Pinstripe Empire (45 page)

Mize joined the team on August 22, 1949. He was thirty-six, a lifetime .320 hitter with 315 home runs, sixth on the all-time list at that point behind
only Ruth, Foxx, Ott, Gehrig, and Greenberg. (DiMaggio would pass him within a couple of weeks.) He still held sixth place by the time he retired.

Mize was related to Ruth by marriage into Claire’s family, and Johnny’s acquisition through the waiver route marked the first in a run of late-season Yankee pickups that would help fill a need and invariably seemed to produce strong results. Mize was the poster boy for the late-season pickup.

Outfielders Hank Bauer, who hit right-handed, and Gene Woodling, who hit left, were perfect players for Stengel. He played the two with finesse against righty or lefty pitching, mixing and matching as the game progressed, in what came to be called platoon baseball. He loved players who could play multiple positions. Today managers rely on computer-generated stats that show every batter versus every pitcher, where they tend to hit the ball and what count they can expect a fastball—but Stengel just intuitively knew it. He himself had been a platoon player in his career, and while he didn’t love it and didn’t expect his players to love it, it developed into a formula that worked.

His manipulation of the lineup seems so logical today, but at the time it was trend-setting, and this idea came to define his managing style. The handsome rookie Coleman, another Yankee from San Francisco, was a perfect Stengel player, able to play multiple positions.

The ’49 Yanks would really test Casey’s ability to mix and match and overcome, as the team listed seventy-one injuries, big and small, filling Gus Mauch’s training room and Dr. Gaynor’s medical ledger. Only fifteen times did DiMaggio, Henrich, and Berra appear in the lineup together. But Casey’s work would net him Manager of the Year honors in his first year with the Yankees, which may have been his best managing job. There could be no assumption that anyone else could have managed this team of walking wounded.

As for his propensity to criticize his players through the press, the players hated that. But Stengel had “my writers,” the core group he could trust and also use to belittle a player, which he thought was a beneficial tactic. Often the best place to get such insight was in the hotel bars that he frequented with his coaches but banned players from using.

“He was a hard man to play for,” said Bobby Richardson, who came up in ’55. “He would make you mad.”

Billy Johnson hated playing for him.

Stengel’s maneuverings were hardly “push-button,” but rather often so obscure that only Stengel seemed to understand them. He’d pinch-hit for
weak-hitting infielders in the first inning if he felt he could blow open the game early. He’d bat a good-hitting pitcher eighth, no matter how embarrassing for the ninth hitter.

He didn’t even pronounce his players’ names correctly, which could be considered insulting. Henrich was
Handricks
. He also resorted to ethnic terms for players, even DiMaggio, which spoke to a time in America in which he’d grown up that would eventually fall out of fashion. But it wasn’t yet something that resulted in criticism; younger writers entering the scene would cringe but give him a free pass.

His mispronunciations of names were considered part of Stengelese, a rambling, illogical stream-of-consciousness language that Casey would use in talking to the press, the public, or, on one occasion, the U.S. Congress, if he wanted to duck a question. There were hints at his message if you listened carefully, but mostly he would take the listener down unexpected paths of dialogue, leading nowhere. It was all a show, of course, for his conversations with players showed none of that. He would talk to them directly and intelligently when he chose to.

“He was always clear to us,” said Berra.

WOODLING CONCEDED THAT platooning may have made him a better player, although he was never one who lived and died by wearing a Yankee uniform. He was a blue-collar ballplayer from Akron, Ohio, who had come up with Cleveland after winning four minor league batting titles.

(Woodling later played for Stengel on the original Mets. He told me one day of sitting in the dugout during a typical pasting the Mets were receiving, when Stengel made eye contact with him, winked, and murmured, “Ain’t like the old days, is it.”)

Bauer, Woodling’s counterpart in the outfield, was a tough four-year marine veteran of the Pacific who didn’t like anyone “messing with my World Series money.”

Bauer was scouted by both Lee MacPhail and his brother Bill. Bill was not really a scout, but they watched Bauer play for the Kansas City Blues and both felt he would be Keller’s successor one day. The Kansas City stop was a good one for Hank—he hit .313 and .305 there in two seasons and married the club’s office secretary.

____________

IN 1948, THE New York Yankees of the All-American Football Conference, owned by Dan Topping, signed the black All-American Buddy Young. In February 1949, the baseball Yankees made a decision to enter the Negro League market and announced the signing of both infielder Artie Wilson of the Birmingham Black Barons (who was missing a finger on his throwing hand), and the dark-skinned Puerto Rican outfielder Luis Marquez of the Homestead Grays. The deals proved to be complicated; Cleveland also claimed to have signed them both, and when the deals were reviewed by Commissioner Chandler, Wilson was awarded to New York and Marquez was sent to Cleveland.

But Wilson didn’t want to take the pay cut the Yankees were offering him to play for Newark, and he wanted a piece of the purchase price as well. So five days later he was sold to the Indians organization after all. In his place, the Yanks signed Frank Austin, a Panamanian shortstop, from the Philadelphia Stars. So who was the first black player in the Yankees organization? Both Austin and Marquez started the season with Newark in ’49 and share the distinction, but both were out of the organization by May. Only Marquez would see brief major league action some years later.

IN 1949, JOE DIMAGGIO and Ted Williams became the first American League players to earn a $100,000 salary. (Hank Greenberg’s Pittsburgh contract in 1947 was valued at $100,000.) But for the eighth time in eleven seasons (sometimes salary holdouts, sometimes injury), Joe would miss opening day. This time it was a heel injury, which would keep him out of the lineup until an eventful Tuesday, June 28.

Even without DiMag, and despite the mounting injuries, the Yanks were where they were expected to be: first place, four and a half games up. The Red Sox, now managed by Joe McCarthy, were in third, six out.

Feeling improved, Joe decided he was ready to play. He caught a mid-afternoon flight to Boston in time for the night game. Stengel, as surprised as anyone, put him in the lineup to hit cleanup, and DiMag responded with a homer in a 5–4 Yankee win.

On Wednesday, he homered twice as the Yanks won 9–7. And on Thursday he homered again as the Yanks swept the series. It was one of the most dramatic returns to the lineup anyone could remember. Even
Life
magazine would do a story on it. As if his legend already wasn’t made, this capped it.

But the Red Sox weren’t dead, and after they took two from the Yanks on
September 24–25, there were six games left on the schedule and the teams were tied for first. The Yanks fell one behind after losing to Philadelphia on the thirtieth, and now came the final two games of the regular season, Yankees vs. Boston at Yankee Stadium.

ON SATURDAY, OCTOBER 1, 69,551 paid to see Mel Parnell oppose Reynolds on Joe DiMaggio Day, scheduled after the storybook comeback in June at Fenway.

Player “days” were fairly common, some forgettable, some indelible. On some clubs, if a fan club or a hometown bought enough tickets, it was, “Sure, you can have a day.” We had a Danny Cater Day when I was with the Yankees when people of Williamsport, Pennsylvania, his wife’s hometown, bought a lot of tickets. Danny cried when he made his acceptance speech, but few others remember it.

Joe was already thought of in the same breath as Gehrig and Ruth, and since
their
days were historic, everyone wanted this one to be just as memorable, even if the circumstances were better. Unfortunately, Joe had to get out of a sickbed. He had pneumonia and a 102-degree fever, but he intended to play.

He accepted two cars, a boat, and lots more, and then said,

Ladies and gentlemen, when I left San Francisco to come to the New York Yankees I did not know what was in store for me. Of course, all were strangers to me—nobody knew me. But Lefty O’Doul told me, “New York is the friendliest town in the world.” My mother, who is here today to meet my friends, told me the same thing. She said, “People are the same everywhere.” And I will say that this day proves that New York City is the friendliest town in the world.

I have played under three managers and everyone has taught me something. I cannot begin to name the friends who took me along the road when I was a rookie—they certainly helped me.

I’d like to say to Joe McCarthy [turning to Red Sox dugout], if it’s not settled today, it will be tomorrow. If we couldn’t do it, I’m glad that you did. On a day like this, I’m even friendly to our enemies—the Boston Red Sox. They’re a grand team and a great bunch of guys—and that’s not forgetting a fellow out there in center field
[his brother Dominic] who spends all the time robbing me of base hits.

Today, I’d like to thank a lot of people—Casey Stengel and my teammates. They’re the gamest, fightingest bunch of guys that ever lived. And I’d like to thank my friends who arranged this day and all you fans here present. You certainly have been very good to me.

In closing, I’d like to thank the good Lord for making me a Yankee. This day certainly proves it’s great to be a Yankee.

The “good Lord” sentence would be painted on the walls in Yankee Stadium more than forty years later as an inspiration to current players, none more than Derek Jeter.

As for the big game, Reynolds was knocked out in the third and Stengel turned to Joe Page, who was enjoying a terrific comeback year, one that would lead to him being named the best pitcher in the American League by the
Sporting News.
“How far can you go,” asked Stengel as Page arrived on the mound. “A long way,” he answered, and he proceeded to shut out the Sox for 6
⅔
innings. Johnny Lindell homered in the bottom of the eighth, the Yanks won 5–4, and the teams were tied going into the final game. DiMag was 2-for-4 with a double.

On Sunday, October 2, it was Raschi (20–10) against Ellis Kinder (23-5) with the winners going to the World Series and the losers going home. This historic finish would have 68,055 witness.

Rizzuto’s first-inning triple gave the Yanks a 1–0 lead, which held up through seven. Once mocked by Stengel at a Dodger tryout, the Scooter was on his way to being named Player of the Year by the New York chapter of the Baseball Writers’ Association. In the top of the eighth, McCarthy removed Kinder for a pinch hitter and then brought in Parnell, Saturday’s starter.

“We wanna hit … we wanna hit,” shouted the fans, in the rhythmic chant of the day.

The first batter Parnell faced, Henrich, belted a home run. It was a great moment for Tommy, who had fractured his second and third lumbar vertebrae crashing into the outfield wall in late August and was now playing first base. By the time the inning was over, the Yanks had a 5–0 lead, helped by a three-run double by Coleman.

In the ninth, the Red Sox closed the gap when DiMaggio failed to run down a long drive by Bobby Doerr, and the score stood at 5–3. DiMag waved to
Stengel: He was hurting the team and he was taking himself out. Casey sent Woodling out to center as the crowd wildly cheered Joe’s return to the dugout.

There was no closer that day despite Page’s great season. With two out, Raschi bore down and got Birdie Tebbetts on a pop-up to Henrich. The Yankees were going to their sixteenth World Series.

Fans lingered on the field as the scoreboard operators kept up the out-of-town results, and after half an hour, they were able to see that the Dodgers had won the National League pennant with a victory in Philadelphia.

Hungry ticket scalpers were talking about getting fifty dollars a ticket, and a few movie theaters were showing the TV picture on large screens for $1.20.

DIMAGGIO HAD BATTED .346 in his 76 games, driving in 67 runs. And while Raschi, Reynolds, Lopat, and Tommy Byrne had gone 68–33, it was Page, 13–8 with 27 saves, who was the toast of the town. And now it was the Yankees and the Dodgers in the Series for the third time.

In game one, Henrich connected off Don Newcombe in the ninth for the first walk-off homer in World Series history, and the first time a homer had decided a 1–0 game since Stengel’s homer against the Yanks in ’23.

Preacher Roe won game two by the same 1–0 score, but the Yankees took the next three, the deciding game being a 6–4 victory for Lopat at Ebbets Field with a save for Reynolds. Bobby Brown hit .500 and drove in five runs for the Yanks to lead all hitters.

It was the Yankees’ twelfth world championship, and their first under the ownership of Topping and Webb, with Weiss as GM and Stengel as manager. Their joy-filled presence in the clubhouse and at the victory party would become a familiar sight over the next decade. Those were the only times Topping, Webb, and Weiss would enter the clubhouse.

CHARLIE KELLER, TROUBLED by a bad back since ’46 and demoted briefly to Newark in 1949, didn’t even pinch-hit in the World Series. He was released in January 1950 and signed with the Tigers. He’d return as a Yankee coach in ’52. Keller hit 184 homers in his Yankee career, which trailed only Ruth, Gehrig, DiMaggio, and Dickey on the team’s all-time list at the time.

____________

THE VENERABLE YANKEE scoreboard behind the bleachers, which dated back to 1923, was finally replaced by an electric board in 1950. It was “state of the art,” seventy-three by thirty-four feet, but contained nothing that hadn’t been on the hand-operated board other than light bulbs and a countdown clock for football. It would be in place for nine seasons.

In February, Major League Baseball passed a uniform height regulation for the pitcher’s mound. Until that point, the mound “could not exceed 15 inches” and everyone had liberty to do what they wished with that. At Yankee Stadium it had been twelve inches, although in some earlier seasons it was nearly flat.