A TALE OF THREE CITIES: NEW YORK, L.A. AND SAN FRANCISCO IN OCTOBER OF ‘62 (16 page)

DiMaggio played in the Depression ‘30s and had his
career interrupted by World War II. Unlike rival Ted Williams, a
Marine fighter pilot and John Wayne character, DiMaggio spent the
war years comfortably playing ball for service teams in Hawaii.
Mantle’s career was never broken up by such challenges to America.
He tried to volunteer for the Army, as the Korean War raged in the
first three years of his career, but his many physical ailments
made him 4-F. Instead, he and the Yankees resembled American
superiority. It was as if the Army had dominated all rivals in
order to make it safe for the Yankees to ride to glory in peaceful
times.

DiMaggio probably was in the public eye even more
after retirement than he was during his playing days, when he
married Marilyn Monroe. When Marilyn went to Korea on a USO tour,
insane G.I. cheers met her. After writhing provocatively for the
boys,
almost
fulfilling their most carnal fantasies, she
returned and breathlessly exclaimed to DiMaggio, “Joe, Joe, you
never heard such cheering.”

“Yes I have,” replied Joe without a trace of
cheerfulness.

It was a telling reply, implicit in the notion that
no Hollywood actor, or rock star, or celebrity figure of any kind,
is as revered as our greatest sports heroes are. The true New York
Sports Icon is the highest on the pecking order. But this again
goes back to the “fleeting” nature of glory. DiMaggio spent the
rest of his life peeved that no matter how hard he tried, the kind
of cheering Marilyn described – even at old-timers games – could
not be duplicated.

Mantle handled it with less grace, albeit more good
humor. The great athlete-as-drunk was his unfortunate destiny. The
athlete is human. The American hero is not a Greek god, or given
divine status by Papal decree. His memory must compete with the
attention-deficit world of modern culture. Few transcended it; Ted
Williams and John Wooden maybe. It is a short list.

Perhaps the ultimate symbol of Yankee dominance and
Mantle’s greatness came during a World Series game at Ebbets Field.
Mantle stepped to the plate at a crucial juncture amid great
jeering and catcalling from a rowdy Brooklyn crowd. He then powered
a tape-measure home run, essentially putting another win away for
his club. Insult was added to injury when his shot bounced, caromed
and dented multiple cars parked beyond the fence.

Mantle was diagnosed with a crippling disease,
osteomyelitis, during his rookie year. In the 1951 World Series, he
tripped over a sprinkler and was hospitalized. It was the beginning
of numerous physical maladies. DiMaggio spent a night in the same
room, recovering from some minor ailment. Their careers were
paralleled by constant injuries. It probably afforded Mickey the
chance to speak with Joe D. more than any other opportunity. He
never got used to DiMaggio’s star power.

Mick’s injuries seemed to be a pattern started within
his own family. His father, his uncle and his grandfather all died
by the time they were 40. All had Hodgkin's disease, their demises
most likely exacerbated by life, such as it was, in the mineshafts
they toiled in. Mantle desperately wanted to avoid such a life, but
despite successfully escaping the mines for the bright lights of
Manhattan, it hung over him like the Grim Reaper. No matter how
many home runs he hit, no matter how much fun he had with Whitey
Ford and Billy Martin, and no matter how beautiful the women he
squired about town while his dutiful wife raised their sons in
Dallas, he could not escape what he was convinced was the
Hodgkin's, just waiting to ravage his great body as it had his
elders. Asked why he did not take care of himself - drink less,
sleep more, come to the park early for treatment – he said that he
did not expect to live much past 40 and therefore would live the
way he chose.

Mantle married his high school sweetheart, but she
never lived in New York. He usually stayed in swank hotels like the
St. Moritz, living a room service existence of parties and excess.
Ford, a sophisticated New Yorker who Mick nicknamed “Slick,” showed
him the Latin Quarter, Toots Shors, the Copacabana, and dozens of
other hot sports. Ford pitched every four or five days and could
pick and choose his party nights, but Mantle was often hung over.
Billy Martin was almost as much of a rube as Mantle. The feisty
second baseman from Berkeley, California got hooked on the
alcoholic lifestyle, too. A 1957 brawl at the Copa involving
numerous Yankees was the “last straw.” Mantle and Ford were
superstars. Martin was a fine player but expendable with Bobby
Richardson, a devout Christian, waiting in the wings. Martin was
shuffled off to Kansas City, a virtual Yankee “farm club” in the
1950s.

Mantle’s father, nicknamed “Mutt,” was a huge
baseball fan. He named his son after Tigers catcher Mickey
Cochrane. As a child, Mick accompanied his old man to Sportsman’s
Park in St. Louis to watch the Cardinals play. The father taught
him how to switch-hit and he was simply extraordinary. Discovered
by Yankees scout Tom Greenwade, Mantle signed and reported to
Spring Training in 1951. That year, the Giants and Yankees traded
Spring Training sites, so the Yanks were in Phoenix, Arizona. One
of their owners, Del Webb was a hotelier and construction magnate
who owned resorts in Arizona and California.

Mantle was 19 years old. His high school and minor
league record was the talk of the sporting press. Manager Casey
Stengel built him up as the next great star center fielder to
replace DiMaggio. The pressure was intense.

"This is the kind of kid a scout dreams of,"
said Bill Essick, who signed Tony Lazzeri, Lefty Gomez, Frank
Crosetti and Joe DiMaggio. "If you come up with one like this once
in your lifetime, you're lucky."

With DiMaggio in center field, Mantle was
tried out at several other positions, including shortstop. His wild
throws were a danger to fans sitting behind first base. "I could
never begin to fill the shoes of Joe DiMaggio," said Mick. "All I
can do is my best, and I'll sure give that. It's a great break for
me."

In his rookie year (1951), the teenage switch-hitter
slumped and was sent to Kansas City. He called his father, telling
him he was not good enough for the big leagues and wanted to come
home. Mutt drove from Commerce to Kansas City, knocked on his son’s
hotel room door, and without sitting down demanded that the boy
pack his bags before wasting any more time.

Mickey was dumbfounded. He expected support from his
dad. Instead, his father told him if he was a quitter he might as
well get it over with. Mick held back – “not so fast” – suddenly
realizing the implications of his actions. Mutt made his son defend
himself, letting him talk his own way back to the team. Realizing
he really wanted to play ball, Mickey began to hit at Kansas City
and was called back up to New York. In the remainder of the 1951
season, Mantle was effective in right field while DiMaggio played
out his last year.

He batted .267 with 13 home runs, but displayed
remarkable speed on the base paths and in the field. Mantle was an
expert drag bunter, often dropping one down in order to break a
slump. The Yankees were never a team that stole bases very much, so
Mantle did not make many attempts, but had he chosen to in his
prime and without injuries, he would have been a stolen base
champion.

Stereotypes have often painted the picture of the
black player as the better “natural” athlete. Mays certainly was a
gifted, athletic player
par excellence
, but Mantle
sans
injury may have been the most incredible physical
specimen in baseball history. His injuries and osteomyelitis, which
sidelined him during the winning 1951 World Series (against Mays’s
Giants) foreshadowed his entire career.

Mantle’s speed (he is said to have been the fastest
man ever to run around all four bases) was always hampered by
physical ailments. Pain was an impossible-to-ignore factor. But in
the 1950s, at least until mid-decade, these factors did little to
diminish his greatness. Historians who look over his entire career
and say he could have been better may point to Mantle in the 1960s,
but the Mick from 1952 to 1961 was such a marvel that it defies
logic to state that anything actually
held him back!

Mantle put up incredible numbers. As a second-year
player in 1952, he batted .311 with 23 home runs and 94 runs batted
in, leading what was now
his
team to a third straight World
Championship in the first year of DiMaggio’s retirement. In 1953,
1954 and 1955, his physical maladies kept him from reaching his
full potential, either sidelining him entirely or slowing him down.
He had been so good in 1952, combined with youth and obviously
unmatched talent, that anything less than performances matching
DiMaggio, Babe Ruth or Lou Gehrig in their primes was met with some
scorn.

Yankee Stadium crowds were like overfed Roman
Colosseum patricians, bored and unshocked no matter the
gladiatorial spectacle below. They had seen it all and were utterly
spoiled by it, in contrast with hungry Ebbets Field patrons begging
for their “Bums” to finally give them victory.

Yankee beat writers and New York sports columnists
were just as unforgiving, finding fault in Mantle’s toothy country
demeanor, Okie accent (read: lack of intelligence) and, with Korea
still raging, his 4-F status after unsuccessfully trying to enlist
in the Army. .300 was not good enough. His 37 homers in 1955 were
shy of 40; if he had hit 47 they would have said he should have hit
50. After five straight World Series champions, the 1955 Yankees
were beaten by the skin of their teeth by Brooklyn. Mantle’s .200
average and one RBI in the Series did not help his cause. Snider of
the winning Dodgers was the toast of the town; a more media-savvy
Californian. The astonishing Mays was more . . . astonishing, with
his insane catches and throws, his cap flying off, the stolen bases
and look-over-the-shoulder base running style.

In 1956 Mantle simply went out and did things on the
field that shut all critics up, but good. If 10 knowledgeable
baseball people were to descend upon a sports bar and enter into a
discussion based on the question,
Who had the greatest season
ever?
then Mantle’s 1956 campaign is as worthy as anybodys.

He earned the Triple Crown by leading the league in
batting average (.353), home runs (52) and RBIs (130), not to
mention an incredible .705 slugging percentage with 132 run scored
(all of this in a 154-game schedule). He was sensational in center
field and added three home runs in a redeeming World Series win
over Brooklyn. It was the perfect season.

Mickey followed that up with a .365 average in 1957,
which incredibly did not lead the league because ancient Ted
Williams batted .388. In 1958 he powered 42 homers with 121 RBIs.
His two series clouts led New York to victory over the Milwaukee
Braves in the World Series.

With Duke’s Dodgers and Willie’s Giants gone to
California, Mantle seemingly was king of New York, but despite
doing all that seemingly could be done, he found critics who
noticed that he had not quite repeated the heroics of 1956. His
.285 average and 31 homers were not enough, it was said, when
Chicago edged the Bronx Bombers for the 1959 American League
pennant (after the club had won eight of the previous nine).

In 1960, frustration set in. Mantle hit 40 home runs
and drove in 119, but batted only .275. He was spectacular in the
World Series, slamming three homers while batting .400, but nobody
cared since the club managed to lose an improbable seven-game
slugfest to Pittsburgh. But what really tarnished Mick’s gold was
Roger Maris, a newcomer from the Kansas City A’s. Maris hit fewer
homers (39) and drove in fewer runs (98) while batting .283, but
the writers awarded this lesser player with the Most Valuable
Player award that should have been awarded to Mick for the third
time (he had won back-to-back MVPs in 1956-57).

Mantle was a victim of his own success. In the
mid-1950s, he played the game of baseball as well as it can be
humanly played. In succeeding years, he had continued to be a
superstar, but it was not enough for many, especially in the Big
Apple. Fans booed and catcalled him. The press found fault with
him. Maris, the new kid on the block, was favored.

Stories of Mantle’s carousing were now out in the
open. The 1957 incident at the famed Copacabana nightclub had
opened the lid on Yankee party habits. Hank Bauer and Billy Martin
had gotten involved in a fight, with Martin scapegoated by the
club. But the New York newspaper scene was becoming more like the
tabloid press we see today. A gossip columnist named Dorothy
Kilgallen took to detailing Mantle’s escapade’s around Manhattan -
Jilly’s, Toots Shors, P.J. Clarke’s, the Latin Quarter – with
veiled references to beautiful women (not his wife) in his company.
The club did not like it. Neither did Merlyn Mantle, the “little
woman” back in Texas.

But events turn on strange peculiarities. In this
case, Mantle found his star in New York because Maris was better.
In 1961, Ralph Houk took over for the aging, rubber-faced Casey
Stengel. Houk was a former Yankee player, a hard-nosed combat
veteran who had a human touch to him. Oddly, Mickey and Casey had
never quite meshed, even though Casey had mentored and led the
young Mickey through the thicket of youthful fame to full-blown
superstardom. Houk revered Mantle, making it clear it was his team
to lead.

Maris was a simple Midwesterner from Fargo, North
Dakota. The Oklahoma country boy Mantle identified with him and
they became friends, known as the “M&M Boys.” Maris was happily
married, a “fish out of water” in New York. Whereby Mick caroused,
chased girls and lived the New York high life, Maris wanted none of
it. Mantle admired Roger’s dedication, on and off the field. Maris
lived in a quiet neighborhood in Queens, far off the beaten path of
New York celebrityhood. Early in the season, Mantle had to be
carried by Ford and teammates back to his fancy suite at the St,
Moritz after imbibing too much. Maris was concerned, not for
moralistic reasons, but because he wanted his teammate at his best
for the club’s betterment.