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“I started playing organ when I was about four years old when my
parents first bought one, and I found out not too long after they bought it that
I was blessed with a pretty good ear because I was picking up simple tunes,â
€� says Faust.
Because she plays by ear, Faust seems naturally suited to her job with the
White Sox, which requires a quick wit, a sense of humor, and the ability to
use music to connect with the crowd.
“There’s no time to refer to music for the things I do. I just play
everything spur-of-the-moment,� Faust says with a smile. “If
something happens that makes me think of something, I can play a song
immediately—if I hear a name of a player, I immediately think of something
that can be associated with his name.�
Later that evening, when Trot Nixon of the visiting Boston Red Sox steps up
to the plate, Faust serenades him to the tune of Hail to the Chief. Hail
indeed–Nixon hits a home run into the right– field bleachers on the first
pitch. Two innings later, Faust switches his theme song to “Would I Lie
to You?�
Faust has another trick she has played on the Red Sox for as long as she
can remember. Any key Boston failure at the plate, usually a strike-out, has
often been followed by her playful rendition of the theme from Cheers, a
Boston-based television show about a bar “where everyone knows your
name.� In her own way, Faust reminds the doomed hitter that the dugout
is another place where they will all know his name. Or perhaps she’s
just telling the Red Sox to go back to Boston.
In 1969, Faust was finishing up her senior year at North Park College in
Naperville when she earned a gig playing at a meeting attended by several
general managers of the Chicago professional teams. The evening was a
success, and soon she was sending out letters to each team in hopes of
providing music at their games.
Then White Sox general manager Stu Holcomb hired Faust right out of
college, and she made old Comiskey Park her home. She spent a couple of
years playing the organ for the Bulls and the Blackhawks during the baseball
off-seasons but eventually devoted her time solely to the Sox.
“The only games that I ever missed here at the park were when I gave
birth to my one child, and that was in 1983–I missed five games.� Talk
about the Cal Ripken of organists.
Faust’s trademark tune is the root of what is now a long–standing
American sports tradition. In 1977, just seven years after joining the Sox,
Faust believed she had found a new way to play a departing opposing
pitcher off the field. The song she had in mind was one by Steam called â
€œNa-Na-Hey-Hey Kiss Him Goodbye.â€�
One day when the visiting pitcher was knocked out of the game, she played
the song for the first time, and the energized crowd chanted right along â
€œNa-na-na-na, Na-na-na-na, Hey-hey-hey, Go-od-bye.â€� Faust so
enjoyed having the fans sing along that she resolved to give the song an
important spot in her repertoire. Today she plays it whenever the Sox knock
out a pitcher, hit a home run, or record the final out of a victory, and the fans
still know what to do.
Just by playing what comes to mind and keeping in tune with the crowd,
Faust has enhanced the legendary ballpark atmosphere about which so
many of the baseball poets have written, and her work has even influenced
the rest of the country.
“When the instrument was more popular at ballparks,� explains
Faust, “a number of organists would come to our park at Old Comiskey
and just sit there and take notes on what an organist does.�
But even the masters make mistakes, especially their first day on the job.
When Faust first began on opening day in 1970, she remembers the public
address announcer asking the fans for a moment of silence. But at the time,
Nancy believed he had invited the fans to stand for the national anthem,
which she calmly began playing as the silent crowd listened on.
“I didn’t realize I had done something wrong until afterwards,�
she jokes.
In 1971, Holcomb hired legendary broadcaster Harry Caray to call the
White Sox play-by-play on television. It was from the window of the
Comiskey broadcast booth that Caray first invented the Chicago tradition of
leading the crowd in “Take Me Out To The Ball Game� over the
public address system. Faust fondly recalls how Caray would boisterously
wave his arms and shout “Come on, Nancy!� as she began the classic
song.
This, claims Nancy, is how fans first became aware of who it was making all
the music during the game.
“I owe [Caray] a huge amount of gratitude for making the public familiar
with who it was behind the keyboard at Comiskey,â€� Faust remembers. â
€œHe was a big promoter of all aspects of the ballgame.â€�
The two became fast friends. Sometimes Faust would give Carey a lift
home, and other times the two would just chat casually over a bite to eat.
When Caray passed away in 1998, Faust was the one to play at a post
service gathering at Caray’s restaurant.
In those ballparks, arenas, and stadiums that still use live music, the organist
is often hidden away in an upper-level control room, far away from the fans.
U.S. Cellular Field, the current home of the White Sox formerly known as
(New) Comiskey Park, is a completely different story.
Faust’s organ booth sits at the edge of the main concourse, just over 25
rows behind home plate. Fans are more than close enough to smile and
wave at her, and she often invites her curious admirers to stand in her open
doorway and chat as she plays.
“I love the interaction, and I do get great ideas [from the fans],� says
Faust.
But Faust also admits that the age of the new ballpark has caused its share
of frustration as more and more organists and other live musicians lose their
jobs to D.J.s, who can pre-program a song at a moment’s notice.
“I think the most frustrating part is working so hard to perfect a song and
then coming here to the park and hearing it played at the push of a button,â
€� she explains. “But I think there are things that I could do that are so
spontaneous that perhaps a D.J. could never have them even at the tip of his
fingers.�
Nonetheless, Faust calls herself “a survivor of the technology era�
and feels she has carved her niche in the baseball world. She still sets the
mood for the evening by playing before games, leads occasional cheers, and
provides the music when the visiting team comes to bat.
In a time when job security is difficult to come by, Faust says she
appreciates the time she’s spent with the White Sox organization and is
happy to return summer after summer.
“I appreciate that [the White Sox] choose to keep the tradition alive,�
she says.
parents first bought one, and I found out not too long after they bought it that
I was blessed with a pretty good ear because I was picking up simple tunes,â
€� says Faust.
Because she plays by ear, Faust seems naturally suited to her job with the
White Sox, which requires a quick wit, a sense of humor, and the ability to
use music to connect with the crowd.
“There’s no time to refer to music for the things I do. I just play
everything spur-of-the-moment,� Faust says with a smile. “If
something happens that makes me think of something, I can play a song
immediately—if I hear a name of a player, I immediately think of something
that can be associated with his name.�
Later that evening, when Trot Nixon of the visiting Boston Red Sox steps up
to the plate, Faust serenades him to the tune of Hail to the Chief. Hail
indeed–Nixon hits a home run into the right– field bleachers on the first
pitch. Two innings later, Faust switches his theme song to “Would I Lie
to You?�
Faust has another trick she has played on the Red Sox for as long as she
can remember. Any key Boston failure at the plate, usually a strike-out, has
often been followed by her playful rendition of the theme from Cheers, a
Boston-based television show about a bar “where everyone knows your
name.� In her own way, Faust reminds the doomed hitter that the dugout
is another place where they will all know his name. Or perhaps she’s
just telling the Red Sox to go back to Boston.
In 1969, Faust was finishing up her senior year at North Park College in
Naperville when she earned a gig playing at a meeting attended by several
general managers of the Chicago professional teams. The evening was a
success, and soon she was sending out letters to each team in hopes of
providing music at their games.
Then White Sox general manager Stu Holcomb hired Faust right out of
college, and she made old Comiskey Park her home. She spent a couple of
years playing the organ for the Bulls and the Blackhawks during the baseball
off-seasons but eventually devoted her time solely to the Sox.
“The only games that I ever missed here at the park were when I gave
birth to my one child, and that was in 1983–I missed five games.� Talk
about the Cal Ripken of organists.
Faust’s trademark tune is the root of what is now a long–standing
American sports tradition. In 1977, just seven years after joining the Sox,
Faust believed she had found a new way to play a departing opposing
pitcher off the field. The song she had in mind was one by Steam called â
€œNa-Na-Hey-Hey Kiss Him Goodbye.â€�
One day when the visiting pitcher was knocked out of the game, she played
the song for the first time, and the energized crowd chanted right along â
€œNa-na-na-na, Na-na-na-na, Hey-hey-hey, Go-od-bye.â€� Faust so
enjoyed having the fans sing along that she resolved to give the song an
important spot in her repertoire. Today she plays it whenever the Sox knock
out a pitcher, hit a home run, or record the final out of a victory, and the fans
still know what to do.
Just by playing what comes to mind and keeping in tune with the crowd,
Faust has enhanced the legendary ballpark atmosphere about which so
many of the baseball poets have written, and her work has even influenced
the rest of the country.
“When the instrument was more popular at ballparks,� explains
Faust, “a number of organists would come to our park at Old Comiskey
and just sit there and take notes on what an organist does.�
But even the masters make mistakes, especially their first day on the job.
When Faust first began on opening day in 1970, she remembers the public
address announcer asking the fans for a moment of silence. But at the time,
Nancy believed he had invited the fans to stand for the national anthem,
which she calmly began playing as the silent crowd listened on.
“I didn’t realize I had done something wrong until afterwards,�
she jokes.
In 1971, Holcomb hired legendary broadcaster Harry Caray to call the
White Sox play-by-play on television. It was from the window of the
Comiskey broadcast booth that Caray first invented the Chicago tradition of
leading the crowd in “Take Me Out To The Ball Game� over the
public address system. Faust fondly recalls how Caray would boisterously
wave his arms and shout “Come on, Nancy!� as she began the classic
song.
This, claims Nancy, is how fans first became aware of who it was making all
the music during the game.
“I owe [Caray] a huge amount of gratitude for making the public familiar
with who it was behind the keyboard at Comiskey,â€� Faust remembers. â
€œHe was a big promoter of all aspects of the ballgame.â€�
The two became fast friends. Sometimes Faust would give Carey a lift
home, and other times the two would just chat casually over a bite to eat.
When Caray passed away in 1998, Faust was the one to play at a post
service gathering at Caray’s restaurant.
In those ballparks, arenas, and stadiums that still use live music, the organist
is often hidden away in an upper-level control room, far away from the fans.
U.S. Cellular Field, the current home of the White Sox formerly known as
(New) Comiskey Park, is a completely different story.
Faust’s organ booth sits at the edge of the main concourse, just over 25
rows behind home plate. Fans are more than close enough to smile and
wave at her, and she often invites her curious admirers to stand in her open
doorway and chat as she plays.
“I love the interaction, and I do get great ideas [from the fans],� says
Faust.
But Faust also admits that the age of the new ballpark has caused its share
of frustration as more and more organists and other live musicians lose their
jobs to D.J.s, who can pre-program a song at a moment’s notice.
“I think the most frustrating part is working so hard to perfect a song and
then coming here to the park and hearing it played at the push of a button,â
€� she explains. “But I think there are things that I could do that are so
spontaneous that perhaps a D.J. could never have them even at the tip of his
fingers.�
Nonetheless, Faust calls herself “a survivor of the technology era�
and feels she has carved her niche in the baseball world. She still sets the
mood for the evening by playing before games, leads occasional cheers, and
provides the music when the visiting team comes to bat.
In a time when job security is difficult to come by, Faust says she
appreciates the time she’s spent with the White Sox organization and is
happy to return summer after summer.
“I appreciate that [the White Sox] choose to keep the tradition alive,�
she says.
| When live music was king at Old Comiskey Chicago Maroon, September 11, 2003 By Dan Ankeles |
As the organist for the Chicago White Sox, Nancy Faust has
been a cornerstone in the Chicago professional sports scene for
over three decades now. During the past 33 years she has
graced the fans with her spontaneity and has even invented a
couple of Chicago traditions along the way.
Like everyone else, musicians come in all kinds. There are those
who are bound by the notes they read and those who just have a
knack for improvising. But then there are the ones like Faust,
who can take in music through their ears and just as quickly
make the song their own.
been a cornerstone in the Chicago professional sports scene for
over three decades now. During the past 33 years she has
graced the fans with her spontaneity and has even invented a
couple of Chicago traditions along the way.
Like everyone else, musicians come in all kinds. There are those
who are bound by the notes they read and those who just have a
knack for improvising. But then there are the ones like Faust,
who can take in music through their ears and just as quickly
make the song their own.
