1952 Yankee of the Past: Johnny Lindell

LINDELL FINDS SELF 'BOXED' IN
Knuckler Helps Ease Enforced Mound Career
"Three years ago, when Johnny Lindell joined the Hollywood Stars, he did so as an outfielder looking forward to five or six years of steady and profitable whittling at Pacific Coast League pitching.
'In the twilight of my career,' he mused happily, 'it will be nice to hit against people whose names are not Feller, Newhouser, Trucks and Trout.'
Mr. Lindell, you may recall, became one of the New York Yankees back in 1941. He was a respectable, if not respected, pitcher in those days, with an arm still full of fastballs, curves, sliders, sinkers and other bric-a-brac of this uncertain trade. The Yankees, wanting to take advantage of his hitting ability, converted John into an outfielder where he served a number of years (brilliantly in the 1947 World Series) before a certain amount of athletic deterioration set in.
However, Fred Haney, the Hollywood Stars' manager, was a man long on memory and short on pitchers. Racking his brain, Mr. Haney remembered a certain Lindell pitching for the Yankees eight years before, and proceeded accordingly.
'Welcome to our pitching staff,' greeted Mr. Haney.
'I beg pardon.'
'You're the same Lindell who pitched for the Yankees, aren't you?' demanded Fred.
'I am also the same Lindell who played outfield for the Yankees,' said John. 'Now, if you'll just show me where right field is in this ball park, I will- '
'You will pitch, or you won't play.'
'Hmm,' replied Mr. Lindell thoughtfully. 'And if I don't play I don't get paid.'
'Inescapable,' said Mr. Haney.
Big John retired to the bullpen, where the press found him earnestly trying to resume his pitching career.
'You might say,' responded Mr. Lindell, to a question, 'that I am a pitcher with eight years rest.'
As things developed, Mr. Lindell was not wholly taken aback by Haney's request that he give up the wide open spaces of right field and concentrate on the pitcher's plate. For several years, while with the Yankees, John experimented on a sort of insurance policy against the day he might have to return to hurling for his bread and butter.
His insurance policy was the knuckle ball. He threw it on the sidelines, during warm-up periods, in the day when he played outfield for the Yankees. The knuckler is the hardest pitch in the catalog of deliveries to control, since it has a mind of its own, flitting along vagrantly on the air currents.
It is gripped, as a general thing, with the points of the first and second fingers pressed on the smooth surface of the ball. Mr. Lindell grips it with three fingers, holding the ball out and away from his palm. The ball is released with absolutely no controlling spin- wind resistance controls the break. The ball may dart sideways; it may jump; it may dart and then jump. At times it appears to hang in the air, making up its mind which way to go.
Ball players have nicknamed it 'the snake' and catchers curse the day it was invented.
This, then, is the pitch that stands between Mr. Lindell and driving a truck. A number of pitchers rely on the knuckle ball, but none so heavily as Mr. Lindell, who throws it 80 per cent of the time.
The thankless job of boxing this treacherous delivery falls to Mike Sandlock, the Hollywood catcher. On second thought, the job isn't thankless at all. Eddie Malone, Hollywood's other catcher, is extremely solicitous about Sandlock's health and is thankful that Mike can make it to the park, on days when Lindell is scheduled to pitch. Even when he is called upon to catch John in the comparative safety of the bullpen, Eddie puts on a mask, chest protector and shin guards before having anything to do with that knuckle ball.
'It's a fine feeling,' observed Mr. Lindell recently, 'to know that all I have to do is get this &*%$! over the plate and all is well.'
'What about your other pitches?'
'That garbage?' he snorted. 'I throw it to other pitchers, exclusively.' "

-Emmett Watson, condensed from the Seattle Post-Intelligencer (Baseball Digest, August 1952)

1952 Yankee of the Past: Duffy Lewis

DUFFY LEWIS, 1915 SERIES STAR, NOW STEALS SHOW AS "SEC"
"Wherever the Boston Braves are, a thin, bald man of sixty-four follows a busy daily program. He is Duffy Lewis, christened George E., and the club's road secretary. The only one who calls him George is Mel Webb, an octogenarian, dean of Boston's sports writers.
Once a star of the Boston Red Sox' memorable outfield of Speaker-Lewis-Hooper, Duffy, until a year ago, was the only former big leaguer who worked as a road secretary in the majors. The only other one is Dave Keefe, a hurler of more than three decades ago, now with his alma mater, the Philadelphia A's.
Ol' Duffy, a fugitive from the American League, joined the Braves in 1931 as a coach. He also doubled as road secretary until Bob Quinn, then head of the club and father of John, its present general manager, said: 'Duffy, you can't handle both jobs. You either coach or be road secretary.'
Duffy wisely chose the latter. He has been at it ever since.
'I figured that a job as a coach lasted until the manager either quit or was fired,' says Lewis. 'A new manager always brings in his own coaches. The Braves have had four or five new managers since I became traveling secretary.'
Lewis played in three World Series for the Red Sox in 1912-15-16.
'Most guys were satisfied to get into one World Series back in those days,' says Lewis. 'We had great teams, though.
'I particularly remember Joe Wood, who won thirty-four games and lost five in 1912 and got only $7,500. Wood used to say at our pre-game meetings, 'Fellows, get me two runs and that'll be enough for me.' You know, Joe won a lot of times, 1-0 and 2-1.
'Tris Speaker, one of the greatest center fielders of all time, was the highest paid man. He got $9,000. Harry Hooper and I drew $6,000 each. Later, when I played with the Yanks, I got $8,500, the biggest pay of my career.'
Lewis was with the Yanks in 1919-20.
From the time he left the Pacific Coast League back in 1909 to join the Red Sox, Duffy has had the reputation as one of baseball's fashion plates. In his first season with the Red Sox, he wore a velvet vest to training camp. The vest was trimmed with diamond buttons. He has had a fondness for sparklers ever since.
Popular with Red Sox fans, he had a section of his home park named for him, Duffy's cliff, a high area near the left field fence at Fenway Park, Boston.
'I think I'm the only player who ever pinch hit for Babe Ruth,' says Lewis. He is also believed to be the only person who was with the late Bambino when he belted his first big league home run (with the Red Sox, 1915) and his last one (with the Braves, 1935). Babe bowed out with three home runs in one game against Pittsburgh. Duffy was a coach for the Braves at the time.
'I remember the pinch hit for Ruth as though it happened just recently,' says Lewis. 'Babe was pitching that afternoon. I was out of the game with an injured ankle. Bill Carrigan, our manager, said, 'Duff, can you hit for Ruth? A hit'll win for us.' I singled home the winning run.'
A star in the 1915 World Series, Lewis did a stretch in a vaudeville act at $1,000 at week for more than a month on the West Coast.
'I got a lot of publicity out of that Series,' recalled Lewis. 'I made five hits in eight trips against Grover Alexander of the Phillies in two games. I hit .444 in the Series.'
After his big league days, Duffy managed in the Pacific Coast League and in the New England League. His Portland (Me.) used to stop at the finest hotel in Boston.
'I always believed in going first class,' says Duffy.
And he still does.
After Lewis bowed out of baseball, he was doing quite well in the brokerage business. Once he visited the Red Sox spring quarters at Pensacola, Fla. He had seventy-two, that's right, seventy-two suits in his wardrobe. Then came the stock market crash in 1929 and Duffy came back to baseball, as coach with the Braves."

-Sam Levy, condensed from the Milwaukee Journal (Baseball Digest, July 1952)

DUFFY'S PENNANT-WINNING PLAY
"Boston and Detroit were battling nip and tuck for the pennant in 1915. Late in the season, they met in a crucial series. In the first game Oscar Vitt was second with none out. Ty Cobb was at bat.
The situation called for a bunt. Cobb choked his bat with the apparent intention of dumping the ball. Larry Gardner, the Boston third baseman, moved in on the grass. Vitt was off with the pitch, but Cobb, instead of bunting, merely faked a bunt.
Forrest Cady, the  Boston catcher, whirled and started to throw to third. He suddenly realized that Gardner had not gone back to the bag and third base was uncovered but he could not stop the throw. The ball passed five feet over Gardner's head into left field and the third base coach waved Vitt home.
Vitt never reached the plate. Duffy Lewis, the left fielder, had moved far in when Cobb came to bat, to back up third base. He grabbed Cady's wild heave on the first hop and fired the ball back to Cady at the plate. Vitt was out by ten feet.
The play cost Detroit the pennant. The Tigers did not fully recover from the effects of it. They finished the season winning 100 games and Boston won 101. Detroit has the distinction of being the only American League club that ever won 100 games in a season and failed to finish first."

-H.G. Salsinger in the Detroit News (Baseball Digest, October 1952)

1952 Yankee Prospect of the Past: Tommy Holmes

QUICK AS A MINK
"This is the story of Tommy Holmes, his wife and a mink coat. When Holmes was given a chance to open a managerial career this past spring with Hartford, he promised his wife a mink coat when he reached the status of a major league pilot.
Two months after leaving the Braves to handle their Hartford team, Holmes was asked to come back and take over the parent Boston Braves. When Tommy phoned his wife to tell her the good news, she almost swooned. The first thing she thought of was the mink coat.
Holmes grinned when asked about it recently. 'That's right,' he said. 'I promised her the mink coat when I became a big league manager but I had no idea the move would come so quickly. She's having one made now and my, oh my, aren't those mink coats expensive?!' "

-Les Biederman in the Pittsburgh Press (Baseball Digest, January 1952)

KNOW WHERE YOU'RE HITTING
Hitting With Pitch Only For Few
"Tommy Holmes sat in the Boston dugout and devoted time, in between warnings to his Braves against popping baseballs into the faces of paying customers, to his favorite topic of conversation.
'These pepper games have some value,' he temporized as he watched his athletes in baseball's time-honored pastime of taking turns slapping sharp grounders at one another. 'But sooner or later some guy with a bat gets too energetic, and then somebody gets hurt. Look at them now- hitting right toward those people in the box seats. Hey!
'But talking about hitting,' the youngest manager in the major leagues got back on his trolley,' I was saying that the good batter always knows where he is going to hit the ball- or at least where's he's trying to hit it. That business of hitting the pitch where it is? Uh, uh.
'Maybe it's okay for the one man in fifty who knows he can hit twenty or thirty home runs a season. If you have that much power, go ahead and swing. Otherwise, you should have a plan when you are up at the plate, especially when there men on bases.'
But, Tommy, what about the pitch? Suppose you have a runner on first base and you want to hit to right field so that you can move him around to third? And the pitcher comes in with a ball inside to a right-handed hitter- how are you going to hit that to right?
The holder of the National League record for hitting in consecutive games (thirty-seven) gave one of his famous high-pitched laughs.
'That's the toughest thing to teach a kid,' he agreed. 'You have to take the pitch, unless, of course, you have the hit-and-run on- then you have to swing at anything. But you give the pitcher that much of the plate, maybe just about the width of the ball itself, on the inside. You see, that's the only ball that is really hard to hit to the cross field, a ball that is really on the inside. If it's more than a width of the ball out to the middle of the plate, then you can hit it anywhere you want.'
Young Mr. Holmes has been occupied with teaching the largest crop of rookies in the National League this detail. How were they taking it?
'I just tell them one thing,' he grinned. 'There are doggone few pitchers in this league, or the other, who can put the ball in exactly the same place every time. Maybe they'll get the ball right where you can't hit it the way you want- the first time. The second time, if the guy is human, it will slip a little.  That's the one to belt!'
This discussion started, probably, because of the constant stress on perfecting the hit-and-run that has been a part of the Brooklyn Dodgers' campaign this year. These operations have been under the specific direction of Billy Herman, the one-time Cub second baseman who is generally recognized as having been one of the fine right-field hitters of the game. Herman has been working on all of the Brooks to impart this knack, and every once in a while they show signs of it.
'I used to take two strikes, sometimes,' he admitted when tested on the Holmes theory. 'If the pitcher wasn't so fast that he could throw the ball by me, that is. If you had one of those really quick fellows out there, you just didn't dare take twice. But that's right, you just have to give the pitcher that one piece of the plate, and if he can thread the needle, he's ahead of you.'
Then he paused, and a grin came over his face.
'Of course, sometimes you get a real good hit-and-run man up there, and then it's not just hitting the ball to right field. Everything depends on the situation, who the pitcher is, whether you can guess who's going to cover the base when the runner starts to go- all those things. You used to figure when the shortstop was going to cover, and then when he'd already broken for the bag and left a hole behind him, you'd slap that ball through the spot he just left.
'That used to be fun- out-smarting 'em, and making it hurt, besides getting the runner to third, too.' A shrug of the Herman head, a shrug of the shoulders. 'Well, you don't see much of that anymore. It used to be that a kid coming up for a tryout in the majors couldn't do that sort of thing. Why they'd just send him right back down for another year in the minors until he learned. Nobody spent dough for instructors and special coaches to teach the kid stuff like that in the big leagues. You were supposed to know how when you got here!' "

-Bill Dougherty, condensed from the Newark News (Baseball Digest, July 1952)

"Tommy took over the managership of the Braves in the middle of the 1951 season and led them to a first division spot. On May 31, 1952, he was succeeded by Charlie Grimm. Tom is still in the Braves organization.
He played for the Braves from 1942 through 1950 and started '51 as manager at Hartford. In pro ball since 1937, Tommy was a consistent .300 hitter. As a Brave outfielder, he hit .309 in 1944, .352 in '45, .310 in '46, .309 in '47, .325 in '48 and .298 in '50."

-1952 Topps No. 289

1952 Yankee of the Past: Dazzy Vance

AD-VANCED AGE ITEM
"Last September, on the day before he died suddenly in Memphis, Hank DeBerry was talking about age and ball players.
'You can't tell me that a lot of minor league seasoning isn't good for a player, or that a ball player has to quit when he's thirty-five,' Hank said. 'If Dazzy Vance could get a real start when he was thirty- and I think he was actually thirty-three- why should a youngster ever give up?
'One day in Brooklyn, Casey Stengel sent Daz in to relieve after he had shagged fungoes and run all over the outfield. He was forty-two at the time, but he held the other club until late in the game. And Stengel, when he took him out, said, 'That's the trouble with you guys. You don't keep in shape.' "

-Dave Bloom in the Memphis Commercial Appeal (Baseball Digest, April 1952)

1952 Yankee of the Past: George Uhle

FASTEST FOR ONE PITCH: UHLE
It Even Handcuffed Babe Ruth!
"Who was the owner of the fastest pitched ball in baseball history? Amos Rusie, of the old-time New York Giants, was a mighty man when it came to whistling the ball plateward. The same can be said of Cy Young, in the way back days at the turn of the century when he was with Cleveland, St. Louis, Boston and Cleveland a second time.
Walter Johnson, great pitcher of the Washington Senators, generally regarded as Mr. Speed as a result of utilizing nothing but fast offerings to baffle Ty Cobb, Larry Lajoie and other star hitters of the day, unquestionably threw more fast balls day in and day out than any hurler in history.
Then there's Cleveland's Bob Feller, whose offerings were not even distantly related to what are termed 'butterfly' pitches. The Indians' veteran slab luminary had plenty of swift on the ball until the last several seasons.
Fred Marberry, in the relief role for the Washington Senators, could wheel that apple at the batter. Smoky Joe Wood, pitching for the Boston Red Sox, had plenty of oomph behind every pitch. Virgil Trucks of the Detroit Tigers has plenty of fast and don't let anybody tell you differently. Dizzy Dean of the St. Louis Cardinals belonged in the category of swift pitchers. So did Addie Joss, elongated right-hander with the old Cleveland Naps.
One could probably name a dozen others who would rate in the same category as those mentioned, but one name that was brought to mind by none other than Steve O'Neill, who caught for the old Naps and Indians, from 1911 through 1923, came as rather as a surprise to me.
We were doing a lot of gassing about fastball pitchers when the genial Steve came to bat with his package. We had been talking about how Babe Ruth once remarked the 'hardest pitching nut I had to crack' was a guy named George Uhle. While Big George didn't exactly own the Babe, still one had to consider him in the light of having a mortgage on the home run slugger de luxe.
I remarked George had just about as good a curve ball as I had ever seen and he certainly had the Bambino on the alert every time he faced him. Ruth never knew what to expect from Uhle and, according to O'Neill, the thing that got Babe was when George would let fly with a tremendously fast ball when he had two strikes on the Yankee star.
'Ed,' Steve remarked, 'you know I have caught a lot of pitchers and sort of godfathered Feller when he broke in, and with all due respect to Bob, Johnson, and all the other speedball artists, I don't believe any man ever lived who could throw a ball one iota faster than Uhle could that one certain pitch. It came at you like a shot from a cannon. Noted for his curve ball work, George interspersed fast balls ever and anon, but only on certain occasions did he uncork just about the fastest pitch I ever handled or saw.'
Not only Ruth, but the late Harry Heilmann, one of the truly great right-handed clubbers in baseball history; Lou Gehrig, a remarkable man at the plate in long distance hitting and driving in runs; and Eddie Collins, one of the truly great stars of the game at bat and in the field, were all agreed Uhle's particular fast ball had them baffled. Strangely enough, this stellar quartet of hitters, one right-hander and three off-side sluggers, are no longer of this earth.
O'Neill then gave an example of the superiority of Uhle in utilizing that special pitch. A bunch of outstanding major leaguers played a series of five games against an all-star Negro aggregation in Chicago some years back. The majors lost three games. Earl Whitehill won over the Negro stars, 2-0, and Uhle registered a 1-0 win when he brought his special fast ball into use. There were two out in the ninth with men on second and third when a giant Negro slugger named Suggles, who could hit the ball a country mile, came to bat.
Uhle got two hook strikes on him and Suggles, evidently expecting a third similar offering, set himself and was dazed when something shot past him at tremendous speed and the umpire yelled 'Strike three, you're out.' Steve said to him, 'Were you expecting another curve?' to which Suggles replied, 'I know one thing, mister, I sure didn't get what I was expecting. How fast can that man throw a ball?'
O'Neill paid Uhle the tribute of saying he was a great student of the game and particularly of the great batters. In the case of Gehrig, he knew that Lou would drive a sidearm pitch to left field. A three-quarter pitch would be pulled to right field. However, Uhle settled on the plan to dish up straight overarm pitches to Gehrig and, although Lou connected solidly many times, the drives would generally be out 'Speaker way.'
Ask Uhle about that special fast ball he always had in reserve and he grins and says, 'One or two in each game was enough for me.' "

by Ed Bang, condensed from the Cleveland News (Baseball Digest, April 1952)

1952 Yankee of the Past: Dutch Ruether

"Dutch Ruether, the once-great Cincinnati Reds pitcher, was telling about the famous 1919 World Series against the Chicago Black Sox.
'In that first game,' he said, 'I got two triples, a single and a base on balls- a record that's never been beaten. And then- I found out that they were only foolin'.' "

-Earl Wilson in the New York Post (Baseball Digest, August 1952)

1952 Yankee of the Past: Bob Porterfield

"Bob began in 1951 with the Yankees and had appeared in only two games for them when traded. In 21 games in all, he was credited with nine wins and charged with eight defeats. Bob compiled an earned run average of 3.51.
He began in baseball in 1946. He has had bad luck with injuries, but 1952 could be Bob's year."

-1952 Bowman No. 194

"In 1947, his second season of organized baseball, Bob led the Piedmont League with 208 strikeouts. The next year, the Yankees called him up from Newark after he had won 15 and lost 6 and had a league leading 2.17 earned run average. Bob tore a muscle in his throwing arm in '49 and was sent down to Kansas City after a brief stay with the Yankees in '50.
The Senators bought him during the 1951 season and Bob threw three shutouts and a 2-hitter for the Capitol City team."

-1952 Topps No. 301

"Bob began the 1951 season with the Yankees, then was sent to Washington. He appeared in a total of 21 games, winning 9 and losing 8. He did some excellent work with the Senators and is highly regarded. His career with the Yanks was marred by injuries.
He had an excellent record during the war, as a paratrooper."

-1952 Red Man No. AL-17

PORTERFIELD- SENATOR FROM VIRGINIA
Bob's "In" at Washington After Bucky Harris, Who Supported Him in N.Y. and Lost, Votes for Him Again
"Virginia has been going Democratic since Thomas Jefferson's day but the new Senator from Virginia has a Republican middle name, Coolidge. His birth certificate reads: 'Erwin Coolidge Porterfield,' but he's better known as 'Bob.' And he's not interested in politics because he's a baseball pitcher whose seat is on the bench and not in the nation's upper house.
Bob Porterfield is not only a Senator but the most important Senator on the pitching staff of Bucky Harris' aspiring Washington team in the American League. He reported at Griffith Stadium last June and proceeded to win nine games against eight losses for an outfit that finished deep in the second division- and three of his victories were low-hit shutouts. He has arrived at last, although not at the destination he chose.
That destination was Yankee Stadium, New York City. Back in 1948, Red Patterson, the New York Yankees' public relations counselor, would beam over the bar in the press room, 'Porterfield just won his ninth straight,' he would say. Or: 'Porterfield just pitched thirty-six scoreless innings.' These bulletins were being flashed from Ruppert Stadium, Newark, where the handsome young right-hander was burning up the International League. 'Porterfield can't miss,' Red would say, and if you were a betting man you might have wagered that Porterfield would someday succeed to the crown worn by such Yankee ace right-handers as Vic Raschi, Allie Reynolds, Spud Chandler, Red Ruffing and Bob Shawkey. Porterfield was imported from Newark to the Bronx that August and proceeded to win five games. He was so convinced about the permanence of his Yankee job that he moved bats, ball and baggage from Virginia to Belleville, N.J.
And then fate took a hand. Seated in the parlor of his pretty home in Belleville- just twenty-five minutes from Times Square- he was telling his story as he made spring training preparations:
'Bucky scouted me in Newark that summer of 1948 and when I reported he told me I was to be a regular starter, which pleased me because I pitch best every four days in rotation, with a schedule of running and limbering up my arm in between. It was wonderful being with the Yankees- they were like no other club in the game, playing team ball, dressing and looking the part of champions.
'Well, Bucky was fired that fall- I never knew why. That had nothing to do with my troubles, for Casey Stengel was great to me. I started an exhibition game against the Brooklyn Dodgers at the Stadium two days before the 1949 season began. The temperature was 38 and my arm cooled off during a Yankee inning when we scored four runs. I went back to the box, warmed up and felt all right. Then I threw a curve and something went pop. I'd torn the muscles away from the bone in my forearm.
'Afterward I tried and tried to pitch but the pain would be agonizing. On August 1, I breezed through two innings against the Philadelphia Athletics, pulled the muscle again and went home- for the rest of the season.
'In 1950 it was like some superman was after me with a club, swatting me on the head every time I tried to play. I banged my leg in spring practice when Bobby Brown hit a liner I couldn't dodge and was out for a month. Then on June 9, against Detroit, Paul Calvert hit me just below the temple with a pitched ball. It was a close shave- once inch higher and it might have killed me. As it happened, I got a concussion.'
That July, Red Patterson was entrusted with the sad task of handing Bob Porterfield a railroad ticket to Kansas City. There were tears in the big fellow's eyes as he packed his bags. 'I couldn't pitch at K.C.- in fact, I didn't recuperate until the following December. I still have trouble with my left ear. I'm a little deaf on that side.'
Bob reported to the Yankees at Phoenix last spring, an almost forgotten man. 'I appeared in only two regular games, mopping up in one of them with the Boston Red  Sox about ten runs ahead. When cutting-down day arrived in May, I was cut down to Kansas City again.'
But Bob, at twenty-seven, was young enough to rebound. 'I had four decisions in about a month, two wins and two defeats,' he says. 'I didn't get enough work because we had too many on the pitching staff. One day Bucky Harris called me on long distance. 'I've got a trade on that includes Bob Kuzava for Fred Sanford, Tom Ferrick and you. How's your arm, Bob?' I told him it was as good as ever, even better because in 1948 I'd just poured fast balls over the plate whereas now I was throwing curves at three different speeds, a changeup and a fast one. 'I'm taking you,' Bucky said- and it was the best news I had heard in three years.
'And Bucky knew that I work best when I work often. He sent me in rotation every four days, except once when he saved me for a fifth day against the Yankees. I beat them that day and might have beaten them a second time- had them shut out with one hit when Mickey Mantle socked a three-run homer. I don't blame the Yankees for giving up on me, but beating them was my thrill of last year.'
Happily for Bob Porterfield, he knows how to take it, for he took plenty during World War II. He dug deep into his memory for the highlights of his young life, and when he couldn't remember details he turned to Vera, his wife. 'What date was that, hon'?' he'd ask. 'Hon', do you remember what happened to me that day. Sure, you do ... ' And Vera, who is tall, slim, fair like her husband, and who also speaks in the pleasantly smooth Virginia drawl, would always know. 'I'm the historian of the Porterfield family,' she said.

Then Bob resumed: 'My dad, Jesse P. Porterfield, is a farmer down in Giles County, general farm produce and livestock. I'm the youngest of four brothers, Noble, Cecil, Clyde- whom we call Mack- and myself, and we're all big like me, and the other three could have been ball players, too.

'Dad used to play semipro ball around the countryside- there's no big towns down there and Newport is no town at all, just some 300 farm people. He tried to get all of his to play, stuck a ball in my hand when I was six, and kept at me all the time, teaching me points of the game, pitching, catching, the outfield, positions he had played.

'I pitched and caught on pickup teams. At Newport High, I pitched right through my four years ... won thirty-three games and lost only three. Then, in September 1941, when I was only seventeen, I went into the Army.

'I was inducted at Camp Lee in Virginia and then sent to Camp McQuaide, in California, for infantry basic training. After about eight weeks I was shipped back East to Fort Benning, Georgia, attached to the 82nd Airborne Division. One day they picked thirty-three boys for tests, including me. I was one of the four finally selected as paratroopers.'

Many months were to pass before Bob was awakened early one summer morning. 'It was 3:47 A.M,' he says, as if the hour, minutes and seconds were burned into his brain. 'I climbed on a plane at 5:45 and we were in the air until 8:37 when I jumped ... '

The date was June 6, 1944- D-Day. And as Bob's parachute bore him earthward he saw the hedgerow of Normandy reeling toward him, behind the Nazi lines. 'I don't like to think of what happened that day,' he says. 'Two entire divisions floated down. We had 155s, howitzers, small arms- and didn't know where we were. Our job was to harass the Nazis' rear. We made contact later that day ...'

Bob fought until the enemy retreated across France. He was in engagement in that corner of Belgium and Holland where marshland concealed the bodies of thousands of the fallen. He was trapped for four days at Bastogne in the Battle of the Bulge. He participated in the assault on Aachen which led to the smashing of the Seigfried Line. He crossed the famed river at Remagen Bridgehead and then raced across Germany to meet the Red Army allies. 'And I wound up the war in the heart of Berlin,' he says. 'I actually saw almost all of it in the west.'

There were five 'live jumps' into action- and a piece of shrapnel that lodged in Bob's wrist at Bastogne. 'Didn't amount to anything,' he avers. 'They plucked it out and it's never bothered me.' It was a rich experience, but one that Bob has no desire to repeat.

'I was out of the service on January 31, 1946,' he continues, checking the date with Vera. 'For a while that spring I helped Dad, but by June 1 I was playing baseball on a town team. One day we played Radford, a professional club in the newly organized Blue Ridge League. You won't believe this story but it's true: I was playing second base that day. In the sixth inning our pitcher hurt his arm and I went into the box in the seventh. I fanned nine men in a row.

'That was on a Saturday and we had a Sunday game. Before it started, Eddie Martin, the Radford manager, offered me a contract. For six weeks I pitched every three days for Radford. I guess it was love at first sight.'

And marriage followed within three months because by that time Bob had already been promoted to Norfolk of the Piedmont League. 'H.P. Dawson, who scouts for the Yankees in that neck of the woods, bought me on July 27. Vera and I were married in August. I was lucky- lots of the boys in that Blue Ridge League used to drink cokes and eat two slices of toast for breakfast, they were paid so little ... '

'You ate at our house and looked fat,' interposed Vera.

'And went home to Newport for home cooking,' laughed Bob. 'I won seventeen, lost nine and led the Piedmont League with 209 strikeouts in 1947. That brought me to the Newark Bears in 1948.' At Newark, Bob was easily the best pitcher in the AAA circuit with a winning streak of nine straight, two strings of scoreless innings, thirty-six and thirty-three, not to mention a league-leading ERA of 2.17. 'Russ Derry of Rochester twice beat me out of no-hitters. Once he singled in the seventh, the other time with two out in the ninth.

'Bill Skiff managed the Bears that year and helped me a lot. But my best advice came from Garland Braxton, the old American League pitcher. He taught me the changeup and how to pace myself through a nine-inning game. Later, with the Yankees, Spec Shear taught me the book on American League hitters.'

Then the rook fell in. Bob's luck turned all bad. 'We'd bought this house,' Vera explained. She shook her head. 'You never know what's going to happen in baseball.' At that moment, Vera knew what was happening upstairs in the Belleville house. Sandra, age nine months, was waking from her afternoon nap. Soon Sandra was crawling on the carpet in the company of her four-year-old brother, Bobby Lee, and a messenger was bringing a new collapsible chromium stroller. 'I can't resist a bargain,' Vera confesses.

Neither can Bob. In the driveway was a brand-new pigeon-blue sedan with burgundy fittings. 'I've been looking for a car this color for months. Saw it in the window of a Newark store and had to buy it.'

Nearby on the Jersey meadows are the homes of Yankee stars Phil Rizzuto, Gil McDougald, Yogi Berra and Gene Woodling. 'I was the first Yankee ball player to move around here,' Bob says. 'The woods are full of Yankees now.'

Bob is a Yankee no longer, but he's the Yankee type, Southerner though he may be. Which means that he's become a star, with no regrets that he is not a member of the World Champions. Clark Griffith is paying him a Yankee salary and the future looks bright. 'I'm on a young team now,' he concludes. 'And still young enough to be around when it starts burning up the league ... '

And Bob, barring further misfortune, promises to burn up the American League in 1952. He's ready and willing ... "

-Harold Sheldon, Baseball Digest, April 1952

BUCKY'S BOY

"Ironically, Bob Porterfield is regarded as one of the reasons why Bucky Harris, his present Washington manager, was fired as pilot of the New York Yankees after he led them to a world title in 1947 and finished third, two and one-half games out, in 1948. Harris' insistence on bringing in Porterfield from the Yankees' Newark farm in midseason, 1948, against General Manager George Weiss' wishes fomented friction between the two."

-Harold Sheldon, Baseball Digest, April 1952