His Kind Of Town

CHICAGO â€”  Welcome to the city of Big Shoulders and Cheap Owners, where Papa Bear has been succeeded by Son-in-Law Bear; where the eccentric chewing gum magnate who turned the Cubs into a synonym for “sufferingâ€� has been replaced by a newspaper with no upturn in sight; where the boss Blackhawk’s name is cursed by fans listening to sold-out hockey games on radio because he won’t televise them.

Let’s face it, it shouldn’t be hard to be the most popular owner in this town.

Jerry Reinsdorf’s three NBA titles, new ballpark and new stadium should have made him Santa Claus among weasels, but it hasn’t worked out that way.

In a sports-mad city where teams are treated as royal houses and journeymen players as princes, the owners are seen as Scrooges, bottom line notwithstanding. Reinsdorf, who has a respectable record, financially and artistically, is known in Chicago as a cold-blooded, hard-hearted businessman. (OK, so they’ve got him there.)

Now, even as his Bulls chase their fourth title in the ‘90s, the bill of indictment grows:

He’s underpaying local demigod Michael Jordan, hasn’t rehired that wonderful Phil Jackson or local shaman Dennis Rodman.

He blackmailed the state into building his White Sox a new park, put it in the wrong place and erected a charmless cement oval instead of a Camden Yards or Jacobs Field.

He bought out popular Bill Veeck, lost popular Harry Caray, fired popular if erratic Jim Piersall and Doug Collins.

As baseball’s shadow commissioner, he pulled the strings on his Bud Selig puppet and stage-managed the baseball strike.

Every day, Reinsdorf picks up the papers to find his own people intriguing against him. Jackson expresses interest in the New York Knick job over and over. That’s a good one; after years of being pushed around by the Bulls, Knick management loathes the Zenmeister and, if the truth were to be told, Jackson would coach in the Black Hole of Calcutta first.

Jordan says a $36-million, two-year deal is his “absolute bottom line� and threatens to play elsewhere for $10 million less if Reinsdorf “messes with me.� Jordan later says this is “purely speculation,� ducking the fact he was the one doing the speculating. A Sun-Times columnist rips the Tribune for “stuffing words in his mouth,� noting a fairer figure would be--brace yourself--$100 million for three seasons.

Just in case Reinsdorf thought he was out of the line of fire on this one, the Sun-Times adds:

“Reinsdorf will try to negotiate with Jordan because it is his way of thrusting his ample business ego into the public eye, his attempt to be remembered as the dealmaker who never had to pay Jordan what he’s worth. That’s a good way to become a pariah-for-life.�

This, then, is your life, Mr. Pariah.

“Some flak from a few morons?� says Reinsdorf, doing nicely despite it.

“I don’t mind being criticized for decisions. That’s part of the territory. I have to make some tough decisions. And so far, the record’s not that bad.�

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In real life, Reinsdorf is not cold or blustery, but friendly, relaxed and down to earth.

Sitting in his office in new Comiskey Park--he just closed the office in the Loop; others may call this a mausoleum but to him, it’s home--he asks if you want a soft drink or a cigar like the one he’s smoking. When he wants to check out a fact in his life story, he phones his brother Keith, whom he calls “Keithy.�

How’s this for irony? When Reinsdorf was young, he had his heart broken by a calculating sports owner.

Yes, Reinsdorf grew up in Brooklyn and bled Dodger blue, lots of it.

“The Brooklyn Dodgers were my religion,� he says. “Every time Tommy Lasorda sees me, he comes over and makes a mark over my heart and says, ‘If I cut you right here, you’ll bleed Dodger blue.’

“And I always give him the same answer which is, ‘Brooklyn Dodger blue.’ . . .

“I was devastated [when they moved]. The most emotional moment I had was the first time I set foot in Dodger Stadium. I just broke down and cried--this was some time in the ‘70s--at the thought the Brooklyn Dodgers were playing here. It was a spontaneous thing. All of a sudden, I just couldn’t control myself.�

As testament to his devotion, Reinsdorf has two old-style wooden bleacher seats in his office from hallowed Ebbets Field. Typically, they came at a bargain price. Keith was riding by on his bicycle during the park’s demolition and asked the workmen for the seats. Magnanimously, according to Jerry, the workmen asked for $5 and, even more magnanimously, settled for $3, which was all Keith had on him. He put the seats on his bike, walked it home and the family had a priceless heirloom.

Reinsdorf’s sports career has been similarly profitable, not to mention accidental. He was a trial lawyer for the IRS, became a successful tax lawyer and, after attempts to buy the Giants and Indians, put together a limited partnership that purchased the White Sox from Veeck in 1981.

First mistake: following Veeck.

Reinsdorf’s partner, Eddie Einhorn, made a famous remark, vowing to turn the White Sox into a “class organization.� Veeck vowed he’d never attend another game and sneered at the new owners, as did the departing Caray in 1982.

The White Sox were a wreck, as in Veeck. Second fiddle to the Cubs, Veeck considered selling to a Denver group. If Reinsdorf saved baseball on the South Side, then and/or later when he entertained an overture from St. Petersburg, Fla., he got little credit for it.

Of course, with a new park and a franchise now worth $150 million or so, how much credit does a man need?

In 1985, on a lark, he put together a group that bought 57% of the Bulls for pocket change: $9.2 million. (Reinsdorf is thought to personally own 10%.) He got the idea from Yankee owner George Steinbrenner, a minority Bull owner.

Reinsdorf mentioned his interest to Steinbrenner. Grateful Bull ownership did the rest.

“They were a pathetic organization at the time,� Reinsdorf says. “The indoor soccer team was drawing more people than the basketball team. . . .

“About a week later, Lester Crown, who was one of the principal owners, called me. He’d had this conversation with Steinbrenner and said, ‘I can’t believe you really want to do this.’

“I said, ‘Yeah, it’s true.’ �

The deal went down. As timing goes, it was like Jed Clampett firing into the ground and striking oil. Reinsdorf wanted another team only to make a package deal with a local TV station. He got one that had drafted Jordan the year before, not that anyone--Bull officials, Jordan or Reinsdorf--dreamed what that would mean.

Reinsdorf was an old-style owner. He wasn’t on a star trip (even now, he’s as likely not to grant an interview as to sit for one). He stuck to his business principles.

In baseball, that quickly made him a leading figure among owners. During the recent strike, union people fingered him as the chief hawk and power behind Selig’s throne; Reinsdorf says he’s flattered but it’s untrue. Even more flattering, union people paid Reinsdorf a backhand compliment, calling him one of the few owners smart enough to understand what was going on.

In basketball, the same principles made him a maverick. He sued the league in a dispute over putting his games on superstation WGN and won.

David Stern, last of the powerhouse commissioners, is no man to be trifled with, but then, neither is Reinsdorf.

“I have nothing but the utmost respect for David Stern, in all matters outside this litigation,� Reinsdorf insists. “He’s very civil. We joke. When he’s in town, I’ll see him.

“Now, I don’t go to the meetings, but that has nothing to do with the lawsuit. The reason I don’t go to the NBA meetings is, nothing is done. There’s no participation by ownership in the running of the NBA. David does everything. David is the sole, absolute ruler.

“I asked David once, ‘What is your idea of the purpose of an owners’ meeting?’

“And he said to me, ‘So I can tell the owners what I’ve done.’

“Well, if that’s the case, I can send somebody who can take notes. I don’t have that much extra time to sit in a meeting and hear what David’s done. But he’s done a great job. I’m not knocking the system.�

That’s as it should be. Financial World now estimates the worth of the Bulls at $178 million. Other owners suggest that however much mutual respect there is, a league meeting isn’t a comfortable setting for Reinsdorf. At the 1995 All-Star game at Phoenix, for example, Reinsdorf was asked to step out of the room while other owners were briefed on their court case against him.

Reinsdorf left, snarling at his fellow owners to remember who had won.

Whether it makes him a hero (to the CEO set) or the Grinch Who Stole Mike (on Chicago sports talk stations), Reinsdorf never paid Jordan more than this season’s paltry $3.85 million. The owner never offered to redo the deal; the player never asked to renegotiate, although he did mention he was underpaid about a million times.

When Jordan recently let slip his number--$36 million for two more years--the feeling was that Reinsdorf will once again get away cheap. As usual, Reinsdorf isn’t saying boo in public.

“I do not want this to be an adversarial relationship,� he says. “I like Michael and I respect Michael. I believe that Michael likes me and respects me.

“Let’s sit down and let’s just talk, and if we talk, I really believe we’ll come to the right conclusion. Michael should not play for anybody other than the Chicago Bulls. We’ve got the statue in front of the stadium. He shouldn’t play for anybody else, any more than Joe D should have played for anybody else at the end of his career or Ted Williams or Stan Musial.

“It’s abhorrent to me, the thought of Michael playing for somebody else. If it happens, I’m not going to slit my throat, but it’s something I really would not want to see happen.�

The fans want Rodman. Reinsdorf is said to be worried at the prospect of a long-term contract with the irrepressible, 35-year-old Worm.

The fans want Jackson. Jackson supposedly wants something in the $3-million-a-year range. Zenmeisters don’t come as simple as they used to.

“I like Phil,� Reinsdorf says. “I respect Phil, I hope we get it done. If we don’t, we don’t. Life goes on.�

Reinsdorf now winters in Phoenix. Insiders wonder how long he’ll stay in basketball because his real love is baseball. With or without Mike, Dennis, Phil or the Bulls, his life will go on and everyone else will just have to get one.