Tose's daughter knew how to keep Eagles players happy with ice cream

THE EAGLES were up to their chin straps in red ink because Leonard Tose couldn't say "No!" Yo, if he'd been a woman, he'd have been pregnant all the time.

But he was a man, flamboyant as a peacock - a smoker, a drinker, a gambler, which is one brutal trifecta.

"They were losing money every year," Susan Tose Spencer recalled the other day. "The group he was surrounded by were very loyal. The qualities they had . . . were not designed to run a football team. They were designed to be running a boy's club.

"The other owners would laugh at the organization. My dad didn't like to sign checks, so he had signature stamps made. You have signature stamps, that's like handing out blank checks. He never knew half of what was going on."

On May 19, 1983, Tose fired his general manager and good friend, Jim Murray. And gave the job to his daughter, Susan.

She cut and slashed and earned the nickname "Dragon Lady." In her new book, "Briefcase Essentials," she recalls being called the "Wicked Witch of the Vet," among other things.

The book is lively, a narrative of her business ventures and misadventures, a guide for female executives that could be subtitled, "How to succeed in business without really crying."

First thing she did in '83 was install a time clock.

"The secretaries were coming in 2 hours late and leaving when they felt like leaving," she explained. "I wanted to know who was coming, who was going."

Then she took a good, hard look at the jumbo jet the Eagles flew to road games.

"Chartered a smaller plane, saved $80,000 to $90,000 on long trips," she said proudly.

And when the plane had to stop and refuel and the grumbling rattled the windows, she had an ice-cream cart wheeled on board, doled out banana splits, and the grumbling stopped for a while.

"The players were spoiled," she said. "My dad spoiled them. They got what they wanted. Dick Vermeil, he got what he wanted. But when you're losing money, you've got to fix it somehow. My second year, we actually made a profit. It was $200,000, but it was a profit."

When your boss/dad is gulping scotch and hitting on 17, that's like bailing out the Titanic with an ice bucket. Fidgety bankers swarmed like sharks in that sea of red ink. Susan tried other banks, but they wanted her dad stripped of control. This time, he said "No!" in a loud, clear voice.

Susan, searching for minority partners, met with Carl Pohlad in Minneapolis.

"He seemed interested," she recalled, "but he was old and he decided against it."

The treasure hunt took her to the desert, Phoenix.

"There was a bank willing to take over the debt," she said. "They'd passed a bond issue for a new stadium. They had Arizona State's stadium to play in for the first few years. We were out there, in a hotel. And I got this call from my dad, groaning. 'I just saw an ad for a mastectomy,' he hollered. 'This is a one-horse town. I can't live here.'

"We went home, had a meeting. He refused to move the team. I told him, 'You're going to lose the club.' He said, 'I know.' He just loved the city, he loved the people. He knew he could never come back if he moved the team."

He sold the team to Norman Braman, a Miami car dealer. And Braman sold it to Jeff Lurie, who really wanted to buy the Patriots. And now it's worth close to a billion dollars.

"My father bought the Eagles for $16 million," Susan said ruefully. "San Diego had sold for $8 million 2 years earlier.

"My father was a visionary. He saw it becoming a great entertainment entity. He told the bank when he borrowed $30 million that the team was worth $100 million, even then."

She lives in Las Vegas now, to be near her mother. Teaches some classes, hosts a radio show, blogs. Reluctantly comments on how she perceives the Eagles now.

"What I saw back then was a lot of heart, a lot of soul," she said. "The players and coaches loved my dad. The franchise was committed to winning. I don't see that level of emotion now. Sure, they've made the playoffs many times, but I don't see the heart, I don't see the passion."

She sees the sport lurching toward a lockout. She thinks the negotiations might be kinder, gentler if more women were involved.

"I really believe some small-market teams are hurting," she said. "They won't show the books. Not in a million years.

"When I was in business, I never opened my books to the union. I dealt with Teamsters and meat cutters and in 24 years, I never had a strike.

"The owners ought to be concerned about the short careers of the players. They ought to be concerned about injuries and illness not covered by health insurance of retired players. Women would do that. Women are more sensitive, more sympathetic.

"Women ask questions. Men don't. Ego gets in the way."

Send e-mail to stanrhoch@comcast.net.