Watching Joe Garagiola and Vin Scully on NBC’s Game of the Week as a pre-teen in the ‘80s was like seeing your grandfather talk baseball. And by that I mean your grandfather, not mine. Sid Leinwohl, better known in our family as “Grandpa Tattoo,” had a mild interest in the game at best, but was a good sport. Back in ’87, we were watching the Mets, when the camera briefly focused on back-up catcher Barry Lyons warming up on-deck. Grandpa inquired, “That Lyons?”
He clearly wasn’t familiar with Barry Lyons, but caught the last name on his jersey and made it seem like he knew him by double-checking if it was him. An odd way of bluffing, but he probably figured I would confirm it was Lyons, and provide his first name, statistics and background so that next time he actually did know who he was. Which of course, is exactly what happened. In imparting this information, my responsibility was to amiably present it as if he already knew all this, so he wouldn’t feel left out. In other words, I pulled a “Garagiola.”
He and Scully were an ideal broadcast team. Garagiola had a midwestern “gee whiz” sensibility that contrasted perfectly with Scully’s east coast poetic panache. In 1984, when Bob Uecker hosted Saturday Night Live, Harry Shearer and Billy Crystal portrayed Scully and Garagiola giving a summary of his performance as host. After it’s pointed out that Jesse Jackson would be hosting the following week, Crystal responded, “That guy is some kind of Reverend.” This was the same year Jackson made his infamous, anti-Semitic “Hymietown” comments, so Crystal nailed Garagiola’s typical polite understatement with that line, and even got his occasional blinking down flawlessly.
The real Joe was beloved for his self-deprecating sense of humor, particularly his famous quote about growing up across the street from lifelong friend and Hall of Famer Yogi Berra: “Not only was I not the best catcher in the Major Leagues, I wasn’t even the best catcher on my street!” However, as a 20-year-old rookie, he helped his hometown St. Louis Cardinals win the World Series in 1946, hitting .316 with four RBIs. It was the only time he reached the postseason, and he made it count, unlike far more talented players who have wilted on the grand stage. It was a fitting beginning for a man who seemed to lead a fairy tale life, and would become one of the game’s greatest ambassadors. Baseball was good to him, and he responded in kind.
While Joe Garagiola was known for his genial disposition and Ed Grimley “Say cheese” smile, Joe Santos became renowned for depicting characters with intense and exasperated, “Say what?!” grimaces. Santos grew up in Red Hook, back when Brooklyn was a place you escaped from and not to. After years of small parts and supporting himself by working various jobs like railroad worker and cab driver, he got his first big role in the 1971 classic The Panic in Needle Park. It was also the breakthrough for his friend Al Pacino, the star of the movie. Pacino had recommended him, as they played softball together. Much like the other Joe, you hit and catch a ball, suddenly your life changes.
In baseball, perhaps the ultimate compliment is, “Check the back of his baseball card,” meaning the presumably stellar stats that are featured. The equivalent for an actor is their IMDb page, and Santos has quite an impressive one. His oeuvre is very “dude” friendly, the kind of cops and robbers crime dramas you watch with your grandfather. And by that I mean my grandfather, not yours.
1973’s The Friends of Eddie Coyle was one of the best films from that era. Along with Robert Mitchum as the title character, it featured Santos, Peter Boyle, Alex Rocco, Richard Jordan, Steven Keats, James Tolkan, Matthew Cowles, and Jack Kehoe, essentially character actor nirvana. No matter how many times one sees it, you feel like you’re watching actual criminals in grimy ‘70s Boston, not actors playing them.
Other movies with Santos include Shaft’s Big Score!, Shamus, The Don Is Dead, and The Last Boy Scout. He was even in Abel Ferrara’s sleazy classic B movie Fear City, from 1984. All first class, low-brow, “tough guy,” Sid Leinwohl cinema.
You can also find Santos in virtually every 20th century cop show. NYPD Blue, Miami Vice, Naked City, Hill Street Blues, Hunter, Police Story, Baretta, and The Streets of San Francisco are just a sample size. In 1978, he somehow managed to make an appearance on the unfortunately titled David Cassidy – Man Undercover.
His last television credit was The Sopranos, where he played the consigliere Angelo Garepe, the mentor to Steve Buscemi’s character. He was reunited with David Chase, who received his big break as a writer/producer on The Rockford Files, where Santos played Sgt. Becker, the character he’s most associated with. He added a blunt, impatient, old school New York presence to the laid back, southwest ambience of the show. It would be like if Lou Reed joined the band America in the ‘70s. Only 43 when the series started, he already looked like a retired cop, conveying anger and weariness with a simple glare. Although no matter how many times Rockford annoyed him, he always came through for his friend.
Santos and Garagiola passed away within five days of each other last month. With a glower and a grin, they were among the best in their professions. Both seemed like Sid Leinwohl kind of guys.
Matt Leinwohl