PREMATURE EXHILARATION

by

Leon A. Carrow

Delivered to The Chicago Literary Club
October 17, 1994

I suspect that a significant number of the audience to-night are here because that they determined that the essayist had very cleverly substituted one five syllable word in the title for another. Disappointing as it may be, let me assure you that this paper has nothing to do with body functions. Having said that, perhaps it would be appropriate that we pause for a few moments to allow those who wish to leave, to do so.

Indeed, the subject of this presentation, rather than discussing a sophisticated medically orientated topic, focuses on the mundane theme of Baseball--Chicago style. Baseball has been designated as the national pastime, and even though its popularity has been somewhat diminished over the past generation, it still can rightfully claim that title. There are several reasons for this, the most important of which may be that it is virtually the only team sport in which a time clock is not involved. The win or loss is determined by the score, and the strategy of the game is never influenced by the clock on the field or on the court. Also, one does not have to reach adulthood measuring six foot four, or weighing two hundred fifty pounds or more in order to be competitive. In addition, the introduction to the game in this country begins at a very early age; the two, three, or four year's old first attempt at any sport is usually throwing or catching a ball. Contrast this to the same age group in Europe or South America who are indoctrinated by kicking a soccer ball.

In the nineteen thirties organized baseball, such as Little League for a child in grammar school, was nonexistent. But the children of this age, again referring to Chicago, played baseball, often daily, from March or April through October. A conventional field was not a necessary component as the games were frequently played on the asphalt of the neighborhood streets. Home plate and second base were placed in the center of the street, and the diamond was completed with first and third base at the curbside. Traffic was sparse, and cars rarely interfered with the play. Whether six, eight or more players were available the ritual of choosing up sides was always carried out. The bat was tossed from one to another participant, hands alternately placed on the bat until there was no further space between the last placement and the bat handle. The winner chose first. Someone always seemed to have a softball, the stitching of which usually was frayed and broken. If there were too few players, only hits to left field were allowed. Pity the left handed batters who pulled the ball to right field. Ball playing was not ignored during school sessions as spontaneous practice occurred during recess and after school. The fact that the surface of the school yard was of the same composition as that of the streets did not discourage these young athletes, but with greater space available, sliding into a base was commonplace; torn knickers and abrasions were the usual consequences. With increasing age, the grammar school players graduated to playing in the public parks. Here there was real grass and dirt, more or less specific teams were formed, and competition occurred between teams outside of immediate neighborhoods. Skills were developed, still without the benefit of formal instruction; batting orders were determined by an unofficial captain, and field positions were now more consistently assigned.

Madison Street, then as now, divided Chicago into North and South sides. The Cubs on the North and the White Sox on the South produced bitter rivalry in the hearts and minds of these youngsters which almost invariably persisted throughout adult life. There was no room for compassion on either side; the Cub fan intensely disliked or even hated the Sox and their players, and vice versa. Chicago was divided into two camps, and tolerance for the opposite team slowly crept into the psyche of the baseball nut at about sixty to seventy years of age.

The essayist was in the Cubs camp, following the team day by day, reveling in its successes, but more often wallowing in despair as a consequence of its failures. In that era before the advent of free agency (when a talented player often leaves one team for another which bids higher for his services) the major league management in essence owned the players, who then remained on the same team throughout their career unless management chose to consummate a trade. Thus, the young fan could, on a long term basis, relate to the likes of a Gabby Hartnett, Billy Jurges, Ki-Ki Cuyler, Riggs Stephenson, Billy Herman, and all the rest.

For three or seven cents depending on age, a young fan could board a streetcar, go directly to Wrigley Field, and find himself in the bleachers after spending another fifty cents. Here he was closest to the center fielder; hot dogs and peanuts were not the priority reason for attendance. Instead, this young spectator, one of thousands aspiring to enter adulthood as a Chicago Cub, concentrated on watching the game--trying to absorb as much as possible. Many a day the young eyes spent the afternoon comparing the defensive skills of Cuyler and the opposing fielder. Grudgingly, he might admit that a Terry Moore of the St. Louis Cardinals approached the talent of his favorite Cub.

Such, then, is the heritage of a follower of the Cubs. Throughout the years this young zealot and countless others like him had little opportunity to reach emotional fulfillment.

One has to delve into The Baseball Encyclopedia back to 1908 to read about the last time that the Cubs had won a World Series. In that year the Cubs bested the mighty Detroit Tigers and Ty Cobb four games to one. Not until 1945 did the Cubs win another National League pennant. Once again, they faced the Tigers, again in a best of seven series. The Cubs' star pitcher, Hank Borowy, pitched them to a 9 to 0 win in the first game. Detroit won the second 4 to 1, primarily on the bat of their big hitter, Hank Greenberg. Claude Passeau, on the basis of pitching one hit ball, led the Cubs to a 3 to 0 victory. The Tigers won the fourth and fifth games 4 to 1 and 8 to 4 on the pitching of Hal Newhouser and Dizzy Trout, and again on the power of Greenberg. Needing a win to remain alive, the Cubs again turned to Borowy, and eventually won in the 12th inning 8 to 7. Led by the hitting of Phil Caveretta, the Cubs were now in a position to win their first World Series in thirty seven years. The city was ready to celebrate its victory almost to the same degree as had occurred when Germany and then Japan were defeated. After a day off, the management decided to go with their ace, Borowy, even though it meant sending out a pitcher with only two days rest...He was bombed; knocked out in the first inning, yielding five runs in that frame. The Cubs lost 9 to 3, and sank into virtual oblivion for years to come.

For the next fifteen years, the club was never in contention, and ranked next to last at the end of that time. In the biography, "Philip K. Wrigley," Paul Angle describes the anguish of the president and principal stock holder of the team. Wrigley was involved in all aspects of the club, and made all of the major decisions including the final say so on all trades. In an attempt to solve the dilemma of losing, he formulated the idea and implemented the concept that a "college" of coaches be appointed who would rotate through all field assignments in both the major and minor leagues. He increased the number of coaches from three to eight, kept them on the job year round, and gave the responsibility of selecting the field manager to this group, rather than to the front office.

The multiple coach plan was assailed unanimously by the sports writers; none viewed this as an imaginative method of moving the Cubs to a higher plane. In addition to the eight coaches, which included the rotating manager, the entire management team then consisted of some fifteen to sixteen members. Among these, second in command only to Mr. Wrigley, was John Holland, the general manager. The college of coaches, after a life of two years, was abandoned in 1963 after the Cubs ended up in seventh place in '61, and then in ninth place in the expanded ten team league in '62. The manager was still called the "head coach," however.

Next, in '63, Wrigley appointed Bob Whitlow, a retired Air Force colonel, to the designated role of athletic director. His role was unclear; this concept was again severely criticized by the entire press. The Cubs continued to flounder, and Colonel Whitlow was out after the '64 season.

The baseball world was shocked in the Fall of 1965 when Leo Durocher was named manager of the Cubs; shocked because of Durocher's background, particularly his suspension for one year in 1947. This occurred supposedly because of his association with unsavory, criminal elements of our society. It was remembered that in the mid 1950's when a reporter asked Wrigley at that time why he didn't hire Durocher as Cubs manager, the owner replied: "I wouldn't let that fellow in my ball park." Now this same man was to lead the Cubs in '66. Wrigley was quoted at the time of the announcement: "Losses at the gate don't bother me, but losses on the field do, and that's why we got Durocher. I felt that the team just wasn't putting out. Whenever we traded players away, they seemed to become stars. Maybe we were just too good to them. I decided that what we needed was someone with the drive, the toughness, and the leadership of Durocher to get their best out of them. Somebody to wake them up."

One of the members of the Cub organization thought that, in addition, Wrigley needed a high profile baseball man to counteract the negative publicity surrounding the formation of the college of coaches and the subsequent hiring of an athletic director. Whatever the details regarding the choice of Durocher as manager, there is no question that it was a decision made by Wrigley himself. In all likelihood, John Holland, the general manager, was not in favor of it.

Holland was a man who had been born, bred, and then lived for baseball. His father owned the Oklahoma City ball club, and John, as a child, not only was exposed to all operations at the home park, but literally grew up on a bus and in hotel rooms. As an adult within the Cub organization, he rose to become president and general manager of the Des Moines farm club, and then was promoted to the same role in Los Angeles. He came to the Cubs as general manager in 1956. Other than his wife and two children, he had no interests outside of the game. He read nothing except the sports pages and The Sporting News, did not go to movies, watched no television other than baseball and football, and his social conversation invariably centered around his game. He was an honest, knowledgeable, well respected member of the fraternity, and was, through his narrow and intense focus, a valuable asset to the owner of the franchise. Wrigley sought his counsel, but again had the final word in any matter regarding the personnel of the club.

During the home games at Wrigley Field, Holland sat in the press box beneath the upper deck along the left field line. In the football season this was taken over by the writers covering the Chicago Bears, but when the Cubs were home it was Holland's domain. He sat in the corner toward home plate glued to the field of play, and generally spoke very little during the game even if his closest colleagues were in the box. At his feet was a telephone; this was not for communication with the dugout but was a private line to Wrigley's home in Lake Geneva. Mr Wrigley, as he was addressed by all including John Holland, had last seen a ball game in person at his park in 1958; but he watched all the televised games from his home or to a lesser degree from his office. The phone at Holland's feet would ring, for instance, when there was a disputed play on the field, and always when there appeared to be an injury to a Cub player. Holland and Wrigley had a common goal; they may have gone about it in different ways, but each was consumed with the desire to make the Cubs a winner. Holland accepted Durocher's presence, acknowledging his expertise.

Durocher was constantly the source of memorable quotes, and in 1966 he was purported to have said in evaluating his new team: "This is not an eight place team." Indeed, he was correct for the Cubs finished tenth. In large part due to Holland's skills in melding young talent with the established mature stars, combined with Durocher's recognized competence, the Cubs finished third both in '67 and '68. Durocher's personality, however, at age sixty three had not changed; he was brash, positive to the point of being a braggart, one who could not take criticism, was combative, and above all vocal. He was openly antagonistic toward the umpires, the press, broadcasters, and even to his players. He was submissive, insofar as he was able, only to Wrigley and Holland.

IN 1969, both the American and National League had expanded to twelve teams, each with two divisions of six. The National League Cubs, in the eastern division, had improved, and a new feeling of optimism and confidence emerged. The infield was solid offensively and defensively with Beckert, Kessinger, Santo, and the perennial All Star, Ernie Banks, anchoring the unit at first base; the outfield was well above average with future Hall of Famer, Billy Williams, comfortably stationed in left field; the pitching had three established starters with good fourth and fifth men; and the team was held together by the durable catcher, Randy Hundley, who repeatedly played without complaint, irrespective of his own physical state. Opening day brought out 40,796 fans, the largest count in the history of this event at Wrigley Field, a park whose capacity was 36,000. The game was dramatically won in the bottom of the eleventh inning by a two run homer off the bat of pinch hitter Willie Smith, a reserve outfielder. The switch to Smith was made by Durocher. Rick Talley, in his book, "The Cubs of 69" recounts: "By the time Smith reached home plate, there was chaos. Hysterical fans poured onto the field to join Willie's 24 cheering teammates and form an uncontrollable committee of welcome." Talley goes on: "Ron Santo says today:" "We knew right then, that this was the season we were going to win."

The season did continue on a high note. In early August, as they embarked on their last Western road trip, the Cubs had a four game winning streak and were in first place, six games ahead of the Cardinals. Their schedule called for twelve games on the Western swing--three in Houston, three in Los Angeles, two in San Diego, and four in San Francisco. They swept Houston three straight and came to Los Angeles eight games in front. The L.A. Dodgers sent their ace pitcher, Bill Singer, against the Cubs ace, Ferguson Jenkins. The Dodgers won 5 to 0, stopping the winning streak at seven, but the Cubs were still eight games ahead of the Cardinals and New York Mets. The following night Cub pitcher, Bill Hands, held the Dodgers to six hits, winning the game by a score of 4 to 0. In the rubber game, the Dodgers, with Don Sutton pitching, defeated the Cubs and Ken Holtzman, 4 to 2. On to San Diego with a seven game lead.

Jenkins pitched the first game, threw a six hitter to win 4 to 0 in a contest described by the Chicago Tribune writer, Dick Dozer, as a "masterpiece". The lead increased to 8 1/2 over the Mets. The next night Bill Hands returned and pitched his team to a 4 to 2 win in what Dozer called a "vital victory", preserving their 8 1/2 lead over the now second place Cardinals. Now, after eight games on the road, the Cubs stood at six wins, two losses. All that remained were four games in San Francisco, and this August 14, 1969 was a day off prior to ending the road trip.

Back in Chicago, Jake Suker, the Cub physician, Jim Hines, the team's general surgeon, affectionately referred to as "Shaky," and I were readying ourselves for a flight the next morning to San Francisco to join the team for their final four games. Burly Jake Suker, a Chicago native, grew up on the South side an avid Sox fan, and attended Tilden Tech High School where he was catcher on the baseball team and offensive and defensive lineman on the football team. Switching his emotional allegiance later on, he joined the Cub organization as their physician in 1963 at a time when this position carried little weight.

At his direction the role of team physician took on greater and greater importance. As an example, he was among the first to institute routine physical examinations during Spring training. Because of his unusual knack for being able to relate to all irrespective of social standing, education, race, or religion, he was a perfect fit for the job. Most of the players in the 60's had a high school education or less, some had little reading skills, and often they were wary of anyone in authority. Jake earned their trust, and they looked upon him as their physician and friend, not just as a conduit to management.

The three of us arrived at the Jack Tar Motel, San Francisco home of the Cubs, late in the morning of August 15th. Having a few hours before departure time for the night game, we climbed into a cab to visit a mutual friend. The cab driver looked back at us, and perhaps surmising that we were of a heterosexual bent, asked: "What are you boys doing tonight?"

"Going to Candlestick," we answered almost in unison.

He looked back again, noting our summer clothes--"Dressed like that? You better take a blanket, or you'll freeze your asses off."

Local humor, we thought.

When we returned to the motel, the spacious lobby was filled with animated players and the more reserved coaches awaiting the bus. The usual groupies were also there, hovering around their hero athletes, some hopefully trying to arrange a rendezvous after curfew. As soon as the bus arrived all began to file out,and unofficial but strict protocol was followed. Durocher was first to enter the vehicle, sitting alone, first seat on the right. The travelling secretary sat behind the driver, and behind him the club officials, if present. The coaches sat behind the manager, then the M.D.'s. Next the regular players, their exact position established by the players themselves. Toward the rear sat the pitchers, and last the reserves. No media personnel was allowed on the bus. The mood among the players was jubilant; talk of splitting the series was the main focus. The coaches and manager were quiet.

In the clubhouse, the starting lineup was attached to the peg board, and it was checked by all as they entered. The atmosphere was subdued as the players dressed. Several wanted to talk to Jake, generally about some minor complaint. Many ballplayers, then and now, are constantly concerned about their physical status and having a chance to talk to their friend and doctor on a road trip was a luxury not to be passed up. Some took the opportunity to ask once again for B-12 shots which supposedly helped their batting averages. Durocher on this night remained in his little office until it was time to take the field.

It was an early 7.00 P.M. start and the pitching match up was Holtzman v.s. the Giants' star, Juan Marichal. Many times in the past Marichal was unbeatable, but he had not won in his last five starts. The sparse spectators, (some twelve thousand), including the visiting M.D.'s who sat comfortably in their summer clothes witnessed the start of a classic pitcher's duel. At precisely 8 O'clock, the wind shifted, came howling in across the bay sending most of unsophisticated, uninformed, naive tourists shivering below the stands. Jake disappeared, then returned with three heavy Cub jackets which made watching only somewhat bearable. Cab drivers knew more than visitors, we all agreed. Holtzman matched his opponent's shutout performance until the sixth inning when he gave up a two run home run. Willy Mays then homered off ace reliever Phil Regan, and the Giants won 3 to 0.

In the clubhouse, the regulars ate little, the reserves chomped down their sandwiches with somewhat more gusto, and all then sat quietly drinking their beer. On the bus, the mood was calm; the players did not seem discouraged, conceding that this night they had met a pitcher who indeed was unbeatable.

The team boarded the bus the following day for the Saturday afternoon game, and were more serious than on the previous day. There was some talk of last night's game, primarily a discussion of the umpire's calls on balls and strikes, and no joviality was evident. Entering the clubhouse they again glanced at the starting lineup, noting Jenkins as the pitcher without any other changes. During the home team batting practice, Durocher sat in his underwear shorts playing gin rummy with Holtzman as they had so often during the entire season.

The game itself was again an excellent pitcher's contest, scoreless after eight innings. In the ninth, sparked by a single by reserve infielder Paul Popovich, the Cubs scored three times and won 3 to 0. The clubhouse was bedlam. Willie Smith was back to his thunderous singing, the loud conversations were good naturedly profane, and Durocher celebrated by resuming his card game. The bus waited patiently for the beer drinking laggards, but once on board the jubilant crowd continued in the same vein. Now there were noisy exchange about the private lives of the players, real and imagined, and over and over again they returned to the fact that splitting this series would ensure them a pennant. This goal was now half accomplished. The scene was reminiscent of a hyperactive banter between a bunch of kids. As each player stepped off the bus, he was reminded of the 11 P.M. curfew in preparation for the double header the following day.

The celebration for the coaches, doctors, and front office personnel moved on to the room of Rube Walker, third base coach. Here, this native of Lenore, North Carolina and veteran in the Cub organization, held court with his Early Times bourbon. Though a victim of leukemia, which would claim him in 1971, he was noted to be perhaps the most humorous man in baseball, and probably could have earned more as a stand up comic from Lenore than as a third base coach. The revelry was temporarily interrupted at about 6 P.M. so that the group could ready themselves for dinner. At the restaurant the gathering was increased by the presence of Beckert, Santo, Holtzman, Hundley and Yosh Kawano, the ageless clubhouse equipment manager. Fortunately, assemblage was in a private room for the noise level did not abate until the party broke up after 10 P.M. Someone mentioned that Durocher was at another restaurant, and the doctors went out on a search to pay our respects. He was located after 11 P.M., entertaining a rather large group of admirers with his endless stories just as he would if he were in concert with his Hollywood friends. Two of his players joined the party and eventually left after midnight. Later, reminiscing about the evening, it was estimated that Rube Walker probably got to bed about 3 A.M.

The day of the double header was bright, sunny, and relatively windless by Candlestick's standards. Looking down at Rube Walker performing his duties on the third base line, one could only marvel at the stamina of this kind, funny, life loving man... Bill Hands and the Cubs lost the first game 5 to 3, but fourth starter Dick Selma with relief from Rich Nye and Phil Regan (he of spitball fame) pitched the team to a 3 to 1 victory. They had split the series with the Giants, were going home with a road trip record of eight wins and four losses, and were now 7 1/2 games ahead of the Mets. They had left Chicago only six games in the lead; there was nothing now that could keep them from winning the division.

But lose, they did. The Mets won twenty of their last twenty five games; the Cubs meanwhile had an eight game losing streak in September and ended the season a remarkable eight games out of first place. Much has been written about the collapse of the '69 Cubs. One popular explanation is that the regulars were physically exhausted since they played every day without a break. Some blame Durocher for not using the reserves, and others point out that the club lacked depth on the bench making continued use of the regulars without respite mandatory.

George Langford, former Sports Editor of the Tribune, in his book, "The Game is Never Over," presents other views regarding the reasons for the team's failure, and I quote:

"A great variety of theories have been advanced to explain the Cubs' swoon. A psychiatrist opined that the Cubs may have had an unconscious drive to lose the pennant. He said they were like school kids who do well for a good part of the year, only to take a good look at their grades, panic, and fail. Another theory was that the Cubs were so distracted by the outside interests generated by their success that they lost their concentration. They did have a team agent named Jack Childers who was in charge of building up a huge pot from endorsements, a pot the players split at the end of the season.

"But most of the theories focused on Durocher himself. His constant feud with the sportswriters created a tense atmosphere in the clubhouse. So did his willingness to publicly berate his players after a mistake. Many of the players disliked him for this, resenting the way he seemed to have absolutely no regard for people's feelings. For Leo, winning was everything. He didn't care whether he was liked or not. He criticized and ridiculed writers, coaches, and players alike. It was said that he had informants among the second stringers so that no clubhouse conversation was really safe from his hearing. Twice during the season he had taken off without even telling his coaches that he would miss a game or two. Such behavior seemed a measure of respect for his players. When the pennant race got tight, the players had to tread too lightly around Leo. Little wonder if they treaded lightly on the field as well."

Wrigley, in discussing his '69 Cubs, said: "Naturally, I'm disappointed that the Cubs didn't win. By this time, though, I'm used to disappointments."

EPILOGUE

In 1984 the Cubs won their division. In a best of five series, playing at home, they won the first two games. Off they went to San Diego, accompanied by cases of champagne and all of the brass of the Chicago Tribune which now owned the team. The Padres won the third and fourth games. In the fifth and deciding game, Cub infielder Leon Duhram committed a costly error in the seventh inning, precipitating a four run Padres' rally. San Diego won the pennant by a 6 to 3 score.

In 1989 the Cubs again won their division and went up against the San Francisco Giants in a best of seven series. The teams split the first two games in Chicago, and the contest continued at Candlestick Park. The Giants won the third and fourth games by the close scores of 5 to 4, and 6 to 4. In the fifth game, the Giants went ahead in the eighth inning by the score of 3 to 1. The Cub rally in the ninth inning fell one run short.

In the words of the famous twentieth century philosopher, Yogi Berra: "It was deja vu, all over again."

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