Constable: Cubs hero Beckert still holds a place in my heart, cubicle
When I was 8 years old and the littlest kid on my Little League team, I pretended to be Glenn Beckert, the Chicago Cubs' All-Star second-baseman of my youth and patron saint of every small, scrappy boy dreaming to become a ballplayer. In high school, I successfully lobbied our baseball coach to let me wear the No. 18 jersey, same as Beckert. When I joined the Daily Herald in 1981, and the woman training me on the newfangled computer said I needed a password that meant something to me, I chose Beckert.
When I bought a pack of baseball cards in 1989 for a column I was writing, I immediately traded a coveted Ken Griffey Jr. rookie card to an ecstatic boy for his old Beckert card. When I got the chance to cover the 2016 Cubs and the first championship run in 108 years, my column logo read "Tinker to Beckert to Rizzo." In my cubicle today, next to all the photos of my wife and kids, is a 1966 Beckert baseball card.
"I've only seen him as a dad," says Tracy Seaman, 51, of Lake in the Hills. She and sister Dana Starck, 48, of Venice, Florida, aren't old enough to remember their dad as anything other than a Palatine commodities trader who bought and sold wheat from his seat on the Chicago Stock Exchange. Seaman was born near the end of Beckert's 27-game hit streak in 1968, the year he led the National League with 98 runs scored and won a Gold Glove for his fielding.
"I know more about it now than I did then," Seaman says, noting her childhood was sprinkled with her dad's old work friends from his previous job, who she didn't realize were Hall of Fame baseball players and Cubs' legends.
"He would always have parties and players would come over," Seaman remembers. "Every time we go to Wrigley now, I run into Fergie (Jenkins) or Randy (Hundley). They're just like uncles to me."
Beckert was the best man for Jenkins' wedding. He was an honorary pallbearer for Mr. Cub, Ernie Banks, who died in 2015. Beckert roomed with Ron Santo on the road and was a dear friend.
"I heard from Fergie and Santo's kids," Seaman says Monday, the day after her father died at age 79.
Countless fans I've interviewed during the years, from random women outside Wrigley Field to actor Joel Murray, have told me Beckert was their favorite Cub.
"He was a fan favorite," Seaman says. "Going to the Cubs conventions, I had to pull him away because he was still signing autographs. He was just so nice. He was very humble and approachable."
In 1993, I had the pleasure of sitting next to him at an old-timer's baseball dinner hosted by Jack Brickhouse, and Beckert couldn't have been nicer. When he was given a plaque with his first name misspelled as "Glen," I was about to make a fuss, but Beckert silenced me with a simple look and explained that he didn't want to embarrass the organizers.
Beckert even maintained a great relationship with his kids' mother, Mary, after their amicable divorce until her death a decade ago, Seaman says. Seaman and her husband, Jeff, have warm memories of Beckert teaching their daughter Haley, now 24, how to drive, and going to the youth baseball games of their son Zach, now 22. Beckert also was involved in the lives of Starck and her husband, Bill, and their sons Jake, Kyle and Cole, who is still a pitcher in high school. Beckert's longtime partner, Marybruce Standley, also became part of the family.
Growing up in Palatine, Seaman and Starck remember their dad leaving before dawn for the board of trade and getting home before they got out of Palatine High School. He didn't talk about his four All-Star appearances, or how he hit .342 to finish behind Joe Torre and Ralph Garr but ahead of Roberto Clemente and Hank Aaron in the race for the 1971 batting title.
Beckert's death Sunday morning was greeted with kind tweets from Jenkins, the Cubs and former Cubs Manager Joe Maddon, who joined Beckert in charity events for Pennsylvania, where they both grew up.
Those baseball friendships were on Beckert's mind in February, when Seaman visited him in a Florida hospice just before the COVID-19 mandates barred visitors.
"I was so glad I went down there to see him and say goodbye," Seaman says, noting her 79-year-old dad had dementia. "He was hard to wake up, but when he did, he recognized me and he had that big smile. And, of course, he asked about the Cubs."