1956 Yankee Prospect of the Past: Dale Long

"Dale tried out as a left-handed catcher- it didn't work. He went to the minors and had three good seasons. With Pittsburgh in 1955, he tied for the most triples (13) in the National League."

-1956 Topps No. 56

THE LONG WAY HOME

Pirates' Record-Setter Finally Rewarded For 12 Years' Struggling

"You probably recall the old gag about the taxi driver's theme song being 'The Longest Way 'Round Is the Shortest Way Home.'

Well, for one fabulous stretch this season, the longest way 'round- the Dale Long-est way, that is- WAS the shortest way home.

The way to home runs. SHORT- and sweet. For in a run of eight consecutive games, the Pirates' big (six-four, 212), likeable lefty from the Northern Berkshires did what no other of the 9,000 big league players before him ever did- knocked a homer a game in each of the eight straight games.

Sure, there have been other tremendous displays of home run power compressed into small packages of time. An earlier Pittsburgh Pirates home run hero, Ralph Kiner, once (1947) sent eight big homers resounding in four consecutive games. Tony Lazzeri (1936) and Gus Zernial (1951) hit seven in four games. Babe Ruth, Vic Wertz and Jim Bottomley hit seven homers in five games. Only two years ago Stan Musial hit five in a double-header. But for sustained consistency, never before was there anything like Long's surge.

It extended over a period of ten days and was accomplished against eight different pitchers of five different teams and in Philadelphia as well as Pittsburgh. It started at Pittsburgh when Long sent one of Jim Davis' knucklers roaring high into the second deck of the right field stands in the eighth inning to help beat the Cubs, 7-4.

The next day, in a double-header with Milwaukee, Long hit another into the same upper stands off Ray Crone in the first game, and in the opening inning of the second game repeated off Spahn, again to the same deck. After an open date, the Cardinals showed up at Forbes Field. Once again the upper right field stands were dented, with Herman Wehmeier the victim.

The fifth homer in the skein was a low liner that said goodbye to Forbes Field just above the 436-foot sign on the right-center field wall. The Cards' Lindy McDaniel thus had the dubious distinction of throwing what was said to be the first home run ever hit over that distant spot in the nearly half a century of the park's existence.

Two nights later the scene transferred to Philadelphia's Connie Mack Stadium. Curt Simmons was the pitcher. The score was 3-2 against Pittsburgh when Simmons walked Frank Thomas. Though it was obvious he was fooled by the pitch- Long said later that he was looking for a fast ball when Simmons crossed him with a curve- Long hit the ball one-handed as he fell away from the plate and the surprising result was a homer- number six- over the 350-foot right field fence.

Next day Long broke the major league record for hitting homers in consecutive games with his number seven, also at Philadelphia. In the very first inning he knocked at the door of the record with a drive that came within a half foot of clearing the right field wall, rebounding for a double. After two more futile tries, he connected off Ben Flowers in the eighth frame, with the right field wall the departure point.

Fate took a hand in raining out the last game at Philadelphia, returning the Pirates to Pittsburgh to give the home fans- 32,000 of them were there and will be talking about if for years to come- a chance to see number eight. It came in the fourth inning off Brooklyn's Carl Erskine and tied the score.

The deserved ovation accorded Long was what many veteran observers believe to be the greatest ever given a player in the history of the game. The deafening cacophony of fans' huzzahing him until they were hoarse,  hand-clapping until their palms stung, didn't let up until Long emerged from the dugout and took a 'curtain call.'

That night, for 34 games, the big first baseman was hitting a stratospheric .414, with a total of 14 homers and 39 runs batted in.

Though stopped by the Dodgers' Don Newcombe the next day, he went on to 17 homers before pulling an ill-fated handicap. A pulled leg muscle, compounded by a badly bruised right shin, crippled him and while he gamely continued to play, his hitting was obviously affected.

Though it took him a little more than a week to capture the nation's headlines and the fans' imagination, it was, literally, a long way around for Dale. At 30 (he was born Feb.6, 1926, at Springfield, Mo.), he endured the despair of perennial frustration almost since he first started in pro ball with Milwaukee in 1944.

His itinerary in baseball sounds like something a beserk train caller would call out. Milwaukee, Middleton, Lima, Columbia, Ogden, Providence, Muncie, Oneonta, Lynn, Williamsport, Binghamton, Pittsburgh (for ten games in 1951), the St. Louis Browns (for 34 games in 1951), San Francisco, New Orleans and Hollywood before finally, at long last, becoming the Pirates' regular first baseman (.291 and 16 homers in 131 games) in 1955. That's at a total of 16 teams in 13 years.

But that's only part of the story. They tried him in the outfield, on the mound (one victory at Lima in 1945, a defeat for Ogden in 1946), at first- and Branch Rickey, in one of his wilder moments, even envisioned him as that rara avis, a left-handed catcher.

What sort of fellow is this Long? Well, let's look around the Northern Berkshires, where he is proudly claimed by three communities, North Adams, Mass., where he now makes his home with his attractive wife, Dorothy Robak Long, his high school sweetheart, and their two children, Dale, Jr., eight, and Johnny, one; Adams, where he gained his first athletic fame as an outstanding high school athlete climaxed by being named All-New England center in basketball in the 1944-45 season, and finally, Cheshire, where he spent his boyhood.

Determination, so often expressed by the slugging first baseman in the winter months where he worked first for a department store as a truck driver and then in the public relations department of the Sprague Electric Company, the world's largest manufacturer of electronics and North Adams' biggest industry, was foremost in his mind when he reported for spring training this year.

And through all his latest success, the TV and radio appearances, the unprecedented ovations at the Pittsburgh ball park, the interviews by top sports writers, Dale has remained the hometown guy everybody likes.

He is still the same chap who during the winter, at the end of the day's work, would dally over a cup of coffee at Liggett's drug store or Nassif's drug store and bat the breeze with the fellows.

The same fellow who, when he returned home at the end of the 1955 season would walk to the high school football practice field and show the kids how to boot the ball high and far down the field and who never tired of trying to help some youngster get more distance in his punts.

A typical example of Dale as a thoughtful neighbor is seen in the case of Mrs. Andrew Flagg, his next door neighbor on Blackinton Street before the Longs moved to their pleasant, modest dwelling on Corinth Street.

Mrs. Flagg met with a serious injury this past winter and for a long time was unable to walk and was alone during the daytime hours while her husband was at his teaching duties. Every morning, before going to work, Dale would go to the Flagg home next door and carry Mrs. Flagg to the Long home where she would spend the day visiting with Mrs. Long and the children.

Dale's wife did not see her husband break the homer record. Little Dale was making his first communion in St. Francis Church the day after Dale broke the record by hitting home run number seven.

Did Dorothy listen to the radio that night when Dale hit number seven? No, she was too busy getting Little Dale ready for his big event and putting Johnny to bed. She did not know about it until Bucky Bullett, North Adams sportscaster and a close family friend, called her.

'We have had our ups and downs,' Dorothy told this writer, who has known her since she was a little girl in Adams.

'But through it all,' she went on, 'Dale has never whimpered, never complained, never blamed any one person for the tough breaks he got, but always saying, 'Our day will come; don't worry, honey, we'll get there yet.'

'Naturally, I am thrilled and happy, not so much because Dale has broken the home run mark, but for Dale himself and the fact that he is finally being recognized for all that he is,' she asserted.

'The biggest thrill of all,' Dorothy declared, 'was the night in Pittsburgh when Dale was called from the dugout by the fans for that great big ovation. And when I look back on the days of the boos and the jeers, instead of the cheers, I am so thrilled I can hardly think. Yes, he has been booed, not cheered. And believe me, it is hard, real hard, to sit in the stands and hear your husband get the catcalls when you know deep in your heart that he is giving everything he has.

'The darkest days in Dale's baseball life,' Mrs. Long said, 'came when he was with Hollywood and couldn't get out of a slump. He knew that he had to make good or go back to a lower league. He wasn't hitting, wasn't eating and was just plain discouraged. I suggested that he have a talk with Bobby Bragan, who was manager of Hollywood at the time. Dale did and started off by saying, 'What's going to happen to me, Bobby?' 'What do you mean, Dale?' Bobby replied. 'You're staying with Hollywood. Now go out and hit a few.'

'His confidence restored, his mind resting better, Dale did go out and hit a few. It changed his whole career. I believe that was the turning point. Do you wonder why Dale has such confidence in and such respect for Bragan, now his manager with the Pirates?'

Long was voted the Most Valuable Player in the Pacific Coast League that year.

A little know trait concerning Long and which really brings out 'the boy in him' is the desire to be on hand when news stories are breaking, especially accidents and fires, and he has a standing order with Randy Trabold, staff photographer for the North Adams Transcript, to 'call me when you're going out to take a picture, no matter what the hour.' "

-Tommy McShane (Baseball Digest, August 1956)

1956 Yankee Prospect of the Past: Dave Jolly

JOLLY GOOD RELIEVER

Braves' Bullpen Ace Recaptures 1954 Form

Back in the Fall of 1952, the Braves picked up a relief pitcher named Dave Jolly in the annual draft. This hardly was cause for excitement and for a couple of reasons. For one, the draft was a dubious medium at best, and for another, Jolly was strictly an unknown.

'Who's Jolly?' was the first question directed at Braves' management after the selection was announced. And 'Who's Jolly?' was the stock question in the pressbox every time the newcomer took the mound in the ensuing season.

Well, they don't ask 'Who's Jolly?' any more. The unknown draftee of 1952 has become one of baseball's outstanding relief pitchers, a man who conceivably could mean a pennant for the baseball burghers of Milwaukee.

This is not to say, of course, that Jolly is likely to bring Milwaukee a pennant singlehandedly. It is not even to say that he will lead the Braves home in front. But relief pitchers being as valuable as they are these days, with the complete game almost a thing of the past, it is safe to say that the Braves won't make it without him.

Who is this relief pitcher extraordinary? He is a solemn looking, slimly built right-hander who admits that his next birthday (Oct. 14) will be his 32nd. He is a native of Stony Point, N.C., with an easy going disposition and a pleasant 'backwoods' type of drawl. And he is a guy who talks so seldom and at such short length that his teammates have come to call him 'Gabby.'

'Ernie Johnson (a fellow pitcher) gave me that nickname in '53,' Jolly recalls, 'but I don't think I live up to it any more. Shucks, I talk a lot more than I did when I first came up.'

Despite Jolly's contention that he has developed into a veritable chatterbox, the 'Gabby' monicker has stuck. And if he does talk more these days, his loquacity hasn't become more evident to those around him.

The little Jolly does say, though, is worth remembering. He has a dry sort of humor which brings laughs with the minimum of effort. A particular forte of his is the art of composing puns.

Perhaps the best compliment one could pay to Jolly's sense of humor is that he didn't lose it during the 1955 season. Rarely has a pitcher had a more trying time, what with a sore arm and attendant inability to retire opposing batters; yet Jolly, outwardly at least, was as cheerful as ever.

'It just seemed that way, though,' Jolly explains. 'Actually, I was down on myself and my confidence was gone. My arm hurt every time I threw a ball. I was happy to see the season end.'

Jolly's ailment of last season is generally referred to as 'tennis elbow,' a strained tendon in the elbow, the currently popular ailment called tendonitis.

Tennis elbow, strained tendon, tendonitis- whatever you want to call it, the poor guy couldn't throw much harder than if his arm had been broken. And to make matters worse, he couldn't throw accurately, either. His base on balls total of 51 in just 58 innings illustrates that more graphically than words.

'I was just pushin' the ball up to the plate,' he recalls. 'Sometimes it didn't even get there without bouncin'. I was aimin' the ball, too, and when you do that your control is sure to suffer.

'There was only one time all year when I really threw a fast ball. That was in St. Louis, around the middle of May, I think. The rest of the time I couldn't have hurt anybody if I'd hit him in the head.'

While perhaps an extreme case, Jolly's major league career to date provides a good example of the ups and downs of a relief pitcher.

In 1953, apparently as little known to Manager Charlie Grimm as to others in the baseball world, he seldom got into a game. When he did, it usually was because the game already was hopelessly lost and Grimm wanted to reserve his more highly regarded pitchers for more important situations. The result was that he won no games at all and lost one- in only 38 innings.

Nobody thought much of Jolly when the 1954 campaign began, except perhaps to point out that, no longer being a newly drafted player, he could finally be sent to a farm club. But the silent Southerner was thrown into a tight spot one day, and did such an outstanding job that Grimm made a habit of throwing him into tight spots. He emerged as a relief pitching sensation, as proved by his 11-6 record and 2.43 earned run average.

Then came 1955 and the sudden attack of tennis elbow.

'It started bothering me in my first game in spring training,' Jolly says. 'After that I felt it every time I pitched.'

Instead of winning 11 games, Jolly won only two, while losing three. And instead of a 2.43 earned run average, he finished with the whopping figure of 5.74.

After that came a winter of rest, and when Jolly reported this spring his arm was as good as new.

'I was still a little leery for the first two weeks,' he says, 'but even the first time out I was throwin' harder than I did last year. I gradually got my confidence back, and I haven't felt a bit of pain this season.'

Although Jolly has pitched only for the Braves since reaching the majors, he has been in four big league organizations all told. He signed originally with the late lamented St. Louis Browns, then was drafted by the Cincinnati Redlegs' farm system and traded into the New York Yankees' chain. It was from the Yankee farm in Kansas City, then in the American Association, that the Braves drafted him.

Why did Jolly sign with the Browns? The answer is simple. As he puts it, 'Nobody else was interested in me. I didn't get a dime for signin', either. I was lucky to get a job.'

Neal Millard, then a scout for the Browns and now handling the same duties for the Redlegs, signed Jolly in 1946 after watching him pitch in semipro ball following his discharge from the Army.

Jolly's first stop on the professional baseball ladder was at Mooresville, N.C., in the Class D North Carolina State League. Also a member of that club, coincidentally, was Hoyt Wilhelm, now a relief ace for the New York Giants.

'We were both starters in those days,' Jolly recalls.'Who'd've of thought we'd both wind up in the bullpen.'

He was not complaining, though, and neither would Wilhelm. From their humble beginnings as $150 a month starters in Class D, Jolly and Wilhelm have blossomed into two of the best relief pitchers in the business.

Like any pitcher, Jolly likes to boast of his feats as a hitter.

'Hittin' is old stuff with me,' he relates. 'When I was with Mooresville I used to play first base and outfield when I wasn't pitchin'. I remember back in 1947 when I hit .375 and hit two home runs. I haven't hit a homer since, except in battin' practice.

'Of course, I didn't play first base very long- just one game, as a matter of fact. My first base career ended when I ruined a no-hitter for Wilhelm. Somebody hit a slow bounder to me, and it took a while to figure out what to do with it. The first thing I knew, the runner was past first and I still had the ball.

'You know, we had quite a club at Mooresville that year. One time we even had two men on third base at the same time and both of 'em scored.'

Asked how this unlikely event occurred, Jolly replied, 'Well, we tried a squeeze bunt with men on second and third. The batter missed the pitch and the man on third slid back to the bag. Wilhelm was the guy on second and he kept coming toward and slid in, too. Then the catcher threw the ball away and they both got home.

'Everything happened that year. I even broke my jaw. I was on second base, goin' toward third, and the ball was hit toward short. Well, we met, and for the next month I ate nothin' but soup and milk shakes.'

Jolly always had been a starter before George Selkirk, now managing the Braves' Wichita farm club, converted him to a relief specialist at Kansas City in 1952. He has started only once as a Brave, and in that game he held the Dodgers to one run in ten innings before being taken out for a pinch hitter with the score tied.

'Who cares whether you start or relieve?' Jolly says. 'Just so you get to play- and eat that big league food.'

Jolly claims the distinction of being one of the few pitchers who never turned in a no-hit game, not even in high school.

'The closest I ever came,' he recalls, 'when I was with Tulsa (Texas League). I pitched a two-hitter against Beaumont, I think.

'Wait a minute, I take that back. I had a no-hitter for eight and two-thirds innings of relief this year before Temple (Johnny Temple of the Redlegs) spoiled it.'

Jolly referred here to the fact that he had pitched hitless ball through his first five relief appearances and for part of his sixth before losing his 'no-hitter.'

'Funny thing, too,' he adds. 'I wasn't a bit nervous.'

Jolly chuckles at the common misconception that he used to be a knuckleball specialist.

'I don't know how that idea got started,' he says, 'but I kept readin' about bein' a knuckleballer when I was goin' good in '54. Sure, I used it once in a while, but the only reason I ever did was to show 'em another pitch.

'The fast ball and slider have always have been my best pitches- except last year, of course. I didn't have any good ones then.'

Asked to name the toughest hitters he has to face in the National League, Jolly replies, 'A lotta hitters give me trouble. I'd say Dark, Reese and Moon give me the most.'

Jolly spent two seasons at Mooresville, posting records of 5-3 in 1946 and 14-7 in 1947. It was then that the Redlegs drafted him for their Tulsa affiliate, for which he had a 3-5 mark in 1948 besides putting in enough time with Columbia (South Atlantic League) to win four and lose two. After that he was 12-7 at Tulsa, 5-11 at Syracuse (International League) and 9-13 at Tulsa before being traded to Kansas City. After he won six and lost one for the Blues in relief, the Braves took their profitable gamble on his services.

'One thing I oughta mention,' Jolly says, 'is the first game I pitched for Tulsa in '48. I beat Dallas, 31-1, and gave up four hits and got four myself. That was the biggest day I ever had at the plate.'

Another big event in Jolly's minor league days came on November 3, 1950, when he married pretty Doris Hunter of Stony Point. The Jollys have two sons now, one three and the other born April 21.

Does he want the kids to follow in their dad's footsteps as a ball player?

'I dunno,' he says. 'We'll see. Maybe they'd be better off going to work!' "

-Bob Wolf, Baseball Digest, July 1956

1956 Yankee of the Past: Bobo Newsom

THE SHOWBOAT THAT REFUSED TO SINK

Bobo Newsom Pitched - And Won - With Broken Jaw, Broken Leg

"Lewis Norman Newsom, the Great Showboat, moved majestically across the room on the eve of the All-Star Game and swiftly buttonholed his victim. Bobo's eyes were sad, his expression pained.

'Bobo wants to talk to you,' Bobo' he said, a sob in his voice. The words had a familiar ring because the massive Mr. Newsom always has had a quaint manner of speaking, addressing everyone as Bobo and using the third approach for himself. But the heavy Carolina drawl has flattened out since he retired after 20 years of top-flight pitching in the big leagues to become a Baltimore broadcaster. However, he's still as big a ham as ever and it was instantly evident that he was playing this role for tragedy.

'You once wrote that Bobo horsed around with a five-run lead against the Yankees,' said Bobo earnestly. 'I admit I was a showboat and hammed it up good but Bobo liked to win too much. You know that, Bobo, don't you?'

Sure do. The large Mr. Newsom may not have been quite as good as he thought he was but he certainly was a magnificent competitor. As the admiring boys in the trade used to say of him, 'He had the gall of a burglar.'

The prize example, of course, was in 1936 when he was pitching for the Senators against the Indians. Earl Averill, a vicious hitter, swung violently and the ball went back as if shot from a cannon. It struck Bobo on the knee. Bobo hobbled after the ball and threw out the runner. Oblivious to pain, the indomitable Newsom finished the game to score a 5-4 victory. Then he limped to the clubhouse.

'Mike,' Bobo drawled to the trainer, 'Bobo thinks his laig is broke.' It was, too. He was in a cast for five weeks.

On Opening Day in 1936 Bobo was matched against Lefty Gomez and the Yankees. At one point in the fray, the mercury-footed Ben Chapman dropped down a bunt. In swooped Ossie Bluege from third. He made a hasty throw. Bobo was merely standing there, admiring himself, when the bullet peg crashed with sickening force against his jaw.

Bobo staggered from the mound like a wounded water buffalo crazed with pain. He ran in circles. They tried to lead him to the bench. He refused.

'Whenever President Roosevelt comes to see Bobo pitch,' said Bobo with great dignity, 'Bobo ain't gonna disappoint him.'

This was in the third inning, mind you. Bobo won the game, 1-0. Oh, yes. His jaw was broken.

Oscar Judd once caromed a line drive off Bobo's forehead, the ball rolling all the way to center field. Bobo rolled with the punch but didn't go down.

'But Bobo didn't remember nuthin' for a few innings afterwards, though,' he later confessed.

He broke a finger in Detroit and the doctors said he'd be out for three weeks. The huge Mr. Newsom disagreed.

'When Bobo wants a fracture to heal,' he said, 'it's gonna heal in a hurry.' Eleven days later he was pitching. The Athletics beat him, 1-0, but they had to go 11 innings to do it.

There was one season when Bobo had won 18 games for the Tigers as the final double-header of the year approached. Bobo had been promised a bonus if he won 20. Late in the first game Del Baker, the Detroit manager, signaled the bullpen for help, and out strode Bobo, who was scheduled to pitch the second game. Baker gasped and protested.

'If Bobo ain't worried none,' imperiously announced Bobo, 'you shouldn't worry neither.' So he won the first game- and the second game, too.

It was in 1940 when Bobo won the opening game of the World Series and then was called home by the sudden death of his father. Bravely he returned in time for the fourth game. The story was a tear-jerker, Bobo winning for his father. He did, of course. But Paul Derringer of the Reds edged him in the seventh game, 2-1.

'Bobo shore woulda liked to win that one,' said Bobo afterward.

'For your father?' asked a reporter, scenting a story.

'No, for Bobo,' said Bobo.

Bobo once took Bob Considine to task for writing that he'd won 31 games one Pacific Coast League season. Bobo said that it was 33, although the record book insisted on 31.

'Who you gonna believe?' said Bobo with an air of finality.

The tale of Bobo showboating with a five-run against the Yankees had been supplied by Birdie Tebbets, who had caught him that day.

'I may have erred on the size of the lead,' admitted Birdie, 'but the story is essentially correct.' His eyes twinkled. 'Bobo just wants you to write about him again. He loves to see his name in the paper.' "

-Arthur Daley, New York Times (Baseball Digest, September 1956)