Vince D’Adamo: What have you enjoyed most about being connected with
athletics throughout your life either as an athlete, journalist or observer?
Bill Soliday: The mystery of the outcome of the game or event is what
always drew my interest—whether it was playing sports, watching or writing
about them.
Originally as a pre-teen and a fan of the local high school (Newark, Ohio
Wildcats) and of the Cleveland Indians the mystery was “are we good enough to
win state?” Especially in basketball, where we had most terrific team ever. We
came close, but never made it to the last round against teams from Cleveland
(East Tech) and Middletown (Jerry Lucas). I remember standing in line for
tickets three hours before opening tip of a Newark game against Bobby Knight of
Mount Vernon. Football was pretty similar – we always ranked in the state’s top
10. As for the Indians it was “are we good enough to beat the vile,
despicable Yankees?” In 1954, I was 11 years old and the Indians won 111
games, second most ever at the time. We finally beat the Yankees. Then came the
Giants, Willie Mays and … you know the outcome.
I moved to Palo Alto in 1957 and it was much the same. Paly’s teams were
always top notch. In basketball, we were ranked No. 1 in NorCal, went 27-1 in
1960 and all my best friends were on that team. At that time, I got interested
in journalism and was sports editor of our school paper, The Campanile. I was still operating as a fan,
though. It was then I decided I wanted to make a career of going to games.
So I majored in journalism at San Jose State where, again, fortune had it
that we had some spectacular athletics. I roomed with two SJS basketball
players (center Frank Tarrantts and 6th man Bill Kinzie). I got to know Tommy Smith and his coach Bud Winter. I
was on the Spartan Daily and my interest in journalism took serious root.
Ultimately, that aspect of what I was doing (the importance of the existence of
the 4th Estate) began to become more important to me than the outcome or the
mystery of the games themselves. I began to develop a distance from my rooting
roots. I began to realize, there’s always another game tomorrow.
After two years in the US Army as editor of the post newspaper in Okinawa
where there were tons of great athletic events from boxing to interservice
baseball and basketball, I returned home and went to work for the Hayward Daily
Review. I covered the ABA Oakland Oaks, the Warriors, track and field and in
1969 started covering the NFL as Raiders beat writer.
Again, what intrigued me was “is Little Old Oakland good enough?” But
ultimately, I discovered that sports is not just about dreams and achievement –
it’s a business, and not always a pretty one. And in the intervening 40 years I
covered the NFL for the Daily Review, then the Oakland Tribune (after we bought
that paper) I became somewhat jaded about what had originally drawn me to the
profession. But still, the mystery of the outcome made being part of it all, intrigued me – and still does. I’m
just no longer there as a rooter/fan. In fact, until my retirement, I prided
myself on being neutral when it came to team sports. Instead, I became more a
fan of individuals whom I respected.
I’ve been rewarded. I’ve travelled over 1.5 million miles covering the
NFL, have covered 19 Super Bowls, served on the board of directors for the
Pro Football Writers of America, and was beat writer for 8 Super Bowl winners
(5 SF 49ers, 3 Oakland Raiders). No other writer in the country can make that
claim. Ed Bouchette of Pittsburg Post Gazette is 2 behind me but also has
retired. My record appears safe.
D’Adamo: Which sports did you play competitively in high school?
Soliday: Actually I didn’t. Long story short, I had a big problem with coaches.
One coach accused me of being a dirty player. Just because I had fun performing clothesline
tackles? No comment. I could have been a bench player (deep bench) in
basketball but the team was so good I’d have been essentially a
non-contributor. Too much pride here for that. So I played in YMCA leagues and
the like until I was in my 40s actually.
Aside: I once blocked a shot of 6’3 former Globetrotter Nate Branch. He
went to your school – University of Nebraska. There were extenuating circumstances
to that blocked shot (I got him from behind while guarding former Cal star
Milky Johnson at top of the key). But I did have some hops, able to get over
the rim by half a palm … on a good day.
I should have played baseball and regret quitting over a dumb coaching
decision. I was a first baseman and could hit a ton. But I was right handed and
the coach insisted on a left-handed first baseman. So he tried to make me an
outfielder. I was too slow for that. Coach used a guy who was far inferior to
me with a bat. He deserved what he got.
It wasn’t until after high school that I became more of a participant. I
played fastpitch softball for nearly 40 years, once hitting two home runs in
one game off an all-Air Force pitcher while stationed in the Army in Okinawa. I
am still involved in the game now that I’m physically a mess – as the
manager/coach/sponsor of the fastpitch team I founded in 1971 (the Daily Review
Bears) a team that ] is still going strong. I guess I overcame that anti-coach thing. I
stopped playing in 2000 after playing the sport in five different decades
(Minnie Minoso reference there).
In my 30s I also took up tennis and have won several tournaments. But my
high school “career” was non-existent.
D’Adamo: In what ways did you see the media industry change for the
better and worse?
Soliday: It is far more thorough and thus difficult than it used
to be. At one time, beat writers were more forgiving of the teams they covered
if they failed to be consistent winners. There’s that business thing raising
its ugly head again.
As a result there has been a distancing of the relationship
between athlete and writer. Once it was closer, which made for more open
communication and, as a result, there were better story possibilities. I
believe part of the reason that happened was that in the old days writer and
athlete were not that far apart in terms of salary and thus a sort of bond
existed – as relative equals. No longer. Now the income disparity has killed
any sort of camaraderie that might have and once did exist. Then, too, talk
radio and ultimately the internet has resulted in increased critical analysis
and thus a great deal of mistrust.
Which is good in some sense, not so much in others. We rarely get
a chance to see the real person behind the shield athletes have cloaked
themselves behind. There’s just a different mutual attitude, for better or for
worse. The old way was more fun.
D’Adamo: You covered
the NFL from both sides of the Bay (49ers and Raiders) as a beat reporter, what
lasting impressions do you have about both organizations?
Soliday: Women who favor the 49ers wear
white sundresses. Women who favor the Raiders wear black leather and spiked
hair. Just kidding. Sort of.
Ever since the Niners hired Bill Walsh
and he became The Genius, the 49ers have acted like they invented football. Al
Davis did invent football. Just kidding again.
People think of Raider followers as
people zonked out on drugs or booze and think of the 49ers as angels. Not true.
The drunkest people I ever encountered at sporting events were those 49er fans
we media folk had to walk through in the stands after games at Candlestick. The
boozy smell was overpowering. We put people in neat little boxes. Those boxes
should be more carefully examined perhaps.
Other than that, the teams are pretty
much the same. Their mission is to prevent you from knowing what’s going on.
That’s been true since the 1980s. Before that, total secrecy was not the issue.
John Madden used to sit in his office with a handful of writers every day after
practice and just shoot the s***. He would tell you what he really thought. It
was understood it was off the record and he trusted us. It was fascinating.
I learned more about football in those
years than at any time since. Madden and I broke in the same year (1969) and I
owe him a great debt for his humanity. I will always be a big fan. Bill Walsh,
on the other hand, was impossible to get to know and that was precisely how he
wanted it.
Eddie DeBartolo was very gracious and
generous. Carmen Policy was a lot of fun. Covering the 49ers was at times like
being part of a privileged club. The Raiders never were like that. They were
far more distant. I believe in my soul that it had more to do with Al Davis’ Lieutenant,
Al LoCasale, than Al Davis himself. Davis always treated me well and I’d like
to think it was because he trusted me to be fair.
D’Adamo: Within your family who have been the most influential people?
Soliday: My parents were divorced when I was 8. I had no brothers or
sisters until my parents remarried, none of which took place until I was grown.
My mom was a saint, a single mom with great class and understanding. She made
sure I had what I needed and more, sometimes to her detriment. I was in my 30s
when she married her second husband. He was quite influential on all his
children. To me it was more a case of respect due to his career in
transportation. He is a former Lockheed vice president and director of their
ground vehicles systems. His dad founded the frozen food industry along with
Clarence Birdseye in the late 1910s and was secretary of transportation under Hoover and FDR. Big shoes, those. Me, just a
slovenly sportswriter doing nothing of importance.
D’Adamo: Name a historical figure, dead or alive, in or out of sports,
that you would most like to meet. What would intrigue you about meeting him or
her?
Soliday: I’ve met a lot of celebrities on a peripheral sense both in and
out of the journalism profession – people such as Dan Rather, George Plimpton,
Art Buchwald, Danny Glover, Pierre Salinger, Huey Lewis, Muhammad Ali and
others. I’ve found them to be just people.
I’m having a hard time thinking of one I’d like to meet other than
perhaps John F. Kennedy. Why? Well, he’s an icon to my generation, a man of
mystery. I wouldn’t mind meeting George Bush. I’d like to ask him the following
question: “What the hell were you thinking Bubba?”
I once met Barbie Benton on the elevator of the Oakland Coliseum.
LoCasale introduced us. My comment went something like this: “Hemmina hemmina
hemmina.”
Given that, it’s probably best I didn’t meet Kennedy.
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