Photography by Kevin A. Roberts
I first started working at Busch in the 1960s, when I was 12. Now I’m 62. People think I’m lying.
I went to school, graduated from college, and worked for the government, but it was hard to make ends meet—so I applied for a job at Busch again in the early 1990s and have been here ever since.
I look forward to it and plan my workday around it. I don’t take vacation. I just like doing it.
My jargon is all about the King. I used to wear Budweiser King necklaces. This one guy who always brought his sister to the games was a great fan, so I gave him a necklace. I didn’t see them for a season or so; then his sister told me he died of cancer. She said his request was to be buried with the King necklace and a crown.
I greet the fans and try to give them a great experience, one visit at a time. We have the best baseball fans in the world. They’re kind, generous, concerned, and humorous.
My section is along the third baseline, where McGwire used to hit all his home runs. He used to get up to bat and it was quiet enough to hear a pin drop—you couldn’t sell a peanut.
The hardest part about doing what I do is braving the elements.
I’m like the old players: I gotta put on my knee pads and back brace. Then I put on my shoes and socks and I go be Mr. Sunshine.
I carry 48 beers at a time, sometimes 96. But as I’m getting older, I might just carry 60.
I know time is gonna knock on my door and sit me down—but because I know that, I joined the Y and started to prepare. I might not be as fast, but I’m just as strong.
People will notice if I’m gone. I give wisdom, I’m an enigma, and I can’t be beat. These younger guys might outsell me in numbers, but they won’t outsell me in notoriety.
If you come to a ball game, you’d better stand in line. I got a whole slew of ladies usually waiting for a beer from me. You can’t come to the ball game unless you meet the King.
Mark your calendar: The Cardinals’ home opener is April 5 against the Arizona Diamondbacks.
