets, visit historical sights (Mexico City is built in a huge volcanic crater), go to movies, write letters home, and to my girlfriend, Debbie. And on Sundays I would go to the bullfights. One Sunday I saw a young lady named Conchita Cintron fight bulls from horseback. ( I told that story to my friend Ron Giudicessi, and he wouldn’t believe me.) In March of 2009, I opened the Arizona Republic and immediately saw a headline that read “Famed Woman Bullfighter Conchita Cintron Dies at 86.”

I sent the headline to Ron and a note that said, “Now do you finally believe me?” He has the article and note posted in his restaurant, Mezzodis. I don’t advise going under the stands after the bullfights, which I did. They butcher the bull carcasses for sale, hence the saying, “Never eat beef on Monday in Mexico City”. My parents were wondering when I was coming home. I wrote that I was going to take a weekend trip to Acapulco, then I would return. The weekend turned into 3 months. I loved Acapulco, the sun, the sand, the beauty of the place. I was there when it was just an over-grown fishing village, not a mega-resort, although there were some lovely vacation spots even then. (El Mirador, next to where I was staying, was the place where Artie Shaw hid out after he famously left his band after the success of “Begin the Beguine”).

There were a lot of Europeans in Acapulco at that time, because of the war, so we sort of had our own community. Days on the beach, evenings watching the gorgeous Pacific sunsets up at La Quebrada (the picturesque cliff you see them diving off of) then nights on the town. I loved it. But my parents didn’t. They sent a friend down to talk to me. I realized it was time to go home. If you had been at the Greyhound Bus Station in Des Moines on Christmas Eve Day, 1939, you would have seen this tall, slim guy, with a deeply tanned face and long blond hair, get off the bus, you would have seen me. Then it was back to Davenport and an exciting “Welcome Home.” What a trip, what an experience. WOW! Now it was on to the next phase of my life; I was ready. My wanderlust had been taken care of, at least for a while. I felt that I had learned some practical lessons of life the past few months. Now I needed the lessons of the classroom.

Posted in Book Excerpt, Iowa, Sports |

Duncan vs. Reichardt Fast Friends—Furious Foes

When it comes to stop-at-nothing, burn-the-house-down competition, I am willing to give some credence to the Red Sox against the Yankees, Michigan vs. Ohio State, Kobe against LeBron or Tom Brands against the World, but none of them compares to Randy Duncan against Bill Reichardt. Theirs was a confrontation for the ages. Both of them have their names etched eternally in the Hawkeye Book of Mythology. Duncan was runner up for the Heisman; he played in two winning Rose Bowl Games, and the 1958 Iowa team that he quarterbacked is considered by many to be Iowa’s greatest. Reichardt was a bulldozing fullback at Iowa, a superstar who did something no other Big 10 Conference player has ever done—He was named MVP of the Big 10 from a team that did not win a Big 10 game. They were as close as two friends could ever be, but their rivalry was just as intense as their camaraderie.

The dust still hasn’t settled on the tennis courts at Okoboji, or the handball courts at the Des Moines YMCA where their legendary encounters took place. Observers still marvel at the ferocity of the competition. A few golf courses also felt their vengeance, although neither could sink a 5-foot putt. But their most tenacious exchanges played out verbally. “Duncan,” Reichardt said, “You inherited your father’s law practice, you live in your father-in-law’s house in Des Moines, and in your wife’s home at the lake—Have you ever done anything for yourself?” The two were at a party when Reichardt was in the legislature. During the course of the evening, a nice little old lady came up to Duncan, mistakenly thinking he was Reichardt. “Oh, Mr. Reichardt,” she said, “I want to thank you for what you are doing in the legislature.” Duncan replied, “It’s none of your business what I’m doing in the legislature”. “Well!” she huffed, “That’s the last time you’ll get my vote!”

Both were dining at one of Des Moines’ most prestigious private clubs, when Randy told a few off-color stories. Reichardt obtained a sheet of the club’s stationery, and had his secretary type a formal letter to Duncan, stating that “many people were offended” by his joketelling, and had complained to the management. “The Board of Directors held an emergency meeting, “the letter read “and voted to expel you from the club.” Signed by the manager. Duncan called Reichardt in a state of panic. “I’m in real trouble now,” he said, and then read the letter. Reichardt consoled him and let him stew for a while before he admitted the ruse. They constantly ridiculed each other’s playing ability. Reichardt said, “Duncan was so slow my grandmother could catch him, and she has a bad leg.” Randy said, “Reichardt played when there were leather helmets, 50 cent admissions, and fullbacks didn’t have to block, because he never did.”

I was doing “Beat the Bear” with the two of them on WHO-TV. Randy had me get together with the film people in Iowa City and pick out plays from Reichardt’s games where he was not carrying the football. We found some where he was just standing there, sometimes hopping up and down, but never blocking. We ran the film on “Beat the Bear.” It was hilarious. Cruel? Yes, but that was the nature of their humor. Reichardt, for the first time, was speechless. Randy said, “No wonder those other Iowa backs all walk with canes today.” Reichardt’s clothing business often entered the fray. “I give Duncan all of my old suits,” Reichardt said, “I just have to take in the shoulders and let out the waist.” Duncan said, “Reichardt’s customers always come back. The reason is the buttons start falling off after a month.” At various times, both Randy and Bill served as my color analyst on our Iowa football broadcasts.

Randy had a mind of his own in the broadcast booth. One time, after Iowa’s flamboyant young quarterback, Matt Szykowny, had turned in a spectacular performance in leading the Hawkeyes to victory, I sent Randy to the locker room to get some player interviews. When he came back, I asked him “Did you get Szykowny?” Randy said, “No.” I said, “Why? He was the star of the game!” Randy said, “I don’t like him!” On another occasion, I was describing Hawkeye quarterback Gary Snook going back to pass, but after looking downfield for a potential receiver, I realized that Snook had not thrown the ball at all, and that is what I said. Duncan broke in. “What happened,” he said, “is that Snook threw the ball, but a defensive lineman batted it back at him and he caught it.” “Just like Terry Hanratty at Notre Dame,” I said. “Yeah,” Randy answered, “you saw that one.” Randy also worked with me on our nightly 6:15 sports show on WHO-TV. One night we had basketball star Denise Long as our guest. She was well over 6-feet tall, and towered over Randy when we sat down for the rehearsal. Randy ran out of the studio before the show and came back with three Des Moines telephone directories to sit on. He said, “No high school girl is going to be taller than me when I’m sitting down.”

Bill also had his eccentricities. He had a well-publicized feud with Forest Evashevski, and refused to go to Iowa games when Evy was Athletic Director. Finally, I convinced him to make his peace and come on with me for a halftime interview at the Iowa- Michigan game. He showed up, we did a long interview and I thought that everything was peaches-and-cream again with Bill and Hawkeye football. I later discovered that he had driven to Iowa City, just in time for the interview, then got back in his car and drove back to Des Moines, without seeing any of the game. Bill had definite ideas on everything. I asked him one time if he was going up to Lake Okoboji for July 4th. He said, “Hell, I don’t like those people down here. Why should I go up there to see them?” As Don Rickles once said, “Insult is the highest form of flattery.”

Bill called me once in Scottsdale and wanted to take me to lunch. “I’ve got something to show you,” he said enthusiastically. What he had was a copy of the All-Time 100-Year Iowa Football Team; just released.Reichardt was first-team fullback. Duncan was on the second team. Bill could not suppress his jubilation. “Duncan says he’s going to demand a recount,” Reichardt laughed.

Underneath, Bill was really a caring, warm-hearted person. He was colorful and controversial. He made good copy. The late Rob Borsellino did some great columns on him in the Register. He was involved in politics and causes of all kinds. He was a true personality in every sense of the word. Every time I see his widow, Sue, I am reminded of how much we miss him and all those marvelous confrontations with Randy Duncan. I called Bill in the hospital shortly before he passed away. Sue was there, as were his children, Duke, Doug and Barb. Also, Borsellino and Randy. Bill and I talked just briefly. Later, he asked Randy, “Duncan, am I dying?” It was the toughest question he ever tried to answer from Bill.

Posted in Book Excerpt, Hawkeye, Sports |

DANCING WITH THE STAR : Cloris and Me :: Book Excerpt

Artie Shaw was playing at the Tromar and I needed a date. I was new to Des Moines, but my best friend was Neal Ashby, son of Des Moines Tribune Columnist Ted Ashby, and he knew practically everybody. His girlfriend, Jody, knew even more. She recommended a friend of hers named Cloris Leachman, a recent graduate of Roosevelt High School, and already a rising star at the Des Moines Community Playhouse. “She’s perfect for you,” Jody said, “She’s a pistol.” Indeed. And a dead shot. She was good looking and vivacious, with a personality that came on you like July 4th fireworks. (She went on in her long career to play women like Grandma Moses, but remember when she was 19 she was a runner-up in the Miss America contest.)

So Cloris and I went to the Tromar, located then at 6th and Keo, to dance to the music of Artie Shaw. She was a good dancer, and I wasn’t too bad myself, although no threat to Fred Astaire. Cloris and I hit it off. We dated off and on most of my first summer in Des Moines. I didn’t have a car (you couldn’t buy one during the war), but we made do with cabs, street cars, walking, and finding appropriate places to go. After all, it was summer and we were young. Come fall we parted ways. Cloris went off to college at Northwestern in Evanston.

The rest of the story comes from my sister, Joan. She belonged to the Pi Phi sorority at Northwestern. Cloris went through rush, and at the Pi Phi house she met my sister. Cloris said, Zabel, that’s an unusual name. Do you know Jim Zabel in Des Moines?” Joan said, “He’s my brother.” Cloris then unfolded the story of our romantic summer, in some detail. The Pi Phis blackballed her then and there immediately. Years later, I interviewed Cloris in Des Moines and she laughed about the incident. “They kicked me out of the damn house,” she said, “and I hadn’t even gotten to the best part.” The best part actually came with dozens of movies and TV shows, Academy Awards, record appearances on “Dancing with the Stars” and the honor of being Grand Marshal of The Tournament of Roses Parade. I’d say the Pi Phis were the losers.

Posted in Book Excerpt, Iowa |

SILVER SCREEN SIRENS :: Book Excerpt

Mary Pickford was called “America’s Sweetheart” during her heyday in early Hollywood. She was the top star of her time and was also an astute business woman. Along with her husband, Douglas Fairbanks, she helped to found United Artists Studio with partners Charlie Chaplin and famed director D.W. Griffith. Her home, Pickfair, was the best known movie star address in Hollywood.

Naturally, it was a big item that she was in Des Moines to speak to the Women’s Club. The media was invited to interview her in the Presidential Suite of the Savery Hotel. I set up my recorder and did my interview with the petite star (she stood 4-11). We talked about the Golden Era of Hollywood compared to the present day, and what her greatest moments were. I went back to the station with my interview and found, much to my dismay, there was nothing on the tape (this was in the early days of recorders).

I called Pickford’s manager, explained my plight, and asked for another time to do the interview. He was strangely hesitant at first, but finally agreed to 3 p.m., after Pickford returned from her speech. hen I entered the Presidential Suite, I knew something was wrong. What I didn’t know, but found out later, was that Pickford was a chronic alcoholic who drank a quart of bourbon a day. She was giddy as I set up my recorder and became flirtatious as we started the interview. It got worse from there. She put her hand on my knee and invited me to move to Pickfair. I tried to play the whole thing as a joke, and said, “but you’re already married—what would your husband think?” (Her current husband was bandleader Buddy Rogers.) She replied, “Buddy loves company. You simply have to come to Pickfair—I want you to.” Somehow, someway I got through the interview, and despite some slurred words, got enough of an interview to put on the air. I thought to myself , “Now I know why they call her America’s Sweetheart.”

Posted in Book Excerpt, Hollywood, Iowa |