Fay Vincent has experienced his share of the ups and downs of Major League Baseball as a fan and commissioner.
There are those uniquely brilliant, wonderfully skilled storytellers whose conversations you hope have no time limits. You listen and learn. Respect, admiration, and, if for nothing else, inquiring minds can’t get enough of their life’s experience. Vincent is at the front of the velvet rope when it comes to baseball brilliance.
During his three-year tenure as MLB’s top official, Vincent faced a barrage of time-consuming, investigative issues that no other who held the commissioner’s post before had seen. Just taking office in late September 1989, the process where a majority of MLB owners voted for him was done so under anything remotely remembered as standard procedure. Serving as deputy commissioner to then MLB Commissioner A. Bartlett Giamatti, Vincent’s elevation in baseball’s ranks came with a heavy heart.
Giamatti died suddenly on Sept. 1, 1989. As his friend’s top lieutenant, less than two weeks later, the acceptance as the game’s next commissioner was welcomed with pride and loyalty. With a background as a captain of industry, from serving as an entertainment lawyer, chairman of Columbia Pictures, and executive vice-president of Coca-Cola, the business of baseball was a fascination to Vincent. A lifelong baseball fan growing up in Connecticut, the job title MLB owners offered was one that Vincent didn’t have to give a second thought to accepting.
The most pressing topics Vincent had fallen on his desk were the future expansion in 1993 of MLB franchises coming to Colorado and Florida, banning New York Yankees’ owner George Steinbrenner permanently from baseball in 1990 for dealings he had with an individual who was said to be digging for negative information on then Yankees superstar Dave Winfield (Steinbrenner was reinstated in 1992), and a 1990 lockout, at what should have been the start of spring training in February, which lasted 32 games. Opening day of the regular season would be moved back one week, and the season would be extended by three days.
Before becoming commissioner, it was Vincent who took the lead in MLB’s investigation of the whole gambling allegations/Pete Rose connection. Ultimately, through Vincent’s due diligence, a settlement was negotiated, which led to Rose voluntarily accepting a permanent place on MLB’s ineligible list.
Of all the administrative requests that required Vincent’s stamp, none could have prepared him for what was to challenge his legal and moral skills as the World Series approached.
On Oct. 17, 1989, Candlestick Park in San Francisco was the site for Game 3 of the 1989 World Series. As the host Giants were hours away from welcoming their cross-Bay rival Oakland A’s, an unthinkable catastrophe struck. Vincent’s leadership role met his greatest challenge after being in office for less than one month. The game would be canceled, and the 86th edition of the World Series would be put on hold for 10 days due to an earthquake centered in Santa Cruz County. When the Loma Prieta earthquake hit at 5:04 PDT, with a magnitude of 6.9 on the Richter scale, baseball went on break.
Vincent’s recount of the most unexpected delay to a World Series is numbing. More than three decades later, with precise details, Vincent sheds his take on the minutes following the start of a natural disaster few will ever experience at such a distributive level.
“At the very least, I was totally stunned. Rickey Henderson and Dave Stewart were so dominant in the Series,” Vincent, 86, told The Epoch Times this week during a telephone conversation from his Fairfield County, Connecticut home.
“At Candlestick, at Game 3, I had been standing up, holding onto a railing in the commissioner’s box. Suddenly, I heard a noise that reminded me of something like a jet bomber in flight. It was deafening.”
For Vincent to be standing, this in itself was unusual. While in college, the future commissioner suffered a near-fatal accident that resulted in crushing his spine and paralyzing his legs. After extensive rehabilitation, for most of his adult life, Vincent has used a cane and wheelchair to move about. But, as the ground that he was standing on in the ballpark located at Jamestown Avenue began moving side to side, Vincent’s executive decisions coming shortly would do so without precedence.
“The Giants’ players were the first I saw coming out of their dugout and onto the field. Then, coming in from center field, I saw a police car. This was when I met the real hero of Candlestick Park that day. San Francisco Police Commander Isiah Nelson took charge,” Vincent said fondly of the officer.
“He (Nelson) tells me that we (the Bay area) have a real problem. We’ve experienced a major earthquake, and there is no electricity in the ballpark. And, the backup lights aren’t working, either.”
With Nelson recommending Vincent to cancel the game immediately, dealing with the 53,000 fans expected to be coming to Game 3, there was one directive the commander pleaded for the commissioner to obey. In the name of bringing as much calm to the chaos unfolding, which would result in 67 deaths and 3,757 reported injuries in the San Francisco Bay Area, Vincent was requested not to leave his box.
“‘Everyone is looking at you,’” Vincent remembers Nelson saying. “‘People will stay calm by seeing you calm.’ The commander knew it would be dark soon, and his main concern was getting the fans out of the ballpark while it was still light out. He checked on me every half hour. When it was safe, the commander had my wife and me in a police car, and we led a caravan back to the St. Francis Hotel by Union Square. I was so impressed with him.”
Today, it’s clear that, in remembering the most challenging event of his commissioner years, Vincent is proud of the leadership qualities of Nelson and others who allowed him to react with a clear mind.
MLB fans haven’t forgotten Vincent. He tells of receiving between five to 10 pieces of mail weekly, all requesting his autographs on balls, cards, and photographs. With his mobility an issue when traveling, Vincent watches “lots of baseball games” from home. He is most proud of friendships made with stars of the game, most all gone, Hall of Famers all—Stan Musial, Ted Williams, Red Schoendienst, and Warren Spahn. The fan in Vincent burns bright.
Splitting time with residences in the northeast and on Florida’s Treasure Coast, Vincent tells of not wanting a “do-over” in life and is proud of his serving the game that he grew up loving and ended up overseeing.
“I’ve had a full run. No regrets.”
