| | CINCINNATI -- The 1990 World Series was set to start within thehour, and in her private box above Riverfront Stadium, Marge Schottpaced and smoked without a pause. Her nervousness was understandable.This would be her defining moment as owner of the oldest franchise inprofessional baseball. Her team, the Cincinnati Reds, would ultimately do its part in highstyle, sweeping the much-favored Oakland A's for a resounding triumphthat, under less compromising circumstances, would have bestowed uponSchott the unofficial title that she so evidently craved -- queen ofthe Queen City. For her, the world championship was a double-jeweled crown, asacred artifact for Cincinnati and a glittering symbol for thepersonal achievement of a bold woman in an old-boys' world. It would be, she hoped, the centerpiece of her legacy. And yet, as she paced and puffed that early October evening nineyears ago, Schott couldn't imagine how defining the moment would turnout to be. Now, just days after she grudgingly signed the team over toCarl Lindner and his partners, we can look back over her 15controversial years and see that the 1990 World Series was MargeSchott in a nutshell. Fay Vincent, the commissioner of baseball, was with her on thememorable night of Game 1. He was there as she marched back and forthin the box, awaiting the arrival of two particular dignitaries -- firstlady Barbara Bush, who was coming to throw out the first pitch whileher husband attended to the matters of the Gulf War, and Schottzie,her beloved St. Bernard. The first lady arrived first, and when Schottzie was brought to theroom moments later, Schott approached Mrs. Bush and formallyintroduced them. "Schottzie," she said, "say hello to Barb. This isMillie's mom." Vincent was also there when Schott made her way toward the fieldmicrophone just before the start of the game. Because of her thirstfor publicity and her penchant for saying the wrong thing, baseballand CBS had conspired to keep Schott away from the microphone. She had foiled them once, before the TV cameras were rolling,dedicating the Series to the American soldiers "in the Middle West."Apprised of her error, she was determined to make amends in front ofthe entire nation. When the crowd was asked to rise for the nationalanthem, Schott made her move. "I tried to stop her," Vincent recalled. "But she had a verychoice word, then went onto the field and made a fool of herself." What she did, specifically, incredibly and unforgettably, was payhomage "to our wonderful women and men over in the Far East that areserving us ..." The words slurred, but that much was unmistakable. "I think she was not in control of herself that night," saidVincent, who would be astonished one more time before the evening wasout. It was when Mrs. Bush asked Schott when she initially began to lovebaseball. "Mrs. Schott said, 'I hate it.' Barbara Bush was really stunned,"Vincent said. The whole episode was all very Marge -- the irrepressible desire toget the public's attention and endear herself to it, the brass toverbally flip off the commissioner, the cigarettes, the dog, thestartling obliviousness to the world around her, and the slurring andstaggering that observers couldn't help but notice. Even as the Series ended in unexpected glory, Schott couldn't stepaside and let the legacy write itself. She was so angry that the Redswon in four games -- owners don't start making most of their moneyuntil the fifth -- that she refused to buy food or drinks for thecelebration party. She fussed and fumed all the way home. A few days later, Schott declined to provide Eric Davis with amedically equipped airplane so he could return to Cincinnati to nursethe kidney he lacerated while diving for a fly ball in the Series. At first blush, it was an odd but simple case of a fiscallyconservative owner taking a hard line with an injured ballplayer. Butit would become much more than that when the big issue hit the fan. In retrospect, it was probably inevitable that one of her ownemployees would precipitate her undoing. Schott was notoriouslycold-hearted toward those in her trenches, firing many and makingothers uncomfortable with her demands and personal inquiries. But whenshe dismissed controller Tim Sabo late in 1991, Sabo retaliated with awrongful-firing suit that would throw open the doors of Schott'soffice, revealing glimpses of her that brought shudders to baseball,Cincinnati and America. The most damning testimony was about Schott's reference to Davisand Dave Parker as her "million-dollar n------." That remark was theleading edge of a whole new persona for Schott, who, throughinsensitive characterizations that she inexplicably continued tospout, was depicted across the country as a chronic bigot. There was the swastika arm band in her drawer, the complaint aboutAsian-born children outperforming American-born students in Americanschools and her reference to men with earrings -- "fruits," shecalled them. Eventually, it was the critical mass of intolerance -- along withallegations of improprieties concerning her automobile dealerships --that prompted baseball to suspend Schott from her executive duties andultimately force her to relinquish the team. Thursday's official transaction formalized an outcome that shedoggedly delayed but had no chance of preventing. For a while, at least, the ignoble conclusion to Schott's eventfulownership is bound to dominate her legacy, much as Richard Nixon'spresidential resignation obscures the rest of his. "I think it will be a long time before the short-term impressionsfade," Vincent said. "Unfortunately, most of those are negative. Ithink Mrs. Schott tried hard to represent her town and her fan base,and a lot of the fans did love her, but we all have demons and herswere overwhelming." It's possible, of course, that Schott's image will benefit frompublic forgetfulness and the passage of time. It's possible that, inretirement, she will seem a more likable character, much as she wasbefore she bought the team at Christmas-time 1984 and during thehoneymoon thereafter. As a minority partner, she had been a blithe spirit, a fan-mindedpersonality whose antics and openness were a refreshing contrast tothe previous owners -- the button-down, button-mouthed Williamsbrothers. Her purchase of the team shortly followed Pete Rose's return to it-- an event for which she had publicly campaigned -- and with both ofthem in place (Rose as player-manager), Schott seemed to view the townas his and hers. There is cruel irony in the fact that both were ultimately kickedout of baseball, fighting their fates to the bitter end. Both wereCincinnati icons brought down by bad judgment, stubbornness anddeep-seated habits they acquired growing up here. Like Rose, Schott was very much a product of her Cincinnatiupbringing. She came from a German, Catholic heritage, old-fashioned,proud and conservative to the bone. Although she and her deceasedhusband, Charlie Schott, never had children, Marge's familyorientation was basic to her personal and management style. In that light, her greatest service to Cincinnati may have been themanner in which she resisted a contemporary, corporate environment atthe ballpark. There was some charm in that, although the players maynot have appreciated it as they watched carefully where they steppedon the field. Between her and Schottzie, the Reds were a mom-and-pooporganization. "At some level," said John Helyar, author of the "Lords of theRealm," a book about baseball executives, "Marge was the kind ofowner people like. She was indigenous to her community. She wasemblematic of the old hands-on owner who wrote every check and checkedevery paper clip. "She was also a character, with the things she said and thosesilly St. Bernards." Many of Schott's management eccentricities -- the dimming of lights,the recycling of gifts, the disdain of scouts, the interest in wives,the disinterest in baseball (she thought the Kansas City Royals werein the Reds' division) -- will be largely forgotten in a few years.Even now, Schott has a chance to at least take some of the edges offher legacy. "It'll all soften in time," said historian Kevin Grace, whoteaches social history of baseball at the University of Cincinnati."People will remember she did some very negative things, but I thinkthey're going to focus on the fact that she was willing to hold downprices for tickets and hot dogs and she continued the familyatmosphere at the ballpark. "I really believe that if she plays her cards right, she could goout as the grand old lady of baseball. If she can go back to being afan, that will help her image tremendously." The fact is, Schott's legacy may not yet be complete. Among otherunfinished business, there is the unfolding matter of the current ballclub and its improbable pursuit of a playoff spot. She had virtuallynothing to do with its inspired formation, of course, but posteritywill not realize it. In that respect, Schott's legacy is likely to benefit from thesuspension she has served since 1996. With her gone from theday-to-day scene, the Reds have begun to rebuild their scoutingdepartment and restock their farm system. The record will show thatshe left the organization in good shape. Much better than the state itwas in when she took over. She can even say that in 1990 she took the team to a worldchampionship, although it might be wise not to bring that up.Lonnie Wheeler writes for the Cincinnati Post. | |
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