Built for the Ballpark

To understand what Cal Burleson and his 45 years meant to the Indianapolis Indians, maybe we should start with the sound of shattering glass at old Bush Stadium.

In a rush of emotion, the man broke a window. Turned it into shards. Not that it was in a fit of anger. No, no, this was because the Indians scored a run. Let Indians chief executive officer Bruce Schumacher tell the story.

“In the old press box at Bush Stadium, there were three or four feet of picture-type windows, and at the very top there were windows you could actually open to let fresh air in. We won a game in the bottom of the ninth and Cal was so excited he pounded on one of those upper windows and broke it. He was just so pumped.”

Marc Bombard, the team’s manager at the time: “I’d tell him, `C’mon, I don’t want you to have a heart attack.’”

Yep, that was Cal.

“Anybody or anything he became attached to,” Schumacher said, “he was all-in.”

After receiving an extremely rare diagnosis of small cell bladder cancer in December 2020, Burleson died last November at 71 years old, most of them spent loving baseball in general, and this franchise in particular. How long was he a part of your Indianapolis Indians? Long enough to be ticket manager… and publicity director… and business manager… and assistant general manager… and general manager… well, you get the idea. Part of the granite-solid nature of this franchise is how so many key figures have come to the ballpark to stay, becoming as part of the landscape as the scoreboard and lights. That takes passion, and you never talk to anybody who knew Burleson very long before that word pops up. Probably right down to the guy who had to clean up the broken glass.

So, time for some Cal Burleson stories, from those who worked by his side. Where to start? How about how he ended up here in the first place, at the winter meetings in 1974 when team president Max Schumacher was approached by an eager young man.

Bruce Schumacher: “Cal was working for the Jacksonville baseball team at the time and wanted to leave there. He got Dad in the hallway and Dad told him we didn’t have any openings. To hear Dad tell it, every time he came out of a meeting after that, Cal would be in the hallway waiting for him. Cal finally said, `What if I come as a salesman, almost entirely on commission, could you make room for me that way?’ Eventually he made Dad an offer he couldn’t refuse, and he came and started in ’75 working in the ticket office, and then from there became ticket manager and publicity director and business manager and assistant general manager and on up the line. But it would not have happened if Cal had not been relentless.”

A lifelong relationship between a man and a franchise was created that day. And those who came after would see Burleson’s passion for the Indians and the game in so many ways.

Bombard, manager for the Indians from 1993-95, including the 1994 American Association championship season: “You talk about intense; it was like life and death every game. I tried to get him to loosen up. `Hey Cal, it’s not worth getting an ulcer over these games.’ He was beside himself when we won that championship. He was like a mad man. That was the year when [MLB] had the strike, so we were the only game in town. Nobody else was playing. It made it all even that much better.”

Randy Mobley, longtime president of the International League: “I believe this and always will. There may be others who love the game itself as much as him, but there is nobody – nobody – who loves it more. He loved the game itself, the idiosyncrasies of the game, the strategy of the game. That oozed from him. We had our differences but his personality being what it was, he was going to be considerate and polite and courteous, even to his opponents. He always treated me with the utmost respect and the position I was in with the utmost respect. I can’t say we ever had any nose-to-nose kind of things, we had discussions on disagreements.”

Another Indians manager understood that, too. Burleson and Dean Treanor – who led the Indians from 2011-16 – became close friends.

Treanor: “The thing that struck me more than anything, when we were home, he would always come down to my office after games and we would sit there for, if it was an hour, it was probably two. I know he loved that, and I loved that. We talked about the game, I let him second guess me a little bit. We would be the last ones there. I think even the [clubhouse attendant] would beat us out of there. We were just talking baseball and talking life.”

To win, the Indians needed the right players. That was a Burleson obsession.

Former Pirates farm director Larry Broadway: “With Cal, one thing I could count on him like clockwork is whenever we were in winter meetings, he would want to talk about the roster for Indy and he always wanted to ask me, `Who is that veteran left-handed corner bat that hits really well, or who was the veteran closer that we were going to get?’ He never wanted to have a bunch of prospects in the bullpen because he wanted a veteran who he could count on to be a closer.”

Indians president and general manager Randy Lewandowski: “He used to wear the Pirates out always wanting a veteran closer, a power-hitting, left-handed first baseman and a speedy center fielder to go cover the left-center field gap. It became a running joke between Broadway and me. I’d say, `LB, we got that power-hitting, left-handed first baseman?’ He’d look at me and laugh and say, `No, but we’re going to have that veteran closer.’”

Broadway: “I always had something in my pocket ready for him because I knew it was coming. So, I’d say, `Hey, we’re in negotiations with these free agents, I think we’re going to get somebody you like in for spring training.’ After the first year when I really wasn’t prepared for what he was going to ask me, I would come in the years after that with the names of some hypothetical signs we were working on to keep that conversation flowing.”

His colleagues with the Indians would soon learn Burleson’s deep feelings about baseball – and his idiosyncrasies.

Longtime Voice of the Indians Howard Kellman: “The love of the game was there at all times, even the rough times. There was a time in the 2000s when he was here in the offseason on Sundays. He’d spend extremely long hours at the ballpark, longer than anybody I think.”

Assistant general manager Matt Guay: “In 2015 when Josh Bell hit the walk-off in game 4 of the championship series, I remember how happy Cal was. Looking back on it, he probably knew that might be his last best chance to win a championship. I also remember the times when the team wasn’t playing well, he wouldn’t be in a good mood. If you wanted to talk about something with him that needed to get done, it was a much tougher conversation with him when the team was losing.”

And Heaven forbid if the weather forecast for that night’s home game was ominous.

Guay: “If there was rain in the area you knew to stay away. I heard a story where he had decided not to cover a field in ’97 or ’98 and they ended up not playing that game. He vowed never to let that happen again. Early on there was a game or two when he hired a helicopter to come in and try to dry the field. If there was a reason to watch the radar, that was his sole focus. If you tried to talk to him about anything else, good luck. It’s not going to happen.”

Kellman: “You didn’t want to interrupt him. I can still see him looking up at the radar, sitting in his office.”

Lewandowski: “I’m in that chair now and we want to deliver for the fans, for our players, for everybody who works so hard to put on an event. He would agonize over it and if he’s passed anything down to me, I agonize over that.”

Once the game started, he was a man on many missions. Make sure the customers are happy. And win.

Lewandowski: “If it was a close game, you could find him in the old section 210 right behind home plate in the upper deck. That’s where he liked to watch the close of every game. He just enjoyed that view with downtown Indianapolis unfolding in front of your eyes. In the eighth and ninth inning, if you were looking for Cal, you couldn’t get him on his radio or on his cell phone because he was dialed in to the game.”

Treanor: “I know during the game he was up there talking to fans and checking how things were going, but he knew everything that happened during that game. When we were in the run for a division title and we would lose a tough one, he would come down and just slump in the chair. I would just say, `Hey Cal, we’re going to be alright.’”

Schumacher: “Dad was a little bit like that, too, but not probably as much as Cal. I didn’t get that passed on to me. I love to win, but I also know we have 150 of these things.”

Mobley: “When he’d start clapping his hands you knew things were getting serious.”

The Indians are determined to maintain strong connection with their fan base, and Burleson was part of that.

Schumacher: “He was kind of methodical about going to visit all the bigger groups, just to say `Hey, I’m Cal Burleson with the Indians, really happy you’re with us today.’ He’d talk a little baseball. He’d have a clipboard figuring his path.”

Assistant general manager Joel Zawacki: “All the spring training trips over the years, we’d take partners down to Bradenton and Cal being the guy he is, he had his routine and was meticulous about where we were staying, where we’d have dinner, what day we were going deep sea fishing. He’d be competitive, fighting in those 20-pound Amberjacks when we went fishing. A little impatient. He’d want things to get moving. If it was a slow day, he’d get the captain to move on to another location. We’d bring clients and you’d have one or two get sick from the motion. I’m over there making sure they’ve got water, and Cal’s still got his fishing rod off the deck.”

Was there any downside to hanging with Cal? Well, those who rode with him never forgot the experience.

Zawacki: “He was a terrible driver. It was always nice to have him because he was the responsible one. You could have a couple of beers and we’d have a driver. But a couple of those trips from Tampa to Bradenton, you didn’t want to be in the car with him. He was all over the road.”

Lewandowski: “I learned early on when he would take me to a banquet or something in town, he was 10 and 2 on that wheel. One time we were going to Toledo to look at a ballpark for something. We took 69 to 24. When you get on 24 back then, it was a two-lane road, and you’d have to pass some people. I had him white knuckling the whole way. He called me an over-aggressive driver. I said, `Cal this is just how you’re supposed to drive.’”

But aside from the occasional fear of sitting in his passenger seat, those around Burleson came to cherish his enthusiasm, and his compassion.

Mobley: “This happened while Cal was sick. Over the last five or six years, Cal and I were on similar paths with our faith journey. A lady called me that I hadn’t spoken to in 10 years that Cal knew, who was associated with one of the national organizations we worked with through baseball. She said she was in some dire straits and wanted to know if I could help her out a little bit financially. I was really torn. I wanted to help her out, but this was 10-plus years out of the blue calling and asking, so I consulted Cal on what he would do. His response to me was very thoughtful, as everything with Cal was. He said if I decided to participate – and this is the part that blew me away – let him know because he would, too. This was between trips to the hospital, and he still had that giving heart.”

Guay: “My favorite thing about him is he took the time to sit down with people and let them know you can have a career with the Indians if you work hard and want to be here. That’s probably the main reason I’m still here. I think he took over as GM in 1998, the year the Colts drafted Peyton Manning. Two years later, Bankers Life was built and the Pacers went to the NBA Finals. To try to stay relevant in those first couple of years when everything was going on is a testament to him and then growing the staff from 16 people when I started to over 50 now is really due to him.”

Lewandowski: “I was the young guy pushing him along with new ideas and wanting to do this and wanting to do that, and at the time he was the wise, grizzled vet trying to slow me down and put a seat belt on me every once in a while. We took so many trips together. We’d listen to NPR or the BBC, because that’s what he wanted to listen to. They were Cal, a little bit out of left field.”

Kellman: “Something that meant so much to him is when he met Al Kaline. It was about 2011 or ’12 and he was in spring training. He calls me and says, `You’re not going to believe this, I’m in Lakeland right now and I’m with Al Kaline.’ Al Kaline was his boyhood hero.”

Schumacher: “He might as well have been a 10- or 11-year-old kid at that point.”

Kellman: “I got him going one time. He said Kaline was such a clutch hitter, if there’s a man on second with two out in the bottom of the ninth and you’re down by a run, Al Kaline is going to get a base hit to tie up the game. I said you’re right, but Mickey Mantle would hit a home run to win the game.”

Burleson retired from the Indians and become involved with a new passion – community work for youth such as RightFit, which Schumacher said Cal basically birthed from nothing. “He had to take that from zero to 60 in his bulldog way.” That’s when the cancer struck. As he fought the fight, his baseball family gathered around.

Zawacki: “He was going through cancer treatments, and he reached out about going to Wrigley with me. We went in July of ’21 and caught a couple of games. I don’t think he had given in. I think he was at peace if that was going to happen. He was at peace with God. It didn’t have the feel that was going to be his last trip.”

Treanor: “He calls and says, `I think I have one trip left in me. What do you think about the last Dodgers-Giants series of the season in San Francisco?” I told him I was all in, so I set it up. The day before he was supposed to leave, he called and said he was having a terrible day. We decided not to. The next day he was in the hospital. I came back and drove him around, took him to get a haircut. He was a mess and I said, `Cal, I’m not going to drive you around looking like that.’ The next day, he said, `You know what, I’m really glad we went to get that haircut.’”

Mobley: “I came over to visit Cal after he’d come home from the hospital for the last time. It was about three weeks before he passed. I was going to watch an Ohio State football game with him. We not only watched that game but most of the next game, and then we got into a playoff baseball game. I asked him what I could bring over for us to have for lunch. He sends me a text, very detailed, even telling me the grocery store where I can go get [the food]. He stopped just short of telling me what aisle I needed to go down. Just like always, very precise and specific.”

Lewandowski: “I would say the last time we had a good conversation I was talking a walk in our neighborhood, and we were on the phone for maybe an hour. He just kept reiterating that it’s about people and relationships. He knew what was ahead of him the next month or two. I think if he could go back, he was so focused and so passionate about the game and whatever the result of that day was going to be, that sometime – especially early in his career – that passion blinded him. That might have put some people off. He brought up relationships that might have gone sideways, and he did try to make amends over the last year or so of his life. Those will be my lasting words from Cal, that it’s about people and the journey and family and relationships. It was fitting that was our last conversation because that’s what he taught me most about running this business.”

Typical Cal. He lived to see the end of one final baseball season.

Bombard: “At my age, when you get calls from people you don’t expect, it’s not like you’re going to a party or something. You know what’s happening. Sure enough, Howard called and told me he had passed. You can look at his longevity. How many people have a job for 40-plus years? He had to be doing a lot of things right.”

Schumacher: “The last time I saw him, I went to his house and just sat by his bed. I’m not sure how aware he was I was there. I just held his hand and told him how important he had been to me personally and professionally and that I wished him peace.”

Look closely this summer when the Indians have a rally going in the ninth inning. Or if dark clouds are starting to roll in from the west. Somewhere inside the walls of Victory Field, Cal Burleson will be there.