PIRATED?
"Branch Rickey, Sr., of the Pirates, had a cruiser moored at a dock on the Allegheny River at East Brady, Pa., all summer. Said cruiser was equipped with 27 fishing rods and 11 boxes full of tackle. It was a bit chilly on the river one Sunday and to keep himself and guests warm, Mr. Rickey provided some of those doeskin cloth coats, lined with sheepskin, mainly used by athletes. Across the back of each coat, in large letters, was 'Brooklyn Dodgers.' "
-Al Abrams in the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette (Baseball Digest, January 1954)
FALLING BRANCH
"When Branch Rickey was boss of the Brooklyn front office, he loved to discourse in dramatic tones. Let Tommy Holmes of the Brooklyn Eagle tell this one:
'Rickey had a quaint stock script for dramatizing the sort of situation he faced. He would lean back in his swivel chair, pretend to suffer from an attack of dizziness, reach out wavering hands. 'I am slipping out of a high window,' he would declaim in Shakespearian tones. 'I must have help. Only one man can save me. Who is that man?'
'He reeled off a list of half a dozen names. 'Is this the man who can save me? Or this? Or this?' Rickey asked.
'There was a moment of silence. Then one of his aides piped up. 'Do you think you'll bounce when you hit the sidewalk, Mr. Rickey?' ' "
-Baseball Digest, January 1954
WHEN RICKEY OUTSMARTED HIMSELF
"Undeniably Branch Rickey is a shrewd man with a baseball player and with a buck, but he, too, has been outsmarted on occasion. In fact, he once outsmarted himself.
It happened back in 1941. Rickey, then with the Cardinals, sold Don Padgett, a big but largely undistinguished outfielder, to the Dodgers for $25,000. However, he neglected to inform Larry MacPhail, then Brooklyn president, that Padgett had enlisted in the Navy.
When MacPhail found out that Padgett was in Service, he swore he would never hand over the $25,000 over to the Cards. MacPhail then went into the Service. Two years later Rickey moved to Brooklyn to run the Dodgers.
Rickey had barely installed his favorite swivel chair in his new office in Brooklyn but who should report to the club but Padgett. He was out of Service and ready to play ball again. MacPhail still had never paid St. Louis for him. So Commissioner Landis ruled that Rickey had to pay the Cards the $25,000 before Padgett could play for Brooklyn."
-Milwaukee Journal (Baseball Digest, April 1954)
RICKEY'S TWO-PUNCH MEAL TICKET
He Sold Danny O'Connell Twice
"An odd thing in the trade of young Danny O'Connell to Milwaukee is that it was the second time he was dealt off by Branch Rickey, each time for the same reason- money. What's more, had Clark Griffith been a bit more punctual in returning a telephone call back in the winter of 1949, O'Connell might have been the Washington shortstop, second or third baseman today.
As the story is told by Harold Parrott, who served under Rickey at Brooklyn and is business manager of the Dodgers today, O'Connell was ticketed for Washington. It was not Griffith's doing, but Rickey's.
'The Old Man (Rickey) had been burned when Brooklyn had a football team in the National League,' Parrott relates. 'In order to balance the budget, Rickey decided to sell some of his prize stock off the farms. He didn't want to sell O'Connell to a National League club if he could help it, and he didn't want him to wind up with the Yankees or Indians or some club that might play the Dodgers in a future World Series.
'So (Parrott continues) he called up Griffith and said:
' 'I know you are looking for a shortstop. I've got one to sell. He's a young fellow named O'Connell. Look up his record, talk it over with Bucky Harris, and call me back by 1 o'clock this afternoon.'
'Griffith put it off. When he finally called, Rickey told him that because he hadn't heard from him by 1 o'clock, the Dodgers had sold O'Connell to Pittsburgh.
'Rickey sensed Griffith's disappointment and said, 'Well, I've got another young player you might like- a center fielder. His name is Irv Noren. Ask Harris about him, because Bucky saw him play in the Pacific Coast League. If you want him, I'll sell.' '
That's how Noren came to Washington. In subsequent trades, Noren was transformed into Jackie Jensen, who in turn has been transformed into Pitcher Maurice McDermott and Outfielder Tom Umphlett. Not bad, but O'Connell was the prize Rickey originally extended to Griffith.
When Rickey moved from Brooklyn to Pittsburgh, he fell heir to O'Connell again, saw him blossom and, apparently, ran into his old bugaboo, lack of cash. So he sold him to the Braves for cash and five players.
Rickey thought enough of O'Connell to send him a telegram after his sale to Milwaukee. 'He was telling me how sorry he was to let me go,' Danny said recently. 'I don't see anything to be sorry about. It's just great. Imagine, making the jump from a last-place club to a team which has a good chance. I'm really happy. Now when I dream about a World Series, it isn't impossible.' "
-Francis Stann, condensed from the Washington Star (Baseball Digest, April 1954)
BRANCH RICKEY'S THREE POINTS TO STARDOM
"Baseball is my business, but it is much more than that. I still get the same thrill out of the game I did as a kid. In our Pittsburgh organization there are nearly 400 players, most of whom I know personally, as well as many of their fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, aunts and uncles.
I'm no father to these boys- they don't want that. I am their employer, and they have to make good. But I also want to be their friend and will do everything I can to help them.
These players have ability- all of them. Many will play in the major leagues if they perform up to their capabilities. It is my job, and that of our manager and coaches, to bring men to their best- to help make ability and capacity meet.
Some of the players will come through. Others won't.
What makes the difference?
There are three qualities which seem to be highly valuable, if not indispensable, to success.
First, a man should feel that the job he is doing is worthwhile. A man can sell something better if he believes in it. The fact that the product is worthwhile dignifies his efforts; he is continually challenged to do better.
It is simply great if a ball player believes that what he is doing has purpose and dignity and is worthwhile.
The second point is even more important, and is best illustrated by two contrasting stories.
Many years ago, when I was managing the St. Louis Browns, I lost a game to Detroit in the last half of the eleventh inning in a very unusual manner- nothing else like it in the record books anywhere. Detroit came to bat in the last half of the eleventh inning in a tie-score game, two men out and nobody on the bases, when Ty Cobb came to bat.
Cobb got a base on balls then scored the winning run without another ball being pitched. By sheer adventure and skill he forced two wild throws by St. Louis infielders. His daring at first base, his boldness and skillful turn at second, his characteristic slide ten feet before he reached third, his quick coordination before his slide- all brought about four 'breaks' in his favor. He made what amounted to home run out of a bases on balls.
In the very same game, there was a player on my team by the name of Walker, a man who had all the physical qualities to be a great player. During a game in Beaumont, Tex., the following spring, Walker hit what should have been a home run- and was thrown out at third.
Walker's slow start to first base, as he watched his hard line-drive fall between the left and center fielders, cost him 20 feet. Next, he lost another 30 feet making too wide a turn around first toward second base. Then, seeing the elusive ball on its way to the Texas prairies (the left field fence was down for repair), he slowed to a jog trot. This easily cost him still another 50 feet, and he was now 100 feet behind schedule.
Suddenly the ball struck some object, a board or stone, and bounced back into the hands of the surprised center fielder, a boy by the name of Al Nixon. Nixon's quick turn and his strong arm brought the throw toward third. Walker, seeing that a play could now be made on him, put on a great burst of speed. He made a fall-away slide to the right and into the very hands of the third baseman. Walker actually tagged himself out.
Exclamatory groans came from our bench. One chap in disgust kicked over the water bucket and another threw a bunch of bats helter-skelter into the air.
In discussing the play later, however, everyone agreed that if Walker had not made any one of four mistakes- the slow start from home plate, the wide turn at first, the walking trot around second and the slide to the wrong side of third- there could have been no play on him. And if he had made all four correctly, he would have scored a home run standing up.
What is the difference between Cobb and Walker? They had about the same age, weight, height and running speed. Walker had a stronger arm than Cobb and more power at the bat. Yet one rose to unparalleled fame; the other lives in obscurity. Cobb wanted to do something so much that nothing else mattered. Walker punched the clock.
A consuming desire to be great is the important second quality that will help make ability and capacity meet. This desire can turn a faulty, youthful hitter like Enos Slaughter into a great batsman. It can produce a good base runner out of a slow runner. The greatest single factor that makes a champion player is his desire to be one, and the greatest quality of a championship club is a collective, dominating urge to win.
Luck? Yes, there is luck in all athletic contests, due to causes we don't control and cannot anticipate. Usually, good luck is the by-product of planned effort. Bad luck will feature any club which is satisfied with mediocrity. A man who has the bad habit of looking at his batted ball, which he can no longer direct, or follows a course that carries him 30 feet too far, or assumes victory before he has it, shouldn't charge his failure to 'bad luck.'
Baseball clubs can have injuries and illnesses and military drafts and 'bad breaks,' but I think these should be regarded as merely incidents on a highway of progress.
There is a third quality which makes a difference in men.
I have seen many players who have had the material requisites for greatness- youth, size, speed, power, and even desire- and yet fail utterly. Such cases are tragic, indeed, where the boy wants to be great, his people counting on him, and yet he cannot master the little skills which go with excellence. He cannot learn to hold men on base, or he cannot slide, or he overstrides at bat, or he cannot get a proper lead. There are a hundred so-called 'little things' that mark the difference between the ordinary and the exceptional.
I like to into a dentist's office where the magazines are current. Somehow, I anticipate newer techniques, better treatment. I like to go into a church of any faith, where the builders have had in mind a beautiful edifice. Not elaborate, necessarily, but with attention to detail. Once inside, the pews, the chancel, the pulpit, the choir loft, the organ and the windows- all and everything- seeming to combine to produce a sense of worship, even without music or without a word being said to anybody. I like that. You can feel at once that you are in a place where you are already getting what you need- spiritual medicine.
I like players who are masters of detail in their work. Men acquiring these little skills please everybody and 'sell' themselves.
I shall be very happy when the time comes in Pittsburgh that we have boys who, first of all, feel that what are doing is something worthwhile. Second, as gentlemen, they want to win a pennant so much that they never ask the price, but pay it. And, third, I shall be gratified beyond expression if they are skilled, real masters of technique, both on offense and defense. For then, the Pittsburgh club will be highly rated in the National League and they won't scare in the World Series."
-Branch Rickey, condensed from Guideposts (Baseball Digest, August 1954)
RICKEY'S ONE-DOLLAR 'SALE'
"This, I believe, is the best trade story I have ever heard in baseball and the fellow who told it to me swears it's true.
Several years ago a man whom we shall call Smith, because that wasn't his name, approached Branch Rickey in Brooklyn asking for a price on one of his reserve outfielders.
'$100,000,' Rickey said and said it as though he meant it, too.
Smith said it was too high, much too high. They talked back and forth for several minutes and Rickey inquired about a player on Smith's team.
'Why, he's just a waiver price ball player; why talk about him?' Smith replied.
'Okay,' Rickey cut in. 'I'll give you $50,000 for him.'
Now Smith was worried. Did Rickey know something about this player that Smith didn't? Well, Smith couldn't take the chance and asked to look over Rickey's list of players.
Smith came to the name of Monty Basgall and asked the price.
'I'll take $50,000 for Basgall,' Rickey told him.
Now it was Smith's turn to hit the ceiling again. 'Why he's not worth $50,000 and you'll never get $50,000 for him.'
'Tell you what I'm going to do,' Rickey smiled at Smith. 'If I don't sell Basgall for $50,000 within the next few weeks I'll give him to you for one dollar.'
Smith grabbed an envelope and made up a hurried contract, asked Rickey to sign it, agreeing to give Smith the services of Basgall for one buck, if he wasn't sold for $50,000 within a certain time.
Rickey signed and Smith left, feeling good that he had put one over on the master trader.
On the way out, a Rickey aide seemed quite perturbed and asked his boss how come he could allow himself to get involved in such a deal. Why, he might lose a ball player for one dollar.
'Son,' Rickey told his aide, 'I just want to teach that Smith a lesson. Don't worry about the Dodgers losing Basgall for one dollar. I've already sold him to the Pirates for $50,000 and it will be announced tomorrow. I'd just like to see the expression on Smith's face when he reads it.' "
-Les Biederman in the Pittsburgh Press (Baseball Digest, September 1954)
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