The Organist

In one of those great Wall Street Journal A-Hed pieces this past Tuesday, Jacob Bunge writes about ballpark organists playing sly, teasing snippets of music to go along with the action on the field.

Jacob is a Deputy Chicago Bureau Chief for the Wall Street Journal. I know this because that's what his Twitter/X tells us (@jacobbunge).

Being located in Chicago Mr. Bunge has lots of stories about the organist at Chicago White Sox games, Nancy Faust. Ms. Faust has been playing the organ at Sox games now for 40 years, a considerable amount of time.

The 78 year-old Faust is considered the High Priestess of the ballpark organists by the few organists who are left who play at ballparks. Anyone who has been to a ballpark now realizes they also bought a ticket to a rock concert, because the speakers are calibrated to produce tremendous sound. (For some, it's noise.)

The last few times I've been to Citi Field for a Met game here in New York I've been under one of those speakers. You can't hear yourself when the walk-up music is played for say Francisco Lindor, "My Girl." Yankee relief pitcher Mariano Rivera entered from the bull pen to Metallica's "Sandman." You could count on it.

My favorite piece of music is when for whatever reason when something on the field happens, (or is not happening) whoever is in charge of these things, will press a button to release the opening strains of Harry Belafonte's "Day-O" to get the crowd going.

Harry's been dead now for two years, passing away at 96. His recording career ended a long time ago. "Day-O" was one of his major hits.

Whenever I hear it at the ballpark, or catch from the TV broadcast, I think of two things: How many people in the crowd know it's Harry Belafonte singing, and how many know that the song is about workers singing for the daylight to come so their night shift of unloading bananas will be over. They're unloading at night because it's cooler, and dawn means they can go home. Oh well, it wakes up the crowd regardless of what they know.

Mr Bunge sprinkles in some samples of Ms. Faust's teasing prowess when he tells us that when she knew George Brett had recently undergone hemorrhoid surgery, she played the Dovells'  "You Can't Sit Down," when he came up to bat. Fits, but very subtle; a lot depending on what you read about Brett's rear end keeping him out of the lineup for a bit. "I Can't Sit Down" from 'Porgy and Bess' would have worked as well.  

Ms. Faust also sprang into action at a minor league game when a swarm of bees burst out of a dugout. "Flight of the Bumblebees," "Honeycomb" and "Let it Be" danced from her fingers.

I wrote a Tweet to Mr. Bunge about an organ rendition played at a New York Ranger game in 1972. Mr. Bunge never replied, and never replied to the follow up email I sent.  I have to think he's on vacation, or just jealous (you know, New York vs. Second City) that my story from over 50 years ago could have trumped his stories. I wrote about it as part of a Phil Esposito posting written May 25, 2015. I reprint it here in case anyone's interested.

May 25, 2015

The other Uncle Phil moment is one I personally witnessed at Madison Square Garden during the Bruin/Ranger Stanley Cup finals in 1972.

The movie 'Doctor Doolittle' starring Rex Harrison had already been out. It had a jaunty musical score, featuring the song 'Talk to the Animals.' Sammy Davis Jr. had made a hit recording of the song, and it was quite familiar to many people, even years after the movie.

A Ranger/Bruin rivalry was as intense then as a Yankee/Red Sox one. In that era of arena fan entertainment there were no light shows that spun around the building. But the atmosphere was no less noisy and kinetic. A building virtually on a square block of Manhattan could be felt to shake at times when the crowd really got into wanting something from the team, or appreciating a play.

No blaring, thumping rock music came from a massive set of speakers, but the selections from the organist could be heard quite vividly. In the case of the Garden, the long-time organist was Eddie Layton, and a spot was carved out for him at the press level, nice seating, just at the top rim of the Red Seats. Thus, Eddie was able to match music to the action, and he did it very well.

So, when the pre-game skate was under way and the Bruins filed out from the corner of the arena, trading awkward choppy steps on runner mats for smooth gliding ones onto the ice, Eddie Layton launched into a clear, loud, spirited organ version of 'Talk to the Animals.'

Anyone who has even been to the Garden before the start of the a game might wonder why, with barely minutes to go before the puck is dropped at center ice, there seems to be so many empty seats in the joint. But take a look around after the anthem is finished, and everyone is in front of a seat, about to sit down. (Hopefully, if they're in front of you.) New Yorkers just seem to cut it close.

So, here was have the Bruins streaming out onto the ice, not a tremendous number of people assembled yet in the place, and Eddie Layton is playing 'Talk to the Animals' as the Bruins swirl around in warm up circles.

The matching of the song and the appearance of the Bruins is not lost on many in the crowd, and it is especially not lost on Phil Esposito, who stops his pre-game skate and starts to hector Eddie Layton on his musical selection. Uncle Phil doesn't just say a few choice words and skate away. I'm in no position to hear the conversation that is taking place, but Phil is jawing and tapping his stick blade on the ice for emphasis for a good while at Eddie Layton. Earl Weaver and a home plate umpire.

I don't believe the music stops, but if it did, it picked up again. I mean, who is going to accede to Phil Esposito's complaint about the organist's selection? No one. Phil always had a red ass, meaning he was easily irritated about things. 

Phil is eventually traded to the Rangers in a still-mystifying deal that saw Jean Ratelle being traded to the Bruins. Nothing got better for either team. 1972 was at the time the last time the Bruins won the Cup for quite a while, and the Rangers wouldn't do it until 1994, 54 years after 1940, when, as Sam Rosen told us all, "the waiting is over."

After 11 years of season seat attendance, I wasn't there when The Rangers finally won the cup. My attendance was poorly distributed over their final success at winning. No problem.

I've still got a great image of Uncle Phil being pretty mad at the organist. And I've got another indelible image of George Brett leaving the dugout in distress (Not from hemorrhoids.)

Funny that in Mr. Bunge's article there is a George Brett reference. Too bad Ms. Faust wasn't at the Yankee home game that has became known in baseball lore as The Pine Tar game, when the umpire ruled that George Brett's bat had too much pine tar on it, which made it an illegal bat, and therefore what would be the game winning home run that George just hit wasn't going to count. Bedlam.

What would Ms. Faust have played? I like to think 'Crazy."

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