Munson: The Life and Death of a Yankee Captain (37 page)

“He was a wonderful guy,” said Gabe Paul, now the Indians’ president. “He was very misunderstood. I don’t think most people understood what a fine fellow he was because he was a little gruff. He loved to play baseball and he played hurt. You couldn’t keep him out of the lineup. He was a great player and a great person.”

Back at home, Thurman’s high school coach Don Eddins said, “He was a fantastic competitor. He had extreme confidence in himself and he could have excelled at any sport he desired.”

Governor James Rhodes of Ohio said, “He played the game he loved hard and with unmatched skill. He was a fit hero for young people, a man who put family first and who stood for the highest principles of family life. It is ironic he died while learning to fly so that he could spend more time with his wife and children. Thurman was also a personal friend and it was a privilege to know him. I extend my deepest sympathies to his wife and family during this difficult time.”

The
Repository
caught up with Munson friends Bill James and Chuck Gelal, who were at the crash site to view the wreckage. Both were pilots. “I guess he got interested in flying through Bill and me,” Gelal said. “He was so excited about that jet.”

Tom Villante was working in the commissioner’s office late that Thursday afternoon when the news came in. He had worked for the Brooklyn Dodgers (through the ad agency for Schaefer, their beer sponsor) in the 1950s and was also a former Yankee batboy, circa 1945.

He had to walk from Rockefeller Center to Grand Central for his train to Harrison, New York. “I was walking, and I was in a daze,” he recalls. “This was such an enormous story, but it was before e-mails
and cell phones, and back then, it took hours for stories to get around. So I walked those seven or eight blocks to Grand Central and I could tell no one knew. The papers no longer turned out ‘extra editions’ (read all about it!) and this was too soon anyway.

“I had this urge to stop and tell everyone as I walked along Fifth and Madison avenues,” he says. “It was like I was holding this secret, this enormous news, and I was being selfish with it. I had the need to stop people and say, ‘Thurman Munson is dead,’ but on Manhattan streets you don’t make eye contact and don’t talk to strangers. So I didn’t stop anyone. I went home on the train and thought about the tragedy to the game and for his family. It was such a sad thing.

“I thought about Roy Campanella and his car accident in 1958. Another great New York catcher, another MVP. Very different personalities, of course. And as it turned out, had the plane not caught fire, Thurman would have lived out the same life as Campy, paralyzed and wheelchair bound. I guess it was a blessing, in its own way. Not many people out there like Campy who could have adjusted to thirty-five years in a wheelchair and kept a sunny disposition. Not many.”

The Murcers sent a message from Diana in Canton on Friday expressing the hope that the team would play all the scheduled games, because “that’s what he would want the team to do.” And so the Yankees pressed on, making plans for the pregame ceremonies on Friday night.

“I’m in no frame of mind to play at all,” said Piniella, who added, “It took me until my second season here to get through his hard shell. I got to know him probably as good as any player on the club or better. He really had compassion. He didn’t want everyone in the world to know it, but he had compassion and tenderness.”

Roy White’s locker had been next to Thurman’s for ten years. “It’ll be tough to concentrate on what you have to do as a ballplayer,” he said. “I was hoping they’d call the game off. The games seem very insignificant after what has happened. It doesn’t seem so important to go out and play. I’ll always remember being out with him in spring training. We’d go to the dog races at night and he’d handicap the races. This is tougher than anything I’ve gone through in my life. It
makes me think about my own life. Do I have my life in order? Am I too selfish? You never know how close you are to death. It’s so simple. Here you are with him one moment, then he’s gone. Forever.”

“I’ll always remember all the laughter we shared,” said Guidry. “Even when we were trying to be serious, we couldn’t.”

Early in the morning on Friday a carton of a dozen Louisville Slugger Munson bats were delivered from Hillerich & Bradsby and quickly put away in a storage area by a grieving Nick Priore, Pete Sheehy’s clubhouse assistant. Nick was crusty and cantankerous like Munson, but also like Thurman had a soft side that he didn’t necessarily like people to see.

A delivery from the New Rochelle-based dry cleaners used by the Yankees included all of their home jerseys with black armbands added to the left sleeve.

“I got a call from my wife about seven p.m. on Thursday saying the Yankees were urgently trying to reach me,” says Joe Fosina, whose company, Raleigh Athletic, handled the Yankees’ cleaning needs. “I called Pete Sheehy and he said, ‘You heard the news?’ I had only heard it moments before, on my car radio. Pete said we had to do something for the uniforms in time for the Friday game. I went to the stadium and picked up one full set of home uniform jerseys. At the factory in New Rochelle, we created several ideas: the armbands, a number 15 patch, and some other things.

“At seven a.m. on Friday I went to the ballpark with my samples. Pete was there; he had slept overnight in the clubhouse. He took the samples up to George Steinbrenner. In the meantime, we brought in a half dozen seamstresses to be prepared for this rush project. Finally, the decision came down to go with the armbands. I raced back and everyone went to work.

“I returned to the stadium later that day with one full set done; we would have time later for the backup and road versions. At the entrance, after I was photographed walking in with them, I was
stopped. I was told no one could go to the clubhouse except players and coaches. So I’m standing there, a regular visitor, holding an armful of about thirty-five uniform jerseys, and finally Bill Bergesh, the Yankees’ scouting director, came by and authorized me to go downstairs. I walked in with this awful delivery and all the players were staring at me. Pete took them from me and began hanging them in the lockers, silently, one at a time.”

Fred Stanley had been the first player to arrive. There were TV crews waiting to get reaction.

Larry Sacknoff was there from WNBC Channel 4. An unshaven Piniella stopped to talk to him as he walked from his car.

“He was witty, charming, compassionate; he was a good human being,” said Sweet Lou. “He was liked by the kids here at the ballpark and in his community back home in Ohio.”

Tippy Martinez, in town with the Orioles, said he was “amazed and shocked. I turned to my wife and said Thurman’s been killed. It was a weird time because we were praying at the time, so we continued to pray. We know he’s with the Lord right now.”

Hunter and Nettles also spoke to the waiting TV crews as they prepared to enter the stadium.

Rick Cerrone, later one of my successors as the Yankees’ PR director, was at that time the publisher of
Baseball Magazine
, a monthly that had revived the name of a classic baseball publication from the game’s first half century. He brought a large floral arrangement to the outside of the clubhouse, which Sal, the guard at the door, took and gave to Pete. Sheehy placed it at the locker, and decided one was sufficient and there would be no others.

The other bouquets were arranged in the reception area at the Yankee office entrance.

Pete hung Thurman’s uniform shirt in his locker with the “NY” facing out. “I just thought it was the way to do it,” said the man who had been hanging uniforms in lockers for the Yankees since 1927. “I’ve never had this happen before.”

The early newscasts were all leading with the story of the activity at Yankee Stadium. For veteran New York publicist Joe Goldstein, the horrific news from Canton had knocked him cold. He had organized a visit to the site of the old Polo Grounds with Willie Mays, prior to Mays’s departure for Cooperstown and his Hall of Fame induction on Sunday. He now had no media available to work with and no event to stage, as the attention of everyone in New York’s press corps turned to Canton and to Yankee Stadium.

This was still a time when cable TV was in its infancy. CNN didn’t launch until the following year. ESPN’s
SportsCenter
would not debut until September 7, 1979, about four weeks later. The burden of coverage was on local news.

At Channel 4, Marv Albert, his hair long and untamed, said, “Thurman Munson was a paradox—well liked by his teammates and opponents, but little rapport with the media, and this by his own choice. He was the heart of the Yankee ball club and one of the most gifted clutch hitters of all time.” Then he played Sacknoff’s filmed interviews from the stadium.

Also shown was film of groundskeepers preparing for the game, with Thurman’s face on the scoreboard. The
AT BAT
part of the scoreboard showed number 15, .298, while work went on.

Marv concluded his report by showing that business was continuing. He said, “Meanwhile, the Yankees today brought up Brad Gulden and Bobby Brown, put Ed Figueroa on the disabled list, and obtained former Met infielder Lenny Randle from the Pirates.”

At WCBS, Channel 2, anchorman Jim Jensen reported that all flags would be flown at half-staff on order from Mayor Ed Koch and Governors Hugh Carey of New York and Brendon Byrne of New Jersey, and then threw it to Sal Marchiano, who was outside Gate 4, behind the home plate rotunda, reporting live.

“None of the joy normally associated with the scene outside Gate 4 is visible,” he said, describing the scene.

Jensen asked Marchiano, “Is this the sort of thing that can ignite a club and help them to win?”

Marchiano replied, “No one will discuss anything like this.”

Channel 2’s Carol Simpson introduced the spring training film of Thurman, in which he talked about flying with Tony Kubek. NBC Sports had made it widely available to all stations. Thurman had said, “Just the feeling of being alone for an hour or two by yourself, no one asking any questions, you don’t have to put on any kind of an act, you just have to be on your toes and it’s just a relaxation where you spend time by yourself and I need that. I also need to get home a lot, so I love to fly.”

Jensen called him an “aging baseball player, but too young to die.”

Bill Mazer caught up with Yogi Berra and filmed an interview for Channel 5’s
10 O’clock News
. Yogi had “seen it all” during his thirty-four years in the majors, including the death of Gil Hodges, the manager of the Mets, six years earlier when Yogi was a coach there. No one went to Yogi for eloquence. He just delivered it straight: “He played the game hard, a real competitor, I’m gonna miss him.”

Channel 2 also had Jerry Nachman by Gate 4, who reported, “Some fans are wearing armbands with the number 15, similar to what we saw in Los Angeles last year when Junior Gilliam died. The mood here is much more of a wake than a baseball game.”

Nachman also caught up with Piniella, who said, “It’s a shame. Thurman was a very good friend of mine. He loved to fly … had that accident yesterday … I just feel sorry that something like that had to happen.”

Frankie Albohn, a likable longtime member of the stadium grounds crew, was interviewed and said, “He was a special guy to us, we’re all going to really miss him. It’s a sad thing.”

Nachman, then on film speaking from Monument Park, said, “A
plaque will be placed here, and his number will be retired, and no one will ever use his locker.”

Frank Duca, a runty grounds crew member whose job was to paint the lines around the catcher’s box, wore an open shirt and a Yankees cap that looked like it was from the 1920s. He said, “The poor guy, not going to be here tonight and I’m painting it for somebody else.”

Nachman reported that there was a sign by the Yankee clubhouse that said, “Please bear with us, give us tonight, only tonight, to be by ourselves.”

Mickey Morabito released a statement from George Steinbrenner that said, “There’s very little I can say to adequately express my feelings at this moment. I’ve lost a dear friend, a pal and one of the greatest competitors I’ve ever known. We spent many hours together talking baseball and business. He loved his family. He was our leader. The great sports world which made him so famous seems so small and unimportant now—and therein lies a great lesson for all of us.”

Before going down to the clubhouse, Steinbrenner met Dave Anderson of the
New York Times
in his office overlooking the field. “I don’t think most people knew how close we were,” the owner said. “Nobody knew how much time we spent together. He used to come up here and talk with me, sometimes before the games or sometimes even after batting practice. He would be wearing his uniform pants and a T-shirt and sandals and he’d put his feet up on the desk and have a glass of orange juice and we’d talk. He liked to talk to me about business because he had all those deals going in Canton, where his home was.

“I remember telling him not long ago to get liquid, that we were going into a recession, and to get fixed interest rates for his money rather than floating on prime. As a businessman, he was the same way he was as a player—a hardworking, smart guy.”