Pam Postema, the only woman umpire in pro baseball, has a chance to make the majors

By John Garrity

Issue date: March 14, 1988

As a rule umpires don't hold press conferences. Who would show up? But on Saturday morning, 20 or so baseball writers gathered in a hotel penthouse in Palm Beach Gardens, Fla., to ask a veteran minor league ump such burning questions as:

"Are you married?"

"Have you always cut your hair this short?"

"What other jobs have you had?"

While dutifully jotting down answers, the members of the mostly male contingent no doubt pondered whether to mention in their stories that the umpire was wearing heart-shaped silver earrings, a white sweater and a gray skirt that was slit in front to reveal a generous amount of leg.

Actually, the really tough decisions won't be the media's but will be major league baseball's. At 33, Pam Postema, pro baseball's only female umpire, has progressed steadily toward the top of her profession. This spring she is working a full schedule in the Grapefruit League under the watchful eyes of National League president A. Bartlett Giamatti and league director of umpire supervision Ed Vargo. They must fill two vacancies created by the retirement of Bill Williams and the death of Dick Stello.

The odds don't favor Postema. Seven candidates are competing for the openings on the National League's 28-umpire staff. (The American League doesn't need any new umps this year.) The league will probably award the spots to two of the five minor league umps already under option to the league, who have filled in for ailing or vacationing big leaguers in the past. At the same time, the league may -- or may not -- decide to take an option on Postema and Ron Barnes, a Pacific Coast League ump with no major league experience who's also getting a tryout.

Still, Postema has a shot. She has worked five years of Triple A ball -- four in the Pacific Coast League and one in the American Association, with which she still has a contract. She did several American League exhibition games in Arizona in 1986 as well as last season's Hall of Fame game in Cooperstown. This year she will be a crew chief for the first time.

"She's not here because she's a female," says Vargo. "She's here because she has gotten good recommendations from minor league managers and good marks from our people who scouted her. She deserves a look, and that's what we're giving her."

Postema has paid her dues. Since graduating from Al Somers's umpire school in 1977, she has been spat on, sworn at, booed and propositioned by players. She has had her collarbone broken by a high fastball that a young catcher couldn't handle, and she has had a toe broken by a foul tip. In short, she has withstood all the abuse that goes with this unglamorous, demanding and low- paying job.

She is used to the one-word question: Why? On Saturday it was asked by a woman sportswriter who talked to Postema before most of the men arrived for the press conference. "Sometimes I'd like to know that, too," said Postema. "What do you answer?"

It was her way of acknowledging that the reporter also operates in a predominantly male preserve. Postema downplays the feminism issue, saying, "I don't want to be a cause, and I don't think I am one. I umpire because I love the game and because it's such a challenge. Whatever I do, I like to be good at it. I like to be at the top of the pile."

To get to the top in a man's game, Postema has made some accommodations. She keeps her hair short to fit under her umpire's cap. She cultivates a second voice: a low-pitched, loud ballpark woof. Even her off-season job in Phoenix suggests an effort to be one of the boys. She drives a United Parcel Service delivery truck -- "one of those brown things," she says.

But Postema knows she's different. And right now she's the only umpire who is news. Last Thursday she worked an exhibition game in West Palm Beach between the Atlanta Braves and the University of Georgia. During the exchange of lineup cards, a gaggle of TV cameramen and photographers bumped the other umpires aside to get shots of her. A little flustered, Atlanta manager Chuck Tanner asked her, "Would you like a kiss?"

Postema smiled and declined. "He was just making a joke," she said later, refusing to treat Tanner's question as a sexist remark.

Tanner, a codefendant in a sex discrimination lawsuit brought by former Braves publicist Robin Monsky, praised Postema's work in a weekend series with the Montreal Expos. "I thought she was very, very good," he said. "She called third strikes without hesitation. She called a balk on my guy, and it was a balk. You don't even notice her after an inning or two. She's an umpire."

Expos manager Buck Rodgers said, "She missed a couple, nothing flagrant, but I haven't seen anything so far that says she can't umpire in the majors. She knows the game."

Catchers and pitchers praised Postema for having a consistent strike zone, while hitters described her as quick and decisive. "I had her way back in the Florida State League," said Braves shortstop Buddy Biancalana, "and she was outstanding behind the plate."

There were no rhubarbs in either of the weekend games she worked, but if there had been, Postema wouldn't have backed down. In 1986 she ejected combative San Diego Padres manager Larry Bowa from three games when he skippered the Las Vegas Stars of the Pacific Coast League.

She's careful not to appear thin-skinned. "They go for where you're vulnerable," she says. "If I were big and fat, they'd say, 'Hey, you're fat.' If I were short, they'd say, 'You're too short.' So once in a while someone brings up the woman thing. It's all part of the game."

She shows the same equanimity about fan vulgarity. Postema has been called a dyke, a whore and worse by bleacher reptiles. She doesn't flinch. "I know the words, but they don't shock me anymore," she says. "All umpires take abuse." Indeed, when Postema was umping at second base on Saturday, one fan directed his ire at Harry Wendelstedt, who was calling balls and strikes. "Get the woman back there!" yelled the fan. "She's got a nicer butt!"

No matter. Postema maintains that her odyssey has not been the ordeal everyone assumes it has been. "I really haven't had any resistance," she says. "They've always moved me up when I was ready."

Is she ready now for the majors? "Sure," she says without hesitation.

Postema will find out near the end of spring training whether the National League agrees. If it doesn't, she will return to the minors, but not for long. Triple A umpires who don't reach the majors after five years or so are let go to make room for new prospects. "You don't get many chances in this game," says Postema. "I've got a chance right now and I can't blow it."

If she does make it to the bigs, she hopes her arrival will attract little attention. "I'd like to sneak up there quietly if I could," she says. "But you guys won't let it happen, huh?"

Probably not. We're suckers for a good umpire story.

Issue date: March 14, 1988