Bill Griffin, Chicago vendor, 1980. (Courtesy of Lloyd Rutzky)

The world has been changing and Bill Griffin likely wanted no part of it.

“Griff” was the gruffest vendor at Wrigley Field and Comiskey Park in Chicago. He was proud to say that no one had worked the ballparks longer than him. His vendor life began in 1952. Bill spoke in an outlaw drawl that came from his native Oklahoma and he had the face of a postage stamp left out in a western rain. Bill died May 16 of COVID-19 at the Astoria Place senior home in Chicago. He was 88 years old.

Bill died the day after they started playing live organ music again at Wrigley Field.

Bill was born in Oklahoma City, Ok. His father Willie suffered a fatal well accident when Bill was two. As a kid, Bill earned loose change by setting pins in bowling alleys. He was placed in an orphanage at the age of nine. Bill joined the Marine Corps at the age of 17 before returning to Oklahoma and working the minor league ballparks in Tulsa and Oklahoma City.

As a teenager, he also worked the circus circuit in the winter. “Circuses and bears,” Bill grumbled in a 2013 interview at the Hi-Ho Cafe on Chicago’s far northwest side. “I sold cotton candy and sno cones. I went all the way to New-fouan-land. A few times I was the ‘boss butcher’ (overseeing other circus vendors.) There’s a lot more money when you have people working for you than when you are working seats for yourself.”

Just like real life.

Bill’s death connects a few lost dots in the America we are now living in.

• Small business and big hearts-—Bill found meaningful connections through ballpark friends, fellow independent co-workers, and mom and pop diners. He was never married. Every time I bought a scorecard from Bill he would ask me to see his scrapbook. In 2013, I finally did.
Matina Kolovos was a long time Chicago diner server who met Bill in 2002 when she was working at the since-razed Cambridge House a couple of blocks east of North Michigan Avenue. Bill loved the Greek diner’s stuffed peppers. He was living in the downtown transient Tokyo Hotel when he met Matina.

She was taken by the fact someone so rugged could be so socially isolated. Matina spent a year hand making a huge, 18-page scrapbook titled “Bill Griffin.” She finished the scrapbook in the spring of 2012. Each page was a marker of Bill’s life. Bill took it everywhere when he was able. He may have been proud of his accomplishments along the backroads of America, but he was happier that someone cared. This is what is lost for lonely people when mom and pop diners go away.

Me and Bill, Game 1 of the 2016 World Series at Wrigley (Photo by George Loukas.)

Tom Poehling is a small business owner who operates a Madison, Wis. investment advisory firm. Tom, 54, attended his first Cubs game with his father on Aug. 16, 1977–the day Elvis Presley died. Over the years Tom befriended Bill and eventually became his health care Power of Attorney. Along with Chicagoans Mike Cahill and Cathy O’Connell- Cahill, he watched over Bill.

“It became evident he didn’t have anybody,” Tom said on Monday. “He had to file bankruptcy seven or eight years ago. He was not aware of handling money. He lived in subsidized housing. You have to submit your financials to determine your subsidized rent. He didn’t know he was supposed to do that. He understated what he made at the ballpark and because of that,  his place claimed he owned thousands of dollars of rent over 15 years.

“This happened before I met him but his wages were garnished and he didn’t have anything leftover at the end of the month. This other couple (Mike and Cathy) and I helped him out when he needed it. We didn’t give him large sums of money but extra when he needed to go out to his diners and things.”

Why did Mike and Cathy do this?

“I usually bought my scorecards from him,” Mike said Tuesday afternoon. “I found him grouchy and intimidating. My son attended Quigley Seminary High School down on Rush Street. One day in 2006 they were having their 100th anniversary. Everybody was all dressed up and who walks into the courtyard but Griff? He looked like he always looked and was a little out of place but I recognized him.” Mike and Cathy invited Bill to sit down and eat with the family. Bill began sharing his life story.

Bill became friends with the family. Mike and Cathy would check in on Bill weekly. In 2016 they invited Bill to Thanksgiving dinner at their home on the northwest side of Chicago.  “He liked the John Denver song ‘Country Roads’,” said Mike, a 63-year-old financial planner. “One of my nephews had a guitar so we had a sing-along. We ended up playing ‘Country Roads’ four or five times because Bill liked it so much.”

Why did Tom do this?

“I think of the societal issue,” Tom answered. “Some people just fall through the cracks. They have no advocates. When I formally met him he was 83 years old. He could hardly walk. He had diabetes. And he was at the ballpark every day. I don’t even know if the Chicago Cubs knew who he was. That’s the sad thing. He always worked for vending firms. And this guy was the longest-tenured employee at Wrigley Field in the history of the ballpark.”

Bill sold his last scorecard in 2017. That gave him 65 years at Wrigley, which tied him with the late Cubs clubhouse manager Yosh Kawano, who also clocked in at 65 years. For the last two years,  Bill existed on his $800 monthly Social Security check and by the support of his friends.

Bill never wrote a check in his life. And he was notorious for losing his wallet. Not a good combination. Tom would buy Dunkin’ Donut gift cards for Bill. A bank was next to the donut store. One time Tom withdrew $300 in cash for Bill. “He said he had to pay a cable bill and a couple of other things,” Tom recalled. “The next day I called to check on him and said, ‘You still have your cash, right? You got it in your wallet?’ He said, ‘Yeah, but I had to use some of the cash. I was by Water Tower Place and a young woman with a small child didn’t have anything. So I gave half the money you gave me to her’.” This guy was worthy of what anybody did for him.”

In the 2013 Hi–Ho lunch with Bill, Matina recalled, “Bill would come in for lunch at the Cambridge House and bring me baseball tickets and tickets to the Ice Capades. I would take my son (John.) He’d bring gifts to all the other waitresses. He was thoughtful. And he had nobody. My Mom invited him over for (Greek) Easter. Then he would come over for Christmas (Bill once dressed up as Santa Claus.) The friendship started growing.”

Bill joined Alcoholics Anonymous in 1990. Not long after that, he kicked his four–pack-a-day cigarette habit that had only made Griff’s gruff voice more gritty.

After the Cambridge House closed in February 2006, Matina became a hostess at the Family Palace at Harlem and Lawrence. Bill followed her. He would take three buses from downtown to see her. She recalled, “In the downstairs party room of my building I would show Christian movies and serve coffee and cake for the elderly. And he would come to that. I invited him to church (New Life Christian Fellowship in Oak Park.)

And in 2010 Bill got baptized.

“My pastor was amazed he would take three or four buses to come to church in the morning,” she said. Bill listened and smiled, knowing he had been delivered.

* Human touch

I feel fortunate to have been alive during the times of Michael Jordan, Pablo Neruda, Bob Dylan, and Fred Willard. But I’m equally glad to have been alive during the era of colorful ballpark vendors like Bill. I’m certain the days of small business people handing a hot dog down an aisle are over. When major league baseball resumes, I bet I won’t even be able to buy a scorecard anymore. I’ll have to download another app.

Bill was a member of the SEIU (Service Employees International Union) Local 1 Sports Veterans Hall of Fame. I saw it in his scrapbook. He was also on the Wrigley grounds crew when part of their gig was to sweep up the park after a game.

Matina decided to begin work on the “Bill Griffin Scrapbook” after seeing how he saved all the pictures of his life. She carefully applied plastic over each turn of the page.

Bill, Matina Kolovos and his beloved scrapbook, 2013 (Photo by D. Hoekstra)

One of her favorite sections was when Bill had a cameo as a Cubs third base coach in the 1993 movie “Rookie of the Year.” The movie starred Daniel Stern and Gary Busey. The Dodger Stadium scenes were shot at what was then U.S. Cellular Park in Chicago. Bill’s character was married in “Rookie of the Year.” He looked at a snapshot from the shoot in his book and said, “It’s the only time I’ve had anybody who I could call my wife. We danced for a long time rehearsing. But they didn’t show me dancing. They showed Gary Busey dancing with her.”

Matina glanced at the scrapbook and said, “I never thought it would be this big. He had an interesting life and a hard life. He deserves to have something nice.”

Tom Poehling did not think Bill had any surviving relatives until a distant niece emerged a couple of weeks ago in Arkansas. She made one request in the event of Bill’s death. She wanted the scrapbook. Tom said, “A woman who did housekeeping in Bill’s building was worried they would come in and take all of his stuff. So she took that scrapbook and it is now in the trunk of her car. I’m coming to Chicago next week to get all his family heirlooms and pictures and ship them to his niece.”

Tom paused for a moment to think about his lost friend.

Tom Poehling (left) helped Bill get to his native Oklahoma City in February 2017 to see a since-deceased cousin’s wife. (Photo courtesy of Tom Poehling.)

“When I met him there was just sadness,” Tom said. “This guy had been on his own since he was 15 years old. He did not have the basics in life, yet he created a life for himself. I have no idea how he lived to be almost 89. Survival? Do what you gotta’ do? We can all learn lessons from him.”

Mike Cahill added, “As a kid, I was intimidated by him. Then as I got to watch him selling scorecards, he’d keep you waiting five minutes while he was telling someone a story. He was engaged with his customer and that was more important to him. It may not be a great business model but it is a great human model.”

Rich Harris is a congenial baseball vendor and my former colleague at the Chicago Sun-Times. He felt connected to Bill because Bill began vending the year after he was born. Rich started his career with soda pop and peanuts in 1983 before quickly moving up the ladder to beer.

“When I started Bill was selling hawt dogs, hawt dogs, as he said so demonstratively,” Rich recalled on Sunday. “He wasn’t selling beer. I think it was too heavy for an older guy.”

In the fine book “Wrigley Field’s Amazing Vendors,” by Lloyd Rutzky and Joel Levin, there is Rutzky’s color 1975 photo of Bill selling 65 cent Old Style beers in a 1975 game. Vendor Rutzky also took a picture of Bill sweeping up the ballpark in 1978.

“Bill always had that same look,” Rich said. “At a certain point, you don’t even look any older than you already are. He was so sincere, even when he talked about being a drunk. He and Irving were the two guys.” Irving Newer was the super frail, toothless senior citizen who during the 1960s and 70s sold salted peanuts and ice cream under the grandstands at both Chicago ballparks.

My long time Wrigley Field Section 242 beer vendor friend Doug North said, “Bill was a mystery of a man. He didn’t say much but when he did speak, it was a large bellow in three to five-word sentences.” A full-time teacher at Curie Metropolitan High School, Doug began vending in 1996. “I wanted to pay attention to Bill,” he said. “He’s very grizzled and intimidating but he had worked there for a long time. After 25 years of watching the man, he was one of those guys, ‘What’s his story?’ And he always looked 75 years old. For the past 25 years.”

Bill Griffin (Photo provided by Rich Harris)

Bill moved on to selling foam Cubby claws at Wrigley where he would walk up and down the concourse growling “Claw! Claw! Claw!” while scaring small children. His last career stop was the scorecard stand at the main entrance of Wrigley Field. “A lot of vendors never want to retire,” Rich said. “A lot of us are saying how we may never be back. Even if it got better, they’re not going to let people pass food down the aisle. They also took seats away from us (at Wrigley) with private clubs that have their own service.”

Rich explained that nearly 40 percent of his vending profit came from tips. “It’s like a waitress,” he said. On a good summer day in the late 1990s, he used to sell about 15 cases of beer. “Now a good day is like eight cases,” he said. There are 24 cans in a case.

In the future walking vendors may be eliminated in favor of a stand. That’s what happened to my buddy Abe Rapuch when his back went out a couple of summers ago. “You might do good volume at a stand,” Harris said. “But you’re not going to get the same amount of tips. It also depends on where the stand is located. It’s a dying profession.

“It’s been dying for years.”

So if this is the last stand for the baseball vendor, raise a toast to Bill Griffin. He was as much of a part of the live Chicago baseball experience as north side ivy and south side fireworks. Griff appeared gruff but if you took the time to strip away that mask you discovered a heart that was available to anyone. Free. At no charge.

Made in America.

Burial for Bill Griffin will be at 1 p.m. May 21 at Ridgewood Cemetery, 9900 N. Milwaukee Ave. in Des Plaines. Because of COVID-19, attendance near Bill’s headstone is limited to ten people, but room will be granted for others from a distance. Bill will be buried next to his long time vendor friend Ho Pun Padgett. There will be a floral bouquet in Chicago Cubs colors.

60

SHARES

Share on Facebook

Tweet

Follow us

Share

Share

Share

Share

Share