Munson

by Marty Appel

  “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.”

  19

  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-fou
r 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.”

  I smiled to myself when I read this. Thurman’s version of the story was that he wore his spikes, not sandals, and that the clumps of mud that dropped onto Steinbrenner’s desk gave him a kick. George didn’t remember it that way, or chose not to.

  Steinbrenner also revealed that he had said to Thurman, “Would it make any difference to you if we traded you to Cleveland like you always wanted?” And Thurman had told him, “It might. If you got a deal for me with the Indians, maybe I’d consider playing a couple more years.” And so Steinbrenner had phoned Gabe Paul, now at Cleveland, and the two had agreed to discuss this possibility after the season.

  Some fans put floral arrangements near the player entrance. The gates mercifully opened at six p.m. Eddie Layton played somber music on the organ for nearly the full two hours leading up to game time, setting the tone in the ballpark. He made it feel like a church. There was an unusual stillness as the fans entered and headed for their seats. A misty rain was falling—a baseball rain—not enough to call off the game, but appropriate weather for everyone’s mood.

  At 6:30, Steinbrenner went into the clubhouse and the full team met. He wanted to talk about playing the game. “Nobody wanted or felt any desire to play baseball,” said Figueroa in his book. “Murcer conveyed to us that Munson’s wife had said that we should play the game, as that would have been her husband’s wish. Then George Steinbrenner talked to us. He could not contain his tears and began to cry, as did the rest of us, joining him in shared sorrow. It was a very sad night for all of us, the players and the Yankee management.”

  “Billy had to talk to everybody and he couldn’t hold himself from talking about it,” said Chris Chambliss. “Everybody was crying in there.”

  Emerging from the clubhouse after the meeting, Steinbrenner talked to the waiting press. He was wearing a white shirt with a red tie, and no jacket. Said Steinbrenner: “We had a meeting. We talked about the untimely passing of Thurman, and I’d just rather not discuss what took place in there. Everybody was there and a few fellows spoke and it was a tribute to Thurman and that’s all I can really say.”

  But in answer to a question, he added, “Bobby Murcer said he talked to Thurman’s wife last night. Diane said he would want them to play and that she felt that’s what he would want and therefore she would appreciate it if the fellows went out and played … We’re gonna play tonight, Monday we’re all going to the funeral and if we don’t get back, we don’t get back, we’ll forfeit.”

  And with that he turned and walked away.

  20

  The field was covered after what Frank Messer, on WPIX, called “desultory batting practice.” But the tarp was removed just after eight p.m. In pregame remarks on WPIX, coming toward the end of Channel 11’s 7:30 Action News, Messer revealed at once that number 15 would be retired, joining 3 (Ruth), 4 (Gehrig), 5 (DiMaggio), 7 (Mantle), 8 (Dickey and Berra), 16 (Ford), and 37 (Stengel); that Thurman’s locker would be retired and never again used; and that there would be a plaque hung for Thurman in Monument Park.

  Further, Mrs. Diana Munson would join Mrs. Eleanor Gehrig as the “First Ladies of the Yankees.”

  Ordinarily those might have been separate ceremonies, perhaps even the following year. Now it was done at once and announced at the top of the broadcast. It was included in the day’s press notes so that the writers had it by six p.m.

  WPIX did not use its upbeat opening animation. Don Carney, the veteran producer and director of the game, knew he had an unusually difficult telecast ahead of him. Messer and Bill White appeared on camera together, live, as they had the night before in the WPIX news studio on East Forty-second Street. There was no pre-taped opening segment, as was usually the case.

  “We never know how the team will react,” White said, as the tarp began to be removed from the field at 8:02.

  Phil Rizzuto and Fran Healy were on WINS radio and the vast Yankee radio network. Listeners heard the familiar opening Yankee theme song, but then the somber voices of the announcers began filling time until the ceremony began.

  Healy talked about his becoming a teammate of Thurman’s in 1976, and how soon thereafter, when the Yankees were playing in Cleveland, Thurman had invited him to spend the night at his in-laws’ home in Canton. The two had been opponents as far back as 1968 in the Eastern League.

  “We were there, and he pointed to a house in the backyard and said, ‘That’s where you’ll sleep.’ And I looked at it and said, ‘No way!’ Thurman said, ‘Well, what do you want me to do?’ I told him he has to stay there too; he could sleep on the floor. And that’s what he did!”

  The two talked about how Munson had actually done something few players managed during their careers: he had “stopped to smell the roses”—had been there more than most players for his kids as they grew up.

  Rizzuto said he didn’t “know how I even got to Yankee Stadium today. Every few minutes my mind just went blank. But today is easier than yesterday, which was the longest night I can remember. At least today we’re surrounded by teammates and friends, and the players can go out and spend some energy, hitting and catching the baseballs.

  “Thurman used to tell me a little prayer,” said Phil, “something that can work for everyone, whether you are Jewish, or Catholic or Protestant… ‘You’ve got to live for to
day because tomorrow may never come.’ And how true that is, and how much we feel that now.”

  On this night, Yankee Stadium would indeed serve as a cathedral.

  There were signs all over the stadium: “We’ll Love You Always Thurman,” “Thurman We’ll Miss You,” “15 Thanks,” “NY 15 is in Our Hearts Forever.” White talked about Jerry Narron, “who will hit with power, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he hits as many as thirty home runs a year.” It was mentioned that catcher Brad Gulden was also called up to take Thurman’s spot on the roster.

  Reggie Jackson was alone, stretching in the wet outfield grass. Don Carney called for frequent shots of him from the “low third” camera. Reggie had been in Connecticut on Thursday and hadn’t been reached by any news media for comment. His agent Matt Merola said he “was in a state of shock.”

  The lineups were taken to home plate by coaches Cal Ripken Sr. and Mike Ferraro, not by the two managers, Earl Weaver and Billy Martin.

  The whole Yankee team was in the dugout, end to end, with no one in the bullpen.

  The Yankees and Orioles emerged from their dugouts at 8:05. Figueroa, on the disabled list and in street clothes, stood out. The only one missing was Murcer, who had called Martin to say he wouldn’t be at the game and would stay in Canton with Kay Friday night. The Yankee starters went to their positions, with Luis Tiant dabbing tears from his eyes on the pitching mound, and Reggie Jackson doing the same, wiping his glasses, in right field.

  Carney called for frequent cuts to Reggie in right. No doubt fans were wondering what he was feeling. He had been Munson’s foil. Were they staring at him, thinking he was being insincere? All of this had to pass through Reggie Jackson’s mind. The fans had little knowledge of the peace they had forged; how Reggie had flown with Thurman just a few weeks before.