As Cubs fans rejoice in our beloved team’s long-awaited and dramatic victory last night in Game 7 of the World Series, I can’t help but think back to the memorable day in September 2001 when I was privileged to sing the National Anthem in historic Wrigley Field …. which, I’m somewhat embarrassed to say, was also the first time that I ever sat foot inside the stadium. I’m embarrassed to say that because I lived in Chicago in 1985 and 1986, and my apartment was an easy 15 minute walk from Wrigley Field. In fact, I can’t even count all of the times I walked right past it on my way to various used record stores in the neighborhood or a famous place called Nuts On Clark where I would sometimes indulge myself in their delicious carmel corn. I still remember the very first I walked past the place and marveling at how huge and majestic it was …. only to discover later (to my great astonishment) that it was the smallest ball park in the major leagues. From the sidewalk outside of it, I thought it looked immense! These also happened to be the years when the decision was being weighed about whether or not to add lights to the stadium, which would make nighttime games possible for the first time. It was an exciting prospect for many Cubs fans, but a lot of people in the neighborhood were less than enthused, and everywhere you went on the north side you saw signs about the issue in various store front windows. So the Cubs and Wrigley Field were very much a part of my life back then, except for the fact that it never occurred to me to try and attend a game there. Not once. (It’s not like I was rolling in dough back then and trying to figure out how to spend my excess cash. These were lean years in which lunch was often two sandwiches made with generic white bread and generic grape jam. It’s also true that opera was by far the greatest focus of my attention and energy, and whatever extra money I had was blown on opera videos and records.)
Fast forward to the late spring of 2001 – 15 years after I moved from Chicago to Kenosha to begin work at WGTD radio. One of my favorite guests that year was John McDonough, who at the time was a Vice President for the Cubs. He was in town because his daughter was a student and Carthage and Mr. McDonough agreed to come to campus to speak to some classes about the business end of major league baseball. It was a thoroughly engrossing conversation about the many ways in which the Cubs led the way in groundbreaking and imaginative marketing strategies. (It was Mr. McDonough who came up with all sorts of interesting ideas like Beanie Baby Day and the like.) He was so approachable and articulate and I loved every minute of our conversation, even though I was relatively illiterate when it came to baseball. After our conversation finished up, the man who had escorted him to the station, Paul Hegland, mentioned to him that I was a voice teacher at Carthage and someone who would sound good singing the national anthem at a Cubs game. “Send me an audition tape!” Mr. McDonough replied- and I smiled and said that I would while thinking to myself that he was probably just being polite and would not waste his time and mine with making an audition tape. But a few days later, Paul emailed me to say that Mr. McDonough had inquired as to where my audition tape was and when he could expect to receive it! Needless to say, I put something together that very day – sent it off – and about two weeks later heard back from someone at the Cubs that I was invited to sing the national anthem for a Cubs game in late September. I was thrilled and flabbergasted. I was also a bit terrified, but at this point there was no turning back.
No one could have foreseen the extraordinary drama that would enfold our nation on September 11th – or the way in which the act of singing our national anthem would take on profoundly greater meaning from that point on. The chance to sing the anthem at Wrigley Field on September 28th became much more than just a thrilling chance to do something really cool; it became a true privilege and moving honor.
Much of that day is now a blur, but I do remember carefully selecting my outfit for the day- wearing a blue shirt that matched the blue of the Cubs’ uniforms and combining it with a jazz-themed tie that I hoped looked more cool than nerdy. I also remember taking our camcorder and removing the tape that was in it so we wouldn’t accidentally tape over something important. Unfortunately, it never dawned on me to grab a blank tape myself or to tell Kathy what I had done – and it wasn’t until we were already inside the ball park that we realized that we had our camcorder but no tape. And because this was so soon after 9-11, security was exceptionally tight at the stadium and there was absolutely no possibility of leaving the stadium and being allowed to re-enter. And although various stands inside Wrigley sold still photo film, nobody sold what we needed for our camcorder. We also found out later that the telecast of the game was pre-empted because of a football game that went long, so the singing of the anthem was not seen on television either. So there would to be no video or audio recording of the anthem. (This was years before cell phones.) Fortunately, I have a few photos snapped by Kathy in the stands – and a closeup photo taken by someone with the Cubs staff – which is proof that it really happened!
One of my biggest fears was that the microphone and stadium speakers might be set up in such a way that there would be some sort of weird delay or echo that might make it really hard for me to sing well. So I was thrilled when I was told to be down on the field 15 minutes before game time for a mic check! Hooray, I thought to myself- at least I will get to try out the microphone. Well, as it turns out the mic check consisted of me walking out to the mic and somebody adjusting its height accordingly- but there was no chance to actually sing into it. So one I was done, I was just standing there close to the Cubs’ bull pen, wondering if what was about to ensue would be something triumphant or disastrous.
Well, when they announced my name and I walked to the mic, a strange sort of calm came over me- in part because there is something surprisingly intimate about “the Friendly Confines.” It’s a place that feels like home. It helps that it was (and to some extent remains) an old-fashioned stadium – not blighted by the overly-commercial atmosphere of more typical stadiums, but a place that looked largely the same as it did fifty years earlier when Babe Ruth and other legends played there.
Grateful for the opportunity …. and mindful of how important our national anthem was to all Americans in those days after 9-11 …. I took a deep breath and began singing “O say can you see ….” Much to my relief, there was no delay or strange reverb; my voice rolled out of the speakers powerfully and clearly, and I couldn’t believe how comfortable I felt, as though I were singing the anthem on the stage of Pennoyer Park for a Wednesday night band concert back in Kenosha. And yet, it was incredibly inspiring to be standing in that enormous stadium, singing for so many thousands of people – and I found my voice surging and flowing as it only can when one feels complete freedom and release. It was a glorious feeling that I will never forget.
I don’t remember too much from that point on – not even who the Cubs played or who won the game – but I do remember one mildly humbling moment when I left our seats in the stands to grab something to eat. As I was walking, I was mentally preparing myself for the moment when someone came up to me to ask “are you the guy who sang the national anthem today?” so I had some sort of answer for them. Well, I need not have worried … because nobody said a word to me. Not a soul seemed to recognize me. That’s when I realized that for as immensely thrilling as this moment was for me, it was not what the day was about for the tens of thousands of people who had come to cheer on their beloved Cubs in their beloved Wrigley Field. I was but a visitor on that hallowed ground – and it was a privilege for which I will forever be grateful.