KANSAS CITY — Bill Fischer was drafted into the Marines during the Korean War, molded a young Roger Clemens in Boston and once set a major-league record by throwing 84 1/3 innings without issuing a walk. Yet when Royals general manager Dayton Moore remembered Fischer on Wednesday afternoon, he recalled an old story from Fischer’s days as a pitching coach for the Cincinnati Reds in the late 1970s and early ’80s.
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It’s a baseball story, which means some details are sanded away and some particulars lost to time, but Moore remembers the story like this: Fischer was guiding a rotation with future Hall of Famer Tom Seaver and four young pitchers. The staff was struggling to control the running game. In many instances, this would constitute a problem. With future Hall of Famer Johnny Bench behind the plate, it was closer to a crisis. So Fischer went to work, seeking a solution.
“Fish was one of the pioneers of the slide step,” Moore said, referencing the method for shortening a pitcher’s time to home plate. “He was one of the pioneers of implementing that in the game.”
Fischer, pioneer of the slide step, pitching coach to legends and crusty and beloved baseball lifer, died on Tuesday. He was 88.
His passing reverberated throughout the Royals’ organization, where Fischer spent the final chapter of his 71 years in baseball. Club officials recalled stories. Royals pitchers — past and present — paid tribute. Moore, who brought Fischer back to the Royals in 2007, called him “a giant as a baseball person and a man.”
At his heart, Fischer was a baseball man, which is why Clemens, his former protege, crafted a heartfelt statement on Tuesday, stating simply: “I will miss this man.” It’s why Fischer kept returning to spring training each year, riding around the premises in a golf cart, watching pitchers and offering his thoughts. It’s why Moore spent much of Wednesday remembering “Fish” stories.
“He was one of the first guys there every morning in spring training and a part of everything that we’ve done,” Moore said. “We utilized him as if he was 18 and not 88.
“He was always in the thick of everything. If you had a meeting and you didn’t ask Fish a question, he’d let you have it.”
Baseball just lost one of its all-time greatest and toughest. He was brilliant, funny and did things his way. It was an honor to know and learn from you…you will never be forgotten. RIP, Bill Fischer. pic.twitter.com/rBcohPQTgB
— Jason Kendall (@jasondkendall18) October 31, 2018
Fisher’s resume and origins began in a different era of baseball. Signed by the Chicago White Sox as a teenager in 1948. Two years off to serve in the Marines during the Korean War. A debut for the White Sox in 1956. A lifetime of jobs and stories.
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Fischer liked to joke about the mammoth homer he surrendered to Mickey Mantle at Yankee Stadium. In another year, he sparred with A’s owner Charlie O. Finley. His affable persona would become a trademark. He spent nine seasons pitching for the White Sox, Detroit Tigers, Washington Senators, Kansas City A’s and Minnesota Twins. His high moment as a player came when he tossed 84 1/3 consecutive innings without issuing a walk in 1962. The record still stands 56 years later.
As a player, Fischer posted a 4.34 ERA in 281 career games. As a scout, coach and pitching coordinator, he found his true calling. Fischer helped the Royals sign Clint Hurdle, a one-time phenom and future manager. He extolled his four-seam fastball philosophy to Seaver in Cincinnati and Clemens in Boston, where he served as pitching coach from 1985 to 1991.
Clemens wrote on Wednesday that Fischer knew his nickname was “Rocket.” In fact, Fischer once called Clemens the “greatest pitcher ever.” Yet that didn’t stop Fischer from creating his own nickname for the young ace: “Smoky,” as in legendary hurler Smoky Joe Wood.
“Fish” helped so many of us young pitchers while we were chasing our dreams to be great at the major league level,” Clemens wrote. “We visited this Monday about my record-setting 20-strikeout game and how he loved that I struck out 20, but even more so that I didn’t walk a single batter.”
— Roger Clemens (@rogerclemens) November 1, 2018
Fischer, friends say, had a knack for connecting with players. He was humorous and blunt and not afraid to mix it up. When he was a pitching coach for the Reds, he insisted that he had not heard of air conditioning when he began his playing career in 1948. In one telling of the story, reported in the Dayton Journal-Herald in 1980, Fischer said he later attended a movie with a friend. When he saw the marquee sign with the words “Always Cool Inside,” Fischer turned to his buddy.
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“Who stars in that?” he asked.
The stories do not end there. There was one year in which Fischer christened a “Spit The Bit Award” inside the Reds’ clubhouse, seeking to lighten the mood after poor performances. The award went to someone who “choked,” but it was never presented after a loss, Fischer would say. That was too dangerous. And to even things out, the club also gave out “Bill Fischer shoes” — three-tone and suede — to the star of the game.
Fischer was also old-school — or at least, he liked to project that. During spring training in 1983, former Reds outfielder Dave Collins was in camp with the Toronto Blue Jays. Before one game, Fischer approached with a simple warning:
“Frank Pastore’s going to drop you with the first pitch for dropping that fly ball when you were with us.”
When Fischer was let go in Boston, he joined the staff of the Atlanta Braves, reconnecting with general manager John Schuerholz and working alongside Moore, an ascending member of the front office. When Moore left to run the Royals, he brought Fisher along. The hire was a boon for the Royals, Moore said. It also made logistical sense. Fischer made his home in Council Bluffs, Iowa, and was advancing in age. The Royals’ Triple-A team was just across the river in Omaha, which made for an easy commute to work with more young pitchers.
Extremely saddened by the news of the passing of Bill Fischer. His best line to me was “Teaf, your stuff is so soft I could catch you in a chair with needle nose pliers.” One of the all-time greats!
— Everett Teaford (@ETeaparty25) October 31, 2018
“There’s a lot of people in this game with opinions,” Moore said. “Fish had beliefs. And he always stayed true to those beliefs. That being said, he was always very inquisitive, curious (and wanted) to talk new ideas.”
Fischer wanted to help until the end, Moore said. When he missed an organizational pitching summit in late September, he called Moore and apologized. It was the first meeting Fischer had missed in more than a decade, Moore said.
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On Monday, Moore visited Fischer at home. His health had been fading in recent years. Yet his mind remained sharp. The night before, Fischer watched the final game of the World Series, following along as the Red Sox defeated the Los Angeles Dodgers for another title. Survived by his wife, Val, and children, Mike and Melissa, remembered fondly by people throughout the sport, he was a baseball man until the end.
“He watched the game,” Moore said. “He watched Boston. He watched the final game, and he could tell you everything that was going on. His mind never left him.”
(Photo: Kidwiler Collection/Diamond Images/Getty Images)
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