One would be hard-pressed to find a position in professional umpiring that Harry Wendelstedt hasn’t held. After a colorful, workhorse-like career and a laundry list of achievements, Wendelstedt has more than touched all the bases in big league umpiring: 33-year NL umpire, four-time Major League Umpire Association (MLUA) president, owner and director of an umpire school, NL umpire evaluator and father of a current major league umpire.
By the time Wendelstedt retired from onfield duty in 1998 to take a position as an evaluator, he had chalked up five World Series, 11 championship playoffs and five All-Star games to his credit.
Today, at 61 — an age when most are looking to take life easy — Wendelstedt’s career appears to be going into extra innings. “I still have a lot to give baseball,” he says.
Wendelstedt first began giving to baseball more than three decades ago. In fact, when he stepped full time onto a major league ballfield in 1966, Lyndon Johnson was agonizing over the Vietnam War, Medicare was just going into effect and Nancy Sinatra’s “These Boots Are Made For Walking” was blaring over top-40 radio. Little did Wendelstedt know back then that he would go on to rack up the second longest umpiring career to date — just three years shy of former NL umpire Bill Klem’s record 36 years.
But umpiring within four separate decades of Major League Baseball wasn’t all fun and glamour for the beefy, 6′ 2″, 250-pound Wendelstedt. Like anyone who has climbed to the peak of a profession, there were struggles and rewards.
Coming Up to Bat: The Minor Leagues
The son of a Baltimore truck driver, Harry Hunter Wendelstedt Jr. was the oldest of six children. As a youngster, he wrestled and played high school and college baseball, but says he had only “so-so” ability.
Wendelstedt began his adult life as a math and science teacher, but quickly discovered life inside a classroom wasn’t for him. He had previously served in the Marine Corps reserves and even dabbled as a professional soccer player in what he terms “an old eastern soccer league,” and if it hadn’t been for a baseball pal’s injured arm, Wendelstedt may have pursued a forestry career. “While I was working in the sporting goods department at Montgomery Ward (during the summer), a friend who had hurt his arm stopped by and told me he went to umpire school,” recalls Wendelstedt. “He encouraged me to go. So, I thought it over, borrowed the money from my parents, and went off to the Al Somers Umpire School.”
After six weeks at the Daytona Beach-based school, Wendelstedt received an “outstanding” rating and was assigned to the Georgia/Florida Minor Leagues. His first game in the minors is one he’ll never forget. “I didn’t have much money at the time, so I mail-ordered my umpire uniform and had it shipped directly to Brunswick Stadium in Georgia,” recalls Wendelstedt. “While I was getting dressed I discovered that the trousers fit me like leotards! And they were all I had! After squatting down for my very first pitch in professional baseball, I heard, ‘Rip!’ The crowd began laughing. They howled after every pitch. It was tough during that first inning. I felt like packing it in.” The next day’s sports page included a photograph with an arrow pointing at the split pants. The caption read: “Official Opening.” Hardly an auspicious start.
At that time, it was common for professional umpires to spend 12-15 seasons in the minors before getting a chance at the big leagues. But after only two minor league seasons, Wendelstedt received a tryout with the NL. However, it turned out to be a mixed blessing. “I was just a young man and most of the guys I worked with were waiting more than 10 years to get into the big leagues. Here I was getting a shot at it in only two,” says Wendelstedt. “They resented it. I ended up getting the cold shoulder from many of the guys. I felt like an outcast. It was one of the few times in my career that I really felt like quitting.” Friend and mentor Somers encouraged him through that difficult period and told him to pay no attention to the treatment he was receiving. Eventually, Wendelstedt spent four years in the minors before being called up full time to the NL.
Hitting a Home Run: Making the Majors
In April 1966, Wendelstedt made his major league debut at Busch Stadium in St. Louis. Ed Vargo, Doug Harvey and crew chief Shag Crawford — Wendelstedt’s seasoned crewmates — helped make his first season in the big leagues somewhat easier.
“Those guys were a ‘Who’s Who’ in umpiring,” recalls Wendelstedt. “I learned so much from them. If you couldn’t umpire with that crew, you couldn’t umpire.”
How nervous was the 28-year-old rookie during that first big league game? “Very,” stresses Wendelstedt. “But anyone who works on that level gets nervous. After you call a few pitches, you settle down and focus. I always experienced butterflies when I umpired, but you get used to it. After the game starts, they go away.” Like his ripped-pants minor league debut, his major league bow was far from favorable; it was called after two innings on account of hail.
It took years before the players would accept the big, boyishly faced kid on Crawford’s crew. “An umpire isn’t accepted in the big leagues until after five or six years,” says Wendelstedt. “It’s a kind of ‘feeling out’ period for the players to see how far they can push you. They constantly test you. That’s why younger umpires tend to eject more players than older guys.”
Ironically, a lack of confidence helped make Wendelstedt a better umpire. “I was always known as a great rules man,” he says. “That probably stemmed from my fear of failure. I never wanted something to happen on the field that I didn’t know how to handle. I always prepared well — especially if I was going to work the plate. I always got a good night’s rest before working the plate.”
One of the most controversial calls of Wendelstedt’s career occurred in 1968 when Los Angeles Dodgers pitcher Don Drysdale was chasing the consecutive scoreless innings record. It was the eighth inning with the bases loaded and nobody out. Drysdale hurled an inside pitch to San Francisco’s Dick Dietz. Wendelstedt ruled that Dietz intentionally got hit with the ball in order to get on base. “I called it a ball and shouted: ‘Nope, you’re not going anywhere. You tried to get hit with that pitch,'” Wendelstedt remembers. The call resulted in a 35-minute argument and numerous ejections. “I got blamed for that one for the next 20 years,” he says. “Every time I went to San Francisco, I would hear about that play. But in my heart, I know I made the right call.”
First Base: The People
Nineteen-year NL umpire Randy Marsh says Wendelstedt was especially skillful in dealing with people. “One season Bill Buckner of Chicago and Gary Carter of the Expos were constantly going at each other,” Marsh recalls. “At one point in Chicago, it led to a shoving match and eventually both benches cleared. Normally, in that kind of situation, both Carter and Buckner would have been ejected. But Harry told both of them they were acting like children and if they’d shake hands, he’d keep them in the game — otherwise, he was throwing them out. Buckner and Carter shook hands and their running feud came to an end. I was working second base at the time and thought, ‘Wow, in that kind of situation, unless a player has a lot of respect for an umpire, he would have told him to get lost.'”
The stress of the road often led to umpires blowing off steam in creative ways. “Lee Weyer (former NL umpire, now deceased) was the biggest practical joker,” says Wendelstedt. “He and I always played tricks on each another. One morning in Los Angeles when I checked into the hotel, I discovered my whole room had been toilet papered; the beds were short-sheeted and the dresser drawers turned upside down. I said to the bellman, ‘This can’t possibly be my room!’ Weyer must have spent an hour doing it!” laughs Wendelstedt. “But I got even. Lee always dressed for ballgames at the last minute. So one week later in Chicago, before the game started, I sewed his pant legs and jacket sleeves shut. As usual, Lee rushed in and was hustling to get dressed. When he realized what happened, he grinned at me and said in his normal, high-pitched voice, ‘Ah … you got me there, didn’t you, Wendelstedt!'”
Some stress relief was unplanned. “One day I was working the plate in Philadelphia. All of a sudden the batter stepped out of the box and smiled at me. I said, ‘C’mon, let’s go.’ Then I heard everyone laughing. The batter said, ‘Look down at your feet.’ I glanced down and saw a big bird between my feet. The bird didn’t want to leave. I had a hard time getting rid of him,” chuckles Wendelstedt. “I experienced lots of wildlife on the field during my career: raccoons, chipmunks, bees, skunks. You name it.”
Wendelstedt boasts that he’s one of the few human beings alive today who worked the plate for Satchel Paige. “At one point in his career Satchel was a coach for the Atlanta Braves and would sometimes pitch during spring training. That’s where I got to work him. At that time he was nearly 70 years old and was throwing as hard as some of the kids!” says Wendelstedt. “He was amazing. I had great respect for that man.”
Second Base: Bitter Pills
During his 33 years in the majors, Wendelstedt lived through the changes that affected the game. “I’d say the biggest change is the way umpires are perceived,” he says. “Much of that comes from the media. Now we have lots of networks like ESPN and others with their overhead cameras, which aren’t exactly overhead. Sometimes I think the media tries to make us look like the village idiots.
“One night, some of us sat down and calculated the approximate number of decisions major league umpires make on an average baseball night. We figured there were some 10,000 total decisions made between the AL and NL umpires on a typical night. But the media would take one play that the umpires ‘missed’ and play it over and over, making us look incompetent. When I started, there was one TV game a week. Now a couple of games are televised almost every night.”
Although he’s loathe to discuss the recent demise of the MLUA, Wendelstedt served four terms as president of the association during the early-to-mid 1970s and he’s long been among the staunchest MLUA supporters. “I took over right after one of the first tough union battles in Pittsburgh. We were able to reach a tentative agreement right before the playoffs in that city. I’ll always remember the tremendous support of those union people who honored our picket lines. They made it possible to make umpiring a decent profession and for us to earn a decent wage,” says Wendelstedt.
Last season, his first off the field, Wendelstedt served as an NL umpire evaluator, but was released along with former umpires Don Denkinger and Jim Quick, as well as NL Umpire Supervisor Paul Runge, after the season. “We did a good job. I was proud working with Paul, Jim and Don,” says Wendelstedt. “We were never told why we were let go, but for some reason, it was deemed necessary. I don’t understand it, but I accept it. I have faith in the man upstairs.” Again, as with his opinions about the demise of the MLUA, Wendelstedt won’t talk about the dismissal in any further detail, although he’s clearly upset by the decision.
Third Base: Umpire School
Today, Wendelstedt is almost as well known for his umpire school, the Harry Wendelstedt School for Umpires, as he is for his onfield career. “We’ve trained 68 umpires who’ve gone to the big leagues,” he says proudly.
Before taking over the school from legendary umpire Al Somers (now deceased) in 1976, Wendelstedt was its chief instructor for 10 years. “During the 1970s, Al Somers’ health was failing and he asked me to take over the school, so I agreed. I added some new teaching techniques, like the use of pitching machines to help umpires get used to calling curve balls, sliders and fast balls. And I implemented ‘control games’ where you hit the ball with a bat to set up different plays. I also hired some of the best umpire-teachers available. It evolved into a fantastic program.”
What’s the most common mistake among amateur umpires? “False pride,” Wendelstedt quickly replies. “They don’t spend enough time learning the profession. Those who need it most seem to avoid going to clinics and learning more. They should thirst for knowledge. During my career, I never reached a point where I felt I knew enough. I was always learning — even until my last game. Just when you think you know it all, ‘bam,’ something new happens. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate and respect amateur umpires who go out there and work for almost nothing. But if you’re going to do it, do the best you can,” he says passionately.
With all of the restructuring occurring in baseball today, the question arises as to whether the Harry Wendelstedt School for Umpires remains viable. “Yes, it does,” Wendelstedt quickly answers. “In fact, it’s the number-one attended umpire school in the world. That’s because of my tremendous staff. We have 12 major league umpires who work with us. I don’t anticipate any changes to the school. Sandy Alderson (executive vice president of baseball operations) and some others visited us during our graduation banquet this year. It was nice to have them see the high-quality program we operate.”
But Wendelstedt’s school isn’t the only one on the block; former AL umpire Jim Evans runs the Jim Evans Academy of Professional Umpiring. When asked if there’s much competition among the schools, Wendelstedt doesn’t hesitate: “Always. All of the schools want to do the best job they can. The competition only spurs on my staff to do the best job we can and to provide the best training in the world. We welcome the competition. It’s healthy for the development of umpires.”
Wendelstedt might love working at his school and teaching prospective umpires even more than umpiring itself. “I’ll keep the school until the day I die,” he insists. “My son Hunter is a partner in the school. Hopefully, he’ll keep it going when I’m gone.”
Heading For Home: The Best Legacy
On Aug. 10, 1998, during the final season of his career, Harry and son Hunter (then a fill-in umpire) made what is believed to be baseball history when they became the first father and son to work a major league game together. “It was an incredible experience,” says Dad Wendelstedt. “I was very proud of Hunter.” But the experience was bittersweet. The day after the game, Wendelstedt’s father, Harry Sr., passed away. “I know dad was happy to see us together on the field. He always supported Hunter and me.”
Hunter, now a full-timer in the majors, says it was an amazing experience. “Our crew was arranged where Dad and I were always positioned across the field from each other,” says the third Harry Hunter Wendelstedt. “So if I worked the plate, he was at second and vice-versa. I remember during the final game of Dad’s career, he was working the plate and I was at second. The game went 14 innings. From my position, I could see what a good game he was calling and I thought, ‘Wow, why is he retiring?’ He had a lot of respect from people and was so fair to players.”
Harry Wendelstedt says he tried to discourage Hunter from the profession. “From the time Hunter was six years old, he wanted to be an umpire,” the senior Wendelstedt says. “But I encouraged him to be something else — a doctor, a lawyer — because of the travel. It’s so tough on family life. But he wanted to be an umpire. Hunter has worked very hard and earned his way to the top. He’s an excellent umpire.”
Will bearing the Wendelstedt name be difficult for his son? “It’s a double-edged sword,” says Harry. “Those who liked me will try to help him learn and encourage him. Those who didn’t like me will try to hurt him. But that’s true in any profession. I’m just proud of the man he’s turned into.”
Curtain Call
Only seven major league umpires have been elected to the Baseball Hall of Fame, but with his remarkable career, Wendelstedt could eventually become a candidate. “I would be deeply honored if it happened, but I don’t think it will,” he says softly before raising his voice and adding, “I was never a ‘yes’ man and never tried to politic my way with the writers and so forth. I just called it as I saw it.”
While reflecting on his career, the now-gray haired Wendelstedt says the secret to his success is simple: “I just loved the game. I tried not to be provocative and tried to defuse things rather than enflame them. I always gave 100 percent and hustled all the time.”
While not presently involved at the major league level, the Ormond Beach, Fla., resident remains active and is an avid fisherman. “I’m not the type who can retire. I want to travel, continue training umpires and enjoy family life. And there are lots of waters out there where I want to wet a line or two,” Wendelstedt says enthusiastically.
Any regrets over the last 33 years? “Yes,” he says. “I miss the game terribly.” And then in a rare concession to the turmoil involving major league umpires during the past year, he adds, “But there are times when you wind up on the other side of the fence, politically, and find yourself on the outside looking in. That’s where I am. That’s the only regret I have. But I feel I still have a lot to offer — even if it’s just on a little league diamond working with tee ballers. I still have a lot to give baseball.”
Steve Krause is a former amateur baseball and hockey official. He is currently a freelance writer in the Detroit area.
