In '76, I was co-founder and editor of the weekly newspaper, Isthmus, and Andy was among early contributors. Theoretically, he said, one could slug one out and over the fence and unless it hit a building or mountain, it still could be heading "out there." Hovering in the background protectively near his man as we spoke, Andy videotaped the entire session, nodding approvingly. By the same token, whereas other games are played on a strictly defined field or court with the firmest of boundaries, the foul lines in baseball theoretically extend through eternity. He referred to the game in an almost timeless, cosmic sense, noting that whereas most all other sports have a time limit, a baseball game can theoretically be played forever, or at least until one team finally plates an extra run. McCarthy was extremely gracious as we talked less about politics than baseball. Andy arranged for me an interview with his candidate at a suburban Chicago motel. We shared wrestling, rock and roll trivia and a sharply sardonic sense of humor from then on until such time he left Madison.Īround 1971-72 or thereabouts, when I was writing sports for The Capital Times, Andy was managing Gene McCarthy's Wisconsin campaign in his second run for president.
But by '63, when I got out of the Navy and started school at UW, I distinctly remember meeting him one morning over coffee and pinball at the old Kollege Klub. Having been a high school pal of Colin McCamy and Tim Nelson, I may actually have met Andy during one of his summer visits to Madison. As other posters here have referred, despite his lifetime of crises, large and small, he always managed to retain a joyfulness that seemed irrepressible. He was one of the brightest, nicest and most energetic guys I ever had the pleasure to meet.
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