by Jerry Reuss
All I can remember about spring training was Leo dividing the team into three groups, the eight regulars, the bench players, and the pitchers. Because Leo was with the regular players every day, the only time I saw him was when we ran our team drills or when photographers showed up and followed him from field to field.
We were just 6–8 when Leo was hospitalized on April 19 with an inflammation of his lower intestine. Preston Gomez took over the club, and we went on a 14–3 streak. There was an entirely different atmosphere with Preston leading the club. The focus was solely on the game.
When Leo returned the club reverted to their early-season ways, winning just 9 of the next 20 games. We’ll never know what could have happened had Preston led the club the rest of the way.
When Vin Scully Speaks, Los Angeles Listens
I learned during my first trip to Dodger Stadium in late-August 1970 that Dodger Stadium was someplace special. There were three reasons: the weather in Southern California was always cooler than the summers in the Midwest, the natural grass surface and the hard clay that composed the pitchers mound were the best in the league, and Dodger announcer Vin Scully.
When the Dodgers moved west after the 1958 season, the Southern California fans learned the Major League style of the game from Vin during his radio broadcasts. The phenomenon of transistor radios in the ballpark originated in the days of the Los Angeles Coliseum, where fans sat so far from the field that they brought radios to help them follow the action. When Dodger Stadium opened in 1962, the habit had become ingrained and continued.9
I pitched in six games at Dodger Stadium as a member of the Astros. If the crowd was around twenty thousand and was quiet, I could hear the radios from around the ballpark when standing on the mound. I couldn’t clearly make out the words, but I could tell from Vin’s cadence where he was in the broadcast. One night while staring at the catcher’s signs, I noticed Vin was in midstory. As a courtesy to the best in the business, I stepped off the rubber, grabbed the rosin bag, gave it a shake, and threw it behind the mound. By this time Vin delivered his punch line, the crowd had its laugh, and I was back on the rubber, getting the sign from the catcher. Vin, ever the professional, never missed a beat. “Reuss winds and the pitch on the way . . .”
Regrets . . . Yes, I Have a Few
I’ve been asked over the years if I have any regrets for anything that I’ve done during my career. I always joked about the location of some pitches that I’d like to change, as I was always too embarrassed to discuss my more questionable behavior. But it’s part of the narrative, and this is the time to tell it.
One such incident occurred on the night of July 6, 1973, at Jarry Park in Montreal. Leo talked about this game in his book but confused the facts.
Here’s what happened. I started the first game of a twinight doubleheader and had a 7–1 lead entering the bottom of the fourth. A leadoff walk, an error, and two singles led to an Expo run. A sacrifice fly scored the second run of the inning, but we caught a break when the runner on second base tried to score and was thrown out at the plate. The next batter walked (my fifth of the game), and Leo replaced me with Jim Ray as Tim Foli came to bat.
In three and two-thirds innings, I allowed four hits, walked five, and left the game with two runners on base and a 7–3 lead. I was furious. This was the fifth time in the early part of the ’73 season that I had at least a two-run lead and couldn’t hold it. I figured he could have left me in there to face Foli and, hopefully, get on track.10
When I got in the clubhouse I picked up a folding chair and fired it into Leo’s locker. I picked it up and was ready to throw it a second time when someone grabbed my arms from behind. It was the visiting clubhouse manager, Claude Lavoie, who told me in a very controlled voice, “You don’t want to do this. Believe me, you really don’t want to do this!” I put the chair down and continued my rant.
Eventually, word got to Leo on the bench about my tirade. He showed up in the clubhouse a short time later, and a spirited discussion ensued between the two of us. We took it to his office, as our “discussion” lasted through the second game of the doubleheader.
To Leo’s credit he didn’t raise his voice or lose his cool, as I’d seen him do with umpires. Nor did he blast me to the writers when asked why he wasn’t on the bench for the second game. He just told them it was a private discussion between us and he had an upset stomach that kept him off the bench.
Now, looking back at this game, I have the perspective of time. I’ll play manager. I would’ve taken me out of the game. With my then recent history of coughing up a lead and struggling again in this game, we had a chance to win, as we had a four-run lead. So I’d make the change. Win the first game however we can and then worry about the second game when we get there is sound baseball judgment.
With regards to my behavior, I’m certain some managers would have sent me to the Minors, traded me, or at the very least fined me. But nothing was done. Because the club was short on pitching, I, as the 2013 manager, would’ve recommended a large fine to send a message that this kind of behavior would not be tolerated.
Regarding the doubleheader, we lost both games using three relievers in the first game and four more in the second game. We lost on Saturday using one reliever, and when the club needed someone Sunday after using the only two pitchers available, I pitched two innings and, believe it or not, got the win.
Hank Chases the Babe
With all of the ’73 pennant races decided, there was still some drama during the last weekend of the season. Henry Aaron was closing in on one of baseball’s most hallowed records, as he approached Babe Ruth’s career home run total of 714. Aaron had 712 notched into his belt when the Astros (with me pitching) faced the Braves on Saturday, September 29. I was very much aware of what was happening and would have been happy not to be a part of it. After all, Hank had touched me twice for homers before this game.11
Both times he connected on fastballs, so my game plan was to get him out on curve balls. Aaron singled in the first inning on a fastball and walked in the third inning. I recorded two quick outs in the fifth inning when Marty Perez doubled, Mike Lum singled, and Darrell Evans drove in Perez with a single. That brought Hank to the plate as I was on the ropes, trailing 3–0.
Hank was looking for a curve, got it, and hit number 713 over the left-field fence. The crowd of 17,836 went crazy, subsiding only when Hank made a curtain call.
Future Dodger teammate Dusty Baker followed with a solo HR to make the score 7–0. That made it five consecutive hits; the last two hits were home runs. I wanted to restore order. So when Davey Johnson, who hit 43 homers in 1973, stepped to the plate, I buzzed him with a fastball that caught him in the arm. I wanted to make sure there wouldn’t be 3 home runs in a row. Home-plate umpire John Kibler issued a warning, which cost me fifty dollars. I eventually got out of the inning, but the damage was done. I lost the game, Hank Aaron stood at the precipice of baseball history, and I was fined again for the warning issued after I hit Johnson.
The stage was set for the season finale on September 30. With 40,517 present, Hank Aaron went three for four but didn’t connect for the record-tying homer. That would wait until 1974.12
Being a part of this history was something I couldn’t escape. I would have preferred to allow this honor to be bestowed upon another pitcher, but fate stepped in. When I first met Hank back in 1966 during that tryout at Busch Stadium 2, I would have never guessed our paths would meet again under these circumstances.
Some Guys Have Long Memories
Davey Johnson remembered this game for a number of years, not because of the home run chase but because he was hit by a pitch. Johnson was removed from the game after being hit but played the next day, going 0–4 against Dave Roberts and Don Wilson. Johnson’s forty-three home runs were a record for a second baseman, but he trailed Willie Stargell for the league home run title by one. He blamed me for that missed opportunity.
On September 11, 1977, while playing for the Phil
lies, Johnson got two hits and a walk and drove in two runs against me while I was with Pittsburgh, as the Phils won the game by a score of 6–2. In his postgame interview he recalled the 1973 game. “Aaron and Baker just hit home runs,” Johnson recalled. “I was the next batter and Reuss shook off two pitches and then hit me with a fastball.” Davey continued, “I thought it was intentional. Ever since that day I’ve really been pressing to get Reuss. I really wanted to kill the ball.”13
Fast-forward to 1999. While Johnson managed the Dodgers, I had the occasion to visit Dodger Stadium and meet the manager for the first time. “Hi, Dave. I’m Jerry Reuss,” I said as I put my hand out to greet him in his office before a game. “I know who you are, you son of a bitch!” he said as he shook my hand. “You hit me with a pitch, and I lost the home run title as a result,” he said with a forced smile. That took me by surprise. Whatever happened to “Hi, Jerry. It’s a pleasure to meet you”?
Johnson continued as the members of the press frantically scribbled the notes of this story. Johnson recalled the events (incorrectly, I might add) about his home run chase. I said nothing. Finally, he asked me, “Did Leo tell you to hit me?” I started laughing as I answered, “If Leo had told me to drill you, I would have thrown the pitch down the middle in spite.” I continued, “As I remember, I was getting hammered, and I wanted to put an end to it. It just happened that you were the hitter. It was nothing personal.” Dave wouldn’t accept that. He believed there was more to it. For me, I had forgotten about it until Johnson brought it up.
The Trade Winds Blow
The 1973 season ended as a disappointment to all associated with the club, especially after the 84–69 record of the 1972 team. We still had four players with 20 or more HR and three players with 80 or more RBI. But the number of runs scored dropped from 708 in ’72 to 681 in ’73 even though we played nine more games.14
On the pitching side Larry Dierker was injured most of the year and won just one game, while Don Wilson was five games under .500. Dave Roberts, with seventeen wins, and my sixteen wins picked up some of the slack. Overall, the ’73 staff had an ERA of 3.75 against the 3.77 the previous year. However, we missed the veteran leadership that both Dierker and Wilson provided.15
With drop-offs in runs scored and players a year older, there were changes that needed to be made. The club still needed an everyday catcher and a new manager to replace the retiring Leo Durocher.
I’m Movin’ On
Of course, I knew the club was looking for an everyday catcher. During the World Series between the A’s and the Mets, the newspapers reported the rumors of a possible deal between the Astros and Pirates. The Pirates were willing to deal twenty-three-year-old catcher Milt May, who showed he could handle Major League pitching by batting .275 over four seasons in 212 games. The Astros, seeing his youth and left-handed bat fitting perfectly in a predominantly right-handed hitting lineup, knew he was the blue-chip catcher on the market.
According to news reports, Spec told Joe Brown, the Pirates’ general manager, that he could have any starting pitcher he wanted from the organization except J. R. Richard or me. Joe insisted on me. After adding and subtracting different names in the deal, both clubs took a few weeks to see what else was available. Eventually, the deal was revisited and finalized, with Milt joining the Astros and me becoming Pittsburgh property.16
The deal made perfect sense. Trading a starting pitcher who gave you around 35 starts a season for an everyday catcher who played 125–30 games a year was a perfect trade for the Astros. And both clubs had replacements in mind for the players who were traded. The Pirates had Manny Sanguillén, who caught 89 games in 1973, return behind the plate as their starting catcher, with Dave Parker waiting in the wings as their everyday right-fielder. The Astros were working on another deal that involved Jimmy Wynn for Dodger lefty Claude Osteen, who would take the vacant spot in their starting rotation.17
Who’s the Dummy?
On November 1, Jack Herman, a sportswriter for the St. Louis Globe-Democrat, called me at home in Houston. At twenty-four years old and still shocked by my personal reality (I just moved into a new home and was facing the prospect of living elsewhere for at least seven months for the second time in two years), I spoke with Jack about the deal. We spoke of the misfortune of Scipio Spinks, who was key to the deal that sent me to Houston, and how he performed for the Cardinals. Scipio, who tore up his knee in a home-plate collision against Johnny Bench of the Reds in 1972 and made his last Major League start in June 1973 before suffering from a shoulder strain in his pitching arm, ended his career prematurely with a 6–10 record for the Cards.
“With Spinks getting hurt, the Cardinals got the short end of that deal,” Jack said. “Well, Jack, it was an unfortunate set of circumstances for Scipio,” I answered. Jack, the professional that he was at sniffing out a possible story, asked me another loaded question. “You’re already established as a starting pitcher over the last three years and were traded for a catcher that has yet to prove himself as an everyday player. Do you think the Astros got enough for you?” I took the bait. “When you look at the deal like that, yeah, the Astros could’ve gotten more for me,” I responded. We talked a bit more about the future of the Astros and what transpired over the ’73 season. By the time we talked about my 16–13 season, I mentioned that the “record would have been better if it hadn’t been for that dummy of a manager that pulled me out of two games I had with a lead.”
When we hung up I was uneasy about the interview, especially the part about Leo. There was no need to bury Leo as my arrogance got the better of me. Plus, he covered my ass in Montreal. So, how did the article turn out?
It began with these words: Jerry Reuss hasn’t changed. Still his own man, the St. Louis native is as outspoken as ever. “The Cardinals didn’t get enough for me,” said the tall lefthander, traded Wednesday by Houston to Pittsburgh, “and neither did the Astros.”18 These quotes still appear in some form on the Internet today.
I don’t blame Jack, as he was just doing his job. Still, after the article ran, I was apprehensive about talking to him anytime our paths crossed. I learned a valuable lesson: sportswriters have a job to do, and they’re not always your friend.
Today, I see that interview as a missed opportunity. I had the chance to thank everyone for all the good fortune bestowed on me during my tenure with the Astros, and I threw it away.
Now for the quote about Leo being a dummy. It must have struck a nerve, as he mentioned it in his book. In 2013, with the play-by-play of every game I ever pitched posted for review, I discovered that, in 1973, I pitched in eight games with at least a two-run lead that I couldn’t hold. After studying each of them and playing manager, I would have taken me out of each of those games. So who was the dummy? It wasn’t Jack, Leo, or even Preston Gomez. I was the dummy!
One final thought on my time in Houston, and it has to do with Leo. In 1973 Leo Durocher was in his only full year of managing the Astros. It turned out to be a disaster for both Leo and the Astros, as the club went 82–80 and finished fourth in the division.
Off the field, I had some personal baggage, and, because of poor judgment and immaturity, it affected me at the park. It led Leo to refer to me in his book as the “asshole of all time.”19
The asshole part had merit and I deserved that, but of all time? Didn’t MLB commissioner Happy Chandler suspend Leo for a year for “association with known gamblers”? How about his alleged habit of passing bad checks during his Yankee days? This was a case of the pot calling the kettle black. Still, I think my behavior both on and off the field may have had something to do with my departure.
There’s a postscript to my relationship with Leo. Years later, when I was with the Dodgers, Tom Lasorda called me into his office one day, telling me there was someone there who wanted to speak to me. When I walked in I spotted a frail older gentleman sitting on the sofa. “Jerry,” Tommy said, “you remember Leo.” Turns out that Leo was a hero of Tommy’s and came in from his
home in Palm Springs to pay his longtime friend a visit. “Leo, how are you?” I said as I smiled and held out my hand. Leo stood, took my hand, and said, “Tommy has a lot of nice things to say about you.” Then he looked at Tommy and said, “Can we have your office for a few minutes?”
Tommy got up from behind his desk and said, “Take all the time you need,” and walked out, closing the door behind him. Leo motioned for me to sit with him on the sofa. Then he looked me in the eye and started a conversation of fifteen minutes by stating, “You know, I said some things . . .”
We cleared the air that day and finished the visit with a hug. Not often in life have I had a chance to right a wrong and apologize for my mistakes. I think the visit did the same for Leo, too. Many thanks to you, Tom, for making it happen. That was the last time I ever saw Leo. He passed in 1991.
7.
Makin’ My Way to the Steel City
My first trip to Pittsburgh after the trade during the off-season found me at Willie Stargell’s bowling tournament. It was the perfect opportunity to meet some new teammates, including another lefty pitcher just acquired by the Bucs, Ken Brett. Brett, 13–8 in twenty-five starts for the Phillies, was traded for Dave Cash and, like me, was apprehensive about the deal because he was joining his fourth team in three years. “I took the phone off the hook because I didn’t want to hear one general manager wishing me luck when he traded me and another telling me how happy he is that I’m with his club,” said Brett.1
The Pirates’ general manager, Joe Brown, told me in early 1974, “As an organization, we’ve been fortunate to draft, sign, and develop many players for our Major League club. Of course, we’ve been luckier with our everyday players than we have been with pitching. But we’ve been able to trade an everyday player to bolster our pitching and not miss a beat offensively.”
Of the thirty-nine players listed on the Pirates’ roster for 1974, twenty-seven were from the farm system. Under the guidance of Brown from 1970 through 1976, the Pirates won the Eastern Division five times and a world championship in 1971. The dynamic worked.
