Jack Vandervort, a Foggy Day and Me

By Brian McLane

Jack Vandervort was a friend.  Jack Vandervort was one of the most remarkable men I’ve ever known. Yet, I promise you, Jack Vandervort will never, ever get his due for just how much he did to change the texture and tenor of life in Central New York, as well as the direction and trajectory of my beloved Syracuse University.

Let me explain.

In the late ‘70s, Jack was working as VP of government relations for the original Carrier Corporation, in downtown Syracuse.

Now, most know it was Carrier chairman Mel Holm who, when university officials found themselves with a budget shortfall, rode to the rescue and for the relatively paltry sum of $2.75 million made it possible to complete what, from that point forward, would be known as the Carrier Dome.

But what most don’t know is all the sausage making that was going on behind the scenes as Holm was busy shaking hands and making headlines. The majority of fans in Syracuse didn’t know, for example, that while Mel threw the S.U. brass their much-needed lifeline, it was Jack who originally put two and two together and came up with the idea to do so. Because it was Jack who, once he came on board at Carrier, helped take the company’s sense of social responsibility and corporate citizenship to a new level entirely.

I knew this because at the time I was chief of staff for Mel Zimmer, a dyed-in-the-wool, blue-collar Democrat who represented Central New York in the state assembly – and who, likewise, was a good friend of Jack’s.

Meanwhile, over in the state senate, there was Tarky Lombardi, a graduate of S.U. Law and, perhaps, the very embodiment of old-school Republican thinking.

In the City of Syracuse, you had Mayor Lee Alexander, a fervent and almost rabidly ambitious liberal.

Plus, of course, there was Governor Hugh Carey – a slightly left-leaning political moderate.

Now, it’s important to understand that, at least when it comes to politics in New York State, getting something done takes a back seat to just one thing, and one thing only – taking credit for getting that thing done.

And there was no project in 1980, the credit for which was any more coveted, or any more lusted after, than the building of the Carrier Dome on the campus of Syracuse University – the soon-to-be home of the only Division I football program in the entire state.

Yet, Jack, a onetime Republican strategist, somehow did the impossible. He horse-swapped, he cajoled, he empathized, he promised, he strong-armed, he coddled, he negotiated, he listened, and he reasoned.  And when all was said and done, somehow, my friend got all those giant-sized egos and all those opposing political agendas marching in lockstep and in the same direction.

What’s more, once he worked his backroom magic, not a single New York politician tried to take any appreciable amount of credit for getting the Dome built. To the public and fans, Syracuse’s new state-of-the-art athletic facility was built by the university itself, with a big, fat assist from hometown Carrier. And that would be the story the history books would tell from that day forward.

My friend died this January. The pancreatic cancer that Jack had battled so bravely and for so long, finally laid him low. And, sadly, his beautiful wife and best friend, Gayle, was then called home just three months later.

This week, I called Jack and Gayle’s son Todd to commiserate about the passing of his mom and dad, and to share with him some warm memories I had of them. What compelled me to call Todd was a song I’d just happened to hear that reminded me of his father.

As we spoke, Todd told me his was sitting behind Jack’s desk at that very moment, which had been given to him by his old boss, Mel Holm – and which was, originally, Willis Carrier’s.

Todd then sent me photos of two things he still proudly displays in his office: an orange Carrier Dome hardhat with the word “Jack” on the brim, a gesture of thanks to his dad during construction, and a photo of the now-completed Dome under a robin’s egg-blue Central New York sky.

When I opened Todd's email, I noticed the second photo had been autographed by Coach Dick MacPherson. It included the following thoughts by Coach Mac – which is why, I suppose, I decided to write this.  Because what Mac expressed is exactly what I hope you'll think about the next time you see the Dome, or when and if you ever hear the name Jack Vandervort:

Dear Jack –

We both know you made his possible. Thank you, Carrier. Thank you, Jack. Thank you, Gayle. S.U. became a National Power because of this decision.

Go S.U.

Your ever grateful friend,
Dick MacPherson

This is the song I'd heard earlier this week, the one that reminded me so much of my late friend that it compelled me to pick up the phone and call his son. It was Jack's absolute favorite, the song that would light up his eyes, and the one that, when he heard it, brought him to a place that made something deep within him glow.  (And my sense is, Judy Garland does it in a way he would have absolutely loved.)  Enjoy.

Godspeed, Jack Vandervort.  It was an incredible ride.  And, as a Central New Yorker, as an Orange fan, and, especially, as your friend, thank you for everything.