"DETROIT TIGERS AND LIONS AND HARE … OH MY!  3"

            Specs Howard and I were able to score big time for 5 years in Cleveland radio without resorting to either shock or schlock.. Could we do it again in Detroit?  Sure. The average listener anywhere prefers pure fun in their morning shows, because they are…more fun.

Specs and I had a high tolerance for what was fun. In my everyday being with him for eight years, I saw few signs of Spec’s deeply serious Hebrew side. There were three of him, and they all got along great.

            There was the “Specs” I knew. Then, there is Julian Liebman, closer to the core of who he really is, but

Down deeper, there is the man whose Hebrew name is Yehudah Leib. I never met him and probably would not recognize him if I did. Specs carefully kept him reined in  while he was being the hilariously funny morning man that I knew.

Yet, he realized the irony in being a devout Jew in rock radio.. He told me about the times when, during worship, the Rabbi summons prominent men in the congregation to “come on down” to read passages from the Torah, a great honor, first naming them by their Hebrew name, then proclaiming their profession,  such as “a Doctor (Dochtehr_ A Lawyer (:Lawyehr)  Specs got a kick out of the way he was summoned.. “Yehudah Leib, a deyeesk juhkey!”

In a recent conversation, Specs had to get off the phone because he was due at a Briss, the Jewish circumcision ritual. I cautioned him, “Whatever you do, don’t eat the calamari.” He broke up.

I am telling you all this as a set-up for an event in which we needed all the inner strength at our command. It was even more nerve wracking than the Tony Bennett ordeal I described last week. 

In latter May of ’67, the beloved Detroit Tigers were scheduled to tangle with the New York Yankees. Specs and I used our finely honed instincts to conjure up a unique promotion for that day. An event in which we would appear before a full house at Tiger Stadium and gouge our way into deeper market. penetration

Our goal was a promotion that would capture Detroit’s passion for the Tigers and divert it to us. Detroit baseball fans worshipped the Tigers, no matter that they often fell short.

The Tiger’s were WJR turf. In the short time we had been in Detroit, we had  learned to respect WJR’s morning host, J P McCarthy who stood on his own as a great, although he got quite a boost with a 40 Hooper rating the first hour of his show as a massive carry-over from the previous night’s game.

But enough of this foreplay. Let me tell you how we almost got screwed 

Specs and I had arrived early enough to watch batting practice by the Tigers in which the pitcher threw a ball to everyone’s natural groove and most of the Tigers hit the ball out of the park. Al Kaline, especially. He was majestic. He swung with a smooth relaxed motion that lofted the ball high into the upper tier of the grandstands with every pitch. Many of the Yankees came out of their dugout to watch the master. The crowds came early to watch him. There had to be 60,000 of them  This was the setting for Martin and Howard to make it in the big leagues. 

We had been told that our base of operations for the promotion was going to be deep center field. When we arrived, our cohorts had already set up.  They were members of the Detroit Carrier Pigeon Society whose president had called us some weeks ago offering their help any time we needed carrier pigeons. It didn’t register with us  till-flash of lightning-.of course, use them on the night of the Tiger/Yankee game.

We asked our caller how many pigeons they had, and she said, “Hundreds.” I said, “Can you gather up your fellow club members and have them, and all of your pigeons at Tiger Stadium at the end of this month?” She was delighted. “Of course!” she shouted. That was how we set it up, not quite knowing how we would use them, but knowing we were onto something.

We checked with the PR Head of the Tigers who whooped with delight, but then hesitated and said, “Uh…How many pigeons did you guys say we are dealing with?”

“300 at least conservatively,”  I replied..

“300 pigeons,”  he said almost to himself. That’s an awful lot of pigeon shit.”

I felt our grandiose promotion beginning to slip away as the vision of several hundred pigeon droppings on center field and onto the heads of the fans began to dance in this guy’s head.

We were losing him. Under pressure, the Master Plan took shape.

I pitched because I have a better pitch voice, loud and authoritative. Specs has a better mic voice, but this was pitch time.

“Picture in your mind,” I proclaimed without a beat, “300 pigeons being released, and flying to every city in the league proclaiming Detroit’s dominance.” I pontificated as I got up a  head of steam.

I felt him weakening. “Did I tell you that these are carrier pigeons?” I asked with a growing crescendo in my voice.?

“No!” he replied, like that was a stunning revelation.

“Can’t you see it?  300 carrier pigeons delivering the message to every major league city in the country that Detroit is the greatest team in baseball”

I felt the balance begin to totter my way.

“And to address your concern,” I added authoritatively, “We will distribute 50,000 pigeon protectors- paper visors with big brims- to the crowd.”

The man was closed big time.

Specs and I had not checked with our PR Department, but they were okaying  everything else. A little thing like  50,000 paper visors with a Martin and Howard  WXYZ  pigeon protector bill was nothing. I had promised him the pigeon protectors in the heat of passion.

I had been right. The  WXYZ PR department ponied up.. We were set. 

It was Showtime.  Every seat was filled, and thousands were already roaring in blood lust for the hated Yankees.

Specs and I sat up in the back seat of a high-end convertible near home base, awaiting the PA announcer’s introduction, thrusting us into the wildest promotion ever.

            To our right was the Yankee dugout, and there they were: Joe Pepitone, Whitey Ford, Jim Bouton and…Mickey Mantle, named by Jerry Coleman, the retired Yankee second baseman, as the greatest player he had ever seen. That was authoritative enough for me.  My friend, Coleman, was probably the greatest second baseman ever.

But game time was running late, and the crowd was getting restless. I could hear boos beginning to erupt from the grandstands and, we had not even gone on yet. The boos grew in volume until the whole crowd was one big boooo!

The PA announcer’s voice barely penetrated the boo’s. “And now, ladies and gentlemen with great pleasure The Detroit Tigers  present that exciting WXYZ Radio morning team Martin and Howard. This time they really boooed

This was not what they wanted to hear, and who were these fools taking up their precious game time? Mickey Lolich was on the mound throwing a few warm-up pitches, and even he began to rant.

“Take off,” I hollered to the panicked  driver..

“You mean take off ON the field.?” He asked shakily.

“Hell yes, on the field”, I replied as if that were a really stupid question.

He gunned the car and sped for the center field cluster of pigeon cages, manned by a couple dozen carrier  pigeon clubbers.

The crowd was enraged at what amounted to them to be defiance. Booooo!

Specs and I smiling our show biz smiles, dismounted from the car, and began an abbreviated version of our spiel.

Specs opened up because his voice was the most pacifying. I had a strident delivery, not the right choice for this occasion..

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” Specs said. “We are Martin and Howard of WXYZ , although at this moment I wish we were J.P. McCarthy.” The boos began to dissipate into a few scatted laughs.

I took over. “The  great Tigers rank near the top of the division at this time. I have a prediction. By the end of the season they will take the World Series.”

Lingering boos overlaid by growing yays.

I bored on.  “Let the word go forth…. that the Tigers will own it by the end of the season. And to make sure the rest of the league gets the messaget, we are releasing 300 carrier pigeons who will fly to every major league city in the country delivering the message that the Detroit Tigers are the greatest team in the country.”

The crowd  erupted into a thunderous tsunami of cheers.

Specs then repeated our mantra, “Let the word go forth!”

At that moment, we signaled the pigeon club to release the birds who exploded out of their cages and soon assembled in the form of a great fluttering snow white wreath that blanketed the stadium. 

The Carrier pigeons closed ranks over the field in an unbroken  circle that extended from the infield to the outfield, then circling back to the infield . They always start their trips out  flying in a 360 degree circle in order to orient themselves before taking off in the right direction. No one knows how.

The booos  melted away. Rousing yays modulated into the oh’s and ah’s you experience in a  spectacular fireworks show. They were spellbound.

I looked at Specs and said,” Let’s get outa here.” The Pigeon Club had  already dismantled and was rolling off the field.

The pigeons, having completed their dazzling circle then began to follow the lead pigeons out of the field over the center field flag pole. Then, they would fly, not to every major league city, but back to their local cages.

Enraged boos gave way to ear splitting cheers. We jumped into our convertible and raced away to home base, waving and grinning like berserk apes.

Mickey Lolich, his rage forgotten, ran off the mound and intercepted us.” Great going, guys!” He shouted. The cheers died down only after we disappeared.

.The Tigers, with Lolich pitching, won the game that night which helped amplify our Gross Impressions.

 They finished 3d that year. The Yankees ended up a miserable 9^th.

This year. 2006, the Tigers lead their division by a large margin, a great  excuse for Specs and me to come back and reprise what may have been the greatest  promotion of its kind ever….nah!.

 

             Baseball is in the air…which makes it very difficult to breathe…

     I was a long ball hitter, especially if the ball was at least nine inches long

                                                                                                                          Happy  Hare