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2005 World Series

Transplant, 80, still big White Sox fan

By DAVID MURPHY
Published October 26, 2005

You get the phone call at 3 p.m. It's a White Sox fan. He wants to know whether the previous night's game was played. He tried to stay awake through the rain delay, but couldn't.

"These games start so late," he says.

What kind of White Sox fan falls asleep during Game 2 of the World Series?

An 80-year old White Sox fan.

Meet Howard Ellam.

He's done a lot in his life. Grew up on the northwest side of Chicago. Spent 40 years working as a tool and dye manufacturer. Married his beautiful wife, Mabel. Moved to Spring Hill 17 years ago.

He's lived through Normandy and Saigon and Tiananmen Square. He's seen the birth of bubble gum and television and the forward pass. He's witnessed the discovery of penicillin and Pluto and the Dead Sea Scrolls.

But there's one thing Howard Ellam hasn't lived through.

"In 1959," he says, "the White Sox finally won the pennant. But they didn't win the World Series."

He pauses. His voice is perfect: soft and husky, the type of voice that tells stories of 10-foot blizzards and 20-mile walks to school.

"My son, he is a Cubs fan," Ellam says. "He's trying to convince me that he's for the White Sox now, but I know the truth. I've known him for 48 years now and he's not bull-------- me. He's crying the blues."

He says this with a hint of satisfaction.

Rooting for the Cubs, you see, is like rooting for Christmas. Or puppies. Or Gandhi. Everybody does.

The White Sox?

You try rooting for a franchise whose most famous player was banned from the game, whose most famous single-game performance was Disco Demolition Night. A club that blew up one of the most historic stadiums in all of baseball.

Falling in love with the Chicago Cubs is like watching a Chips Ahoy commercial that portrays warm, gooey cookies. Falling in love with the White Sox is like eating what's actually in the package.

It's hard, but it's reality.

"I was a traitor," says Ellam, who grew up in Cubs territory. "I had to walk softly and carry a big stick like President Roosevelt used to say."

That's Teddy Roosevelt, by the way. Not Franklin.

"You may be too young of a fella to remember Bob Feller," Ellam says, "but he pitched a no-hitter against the White Sox and I was there with my dad to see that no-hitter. Everybody toward the ninth inning or the eighth inning, they are all pulling for Cleveland. ... What the hell? The guy has a no hitter."

In between talk of his son's move to Connecticut and his daughter's teaching job in Maryland and the fact that a house in Timber Pines that he once could have bought for $32,000 now goes for half a million, the White Sox fan talks about baseball.

About the double-play combination of Charlie Grimm, Billy Herman and Bill Jurges that played for the cross-town Cubs.

"You thought they were sweethearts the way they played the game together," Ellam says.

About modern-day pitchers.

"In those days, it was nothing for a 30-game winner to show up," he says. "Today, if they win 15, they want to make him vice president of the country."

About modern-day hitters.

"What p----- me off more than everything else is these sissies, where they have to wear gloves when they bat," he says. "And then when the ball goes by them for a strike, they have to step out and take off the gloves and put them back on and tug on them. ... No wonder the damn game takes four hours. What the hell do they need gloves on for?"

But most of all, he talks about the White Sox.

"I thought they were going to blow it at the end of the season with Cleveland," Ellam says. "I thought I was going to have to go to the emergency room at the Oak Hill Hospital because I thought sure as hell they were going to blow it."

Chicago, of course, didn't blow it. And Ellam didn't need resuscitation.

"I had wet drawers," he says. "I can tell you that."

Eventually, the talk turns back toward the Series.

No, you say, the game was not rained out. Yes, you say, the White Sox won. He thanks you, and prepares to return to the house he shares with Mabel.

"If you are going to write up a report, don't use my name," the White Sox fan says. "I don't want any Cubs fans throwing rocks through my window."

He is joking. You think.

"I really enjoyed this conversation," the White Sox fan says. "You made my day."

You tell him the same. And you mean it.

[Last modified October 26, 2005, 00:44:15]