THE NITRO-GLISTENIN' KID
"Personnel Manager Fred Jones stood evaluating the six-two stature of the 17-year-old job applicant. The executive furrowed his brow as he noted the youngster's anxious glance.
'I want to give you a job, because I know your dad so well, and your sister and brother work for us here at American Viscose Rayon,' Jones finally said. 'If you can play on our plant baseball team, I think I can give you that job.'
'May I think it over,' the deep-voiced boy asked.
That night the youngster sought the advice of his father, who worked as labor foreman at the plant.
'I've never even played in an organized game,' the retiring son reminded. 'I wouldn't even know what position to go out for. I've just played with the fellows in the lots.'
The father mused for a minute, then offered:
'Why don't you try to be a pitcher? You've pitched some on the lots and you want the job while waiting to be called into Service.'
The brown-haired boy went to work as a messenger and tediously studied the basic precepts of pitching. He found help wherever he could. This study session took place in June 1944.
The youngster developed so deftly that he racked up 12 triumphs against only two setbacks for American Viscose Rayon that year. He had mastered a cunning sidearm delivery with brilliant control.
The gangling youngster was Selva Lewis Burdette, Jr., now the stylish right-handed star of the Milwaukee Braves. Burdette, who had been graduated from Nitro, W. Va., Public High School a week earlier, turned to the mound only because his dad, Lewis, Sr., wanted his son to work in the same plant.
Lew is the affable hurler who was one of the chief cogs in the Braves' meteoric climb from seventh place to second in the National League last year. The Braves' tireless ace in 1953 doubled as one of the game's Herculean performers as starter-reliever. The blue-eyed Burdette, known to his teammates as a humorist par excellence, won 15 games while losing only five last year. And he's being counted on for even more triumphs during the 1954 race.
Burdette showed remarkable resoluteness in fashioning pitching knowledge for the lone season he played in the Industrial League. The 180-pound National League standout has continued to display equal determination throughout his storybook career. Manager Charlie Grimm beams every time he mentions the tall right-hander. It isn't often in this era that you come across a rubber-armed moundsman like Lew.
Lew was graduated to the starting corps when Grimm needed an added first-liner last July. But the Braves' pilot couldn't do without Burdette's fireman ability. In his second assignment after joining the starting elite ranks, the off-field prankster whitewashed the Giants, 5-0. In ordinary circumstances, a manager would have been expected to be satisfied and to hunt for a new reliever. But Burdette is no ordinary hurler. Grimm quickly announced that Burdette would continue to be the Braves' first bullpen custodian, while still receiving starting assignments. In his next chore Lew was called in to put out a Cubs' fire in the fifth inning. And he squelched the Chicagoan's blaze. Not a Cub reached second base in the ensuing five frames.
This is the same Lew Burdette who was turned down by a Braves' scout as having no ability in 1947. And on Aug. 29, 1951, Burdette went to the Braves purely as a 'throw-in' along with $50,000 from the Yankees for Johnny Sain. This season Burdette will finally be taking over Sain's berth as the Braves' top right-hander. What a testimonial for the value of determination! Here's a guy who never stops wanting to learn. Bucky Walters, the Braves' pitching coach and himself a former National League great, and the rest of the Braves' coaching staff have found Burdette always willing and able to take instruction.
He came to the Braves with a pretty fair screwball. Walters wanted to help improve the highly specialized toss. Burdette was raring to go and now he possesses one of the best in the business. The screwball goes along with a nifty assortment, including a humming fast ball that sinks menacingly, a sharp-breaking curve and pinpoint control.
It should also be pointed that Burdette still will be in the bullpen this season, even though he's nailed down one of the most coveted mound jobs in the game. Burdette really doesn't care whether he starts or relieves. He reasons positively: 'It doesn't matter, so long as I'm working. The hitters are the same. It's up to the boss.'
Burdette has been asked repeatedly, 'Wouldn't you have rather stayed with the pennant-winning Yankee organization in 1951?'
Lew says he regarded the shift as a chance to play in the majors, even though the then Boston Braves apparently weren't hitting very far.
'I wanted a regular job and also it looked like the Braves were rebuilding for the future. I have to work to be happy.'
Most sentimental youngsters longingly yearn for a chance to play in the Yankee chain, and completely overlook the end result. But Lew, who was 27 last November, realized that he didn't fit into the Yankees' long-distance planning. The Bombers weren't very subtle in their feelings.
The funny thing is that Lew had given baseball his minutest yearnings, following that season in the Industrial League. While in high school, he had played some football. However, his desires were in the line of coaching. Before he was graduated, Lew enlisted in the Air Corps Reserves and was called into service as an Air Corps cadet, April 12, 1945. He didn't touch a baseball during his brief stint and when he was discharged Nov. 9, 1945, he was scouting for a money-making field.
The following school semester Burdette entered the University of Richmond, with his sights trained on a coaching career. That spring, 1946, he pitched with the college freshman team and was so promising the Yankees invited him to a tryout camp with the possibility of a minor league contract. Lew worked out with the Yankees' Norfolk team at Edenton, N.C., during the spring training of 1947. He was signed and the bass-voiced youngster passed up college and coaching.
Burdette, who fits in perfectly with the Braves' pattern of off-field frivolity- this a fantastically spirited club- is a devoted husband and father. He is also a man of adventure and action. After the San Francisco Seals had played on the last Sunday in August 1951, the team was treated to three days off. Burdette and outfielder Joe Grace took their wives to Yosemite National Park for a hurried vacation. The trade between the Yankees and the Braves went through on Monday, but Burdette didn' learn of the deal until he got back to San Francisco on Thursday morning.
The young hurler and his pretty wife, the former Mary Ann Shelton of Charleston, W. Va., looked at each other questioningly. They eyed their five-month-old son Lewis Kent. They packed quickly, set out in their car and drove cross-country to Nitro by Sunday. Burdette joined the Braves in Boston the following Wednesday.
Burdette, who first strikes you as a quiet fellow, is just another of the fun-loving Braves. He often sets the pace in the Braves' familiar clubhouse and bench hilarity. Burdette's stock in trade is his shrill whistle, which is easily mistaken for a policeman's tooting. While the Braves are driving in a bus to the ball park, Lew gets a big kick out of scaring a passing motorist into believing a cop is on his tail. The whole team gets a big bang out of the number of drivers who pull over to the curb when Lew blows his whistle. He simply sets his teeth and lips and the shrill toot comes out.
One of Lew's gags came in the clubhouse at Milwaukee last spring. Lew entered the team's quarters one morning and proceeded to shake hands with his mates.
'I've been traded to the Giants,' he said seriously.
Many of his fellow Braves retorted that they would miss him. Several writers, in the clubhouse looking for their daily stories, began to leave hurriedly for their typewriters. It was then that Lew had to admit it was all a gag.
After Lew had been told to 'forget about the game' by a Braves' scout, the collegian was offered a $100 a month contract by the admittedly mistaken ivory hunter. But Burdette turned down the bid and signed with the Yankees. He was assigned to the Class B Norfolk team in the Piedmont League. He played in only six games, but the Yankee family felt the 20-year-old needed considerably more schooling.
The good-looking youngster was sent posthaste to Amsterdam in the Class C Canadian-American League. Here Lew won only nine games while losing ten. However, his tremendous potential should have been recognized. He chalked up an impressive 2.82 earned run average, striking out 79 in 150 innings. Evidently the Yankees realized the kid had some future promise, for they moved Burdette up to Class B again with Quincy of the Three I League. His 16 triumphs earned him a tie for the circuit's leadership and his ERA was a dazzling 2.02. This record earned Lew a shot with Kansas City of the American Association in 1949. That year he won six and lost seven while posting a mediocre 5.26 ERA. The following season, Lew came out even for the Blues on a 7-7 record and a 4.79 ERA.
In the fall of 1950 the Yankees called up the 23-year-old right-hander. Lew wasn't as Nitro-charged then as he is now. His home town, incidentally, was named when a boom town sprouted around an explosives plant during World War I. Nitro is a small town (pop. 3,314) in which all twelve school grades are housed on one floor.
In the brief stand with the parent Yanks in 1950, Lew worked only one inning and gave up three hits. The Yanks called Lew back for spring training in 1951, but that training season came close to sending Lew to an early grave. He was bedded by a cold and a penicillin shot put him in the hospital and on the critical list. Still, Lew's amazing competitive spirit won out, and he returned to chuck 18 spring training innings for the world champions. He gave up only one run and was understandably disillusioned when he opened the season with San Francisco of the Pacific Coast League. With the Seals, Lew won 14 and lost 12, while going 210 innings. He had an ERA of 3.21.
Late in the season Lew got his chance to play big-league ball on a steady basis with the Braves. He worked in only four innings over three games with no wins or losses.
At Bradenton, Fla., in the spring of 1952, Lew got an even bigger break. Coach Bucky Walters, who has proven a real friend, offered Lew a chance to be the club's bullpen maitre d'. The Braves were well stocked with starters.
Burdette clicked immediately as a reliever, but Charlie Grimm was forced to alter his plans in August when Vern Bickford suffered a fractured finger in Milwaukee. Burdette was called out of the bullpen for six starts. His skein included a 5-2 triumph over the Giants, but Lew was shipped back to the fire station in the outfield, as soon as Bickford returned. Lew wound up the year with a not-too-hot mark of 6-11. However, the continually improving right-hander tacked up an ERA of 3.61 for a faltering club.
Of course, 1953 was Lew's best. He opened the season with seven straight relief successes. These triumphs were amassed in 30 appearances. On one road trip, Burdette relieved in every other one of 22 games. He had three wins and saves in four more games. Although he sincerely points out that 'I wasn't working hard at all,' Manager Grimm gave Lew two days off, lest his star right-hander drop from exhaustion. Lew wasn't even permitted to hold a ball, but he watched the games from his accepted bullpen seat. In July Grimm was hunting for another starter in the vain chase of the Dodgers. He didn't have to look too far, for there was his man in the bullpen. Lew handled the chore magnificently, even relieving on his off days. For the season he registered a 15-5 record and a 3.24 ERA in 46 games. Lew is just as effective in hot or cool weather. It doesn't seem to make any difference.
'I'm looking for a better record in 1954,' Burdette says.
Lew prefers to give credit for his accomplishments to others. For example, he believes that catcher Del Crandall is the best in the business and makes hurling for the Braves a cinch.
'I never- well, hardly ever- have to shake him off,' Burdette says appreciatively. 'He knows his job like no one else and you can have faith in his judgment.'
Those who have watched the limber hurler work on the mound agree that his success has been due to exceptional ability and savvy. But Lew hastens to point out that luck is greatly responsible. Those close to the game guffaw every time they hear him express this philosophy. Burdette's psychology on bullpen work, however, has earned the attention of all keen students of the game. When the West Virginian toils in the bullpen, he matches every pitch with the hurler on the mound.
'I want to keep up with the game psychologically,' he reasons astutely. 'Then when Charlie Grimm sends me in, I'm right up on the game.'
Lew worked this past winter in the promotions department of a Milwaukee brewing company. His job was less strenuous than those he held in previous off-seasons, so that he had to engage in hurry-up workout sessions after the first of the year to knock off the ten pounds he added. The brewery work kept Lew near Milwaukee for personal appearances. The strange thing in this connection is the fact that Lew never had too tender a spot in his heart for Milwaukee before the Braves moved there. While he was with Kansas City, Lew couldn't do too well there on the mound.
Burdette has been tabbed frequently as a real screwball off the field. He's really as sly as a fox on the mound and his relaxing antics are nothing more serious than boyish pranks. But he's modest enough to hasten in reminding that he's not quite 'in the Lefty Gomez class.' Like Lefty, and most other pitchers, Lew takes pride in his hitting. He's not very talented in this department, but points with relish to a spring training home run.
Burdette's spanking success as a reliever is contributable in a large measure to his ability to keep his pitches down around the knees of the opposing batters. Possibly he has earned equal acceptance as a starter because he tries to pitch with level deliberateness over a full route. He figures that he doesn't tire too easily.
Burdette was the fiery subject of a feud with Brooklyn during last season. In a game at Milwaukee, Lew was charged by Roy Campanella with calling the Flock catcher 'a dirty name.' Campy chased after Burdette with a bat after the pitcher allegedly floored the Brook star twice with duster pitches. But the situation became a closed book when Lew made this statement:
'I have never cast any slurs on any man's race and I never will.'
'Campy and I shook hands and ended the situation long before everyone else realized it was closed,' Lew commented later.
When Lew and his new roommate, Chet Nichols, checked into their first visiting hotel room at Miami during spring training, Burdette looked into the quarters first. He was startled. He turned to Nichols and shouted:
'Go back to the Service. I got better rooms last year, when Vern Bickford was my teammate.'
The writer was with the pair and looked to Nichols, just back from the Army, for a sign of indignation. It wasn't forthcoming. Everyone knows Lew Burdette is a good natured kidder and they love him for it. But in Milwaukee they know he isn't kidding when he says expects to win 20 games in 1954."
-Al Jonas (Baseball Digest, May 1954)
"In 1953, Lew was used by the Braves primarily in relief, and he did an excellent job. His overall record was 15-5 and his earned run average of 3.24 was seventh best in the league.
Lew joined pro ball in the Yankees' system, and the Braves acquired his contract from the Yanks in the deal which sent Johnny Sain to New York.
He attended the University of Richmond and made All-State Collegiate in 1946. He's a member of the Pi Kappa Alpha fraternity."
-1954 Bowman No. 192
"Lew did a fine job for the Milwaukee Braves in 1953. He appeared in 46 games, 13 of them in starting assignments. Lew won 15 and lost 5 for a .750 percentage. His earned run average was 3.24, the seventh best in the league. He pitched 175 innings, walked 56 and struck out 58.
He started in baseball in 1947, and first appeared in the majors in 1950 with the Yankees."
-1954 Red Man No. NL-24
Tuesday, March 24, 2020
Friday, March 13, 2020
1954 Yankee of the Past: Sam Jones
A Message To Garcia: OLD SAD SAM JONES HAD A WAY
"News Item: Last year 20 runners attempted to steal against pitcher Mike Garcia and 16 succeeded. This year the first seven who tried to steal against the Cleveland ace also succeeded. Chief culprits have been the White Sox who, going into July this year, had not had a runner thrown out stealing against Garcia since July 7, 1952. During that period the Chicagoans stole 23 bases in 23 attempts against him."
-Baseball Digest, August 1954
An Open Letter by Gordon Cobbledick (Condensed from the Cleveland Plain Dealer)
Dear Mike:
One of these days, if our wives will let us get away, we ought to take a ride down to Woodsfield, Ohio, and have a little talk with Sad Sam Jones. Not the Sam Jones you know (he's still pitching for Indianapolis), but the original Sad Sam, who spent 22 years on the mound for the Indians, Red Sox, Yankees, Browns, Senators and White Sox. You might find an hour with him pretty profitable.
Sam did most of his pitching before the art of base stealing was lost. Yes, I know you're thinking, in the light of recent experience, that it's been found again, but the fact is that except for the present-day White Sox and an occasional club like the old St. Louis Gas House Gang and an occasional individual like Ben Chapman or George Case, nobody has bothered much about stealing bases since Babe Ruth invented the home run.
Still, when you practically demand that they steal on you, you can get hurt, even in this day and age. And, of course, after what the White Sox did the other day the word is going to get around the league and the first thing you know guys like Gus Zernial and Joe Tipton are going to run wild on you and then you'll be in trouble.
What I was going to say about Sam Jones, he pitched while Ty Cobb and Clyde Milan and Eddie Collins and Fritz Maisel and a lot of other larcenous characters were stealing everything but the water bucket, and on him they didn't steal. A base here and there, yes, but not what you'd call stealing as it was understood in those days.
What was more, in 22 years in the league he probably didn't make 22 pickoff throws to first base. Sam always figured he had just many throws in his arm, and every one he made to first was one less he'd be able to make to the batters.
What he did when there was a man on, he looked at him. He'd take his stretch and come to pitching position, and then he'd look at the runner out of the corner of his eye.
The guy would keep edging off further and further, and Sam would keep looking. He had the advantage of knowing when he, Samuel Pond Jones, was going to deliver the pitch. The runner didn't have that knowledge, and so, when he had increased his lead to the point where it was dangerous, what with the fella watching his every move, he had to retreat toward the bag. And that was when Sam pitched.
When a runner is moving toward first, or leaning toward first, he isn't going to steal second, and it doesn't matter whether his name is Jim Rivera, Orestes Minoso or Joe Schloe. He can't run when his heels are in front, and that's where Sam Jones' looking put 'em.
I thought you might want to know because you'd have had a fairly comfortable ball game the other day if the White Sox had had to depend on their bats to beat you. They're a bunch of one-base hitters, and it takes two of their hits to score a man from first. But when he steals second practically automatically, as he did that afternoon, it takes only one.
You're a good pitcher, Mike, but you're not good enough to spot a club like the White Sox that advantage. So you just name the date and we'll go down and talk to Sad Sam.
GC
-Baseball Digest, August 1954
"News Item: Last year 20 runners attempted to steal against pitcher Mike Garcia and 16 succeeded. This year the first seven who tried to steal against the Cleveland ace also succeeded. Chief culprits have been the White Sox who, going into July this year, had not had a runner thrown out stealing against Garcia since July 7, 1952. During that period the Chicagoans stole 23 bases in 23 attempts against him."
-Baseball Digest, August 1954
An Open Letter by Gordon Cobbledick (Condensed from the Cleveland Plain Dealer)
Dear Mike:
One of these days, if our wives will let us get away, we ought to take a ride down to Woodsfield, Ohio, and have a little talk with Sad Sam Jones. Not the Sam Jones you know (he's still pitching for Indianapolis), but the original Sad Sam, who spent 22 years on the mound for the Indians, Red Sox, Yankees, Browns, Senators and White Sox. You might find an hour with him pretty profitable.
Sam did most of his pitching before the art of base stealing was lost. Yes, I know you're thinking, in the light of recent experience, that it's been found again, but the fact is that except for the present-day White Sox and an occasional club like the old St. Louis Gas House Gang and an occasional individual like Ben Chapman or George Case, nobody has bothered much about stealing bases since Babe Ruth invented the home run.
Still, when you practically demand that they steal on you, you can get hurt, even in this day and age. And, of course, after what the White Sox did the other day the word is going to get around the league and the first thing you know guys like Gus Zernial and Joe Tipton are going to run wild on you and then you'll be in trouble.
What I was going to say about Sam Jones, he pitched while Ty Cobb and Clyde Milan and Eddie Collins and Fritz Maisel and a lot of other larcenous characters were stealing everything but the water bucket, and on him they didn't steal. A base here and there, yes, but not what you'd call stealing as it was understood in those days.
What was more, in 22 years in the league he probably didn't make 22 pickoff throws to first base. Sam always figured he had just many throws in his arm, and every one he made to first was one less he'd be able to make to the batters.
What he did when there was a man on, he looked at him. He'd take his stretch and come to pitching position, and then he'd look at the runner out of the corner of his eye.
The guy would keep edging off further and further, and Sam would keep looking. He had the advantage of knowing when he, Samuel Pond Jones, was going to deliver the pitch. The runner didn't have that knowledge, and so, when he had increased his lead to the point where it was dangerous, what with the fella watching his every move, he had to retreat toward the bag. And that was when Sam pitched.
When a runner is moving toward first, or leaning toward first, he isn't going to steal second, and it doesn't matter whether his name is Jim Rivera, Orestes Minoso or Joe Schloe. He can't run when his heels are in front, and that's where Sam Jones' looking put 'em.
I thought you might want to know because you'd have had a fairly comfortable ball game the other day if the White Sox had had to depend on their bats to beat you. They're a bunch of one-base hitters, and it takes two of their hits to score a man from first. But when he steals second practically automatically, as he did that afternoon, it takes only one.
You're a good pitcher, Mike, but you're not good enough to spot a club like the White Sox that advantage. So you just name the date and we'll go down and talk to Sad Sam.
GC
-Baseball Digest, August 1954
Monday, March 9, 2020
1954 Yankee of the Past: Muddy Ruel
THEY WEREN'T PLEASED TO MITT HIM!
"For his 20 seasons in the major leagues (1915-1934), Muddy Ruel, the Detroit general manager, worked behind the plate so regularly that it was surprising to find him listed as 'C-1B' in an old record book.
Ruel confirmed the double identity. In 1925, while helping Washington win the pennant, he was picked to replace Joe Judge, a left-handed first baseman.
'It happened in Boston,' Ruel recalled. 'After Judge was hurt, we found we had no first baseman's mitt except the one that belonged to him.
'I asked the Red Sox to lend me one that a right-hander could use. They laughed at me. I can still hear a voice back in the dugout: 'Let the so-and-so see what he can do with his bare hands.'
'The result was I played first base with my catcher's mitt. Fortunately, it was only for a couple of days.' "
-Sam Greene in the Detroit News (Baseball Digest, August 1954)
"For his 20 seasons in the major leagues (1915-1934), Muddy Ruel, the Detroit general manager, worked behind the plate so regularly that it was surprising to find him listed as 'C-1B' in an old record book.
Ruel confirmed the double identity. In 1925, while helping Washington win the pennant, he was picked to replace Joe Judge, a left-handed first baseman.
'It happened in Boston,' Ruel recalled. 'After Judge was hurt, we found we had no first baseman's mitt except the one that belonged to him.
'I asked the Red Sox to lend me one that a right-hander could use. They laughed at me. I can still hear a voice back in the dugout: 'Let the so-and-so see what he can do with his bare hands.'
'The result was I played first base with my catcher's mitt. Fortunately, it was only for a couple of days.' "
-Sam Greene in the Detroit News (Baseball Digest, August 1954)
Friday, March 6, 2020
1954 Yankee of the Past: Bucky Harris
BIRTH OF A MANAGER
"Bucky Harris was ticketed to be manager of the Washington Senators by Clark Griffith as far back as 1923, when he was only a rookie infielder who played pro basketball in the winter. Griff knew his boy was playing and asked him to refrain, whereupon Bucky said he would do so. And then one night Griff attended a party in Washington and he saw Bucky with a black eye and he knew that Harris was basketballing in the tough coal mine regions of Pennsylvania.
'You and Mike Martin will leave for Tampa,' Griffith informed his young second baseman. 'It is necessary to get you away from basketball. Besides, Mike might need the rest.' Martin, now dead, was the long-time trainer of the Senators. Mike and Bucky went to Florida, far ahead the rest of the Washington club, and then one night the telephone rang.
Mike answered it and the call was long distance from Washington and it was a person-to-person call to Stanley Harris. The caller was Clark Griffith.
'I will never forget that call,' Bucky says. 'Griff began the conversation by asking me if I were behaving myself.'
'I am,' Bucky said, 'because I am rooming with Mike Martin and they do not play professional basketball in this area. I no longer have a black eye and, in fact, I am waiting for the opening of the season.'
Then there was a crackle on the phone. 'How would like to be manager of the ball club?' Griff asked.
Harris, in Tampa, was dumbfounded. 'You are joking, Mr. Griffith,' he said, and he looked at Martin as if for support.
Mike nodded wisely and said: 'I have been waiting for this phone call. You have been the new manager all the time, only you didn't know it. Say yes to Mr. Griffith ... you'll take the job ... and leave us get some sleep.' "
-Francis Stann in the Washington Times-Star (Baseball Digest, January 1954)
"Bucky Harris was ticketed to be manager of the Washington Senators by Clark Griffith as far back as 1923, when he was only a rookie infielder who played pro basketball in the winter. Griff knew his boy was playing and asked him to refrain, whereupon Bucky said he would do so. And then one night Griff attended a party in Washington and he saw Bucky with a black eye and he knew that Harris was basketballing in the tough coal mine regions of Pennsylvania.
'You and Mike Martin will leave for Tampa,' Griffith informed his young second baseman. 'It is necessary to get you away from basketball. Besides, Mike might need the rest.' Martin, now dead, was the long-time trainer of the Senators. Mike and Bucky went to Florida, far ahead the rest of the Washington club, and then one night the telephone rang.
Mike answered it and the call was long distance from Washington and it was a person-to-person call to Stanley Harris. The caller was Clark Griffith.
'I will never forget that call,' Bucky says. 'Griff began the conversation by asking me if I were behaving myself.'
'I am,' Bucky said, 'because I am rooming with Mike Martin and they do not play professional basketball in this area. I no longer have a black eye and, in fact, I am waiting for the opening of the season.'
Then there was a crackle on the phone. 'How would like to be manager of the ball club?' Griff asked.
Harris, in Tampa, was dumbfounded. 'You are joking, Mr. Griffith,' he said, and he looked at Martin as if for support.
Mike nodded wisely and said: 'I have been waiting for this phone call. You have been the new manager all the time, only you didn't know it. Say yes to Mr. Griffith ... you'll take the job ... and leave us get some sleep.' "
-Francis Stann in the Washington Times-Star (Baseball Digest, January 1954)
Thursday, March 5, 2020
1954 Yankee of the Past: Joe McCarthy
EXPERIENCE IN MINORS NOT NEEDED BY PILOT
Nine-Champ Joe McCarthy Observes
"Marse Joe McCarthy, only winner of pennants in both leagues and a summa cum laude of the minor league managerial ranks, believes such preparatory experience is unnecessary.
'I'll be the first to admit that I learned a lot about managing during eight years in the minors,' the former bench boss of the Chicago Cubs, New York Yankees and Boston Red Sox began. 'But I still don't think that you have to have previous managerial experience to be successful as a big league manager.'
The 67-year-old Irishman took a puff on his ever-present cigar before continuing one of the few interviews he has permitted since retiring from baseball four years ago.
'I think you'll find that least half of the managers in both the National and American Leagues started managing right in the big time,'* he stated. 'Some slipped down to the minors for a while but made the grade a second time.'
McCarthy, moving forward in the wicker chair he was seated in, proffered the thumb of his right hand.
'You see that thumb print?' he asked. 'Everyone's is different- and so are baseball managers. No two are absolutely alike. There is no definite mold from which to make managers.
'That's why I say that minor league managerial experience is not a necessity- in most cases. Some men are working toward the day they'll become managers from the moment they enter professional baseball. They study game strategy, player styles, the strong and weak points of every player they come in contact with. When their playing days are near, or at, an end, they're ready to try their hand at managing.'
McCarthy thinks this is particularly true of players who have spent several years with one team or at least were in that club's organization.
'Fred Hutchinson at Detroit and Eddie Joost at Philadelphia are a couple of fellows managing today who fill those qualifications, I think,' he continued.
The man whose major league clubs won nine pennants, seven World Series, and was picked as 'Manager of the Year' three times, also places no premium on age.
'Age is also something that is relative,' he explained. 'Baseball has had its 'Boy Wonder' managers ... Bucky Harris ... Joe Cronin ... and Lou Boudreau. All were successful despite their youth- and all of them were without minor league managerial experience, too.
'On the other hand, Casey Stengel has achieved his finest results in what you might call the 'late stages' of his baseball life.'
While the record places him in the category of baseball's greatest managers, McCarthy leaves no doubt as to whom he thinks the accolade belongs.
'John McGraw was outstanding in his many years as manager of the New York Giants, and Stengel is proving himself the finest manager in the game today but none can compare with Mister (Connie) Mack.
'During the years I lived in the suburbs of Philadelphia, I often spent winter evenings listening to and being counseled by Mister Mack. He knew baseball and human nature as no other man in the game ever did. I learned much from him that aided me in handling my players during the series of successful seasons we had with the Yankees.'
McCarthy grinned when asked what he considered the 'toughest part of being a manager.'
'Everything is tough about being a manager,' he answered, the grin slowly fading. 'But the thing I found hardest to do was to tell a young player that he was being farmed out for more experience. Often the player hadn't received much of a chance to display his ability because a regular had the job all sewed up. Yeah, a manager's life is a tough one ... but I enjoyed every minute of mine.' "
*Eight out of the 16: Mgrs. Boudreau, Durocher, Dykes, Grimm, Harris, Hutchinson, Joost and Stanky.
-Jack Horigan (Baseball Digest, August 1954)
WHAT YOU LEARNED FROM MCCARTHY
A Post-Graduate Course: Waner
"This was dinner conversation with Paul Waner a while back. The wiry little Hall of Famer, now an itinerant professor of batting science in the chain of the Milwaukee Braves, talked about the few months he spent with the Yankees at the tail-end of his playing career.
'I must believe,' said Waner, 'that I learned more about baseball from Joe McCarthy than I learned all that time in the National League. Maybe it was because I didn't play much and had a chance to sit around and watch.
'I made a point of sitting as close to McCarthy as I could get. At first, I did this to make sure he knew I was around. Later I wouldn't have missed it for the world- I got such a belt out of watching him operate.'
One day, according to Waner, Floyd Bevens was sent in to pitch to Rudy York. As Bevens passed the bench, McCarthy called him over. 'I want you to do just one thing,' said Joe. 'Throw three fast balls as hard as you can over the middle and belt high.'
'Imagine grooving three fast balls for York,' said Waner, 'but here's what happened. Rudy hit the first one hard, but pulled it foul. He half swung at the second and fouled it off. His bat never moved for the third and he was called out.'
The first pitch was the gamble, according to McCarthy. After that, York looked for the curve.
Another time the Red Sox had the bases filled and the hitter was Indian Bob Johnson. When the count reached three-and-two, McCarthy poked Waner with his elbow.
'It hurt, too,' said Waner. 'I haven't got much meat on my ribs. McCarthy said it pained him to see Johnson up there licking his chops and planning to waylay a fast ball. Sure enough, it was a fast ball he hit against the fence and three runs scored.'
In the clubhouse, the manager asked Bob Garbark why he had called for a fast ball. 'Gee, Joe,' said the catcher, 'I'd had him throw two curves and both missed the plate by a foot.'
'You were right, of course,' McCarthy told Garbark. 'It's not your fault he isn't a major league pitcher.'
Before a game one day, McCarthy asked Waner, 'Do you know where to find good ball players?'
'Huh,' said Waner.
'On the bench,' said McCarthy, nodding toward the line of players who sat there watching the other team's fielding practice. 'Not out there,' and Joe waved toward the players who were outside the dugout, doing various things but mostly looking up into the stands.
'I counted noses,' said Waner, 'and, do you know, McCarthy was speaking God's truth. Every man who sat on the bench was a pro. And every one of those guys out there where the girls could get a good look wasn't worth the carfare to send him home.'
This recalled another McCarthy story. Years ago at the Stadium, there was a big moment on the field and the Yankees on the bench leaned forward in tense expectation. All except Charlie Devens, just signed for a big bonus out of college. With his arms and legs outstretched, Devens viewed the proceedings with the serene detachment of a Harvard graduate.
'Straighten up, Devens,' suddenly barked McCarthy. 'Where the hell do you think you are- sitting in a canoe?' "
-Tommy Holmes, condensed from the Brooklyn Eagle (Baseball Digest, October 1954)
Nine-Champ Joe McCarthy Observes
"Marse Joe McCarthy, only winner of pennants in both leagues and a summa cum laude of the minor league managerial ranks, believes such preparatory experience is unnecessary.
'I'll be the first to admit that I learned a lot about managing during eight years in the minors,' the former bench boss of the Chicago Cubs, New York Yankees and Boston Red Sox began. 'But I still don't think that you have to have previous managerial experience to be successful as a big league manager.'
The 67-year-old Irishman took a puff on his ever-present cigar before continuing one of the few interviews he has permitted since retiring from baseball four years ago.
'I think you'll find that least half of the managers in both the National and American Leagues started managing right in the big time,'* he stated. 'Some slipped down to the minors for a while but made the grade a second time.'
McCarthy, moving forward in the wicker chair he was seated in, proffered the thumb of his right hand.
'You see that thumb print?' he asked. 'Everyone's is different- and so are baseball managers. No two are absolutely alike. There is no definite mold from which to make managers.
'That's why I say that minor league managerial experience is not a necessity- in most cases. Some men are working toward the day they'll become managers from the moment they enter professional baseball. They study game strategy, player styles, the strong and weak points of every player they come in contact with. When their playing days are near, or at, an end, they're ready to try their hand at managing.'
McCarthy thinks this is particularly true of players who have spent several years with one team or at least were in that club's organization.
'Fred Hutchinson at Detroit and Eddie Joost at Philadelphia are a couple of fellows managing today who fill those qualifications, I think,' he continued.
The man whose major league clubs won nine pennants, seven World Series, and was picked as 'Manager of the Year' three times, also places no premium on age.
'Age is also something that is relative,' he explained. 'Baseball has had its 'Boy Wonder' managers ... Bucky Harris ... Joe Cronin ... and Lou Boudreau. All were successful despite their youth- and all of them were without minor league managerial experience, too.
'On the other hand, Casey Stengel has achieved his finest results in what you might call the 'late stages' of his baseball life.'
While the record places him in the category of baseball's greatest managers, McCarthy leaves no doubt as to whom he thinks the accolade belongs.
'John McGraw was outstanding in his many years as manager of the New York Giants, and Stengel is proving himself the finest manager in the game today but none can compare with Mister (Connie) Mack.
'During the years I lived in the suburbs of Philadelphia, I often spent winter evenings listening to and being counseled by Mister Mack. He knew baseball and human nature as no other man in the game ever did. I learned much from him that aided me in handling my players during the series of successful seasons we had with the Yankees.'
McCarthy grinned when asked what he considered the 'toughest part of being a manager.'
'Everything is tough about being a manager,' he answered, the grin slowly fading. 'But the thing I found hardest to do was to tell a young player that he was being farmed out for more experience. Often the player hadn't received much of a chance to display his ability because a regular had the job all sewed up. Yeah, a manager's life is a tough one ... but I enjoyed every minute of mine.' "
*Eight out of the 16: Mgrs. Boudreau, Durocher, Dykes, Grimm, Harris, Hutchinson, Joost and Stanky.
-Jack Horigan (Baseball Digest, August 1954)
WHAT YOU LEARNED FROM MCCARTHY
A Post-Graduate Course: Waner
"This was dinner conversation with Paul Waner a while back. The wiry little Hall of Famer, now an itinerant professor of batting science in the chain of the Milwaukee Braves, talked about the few months he spent with the Yankees at the tail-end of his playing career.
'I must believe,' said Waner, 'that I learned more about baseball from Joe McCarthy than I learned all that time in the National League. Maybe it was because I didn't play much and had a chance to sit around and watch.
'I made a point of sitting as close to McCarthy as I could get. At first, I did this to make sure he knew I was around. Later I wouldn't have missed it for the world- I got such a belt out of watching him operate.'
One day, according to Waner, Floyd Bevens was sent in to pitch to Rudy York. As Bevens passed the bench, McCarthy called him over. 'I want you to do just one thing,' said Joe. 'Throw three fast balls as hard as you can over the middle and belt high.'
'Imagine grooving three fast balls for York,' said Waner, 'but here's what happened. Rudy hit the first one hard, but pulled it foul. He half swung at the second and fouled it off. His bat never moved for the third and he was called out.'
The first pitch was the gamble, according to McCarthy. After that, York looked for the curve.
Another time the Red Sox had the bases filled and the hitter was Indian Bob Johnson. When the count reached three-and-two, McCarthy poked Waner with his elbow.
'It hurt, too,' said Waner. 'I haven't got much meat on my ribs. McCarthy said it pained him to see Johnson up there licking his chops and planning to waylay a fast ball. Sure enough, it was a fast ball he hit against the fence and three runs scored.'
In the clubhouse, the manager asked Bob Garbark why he had called for a fast ball. 'Gee, Joe,' said the catcher, 'I'd had him throw two curves and both missed the plate by a foot.'
'You were right, of course,' McCarthy told Garbark. 'It's not your fault he isn't a major league pitcher.'
Before a game one day, McCarthy asked Waner, 'Do you know where to find good ball players?'
'Huh,' said Waner.
'On the bench,' said McCarthy, nodding toward the line of players who sat there watching the other team's fielding practice. 'Not out there,' and Joe waved toward the players who were outside the dugout, doing various things but mostly looking up into the stands.
'I counted noses,' said Waner, 'and, do you know, McCarthy was speaking God's truth. Every man who sat on the bench was a pro. And every one of those guys out there where the girls could get a good look wasn't worth the carfare to send him home.'
This recalled another McCarthy story. Years ago at the Stadium, there was a big moment on the field and the Yankees on the bench leaned forward in tense expectation. All except Charlie Devens, just signed for a big bonus out of college. With his arms and legs outstretched, Devens viewed the proceedings with the serene detachment of a Harvard graduate.
'Straighten up, Devens,' suddenly barked McCarthy. 'Where the hell do you think you are- sitting in a canoe?' "
-Tommy Holmes, condensed from the Brooklyn Eagle (Baseball Digest, October 1954)
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