Pinstripe Empire

by Marty Appel

  “Great, great, great is the only word to describe the ballgame that today made the incredibly Cinderella-ish Pirates the 1960 champions of the baseball world,” wrote Dick Young.

  Had Nelson tagged Mantle, Mazeroski’s legendary home run would never have happened.

  FIVE DAYS AFTER the Series ended, Fishel and his new assistant Bill Guilfoile called reporters to a press conference at the Savoy Hilton Hotel, across Fifty-eighth Street from the Yankee offices where the General Motors Building and the Apple store now stand.

  Casey was there, looking prosperous in a blue suit, and Topping took charge. He began to explain a profit-sharing payout waiting for Casey, and the fact that his last two-year contract had included an understanding that he could retire if he wished after one year. The writers were getting restless.

  One finally yelled out, “Is he through, Dan? Has he resigned?”

  The question went unanswered. It was Casey’s turn to speak.

  “Mr. Webb and Mr. Topping have started a program for the Yankees, a youth program,” he said. “They needed a solution as to when to discharge a man on account of age. They have paid me off in full and told me my services are not desired any longer by this club. I told them if this was their idea not to worry about Mr. Stengel, he can take care of himself.”

  “Casey, were you fired?” shouted another reporter.

  “No, I wasn’t fired; I was paid up in full. Write anything you want. Quit, fired, whatever you please, I don’t care.”

  This wasn’t going as planned. Topping had been unable to make sweetness out of this send-off moment.

  Joe Reichler of the Associated Press had already phoned his desk with the story.

  “Casey, an AP bulletin says you’ve been fired …”

  “What did the UP say?” asked Casey, referring to the old United Press (now UPI).

  So the Yankees had fired Stengel after ten pennants and seven world championships in twelve years. What would have happened had he won the seventh game of the Series? No one ever learned the answer to that. “I’ll never make the mistake of being seventy again,” said Casey.

  Indeed, the Yankees were now instituting a mandatory retirement age of sixty-five for employees. And sure enough, on November 2, George Weiss resigned as general manager, to be replaced by his assistant Roy Hamey. Weiss, however, would get a five-year consulting deal and had nothing bad to say.

  “Gigantic organizations such as General Motors and United States Steel have retirement deadlines, but they have sense enough to use them with flexibility,” wrote Arthur Daley. “However, a puny organization like the Yankees blindly adheres to the letter of its own law. It’s a new law, too. It could have waited for implementation until Casey had decided to quit of his own will.”

  A night after his firing, the New York writers threw a party for Casey at the Waldorf-Astoria. He had filled their notebooks and made their jobs a pleasure for a dozen years.

  Possible successors included Al Lopez, who had won the pennant both times the Yankees didn’t finish first in the Stengel era; Birdie Tebbetts; and coaches Jim Turner (who had moved to the Reds), Eddie Lopat (who had succeeded him with the Yankees), Frank Crosetti (the ever-present third-base coach), and Ralph Houk (who had filled in for Casey for two weeks in 1960 when he was ill).

  Internally, employees knew Houk was going to be their guy. Even Stengel knew he would one day be his successor. Beloved by the players, a champion manager in Denver (where he had managed Richardson, Kubek, Blanchard, Terry, and other top prospects), he was rumored to be headed to Boston to manage the Red Sox. Kansas City was also said to be interested in him, with a new owner, Charles O. Finley, having taken over the team. Topping and Webb didn’t want to lose him. If anything, it hastened their decision to fire Stengel.

  On October 20, once again at the Savoy-Hilton, Houk, forty-one, was announced as the team’s new manager. The onetime bullpen catcher was now the boss.

  Houk had won a Bronze Star, a Purple Heart, and a Silver Star at the Battle of the Bulge, and had risen to major in the army; hence, he was called the Major. Everyone agreed he was a good choice, but the fans were enormously sympathetic to Stengel. There would be no learning curve for the rookie manager: The expectation was to win at once.

  IN AUGUST 1960, expansion was on the owners’ minds. Dan Topping took a leadership role by demanding that the American League put a team in Los Angeles as a counterbalance to allowing the National League to reinstate one in New York. Webb, sensing an opportunity to build the new ballpark in L.A., concurred. The other AL owners closed ranks behind them, and the awarding of a franchise to Gene Autry—the Los Angeles Angels—was a victory for Topping. (When Anaheim Stadium was built in 1964–66, the contractor was the Del Webb Company, which had also retrofitted Los Angeles Coliseum for the Dodgers in 1958.)

  The other AL franchise went to Washington, where a new team would replace the “old” Senators, who were granted permission to move to Minnesota. In the expansion draft, held December 14, 1960, the Yankees lost Eli Grba, Maas, Cerv, and Ken Hunt to the Angels, and Shantz, Long, and Bud Zipfel to the Senators. (Cerv would be traded back to the Yanks in May.)

  McDougald, who had gone 9-for-21 as a pinch hitter in 1960 in addition to being an experienced role player, packed it in after the season. The Angels wanted him—Autry called him four times—but he knew he was through. “I got tired of traveling and putting on the uniform,” he said. “When you get to that stage, you better get the hell out. I knew I was no longer a good ballplayer.”16

  1960 WAS NOT only the last year of the Stengel Yankees, but the last year of eight-team leagues and 154-game seasons, the new total being 162. It was also Ted Williams’s final season, and Mantle became the uncontested superstar of the league.

  Although the National League would not expand until 1962, New York’s new National League team—the Metropolitans—would be spending 1961 getting prepared.

  And what announcements they would have.

  On March 12, 1961, they hired Weiss to be their general manager, and after much persuasion, Weiss named Stengel to be his manager on October 2, using the same suite at the Savoy Hilton Hotel to make the announcement. It was a stroke of genius. As good as Casey was with a talented roster, he was the perfect man to deflect attention away from a losing bunch of ballplayers while charming the media, wooing fans, and turning the Mets into instant hits in New York. The battle lines were drawn, with Weiss and Stengel prepared to snub their noses at the Yankees while winning over fans at the Mets’ temporary, two-year home at the Polo Grounds.

  They also took Gus Mauch, the Yankees’ trainer (Joe Soares would succeed him), as well as a number of old Yankee front-office employees and even some retooled players like Gene Woodling and Marv Throneberry (a younger player from Houk’s Denver champs, whose flubs and miscues would delight the press and help create the hapless but lovable Mets image). Casey could deflect bad play away from the players and help establish the Mets as “lovable losers,” something no other expansion team in any sport has been able to duplicate.

  Houk was a “player’s manager.” The mantra was “We’d run through a wall for Ralph Houk.” Stengel had been well liked enough and certainly respected, but Houk was adored by his players. He never criticized a player in the media, he kept the bench players happy, and he didn’t get involved with the pettiness of room checks and evenings out, something Stengel famously harped on.

  Houk made two other key changes in ’61. He told Mickey Mantle that while the Yankees hadn’t named team captains since Lou Gehrig died, he was the de facto one—the guy who was to lead the team by example. “I’m not reviving the post of captain,” he told Dan Daniel. “I want him to lead the club. He is 29, mellowed, certainly not complacent.” He also put him in the cleanup slot in the batting order, protecting Maris in the third spot. Except for Ford and Berra, Mantle was now the senior player on the roster, already a Yankee immortal. (Berra was the only player to span the full Stengel era.)

  Then he t
old Ford that he would be pitching every fourth day, and that he would not be held back and strategically placed in favorable ballparks. In short, he would treat him like the elite starter he was. And so after averaging fewer than 30 starts a year since his first full season, he would make 39 in 1961—and would respond with his first 20-win season. He went 25–4, leading the league in wins, winning percentage, and innings pitched while striking out a career-high 209 and winning the Cy Young Award.

  If nothing else, changing the psychology of Mantle and the work habits of Ford elevated what had been a very good team into a legendary one.

  Houk dropped Lopat as pitching coach and brought in Johnny Sain, who was developing a reputation as the best in the game. He added Wally Moses as hitting coach. (Sain lasted three seasons; when he wanted a $2,500 raise in ’64 and was denied, he went elsewhere.)

  The 1961 Yankees would perform so well that they immediately entered into the debate of “greatest Yankee team ever” with the ’27 and ’39 squads. They set a major league record with 240 home runs and coasted to the pennant. Their 109 victories were the second highest in franchise history, although this was the first year of an expanded schedule.

  On September 1–3, before crowds totaling 171,503, the Yanks swept three from the Tigers as Arroyo won two and saved one. Arroyo was the best relief pitcher in the league, with a screwball as baffling as his arm was tireless. He appeared in a then-club-record 65 games, going 15–5 and saving 29 (AL relief records for both wins by a reliever and saves) with a 2.19 ERA. Forty of his appearances were for more than one inning, including a 6⅔-inning appearance of shutout ball on July 30. He was there so often to save Ford, it brought back memories of Gomez-Murphy, and Whitey loved it. On Whitey Ford Day, held on September 9, Arroyo was driven in from the bullpen under a giant Life Savers package to everyone’s amusement. Thirty-nine years later, at a second Whitey Ford Day, Arroyo was there again. Ford hadn’t seen him in many years, and Whitey had tears in his eyes as they embraced. He loved Looie.

  The sweep of the Tigers was the start of a thirteen-game winning streak for the Yanks, who wound up winning the pennant by eight games. They were an amazing 65–16 at home.

  The regular lineup was essentially intact from 1960, although two new starters entered the rotation. Bill Stafford, just twenty-one, was 14–9, and Rollie Sheldon, twenty-four, was 11–5. Bud Daley, the “final” Kansas City acquisition, was obtained at the trading deadline in June for Ditmar and Deron Johnson, and won eight games.

  Sheldon, from the University of Connecticut, was 15–1 at class-D Auburn in 1960 and made the jump to the majors after a fine spring training. He had lied about his age, telling scout Harry Hesse that he was twenty, but a phone tip to Bob Fishel by a sportswriter who had seen him play in Connecticut brought about a four-year adjustment.

  Howard, Berra, and Blanchard, all catchers by trade, hit 60 homers between them, with Berra playing most of his games in the outfield. Howard hit .348, to lead the team. Skowron belted 28 homers. The infield—Skowron, Richardson, Kubek, and Boyer—was among the best defensively ever assembled.

  But the real story of 1961 was the challenge to Babe Ruth’s record of 60 home runs by Mantle and Maris. Few baseball events ever managed to capture all of America’s interest as this did. The race to 60 was featured on the cover of Life magazine, reported on the network newscasts, discussed everywhere.

  Mantle emerged as the wide favorite among fans and baseball insiders. Mick seemed “worthy,” having challenged the record five years earlier, having worn the Yankee uniform for his entire career, having already won four home run titles, and having made his reputation as one of the great sluggers of all time.

  Maris, twenty-six, seemed unworthy. He was in his fifth season, and only his second with the Yankees. He seemed to wear a scowl on his face, and his frank answers to questions he thought to be dumb rubbed writers the wrong way. Maris had hit only 97 home runs going into the season, few of them “tape-measure.”

  Among his chief critics were Mrs. Babe Ruth and old-timers like Rogers Hornsby and Frankie Frisch, who questioned whether he could even be on the same field with players of their era.

  Mantle and Maris, who shared an apartment in Queens with Bob Cerv, tried to ignore the attention and just keep hitting. Roger didn’t homer until the eleventh game of the season, but by July 4, the traditional halfway point of the baseball calendar, Maris had 31 and Mantle 28. (Maris lost one in a game rained out before five innings were completed.) Newspapers started to show graphs to track their progress, reminding people that Ruth had hit 17 in September. Pete Kalison, the Yankee statistician, worked overtime to find new twists in the chase. Bill Kane, just starting as Mel Allen’s stat assistant in the broadcast booth, was frantically filling out three-by-five note cards each time one of the M&M Boys hit one.

  On July 26, with Maris at 40 and Mantle at 38, Commissioner Ford Frick made a dramatic announcement. The onetime ghostwriter for Ruth said, “Babe Ruth’s mark of 60 home runs, made in a schedule of 154 games in 1927, cannot be broken unless some batter hits 61 or more within his club’s first 154 games.” It came to be known as the “asterisk” decision (although the books showed both records, and Frick never used the word).

  On they went, entering September with Maris at 51 and Mantle at 48. Mantle faded, limited by injuries, but still hit a career-high 54. Attention turned to Maris. He heard booing, even at home. The 154th game was in Baltimore on September 20 (actually, with an earlier tie, it was number 155). Roger needed two and he got one, grounding out weakly on his last chance off Wilhelm. He had 59 in the allotted time, and a sigh of relief went out from Ruth and Mantle fans.

  That wasn’t the way it should have been. Frick’s decision, whether fair or not, had robbed baseball of the thrill of the final eight games and the grand chase. There was no real sense of marketing in baseball at the time; it was still an industry of “open the gates and they will come.”

  What should have been a thrilling finish felt anticlimactic. Maris hit his 60th against Jack Fisher of the Orioles on September 26, with just 19,401 on hand at Yankee Stadium. His teammates appreciated it—they coaxed him out of the dugout to wave his cap in appreciation of the applause, an unprecedented curtain call.

  On the season’s final day, only 23,154 turned out, many of them packed into the lower right-field stands, hoping to catch number 61 and receive $5,000 from a West Coast restaurateur. And Maris, with the pressure of the season having even caused some hair loss, delivered. He belted his 61st homer off Boston’s Tracy Stallard in the fourth inning, as the Yankees won 1–0 for their 109th win. Again he made a curtain call. In right field, a Brooklyn teen named Sal Durante, there with his girlfriend, caught the ball. He was taken to the Yankee clubhouse where he tried to give the ball to Maris.

  “Get what you can for it, kid,” said Roger.

  Sal collected the reward, married his girlfriend, and became a school-bus driver and the answer to a trivia question. (Baseball trivia has become a bit of a passtime all its own, with avid fans enjoying the challenge of the game’s most obscure details.

  Frick’s decision was not only a bad marketing call, but history would prove that the expanded schedule did not play havoc with the record book. It was, of course, not anything that Frick could anticipate. Whereas Ruth’s record of 60 had lasted thirty-four years, Maris’s 61 lasted thirty-seven more, until broken by Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa in 1998 and then again by Barry Bonds in 2001. Roger’s widow, Pat, and her children were in St. Louis when McGwire hit his 62nd, a very emotional moment for baseball fans, who had come to respect Maris’s accomplishment at last. (He still held the American League record.)

  Not until 1991 did Commissioner Fay Vincent finally declare that the record belonged to Maris, no asterisk required. (Bonds, of course, has a ball in the Hall of Fame literally branded with an asterisk—his 756th career homer. McGwire’s and Sosa’s feats have been linked to performance enhancing drugs as well.)

  With his ruling defusing
the thrill that the final games might have provided, Frick contributed to what had to be considered a very unimpressive year at the gate for the Yankees. They were still the only team in town. The home run showdown had been an enormous story all summer. There was a good pennant race and a fantastic team. Where were the fans? The Yankees drew only 1,747,725, up just 120,000 from the previous year, an average of about 1,600 more per date. It was not an impressive showing.

  In later years, Bob Fishel would blame himself for the problems Maris faced with the press, feeling that he could have made things easier by creating an “interview room” in a more controlled setting so that Maris wouldn’t be cornered at his locker after games with the endless string of “Think you can do it?” questions. But no one had done this yet. It would later become standard practice in the NFL and then in the MLB at big events, and eventually carried out on the team level. Bob was hard on himself for not creating the idea to help shield Roger.

  (Forty years after this great home run race, Billy Crystal produced, with Ross Greenburg, an Emmy-winning HBO film, 61*, with Thomas Jane as Mantle and Barry Pepper as Maris.)

  Maris hit another homer in the World Series against the Cincinnati Reds, although the injured Mantle was limited to just six at-bats. The Yanks won the Series in five games, with Bud Daley winning the decisive game with 6⅔ innings in relief of Terry (16–3 in the regular season). Ford ran his World Series consecutive-scoreless-innings streak to 32, breaking the mark set by Babe Ruth back when Ruth pitched for Boston. It was the Yankees’ nineteenth world championship. Houk won Manager of the Year honors, coming through under the pressure to succeed Stengel.