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| Frank Sullivan |
Before he was a two-time All-Star and a fixture of the 1950s Boston Red Sox rotation, Frank Sullivan was just a tall, lean kid from Burbank who lived for the hardwood. In fact, if things had gone a little differently, he might have ended up a legend for Stanford basketball rather than a Red Sox Hall of Famer.
In a candid 2009 interview, Sullivan reflected on the moment he turned his back on a basketball scholarship to chase a life on the diamond. It wasn't just the love of the game that sealed the deal; it was a cab ride, a hotel lobby, and a young pitcher named Mickey McDermott.
A West Coast State of Mind
In the late 1940s, the big leagues felt like a world away for a kid in California. Absent of television and the internet, the major leagues were a distant rumor.
"I didn't know anything about the Major Leagues," Sullivan said. "I was basically a basketball player. I never thought about the Major Leagues. I thought about the Hollywood Stars, Angels, Seals... all of those teams."
Out West, the Pacific Coast League (PCL) was king. Players were making $4–$5 an hour working in movie studios; huge money at the time, and many didn't see the point in traveling past St. Louis for a paycheck. Sullivan’s father was a semi-pro player, and while the talent was in Frank's blood, his heart was on the court. It took his high school basketball coach nudging him toward the baseball field in the off-season to change his trajectory.
The Somerset Hotel and the $4 Tip
When the Red Sox finally scouted the 6'7" right-hander, they didn't just offer him a contract; they offered him a glimpse into a parallel universe. They flew him to Boston in 1948 and put him up at the Somerset Hotel, the epicenter of Red Sox social life.
It was there that Sullivan encountered two teenage pitchers who would change his life: Chuck Stobbs and the eccentric, hard-living Mickey McDermott.
"I remember Chuck Stobbs and Mickey McDermott were in the lobby of the Somerset Hotel, and they asked me to go uptown with them. I was just thrilled, I was a high school kid. They took me uptown and we got out of the cab... it was my first cab ride! I got out of the cab and you could just feel the people, ‘There’s Chuck!’"
For a kid used to a modest allowance, the ride was an eye-opener. But it was what happened when the door opened that truly stunned him.
"They tipped the cab driver $3-$4 and that was more than my allowance," Sullivan said.
The Shirt That Changed Everything
The trio walked into an Arrow shirt store. Sullivan, trailing behind the two stars like a shadow, watched as McDermott decided he didn't feel like waiting until he got home to wear a new purchase.
"McDermott sees a shirt he likes, takes the shirt he has on off, buys the new one and leaves the old one there. I thought, 'Jesus Christ, this is what I want to do.' It had a lot of influence on me. I was only 17."
To Sullivan, that discarded shirt was the ultimate symbol of freedom and success. It wasn't about the batting averages or the ERA; it was about the swagger.
1953 Boston Red Sox Team Photo
Life is More Than 9 Innings
Sullivan eventually signed with Boston, moving through the ranks to become the staff's workhorse.. Decades later, when he wrote his book, Life is More Than 9 Innings, he looked back at his younger self with a mix of humor and wisdom.
"They showed you some things you think are, really aren't," he noted, acknowledging that it took a stint in the military to smarten him up to the realities of the world. Yet, that day in Boston remained etched in his memory; the day a basketball star from Burbank realized that baseball wasn't just a game, it was a ticket to a life where you could leave your old shirt on the counter and never look back.