Date: Fri 28-Jul-1995

Publication: Bee

Author: TOMW

Illustration: I

Quick Words:

Tony-Urban-Death-Column

Full Text:

We'll Always Remember Tony Urban -- 77 MVP

Tom Wyatt Column

BY T.WYATT

Upon moving to Newtown in 1981 I found myself driving behind a car with a

license plate that read 77 MVP. I instantly deduced that I was driving behind

my childhood baseball idol, George Foster. But when I pulled up alongside the

car, I immediately realized my mistake. The man behind the wheel was no one I

could recognize from the world of sports.

I later learned that it was Tony Urban.

When Tony Urban stepped down as Newtown High School's baseball coach earlier

this summer he did it with the same style in which he coached the Indians for

13 years, quietly and conservatively. He submitted his letter of resignation

and slipped off to England to spend his summer vacation, successfully avoiding

the media attention that his announcement commanded.

The night before his planned return to the states - Monday night - Tony Urban

went to sleep following dinner and never woke up.

The following day, the local grapevine seethed with the news of his mysterious

death and as shock waves reverberated all over town, I was informed of the

tragedy by telephone late that morning, causing me to reflect on the unique

relationship that TU and I shared over the years.

He wasn't a guy whom I would have come to know under normal circumstances. If

I didn't have to work with him I probably would have never spoken a word to

Tony Urban in my lifetime.

But when I started working at The Newtown Bee, our paths crossed, and for

eight springs we had daily contact as I covered and he coached the Newtown

High School baseball team.

We weren't very much alike, Tony and I. In fact, we couldn't have been more

different. Not only were our personalities opposite, we had contrasting

coaching styles as well.

It was conservative versus aggressive. He would bunt when I'd steal, whisper

when I'd shout, and play for one run when I'd play for the big inning. But

through all of our differences, we did have one thing in common: a love for

the game of baseball.

Tony wasn't a man of many words, and was a difficult interview for me at

first. He was slow and deliberate with his speech, stringing together baseball

cliches like popcorn-and-cranberry garland in a low, monotone voice. I

wouldn't be sure whether he was serious or kidding until he'd crack his

characteristic close-mouthed smile and slowly nod his head up and down.

But once I grew accustomed to the dry and sarcastic brand of humor that was

Tony Urban, I would always look forward to talking with him.

We pulled off an April Fool's gag together in 1989, when I wrote of a

fictional baseball phenom who was transferring to Newtown High. Tony played

along well. But other than that, our relationship had always been business

until last April when I joined Urban, Dan Winsett, and the NHS baseball team

on a two-day trip to Cooperstown, New York.

There, I got to know a different side of Tony Urban as we shared a few

dinners, a few beers, and a few stories. He told his stories the way he gave

his interviews, with the same tone that would half put you to sleep, but

always made me laugh.

I never got the chance to write the Tony Urban feature story, though we

discussed it on more than one occasion. I always thought he'd make an

excellent feature story. On top of his high-school coaching success at

Newtown, Urban was also a baseball star in his youth and a fast-pitch softball

star more recently.

At Danbury Teacher's College, now WestConn, Urban was the catcher on a team

that included Newtown's Jack Quinlan and Billy Girard. TU's claim to fame

there was the hit he got off eventual major league pitcher, Joe Niekro.

From there, Urban got into softball where he was a star from the get go. He

was named the league's most valuable player in 1977 (hence his license plate -

77 MVP) and was elected to the ASA Hall of Fame last November.

When baseball season rolled around, nobody was more excited than Urban. He'd

be out raking the field early in the morning before practice and would be the

last person to leave the field after a ball game.

Many times I'd wait as he'd chain up the batting cage - slowly and

deliberately, like he did everything - gather up his duffel bag and start the

long walk across the athletic fields back toward the high school, answering

questions for my tape recorder, and always saying the same things.

If Newtown won he'd tell me, " things are really coming together . . . we're

getting good pitching . . . the guys are hitting the ball, and they're playing

good defense. "

If Newtown lost, " tomorrow's another day . . . take it one game at a time . .

. take the good with the bad. "

But when the recorder was off, we'd talk about what he really thought.

He loved his baseball team.

And though he was criticized and second guessed as much as any high school

baseball coach, Tony Urban was always a winner.

In my head I picture Tony in his glasses and suit, sitting behind his desk

correcting papers where I had interviewed him a hundred times. I picture him

wearing uniform #1 in the third base coaching box, hands cupped around his

mouth, shouting instruction to his baseball players.

But my most vivid memory of Tony Urban will always be of him seated at the

dinner table in Cooperstown, a smile on his face, and his beer mug raised high

in the air - toasting friendship.

Cheers, coach.