Lee Howard
W E Y E R

Zeitschriften-Artikel
aus: The New York Times, 8. Juli 1988

Sports of the Times;
Lee Weyer's Eyeglasses

LEAD: IT started to rain that first game in Korakuen Stadium in Tokyo. Pete Rose recalled that Lee Weyer, the umpire, was going to get wet. Weyer had accompanied the Cincinnati Reds on this exhibition tour to Japan after the 1978 season, and now the Japanese umpires slipped on raincoats. They handed one to Weyer.
IT started to rain that first game in Korakuen Stadium in Tokyo. Pete Rose recalled that Lee Weyer, the umpire, was going to get wet. Weyer had accompanied the Cincinnati Reds on this exhibition tour to Japan after the 1978 season, and now the Japanese umpires slipped on raincoats. They handed one to Weyer. ''Remember, Lee was 6-6 and this was before he lost some of his weight, so he was around 280,'' said Rose, now the Reds' manager. ''The raincoat they gave him was a Japanese raincoat. He put it on and it was about three times too small. The sleeves came up to about his elbows.''
Rather than hurt the hosts' feelings, Rose recalled, Weyer, with a smile on his broad face, umpired the rest of the moist game in his tight little coat.
People were recalling Lee Weyer again this week. Weyer died of a heart attack Monday night, a few hours after having umpired at first base in the Giants-Cubs game in San Francisco. He was 51 years old, and had been a National League umpire for 26 years.
''I rate him one of the top,'' said Rose. ''If not the top.''
So did Dave Johnson of the Mets, in the other clubhouse in Shea Stadium. So did the players. Weyer umpired four All-Star Games and four World Series and was behind the plate when Rose got the hit that passed Cobb on the career list. When Henry Aaron passed Babe Ruth with his 715th career homer, he also passed Lee Weyer, who was umpiring at third base.
Those were thrills for him, he once said. Besides being fair and aware, he was big, and confident - confident enough, the players say, ''to let a guy beef without runnin' him right away,'' unlike some of the newer umpires.
And self-assured enough that when he blew a call in the seventh game of last year's World Series, he faced up to it. ''I got blocked out on the play,'' he said.
Others, though, like Doug Harvey, the only National League umpire with seniority over Weyer, recalled something else.
''I remember when Lee came back from that illness and few thought he would,'' said Harvey. IN the spring of 1980, Weyer was stricken with a mysterious illness.
His vision blurred, his arms and legs shook and his hands shook so badly he could hardly squeeze toothpaste on a toothbrush.
He had been afflicted with Guillain-Barre syndrome, a rare disorder that generally affects motor control and can also cause blindness.
For a while, his life hung in the balance. When that threat passed, a doctor told him, ''I don't know if you'll ever be able to work a baseball game again.''
''Why not?'' Weyer said. ''Being blind never stopped me from umpiring before.''
He went to watch the Dodgers play in Los Angeles and when a foul ball was hit in his direction, he ducked. He was embarrassed to find that the ball landed about 100 feet away from him. ''My depth perception was terrible,'' he said.
Miraculously, with nature taking a positive turn and Weyer industriously embarking on a program of physical therapy and jogging to regain coordination, he improved. But his eyesight was still faulty. Umpires, as is commonly known, are allowed to be short or fat or bald or ill-tempered, but one thing the league insists on is that they be able to see.
Weyer began wearing glasses, and when he returned to the field, he would sneak the glasses on just as play was about to start, and sneak them off and into his pocket when the inning ended, as if no one would see. BUT they did. Some kidded him. ''Hey, Clark Kent!'' And one time, when the umpires stepped onto a field, he heard someone in the stands begin to sing ''Three Blind Mice.'' By then, though, said Weyer, ''I was so glad to be back that it was music to my ears.''
A few other umpires had worn glasses, too. ''But, really,'' said Weyer, ''what difference does it make? Ballplayers hit .300 with 'em.''
Weyer was back and as good as ever, as happy as ever, as voluble as ever. ''He had this kind of high voice, I mean, if you didn't see him, and you heard his voice, you'd think he was a frail guy,'' said Johnny Bench, the former Reds catcher. ''When he was behind the plate, he always called out not just the balls and strikes, but the number of outs, too. Two balls, two strikes, two outs. I think he did it because he just loved being in the game.''
In Tuesday night's game at Shea, there was a close play at first base, and Doug Harvey, who umpired in the crew when Weyer broke into the majors in 1961, called out Chris Sabo, the Cincinnati runner. Manager Rose came hustling out of the dugout, obviously to argue the call. Shortly, he returned to the dugout.
Doug Harvey later recalled that scene as he stood in the doorway to the umpires' room under the stands at Shea: ''Pete came out and said, 'You called it right, Doug, but I just wanted say that it was tough about Lee.'
''I said, 'Yeah, Pete, it was, and I'm having a tough time with it.'
''I looked at him and said, 'Well, if you're going to stand out here and talk, you might as well flap your arms, for heaven's sakes, so people will think you're doing something.' ''
At the umpires' door, Harvey said: ''Lee was my good friend. It was like losing a brother. Really, that's all I can say now.''
And Doug Harvey, with his distinctive shock of snow-white hair and his eyes now rimmed with red, quietly disappeared behind the closing door.

IRA BERKOW

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