The current Indians season opened with a "What if?" promotion, featuring glimpses of the Tribe's memorable past, including players from the teams that went to the World Series in 1995 and 1997. But the ads left out one aspect of Indians' lore -- its equally memorable fans of those heady days when we almost, almost got the championship.
"Whatever happened to . . .?" is a weekly series updating some of the most newsworthy and interesting local stories covered in The Plain Dealer. Have a suggestion on a story we should update? Send it to John C. Kuehner, or call 216-999-5325.
Today, we answer this question:
Whatever happened to such "celebrity" Indians fans as Sister Mary Assumpta, John Adams, Jim Stamper, Charley Lupica and Tom "the Hat Man" O'Toole?
The current Indians season opened with a "What if?" promotion, featuring glimpses of the Tribe's memorable past, including players from the teams that went to the World Series in 1995 and 1997.
But the ads left out one aspect of Indians' lore -- its equally memorable fans of those heady days when we almost, almost got the championship.
Like the rest of us, most of these celebrity fans are still hanging in there.
Sister Mary Assumpta, whose affection for the team got her an appearance in the film "Major League" and her own Upper Deck trading card, is still going to the games and bringing her cookies (now sold as "Nun Better") for the players.
Though she doesn't visit as often as she did in the '90s, she's still recognized by fans here and elsewhere when she travels. "Even if I'm out of town, in airports people still ask, 'Aren't you the Cleveland Indians nun?' " she said. "I like people, so it's fun to me."
She said her favorite season was 1995, when the Tribe "could do no wrong. You could expect that even if they were down by three, some magic was going to happen in the ninth."
When she can't go to the game, she'll follow it on the radio, which is how she first became an ardent fan. Now she has a smartphone, too, to track the progress of a team she describes as "maturing."
"I'm not going to predict that they'll win it all," she added. "But they'll certainly be in the running."
Another familiar fan of the '90s was Jim Stamper, who rarely went to a Tribe game without with his sign depicting Chief Wahoo flexing muscular biceps, and who wore a white tux with tails for the playoffs.
But he, too, has cut back on the number of games he attends nowadays, because of work demands at his restaurant, Stamper's Grill Pub in Fairview Park.
During the Indians' bygone championship battles, photos of Stamper and his sign appeared in local newspapers and such publications as Sports Illustrated, Baseball Weekly and the Sporting News. Sayings on the sign changed from game to game, and included "This Belle Won't Crack" (referring to former slugger Albert Belle) and "Pow Wow Power."
Stamper estimates that his attendance of 60 games per year from 1994 to 1998 has been cut to about 30. Nowadays, he saves the sign for something special. "In the '90s, every game was something new," he said. "Now, it's more situational."
As for the current team, Stamper said, "They look awful good, if they stay healthy."
Regrettably, Charlie Lupica, a celebrated fan of the '90s and Cleveland's favorite flagpole-sitter, died in 2002 at the age of 90.
Lupica gained his fame for sitting on a flagpole for 117 days during the 1949 baseball season, refusing to come down until the Indians got on track to repeat their World Series win of 1948. They didn't, and Lupica was coaxed down by then-owner Bill Veeck for the team's final home game.
Lupica said he'd do it all over again when the Indians raced for the top in '95 and '97. At one point he told a reporter, "If they don't win this time, I'll die brokenhearted, 'cause they're never going to get a better team than we have right now."
Yet after Lupica died, his daughter said he never did give up hope for another Indians World Series win and assured skeptics, "Just wait, they're going to be good."
Tom "the Hat Man" O'Toole, of Willoughby, hasn't been attending as many games as in previous years, because of a back injury.
He and his wife, Joanne, have been season-ticket holders since 1965, and he got his nickname in 1994 when he started bringing a bag of Indians hats -- a different one to wear each inning -- to the games.
The hats were prompted by the location of the couple's seats in Section 148, right behind the visitors' dugout, so the O'Tooles routinely showed up in TV camera shots whenever a leftie batted.
"People kept saying, 'We saw you at the game on TV,' so I thought, 'Gee, I ought to do something just for fun,' " O'Toole recalled. "So I came up with the hats."
Then folks started asking for his autograph. Some wondered if the hats were part of some secret signaling system to aid Indians manager Mike Hargrove.
"One of the great things about this is that there's no seriousness to this at all," O'Toole said. "This is just for fun, and no other reason. I'm just a regular guy. No pretenses."
One of his favorite hats is a yellow Chief Wahoo cap with a red bill, sent by a "Hat Man" fan from Louisiana. "It's just the nicest I've ever seen," O'Toole said.
Another is a hat furnished by residents of a facility for the mentally disabled who pitched in 20 cents each to buy it for him. "They get the biggest kick when they see me wearing it on TV," O'Toole said. "They know it's the hat they bought."
People still recognize him in the stands and even come up to him waving cellphones, asking him to talk to their relatives in distant cities.
O'Toole's laid-back attitude regarding his celebrity also applies to the team's fortunes. When asked about the Tribe's 2012 season, O'Toole said it didn't matter. "First place, last place, in between. I enjoy the game, so I just go down to have fun," he said.
It may be a quality shared by all truly dedicated Tribe boosters. As O'Toole remarked of his fellow celebrities of the seats, "Once they become fans, they're fans forever."
For the past 39 years and more than 3,000 games, a booming from the bleachers has meant that John Adams is still the drumming heartbeat of the Tribe.
This year is no different as Adams, 60, of Brecksville, parks his bass drum in the top row and assumes his role as crowd-pumper, rally-rouser and pitching-percussionist.
"What keeps me going is a love of the game and my town," Adams said. Being a Cleveland fan is like having a disease, and "there's no cure for that disease," he added. "But they have group therapy. It's called, 'Go to a game.' "
Though Adams said there aren't a lot of regulars in the bleacher seats, he still recognizes some fans who shared the excitement of the 1995 and 1997 season.
Adams said he doesn't have a favorite season of his past 39 drum-beating years -- "except postseason. That's my favorite season."
As for this year, "Oh, gee, I'm enjoying it. They're doing better than expected, they really are," he said. "I'm really proud of those guys. They do not quit, even when things look like they're falling apart. All of a sudden they start pulling together."
And this season, as in those past, folks still climb the bleachers just to meet the drum-pounder -- to Adams' enduring bewilderment.
"I'm just fortunate I can be there," he said. "I appreciate it when people say hello. I don't get it, I don't understand the adulation. But I appreciate it, and if I can put a smile on somebody's face, it doesn't get any better than that."