Ed Sherman's final interview with Bill Gleason

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: In the winter of 2008, Ed Sherman was able to get an interview with the late Bill Gleason. In his sports media blog on Crain's website, Ed Sherman printed some of that interview. : ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ : A last interview with Bill Gleason : Posted by Ed S. at 1/5/2010 2:26 AM CST on Chicago Business : In the winter of 2008, I called Bill Gleason and said I wanted to interview him for a project about sportswriters. : "Sure, come on over," Mr. Gleason barked into the phone. : I always took it as a badge of honor that Mr. Gleason liked me, because it never was a given with him. He didn't tolerate phonies and other goofs that you sometimes find in our business. : Mr. Gleason always was full of gusto. Prior to my call, the last time I'd seen him was at the airport a few years back. The proud Irishman, wearing his trademark hat, was on his way to Ireland. : Unfortunately, age took its toll on Mr. Gleason. When I saw him on that winter day in 2008, he moved slowly. I was taken aback at first, but once he settled into his chair, I was heartened to hear the stories start to flow. : I interviewed Mr. Gleason about his career and the stories and people he met. With his death Sunday, I thought it would be appropriate to share a few excerpts from a true Chicago sports icon. : His first job: : : It's a fascinating story. When I was in high school, I got this job as a copy boy on the original Sun. I got the job because I worked in a little typewriter and ribbon company as a delivery boy. One of the salepersons was a woman. Her last name was Hall. She looked like a retired showgirl. : : She knew I wanted to get into sports. She knew people from the Sun. The managing editor was a guy named DeWitt. She told him I needed a job. I got on the staff in January '41, going on 19. : : A year later, out of the blue came a call from the editor of the Southtown Economist. He wanted me to work as the sports editor. I had submitted stuff to him. I was making $20 a week at the Sun; the Economist offered me $15, but I had to take it. I was going to be sports editor. : I had the only byline in the paper. I was the whole staff. The only reason I had the opportunity was because so many of the older guys went off to war. : Covering George Halas. : I’d blow up his balloon once in a while, then I’d harpoon him. One column elicted a two-page letter from Halas. I wrote, "The finest thing Halas could give the fans of Chicago would be his resignation." : However, Halas didn't write the letter to the American (where Mr. Gleason worked at the time). He wrote to Don Maxwell, his big pal at the Tribune. Halas figured Maxwell could get me off the beat. He didn't. : A terrific Dick Butkus story. : Once I wrote, "I know 50 guys on the South Side of Chicago who could beat the hell out of Dick Butkus." : : One day, they were having a big party for Bill George. Butkus and his two brothers were down on the end of the bar. I'm sure Dick was the runt of the litter. I’m standing there, and somebody says, "Dick wants to talk with you." : : "Yeah, I’ll be right down," I said. : : I go down there, and Dick looks at me. He says, “I just want to tell you something. Those 50 guys on the South Side of Chicago, right? I know every damn one of them.” : His favorite person in sports: Bill Veeck. : He came in like a titan. You thought you were prepared for Bill Veeck, but you weren’t. Nobody could be. He took the doors off his office so anybody could walk in. And he meant it. : : He was so brilliant. He said he read a book a day. I believe him. He had to soak his leg in the bathtub from 3 to 6 in the morning. He had a lot of time to read and was knowledgable on any subject. : : But he didn’t throw his brilliance at people. He’s was just another guy. A smarter guy. : : He drank beer. I never saw him drink any whiskey. People said he had a wooden leg, which he did (Mr. Gleason erupts in laughter). : : I went to visit his house. Bill had a tapper. We had dinner. At 9 p.m., we started drinking beer. I always thought I could drink beer. When I had my sixth beer, I started going to the relief station. This man, Veeck, no exaggeration, drank beer after beer from 9 p.m. to 5 in the morning. And he never went to the toilet once! : His code as a columnist. : (Noted Chicago sportswriter) Warren Brown spoke to me twice a year. Each time, he told me something important. One day, he said, "You’ve got to make them fear you and respect you." : : That was my code of honor for the rest of my life. Fear and respect. And it worked beautifully. : : Indeed, it did, Bill.

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