Wednesday, Feb. 16, 2005 | 9:29 a.m.
Ron Kantowski is a Las Vegas Sun sports writer. Reach him at [email protected] or (702) 259-4088.
Although he would become his biggest admirer, there was a time when Jim Gemma, the veteran Las Vegas 51s publicist, and Lou Pisani, the veteran ... well, just about everything else when it comes to local baseball, didn't exactly see eye to eye.
Gemma said he can't recall the first time he spoke with Pisani but he clearly remembers the first time he yelled at him from the opposing dugout.
"He was still a coaching legend at Las Vegas High when I was playing at Bishop Gorman," Gemma recalled. "I got into a shouting match with him. I told him he was an old man and that the game had passed him by."
Well, Gemma was right about one thing. About to turn 79, Pisani is an old man. But as far the game passing him by, forget about it.
On Tuesday, Coach Lou, as he is called with reverence, was formally introduced as one of five new inductees to the Southern Nevada Sports Hall of Fame during a news conference at the shrine in the downstairs corner of the Galleria mall.
Pisani, who has been a coach, scout, volunteer and sage observer of the local baseball scene for more than 50 years, will be feted along with former UNLV and major league slugger Matt Williams, ex-Clark High golf standout and current PGA touring pro Robert Gamez, Nevada State Athletic Commission executive director Marc Ratner and noted sports physical therapist Keith Kleven during a gala at Cox Pavilion on June 17.
For a moment, it appeared Pisani might not make it to the news conference. Although he's still as sharp as cheddar cheese, he got lost in the mall, probably because the directory didn't look anything like a lineup card.
But he made it on time without anybody having to send the bullpen cart. He shuffled in wearing his red UNLV baseball jacket and his red and gray UNLV baseball sweatshirt because after the news conference, he was headed to UNLV, where he still helps coach Buddy Gouldsmith as a volunteer assistant.
But don't be surprised if he shows up for the dinner itself wearing his Las Vegas 51s cap, because by June, he'll be hanging out at Cashman Field, where he still helps Gemma and 51s general manager Don Logan as a volunteer assistant.
And had it been October, Pisani probably would have worn Yankee pinstripes. No, he's not a volunteer assistant to George Steinbrenner and Joe Torre -- not that he's not eminently qualified.
One of Pisani's most vivid childhood memories was catching the ferry from his native Oakland to San Francisco with his father, where they would watch Joe DiMaggio patrol center field for the San Francisco Seals. That was in the days when the Coast League was nearly the equivalent of the big leagues.
Pisani met his wife, Rosemary, at the University of San Francisco just before the dawn of the Bill Russel Era. She is a Las Vegas girl and the couple decided to make their home here, where Pisani, who had been a pretty fair semipro ballplayer, would become a baseball coach at Las Vegas High in 1953.
He coached the Wildcats to their first state title in 1968 and won another one in 1971. He spent 30 years at Las Vegas and a few more at Bishop Gorman before retiring from the school district, but little did he know his local baseball career was only just beginning. Guys such as longtime UNLV baseball coach Fred Dallimore, who invited him to be part of the Rebels program, and Logan made sure that Pisani never had a reason to hang up his coaching shoes.
As usual, those shoes were sporting a spitball shine on Tuesday.
"If you stay around long enough, I guess something is gonna happen," Pisani said during his brief remarks at the podium, sounding and looking a bit like that old baseball philosopher Yogi Berra. "And I guess something happened.
"When (Hall of Fame executive) Terry Cottle called to tell me, you could have knocked me over with a feather."
Like the rest of the inductees who spoke or sent messengers to speak on their behalf, Pisani expressed his gratitude to the committee and seemed flattered to be standing on the dais.
After the news conference adjourned and everybody went back to work or up to the food court to catch a bite to eat or watch the girls make lemonade at Hot Dog on a Stick, I spotted Pisani, by his lonesome, checking out the lifesize cutouts and other memorabilia donated by what soon will be his Hall of Fame brethren.
He looked like a kid in a candy store, which is appropriate, given his habit of passing out gum or candy or other treats to those he encounters both inside and outside the chalk lines.
My introduction to Sweets Lou was at a Rebels baseball game in the late 1980s. I didn't know him by name, but he knew mine. He handed me one of those chocolate-covered Kudos snack bars.
On Tuesday, had I been thinking, I would have returned the favor. After handing them out for oh so many years, it was Lou Pisani's turn to accept some kudos for himself.
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