“The day I showed up for my job, I was handed a piece of paper with the players’ names and the states where they were from. That was it. My first year, 1970, was the year the Sox had their lowest attendance—about 340,000 people, so it was easy for me to break in. “I loosened up as I met fans and got more familiar with baseball terminology. I would use baseball words to associate with songs that I played. For walks, I would play, ‘Strolling Through The Park One Day,’ or ‘Standing on the Corner, Watching All The Girls Go By.’ Things were laid back in those days. It was just the PA man, me and the game.

“My fondest memories of the early 1970s were of the players. I became a big fan. I especially liked Richie Allen, but I never really got to know him. He had a great stance, and he walked around with confidence. He was independent, and he defined the team. “Bill Veeck changed everything when he bought the team in 1975. He had all these ethnic days, and I had to learn all these anthems. That was a struggle because I play by ear. I’d have to get a recording or get the music.

“It seems like every Friday night, when Bill Veeck owned the team, beer fights broke out. You would see beers flying. People would just throw beers at each other. I guess they weren’t so expensive then.

“Na-Na-Na-Na was not planned. The song, ‘Na Na Hey Hey (Kiss Him Goodbye),’ was released by Steam in 1969, and I played it for many years before I got a response.

In 1977, we were in the middle of a series against Kansas City, both in first place. People just picked up on it, and the song became our anthem. I still play it today, at the right time when the Sox are ahead. Usually I play it when the opposing team changes its pitcher.

“Disco Demolition Night . . . surreal. When I look back at the tape, I realize people were chanting ‘Disco sucks, disco sucks.’ I just picked up on it, playing along, thinking that was the spirit of the night. That was before everything got out of hand. At one point they had me playing ‘Take Me Out To The Ball Game.’ We tried to pull out all the stops, but there was no way to calm people down.”

— Nancy Faust, White Sox organist

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