Friday, September 30, 2022

1957 Yankee Coach of the Past: Chuck Dressen

JOB FOR TED WILLIAMS
"Joe Medwick was asking it. 'Did you ever hear the story of the guy who almost lost his job in baseball because he couldn't spit?'
We hadn't and the former St. Louis Cardinals star filled us in.
'It was Charlie Dressen,' he said, 'and it was one of the funniest things I've ever seen. Dressen coached for Leo Durocher at Brooklyn. Leo's signals at the time were built on a spit. One spit was one thing, two spits were something else, to the right was still something else.
'The only trouble was that Dressen literally couldn't spit. He tried everything except tobacco which he didn't like. Chewed gum, chewed grass, still couldn't do it. They finally had to substitute whistles and Charlie was so good at whistling that he's been using it ever since. But the spit signal was a total flop.' "

-Robert L. Burnes, St. Louis Globe-Democrat (Baseball Digest, November 1956)

When He Bunts, Says Chuck Dressen:
MANTLE WASTES TALENT!
"Chuck Dressen, pepper-pot manager of the Washington Senators, peered out of the dugout at a cluster of newsmen walking his way.
He grabbed a towel from the bench and waved it. 'I give up,' he called. 'You guys are ganging up on me.'
When everyone was settled, Dressen began parrying questions. 'Let's just talk about my team, fellows,' he begged. 'No controversies. You've got me in enough of them already.'
Trouble and Dressen have been running mates for years. That's because the 58-year-old little dynamo is one of baseball's more talkative citizens ... sort of the Frank Lane of the American League.
'What about your old club, the Dodgers?' somebody asked. 'Don't you think they're over the hill?'
'My Senators are the youngest team in the league,' he answered. 'I say we will more games this year than we did in 1956.'
'That's no headline,' somebody said in petulant style. 'You're slipping, Chuck.'
From the other side came this one. 'Everybody's picking you to finish in the basement. Don't you think you're better than Kansas City and Baltimore?'
'I got my ideas about that,' he answered as he started to rise to the baited hook. 'But we'll just wait and see what happens as the season goes along.'
The cat-and-mouse contest went on. A pointed question would be tossed. Dressen would catch it, toss it around, and then answer it.
'You can't get me riled up today,' he grinned after maybe a half hour. 'I decided this year nobody was going to get me popping off so guys on the other teams would get sore at me. I got enough trouble of my own right here without going looking for more of them.'
He got up then, stretched to his full five feet, five inches, and started to leave the dugout for the practice field.
'Okay, Chuck, you win,' yelled Joe Reichler of the Associated Press. 'From now  on we'll have to ask you the silly jobs like the one if you think Mickey Mantle will beat Babe Ruth's home run record this year.'
Dressen had taken three steps toward the field when he heard that one. Suddenly he turned and came back to the top step of the dugout.
'He never will break it,' he snapped. 'Unless he stops that crazy stuff of showing off his bunting. What's he trying to prove? How many times have you seen him lay one down even when he has two strikes on him. That's nothing but showboat stuff ...
'Mantle wastes a lot of his talent,' Dressen went on. 'Take the Babe. Now there was a slugger. Why? Because he kept acting like a slugger.
'Sure, there's a place in baseball for a slugger to bunt. But not when he's up there with nobody on base. Yet that's when Mickey likes to lay one down. It's crazy. If he'd swung at the ball, he could knock it out of the park.
'Even if he only got a single, he has the speed to try for an extra base. But not Mickey.
'Mark my words,' Dressen stated as he waved a finger at the bench. 'If he keeps up that stuff, it's going to backfire on him and the Yankees one of these days.
'Guy with his eye, his speed and his power trying to show off by dropping a bunt when it doesn't mean anything. And then everybody keeps wondering if he will ever break the Babe's home run record. It's just stupid on his part.'
He left then and jogged out onto the field. Back in the dugout the reporters grinned at each other as they jotted notes in their books.
'That's our boy,' said Harry Paxton of the Saturday Evening Post. 'And he says he won't get drawn into any controversies this year.' "

-Lyall Smith, Detroit Free Press (Baseball Digest, June 1957)

DRESSEN WOULD TALK FOR THEM
"During spring training, Joe Cambria, a reformed laundryman who served as Washington's chief scout for years, reported to Charlie Dressen at Orlando that he had discovered a Cuban pitcher who could throw hard but could speak no English.
'Sign him!' ordered Dressen. 'I know plenty of guys who can speak perfect English but can't get their grandmothers out.' "

-H.G. Salsinger, the Detroit News (Baseball Digest, October 1957)

1957 Yankee of the Past: Leo Durocher

INSIDE STUFF
"Reported story on the reason Leo Durocher turned down the Cleveland job: According to people close to Leo, he is interested in returning to baseball but friends persuaded him the timing was bad on this one.
They felt it would be a tacit admission that he had flopped if he left his radio and television business after just one year. While his early performances were something less than scintillating, radio and television people still think he has a chance to go big in the business if they find the right vehicle for him.
His friends persuaded him that another year of experimentation in radio and television could help him, not hurt him. If he doesn't hit it big in the business, he's no worse off than he is now and can still return to baseball. They feel that he will be just as much in demand in baseball a year hence as he is now."

Baseball Digest, May 1957

Tuesday, August 30, 2022

1957 Yankee of the Past: Branch Rickey

Branch Rickey Discusses
THE NEGRO IN BASEBALL TODAY
"Ten years have passed since Branch Rickey, Sr., then president of the Brooklyn Dodgers, watched Jackie Robinson- a 28-year-old tense and nervous rookie- trot on Ebbets Field to become the first Negro to crash major league baseball.
Today, Jackie Robinson has retired, Ebbets Field has been sold and the beloved Bums may move to Los Angeles in the not-too-distant future. The past decade has seen many other changes in major league ball including the bodily transfer of whole teams to new territories, and Rickey's move to semi-retirement as stockholder and chairman of the board of directors of the Pittsburgh Pirates.
More and more, Negro ball players seem to be accepted on their baseball merits as they are sold and traded, promoted from the minors, signed to high-salaried contracts and awarded outstanding honors. On the surface, it seems that the Negro has arrived as an equal member in America's national sport.
To get an authoritative statement on just where the Negro does stand today in major league baseball, Ebony went to the man who (three years before Jackie Robinson was signed) decided that the time was right to bring colored players into organized baseball- Branch Rickey, Sr.
Never one to hold his tongue, the colorful, 75-year-old 'Mahatma' talked freely in an exclusive interview at his rambling Silver Springs estate in Fox Chapel, a suburb of Pittsburgh.
Reminiscing about the time when the Dodgers plucked Jackie Robinson from the Kansas City Monarchs of the Negro American League to play the role of a human guinea pig, Rickey made the startling statement that 'Jackie was not an ideal man for the task.' Rickey says, though, that if he had to do it all over again, Jackie would be the type of man he would choose. 'Not that God made him for it. But Robinson understood the problem and that made him safe for the experiment.'
The late years of Jackie's career with his hassles with umpires, verbal exchanges with other players and the furor kicked up by the way he announced his retirement explains just what Rickey means when he says, 'God did not make Jackie for it.' A man with a volatile and an acid tongue, Jackie probably suffered more during those early years than almost any other of the Negro players would have. But his fierce determination to win at all times gave him the strength to curb his temper and tongue in order to win the fight the way Rickey wanted him to.
Branch Rickey does not believe that the battle for full acceptance of Negro players in baseball has been won even to this day. 'We're not out of the woods yet on this thing,' he says. 'Negroes in baseball should continue to turn the other cheek as Jackie did. Negro players should remain patient and forbearing because the problem has not been solved and I think the colored player should want to help solve it by not upsetting the bucket of milk. He should maintain good conduct at all times, both on and off the field.'
Rickey believes his 'turn the other cheek' policy should still be practiced because there are a few white players whose aversion toward playing with or against Negroes has not been completely erased. 'They are a minority but they are very vociferous and can raise a great of trouble. But despite them, I would say a Negro can today play a good game of baseball without carrying his race on his shoulders the way Robinson had to. Generally, the Negro player does not have Robinson's handicap but he does not enjoy complete restraint of anti-racial attitudes from opposing players and spectators. The treatment he gets from them is not yet what it should be.'
Rumors that some clubs were adopting a 'quota system' last year cropped up after teams like the Dodgers and Chicago Cubs fielded as many as five Negro players in a single game. Some Negro fans said 'Boy, are they going to break that up.'
Asked about this, Rickey said, 'No major league club that I know of has a quota system although there could be one. I believe that it is the same as it was in Brooklyn.'
Rickey then went on to tell of how the Brooklyn club's board of directors sold Sam Jethroe after a discussion of whether or not the Dodgers had too many Negroes. Rickey says, 'I was on the fence on the question. Five of the directors thought we had too many, but I said, 'I don't think we have too many.' 
'I wanted the best players to keep on winning the pennant,' he adds, 'and I told them if a man kept me from winning, I wouldn't hire him regardless of his color.'
Nevertheless, the Dodgers sold Jethroe and three other players to Boston for five players and $137,000. The trade turned out to be a profitable one for the Dodgers for Jethroe never lived up to his early promise.
Rickey feels today that there is not a single major league club that would turn down a ball player simply because he was a Negro. 'Boston, Detroit and Washington will all have Negro players soon,' he says. 'Philadelphia has already hired a Negro player. Washington will, too. If they can get hold of a good one they would hire him today. There isn't a club that won't take colored players. Most, if not all, of the major league clubs have Negroes in their organizations.'
An ardent fighter for equal rights in all fields, Rickey can envision the day when Negroes can hold down executive jobs in baseball as managers, coaches and traveling secretaries.
'When integration becomes national in scope,' he says, 'when human rights become civil rights, this will certainly follow because without it, integration would not be complete.' Then smiling broadly, he cautioned, 'But I didn't say Jackie Robinson should be a baseball team manager.' Later Rickey added, 'Jackie would make a fine manager.'
Rickey says he was generally pleased with Robinson's decision to retire from baseball, pointing out, however, that Jackie was placed in an awkward position by the way he announced his retirement. (The announcement was made in an exclusive story in Look magazine after Jackie had been traded to the Giants this past December.)
'I never discussed the point with him,' Rickey told Ebony, 'but he handled it honorably. It's too bad his decision was announced in the form it took. He showed a lack of foresight and irritated three groups- Brooklyn, the Giants and the press. Jackie had a perfect right to retire. He owed nothing to anyone and was morally free to retire. He gave value received for his services and had a very good reason for quitting when he did.'
Rickey was emphatic on one point- he believes that all-Negro professional baseball is dead and there is no room at all for all-Negro owned and operated leagues within the framework of organized ball.
'It would be a sad mistake to even consider such a thing today,' he says. 'The Negro is an American citizen and thus there is no need at all for such a set-up. Just as there would be no room at all for an all-white club in baseball anymore, there wouldn't be any for an all-Negro team. That sort of thing is out. There should be no segregation baseball-wise.'
The Rickey advice to the young Negro who wants to make baseball a career is 'do it. Most certainly, the track is all greased. There is no problem at all if he is a gentleman and can play the game.' "

-condensed from Ebony (Baseball Digest, July 1957)

RICKEY ISN'T EVEN IN THE WINGS!
Mahatma Conspicuous By Absence From Pirate Operations
"No two ways about it. Mr. Branch Rickey is decidedly a man of infinite wit and charm. Not only that but he has an agile mind and a remarkably glib vocabulary and the guile of a carnival grifter.
In view of all this and other considerations, probably two-thirds or more of the Pittsburgh area is fully persuaded that Rickey only pretended to step down last year and leave the Pirates in other hands.
Maybe at that, he meant to. But we have it pretty danged reliably that he isn't- as is generally suspected and believed- at all the man he was during his first five years at Forbes Field.
Significantly he has no office, no secretary, no nothing at Forbes Field.
He doesn't pass judgment on young ball players. He doesn't even run a minor part of the show. Therefore he isn't the guy who stands in the wings and makes the curtain go up and down.
As a matter of fact, he seldom (if ever) is there to visit or watch a ball game.
In midsummer, with the Pirates floundering in the prevailing direction of another last-place finish, he wasn't even in town a good part of the time.
In fact, for the better part of May and most of June, he was far away- up in Canada fishing, where he couldn't be reached by telephone because there isn't any. Therefore it stands to reason he now has less idea than the average fan as to what may be going on in the National League, at Columbus and Hollywood.
That isn't the way it was with Rickey when he ran the joint with a high hand and apparently operated according to a fixed belief that he, Wesley Branch Rickey, could do no wrong. On the contrary, he's been isolated- whether consciously or otherwise we don't pretend to know.
However, don't get us wrong:
He isn't yet an absolute nonentity with the Pirates, even though he almost seems to wilfully avoid the place. That, in itself, seems highly suggestive, especially about a man whose personal vanity is just so deep that he'd much prefer not to admit (publicly or privately) that he is taking pains to keep away from anything or anybody.
RESULT: Barring whatever contact of various principles he may have had during spring training within the limited confines of Fort Myers, Fla., Bobby Bragan has seen Rickey only three times since he came to Pittsburgh more than a year and a half ago.
As for Joe L. Brown you can take it for what you think it may be worth that he's not at all the type to told a title, i.e., General Manager, while letting somebody- anybody, even Rickey- tell him what to do nor for that matter when and where and how to do it, or if he should do it.
Anyhow, we just thought you'd like to know."

-Davis J. Walsh, Pittsburgh Sun-Telegraph (Baseball Digest, September 1957)

Thursday, July 28, 2022

1957 Yankee of the Past: Joe McCarthy

THEY CALLED HIM A BUSHER
How Quickly Can You Recognize This Man?
"They called him a 'busher' when he was announced as manager of a major league team.
He was almost 40. His baseball background was minor league. Half his life had been spent on dusty, clay-ribbed diamonds down in the sticks.
When he wasn't bouncing in buses, he was riding a day coach. He ate at greasy-spoon cafes in the tank towns. A night to remember was when a fan invited him and other players to a home-cooked meal.
He was a bush league player who kept waiting for the call to be brought up to the big time for the chance that seemed to come to everyone else but him.
He was recognized as just a good busher, one of thousands who had what it took for the sticks but not enough of it for the majors where Pullmans replaced buses, where steaks substituted for stew, where paychecks contained four digits and sometimes five instead of only two or three.
But he stuck it out as a cocky, determined little guy who was Irish in more ways than just his name. The big leagues finally noticed him. They made him a manager down on the farm.
He bounced around still more. He played for a while and managed at the same time. Then he stopped playing and just managed. Years went by and he still was minor league.
They weren't looking for his type in the majors. They wanted the boys with the big names and the fancy big league backgrounds for their big-time managers to go along with all the other ones with years of major league experience.
Finally he was given his chance. The man he succeeded had been one of the big-name managers with a long career, both as a player and a pilot.
His team had finished in the second division. The owners wanted a better ending for the new year. So they dipped down and picked up a man who never had played a major league game in his life.
His name rang no responsive chord when he was unveiled in the big time. Newspapers had to pick up the threads of his background and weave them into a story to let the fans know who he was.
It hadn't been necessary with the man who preceded him. Everybody knew of him, but not this new manager. He wasn't a complete unknown. But he was the next thing to it.
When he was brought in, he was told by his owners that he was to put some spark and hustle into a team that had shown flashes of greatness the previous year but had sagged when it counted.
He was hired under a 'get tough' policy. He put in new rules during spring training. He cracked down on some of the playboys. He rode herd on a couple of players who were front office favorites but hadn't produced.
He had jibes poked at him from training-camp dugouts when he popped out to argue with umpires. 'What's YOUR name,' they would holler. 'How are things down in the sticks?'
Some of the fans looked over their noses at him when the team had a poor exhibition season record and then lost the first game of the regular season.
'That's what we get for hiring a guy with no big league experience,' they grumbled. 'He's strictly bush ...'
But the little Irishman proved them wrong. He stuck around and proved that a 'busher' could be big league even though he was nearly forty when he hit the big time.
In fact, Joe McCarthy, who won nine championships and seven World Series, will be inducted into the Hall of Fame this summer."

-Lyall Smith, Detroit Free Press (Baseball Digest, August 1957)



Thursday, July 7, 2022

1957 Yankee of the Past: Carl Mays

MY PITCH THAT KILLED CHAPMAN WAS A STRIKE!
"Baseball fans of every generation seem to delight in having at least one player to heckle. In 1920 the target of their jeers was Carl Mays.
And, just as they chose certain players to taunt, they have others for whom they show a special affection. In 1920 the object of their cheers was Ray Chapman, peppery little shortstop of the Cleveland Indians.
Mays was cut out to be a villain. He pitched underhand, which was strange and somewhat suspect to begin with, and pitched a 'bean ball' that he was wont to pitch close by the skulls of batsmen and make them step back from the plate a little. Now, he was a pitcher for the New York Yankees, but he had come to them in an unorthodox manner which won him no friends.
Carl had been a member of the Boston Red Sox in 1918. He didn't like it and demanded that he be traded. The Red Sox refused to peddle him. Carl quit. Helplessly, the Boston club traded him to New York. The deal promised to set a bad precedent, and Byron Bancroft Johnson, president of the American League, placed a restraining order on him. Mays went ahead and worked every city in the league. That was Carl Mays.
Ray Chapman, on the other hand, was a popular little guy who had been with the Indians since 1912. This, his ninth season with the club, was going to be his last. He had planned to retire from the game at the end of the preceding season, following his marriage, but he had yielded to the wishes of the Cleveland fans.
The feeling was strong that the Indians could win their first pennant in 1920 if Chapman would stay with the team, and he agreed to play just this one, final year.
In mid-August, the Indians were engaged in a three-way fight for the pennant with the New York Yankees and Chicago White Sox.
On the afternoon of Monday, August 16, the Clevelanders were at the Polo Grounds, which the Yankees shared with the Giants. Carl Mays was pitching for the Yanks; Chapman was batting second for the Indians.
Cleveland was winning, 3-0, when Chapman, a right-handed hitter, came to bat to open the fifth inning. Mays threw him a strike, then a ball. On the second pitch, Mays says today, Chapman shifted his feet to push the ball down the first-base line.
The third pitch was a little high. Mays says he thew it to prevent a poke down the base path. There was a resounding crack. The ball rolled toward Mays and the pitcher picked it up and started to throw to first before he noticed that Chapman had sunk to the ground.
Umpire Tommy Connolly called for a doctor. Several in the stands responded and, after several minutes, several of Chapman's teammates started to help him to the clubhouse in center field. Then Ray collapsed again.
Harry Lunte went to first to run for Chapman and scored to put the Indians ahead, 4-0. Mays pitched until the eighth. The Yankees scored three in the ninth but lost, 4-3.
After the game, Chapman was taken from the clubhouse rubbing table to the hospital. Regaining consciousness as he was being lifted into the ambulance, he asked that someone put on his finger a diamond ring he had been given by his young bride, Kate. 'Tell Kate I'm all right,' he said.
At 5 A.M. he died under ether at the hospital- the first and only ball player ever to lose his life in a major league game. His skull had been split for an inch and a half on the left side by Mays' pitch, and the brain was shoved against the bone on the other side.
Mays became the object of a whispering campaign. A petition was circulated to have him expelled. The district attorney exonerated him of all blame and eventually the furor died down, but until he wound up his baseball career with the Toledo Mud Hens 12 years later his name brought a bitter expression to the faces of most baseball fans.
Today, at 65, Carl Mays is working at public relations, visiting with his grandchildren, and building a home in the calm of a small town of 11,400, Bend, Oregon.
'I have never thought for one minute,' he says, 'of Chapman's death being other than a regrettable accident. He was very fast and would push the ball toward first base. No pitcher could throw him out if he pushed the ball fair. The only way you could break up the play was to keep the ball high and inside so he would either miss it or pop it up.
'In his hurry to get the jump on the pitcher, he ran into a pitch that would have been a strike if had stayed in the batter's box.'
Carl won 215 games and lost 127 during his major league career.
Three years after his diamond career ended, in the early '30's, Carl began a baseball school in Portland, Oregon, which he ran until 1947. Then, for five years, he was a scout for the San Francisco club of the Pacific Coast League. He began ranching in East Oregon in 1952.
Last June, he suffered a heart attack. On doctor's orders, he has given up ranching and is building his home on the Deschutes River in Bend. He and his second wife, Esther, whom he married in 1939, plan to see Mays' children and grandchildren often.
His son, Carl Jr., is personnel manager of the U.S. National Bank in Portland. His daughter, Mrs. Betty Jane Barker, is a rancher's wife in Dayville, Oregon. Carl Jr. has two boys, and Betty Jane has two girls.
The former pitcher and Esther hope to continue to help young men get college educations. Mays says they have helped send about ten boys to college.
Much of Mays' time is given to hunting and fishing and to advising boys about baseball."

-Phyllis Propert, Chicago Tribune (Baseball Digest, July 1957)

Editor's Note: Carl Mays wasn't sure he wanted his story told. He thought it "might rekindle the old fire" of public emotion. We are sure it won't. Such a blaze always is extinguished by a special compound- time and reason.

Tuesday, June 14, 2022

1957 Yankee of the Past: Lefty Gomez

CURSED WITH A FOUR-HITTER
"Lefty Gomez, famed southpaw of another Yankee championship era, was heir to the general run of baseball superstitions. One of his pets, to ward off disaster, was to place his glove in a certain spot and position after he came off the mound. His teammate, George Selkirk, once made Gomez frantic by kicking the mitt every time Gomez dropped it. Lefty pitched a four-hit shutout and the iconoclastic Selkirk pointed out the fallacy of Gomez's beliefs. 'See,' he said. 'In spite of what I did to your glove and your superstition, you still shut them out.' 'Yeah,' replied Lefty, 'but before you started I had a no-hitter going.' "

-Max Kase, New York Journal-American (Baseball Digest, July 1957)

Friday, May 6, 2022

1957 Yankee of the Past: Joe DiMaggio

WHEN THE BODY TALKS BACK
"Joe DiMaggio, one of the few athletes who when to quit, tells how a ball player knows his youth is speedily leaving him.
'It's like this,' Joe said, 'you're chasing a ball and a brain sends out commands to your body.
''Run forward,' your brain says.
'Then, 'Bend!' ... 'Scoop up the ball!' ... 'Peg it to the infield!' ... '
'Yes and then what?' asked one of DiMaggio's listeners.
'Then,' replied Joe, 'your body says, 'Who me?' And you know you haven't got it anymore.' "

-Al Abrams, Pittsburgh Post-Gazette (Baseball Digest, November-December 1956)

SPIKE'S PIQUE
"It was over at St. Petersburg, where the Yankees trained, and a fellow still in baseball said: 'Don't use stories about me until I retire, but let me give you one about Joe DiMaggio. Now, Joe could be rough when he wanted.
'Like in the World Series, the first year the Yanks saw Jackie Robinson. Jackie was running into second- he was a great competitor and Phil Rizzuto was covering. They met head-on and Rizzuto was knocked out. Well, they were taking news photos and developing 'em right in the park. Pretty soon a photographer sent DiMaggio a picture of the play- it showed Robinson's fist right in Rizzuto's stomach.
'Well, Robinson was playing first base in those days, and he made the mistake of trying to cover the next time DiMaggio was running. DiMaggio crunched squarely on Robinson's foot, and everywhere Joe's shoe had a spike, Robinson had a spike wound. I'll say this about Robinson; he never beefed. Jackie knew why he'd gotten it.' "

-David Condon, Chicago Tribune (Baseball Digest, May 1957)