Buker played
professionally from 1940-1952, making it to the major leagues with
Brooklyn in 1945. Buker was called to Brooklyn after having a standout
11-3 season in St. Paul in 1944. Eager to play in Brooklyn, his chances
at the major leagues were temporarily dashed when he was drafted into
World War II service.
“I wasn't there two days before I was in the Army,” Buker said in
an interview with Jim Sargent.
“The Army finally released me about May 15. I was in what they call the
observation unit. I had asthma, and I was wheezing up a storm.”
While in Brooklyn, he
compiled a 7-2 record with a 3.30 ERA in 42 appearances during the 1945
campaign. With that type of record, one would think Buker was a shoo-in
for a spot on the club the following season. What followed was an
intense set of contract negotiations with
Branch Rickey
that delayed Buker’s arrival to spring training in 1946.
After months of back
and forth letters, Rickey offered Buker a $1,500 raise contingent on his
ability to make the team. Resigning from his teaching job, Buker
finally reported to spring training, albeit three weeks late. His
prospects didn't look good.
"I could see that
everyone was mad at me," Buker recalled. "Nobody would even talk to me. I was assigned to
the 'B' squad immediately, without throwing a ball. It went that way
throughout spring training and into the season. I sat on the bench. I
never pitched one ball in 1946. They didn't want anyone to see me. I sat
on the bench until the final hour of the last day before cut-down, and,
you guessed it. I was optioned to Montreal.”
Going to Montreal, Buker found himself in the middle of history as
Jackie Robinson
was beginning baseball's integration. Robinson had just entered the
minor leagues and was beginning to build his legend north of the border.
Buker noted in a 2008 interview that some teammates were weary of his
presence.
“There were many,
especially those from the southern United States who were very
skeptical," he said. "They didn’t think it would work. They were mistaken and after
several months, [they] accepted him.
Buker developed a
relationship with Robinson, so much that he was offered to travel with
him after the end of the season.
“We got along well. In fact, he wanted
me to join his barnstorming team after the season,” he said.
Unfortunately for him, a home plate collision prevented him from joining
Robinson. “I didn’t go because I wasn’t recovered from my injury.”
This injury would
plague him for the rest of his career and Buker would continue to
moonlight between his love for teaching and playing baseball, joining
most clubs after the school year was finished and leaving once football
started. He continued in this fashion until 1952, leaving pitching
behind to fully focus on teaching and coaching. His prowess in the
school system as a coach would see him inducted in to the Wisconsin
Baseball and Football Coaches Associations' Halls of Fame.
After retiring from
teaching in 1970, he started his own body repair and painting business
in Greenwood, which he operated until he was 88 years old. With Buker's
passing, that leaves 44 living former
Brooklyn Dodgers.
* This article was originally published for Examiner.com October 15, 2011.
Kuzava signed with the Cleveland Indians in 1941 out of St. Patrick High School in Wyandotte and only eighteen months later, he was shipped out of the country to serve in the Army during World War II. He put his baseball career on hold for three years to fulfill his military duties.
“[I spent] three years in the Army,” Kuzava said during a 2008 telephone interview from his home in Wyandotte. “I was a sergeant; I spent two years overseas in Burma, India, and China. I came out as a buck sergeant. It was so hot in Burma and India. I played a little recreation softball, but no baseball.
“I was fortunate; I saw a little bit, but no heavy action in Burma. I felt sorry for the guys. There wasn't much going on, except in Burma when they had Merill's Marauders fighting the Japanese. Those guys had to do everything with mules in the jungle because it was the only way you could carry stuff and travel. I didn't get into any action, I was just glad to survive.”
Bob Kuzava signed photo / N. Diunte
Returning unscathed from the Army, “Sarge” had a banner year for Wilkes Barre in 1946, going 14-6 with a 2.36 ERA. His spectacular performance earned him a September call-up at the end of the season. Determined to return to the majors after getting a taste of the big league life, 1947 played out in similar fashion that finished with a cup of coffee for Cleveland. Only this time, one of his rookie teammates was helping to integrate Major League Baseball.
“Larry Doby was a terrific ballplayer and well educated gentleman,” he said. “When he first came up, I was a rookie too. He played center field for us and was a very good major league player.”
The Indians traded Kuzava to the Chicago White Sox to start the 1949 season. Given the opportunity to pitch regularly, he posted a 10-6 record and finished fourth in the American League Rookie of the Year voting. Just as quickly as he was acquired by the White Sox due to the wheeling and dealing of Frank “Trader” Lane, Kuzava was sent to the Washington Senators in 1950 in a six-player trade for slugging first baseman Eddie Robinson.
While his time in Washington wasn't one of pennant contention, his first season in the nation's capital provided one of the most memorable moments of his career. Sporting a lifetime .086 batting average, Kuzava’s lack of prowess at the plate was a prima facie case for the establishment of the designated hitter. While no baseball fan would ever get him confused at the plate for his legendary teammates Joe DiMaggio or Mickey Mantle; however, almost sixty years later, he was proud to tell the story of his only major league home run.
“There was a guy named Bob Hooper who [pitched] for the Philadelphia A's,” he recalled. “We were in Washington and I hit a ball to left field, Paul Lanier came in to make a shoestring catch and the ball rolled all the way to the fence which was about 400 feet away. It was an inside the park home run; I didn't have the power to hit the ball over the fence in Washington.”
While playing for the cellar dwelling Senators was one of the less glamorous major league jobs, a mid-season 1951 trade with the New York Yankees put him on the elevator straight to the top of the American League. Immediately, the difference in the clubhouse atmosphere was obvious.
“We had a guy one day who didn't run too hard to first,” he recalled. “We had an ex-Marine, Hank Bauer on our club. He waited for him. He asked, ‘Are you tired?’ The guy looked at him and said, ‘Well, no.’ Hank asked, ‘Well why don't you run hard to first? We're trying to make a couple bucks, get in the World Series.’ Hank said to the guy, ‘If you are tired, tell the old man, and we'll get somebody in there who wants to hustle.’ That's how it was; we took care of our own.”
The prevailing intense attitude that Bauer reinforced helped to send Kuzava and the Yankees to the 1951 World Series, the first of their three consecutive World Series championships. Serving as a reliever in all three Fall Classics, he made history of his own when he earned a save in the deciding games of both the 1951 and 1952 World Series.
“I am the only guy to have a save in the World Series back to back [in the deciding games on consecutive World Series],” he said. “It's quite an honor. To have a save in back to back World Series, I don't know if it will ever be done again.”
After defeating the New York Giants in 1951, the Subway Series continued in 1952 and 1953, when the Yankees squared off against the Brooklyn Dodgers. Kuzava recalls that there was very little separating the two clubs at the time.
“We played against the Brooklyn Dodgers in ’52 and ’53. Both teams had Hall of Famers in the future; they had 5-6 guys that became Hall of Famers and so did we. There wasn't much difference between the clubs; the teams that got a break during the series won. We just maybe got a few more breaks than they did.”
With all of the talent that Brooklyn had, Kuzava was most impressed by Jackie Robinson, not only for what he did on the field, but also for a humble gesture he made in defeat. After losing the 1952 World Series, Robinson was the first to go to the Yankees clubhouse and give them their due.
“We beat them in Brooklyn and I had the save that day,” he said. “Robinson came over to our clubhouse and congratulated us. That's what kind of man he was. He was a tough guy. He held it back, but he showed it on the playing field.”
Winning three World Series rings with the Yankees cemented his role as a key bullpen member during their dominant run in the early 1950s. As the Yankees cultivated young talent from their rich farm system, Kuzava was let go by the team in 1954 and he latched on with the Baltimore Orioles for the remainder of the season.
He pitched in the major leagues through 1957 with stops in Philadelphia, Pittsburgh, and St. Louis. As he approached his mid 30s, changing teams so frequently made it difficult to build enough of a rapport with the managers to get on the mound consistently.
“I was getting up there in age,” he said. “I had a few cups of coffee. In Philly I enjoyed the guys, but I didn't pitch much. A lot of times when you go to different ball clubs, the managers don't know you too well and you sit around too long.”
He toiled in the minor leagues until 1960 when he finished up his career as a player-manager for the Charleston White Sox in the South Atlantic League. He went face-to-face with the ugly head of Jim Crow as the progress that Robinson and Doby worked to make was far from finished. He recruited Negro League veteran Sam Hairston to help him mentor the young players and help them deal with the racism they faced in the South.
“I managed one year for Bill Veeck in Charleston, and I had two guys who were colored,” he said. “This was 1960; one was Oillie Brantley, the other was Jim Lynn. [Sam] Hairston came down to help me in the summer; he was an old catcher with the White Sox, a great guy. Even then, I'd get phone calls from people threatening that if those guys played, they were going to do this or that. It was terrible. I'm talking 1960! We had Cubans whose skin was darker than the blacks and they could live with us in the hotels. The blacks couldn't and those were the guys who went to war for us along with me and the other guys.”
After his playing and coaching days were over, he scouted for a decade. While he enjoyed being around the game, the grind of scouting combined with the low pay proved to be too much of a strain on his family. He returned home to Wyandotte to get a job in the beer industry.
“I scouted for 10 years,” he said. “I worked for John McHale and Charlie Finley. It got to be too much traveling and there was no money in scouting. My wife had to do most of the work. I got a job back in my hometown and retired from the beer business.”
When we spoke in 2008, the then 85-year-old Kuzava felt it was easy for old-timers like him to get lost by baseball fans with the abundance of players that followed in his footsteps. Nonetheless, he was happy to be recognized and wasn’t shy about addressing the vastly improved conditions that major leaguers currently enjoyed.
“A lot of people don't remember you anymore because of expansion,” he said. “There are 30 ball clubs now; it’s easy to forget people. We only had eight teams in each league. Our meal money was eight dollars per day and we traveled by train.
“They get $100 per day now and buffets in the clubhouse. They get bereavement days for babies being born. [They play] no doubleheaders! We played doubleheaders almost every weekend and holidays! We did it and we enjoyed it. That's the union and the way it is now. My wife had five babies and I couldn't get home to see any of them. I applaud the union for giving them these things. It was different when I played.”
Kuzava was among the early members of the MLBPA and quickly acknowledged the value of the pension he had from playing baseball. He wished that modern players would honor Curt Flood for the sacrifices he made that led to the tremendous salaries they’re earning.
“We get a nice pension,” he said. “It came into effect in 1947. You could have played 20 years before 1947, retired and got nothing. I went to the big leagues to stay in 1947. I was lucky; I just got in there when the plan started. When I started getting my pension, it was a few hundred dollars a month, now it is a lot more than that.
“They're making so much today because of the rules. When I broke in, you belonged to a club for life; you had no say in the thing. Curt Flood started the ball rolling when guys could make more money and become free agents. They blackballed him because he stepped up and started complaining. In St. Louis, they wanted to trade him and he didn't want to go. These guys today ought to thank the lord for him because now a lot of them are millionaires.”
Go to the two hour and 15 minute mark to see Kuzava pitch in the deciding game of the 1952 World Series.
MartÃn Dihigo is widely regarded as one of the most talented and versatile players in the Hall of Fame. Whether he was on the mound, in the field, or at the plate, Dihigo stood out among the mere mortals that played alongside him.
Cholly Naranjo, a star pitcher for Cuba's Alemendares ball club in the 1950s who later made the major leagues with the Pittsburgh Pirates in 1956, had a special connection with Dihigo. Naranjo is the nephew of Ramon Couto, Dihigo's catcher both in Cuba and with the Cuban Stars of the Negro Leagues.
The now 82-year-old Naranjo is one of a handful of players alive that saw Dihigo up close and personal. Speaking with Naranjo in May 2017, he explained what it was like to have contact with "El Inmortal," at an early age.
"Man you should have seen that guy, he looked like a God!" Naranjo said.
In the rest of the interview, which is linked below, Naranjo discusses watching Dihigo play as a youngster and how he was a top line player as both a pitcher and a batter.
Adrian Burgos of La Vida Baseball expertly documented Olmo's career in the wake of his passing, citing Olmo's influence on generations of Puerto Rican baseball players. His professional career started in the 1930s, leaving him as one of a small handful of peloteros at the time of his death that could document the pre-WWII era of the sport.
Acknowledging Olmo's place alongside those who opened the door for integration, I wrote to him in 2008 asking about the Negro League legends he encountered playing in Puerto Rico. While his answers were brief, they spoke volumes.
The then 89-year-old Olmo gave his insights on three Hall of Famers: Ray Dandridge, Satchel Paige, and Josh Gibson. A copy of the letter is included below, as is a transcript of the questions and his answers.
Q - "Where does Ray Dandridge rank when you think of 3rd baseman? Luis Olmo - "One of the best I ever seen."
Q - What do you think kept the Giants from calling him to the Major League team? Olmo - "Racism."
Q - What are your memories of facing Satchel Paige in his prime while in Puerto Rico during the late 1930s and early 1940s? Olmo - "A great pitcher."
Q- What are your favorite memories of playing with and against Josh Gibson in Puerto Rico? Olmo - "Gibson was able to hit 100 home runs in a season."
Luis Olmo letter to the author in 2008 / N. Diunte
Bob Cerv was an unusual late-comer to professional baseball, signing his first minor league contract at the age of 25. His career was delayed due to his World War II service, which started in 1943 right after his high school graduation. After a three-year tour of duty, he became one of the University of Nebraska’s most decorated stars, winning back-to-back basketball championships, as well as garnering the Huskers first baseball All-American honors in 1950. Despite his accolades on the diamond, Cerv wasn’t sure the sport was going to be his calling.
“All at once I didn't think I was going into pro ball,” Cerv said during a phone interview with the author from his home in 2008. “I could have gone into pro basketball also. I played basketball and baseball at Nebraska. … Then they [the Yankees] offered me a deal, ‘Well we'll send you to Kansas City, and if you make it, we want to see how you do.’ I was 25 years old when I signed.”
When he arrived in Kansas City, the Yankees farm system was brimming with so much talent, that many including Cerv, eventually found stardom with other franchises. Cerv said that his 1951 AAA team in Kansas City was a prime example of just how rich the Yankees were with prospects.
“[Mickey] Mantle, Jackie Jensen, and I played the outfield [together] in Kansas City at the same time,” he said. “About seven years later, we were the All-Star [starting] outfield.”
Bob Cerv (r.) with Casey Stengel (c.) and Bob Wielser (l.)
Cerv spent his first few seasons with the Yankees shuttling back and forth between Kansas City and the Bronx until 1954. The Yankees had used up his options and manager Casey Stengel decided to make him a permanent part of his outfield platoon.
“In those days when you were in Triple-A they could option you three times,” he recalled. “They had to keep or sell you. In 1951, ‘52, and ‘53, I got sent back down, and in ‘54 they had to keep me. That's the only year Stengel won 100+ games, and we lost by eight to Cleveland that year!”
The Yankees rebounded in 1955 to capture the American League pennant and face off with the Brooklyn Dodgers during the World Series. A late season leg injury forced Mantle out of the lineup for the majority of the series, clearing the way for Cerv to start during the Fall Classic.
“I played center field and I was 2-16 and [Irv] Noren was 1-16,” he said. “I hit against the left-handers and Noren hit the right-handers. We were lousy! I remember I hit a pinch hit home run off of Roger Craig; not many have done that. Then everything went their [Brooklyn’s] way.”
Over fifty years later, Cerv recalled Sandy Amoros’ catch during Game Seven of the 1955 World Series coming as the result of a genius decision by Dodgers manager Walter Alston. At the time, however, Cerv was perplexed by the change.
"[Sandy] Amoros made that catch right after they just changed,” he said. "I don't know why they switched all those people for. That was the greatest move. Junior Gilliam would have never caught that ball; even Amoros barely caught it. Yogi rarely ever hit a ball that way, but Amoros could run.”
Cerv tasted World Series victory the following season when the Yankees got their revenge against the Dodgers. He had one hit in his only at-bat during the series. During that off-season, the Yankees sold Cerv to Kansas City. The opportunity to play full-time made a world of difference for Cerv. By 1958, he beat out Ted Williams for the starting spot in the All-Star Game while setting a Kansas City record for home runs. Even more impressive was that he accomplished all of this despite spending an entire month of the season playing with his jaw wired shut.
“I hit 38 homers that year, everything went well,” he said. “I finally got to play every day. That was self satisfaction. I always played against the left-handers and there were no bad left-handers in the major leagues. They didn't stay long if they weren’t pretty good. Parnell, Pierce, Score, Hoeft ... they could throw the hell out of the ball.”
Cerv had one last hurrah with the Yankees, returning in a 1960 mid-season trade to become a part of their World Series team. He hit .357 in their World Series loss against the Pittsburgh Pirates. His career ended in 1962 an ill-fated run with the Houston Colt 45s, when leg injuries had robbed him of his bat speed and power.
Upon retiring from the majors, Cerv spent many years as giving back to the game as both a professor and coach at Southwest Missouri State College and John F. Kennedy College in Nebraska. He stressed fundamentals, something that he felt the modern ballplayer lacked.
“The minor leagues went from D-Triple-A, but one thing they knew, was how to play baseball,” he said. “Nowadays, they learn in the majors and they make too many mistakes; they don't have enough players. If you have a halfway year in the minors now, you are in the majors. Pitchers don't even have to have good years. If they look like they have a good arm, that's all they need.”
While Cerv’s salary never reached more than $30,000 in one year, he had no qualms about coming along too soon. His multiple post-season appearances with the Yankees more than made up for it.
“I can't complain,” he said. “I had a lot of World Series checks. When I first came up, they said ‘Don't mess with our money, we'll make more money in a week than in a year.’”
Affectionately nicknamed "Guineo" for his blazing speed that was akin to the local hen in Cuba, he first played in the United States in 1944 when the legendary scout Joe Cambria signed him to the Washington franchise. After playing one season in the minor leagues, the Senators minted the fleet-footed outfielder as a major leaguer in 1945, seeking to take advantage of his ability to cover the vast depths of Griffith Stadium.
Jose Zardon at his home in 2012 / N. Diunte
With major league rosters depleted due to World War II enlistments, Zardón and his Cuban teammates with the Senators became pioneers of sorts, giving the club in the nation's capitol an integrated team a year prior to the Brooklyn Dodgers signing Jackie Robinson. While there were other Cubans who preceded Zardón in the major leagues, their solid performance further opened the pipeline for his countrymen to follow.
In his only major league season, Zardón batted .290 in 131 at-bats, while making some tremendous catches in the outfield. Throughout the remainder of the 1940s and early 1950s, he spent his winters playing for the Almendares and Havana clubs in Cuba, as well as two seasons in Venezuela. He remained active in the minor leagues, spending another ten seasons as both a player and a manager before retiring in 1955.
Great detail of Zardón's career is profiled in the SABR book, "Who's on First: Replacement Players in World War II." In 2012, I had the opportunity to visit Zardon at his Florida home to discuss his career, where in his jovial fashion, he shared a story about how he stole first base after a famous Cuban sportswriter doubted his hitting abilities. The video, which is linked below, is a taste of Zardon's warm character which was appreciated by all who met him.
* Ed Note - In the above SABR interview, Zardon admitted that his birth year was 1922, not 1923 as listed in the official baseball database.
Former New York Mets pitcher Anthony Young, who gained notoriety in the early 1990s by setting a major league record with 27 consecutive losses, announced in late January 2017 that he had an inoperable brain tumor. Speaking with radio host Bill Donohue on New York’s WGBB 1240 AM, Young gave listeners an update on his condition.
“I was having blurred vision and my wife took me to the emergency room,” Young said. “They found out that I had a brain tumor in my brain stem, which is too dangerous to try to get a biopsy, so we treated it like it was cancer.”
Anthony Young / Mets
After two months of receiving chemotherapy and radiation, Young is now following a plan to recovery that includes a five day regimen of chemo 23 days apart. Determined not to let his diagnosis affect his life, Young continued to work the entire time since starting his treatment.
“I’m doing great,” he said. “I never got sick, I drove myself every day to chemo. I never missed a day of work. I go to work every day. … Everything is going fine. I had a MRI the other day and the tumor actually shrunk some.”
Kevin L. Mitchell, author of Last Train to Cooperstown: The 2006 Baseball Hall of Fame Inductees from the Negro League Baseball Era, is the guest for this episode of the Baseball Happenings Podcast. In this episode, Mitchell discusses how his love for the history of Negro League Baseball motivated him to capture the careers of this most recent group of Negro Leaguers to be inducted into the Hall of Fame. Mitchell profiles the 17 inductees who might likely be the last members of the Negro Leagues to ride the train to Cooperstown.
In this 1993 interview with Minnie Minoso, Tom Weinberg talks with the Cuban great for an hour at the site of the Old Comiskey Park about his lengthy career in baseball. A relaxed Minoso speaks with his trademark candor that made him a fan favorite during his then six-decade involvement in the game.
For any major league hitter, facing Bob Feller was never an easy task. Armed with a fastball that hovered around 100 miles per hour, Feller made even the most dangerous hitters just another notch in his rising strikeout totals.
Philadelphia Athletics shortstop Al Brancato was barely 19 years old when he first squared off against Feller during 1939 spring training. During a visit to the late Brancato's Upper Darby, Pennsylvania home in 2007, he shared just how difficult it was to hit Feller, who was then a grizzled veteran of three major league seasons at the ripe age of 20.
Bob Feller at the 2009 MLBPAA Dinner / N. Diunte
"With Feller you never knew where the ball was going to be," Brancato recalled. "He hid the ball behind his body and all you saw was a leg and an arm coming. His ball moved a lot and he threw very hard; he had everything. ... The first time I faced him, I was on the bench and Mr. Mack called me to pinch hit. I went up, he threw three balls past me and I’m standing like a statue. You saw a leg, a face, and an arm. ... You didn’t see it until the last minute. He hid the ball and you never saw it until the last moment, and then boom!"
“I was excited when they said that trade went through because I was hitting down in the order by that time and we really didn’t have a leadoff [hitter],” said McRae speaking Friday evening from Marshall, Texas where he was coaching the Park University baseball team. “We had done all of the shuffling in the outfield with [Todd] Hundley playing a little bit in the outfield after [Mike] Piazza got traded [to the Mets], so it was good to have him on the ball club.”
“It was like a month and a half ago with Dave Henderson too,” he said. “I lost two former teammates in a short time.”
Coming up with the Kansas City Royals in 1990, McRae was familiar with Phillips from playing in the American League. He remembered Phillips as a hitter that pitchers weren't fond of seeing at the plate.
“You didn’t like him because he was pesky,” he said. “Pitchers couldn’t bury him and get him out. He fouled off a lot of pitches and always seemed like he was in the middle of rallies for those good A’s teams. He just did a lot of things well to help his team win games."
The 39-year-old Phillips brought the same tenacious approach that McRae described to the Mets, quickly invigorating the clubhouse. There were a lot of intangible elements to Phillips’ game that didn’t show up in the box score, but enabled the entire team to elevate their play.
“He was a good on-base guy for all the guys hitting behind him,” he recalled. “I think our offense got better once he came along. It wasn’t so much him hitting his way on, but just working the count. He might have had a low average, but his on-base percentage was pretty high, and he did a good job running up pitch counts to let everybody else in the lineup see pitches that the pitcher had. He was really comfortable in that role as far as taking a lot of pitches, getting deep in the count, and doing those types of things.”
Spending time with Phillips away from the field gave McRae the opportunity to see how Phillips approached the game that could not be learned from the opposing dugout. He found Phillips to be a real student of the game who was willing to share the intricacies of the trade with him.
“I got to know him a lot better than I did in passing from playing against him,” he said. “We spent a lot of time talking about baseball, his approach mentally, and how he went about getting prepared for a game by checking scouting reports of other teams, pitchers, and things that he picked up.
“He was good with sharing a lot of that knowledge with me; I liked to sit at his locker [to] listen and learn as much as possible. [He] put a lot of his heart and soul into what he did on the ball field, and with him being on those championship teams, you gravitated to those guys because there’s something special about them. When you’re around guys who have been a part of something special, you listen to them and try to learn as much as possible.”
McRae shared an example of Phillips’ tenacity while playing for Mets by relaying an incident that occurred against the St. Louis Cardinals and his former manager Tony LaRussa. After a first-inning brushback by Cardinals starter Matt Morris, Phillips directed his angst at the Hall of Fame skipper.
“He brought a different aura to our ball club and he didn’t back down from anything,” he stated. “I remember we played against the Cardinals and Matt Morris threw up and in on him. He was jawing at Matt Morris, and then Tony LaRussa his former manager was yelling at him; he went right back at LaRussa. He brought a different edge that I think we needed.”
Jester was a standout athlete at Denver’s North High School, where he
played both infield and pitched. So renowned for his accomplishments on
field, Jester was selected for the 1944 Esquire All-American Boys
Baseball Game at the Polo Grounds in New York City. Jester was the
starting pitcher for the West Squad that was managed by Mel Ott. Other
notables who played in that game were Hall of Famer Richie Ashburn, as
well as future major leaguers Erv Palica and Billy Pierce.
Virgil Jester (second from left) at the 1944 Esquire All-American Boys Baseball Game
After attending Colorado State Teacher’s College, Jester was signed by the Braves in 1947 for the princely sum of $2,500. In a 2012 interview with the Denver Post, Jester wished his bonus arrived a half-century later.
"If you look at the salaries today, I was born 55 years too soon," Jester said.
The Braves initially placed Jester not as a pitcher, but as an
infielder, an experiment that was quickly abandoned after he hit .169
during his first season with Class C Leavenworth. It was a move that
paid dividends for both the Braves and Jester, as he posted winning
records each of the next five seasons in the minor leagues, including a
10-5 record at Triple A Milwaukee in 1952 that led to his arrival in the
big leagues.
“I won 10 straight games real quick, after that they called me up,” he said during a 2008 interview from his home in Colorado.
Jester pitched his way to a 3-5 record in 19 games for the Braves for 1952, with his third victory coming against the Brooklyn Dodgers on September 27, 1952.
It was the final victory of the season for the Braves, as their last
game of the 1952 campaign ended in a 12-inning tie against the Dodgers.
Unbeknownst to him, it was also the final victory for the Boston
baseball franchise, as owner Lou Perini moved the team to Milwaukee the
following year.
“I pitched in the last game and beat the Brooklyn Dodgers in the last
game of 1952,” he said. “None of the ballplayers knew anything [about
the move].”
Jester accompanied the team to Milwaukee and made the 1953 club out
of spring training. He pitched sparingly in relief during April and was
sent down to the minor leagues when rosters were trimmed at the end of
the month. His demotion signaled the end of his career as a major
leaguer.
He left the Braves organization after an arm injury in 1954 and
remained out of baseball until 1959 when he was called by an old friend
to help bolster the Denver Bears pitching staff. He gladly accepted.
“I left after the 1954 season and I never did ever hear from the
Braves,” he said. “After that I rejoined the Denver Braves in 1959. I
just kept myself in good shape working out with them in Bears Stadium. …
They were having trouble with their young pitchers they were expecting a
lot of. Bob Howsam called me in and asked me if I wanted to join the
ballclub and I told them, ‘Sure!’ That's how I got back with the 1959
club.”
Jester kept himself involved in athletics working as a college
football and basketball referee, as well as a baseball umpire for over
25 years. He attributed his success as an umpire to his former teammate
and long-time major league manager Gene Mauch.
“I played with Gene Mauch and he was one of the men that I really
followed because he knew the rule book inside out,” he said. “I think he
was the only manager / ballplayer that I ever knew that knew more about
the rule book than the umpires did. I felt like that was the best thing
to learn what to do was to sit down with the rule book and read it. I
umpired with a lot of men that knew the rule book real well, but they
didn't have the guts to really apply it on the field.”
Cool Papa Bell (bottom center) with Satchel Paige (middle row, far right) on the 1937 Ciudad Trujillo team
Paige finished with a 6-1 record, helping to lead the Indians to the 1948 World Series. Due to the dominant pitching performances of the Indians starting rotation, Paige was only called upon to pitch one inning during the series. Despite his limited role in the World Series, Veeck's investment paid dividends through Paige's stellar work in the regular season.
Felipe Montemayor, who was one of the first Mexicans in the major leagues, playing as a member of the Pittsburgh Pirates in 1953 and 1955, gave this excellent interview in 2013 regarding his career in baseball that spanned 20 years in Cuba, Mexico, and the United States.
Felipe Montemayor
Montemayor was a teammate of Roberto Clemente during Clemente's rookie season in 1955, and shares his memories of playing alongside the budding superstar.
Charlie Manuel, former manager of the 2008 World Series champion Philadelphia Phillies, and major leaguer with the Los Angeles Dodgers and Minnesota Twins, candidly discusses his time playing baseball in Japan and the adjustments he made while playing there. In this
interview with the Japan Weekly Baseball Podcast, Manuel shows how his genuine character has made his one of the most respected figures in the game. Manuel is also a popular figure on Twitter and can be followed @CMBaseball41
This episode of the Baseball Happenings Podcast features an interview with author Stephen Bratkovich, who penned the biography of Bob Oldis, a former major league catcher and 1960 World Series Champion with the Pittsburgh Pirates. The book is entitled, "Bob Oldis: A Life in Baseball," chronicling Oldis' eight-decade career in baseball, who at 87, is still employed as a scout with the Miami Marlins. Bratkovich discusses how a letter asking to meet one of his heroes growing up turned into a two-year journey that ended up in the form of a book.
Hank Workman was just a wide-eyed rookie with the New York Yankees when he was called up in September 1950. The University of Southern California star only played two games for the eventual World Series Champions, spending most of his time watching Yankees legends Joe DiMaggio, Johnny Mize, and Phil Rizzuto lead the Yankees to the pennant. Despite being surrounded by those established veterans, the player he was most impressed with was their upstart catcher, Yogi Berra.
The famous catcher was a
sportswriter’s dream. His quick and witty takes on life and baseball
lightened up the often serious accounts of a long season. For almost
seventy years, his famous quotations have endured and transcended the
sport. Sadly, there will no more new “Yogi-isms” to add to the lexicon.
Berra passed away Tuesday evening in New Jersey at the age of 90.
Standing 5’8” and weighing 190 lbs. in his playing days, Berra didn’t
fit the typical physical profile of a major leaguer. Come to think
about it, most of what Berra did on the field was atypical. A notorious
“bad ball,” hitter, Berra broke all convention when it came to managing
the strike zone. If a pitch was anywhere within reach, it was in Berra’s
wheelhouse.
Save for nine at-bats with the New York Mets in 1965, Berra spent his
19-year Hall of Fame playing career with the New York Yankees starting
in 1946. One of baseball’s most celebrated champions, Berra helped to
lead the Yankees to 10 World Series victories in 14 appearances.
Playing alongside the likes of Joe DiMaggio and Mickey Mantle,
Berra’s skill and accomplishments were often overshadowed by their
iconic status. Yet for those that played with Berra, there was a keen
sense of his heightened acumen on the field that truly elevated his
abilities.
Hank Workman
Hank Workman was a teammate of Berra’s on the 1950 Yankees. Despite
only playing with him for one month that season, Workman gained a
tremendous appreciation for the breadth of Berra’s skill set. Speaking
with Workman in 2008, he was quick to acknowledge the nuances of Berra’s
talents that put him in the upper echelon of baseball royalty.
“That guy was a great ballplayer,” Workman said. “He was built like a
middleweight prize fighter. He was very athletic and he had great
baseball sense. He always knew what to do and the right base to throw
to. He could play third base and outfield; he didn’t that often, but he
could. He was one of the best late-inning hitters. Nobody says anything
about that. He didn’t have a super high average, but he never struck out
much; he swung at everything. He was a guy you wanted up there in the
clutch in the late innings. He was a fabulous ballplayer, the best
catcher I think.”
Opening a pack of baseball cards for a child in the 1980s brought feelings of tremendous anticipation not only for the cards that were hidden beneath the sealed wax paper, but also the stale piece of gum that was pressed up against hopefully the worst one in the bunch. For many, those images on the front of each card and the stats on the back were burned into memory after spending hours poring over their contents. Well before the advent of widespread availability through cable television and the internet, these cards were often one's only visions of the players we followed in newspaper box scores. These men stood as heroes to an entire generation, frozen in time due to a picture on a baseball card; however, what happens when that fame melts and the players are left to deal with the closing of their careers at an age when most of their peers are just establishing theirs?
Author Brad Balukjian cracked open a pack of his favorite 1986 Topps and after sorting out the players, he set out to find the next world for a ballplayer after an entire generation has passed since they ended their career. Engaging in a cross-country trek starting from his home in California, he put over 10,000 miles in seven weeks on his 2002 Honda Accord to meet with and examine the lives of the 14 players in one pack of 1986 Topps baseball cards for a book cleverly entitled “Wax Pack.”
1986 Topps Wax Pack (WaxPackBook.com)
Fast forward thirty years and every statistic that can be measured or imagined exists a mouse click away on the internet. While seemingly every bit of data exists about their effectiveness on the field, for most of the players in the 792 card set, little is written about what happened to them after they put their gloves away and hung up their spikes. The idea for breathing life to the stories of each of the men in this singular pack of baseball cards was spawned from Balukjian and a friend reminiscing about their childhood.
“One of my best friends and I were talking about growing up in that era and how we really felt like some of the best stories could be told from some of the players who were not superstars,” Balukjian said during a July 2015 stop in Brooklyn. “These guys maybe have not been asked as often about their careers and their lives. We started to think about what would be a project that would allow us to start to explore those stories from those guys who were not the superstars. I had the idea that what was really fun about buying a pack of baseball cards as a kid was the random factor, you don’t know what you’re going to get in the pack.”
After opening a few packs to get one with a mix of players that were attainable to reach, Balukjian settled on a collection that included 14 players and one checklist. Once he had his pack laid out in front of him, he decided how he was going to string together this group who all shared one thing in common, their presence on the eerily familiar black bordered 1986 Topps baseball card.
“Being a random selection of players, most of the guys are not going to be the superstars,” he said. “I thought there are 15 cards in a pack, 15 chapters in a book, it sort of lends itself to that format to make a book about that single pack. Initially we talked about doing a book pack about the 1985 season told from the varying perspectives of whatever 15 players we got in the pack. As we tried to figure out how to do that, it got a little bit difficult because there might not be a cohesive narrative from 15 random guys, so we decided it would be better to focus on the journey of trying to track down the 15 guys in the pack, telling the story of the journey, and each of the individual players.”
Now that Balukjian had a plan, he set out to track down the men in his pack of baseball cards. They ranged from the highly recognized (Carlton Fisk and Doc Gooden), to the controversial (Vince Coleman), to the relative unknown (Jaime Cocanower). Spread out across the country, the author filled his summer with appointments stretched out from coast to coast.
“Most guys were pretty receptive,” he said. “Garry Templeton and Steve Yeager both were guys that on the first phone call, they seemed like they would cooperative. They may not have fully understood the project, but when I said, ‘Hey I’m going to be in your town on this date,’ they said, ‘I could do that.’ With a couple of exceptions, most of the guys were pretty easy to work with.”
Garry Templeton with the Wax Pack / (WaxPackBook.com)
Of course the story wouldn’t be so interesting if all of the players fell in line. It turned out that the highest profile players in Balukjian’s pack turned out to be the most elusive. Using tactics that could serve him well as a private investigator, he turned to covert methods to try to track down the likes of Fisk and Coleman, which he kept running tabs of in his blog.
“In a way those failures makes the book better,” he said. “I think it is better that I don’t get all 14 players. The story of sneaking my way into an exclusive golf course in Sarasota, Florida to try to ambush Carlton Fisk after he plays a round of golf is going to be really fun. Tracking down Vince Coleman’s childhood home, his high school in Jacksonville, and the story of how he told me basically to ‘f-off,’ those stories would be kind of more fun — the quest aspect.”
As close as the author would get to Fisk in Cooperstown (WaxPackBook.com)
As Balukjian continued to survey the players in his pack of baseball cards while spending endless hours on the road counting off whether Starbucks or Dunkin Donuts had a grip on each locale, he found a consistent theme with each of the retired athletes. They no longer basked in their glory days the way fans romanticize their on-field accomplishments.
“There is a disconnect between the fans’ enthusiasm for some of the stuff in baseball history and the players that were actually part of that history,” he noted. “As fans we tend to glorify and get really enthusiastic about our memories. The guys that actually lived through that stuff, even the really positive moments, I found a lot of the guys kind of had the attitude of being not too excited to talk about or relive those moments.
“I think there are a couple of reasons why that may be. It may be painful; relieving those glory days is a reminder to them that they will never be that athlete again. You are dredging up a lot of feelings and memories about a time when their entire lives were dedicated to achieving this goal. Once you are past your prime, you know you will never win another World Series or hit another home run. It could be kind of painful to have to talk about that.”
Many of the players had difficulty replacing the highly regimented major league baseball player's schedule and the adulation that comes with playing in front of 30,000 fans every night. Their struggles transitioning to a regular civilian caused problems in many facets of their lives, including their relationships and what vices they sought to cope.
“It was hard for all of them,” he said. “It’s no coincidence that some major life changes happened in those years right after they retired. Some guys started drinking, some guys got divorced, and some tried some other professions where they didn’t catch on. I think they all had a hard time letting go of playing. Even if they were going into coaching, Randy Ready said something like, ‘Putting the player inside to bed, letting that person go is a very hard thing to do.’ They all spoke to the competitive nature they needed to have to get to the major leagues, and how hard it is to know that you’ll never be able to do that again.”
This isn’t to say that all of these men are disgruntled ex-athletes, rather Balukjian’s odyssey revealed how human these ballplayers are. While most only get to know them from their baseball cards and television highlights, he was fortunate enough to be able to engage them in some deep conversations that had nothing to do with stepping in between the lines.
“A lot of the time we haven’t talked about baseball directly,” he said. “It’s been about relationships — really candid, really powerful and emotional stuff about relationships with their fathers, relationships with their kids, with spouses, and the game itself. Some stuff that comes up has been very traumatic that they’ve talked about.”
These deeply guarded layers are ones that he intends to reveal in his book. He hoped that by peeling back the curtain on their lives, he will appeal to a group wider than just baseball fans.
“I’m more interested in understanding these guys as people and men,” he stated. “I’m less interested in asking about their favorite memory in their baseball career was or how they felt when they won the World Series; they’ve been asked that a million times. I’m more interested in what they did the day after they retired, or how did being on the road for all those years affected their marriages — things of broader interest than baseball.”
One such player that he connected with beyond balls and strikes was former Philadelphia Phillies pitcher Don Carman, who was Balukjian’s favorite player growing up. Carman is now a sports psychologist that works for super agent Scott Boras, whose clientele includes New York Mets ace Matt Harvey.
“I felt like after spending a couple of days with him, it sounds cheesy, but it almost was like I was meant to have him as a favorite player,” he said. “Getting to know him personally I really identified with who he is as a person. He told me a lot of stories about growing up in Western Oklahoma in a difficult family situation. He said his dad never spoke to him directly ever. His dad died of a heart attack when he was 15, so there’s a lot of pain there. I couldn’t relate to that because I had a good relationship with my dad, but Don described sort of being sort of an outside as a kid, always being a little bit different. That’s something I could relate to. When you make these human connections with a guy that was literally my idol as a kid, it is a really unique thing. It’s no longer, ‘I’m a fan and he’s my favorite player,’ it’s sort of a relationship between two people.”
Balukjian with Don Carman (r.) / (WaxPackBook.com)
At 34 years old, Balukjian is about the same age as when many of his subjects ended their professional baseball careers. This journey allowed him to examine many questions about his own life, taking bits of wisdom from each interview to help him gain perspective on his own direction.
“Frankly, it’s not even about baseball,” he said. “Really it’s a story about growing up. I am now the age these guys were when these guys had to retire and stop playing the game for a living. I’m a single guy, 34, no kids, nowhere near married. I’m sort of facing my own questions in life; do I need to grow up? I always bucked against the trend of getting married, settling down, and doing the traditional thing career wise. This book is giving me an opportunity to think out loud about myself and also learn from the lives of 14 other men that had to grow up themselves when they could no longer play baseball.”
