An Umpire's Life

There is a popular belief among baseball fans that being a major league umpire is a pretty good job. Fans see umpires work about three hours a day and notice how they travel first class all over the country, watch some of the greatest athletes in the world from very close by, and receive five months of vacation in the winter. Someone once said umpires have "the best seat in the house, but you have to stand," and I can't disagree with that.

As someone who spent 32 years umpiring in the major leagues, I admit that sounds like a pretty good job description. But there is much more involved in being an umpire than fans — and many times even those people who work inside the game — understand or appreciate. Umpires are sometimes taken for granted, although I have always felt the six-week strike in 1979 went a long way toward giving us the credibility and respect that we deserve. We had earned that credibility, and the men hired to replace us didn't have it. People found out not just anybody can do this job.

Fans watching from the stands see the basic calls an umpire has to make — safe or out, fair or foul, ball or strike — and they think it is an easy job. They don't see the intangible skills an umpire has to possess to be successful, and they don't see the sacrifices an umpire has to make in regard to his family and personal life.

Is it a great job? In the major leagues, the answer is yes. But it wasn't always that way before Richie Phillips and others improved the pay scale and working conditions. On the other hand, many umpires work in the minor leagues for years, for less than glamorous pay in less than ideal working conditions, but never get rewarded with the welcome news that they have been promoted to the majors. For them, the answer unfortunately is no, it's not a great job.

Is it a fun job? That depends largely on the other three gentlemen you happen to be assigned to work with in a particular year. I was on crews where I laughed so much that tears rolled down my face. Having partners like Rocky Roe, Dale Scott, Durwood Merrill, Ron Luciano, Bill Haller, Larry Barnett, Jim Evans, Tim McClelland, Jim Joyce, and Steve Palermo would make anyone laugh and enjoy the job. You couldn't have very many bad days hanging around those kinds of men. Also, getting to know a lot of other great umpires, even if I didn't work with them that often or on a regular basis, made the job fun — people like Ed Montague, Randy Marsh, Don Denkinger, Ted Hendry, Larry McCoy, John Kibler, Rich Garcia, and Terry Tata. I was also fortunate enough to work four World Series, and three of them were with Lee Weyer, a treat in itself. He was an absolutely super guy, who had fun, made the job fun, and was a good umpire.

Is it an easy job? No. There are many more physical requirements than people realize, and the stress level might be among the highest for any profession in the country. If you had asked Don Denkinger after the 1985 World Series if being an umpire was an easy job, you might not have wanted to wait for his reply. I always hoped that when I was introduced to strangers no one would mention that I was an umpire — I thought there was a remote chance they would like me if they didn't know.

Nobody likes umpires until they get to know them. By the basic definition of the job, you are making calls that one team and thousands of fans are going to disagree with. The ability to make difficult calls and not have people constantly upset with you is one of the intangibles necessary to be a good and effective umpire. You have to know how to handle people and control situations.

I became an umpire when I was 14 years old for one simple reason: money. I was playing on a pretty good team, and the local YMCA in St. Louis was having trouble getting umpires. A representative came and talked to our team to see if anybody was interested. Nobody raised his hand until he said the job paid $5 a game; then 14 hands went up. A few years later, I was told by a scout that I ought to consider becoming a professional umpire. I decided to quit college and go to umpire's school. My father was totally opposed to it, even though he had been a minor league umpire for many years, reaching the Triple A level. My dad, like most fathers, wanted his son to have more success than he had, but he also wanted to prevent his son from experiencing the heartache he felt when he didn't reach his goal. Many people have told me over the years that my dad, Bob Phillips, was a very good umpire and should have worked in the major leagues, but he never got that opportunity.

The morning I left St. Louis to drive to the umpire's school in Florida in January 1964, I was already becoming homesick and was tearing up before I crossed the Eads Bridge over the Mississippi River into Illinois. I made it to the school in Florida, pulled up in front of the building, and couldn't force myself to get out of the car. I seriously considered pulling out of the parking lot and heading directly back to St. Louis, before I finally worked up enough courage to get out of the car and walk inside the building. What I found out was that everybody there had the same insecurity I had: fear of the unknown.

Did I know exactly what I was getting into? Of course not. Even with the knowledge obtained at the elbow of my father, I had no idea what direction my career and life would take. One of my dearest friends in the world, and a fellow major league umpire for 29 years whom I met in umpire's school, Larry Barnett, was my partner for a year in the Class A Midwest League. As we drove all over Iowa, Illinois, and Wisconsin, we speculated about our futures. We had no idea if we would make it to the majors, how long we would be there, or how much money we would make. We were making $315 a month and seven cents a mile expense money. The salary of a major league umpire was so far off in the distance we could only dream about it. But I think those lean, uncertain times helped build my character. You can appreciate success more when you know how hard you had to work to get there.

There is no question I would not have been a major league umpire for as long as I was without a loving and supportive family. My parents, Bob and Helen, knew about the lifestyle, and they knew what it would take for me to be successful. Once I made the decision to become an umpire, they were extremely supportive. My father was always my biggest booster. He taught me what it meant to be an umpire. I had the privilege of being in the locker room with him when he was umpiring, and I watched and listened. I sensed the loyalty all umpires had for one another long before I knew this was what I wanted to do with my life.

I have often said the proudest moment of my career was working the 1982 World Series in my hometown of St. Louis, with my father in the stands. He died suddenly a few months...