Baseball History Comes Alive Now Ranked #2 by Feedspot Among All Internet Baseball History Websites and Blogs!
Guest Submissions from Our Readers Always Welcome!
Scroll Down to Read Today’s Essay
Subscribe to Baseball History Comes Alive for automatic updates. As a Free Bonus, you’ll get instant access to my Special Report: Gary’s Handy Dandy World Series Reference Guide!
Brooklyn Dodgers Photo Gallery
Click on any image below to see photos in full size and to start Photo Gallery:
I’ve got a real treat for everyone today. Michael Tymn returns and shares with us reminisces from his early years as a Dodger fan in the late 1940s, seventy-five years ago. There’s just something about personal stories like this that I always find interesting and fun to read…and this one is no exception. Let’s face it, we all have our own story about how we became fans of this great game and why we cheer for the team that we do. I hope you’ll enjoy Mike’s story as much as I did.
On Being Obsessed with the Brooklyn Dodgers!
With a dozen or so schoolmates at St. Joseph’s Grammar School in the San Francisco-Oakland Bay Area city of Alameda, California, I was in a tight huddle around the window of a priest’s bedroom bordering our schoolyard one week in October 1947. The priest, whose name escapes me, left the radio on his window sill so that we could listen to the play-by-play of the World Series between the Brooklyn Dodgers and New York Yankees during our recesses and lunch breaks. All of my classmates were rooting for the Yankees, who were led by Joe DiMaggio, a Bay Area hero. They seemed to see the Yankees as the “All-American good guys,” while the Dodgers were the dirty “Bums.” Since my father was born and raised in Brooklyn and my grandfather still lived there, I felt it only proper to root for the Dodgers. That World Series was the beginning of my obsession with the Dodgers.
Even though the Yankees won the series in seven games, the defining moment for me was on October 3, when Cookie Lavagetto, pinch-hitting for the Dodgers in the bottom of the ninth of the fourth game, broke up Bill Bevens’s no-hitter with a double off the right-field wall, winning the game for the Dodgers (See featured photo above). At age 10 then, I had already become a big fan of the Oakland Oaks of the Pacific Coast League, but my interest in the Dodgers would, by 1949, be primary among all my interests. I would bike to the grocery store eight blocks away from my home most evenings to check the late (6 p.m.) edition of the Oakland Tribune for the final scores of those eastern games, and I kept a composition book in which I updated the batting averages of each player. By 1950, my bedroom wall was decorated with 8 x 10 framed photos of the Dodgers’ best players, including Jackie Robinson, Pee Wee Reese, Duke Snider, Roy Campanella, Gil Hodges (all now in the Hall of Fame), Carl Furillo, Don Newcombe, Preacher Roe, and Carl Erskine. The only other framed picture was of the mighty Citation, the great thoroughbred of that era. That picture hangs above my computer screen as I write this.
With my parents and two brothers, I visited my paternal grandfather in Brooklyn in July 1949. The Dodgers didn’t have any home games during our week-long visit, but they were playing the Giants at the Polo Grounds. With my seven-year-old brother in tow, I took the subway from Marcy Ave. in Brooklyn to the game and sat in deep centerfield, right next to the entrance to the clubhouses. Newcombe was pitching in his second or third game with the Dodgers and was relieved in about the seventh inning. When pitchers left the game, they had to walk through the centerfield exit. I still have a very vivid mental picture of Newcombe walking a few feet below me with an extremely disgruntled expression. I recall thinking, “What a big, mean-looking guy.”
That mental snapshot would occasionally enter my conscious mind over the years, and then, in 1994, Newcombe was being escorted around Honolulu by a friend during a visit to give a talk to an Alcoholics Anonymous group, and the friend remembered that I was an old Dodgers fan. He brought Newcombe to my office and we talked for over an hour about the old Dodgers. He visited again a second time a year or so later and we continued our discussion. I have wondered if that recurring vivid snapshot of Newk walking below me at the Polo Grounds was some kind of premonition of a future meeting.
Before the 1951 season started, the Jackie Robinson All-Stars, a team of Black players featuring Robinson, came to Oakland and played a pick-up team of Bay Area ballplayers, mostly Oaks, as I recall, in an exhibition game. My friend Bill Delaney and I arrived early and waited outside the dressing room for Robinson to show up so that we could get his autograph. I still have a vivid mental picture of that experience. Robinson entered where we had expected and was wearing a heavy brown and white checkered overcoat. I handed him my autograph book and fountain pen, but as he started the “J” in his name, my pen ran out of ink. Bill handed him his pen and Robinson patiently completed the autograph. A small gap in the “J” today is a reminder of that experience.
Later in 1951, I experienced my worst day as a Dodgers fan. It was during my modern history class at Alameda High School. Surprisingly, the school principal was a big baseball fan and had the last inning of the third playoff game between the Dodgers and Giants piped over the loud-speaker system to all classes. It was obvious that Miss Powers, our teacher, was not happy about that. Then came Bobby Thomson’s “shot heard around the world,” which won the pennant for the Giants. It took a while to get over that one.
Jumping ahead two years to 1953 and another visit to my grandfather. This time I took in three games at Ebbets Field in Brooklyn and I was like a young kid visiting Disneyland for the first time. I was in hog heaven. As I stood by my father who was taking home movies during batting practice, Robinson, while returning from the batting cage, no more than twenty feet from us, noticed my father pointing his movie camera at him and gave us a quick wave and salute.
In 1955, I was in my sophomore year at San Francisco State and somewhat more subdued in my passions. Nevertheless, I was still an ardent Dodgers fan. I was listening to the seventh game of the World Series as I drove to school in my 1941 Chevrolet. With Johnny Podres on the mound for the Dodgers, it was the bottom of the ninth, the Dodgers leading 2-0 and the Yankees were coming to bat as I arrived in the school parking lot. There was no way I was going to class and miss the final out. When Elston Howard grounded out to end the game, I sat back in my car as if I had just won the lottery. The Dodgers had finally won the World Series. Nothing else mattered.
In 1958, while in the Marine Corps and stationed at Quantico, I took the train up to New York at Thanksgiving to visit my grandfather in Brooklyn. Since the Dodgers had deserted Brooklyn for Los Angeles the prior year, I recall feeling very melancholy during that trip. It was an existential loss for me. Brooklyn just wasn’t the same place I had remembered from earlier years. It seemed like the river of life that once flowed through it had dried up. Then again, it may be that I was just awakening to the realities of life and discarding its fantasies.
Michael Tymn
Subscribe to our website, “Baseball History Comes Alive!” with over 1200 fully categorized baseball essays and photo galleries, now closing in on the one million hits mark with 930K hits and over 750 subscribers: www.baseballhistorycomesalive.com
Nice essay, Michael !
I sure can identify, being a Giants fanatic at about the same time. 15 years after Thomson’s famous clout, I got to interview him at his home in Watchung, NJ. Bob said nobody could throw the inside fastball past him that year. Ralph Branca threw him two in a row–the second cost Brooklyn the pennant. Can’t help but wonder had the injured Roy Campanella been behind the plate instead of Rube Walker, if the outcome might have been different.
Still followed the Giants in ’58 and ’59, through sportscaster Les Keiter’s incredible recreations, complete with sound effects. Keiter was the best, brilliant at his craft, bringing the game right into the living room 3000 miles away.
Loved your story about the faulty pen and the forever gap in he “J” as a reminder of the moment with Jackie Robinson.
Thank you for the very interesting essay. There was a very unique mystique about the 1950’s Dodgers and I fell into their spell. It was a lifetime affair that continues, but that old magic is gone. I was in Sacramento so for me it was the PCL Sacramento Solons and I had no connection to New York or Brooklyn. I must admit I am on the edge of abandoning today’s baseball manned by greedy owners and prima donna players. I don;t like the DH, the extra inning automatic runner and all the new rules. Baseball with it’s original rules has been a great game for over 140 years. If it works, don’t fix it. Dennis Friedenbloom
Agree with most, Dennis.
But the automatic runner isn’t a bad idea if they’d move it up to the 12th inning. Players are becoming fatigued and the game is approaching marathon status. Putting a runner in scoring position at this point adds an element of sudden death excitement and perhaps a welcome conclusion. What do you think?
Thanks, Bill I hadn’t thought of the idea of waiting until the 12th. I sort of like it…
You make a very good point Bill, I am good with waiting for the 12th inning. I saw an interview with Ozzie Smith a few days ago and did not like banning the shift. He said the ball players are pros and they should be able to hit the ball to the other side of the field. Ozzie also suggested that that a lot of modern players do not really give their all and give their best effort all the time. I believe Ted Williams did pretty against the shift. Anyway at this point I am probably just a grouchy old man. Hell I do not even like cell phones. I certainly like to see your take and have a great deal of respect for you. It also occurs to me that our youth would be better off playing pickup game at a local park rather than playing video games and becoming obese.
Michael, you have done it again. Don’t stop now!
Having grown up in landlocked Nebraska, I didn’t have the privilege of visiting Ebbets Field as a boy, or ever. One of the great losses, probably second only to The Shot. If it took you a while to get over that one, as you say, count your blessings! (I never have.)
I fell permanently and hopelessly for the Brooks on account of Jackie, and tried my best to stay with them when they abandoned the borough for Tinseltown. It has been a tough assignment. They’re gone now, with very rare exception (Oisk, Sandy Koufax), and my love affair with the ball club is just about finished as well. Like Dennis, I loathe most of the “improvements” the Lords of Baseball have inflicted upon my favorite sport in recent years. “Greedy owners and prima donna players,” did he say? That pretty well sums it up.
Tom Nutt, my closest boyhood friend, was the son of a Methodist minister, and the dinner-table talk at his place was serious and philosophical much of the time. He asked me, when we were 9 or 10: “Are you for or against segregation?” We laughed aloud. Our classroom at Bancroft Elementary (Lincoln) consisted of Mexicans, Negroes, girls, Omaha Indians, and whites. We ran together, a fingerpainting of humanity. Mme. Dorcas Cavett, step-mother to Dick and the very first woman Marine, was our most loving and attentive teacher. For reasons I can only guess about now, she tolerated my daydreamer’s obsession with the Boys of Brooklyn. By the time they finally won the Big One, we had all graduated from grade school and fled the scene, but our moments together have stayed bright in our collective memory.
I wrote a note to Jackie after the ’55 Series. This was his reply: “Hi Mike: I hope you hear from all your favorite players. I am sure if you write, they will respond. Best wishes, Jackie Robinson.”
We shall never again see the like of that fabled ballclub, which is why your reminiscences, and so many like them, are as precious and alluring as they are.
Many thanks!
Michael
And you also, my dear Keedy, are fabled, precious and alluring. What would we do without you?
Most interesting share about Dorcas Cavett ! And I’m glad you included the nice note from Jackie Robinson, which leads to thoughts of prejudice when Jack joined Brooklyn. Very happy to say “they weren’t none” in our neighborhood, where we all looked like we spent the winter in a flour sack. Never any derogatory slang words or thoughts. We just thought Robinson was a singularly exciting player, who brought a fire and competitiveness we had never seen before. He was a disruptive force on the bases that scared the hell out of us Giants fans!
Yeah, Dennis, Tomaques Park in Westfield, NJ was the scene of some of the greatest pick-up games. Nothing beats those memories! Agree with Ozzie Smith about the shift. They should adjust, just like Ted Williams. And he’s right about players dogging it…you can’t run 90 feet, all out, two or three times a game? Unless injured I’d fine the player the first time, with a lecture. By the third time, he’s benched indefinitely with a huge chunk out of his wallet. So many errors would be caused when infielders knew a particular team “ran everything out.”
Some great comments here from all you guys! Thanks!
What a beautiful story. Being Brooklyn born and having Pee Wee Reese living around the corner and the Duke living 2 blocks away in those summer seasons. My heart breaks thinking about the time we had that beautiful team in Brooklyn. Those players were part of our neighborhood and would stop and talk with us all the time. In fact I played in the Police Athletic League (PAL) little league with Danny Erskine (Carl’s son). It was a time when NY was the heart of the Sport’s world. We were blessed with 3 HOF centerfielders that were the subject of constant daily arguments that I remember to this day. I will always be proud to be called a Bum! Great Memories !
Hey Guys:
As most of you know by now, I was born in Brooklyn and paid no attention to baseball until I was 10 years old. Stuck in bed with 104 degree fever on a Sunday afternoon, faced with a choice of classical music, religious programming or baseball, the only options available on the radio, I grudgingly chose baseball and proceeded to fall in love with The Brooklyn Dodgers as a whole and Gil Hodges, who hit 2 homers that day, in particular. It was a love affair that lasted until the infamous move to LA. After all the love We poured into that team, living and breathing Dodgers, hanging on every win and loss, hopes dashed year after year and years of “wait ’till next years,” the ultimate betrayal. It was like coming home and finding out your spouse moved out and divorced you, leaving you heart-broken and bereft. Everyone I knew felt as I did. We wanted absolutely nothing to do with the LA Dodgers. To this day, I have nothing but hard feelings about the whole miserable business. Just writing these few words, I could feel my blood pressure rise.
Thank heavens for 1962 and the Mets. There was a reason to open the back of the paper first again, to look forward to March and spring training. As bad as those first years were, The Mets were here. Hallelujah.
In the 60 odd years since this took place, we have stopped thinking of LA as poachers. But we still don’t care about those Dodgers at all.
Sorry Guys:
I just read my previous post and even I was scared. Please don’t think I lost my love for the Brooklyn Dodgers. They were my first love and will always be my first love in baseball. I actually felt that Brooklyn and Dodgers were synonymous because the trolleys that were dodged to earn their name were in Brooklyn, not LA. They could have and should have changed the team name to something appropriate to LA.
While looking for something else, I ran across a 1957 yearbook and pennant and a second pennant that has no year on it, just the words Brooklyn Dodgers. In the same envelope is an 8X10 of Gil and Casey in heaven rooting for The Mets. It was issued shortly after Gil’s passing, and a few other pieces of Mets memorabilia.
While we’re thinking of some of our heroes who have passed, is anyone up to enlightening us about Tim McCarver? He was one of my favorite commentators as well as a heck-of-a-ball player. I think a tribute to him would be welcome at this time.
Best,
Joan
Great story by Mr. Tymn. Thnx for posting it, Gary. Reminds me of a few of my own personal anecdotes about the Dodgers : Growing up in E.Chicago, IN {only 19 miles from Comiskey Park}, I became {from diaper age} a consummate WSox junkie. 35th & Shields felt like my “2nd home”, I was extremely distraught when @ age 10, due to my parents’ divorce {and Mom’s re-marriage}, in Sept 1958; I had to move to SoCal {30 mi. north of San Diego}. Now, I could no longer attend any games @ Comiskey to watch my beloved Palehose. That move coincided with the Dodgers just about to conclude their first season @ the L.A. Colosseum, {and my introduction to the late, great Vin Scully on the radio}. Although over-joyed that; in ’59, we were in our first WS in 40 years {vs. L.A.} I did not have the opportunity to watch them in either city; even though some of those games were a mere 100 miles to the north of me. {btw, L.A. reliever Larry Sherry broke our backs in that WS}.In late fall 1978, I was working on a construction project in Fallbrook, CA. On a near-by street, I noticed a man getting his mail from a curbside mailbox. He was close enough for me to recognize that it was the old #4 himself, Duke Snider. It had only been mere weeks since L.A. had lost back-to-back WS to NYY. Trying not to be intrusive, I approached him close enough to ask : “Good morning Mr. Snider. Tough loss in the Series, huh?”. I got a stern; but cordial, four word reply : “Those God DAMNED Yankees !!!!!”….hahaha. I have a very good friend from the San Gabriel Valley area of L.A. She’s told me about her grandfather telling her stories of how he was a childhood friend of Jackie Robinson, and how they used to play sandlot baseball {and other sports} together with Jackie and his brothers Mack, Edgar & Frank, while growing up in Pasadena. To me, that was an enlightening story of how black and white kids could have fun playing together back in the 1920’s. I really enjoyed everyone else’s stories and always anticipate new BHCA posts. {Sorry for such a “long-winded” comment…..hahaha}
An aside for Thomas Marshall:
I have always said, ” Damn Yankees” was the most appropriately named Broadway musical, ever.
Sincerely,
Joan
Thanks to all for the comments. I have to confess that even though I am from the Oakland-San Francisco Bay Area (Los Angeles is enemy territory for people from the Bay Area), I remained a Dodgers fan until Koufax retired. Now, I always root against them no matter who they are playing.
I don’t remember so many coats and ties among the spectators in 1955, as seen in the lead photo here of the final out in the ’55 WS. I recall it from photos of the games in the 1930s, even 40s, but I thought it had become more casual by 1955. I do remember wearing a coat and tie on my first cross-country flight in 1955, but I don’t remember so many coats and ties at games I attended during the 1950s. Maybe it was more east coast than west coast. How times have changed in that respect, especially on planes. Now the guys wear tank tops with sweaty armpits almost in your face in steerage seating.
Gary, I believe I enjoyed this article more than any other you have posted in the few years I have been one of your email recipients. Memories of specific games and key moments within games are what I recall best and most fondly. By the way, I know all of your Yankees fan readership loved the part about the 1955 World Series. 😉
Thanks Dave…greatly appreciated!