The True Story of the Kent Tekulve (All-Girl) Fan Club

          The minute we saw his face in the 1977 Pirate Yearbook, we knew: This man deserves a fan club.  My sisters and I had started going to Pittsburgh Pirates games at the new Three Rivers Stadium that summer, more because it was cheap entertainment than because we were great baseball fans. After seeing the homemade banners hanging throughout the stadium to honor favorite players, sister Janie had an idea.

 “We need to start a fan club,” she decided.  “We could hang out a banner, and maybe they’d even show it on TV!” She has an incredibly high IQ and was always coming up with great ideas. 

“But who would the fan club be for?” Emily asked.  Though she was the youngest, she was always practical.  “There are already fan clubs for Willie Stargell, Bill Robinson, and guys like that.”

Janie shook her head.  “No, we don’t want to have a fan club for someone obvious.  We need someone no one else would hang a banner for, so ours will get noticed.”

That made sense, so we perused the Pirate yearbook for a banner-worthy candidate.  Al Oliver, Rennie Stennett, Dave Parker?  No, no, no; too obvious.  “How about Omar Moreno?” I suggested.  “I think he’s kind of cute.”

Janie snorted.  “You think you’re the only one who noticed that?”

I guess we weren’t looking for a pretty boy.  Nearly at the end of the book, we had yet to make a decision.  Then we turned the page and saw him.  A 6-foot-4, 180 pound relief pitcher, kind of gawky-looking, wearing big glasses and smiling shyly, he looked more like a nerdy math teacher than a ball player.  “He’s it!” we shouted.

Kenton Charles Tekulve, nicknamed “Teke,” was a sidearm thrower from Ohio.  We vaguely remembered seeing him pitch, but his stats looked decent enough.  Why, with the support of an adoring fan club, there was no telling what heights of glory he might reach!  Our first step was to write a fan letter.

We wrote Teke about how much we admired his pitching, and how we expected great things from him this season.  “Be looking for our banner,” we wrote, and signed the letter, “Your Fan Club.”   But, it looked kind of strange with only our three signatures. Three girls—some fan club!  We signed our mother’s name, and our grandmother’s name, but it still looked kind of barren. “Let’s call the Otto kids,” Janie suggested.  “Maybe they’ll let us sign their names, too.”   Always thinking, that Jane.

Our cousins from Butler, also called the “Otto kids” because our uncle’s name is Otto, agreed to become proxy members of our club.  Three more girls for Teke!  (Their little brother, Otto III, was too young to care much about baseball.  We called him “OJ” for short.  He used to like his nickname.)  Cousin Krissy actually knew a person who had written a fan letter to Kent Tekulve the previous year, because of something he’d done during the playoffs.  “And he wrote back to her!”  That sounded promsing.

“Why don’t you have a fan club for Richie Hebner?” cousin Sharon suggested.  He’d always been a popular player. “You could hang out a bra and write the number “3” on each cup!”  I think she was making sport of us.  Anyway, Richie Hebner now played for the Phillies, so we almost hated him.  As good Pittsburghers, it was our duty to turn up our noses at all things Philadelphian.

We sent the letter, and very shortly received a reply. Teke sent us an 8x10 glossy of himself, signed “To my fan club.”  We screamed.  An actual Pittsburgh Pirate had actually sent us an actual photo and we had an actual fan club! 

Now we had to concentrate on the banner.  “Hey, Mom, do you have any old sheets?” 

Our mother obligingly gave up a ratty twin-size bed sheet, and we found some black fabric for letters, but what should we put on the banner?  “Strike ‘em Out Teke” was rejected, as this sentiment would only apply if Teke were pitching that game.  We finally decided on “We Love Teke.”  That said it all, and would be good for any and all occasions.  Besides, banner making was truly a labor of love.  In those days, there were no stick-on letters, no iron-on sticky stuff.  We painstakingly zigzag stitched each hand-cut letter.  Always knew Home Ec classes would come in handy someday!  It was beautiful, we thought, and we planned to unveil it at the next evening game.

Hanging the banner took much preparation and forethought.  In those days, the seats directly above the opposing team’s bullpen were General Admission seats; in years to come they would become reserved seats, but for now those seats were the most coveted of the cheap seats.  It was also the perfect place to hang a banner.   We had to be there super-early so we could be first in line when the gates opened.  We had to have those seats!  With our banner and plenty of Little Debbie snack cakes, we boarded the 51B Spencer bus, got off at the last stop on 5^th Avenue, trekked through Point State Park and crossed the bridge to the stadium.  We were, indeed, first in line, but to our surprise, others soon joined us, rivals in the quest of prime seats.  We formed an action plan.

As the gates began their slow rise, Janie crawled underneath and made a mad dash up the ramp.  Emily and I followed, carrying our banner and other supplies so Janie could run unencumbered.  Somewhere along the way she ran right out of her platform shoes.  “Emily, get my shoes!” echoed down from the next ramp.  A girl with long legs and long blonde hair was giving our short sister a run for the money, but Janie was on a mission and would prevail.  We caught up with Janie, and there she sat, panting and smug, directly over the bullpen, hands on the railing.

Proudly we unfurled our banner and hung it over the railing.  Magnificent!  A man in the row behind us asked, “What does your banner say?”

“We love Teke.”

“Who’s Teke?”

“Kent Tekulve.  He’s a relief pitcher.  We’re his fan club.”

“You have a fan club for a relief pitcher?  Are you related to him?”

The stadium began to fill up, and other people had hung banners, but none as nice as ours, and none in a better location.  However, a troubling rumor reached us.  “They’re making people take down their banners.”  “You girls better take that down.”  “Stadium security is cracking down on banners.”

This was disturbing.  Could it be true, after all our hard work, that our banner would be banned?  Soon the truth came out: Stadium security had made someone take down a banner, but only because it said something slightly obscene about Pete Rose.  (An opinion we shared, by the way.)  We were safe.  We had such a nice banner, and Kent Tekulve was nice; it was impossible to say anything even remotely inappropriate about him.

As the players trickled onto the field to practice, we wondered if Teke would see our banner and what would he do?  It was catcher Ed Ott who saw the banner first.

“Hey, Teke!!” he yelled, motioning for him to come on the field.  Teke ran across the field, smiling broadly.  At least we imagined he was smiling broadly; we were too far away to tell.  But he did tip his cap and wave at us.  What a guy!

Never had we had so much fun at a ball game.  There were lots of ways to have fun with a banner—we could shake it, swing it back and forth, and even make it sway in time to the music.  The “wave” hadn’t been invented yet, but if it had, we’d have found a way to incorporate our ”We Love Teke” banner. 

I don’t remember much about the game that night, and I’m not sure that Janie or Emily remembers the score, or who pitched, or any technical details like that.  The one thing we do remember is a BIG THING that happened during the seventh inning stretch.  A special announcement appeared on the big screen.  “The Pirates extend their congratulations to Kent Tekulve and Linda Taylor, who have just announced their engagement.”

Teke was engaged!   Surely having one’s own fan club had given even the nerdiest guy the self-confidence to pop the question!  And of course Linda said “yes.”  Who could deny a man with his own banner-waving fan club?  Teke and Linda were engaged, and it was all because of us, we modestly believed.

Janie had another one of her great ideas.  “Let’s take the banner down, pretending like we’re heartbroken!”  Yes!  That would be funny, so we did it.

Meanwhile, back home, our mother was listening to the game on the radio and heard announcer Milo Hamilton say, “As the Pirate scoreboard announced the engagement of Kent Tekulve, his fans have reeled in their “We Love Teke” banner!  That young handsome relief pitcher has left some broken hearts in Three Rivers Stadium.” 

Emily had a special affinity for Pirate announcer Milo Hamilton, since her nickname was “Baby Milo.”  Only one baby picture of Emily existed, because the camera had broken right after she was born.  We never got a new camera until years later; there were more pressing expenses to be met, and Emily was the last of six children, so babies weren’t much of a novelty in our family.  Anyway, the rest of us decided her baby picture looked kind of monkey-ish, like baby Milo in Planet of the Apes.  “Ma-ma, Ma-ma.”  Some weeks later, Emily met Milo Hamilton in person, and asked for his autograph.  “Sorry, I don’t give autographs,” he said as he hurried by.  “But I’m in Kent Tekulve’s fan club,” she explained, and the great Milo Hamilton stopped in his tracks and said, “For you, I’ll do an autograph.”

Milo Hamilton had mentioned us on KDKA!   We were famous!  We fairly floated home in triumph.  But there was another game scheduled the next evening, and we knew we had to out-do our past performance.  “Mom, do you have any more old sheets?”

The next day was spent in intense activity.  More letters were cut out of black cloth and zigzag stitched, and a new banner was painstakingly attached to the bottom of the old one. Our house was not air-conditioned, and our sweat dropped onto the white cloth.  It was all worth it when we unfurled our new, improved banner at the ballpark that evening.  Our new banner was twice as long, and now boasted, “We Love Teke—Linda Does, Too.”  We were so witty! 

Once again, it was catcher Ed Ott who noticed it first.  “Hey Teke!!!” he shouted.  “You gotta see this!!” 

Teke loped onto the field, and this time his grin was unmistakable.  We waved, and he waved back, and there was a new spring in his step; we were sure of it. 

After the game, we decided to wait at the players’ exit in hopes of catching a glimpse of Teke.  We were sure Linda would be waiting for him, and we wanted to meet her.  She would just love us.

Fans were milling around, and it was getting a bit crowded.  Somehow we ended up next to a girl wearing a big floppy hat.  Her name was Helen, and a large man, her Uncle Bill, who didn’t look overly bright, accompanied her.  “Will you take my picture with a ball player?” she asked.  Except she talked rather fast, so it came out more like, “Willyatakemypitcherwitaballplayer?”  We stared at her.  She explained that she collected pictures of herself with famous people.  “Here’s a picture of me with Mayor Caliguiri,” she offered, and though we could tell it was Helen in the picture, it was impossible to tell who the other person was, because his head had been cut off.  But she assured us that it was truly Mayor Richard Caliguiri.  She also collected drumsticks of famous drummers.  “They just throw them away after the concert,” she told us.  Uncle Bill grinned a semi-toothless grim.  “You girls want to go skinny-dipping?” he asked, nodding toward the river. 

Ignoring him, Janie announced, “I have a collection, too.”

Helen was interested.  “Is it pictures of ballplayers?” she wondered.

“No,” said Janie, reaching in her pocket.  “I collect ballplayers’ toenail clippings.”  She revealed a linty pile of nail clippings.

“Nuh-uh!”  Helen protested.  “How would you get them?”

 “We just ask them, and they save them for us,” Janie answered coolly.

Subdued, Helen retreated behind her floppy hat.  Eventually, we would get to know Helen quite well, as she and Uncle Bill frequented Three Rivers Stadium as much as we did.  She told us a story about the night she was stranded at the stadium without Uncle Bill.  After waiting at the players’ exit for hours after the game, hoping to get Willie Stargell’s autograph, she realized that she’d missed the last bus home.  Not knowing what to do, she started crying, and when Willie finally came out, she asked him if he would drive her home!  He was mad, but he drove her all the way to Troy Hill. 

Well, we certainly hoped we wouldn’t have to wait that long for Teke to come out.  After a while we noticed a petite blonde woman standing near an expensive-looking car.  Was that Linda?  A commotion arose as the players’ door opened and they started filing out into the parking lot . . . there was Teke, and he was heading straight towards Linda! 

If you were Kent Tekulve’s fan club, what would you do?  Would you break out into a cheer?  Would you start running forward?  Would you swoon with excitement?            We burst into song.

“Kent Tekulve, Ace Reliever, he’s the number one reliever, ba-ba-ba!  Whee!

Kent Tekulve, he’s our hero, his ERA is almost zero, ba-ba-ba!  Whee!

Kent Tekulve, he’s our idol, ‘Pitching Ace’ will be his title, ba-ba-ba!  Whee!”

(There are more verses, but I’ll spare you.)

I’m sure our giddy enthusiasm rattled him, but Teke took it all in stride.  He introduced us to Linda, and we gawked at her ring, a pear-shaped diamond.  Linda was as nice and sweet as can be.  “I LOVED the banner!” she declared.  Teke obediently autographed everything we shoved into his hands, and after he and Linda got in the car, he honked and waved at us as we vigorously waved goodbye.

On the way home, we couldn’t decide who we liked best—Teke or Linda.

                    ****************************

It was a grand summer at the ballpark.  More banners followed. We unfurled LET KENT PITCH every time the starting pitcher got in trouble, and traded it for STRIKE ‘EM OUT TEKE whenever Teke was called into the game.  KENT TEKULVE ACE RELIEVER, artistically embellished with an ace of spades, was another favorite, but best of all was TEKE’S TROOP (the name we’d decided upon for our fan club) decorated with Teke’s number (27) and little baseballs.  There was a definite sheet shortage at our house that year.

Teke and Linda got married, and by some oversight, we weren’t invited to the ceremony.  Announcer Milo Hamilton said he fully expected to see our banners hanging from the church balcony. 

Teke had some great years as a relief pitcher for the Pirates, with the crowning glory of a World Series win in 1979.  (In fact, in a TV documentary about the 1979 Pirates, you can catch a brief glimpse of our TEKE’S TROOP banner.)  Sadly, by then I had dropped out of Teke’s Troop.  After graduating college and finding a job, I didn’t have as much time for ballgames.  In 1978 I got married and moved to West Virginia, so I had to admire Teke from out of state.

 I had married a nice young engineer (read: nerd), bespectacled, skinny and tall, kind of gawky-looking.

Coincidence?