September 27, 2005

Big Train

For most baseball fans, the nickname “Big Train” conjures up thoughts of Hall of Famer Walter Johnson. For fans that grew up in my era, the nickname might also bring to mind the 1969 exploits of power-hitting first baseman Donn Clendenon. He was also known as “Big Train,” a nickname that had nothing to do with baseball but was given to him because of the powerful way that the multi-sport star ran with a football.

Clendenon died earlier this month at the age of 70, the victim of a long battle with leukemia. I once interviewed Big Train for MLB Radio, and while I hardly can say that I knew him well, he could not have been more friendly or cordial during our brief exchange on the air. He seemed like a true gentleman.

Clendenon was one of the few African-American players of his era who attended college. As an amateur athlete in the collegiate ranks, Clendenon had several options to choose from in picking his career path. The six-foot, four-inch Clendenon was a talented basketball and football player, which resulted in contract offers from both the Harlem Globetrotters and the NFL’s Cleveland Browns. Ultimately, Clendenon chose baseball—signing a professional contract with the Pittsburgh Pirates.

Although Clendenon played most of his prime seasons with the Pirates, his contributions to the New York Mets in 1969 will remain his most lasting legacy. In many ways, the 1969 season was the most tumultuous season of Clendenon’s career. After having been taken by the Montreal Expos in the 1968 expansion draft, Clendenon found himself on the trading block. In January, the Expos made him and Jesus Alou the centerpiece of a four-player package that brought star outfielder Rusty Staub over from the Houston Astros. It was a bad trade for the Astros, and it was only made worse when Clendenon decided he did not want to play for Houston. When spring training rolled around, Clendenon announced that he intended to retire and would not report to his new team.

In the past, a player announcing his retirement usually would have resulted in the voiding of the trade. The Commissioner’s Office, led by the newly elected Bowie Kuhn, decided to take a different task, allowing Staub to report to Montreal and Alou to Houston, permitting Clendenon to remain with Montreal, and demanding that the two teams restructure the rest of the deal. The Expos eventually sent right-hander Jack “Bone” Billingham and left-hander Skip Guinn to Houston as replacements for Clendenon.

Clendenon’s “retirement,” which was really more strategic than genuine and displayed his off-the-field intelligence, showed other players that they didn’t necessarily have to comply with undesirable trades that put them with unwanted teams. In April of 1969, Ken “Hawk” Harrelson tried a similar strategy when the Boston Red Sox traded him to the Cleveland Indians. Not wanting to play in Cleveland and give up his many business interests in the Boston area, Harrelson “retired” for 48 hours, finagling a new two-year contract from the Indians during his brief layoff. Even more significantly, Clendenon’s maneuver may have also had influence on Curt Flood, who was traded by the St. Louis Cardinals to the Philadelphia Phillies after the 1969 season but refused to report to his new team, setting the stage for one of baseball’s greatest court battles.

In the short term, Clendenon’s strategy would help the Mets—enormously. The Mets probably didn’t know it at the time, but Clendenon’s brief retirement and his subsequent return to Montreal would eventually place him on the trade block again. Unhappy with Clendenon—who in turn became unhappy because of sporadic playing time in Montreal—the Expos decided to trade Clendenon a second time. On June 15, which was formerly baseball’s trading deadline, the Mets made themselves a fortuitous deal with the Expos, sending backup infielder Kevin Collins and three minor league pitchers north of the border for Clendenon. (Of the players dealt, only young right-hander Steve Renko did anything of consequence for the expansion Expos, becoming an effective member of the starting rotation in the franchise’s early years.)

This time, Clendenon didn’t balk at the deal. He joined the Mets, at first becoming a platoon partner with Ed Kranepool at first base. Clendenon immediately strengthened the Mets’ lineup against left-handed pitching and deepened a relatively thin and inexperienced bench. In due time, he became the Mets’ everyday first baseman—in an important decision made by manager Gil Hodges. In 72 games with the Mets, Clendenon finished with 12 home runs and 37 RBIs, solid numbers to be sure, but hardly earth-shattering. Still, Clendenon gave the Mets a more powerful presence against left-handed pitching, deepened the bench by allowing Hodges to bring Kranepool over the bench, and played a smooth first base, fitting in well with a team that emphasized pitching and defense. With Clendenon providing a boost, the Mets overcame a nine-and-a-half game deficit and won the Eastern Division by eight games over the far more talented Chicago Cubs.

More significantly, Clendenon saved his best hitting for the postseason. He became the centerpiece of the Mets’ offense during the World Series against the substantially favored Baltimore Orioles. In Game One, Clendenon doubled and singled in a Series-opening loss. In Game Two, he powered a critical solo home run that lifted the Mets to a 2-1 victory. Clendenon then homered in Game Four, and again in the clinching Game Five, as the Mets finalized their stunning upset of the seemingly invincible Birds of Baltimore. After the clinching victory, Clendenon was voted World Series MVP.

While the Mets probably could have won the National League East without Clendenon, they would have been hard-pressed to overpower the talented Orioles—in five games no less—without the presence of the modern day Big Train.

The 1975 World Series

Given the circumstances of the sixth game, the following question seemed pertinent heading into Game Seven: were the Reds in any condition to play the finale of the 1975 World Series? Carlton Fisk’s home run had not only evened the Series at three games apiece, but had given some of the Reds’ players further cause to dwell on their recent World Series failures. The Red Sox also owned a large advantage in terms of the condition of their pitching staff. Since Darrell Johnson had called on only four pitchers to work the 12-inning marathon, he had most everyone at his disposal for Game Seven. In contrast, Sparky Anderson had used the record-setting total of eight pitchers, sparing only Clay Kirby, who was the last man on his staff, and Don Gullett, his starter for Game Seven. Anderson had also placed a heavy workload on two of his best relievers. He had used Pedro Borbon for two full innings plus two additional batters in the eighth, and Rawly Eastwick for the rest of that disastrous eighth inning plus two batters in the ninth. Although Borbon and Eastwick would remain on emergency call in the seventh game, the Reds had no way of knowing how effective either of their right-handed bullpen stalwarts might be.

They also didn’t know how effective Gullett might be, considering that he would be working on extra rest caused by the repeated rainouts. “There was such a long delay in regards to how long the Series would be. It seemed like it rained forever up there—three or four days,” says Gullett. “I know I was working on like almost a week’s rest after pitching Game Five.” Five days to be exact, but still more than Gullett was used to resting.

“We had to hang around in Boston several days to really get down to finally deciding who was going to be the world’s champion,” Gullett says. “That puts a lot of things on guys’ minds. They’ve got a long time to think about things.” To think about who would win, as Tim Horgan of the Boston Herald put it, “the world heavyweight championship of baseball.”

Knowing that he not only had to give his manager quality innings, but also a quantity of innings, Gullett shouldered an enormous burden as he walked to the mound to start the bottom of the first on a warm, slightly foggy night at Fenway Park. Gullett faced Bernie Carbo, a backup throughout the Series but now Darrell Johnson’s intriguing choice as leadoff man for the final game of the year. Carbo, an unconventional choice as leadoff man at times during the regular season, had been productive in that role, but had started only one game against a left-hander all year long. That was a matchup against Baltimore’s Mike Cuellar, who threw with much less “stuff” than the highly potent Gullett.

Carbo promptly doubled against Gullett, which seemed like a proper continuation of his heroics from Game Six. The next batter, Denny Doyle, successfully pulled Gullett’s fastball in an effort to move Carbo to third, but his fly ball to Ken Griffey didn’t carry far enough to advance the runner. Carbo did advance to third on Carl Yastrzemski’s subsequent ground ball to Joe Morgan, but was left stranded when Carlton Fisk fanned to end the inning.

Boston’s starter, the offbeat Bill Lee, encountered far less trouble in the early innings. Seemingly unfazed by the severity of the seventh game, Lee had maintained his sense of humor, even in the hours leading up to the most important start of his career. When a reporter asked him for his thoughts on “tonight’s” game, Lee responded quickly: “I don’t think at night.” During a discussion with Jim Regan of the Springfield Daily News, Lee made reference to Cincinnati’s Johnny Bench, who had previously informed reporters of his decision to bring only one suit to Boston in anticipation of a quick end to the Series. “Has Bench got a new set of clothes yet?” Lee wisecracked. Thanks to three days of rain—and Carlton Fisk—Bench needed that new suit of clothes. 

After Lee disposed of the Reds in the top of the second, Gullett went back to work. He managed to overcome a leadoff walk to Fred Lynn (who was playing despite pain and stiffness near the base of his spine caused by his collision with the wall), but encountered a more dire set of circumstances in the third inning. After retiring Bill Lee on a third-strike bunt attempt, Gullett walked Carbo and watched him scurry to third on Doyle’s line single to right field. Yastrzemski then grounded a single in between Morgan and Tony Perez, scoring Carbo with the first run of the game while sending Doyle on his way to third. When Griffey tried to cut down Doyle with a throw from right field, Yastrzemski alertly moved up to second. With one run already in, the Red Sox stood perched on the verge of a seventh-game breakout.

An intentional walk to Fisk loaded the bases, bringing Lynn to the plate. Vulnerable to a left-hander with the intimidating repertoire featured by Gullett, Lynn froze on a called third strike. With two outs registered, Gullett had moved that much closer to ending the rally with a minimum of damage.

Gullett’s control, which had been spotty since the start of the game, suddenly dissolved into oblivion. He walked Rico Petrocelli, forcing Doyle home with Boston’s second run. Gullett walked Dwight Evans, bringing Yastrzemski home with another run. Under other circumstances, Sparky Anderson would have fulfilled his “Captain Hook” legacy and lifted Gullett from the game. Although chafing to bring in a new pitcher, Anderson knew that he couldn’t turn to his depleted bullpen so early in Game Seven. Gritting his teeth, Anderson stayed with Gullett and watched him strike out Rick Burleson, bringing a merciful end to an inning that had produced near calamity for the Reds.

Ordinarily, a 3-0 deficit amounted to nothing more than a small challenge for Cincinnati’s potent offense. Not so in this case. The Reds had only six innings to mount a comeback against the curve balls, change-ups, and blooper pitches of Bill Lee, who had breezed through the “Big Red Machine” lineup over the first three innings. The Reds would also have to climb back against the backdrop of the pressure created by the seventh game of the World Series. No, these were anything but ordinary circumstances.

As he came to bat against Lee to start the top of the fourth, Joe Morgan possessed a singular thought in his focused mind: find a way to get on base—any way. So Morgan flattened his bat against Lee, skillfully dragging a bunt single down the first base line. Johnny Bench then pounded a ball into the right-center field gap, a drive that might have left the confines of Cincinnati’s Riverfront Stadium for a two-run homer. But this was Fenway Park—the deepest part of the park, no less—allowing Dwight Evans to make the catch near the fence. After Morgan retreated to first, he promptly swiped second, but could move no further on a fly ball by Tony Perez and a pop-out by George Foster.

Seemingly unsatisfied with his three-run advantage, Bill Lee led off the bottom of the fourth with a single, his first hit since September 1, 1972. Gullett’s wildness then reared itself in the form of a wild pitch, which allowed Lee to advance to second. With no one out, the Red Sox found themselves with ample opportunity to stretch their lead to 4-0, a margin that would have increased the likelihood of the franchise’s first world championship since 1918.

Bernie Carbo did his best to set up the extra run by rolling a ground out to the right of second base, allowing Lee to move to third.  The Reds pulled their infield in, an absolute necessity given the score and the situation. Denny Doyle, one of Boston’s most productive post-season hitters, came to the plate. All Doyle needed was a mild bloop, a floating flair, anything that would rise and then fall against the drawn-in members of the Reds’ infield.

Fooled by Gullett’s selection of pitches, Doyle checked his swing, tapping a weak grounder to the left side of the infield. It was an easy play for Pete Rose, who checked Lee at third and then threw to first. Two outs. Gullett now faced the more powerful Carl Yastrzemski, who could do nothing more than loft an infield pop-up to the right of the first base line. Morgan ran over and made the catch, ending a threat that might have demoralized the Reds into complete submission.

The Red Sox opened another set of doors for the Reds in the top of the fifth. Bill Lee broke late on a leadoff ground ball to first base, allowing Dave Concepcion to beat him to the bag. Denny Doyle then failed to handle a ground smash by Ken Griffey, letting the ball seep into right field and allowing Concepcion to race for third. Runners on first and third, no one out, and the tying run at the plate.

Cesar Geronimo couldn’t drive home Cincinnati’s first run, instead striking out. With Gullett scheduled to bat, Sparky Anderson made his first substitution of the night. No longer willing to avoid his overworked bullpen, he called back Gullett and replaced him with Merv Rettenmund, who had homered in his World Series debut four years earlier. This time, Rettenmund bounded a ball to shortstop, enabling Rick Burleson to begin a crushing, inning-ending, 6-to-4-to-3 double play. For the second straight inning, the Reds had come up with nothing after what had seemed like a promising start to a rally.

The futile outcomes of such hope-inducing rallies, combined with the continuing 3-0 deficit, left Cincinnati’s manager in a state of exasperation. As Tony Perez recalls: “Sparky Anderson was pacing in the clubhouse, and I asked him what was wrong. He said, ‘We lost the ’70 World Series [to the Orioles], and again in ’72 [to the A’s], and now we’re down 3-0 in Game Seven.’ I told him, ‘Don’t worry. Just get me two or three runners on, and I’ll drive them in.’”

The Reds tried their best to set the table for Perez in the top of the sixth, as Pete Rose singled to start the inning. After Morgan flied harmlessly to short right field, Bench hit an easy ground ball to Rick Burleson at shortstop. It had the makings of a perfect double play ball. Burleson fired to Denny Doyle for one out, but a hustling Rose slid fearlessly into second base, disrupting Doyle’s relay to first. Instead of arriving at first in time to turn the double play, Doyle’s weak throw veered into the first base dugout.

With two out and Bench at second courtesy of Doyle’s throwing error, up stepped Tony Perez. Lee decided to throw the previously slumping first baseman one of his distinctive blooper pitches—the newly trademarked “Leephus Ball,” derived from Rip Sewell’s 1940s’ “Eephus pitch” (a more ancient example of baseball slang) —which slowly ascended several feet above the plane of the hitter’s head, then dropped with the quickness of a plummeting lead weight as it neared the plate. It was a pitch that was so rarely thrown by major league hurlers that it often caught hitters unprepared, unable to time its deliberate and downward arrival at the plate.

But Perez was ready. Swinging the bat aggressively, Perez caught the blooper pitch high in the strike zone—higher than Lee had wanted to leave it. Forced to supply all of the power himself against the lifeless pitch, Perez swatted the ball into the screen above Fenway’s Green Monster. “It’s something you never forget,” Perez says. “I still feel it. I can close my eyes and I still see it.” Courtesy of the home run, the Reds now found themselves trailing by just one run, 3-2. Thanks to the same man who had just consoled his frustrated manager only a few moments earlier.

Perez had called upon two earlier at-bats against Lee as learning experiences. “The first time I faced him, he threw one of those and it bounced and I swung at it,” Perez says of his initial taste of the high-arcing Leephus pitch. “And I was embarrassed—because a lot of people were watching that. I really made a fool of myself—in front of a lot of people. When I faced him again, he threw me another one. I didn’t swing at it; it was a strike. I look at [the umpire] and it was a strike. I wanted to make sure that it didn’t bounce.

“[Heading into] the last game [of the Series], now I’ve seen two of those pitches. But I wasn’t looking for that pitch because he was now throwing sinkers away. I say to myself, ‘When he throws that pitch again, I know what he’s doing, I know his motion. He’ll stop his motion and then throw it.’ When I saw him step, and then STOP, I say to myself, ‘It’s coming.’” Unlike the previous encounter, Perez found the location of this pitch more to his liking. “He didn’t bounce this one. It bounced off a street somewhere.”

As he had done so often throughout a career of clutch hitting, Perez had seized upon a pitcher’s mistake. “That ball was supposed to be a curve ball, but it was supposed to be a backdoor curve ball, it was supposed to stay out there,” says Carlton Fisk, pointing away from his body. “And it was supposed to be down. Well, as it turned out, it wasn’t out there, and it wasn’t really down either. It was, as they say, in Tony’s wheelhouse. Obviously, the pitch was not where we wanted it when it crossed the plate—or when it landed.”

Although often overshadowed by more famous teammates like Johnny Bench, Joe Morgan, and Pete Rose, Perez had earned a reputation as Cincinnati’s best hitter in clutch situations like the one that arose in Game Seven. “That’s the way [Perez] made his living right there,” says Fisk. “Game on the line, Series on the line, people looked to ‘Doggie’ to win it.

“If there was one guy on that ‘Big Red Machine’ that we as a team—pitcher and catcher, I mean—didn’t want to see come up in a game situation, it was him. We felt as though we could deal with a lot of guys [in their lineup] because a lot of people have strengths and weaknesses, and you make your pitches accordingly. But in any given situation, Tony’s weakness turns into a strength.”

“When I rounded first base on that home run [in Game Six],” recalls Fisk, “I never really did notice Tony Perez standing at first base. But we all noticed him in that [seventh] game.”

Energized by Perez’ dramatic blast, starter-turned-reliever Jack Billingham retired the Red Sox in order in the bottom of the sixth. It was the first time that the Red Sox had failed to put a runner on base in any single inning.

Hoping that his team had scored enough runs to last the evening, Darrell Johnson decided to make a defensive switch in the top of the seventh. He removed Bernie Carbo, one of his hottest hitters, replacing him with the more defensively nimble Rick Miller. Johnson felt that the trio of Miller, Fred Lynn, and Dwight Evans gave the Red Sox the “best defensive outfield in all of baseball.”

After retiring Concepcion on a grounder to shortstop, Bill Lee walked Ken Griffey on four pitches. That was to be his last batter of the Series. A problem that had first sprung up during the season, a blister on Lee’s left thumb, was causing friction and preventing him from gripping the ball properly. Johnson walked to the mound to make a pitching change, a change that Lee understood and didn’t question. “He had to come and get me,” a philosophical Lee told Jim Regan of the Springfield Daily News. “That’s the way it goes.”

Johnson called on Roger Moret, the loser of Game Three and a participant in the magical Game Six. Moret overpowered Cesar Geronimo, who lifted a weak pop fly to Rick Burleson just beyond the second base bag.

Left with no choice but to pinch-hit for the pitcher’s spot, Sparky Anderson replaced Jack Billingham with THAT MAN, Ed Armbrister. Although Armbrister had been a pest to the Red Sox throughout the Series, he had virtually no power, making it unlikely that he could score Griffey from first with two outs. So Griffey decided to take off for second, stealing the base against the combination of Moret and Fisk. Moret then compounded Boston’s growing problem by walking Armbrister, bringing the far more dangerous Pete Rose to the plate.

Measuring Moret’s fastball, Rose lined a pitch over second base, past Moret, and in between Boston’s middle infielders. “All I tried to do was get the bat on the ball. I’m the kind of player who has to try like hell to do the things some of the other natural stars so,” Rose explained to Gerry Finn of the Springfield Union. “I just hung in there and swung.” Rose’s latest hit, his 10th of the Series, allowed Griffey to race to third, where he rounded the bag and headed for home. Lynn threw to the plate, but the ball arrived too late to catch the speedy Griffey, who carried the tying run with him. On the throw, Rose and Armbrister advanced to second and third base, respectively.

Shaken by the series of two-out misfires, Moret walked Joe Morgan. Darrell Johnson decided to end Moret’s World Series stint and summon Jim Willoughby, asking him to deal with the daunting presence of Johnny Bench. This figured to be a bit more difficult than Willoughby’s assignments at the beginning of the season, when he was still pitching for the St. Louis Cardinals’ minor league team in Tulsa, Oklahoma.

Bench fouled off a pitch, which at first seemed destined to reach the seats behind home plate. Leaving nothing to chance—and desperate to end the inning—Carlton Fisk raced toward the backstop. Instead of dropping onto the wire screen that protected fans from harm’s way, the ball veered off, toward a section of stands where only a short fence—and no screen—blocked the stands from the field. Fisk reached into the stands with his arm fully extended, snaring the ball in his mitt. The third out had finally come, leaving Boston and Cincinnati in a 3-3 tie.

Neither of the teams could post a threat in their next at-bat, each time going down in order. In the bottom of the eighth, the Red Sox managed to put the potential lead run on first courtesy of Dwight Evans’ leadoff walk, but Rick Burleson failed to execute a bunt and then rapped into a rally-deadening double play. It was on to the ninth.

Having used his most effective reliever, the veteran Dick Drago, for a tiring three-inning stint in Game Six, Darrell Johnson was left with a set of less appealing bullpen choices for the latter stages of Game Seven. Johnson decided to call on Jim Burton, an inexperienced left-hander, to face the Reds in the ninth.

Making only his second World Series appearance, Burton walked Ken Griffey to start the inning. Knowing that Burton did not possess a good move to first, the Reds had extra incentive to send Griffey, their fastest runner. Instead, the Reds decided to play the inning more conservatively. Cesar Geronimo executed a perfect bunt, pushing Griffey into scoring position. Now it was Sparky Anderson’s turn to find some help on his depleted bench. With no right-handed bats available, Sparky summoned Dan Driessen, a talented young batter, but a left-handed one. Driessen bounced a routine grounder to Denny Doyle, as Griffey advanced to third. The Reds had the go-ahead run 90 feet away, but now with two men out.

Pitching ever so carefully, Burton walked Pete Rose, who carried a Series average of .370 into the at-bat. He could now face another left-handed batter, Joe Morgan, who had picked up only six hits in 26 World Series at-bats, but was anxious to come to bat in this situation. “I was hoping that Pete would walk,” Morgan told a reporter for United Press International. “The reason I say that is because Pete was getting a lot of key hits and I thought maybe he was running out of gas. I just hoped they’d give me a shot at it.” With the right-handed bat of Johnny Bench waiting in the on-deck circle, Burton realized that Morgan would represent his last batter of the inning, one way or another.

Burton threw a slider that tailed away from Morgan. Hanging in against the tough delivery, Morgan swung, pinging the ball softly off the end of his bat toward the middle of the diamond. “Burton made a good pitch,” Morgan told Jim Fox of the Springfield Daily News. “Two years ago I would have missed it. But I’ve been working a lot with [batting coach] Ted Kluszewski. It was a good pitch.” Though the ball was hit with a minimum of force, it arched over the second base bag toward short center field, too short for Fred Lynn to make a running catch, and too far for Burleson and Doyle to reach with outstretched leaps. The looping liner landed on the outfield grass, soon to be followed by the landing of Griffey’s feet on home plate. Just like that, courtesy of a two-out bloop single, the Reds had taken the lead. Four to three.

Even after Reggie Cleveland came on to retire Tony Perez on an inning-ending fly ball, a ballpark-wide sense of foreboding remained evident amongst the spectators at Fenway Park. Their team, which had won the sixth game in most thrilling fashion and had opened up a 3-0 lead in the seventh game, now stood only three outs from losing the World Series.

With left-handed batters Rick Miller, Denny Doyle, and Carl Yastrzemski scheduled to bat in the bottom of the ninth, Sparky Anderson selected southpaw Will McEnaney to start the inning. Darrell Johnson countered by sending up Juan Beniquez as a pinch-hitter for Miller. Beniquez, with only one hit in seven previous Series at-bats, flied routinely to Griffey in right field. Johnson then called on backup catcher Bob “Monty” Montgomery to bat for Doyle. Montgomery, making his first appearance of the Series, bounced an easy ground ball to Dave Concepcion. Two outs. It was now left up to Yastrzemski, Boston’s longtime star and the most lasting symbol of the Red Sox’ “Impossible Dream” of eight years ago.

Taking aim at The Wall, Yastrzemski swung and lifted McEnaney’s pitch toward left-center field. Although most anything hit to left field at Fenway inspired hope of a home run, this fly ball did not have that kind of distance. Gliding to his right, Cincinnati’s Cesar Geronimo settled himself several feet short of the wall, tapped his glove repeatedly with his bare hand, held both of his arms up in anticipation, and nestled the ball in his glove. The Series, after the controversy of Game Three, three interminable days of rainouts, a most memorable of sixth games, and an underrated Game Seven, had finally come to an end.

Card Corner

I remember three attributes about former major leaguer Joe Ferguson. He liked to wear a helmet when he played the outfield. He also had an ungodly throwing arm. And he looked like he enjoyed his pre-game and post-game meals.

When I think of Ferguson, the word “burly” comes to mind. He looked part-lumberjack, part-sumo wrestler. He wasn’t what I would call fat, but then again, he didn’t look like Jack LaLanne either. He just looked big in every way, including his mustache and eyebrows.

Primarily a catcher during his major league career, Ferguson also played in right field from time to time. The time-sharing plan began early in his career with the Los Angeles Dodgers, who already had a fine defensive catcher in Steve Yeager but wanted to make room for the power-hitting Ferguson in their batting order. When the 200-pound Ferguson took to the outfield—a position that he hated to play—he made sure to take his hard hat with him. As with New York Yankees infielder Horace Clarke, I haven’t been able to pinpoint an exact reason, but—and this is merely a guess—it may have had something to do with Ferguson’s lack of confidence in catching the baseball. Fergie once lost two fly balls in the sun during the same game, making his head an easy target for a ball dropping out of the sky.

While Ferguson’s fielding prowess in right field sometimes made his managers nervous, he didn’t lack for ability in throwing the baseball. Playing for the Dodgers during the 1974 World Series, Ferguson unleashed a 290-foot throw from right field to the catcher, taking a potential run off the board for the Oakland A’s.

Still, Ferguson preferred to catch, as he was seen doing in his 1975 Topps card, which shows him crouching to receive a late throw while Bake McBride of the St. Louis Cardinals races home, plating one of his 81 runs scored in 1974. Ferguson enjoyed catching, and believed he was good at it. He once told a sportswriter, “I believe I can be a better catcher than Johnny Bench.” Few catchers would have been bold enough to mouth such words during the 1970s.

It didn’t exactly turn out that way for Ferguson, who caught 766 games over a 14-year career but didn’t win any Gold Gloves and drew few actual comparisons to Bench, the standard bearer among catchers. But then again, Bench could never play the outfield—and make throws from right field to home plate—quite like Big Fergie.

Pastime Passings

Donn Clendenon: (Died on September 17 in Sioux Falls, South Dakota; age 70; long battle with leukemia): During a 12-year career in the major leagues, Clendenon batted .274 with 159 home runs and 682 RBIs. Though best known for winning the MVP of the 1969 World Series for the upstart New York Mets, Clendenon’s best seasons came during a long tenure with the Pittsburgh Pirates. After making his major league debut for the Pirates in 1961, he eventually became the team’s everyday first baseman. Clendenon enjoyed arguably his finest season in 1966, when he a hit a career-high 28 home runs and batted .299. In addition to the Pirates and Mets, Clendenon also played for the Montreal Expos and St. Louis Cardinals during a career spent entirely in the National League.

Charles Williams: (Died on September 15 in Oak Lawn, Illinois; age 61; complications from diabetes): The first black umpire to work home plate during a World Series game, Williams made history when he called balls and strikes in Game Four of the 1993 Series between the Philadelphia Phillies and Toronto Blue Jays. The marathon game set a World Series record, lasting four hours and 14 minutes. Williams also worked the 1985 and 1995 All-Star Games, along with two Championship Series. Early in his career, Williams found himself in the center of an unwanted storm when he received death threats after ejecting a popular player from a game. The incident occurred in 1986, when Williams threw Steve Garvey of the San Diego Padres out of a regular season game. Prior to his umpiring career, Williams was a standout football player and All-American at Long Beach City College.

Cal Hogue (Died on August 5 in Kettering, Ohio; age 77): A member of the Pittsburgh Pirates from 1952 to 1954, Hogue pitched in 25 games during his major league career. He finished with a record of 2-10 and a .4.91 ERA in just over 113 innings pitched.

Eli Hodkey (Died on August 30 in Lorain, Ohio; age 87): A standout pitcher in the minor leagues, Hodkey pitched part of one major league season with the Philadelphia Phillies. Appearing in two games, he posted a record of 0-1 with an ERA of 12.46. During his minor league days, Hodkey won 109 games against only 47 losses. He also pitched a pair of no-hit games in the minor leagues.

Bruce Markusen serves as an advisor and consultant to museums that feature exhibits about baseball and other sports. To contact him about exhibit consultation, send an e-mail to bmark@telenet.net. He is also the author of Tales From The Mets Dugout, currently available from Sports Publishing.