A TALE OF THREE CITIES: NEW YORK, L.A. AND SAN FRANCISCO IN OCTOBER OF ‘62 (33 page)

Houk had a temper. His face would puff up and
get red, his cheeks - already bulging from an incessant tobacco
plug - bulging. He got like that when his authority was challenged,
especially by young players or upstarts accusing the Yankees of
treating them unfairly, but he especially blew up when arguing with
umpires. As a player, he was always bandaged up from some fight. He
and teammate Hank Bauer - a gruff ex-Marine - were cut out of the
same cloth. Houk's wife, Betty extracted a promise to pay her the
same amount as the fines he received for being thrown out of
games.

Houk, after regaining his composure, would
come back to their Saddle River, New Jersey home with his tail
between his legs. Gone was the huge tobacco plug. He was suddenly a
house-broken husband. Betty always knew when he had been fined.
When the club paid Ralph's fines, he still had to pay Betty.

The 1962 Yankees were a team in
semi-transition, but it was a good thing. For years, they had
produced young players through their great farm system but also
brought in numerous key players in trades with the Kansas City A's.
Charlie O. Finley was a cantankerous Midwestern insurance magnate
by way of Alabama. He now owned the A's after the death of Arnold
Johnson, and vowed to cut off that spigot. In the spring of 1962,
the club had numerous young stars threatening to break into the big
leagues. It appeared that the Yankee dynasty would never end; they
had an endless supply of talent to keep the train rolling.

At first, base, veteran Moose Skowron was
trying to fend off the advances of a hotshot rookie named Joe
Pepitone. Skowron, born in Chicago in 1930, had been a Yankee
mainstay since breaking in 1954, hitting .340 in 87 games. He hit
.319 his first full year (1955), and bested the .300 mark three
times after that. Skowron hit for solid power, slamming 28 homers
in 1961.

Moose, 31 in 1962, was in many ways the
typical Yankee. He was big, powerful, self-assured, and proud to
wear the pinstripes. Players who showed any lack of respect for
Yankees tradition had to deal with Moose. He was a man's man and
enjoyed life on a team of life-enjoyers.

The player creeping up on him, ready to take
his place as the Yankee first baseman, was one of those youngsters
who lacked what Moose and others saw as the proper respect for
Yankees tradition. 21-year old Joe Pepitone was a 6-2, 185-pound
left-handed gloveman straight out of a Martin Scorsese movie; a
swarthy, bushy-browed, Italian-American, a young Al Pacino-type.
Pepitone loved to party, loved the ladies, found baseball to be a
means to an end, and despite his Bronx upbringing did not bow at
the altar of Yankee glory.

In the minor leagues, Pepitone found a
kindred spirit, an Orioles farmhand named Bo Belinsky. In Aberdeen,
South Dakota, Pepitone and Belinsky hooked up, chasing local girls.
Belinsky's manager was Earl Weaver, who later skippered the big
club to the 1970 World Championship.

"Pepitone shows up in a convertible,"
recalled Weaver. "I see Bo get in the passenger's seat, and I call
out to him to be careful, not to get in trouble. He never paid any
attention as the car fishtailed out of there, kicking up dust all
over the place, tires screeching. I thought, 'Where the hell are
they going, there's nothin' to do in Aberdeen?' but those two,
they'd find it. Oh my, they were pistols."

Houk had little idea how to deal with this
"new breed" of player, but Pepitone was a slick fielder who would
eventually have his day. Skowron was determined to hold him off at
least one more season.

The team was divided between the partiers -
Mantle, Ford, Blanchard - and the family men. Richardson and Maris
were the leading family guys. It was this quality of his
personality that had given Richardson the edge in the first
place.

Born in Sumter, South Carolina, the 5-9,
170-pounder was a devout Christian who did youth work in the
off-season. He came up in 1955, but the job belonged to fan
favorite Billy Martin. George Weiss and the Yankee brass, however,
were not enamored with Martin, who not only drank too much but did
not hold his liquor well. Martin, according to the company line,
led Mantle astray. There was hypocrisy in this, of course, since
Whitey Ford was in on the fun, too. But Ford was the "Chairman of
the Board." Casey Stengel loved Martin, a scrappy Berkeley,
California native who had played for him with the Oakland Oaks when
Casey's team won the PCL pennant. Martin, however, did not fit the
Yankee image of the 1950s.

He was part-Portuguese, and despite being a
believing Catholic himself, constantly gave in to the temptations
of the road and the allures of groupies. When Martin got into the
celebrated brawl at the Copacabana in 1957, it was the excuse Weiss
needed to get rid him. He was shipped to Kansas City and Richardson
was made the starter.

In 1958 Richardson seriously thought about
quitting baseball to pursue the Christian ministry. "I didn’t feel
as though my future was too solid as I had played only on a
part-time basis in 1956 and 1957," he said. "I was thinking of
going to school to get prepared for youth work."

In 1959 Richardson hit .307, and in the 1960
World Series set a record with 12 RBIs, earning the MVP award; the
only player from a losing team to win the award. He slammed two
doubles, two triples, a grand slam and batted .367.

"I always thought records like this belonged
to men such as Babe Ruth, Lou Gehrig and Joe DiMaggio," said
Richardson. "I certainly shouldn't be classified in their
category."

"He has wonderful hands, so quick and sure,"
remarked Houk. "He can make the double-play on the pivot and he can
make it on the starting end."

Clete Boyer had no competition at third base.
His brother, Ken was a star with the St. Louis Cardinals who, two
years later, would lead the Redbirds to the 1964 World Series
victory over the Yankees. The Boyer's hailed from Missouri. Both
came to the Major Leagues in 1955. Ken was the better hitter, but
other than Baltimore's Brooks Robinson, Clete was as good a
defensive third sacker as there was in baseball. He was a quiet,
unassuming Midwesterner, the consummate professional overshadowed
by Robinson, who captured all the Gold Gloves he otherwise would
have won. Clete came to the Yankees as part of the Kansas City
pipeline in 1959. He only hit .224 in 1961, but that was what was
expected of him.

At shortstop, 25-year old Tony Kubek was a
6-3 Milwaukee native whose size foreshadowed the big shortstops of
later years; Cal Ripken, Alex Rodriguez and others. Kubek replaced
Phil Rizzuto and provided solid play offensively and in the field.
However, his career was marked by one unfortunate incident. In game
seven of the 1960 World Series a seemingly-routine groundball took
a bad hop and hit Kubek in the Adam's apple, giving Pittsburgh the
life they needed to win an improbable 10-9 clincher. Pictures of
Kubek, sitting on the infield dirt, his hand to his throat while
surrounded by concerned teammates, still frustrates Yankee fans to
this day.

Behind the plate was Elston Howard. Few teams
in Major League history had so much talent behind the plate as the
early 1960s Yankees. Aside from Howard was the Hall of Famer Berra,
the steady John Blanchard, and in the minors a future big leaguer
named Curt Blefary.

Among social sports pioneers, Howard was an
unsung hero. Jackie Robinson broke the "color barrier" in 1947, and
the National League set the pace. Between 1949 and 1961, 10
National League MVPs were black. All the American League MVPs had
been white. Bill Veeck, owner of the Cleveland Browns, had followed
up on the Robinson signing by bringing in Larry Doby and Satchel
Paige in 1948, the year the Indians won their last World Series.
However, Veeck went to the St. Louis Browns before taking over
ownership of the Chicago White Sox. His travels derailed some of
his efforts at further breaking social barriers. The junior circuit
tended to follow the lead of the Yankees and Boston Red Sox.

Boston was alleged by the likes of Bill
Russell and Reggie Smith, among others, to be the most racist city
in sports. Owner Tom Yawkey was a leading dissenter when Branch
Rickey introduced Robinson, and a few years later the Bosox turned
down Willie Mays. If the Yankees were a racist organization, they
kept that under wraps. There was no evidence of official policy or
directive against the signing of black players, and their ownership
had not protested integration.

Certainly, New York was a liberalized town,
as receptive as any other than California cities to black pro
athletes. Columbia University had All-American black football
players during the1910s. After initial resistance, Brooklyn took to
Robinson with open arms. Willie Mays was a folk hero at the Polo
Grounds, located in a Harlem neighborhood that could be seen from
Yankee Stadium. The Bronx, traditionally a Jewish, Italian and
Irish borough, was by the 1950s becoming filled more and more by
blacks, so the Yankees were well situated to lead the way in the
American League in this area.

But the Yankees were conservative. They were
the Republican party, country club elites, Wall Street pinstripers.
Their crowds resembled the New York Stock Exchange. Women in fur
stoles and vanity sunglasses accompanied the men. Fans sat in the
stands like Roman senators contemplating the proceedings. The front
office calculated that the club won, they filled Yankee Stadium,
and if the "wrong" black player were brought in; well, why rock the
boat?

A handsome, womanizing Caribbean first
baseman, Vic Power was traded from the organization before he could
make his big league debut because he liked white women too much.
The Power situation served as a cautionary tale to the club. Even
Robinson by the 1950s, originally perceived as the "perfect" black
pioneer, was to the Yankee way of doing things a real "clubhouse
lawyer." They did not want some pinstriped black player on a racial
soap box.

Elston Howard would take some heat for not
speaking out, but in the context of his times, the way he handled
his business did as much if not more for black athletes in his way
as he would have as an agitator; probably he was more effective.
Born in St. Louis in 1929, Howard broke in as the first black
Yankee in 1955. It was not easy, not because he was black but
because he "threatened" three-time Most Valuable Player Yogi Berra,
the regular catcher. A strong, line drive-hitter from the right
side, Howard was an important utilityman who played in the outfield
and, year by year, caught more and more games.

The staff liked him. Berra, for all his
talents, did not look the part. He was short and squatty, getting
the job done but looking funny doing it. Howard was the
quintessential big, athletic catcher. His respectful manner around
white people worked well with the great Yankee pitching staff, and
a form of affirmative action began to take place, with many going
out of their way to praise Howard. He needed no extra help. Howard
was a tremendous talent, albeit one who developed steadily over a
period of years.

In 1961 he finally caught more than 100 games
(111) and batted a sterling .348 with 21 home runs and 77 runs
batted in for the World Champions. By 1962, the catcher's position
was all his. Yogi was still around, but to his credit he had been
only helpful with Elston when he took over his position. Howard was
a quiet, dignified family man who lived with his wife in the white
suburb of Teaneck, New Jersey. Many black athletes in New York,
like Don Newcombe, made the rounds of black jazz clubs and were
considered ladies men. Howard was a church-goer who spoke glowingly
of his love for the Yankees, of whom he was eternally grateful for
the opportunity. While the inequities of society were obvious, and
such talk might have seemed obsequious to some, it rang with truth.
Howard meant it. And after all, he
had
been given a fabulous
opportunity, the chance to be part of the Yankee legacy, which most
players would do anything to do.

Back-up catcher Johnny Blanchard was a
throwback, a rough 'n' tumble old school guy who loved to hoist a
few in the company of Mickey Mantle. Blanchard liked the ladies and
the New York night life. He was a shot 'n' a beer guy from
Minnesota, big and burly. His voice and laugh filled up the room.
His visage was that of a pioneer in a covered wagon; a handsome,
tough guy face out of the John Wayne mold. He was a hardcore
American, typical of athletes in his political views, which leaned
like so many toward Red-baiting during this era of Cold War
tensions. He was proud to be a Yankee, knowing that he had a
reputation because he wore the pinstripes. He may have started
someplace else, but would have done so anonymously. Like Skowron he
clung tenaciously to the Yankee way, setting rookies straight if
they veered from the path.

In 1962, there were a few of these 1960s
kids starting to infiltrate the system, but it was not yet
subversive. Blanchard did not play much, but like Ralph Houk before
him never complained about his role as a bullpen catcher. He hit
over .300 in 1961. Newcomers were taken aback that a player of such
marginal importance in the scheme of things was such an important
man in the club's social order, but on a club that included Mantle
and Ford, the ability to drink and chase women was a big plus.

The hottest of the hotshot rookies was left
fielder Tom Tresh. He was seemingly born to be a Yankee, and
certainly not one of the so-called "subversives." Expectations for
him engendered talk of Joe DiMaggio and Mickey Mantle. Tresh used a
Mickey Mantle model glove, wore t-shirts with portraits of Roger
Maris and Yogi Berra printed on them, and grew up cutting and
saving clippings of Yankee games in the newspaper.

In 1962 he was 24 years, a blonde
All-American who had signed for $30,000 out of Central Michigan
University. Tresh was an outfielder-shortstop, a rare combination.
With Tony Kubek set to do a stint in the Army Reserves in 1962,
Tresh entered Spring Training in a battle with another minor
leaguer, Phil Linz, for the spot to fill Kubek's place in his
absence. Tresh won the job and would play shortstop until Kubek's
return.