A TALE OF THREE CITIES: NEW YORK, L.A. AND SAN FRANCISCO IN OCTOBER OF ‘62 (46 page)

In short order, Howard became a player of legend,
his long-distance home runs being of a Paul Bunyan quality. Off the
field, he was also an All-American; religious, honest, no
swearing.

"He would 'yessir' you to death," recalled Al
Campanis.

"He was such a courteous young man that you'd feel
kind of silly," said pitcher Stan Williams. "It was like meeting a
12-year old boy who was nine feet tall. He'd call everybody
'Mister,' then shake your hand and almost tear your arm off."

"Because he was so polite, other players teased him,
and he was often the butt of jokes," said Vin Scully. "But he was
very good-natured, thank goodness, or he would have dismantled the
clubhouse."

Howard would polish off three steaks in one sitting.
He was said to have eaten six airline dinners during one flight,
but claimed he only ate four.

As great an athlete as Howard was, his size made him
prone to strikeouts and he was also not a fundamental base runner,
which stood out on a team of base running experts. He had one of
the best throwing arms in baseball, but lacked accuracy. He was
ahead of his time, with the designated hitter not coming into
existence until 1973.

The league figured Howard out in 1961. "You just
keep teasing him with bad pitches and changes of speed, and you can
forget about Howard," said St. Louis pitching coach Howie
Pollet.

"You drill him day in and day out, and finally you
think you've got him straightened out and then all of a sudden he's
swinging at balls he couldn't reach with a 10-foot bat," said
batting coach Pete Reiser. "One of these days, the pitcher will
throw over to first and Frank will take a cut at it."

"The tragedy of Frank Howard was that one day he
could hit a 500-foot home run and the next day strike out five
times," wrote Bill Wise in the
1963 Official Baseball
Almanac
.

"All I can do is try," said Howard. "Maybe if I just
keep working at learning the strike zone, I'll surprise a few
people."

His worst habit was hitting off his left foot and
overstriding, but he corrected that in 1962. "All Frank ever needed
was to put his many assets together," said Alston. "If he makes
contact enough, he'll break every home run record whether he's
trying or not. Frank had a bad habit of hitting off his left foot
and overstriding. He corrected that in '62. By 1964 he should break
the home run record. All he needs is a little more experience and
confidence."

"If Howard gets better, he could break every home
run record around," said Solly Hemus of the Mets.

The short left field at the Coliseum got the best of
Howard, and Wally Moon played ahead of him, but he was expected to
provide much-needed power at Dodger Stadium in 1962. By mid-June
Howard re-gained the right field job and went on a tear, driving in
41 runs with 12 homers and a .381 average over 26 games. He also
improved his throwing accuracy, nailing 19 runners to tie the great
Roberto Clemente for the lead in assists with 19. Howard elicited
oohs and aahs from the Dodger Stadium throngs.

The man Howard replaced, Wally Moon, was a fan
favorite whose "Moon shots" made him a legend in Dodger annals.

On the field, Alston had some decisions to make.
Moving out of the Coliseum would hurt 32-year old Moon, who had
batted .328 with 88 RBIs in 1961. Duke Snider was 34 and had hit
almost .300. Theoretically, Dodger Stadium would help him; after
all, anything was better than the Coliseum for a left-handed
hitting slugger. But Tommy Davis, Willie Davis and Frank Howard
were young talents who needed to play. So was Ron Fairly, who could
handle first base or left field. Offensive considerations gave way
to defensive ones, and in that respect Willie Davis needed to be
out there. The left-center field gap at Dodger Stadium would have
to be covered. There was no more playing singles off the
screen.

Moon and Snider were given symbolic "send-offs" of
sorts. On May 7, Moon was honored by his home state of Texas when
the Dodgers traveled to Houston. Moon, who earned a master's degree
from Texas A&M, was given the key to the city while an annual
school trophy was named after him.

Snider was made team captain, an honor he took
seriously. He told the writers that the club had young players who
had heard of him growing up, and "I think they will listen to me
when I make suggestions."

Now 35 at the beginning of the 1962 campaign, Edwin
"Duke" Snider was already a Dodger legend and sure Hall of Famer.
In 1958 he was still only 31 when the club moved to his hometown of
Los Angeles, but his career out west never approached the greatness
of the Brooklyn years, when he was known as the "Duke of Flatbush."
Like another Los Angeleno, Don Drysdale, the Coliseum was more or
less his undoing. In Duke's case, he was not young enough to
overcome it when the club finally moved to Dodger Stadium. He was a
key player on the 1959 World Champions, but after that his career
whittled down. He was none too impressed with Alston, who
increasingly benched him.

Snider was cursed at an early age, "robbed of the
gift of perspective," according to Michael Shapiro in
The Last
Good Season
. Growing up, he was "that most envied and exalted
of young men: the best ballplayer around."

His father worked at the Goodyear Tire plant and gave
Edwin the "Duke" moniker, which fit perfectly from the beginning.
He earned 16 letters at Compton High School, was popular, and met
his future wife in their junior year. He never knew adversity.

Signing with Brooklyn at age 17, he did a short Naval
stint then came back and rose through the ultra-competitive farm
system to debut in 1949. His lifetime of success did not prepare
him for big league failure, but Branch Rickey recognized his
potential. He was also an excellent teammate for Robinson. On a
team of Southerners, Midwesterners and East Coasters, it was good
for Jackie to have a fellow Californian. Snider had grown up
watching Robinson play football at the Coliseum. Snider, a veteran
by the time Duke arrived, helped hone the youngsters' competitive
juices, understanding that failure was a natural part of
baseball.

It was a team of veterans, led by the strong
personalities of Robinson and shortstop Pee Wee Reese. Roy
Campanella, a three-time MVP, was their star player. But as the
1950s played out, Snider emerged as the team leader. Comparisons
with New York's Mickey Mantle and the Giants' Willie Mays became
inevitable. By the middle of the decade, there was no truly
discernible difference between the three.

Carl Erskine told a story about a group of Dodgers
riding from Brooklyn to the Polo Grounds for a game against the
Giants. Pee Wee Reese was stopped by a cop, but when he told the
policeman he was with the Dodgers, was let go. The next day Snider
drove and was stopped. He volunteered that he played for the
Dodgers.

"I don't like baseball," said the cop.

"I don't like cops," Snider replied. "Gimme the
ticket."

Snider's breakout year was 1950 when he hit 31 homers
with 199 hits, 107 runs batted in and a .321 average, but Brooklyn
lost on the last day to Dick Sisler and Philadelphia.

He tailed off toward the end of the 1951 campaign
along with the rest of the club but still had 101 RBIs. From 1952
to 1954 he batted over .300 each season. He hit 40-plus home runs
from 1953 to 1957, and drove in 100 or more from 1953 to 1956.

Snider's roots were deep in Brooklyn, and even though
he married a California girl, he had misgivings about Los Angeles.
He also had problems with Alston's "youth movement," which
eventually reduced his playing time. In a classic photo in Glenn
Stouts
The Dodgers: 120 Years of Dodgers Baseball
, Snider is
shown wearing a crisply-tailored suit with a tie clasp. Two young
lovelies wearing Dodger caps and tight shorts are with him, Duke's
arm around the brunette's waist while the blonde smiles at him
adoringly. His hair is slicked back and he is indeed "the Duke" in
all his glory. The three pick chocolates out of a giant box, so
that the empty slots spell "Los Angeles is Sweet on the
Dodgers."

The enormous Coliseum dimensions in right-center
reduced him to 15 homers in 1958 and caused Willie Mays to tell him
"They're killin' you, man." Snider hit .308 with 23 homers and 88
RBIs in the World title year of1959, but it was his last hurrah.
Alston finally got his way, moving the old out in favor of the new.
In 1960 Snider hit .243 and played only 85 games in 1961.

Aside from Don Drysdale and Sandy Koufax, the
Dodgers' pitching staff still consisted of talented professionals.
They were a rough, veteran group - with some youth mixed in - who
enjoyed drinking together.

"We'd go to dinner together, have drinks together,
and talk baseball together," said Ron Perranoski. "We were a very
close-knit pitching staff."

"Playing at home in L.A., we used to sit around in
the clubhouse an hour and a half after the game, have a couple of
beers and talk about baseball," said Johnny Podres. "When we went
out, it was pretty much just us. We generally didn't let too many
of the other guys come along. It was a pitchers' fraternity."

Whatever they did the night before, it did not seem
to affect their control the next day.

"I loved to catch those guys because they could all
throw to spots," said Roseboro.

Their good control only made their occasional
brushbacks more effective. They followed the lead of Don Drysdale,
the leading "barber" of the era.

Perranoski came to the club from the Chicago Cubs. A
native of Patterson, New Jersey, he signed a hefty $30,000 bonus in
1958, played a couple of years in the minors, then came to L.A. in
the Don Zimmer trade of 1961. He was one of the first young
pitchers ticketed for the bullpen from the beginning. After
starting one game as a rookie, he went to the bullpen and never
left it. With few exceptions, relief pitchers were usually
cast-offs who were not good enough to start, but Perranoski became
a closer.

"I don't care if I never start another game as long
as I live," he stated. "I can't wait to throw the ball when I get
in there."

Perranoski had a hard sinker and good curve ball
that was slow enough to throw hitters off stride. His control was
impeccable, plus he was courageous and smart. In 1962 Alston used
him on a very regular basis.

"I loved it," he said. "The more work I got, the
better it felt. I had the type of arm it never bothered me to throw
every day, and if I threw four out of five days, I would have
better stuff and better control on the fourth day than I would on
the first."

In 1961, Perranoski was used against both right- and
left-handed hitters as opposed to his 1961 role against lefties. He
also replaced Larry Sherry as the ace of the bullpen corps.

That actually worked out for Sherry. He was an
effective short relief pitcher, but thought of himself as a starter
and never adjusted to the limited work. When Perranoski assumed
that role, Sherry went to long relief, giving him a chance to work
longer periods. He threw seven shutout innings in one extra-inning
victory over the Cubs.

Born in Hollywood, Sherry and his brother Norm went
to Fairfax High School. They were rarities in sports; excellent
Jewish athletes, but unlike Koufax Sherry was combative. Born with
two clubbed feet, Larry made up for it with a competitive
attitude.

"He was a little troublemaker, always fighting,"
recalled Norm. "If he didn't like the way a game was going, he'd
break the bat."

Eventually, Larry grew to be 6-2 and 205 pounds. He
had piercing dark eyes that resembled the actor Sal Mineo. He was a
typical Dodger pitcher who employed the brushback, even knocking
down brother Norm in a 1959 Spring Training intra-squad game.

"Larry was a guy who would enter a ballgame and take
over," recalled teammate Ed Roebuck. "He would knock you down if
you didn't play his way." Roebuck gave him a nickname: "the Rude
Jew." Instead of taking offense, Sherry considered it a badge of
honor.

It was in 1959 when Sherry established his name
forever in the Dodgers' glory halls. A rookie that year, Sherry was
the winning pitcher in the first play-off game against Milwaukee.
Then he won two games and saved two others in the World Series
triumph over the White Sox, earning the MVP award. Three days later
he appeared on
The Ed Sullivan Show
.

"I had to go out and buy a suit for that," Sherry
said. "I didn't own one. I didn't even make the minimum salary that
year."

In 1960 Sherry compiled 13 wins in relief, but he had
a sore arm in 1961. He complained to Alston that he should be a
regular starter, but the staff was so loaded he could not break
into the rotation. In 1962 he nursed shoulder troubles, but was
still effective.

Ed Roebuck started with the Dodgers in the World
Championship 1955 season. By 1962, at the age of 30 he was the dean
of the staff. Scout Kenny Meyers helped Roebuck rehabilitate his
arm after suffering a shoulder injury in 1961. He threw "long toss"
and repeated the repetitive process of throwing against a fence
until the adhesions in his arm somehow fused and got better.

Dr. Robert Kerlan, the Dodgers' respected surgeon who
later revolutionized treatment of rotator cuffs as well as the
"Tommy John surgery," called Roebuck's recovery "miraculous."
Roebuck a was a sinker specialist who, like Perranoski, could throw
on a daily basis.

1962 was a tough year for him because in addition to
coming back from injury, both his father and brother died and he
suffered from insomnia. He "could not separate the reality from the
unreality," but camaraderie with his fellow pitchers proved to be
his saving grace.

He made 60 appearances on the year. "It was almost as
if I was in a trance," he recalled. "I was making great pitches. I
felt I couldn't lose - I didn't even care how or when they used me;
short or long relief, starting - it just didn't matter."