Politics had the Adamses. Big band music had the Dorseys. Acting had the Barrymores. And officiating has the Crawfords.
Umpire Henry “Shag” Crawford retired in 1975 after 20 distinguished major league seasons. But his name lives on in more than just memories. Son Jerry has taken his father’s place as a National League umpire. Another son, Joe, is an NBA referee. If any group can lay claim to the title First Family of Officialdom, it is the Crawford family of Havertown, Pennsylvania.
The Crawfords are remarkable not just as an officiating family, but as a family, period. All but Henry Jr. — known as “Bunky” — live within whistling distance and he lives only 30 miles away. “Close knit” is no exaggeration.
Perhaps the glue of the family is Vivian Crawford, matriarch of the clan. She is the Abigail Adams of officiating, wife of one major league official and mother of two more.
“I have four fine children. Thank God they’re all decent human beings,” Vivian says of her offspring. “I’m proud of every one of them.”
Daughter Patty works in a nursing home. Bunky is a long-distance truck driver. He, like his brothers, gave umpiring a try. “He worked two softball games and got into fistfights in both of them,” Vivian recalls. “He came home and said, ‘Mom, it’s not for me.’”
Bunky’s departure from the family trade hasn’t kept him from joining spirited family dinner-table discussions. Who breaks up a fight among a family of officials? “My mother,” says Joe.
“That sounds like my Joey,” Vivian laughs. “That’s not true at all. The whole thing bores me.”
Vivian’s realistic attitude played no small part in Shag’s success. “I never called him for minor problems. After all, if he’s in California, what can he do?”
“I knew my kids were in good hands,” Shag adds. “She made the decisions. She is a self-confident person.”
How did Vivian Crawford handle problems while Shag was on the road? “You cry a lot,” says Vivian, adding her infectious laugh. Somehow, it is hard to imagine cheery Vivian Crawford crying at all.
While Vivian raised the family, Shag umpired.
“Shag?” He answers the obvious question. “When I was a kid our parents weren’t wealthy and I used to have the butt out of my pants, the holes in my shoes and everybody used to call me Shaggy. Naturally a name like that got shortened to Shag.”
At first Shag had no plans to turn pro. He caught briefly in the Phillies organization, then umpired around Philadelphia to stay in the game. But then came a break.
“A football coach name of Goldie Graham got me started. He talked to John Stevens (an American League umpire) and Stevens came to see me. One night I came home from work and got a phone call that they wanted me to report to the Canadian-American League.
“It was a big decision, but one I’ll call great. Not that the pay was good at first. I got $250 a month, plus $100 a month expenses. I stayed in more bedbug hotels with roaches and what have you for a dollar, dollar and a half. But that lasted only two and a half months.”
Then came the Eastern League. “They didn’t notify me. I was down at the fights at the arena in Philadelphia. I’d bought an Inquirer and read ‘Philadelphia umpire sold to Eastern League.’ It was me.
“I put three good years into the Eastern League and I think I got a sound background in umpiring. Then I was sold to the American Association. My first year they gave me $450 a month. After that they offered a $50 raise. But I asked for more and got $550 a month. In the meantime, the National League told me they were interested. They took me to spring training that year (1955) and brought me up in 1956.”
Shag’s slow, deliberate and strong calls made him a National League fixture. The courage of his convictions never stopped even during post-season play, as was evidenced when he thumbed Earl Weaver for disputing a ball-and-strike call during the 1969 World Series.
Ironically, a World Series that Shag didn’t umpire hastened his departure from the majors.
“Fred Fleig (then umpire supervisor) approached me in July of 1975 about doing the World Series. I told him that the agreement was we have a rotation system, but they wanted a senior man working in that Series. I said I would not break that precedent, because I think Satch Davidson was the one they were gonna knock out. I know how Satch would have felt not to get into a World Series after working toward it for six years. I said I wouldn’t do that, that 1976 was my turn to work the World Series. So Fleig dumped me. They said that they retired me, but in my personal opinion, they dumped me.”
The World Series incident prevented that rarity, a father-son umpiring team in the majors, since Jerry started working the NL in 1977. But Jerry agrees wholeheartedly with Shag’s decision.
“The league more or less offered him the Series as a gift. They wanted to honor him for 20 years service. But he refused to jump over another umpire, especially since he was one of the founders of the Major League Umpires’ Association. There’s no question he made the right decision.”
One might think that Jerry was born with a ball-and-strike indicator in his hand. Not so.
“One night at the dinner table Jerry said he’d like to go to the umpire school,” Shag recalls. “Fine. But I never knew he was interested in it. I didn’t help him move up. Jerry was working when I was working, so I couldn’t pump him up in any way.”
Jerry, of course, disagrees. “He never used any pull for me, but being Shag’s son didn’t hurt. Of course, there’s been, ‘You made it because you’re Shag’s son.’ I’ve heard that everywhere.”
He isn’t overtly Shag’s son — on the field, anyway. “I didn’t copy my dad’s style or anyone else’s. But we have similar temperaments. We’re all very aggressive.
“There’s only been one official who worked with both of us: George McDonald of the Florida State League. He thought my father would never make it as a big league umpire,” Jerry laughs.
The Florida State League (1971) was the first rung in Jerry’s ladder. Then came a year in the Carolina League, a year in the Eastern and four in the International League.
“I made a great foul call and was pumping my hand up and down, but the players just ran back up court. I forgot to blow the whistle! Afterwards I said, ‘That’s it. I’m not doing basketball any more!’”
– Jerry Crawford
There was little to choose between Shag’s and Jerry’s minor league days.
“He took buses, we drove cars,” Jerry explains. “We had it better — at least you and your partner could drive to the next destination. But when I started I think I made $500 a month, total. They gave us $290 a month in expenses and taxed $210 of it. Minor league pay was and is atrocious.”
Strangely, the World Series issue which crippled Shag Crawford has also adversely affected Jerry. After seven years of a rotational system for umpires in the World Series, the majors returned to a “merit” system in 1982. Jerry was bypassed.
“I don’t think Mr. Feeney (National League President Chub) used anyone with less than ten years experience in the Series this year. Seniority was probably the main criterion selected.
“As long as he’s consistent, as long as it’s done equitably, I don’t think anybody can bitch. To get a new agreement and better ourselves, this situation came about. I signed the agreement and so did 51 other umpires. We’ve got to live with it.”
Jerry was briefly a two-sport official. His basketball career lasted one game.
“Joe took me to a seventh and eighth grade basketball game,” Jerry recalls. “I made a great foul call and was pumping my hand up and down, but the players just ran back up court. I forgot to blow the whistle! Afterwards I said, ‘That’s it. I’m not doing basketball any more!’”
Joe, however, continued basketball, clear to the NBA. Like his father and brother, he also started as an umpire. But he soon quit.
“It wasn’t that I wasn’t good at it, but I was doing basketball at the same time. I had to concentrate on one or the other. So I just stopped doing baseball and worked as much basketball as I could.”
As odd-man out in family disputes, Joe defends his sport against all comers. “I kid them that I’m the one getting the exercise, running up and down court for 48 minutes every game. They work behind the plate one day, then get three days off when they do the bases.
“We work physically harder, running up and down,” says Joe. “But they work hard mentally. The psychological pressure is enormous. And they’re always on the road. That’s one reason I didn’t pursue baseball. Jerry has his vacation last year just before the All-Star game. Then he had only one series at home in Philadelphia the entire second half of the season. That’s ridiculous!”
All things considered, basketball was always Joe’s first love.
“When I was 13, 14 years old, whenever we’d go to a pro game, my father would point out the officials. ‘There’s Mendy Rudolph,’ he’d say, or ‘There’s Richie Powers.’ I was watching the game, but I was watching the officials too, their mannerisms, what they did with the ball and how they positioned themselves.”
Joe, of course, had more than his share of breaks.
“When I was 19, my father was friendly with Jake O’Donnell, who was at that time in the American League as well as the NBA. Jake came out one night and watched me work CYO ball. He gave me tips and that helped.”
The elder Crawford denies helping Joe’s basketball career.
“I don’t know anybody in basketball,” Shag says.
But Joe admits, “I’m not trying to kid anybody. I was fortunate because my dad was Shag Crawford. He worked youth leagues, CYO basketball, anything I could do to get better.”
At 20 he started doing high school ball and a year later (1973) made the Eastern League (now the Continental Basketball Association).
“I think the greatest thing Joe did was go in the Eastern League,” Shag admits. “He got a good fundamental background that a professional referee needs. They sent guys down from the pros. He got to know the game from maybe inferior players in regard to NBA standards, but they still were considered to play in the NBA.”
Joe sent in an NBA application during his second EL season and in 1975 attended a pre-season NBA tryout. The NBA planned to hire him if they went from two- to three-man officiating crews. However, they stayed with two-man crews.
The following year Joe was also thwarted, when the NBA absorbed ABA referees after the merger. But the third time was the charm; he received a contract in 1977.
Even now, in his sixth season, with playoff experience behind him, Joe Crawford is open-minded.
“I’m willing to listen to a referee who has been around for a while. In NBA basketball, you never stop learning. If I get 20 years in the league, I’ll never stop learning.”
Joe credits others for his growth.
One like Joe Gushue (veteran NBA ref) explains 15 players and how to handle certain situations. You have to learn to listen to these guys. My biggest success is that I do listen and try to do what they say.”
“The most important thing to me is what the other referees think. I want the players’ and coaches’ respect, but I want the referees to say, ‘Joe Crawford was one heckuva referee.’”
Of course, some people think of him in less than glowing terms.
One is Skip Caray, broadcaster for the Atlanta Hawks and Braves and notorious baiter of officials.
“Everyone was always telling me that Skip was always chopping on me, so I once turned the tables on him. It was the last game of the regular season and John Vanak and I were working in Indianapolis with Atlanta. Skip asked the referees before the game, on camera, to say who they were, their experience in the league and so on. I took the microphone and said, ‘I’m Joe Crawford. This is my fifth year in the NBA and I’m also president of the Skip Caray Fan Club.’
“As John and I walked back, Skip told me, ‘Joe, you can say whatever you want, but I always get the last shot. Don’t forget that next week is the baseball season. And I’ve got your brother.’”
Skip never did retaliate, according to Jerry.
But for every Skip Caray, there are thousands of fans who never made the family connection between Joe Crawford and his umpiring kin. Of course, some have.
“There’s one fan in the first row every time I’m in New York City. Every game, he shouts, ‘You’d look better with a mask on, just like your old man and your brother.’ He knows.”
(David Fremon is a writer from Chicago.)
