EDITOR’S NOTE: William “Babe” Conroy, who passed away Saturday, was the sports editor of the Evening Herald in Shenandoah for 19 years and the sports editor at the Standard-Speaker from 1996 until his retirement in 2005. Long-time friend and fellow sports writer Sam Matta, who retired from the Standard-Speaker in December, penned the following tribute to “The Babe.”
I can remember how it began, circa 1960 at the Shenandoah Little League, “The Babe” on one team (Polish American Fire Company) and myself suited up for the Monmouth Coal Company.
He was daunting as a Little Leaguer, a big kid for his age, and when he came out of the dugout with this big barreled bat, I just tried to rear back and throw strikes and not let that size intimidate me.
Years later, long after being a teammate on the ILGWU (International Ladies Garment Workers Union) Babe Ruth team, we reconnected in our early 20s as sportswriters, and from then on it was a friendship rekindled.
William “Babe” Conroy, who passed away Saturday, was as dear a friend to me as my brother Robert E. Matta, a loving relationship that endured for all these years. You had to know what made my close friend tick: his Irish wit, his love for his family, how much he cared for the beloved Irish of Notre Dame, Green Bay’s Packers and the game that mattered to him most — baseball.
He rooted like all heck for the Phillies. He would stay up all hours of the morning watching on television when the club made a swing through the West Coast, then crawled into the old Evening Herald office blurry- eyed to take his seat at the sports editor’s desk by 7 a.m.
“They’re killing me,” Babe would say, needing a couple cups of coffee to kick-in and start his motor, even though it would run at a snail’s pace. Someone would quickly yell out in the news room, “…they’re cellar bound, why even watch them!”
Because Babe was a true fan, that’s why!
I can tell you countless stories about my dearest friend whom I loved and cherished, some which can be printed, others needing to be redacted for the print edition. Conroy had a way of penning a story unlike any sports writer, his style and flow matched even the best of journalists in the big time world.
Babe could have gone on to greater heights, but instead chose to raise his family with his loving wife Ann Louise and their four terrific sons: William, James, Brian and Christopher, and he never veered too far out of “The Patch,” — the Lost Creek/William Penn area which he often called “the suburbs of Shenandoah.”
“Why move? I have all the luxury I need, and a parking space that no one would want,” he once quipped like a Henny Youngman joke.
Babe once owned a Lincoln Continental and drove yours truly and Doyle Dietz to a National League playoff game in Pittsburgh to watch the series with the Reds. It was an adventure that ended with that threesome being tossed from a hotel bar because Babe didn’t care for the “pompous attitude” of then-commissioner of the game, Bowie Kuhn, as he sat a few stools away from us with six body guards hovering over him.
Babe did things spontaneously, too. Sometimes he’d forget to assign a story, then remembered, and quickly ring my phone and asked if I could provide coverage.
“What time does it start?” I’d ask. “In an hour.”
It was in the early 1970s or thereabouts when Babe set a precedent that would change the region’s sports coverage scene. One morning he leaned back in his chair and said, “How would you like to cover a girls’ high school basketball game today?”
Hmm, I thought, and then asked where and who was playing.
“Marian,” he quickly answered, “they’re at Schuylkill Haven, you and I will go.”
We went and we saw perhaps one of the greatest girls’ basketball players that ever graced the Schuylkill League — Denise Burdick. She was so terrific that afternoon — they started the games at 4 o’clock back then — and left an impression on both of us that has lasted right up until this very moment.
Elsie Tolan was the lady in charge of the program, one of the most highly successful girls’ coaches in Pennsylvania. She smiled when we both entered the gym, maybe because no other writers would dare show up and pen a story about the Fillies.
It was a shining moment in Schuylkill County scholastic sports and the start of something that was long overdue. And it was directly attributed to William “Babe” Conroy, who lit a fire under the asparagus of the then-competing Pottsville Republican.
Burdick, who honed her skills on the playgrounds of Tamaqua against the boys, was by far superior to everyone on the floor. She scored at will with her sleek 6-foot frame, adroit and agile, smooth and deftly impressive, and later went on to earn a scholarship for Immaculata College in Philadelphia, the first-ever women’s NCAA Division I champions.
Yes, Babe knew it was time to open the door and let the young gals get their just dues. He need not have Title IX insist on it, as you can tell he was far ahead of his time and his colleagues in the business. Sports coverage had a new face in town, thanks to my dear pal, along with Tolan who made it happen, too.
Of course there are other tales to tell, including his love for horse racing. He once owned a bar — McGrath’s Hotel — in “The Patch,” which was called Babe’s Bar. One Monday night I decided to visit and watch a football game. Hardly a soul in the joint, save for the pastor of Saint Mary Magdalene’s. The guy had imbedded far too much and was cranky, probably because he bet the wrong team.
Little did I know at that time, but when the Chicago Bears scored another touchdown, and I said this is a blowout and sang a verse of “The Party’s Over,” the Padre took offense to my singing, obviously, and hauled off and delivered a right-hand slap to the face.
I looked at Babe and smiled, saying I guess I can’t sing in his choir. Babe quickly tossed out the customer and uttered, “… for cripes sakes, why didn’t you knock him out Sammy?”
“Babe, the guy has a collar on! What did you want me to do?” I replied. He laughed, knowing the respect that went with that retort.
Later that night he closed the bar, and said he was headed for Delaware Park as his desire for horse racing was foremost. A day later he was back, broke.
“I did hit one race,” he smiled with that gleam in his eye. “What did it pay? Not enough to come home on the Turnpike,” he said. By the way, at that time it cost all of 90 cents for the toll!
Babe had a lot of horse racing followers as he penned a daily column at the Evening Herald picking horses under the name Longshot Louise, obviously named in honor of his dear wife.
His passion for coaching was also a part of his storied life. He coached basketball with the great Mickey Holland at Cardinal Brennan and later with Dave Fennelly, who took over for Holland when he left to coach Mahanoy Area.
But his big prize came when he took over a floundering Shenandoah Valley baseball program. The Babe left his mark over the course of two decades leading the Blue Devils, producing many championship teams.
More than anything else he touched the lives of so many people as a coach and, of course, a sports writer and editor.
My late mother Mary “Mamie” Haluska Matta, who made these extra-ordinary nut and poppy seed rolls with her late sister Peggy at Christmas time, always made sure Babe was on the list.
“Mrs. Matta makes the best rolls,” he said when they arrived, as if he had just hit a trifecta. “I wait until Christmas morning to have them with my coffee.”
As much as sports were the focal point of his career, his love for his wife, children, grandchildren and daughter-in-laws were always foremost. That special Irish grin went from ear to ear when we sat and talked about family. It was so evident and heartwarming. And that was the heart and soul of this very special person.
My dear and loving friend left many a memory on hundreds, maybe thousands, though I can’t put an exact number on it.
Just like I can’t put a number on how many home runs he hit off me back in the summer of 1960. I said to him, many times, “I think you hit three off of me, including a grand slam.”
Now The Bambino has touched his final home plate, and ascended to his final place of rest, to be welcomed with open arms on God’s Team.
By the way my friend, God made the sky blue and white for one reason — he’s a Penn State fan!
“There you go Matta, you’re starting already and it’s not football season yet!”