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Sunday, August 05, 2001 He's
a Regular Joe Amid Growing Fame By WAYNE COFFEY
It's a little after noon in Macombs Dam Park. A stiff breeze is blowing in the Bronx. Joe Torre is wearing a knit shirt, tan slacks and plain blue hat. He walks beneath the rusty girders of the Macombs Dam Bridge, and the memories begin to rekindle. Forty-five years ago, as a pudgy Brooklyn prep star, he hit a huge home run here. The ball rocketed over the fence in right. It helped his team win a big Parade Grounds League game. Torre smiles and keeps walking, onto a dusty diamond strewn with cameras, lights and a guy who's spray-painting the grass green, brown grass being unacceptable for a multi-million-dollar ad campaign. It is Joe Torre's ad campaign, his newest spot for American General Financial Group, 30 seconds built around a Henry David Thoreau quote — "Live the life you've imagined" — and a guy who is doing precisely that. "The man can do anything he wants, and he can go anywhere he wants," says Don Zimmer, Torre's closest Yankee aide, shaking his head. It is a off day for the Yankees, but not for their manager, whose life keeps getting richer, busier, more prosperous, even as many of his contemporaries are winding down.
At 61, Joseph Paul Torre has become much more than a collector of World Series rings, the guy with the "Sopranos" face you see crying every October, the steady paternal hand at the pinstriped tiller. As he and his players go after a fifth World Series title in six years, Torre is nearing — if not surpassing — the stature of Casey Stengel, continuing one of the most remarkable transformations in recent sports history. In a half-dozen seasons, he has gone from nice-guy retread to Cooperstown-bound icon; from homegrown has-been to model of modern managing; from Clueless Joe to Peerless Joe. In 1995, Torre was most associated with his record streak of games (4,268) without going to a World Series as a player or manager, and was hoping his agent, Maury Gostfrand of RLR Associates., could find him a broadcasting job in the wake of his third firing. Now he's on the cover of Fortune, pals with the mayor and Billy Crystal, and is the owner of a record 14 consecutive World Series victories.
Torre was a nine-time All-Star and an MVP, but he is bigger now than ever, and not just in New York. In a nationwide study of coaches and managers in pro sports by Marketing Evaluations Inc. earlier this year, Torre's Q rating (essentially, his likability) was higher than any active coach in the country, according to Steve Levitt, the company president. As a motivational speaker, Torre also is at the peak, commanding up to $75,000 per appearance, placing him in the realm of Pat Riley, Rick Pitino and John Madden — in the top 5% of all sports speakers, says Bob Williams, president of Burns Sports & Celebrities Inc. Torre is one of the toughest speakers in the business to book; he does only about a dozen appearances a year, most of them in November and December. January is out, because he goes to Hawaii with his family. Two offers to speak came in just last week. "His rise has been meteoric," Williams says. "He's gone from nowhere to having extraordinary recognition in a very short period of time." The highest-paid manager in the game at $3 million, Torre's off-field endeavors — including relationships with American General, Italian designer Zegna, Adidas and the Daily News — bring in more than $1 million, industry analysts say. He's turned down a dozen other offers. Brandon Steiner, owner of Steiner Sports, a New Rochelle-based sports marketing firm, says Torre's popularity transcends that of any other New York coach in memory. "The phone rings a lot," Gostfrand says. "It's very important to Joe that it be a good fit." John Pluhowski is a vice president for Houston-based American General. When the company launched a national branding effort with Torre as a focal point, Pluhowski expected it would take three years to take hold. It has taken 18 months. Pluhowski credits Torre. "He's so likable, so successful, so compelling an example of someone who has truly achieved his dreams," Pluhowski says. "Pardon the cliche, but he's hit a big-time home run for us." Apart from winning titles and being a Yankee, Torre's deepest appeal may be his story, says Nova Lanktree, a Chicago-based sports marketing expert. You want obstacles? Torre has had to overcome an abusive father, prostate cancer, an impossibly meddlesome owner and widespread doubts about his ability — to name a few. You want grace under fire? Control amid chaos? A clinic on loyalty, and getting the most out of the modern player? Just look at the sturdy, swarthy face and deep-set calm of No. 6 in pinstripes. When the Yanks lost 16 of 19 at the end of last year, there was no panic or made-for-the-media tantrums. When Bernie Williams' father was gravely ill earlier this year, Torre urged him to go home and not worry about rushing back. Torre is almost fanatical about his diet — green tea, fresh fruit and protein/vitamin shakes are staples — and is equally vigilant about protecting his players. He has a gift for making them feel valued. His criticisms are deftly worded — "He's fighting himself right now" or "He's trying to do too much" are a couple of favorites — and are never seen as demeaning attacks. Even when he has taken hits — for sending seven of his players to the All-Star Game and defending Roger Clemens after his bat-throwing meltdown against Mike Piazza in the Subway Series — he has usually emerged as a noble champion for his guys. Lanktree says every time she's worked with Torre, the feedback has been superlative. "When someone is supposed to be a hero and turns out to be truly like that, it works in a very positive way for everyone," Lanktree says. "He's a pretty fabulous talent." At the All-Star Game in Seattle last month, Frank Torre found himself wowed at the reverence with which players such as Jason Giambi and Alex Rodriguez looked at his brother. When he was with the Rangers, Will Clark once told Frank Torre, "Your brother sits on the bench during games, and no matter how tight the situation, he looks just as cool as can be. He gives us the feeling we can't beat the Yankees in a close game." Torre's close friends include not only Crystal but, somewhat strangely, Milton Berle. Torre met Uncle Miltie in the 1950s when Frank Torre played for the Milwaukee Braves and Joe tagged along for the West Coast games. He'll undoubtedly have lunch with Berle when the Yanks visit Anaheim later in the month. Barbara Sinatra is a friend, and so is Reggie Jackson, who also met Joe through Frank, a longtime executive with Rawlings, a company Jackson worked for. "He's a great man and a great leader," Jackson says. "He sees all the signs along the way, and never speeds in a thinking zone." Jackson says Torre combines intelligence with a measured maturity. He rarely overreacts. His is a quiet ferocity, and it comes with no self-congratulation. "He has tremendous control of his own ego, because you never see it," Jackson says. The control has become apparent as George Steinbrenner continues to put off dealing with Torre's contract, which expires at the end of the year. Torre has often expressed his gratitude to Steinbrenner for hiring him. If Torre has a problem that the owner has waited this long to address a new deal, he's done a typically good job of concealing it. For all of Torre's recent successes, there remains an Everyman humility about him. During a Yankee slump a few weeks ago, Torre flipped over his lineup card in the seventh inning of a game against the Phillies and wrote down what he wanted to say to his team. "I'm 61 years old," he said. "If I don't write it down, I'm going to forget it." On the afternoon of the Macombs Dam commercial shoot, between retreats to a trailer to relax on a floral couch, Torre signs and poses for dozens of autographs and photos. He even takes off his World Series ring and passes it around for all who want to look and touch. Someone says, "Wow, this is heavy." Torre smiles. "I saved up my strength for 30 years to get one," he says, moments after getting off his cell phone with General Manager Brian Cashman, who told him of a trade to acquire pitcher Sterling Hitchcock. There are more than a dozen kids in uniforms in the spot, and by the end, Torre knows most of them by name. During a break, producer John Ficalora watches Torre tap fists with the kids and says, "This guy is a dream." Zimmer regards Torre as one of the most grounded people he's ever known. But that doesn't stop him from needling Torre about his revenue streams, his two books, his ever-rising star. In Torre's Westchester home in Harrison, there's a pond in the back yard, and a small outbuilding. "Don't you have that damn thing full of money yet?" Zimmer asks Torre. Sometimes Zimmer says it when they're at a racetrack on the road, or when he and Torre are deep in their regular pregame cribbage contest against Mel Stottlemyre and Lee Mazzilli. "I don't think he's got a bad bone in his body," Zimmer says. "He doesn't just treat me special. He treats everybody that way." As the final scene of the shoot wraps up, it's a little after 7 p.m. and the sun is sinking over Macombs Dam Bridge. Six kids on bikes call out Torre's name from the overpass, and he waves. Torre and his wife, Ali, are going to the Madonna concert at the Garden. He wants to stop at the Stadium and take a shower, but before he can, there's one last wave of autograph seekers. Torre, who has been there seven hours, takes care of them all. He praises the directors and producers ("Topnotch, topnotch"), hugs a bunch of them and tugs the blue hat low over his forehead, against the sun. He walks across the green painted field, where he once homered. Behind him Yankee Stadium is bathed in a soft orange light, rising majestically. It is a backdrop that fits Joe Torre very nicely. With Anthony McCarron |
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