Fear Strikes Out

by Jim Piersall

  BASEBALL IS, AS I hope it will be for a long time, my principal means of livelihood, but it’s no longer my only one. Thanks to the owners of the Colonial Provision Company in Boston, I have a good off-season job, which carries with it prospects of permanent employment when my baseball days are over. As a goodwill ambassador for the company, I cover most of New England, giving talks to many different kinds of groups. I was offered the job at the end of the 1953 season and it came at a time when I most needed that sort of lift. With a growing family—Mary and I now have four children and we had three then—I found myself faced with heavy responsibilities. Thanks to the Colonial people, I was never given time to worry about them.

  The Boston Globe sent me to write a daily feature on the 1953 World Series, between the Yankees and the Brooklyn Dodgers. It was a marvelous experience, because it gave me a chance to rub elbows with the newspapermen who had treated me with such consideration and tact. Incidentally, I also had a fine time for myself, thanks to the enthusiastic co-operation of the ballplayers on both teams. One New York writer, nowhere nearly as mad as he sounded in print, put it this way:

  “As if we don’t have troubles enough fighting off other writers, now we have to compete with a ballplayer for news. The Yankees and the Dodgers stand in line to be interviewed by Jimmy Piersall, while the rest of us get the leavings.”

  I was particularly happy when the Globe sent me to the 1954 World Series. The first time, it could have been a stunt. The second time, they obviously felt I could be of some use, and that meant a lot to me. That series was between the New York Giants and the Cleveland Indians, and I almost felt like a newspaperman while I was working on it.

  But I knew I was Jimmy Piersall, the ballplayer who had returned from oblivion, when the airplane in which I was traveling took off from LaGuardia Airport for Cleveland halfway through the series. The stewardess came over and greeted me with a cheerful, “Hi, Jimmy, how are you?”

  “Fine,” I said, a little vaguely.

  “Family all right?”

  “Swell.”

  “Wife, children, everybody?”

  “Yes.”

  “And how about you—are you happy now?”

  “I’m very happy,” I said.

  “And I see you’re playing the position you want to play. I’m glad of that.”

  “Uh-huh,” I nodded.

  Then she said, “Say, Jimmy, you don’t seem to recognize me at all.”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t remember ever having met you.”

  “Well, I was the hostess on the chartered plane the Red Sox took through Texas when they barnstormed on their way north from spring training in 1952.”

  “Gee,” I said, “I don’t remember much of anything that happened to me then. 1952 was a bad year for me.”

  “You mean because you were sick?”

  “Yes.”

  “But wasn’t that also the year that you were cured?” she asked.

  “Yes, it was.”

  “Well, then, I’d say 1952 was a good year—the best of your life.”

  I guess maybe she was right, at that.

  Afterword

  JIM PIERSALL

  I’m glad this book is back. It seems like the movie about it has run twice a year for the last thirty years. I don’t like the movie, because the star doesn’t look any bit of a ball player, but for forty years it has kept the story out there. The trouble is, most of the young people who know about me get their information from the movie, and the older people saw me play in Boston, Cleveland, L.A., New York, and Washington. And I played ball a lot better than the guys in the movie.

  A lot has happened since the time in the book and the movie. I played some more in Boston, then Cleveland, then with Washington, and in 1963 I was with the Mets. Those early Mets had some trouble, but it was a good time. We had Duke Snider and some other older players that the fans liked to see back in New York. Duke was coming up on his 400th career home run, about the same time I was coming up on my 100th. I told Duke I would get more attention when I hit number 100 than he would get for 400. Now, they just laughed because Duke was big in New York from being on the Dodgers, and 400 is a lot of homers. So when I hit mine, I ran around the bases backwards, and it was all over the papers.

  When the Mets let me go in 1963, we were in New York, and over in the American League, the Angels were in town to play the Yankees. So I went to see Bill Rigney, who was managing the Angels then. I told him that I was in shape and I could still play and that I thought I could help his club. He saw it the same way so he signed me.

  Believe it or not, after the Angels left New York they went to Boston for a series. I was glad to be back in the American League, and the fans gave me a big hand the first time I came up to bat. Well Bill Rigney must have wondered what he had gotten into, because I got thrown out on one pitch. I’m up at the plate and I want to do good, to show both the Angels and the Boston fans they didn’t make a mistake. Dick Radatz is pitching, and he’s six feet seven. The first pitch was high, but the umpire called it a strike. Now, that seemed unfair. So I said to the ump, “He’s a big guy, he doesn’t need any help.” I had the bat in my hand while I was arguing with him, the third base umpire came and grabbed the bat from my hand, he fell down, and I got thrown out.

  I enjoyed playing with the Angels and got the comeback player of the year award the next year. So it did look like Rigney made a good move. I enjoyed playing for Rigney—he’s a very happy guy, and I picked up a lot of knowledge about baseball from him. We were quite a team; we had Fregosi and Knoop and some kids who could play, and we had a bunch of older players—Frankie Malzone and Joe Adcock. We had fun—we trained in Palm Springs, what else could you want to do but spend the New Year in Palm Springs? I was there about seven years. It was an outstanding opportunity, and I really enjoyed myself. When I got through playing, I coached with Bill for awhile. Bill had played for the old New York Giants and managed a long time, and I’m glad he enjoyed me!

  After I stopped playing, I thought that if I could diversify myself I could make a living in many different ways. I’m glad I can do different jobs, and I’ve had many times when I’ve had to go and sell myself to an employer and convince them I could do the job. I worked in the front office for the California Angels for a couple of years. Then I ran a football team for about three or four years. I had learned how to sell when I was in Boston and had a food brokerage there. Then I worked for Charley Finley in Oakland for a year. It was one of the worst times of my life; check out the other book I wrote, The Truth Hurts. It still does. But it was a great experience, because the man was very clever, and I learned an awful lot about people. When I left there I managed for one summer, and then I got with my old friend Billy Martin in Arlington, Texas, where I worked in the front office selling and coached the Ranger outfielders.

  After I left Texas, I auditioned to do the color commentary with Harry Caray for about two or three games, and I was able to win that job. Working with Harry for six years was a great experience. I learned a lot about sports broadcasting, and later, I had my own radio talk show six nights a week for a couple of years on WIND in Chicago. I’m proud that it was one of the highest rated drive-time shows in the city. During that time I was doing on-air TV broadcasting and promotions for the White Sox, while LaRussa was managing the team. You can read about my time with Tony in The Truth Hurts, too.

  After that, all of a sudden I hooked an interview with Dallas Green over at the Cubs. And that’s always made me grin, because he was pitching when I hit my 100th with the Mets. Dallas was looking for help with his coaching, he brought me in, and I made a presentation to him. I thought that I’d had enough of broadcasting work, so I told him that day, “I’ll do the job for nothing if I have to, to prove I can do it.” And that’s what happened, and after about a month or so they hired me. That started my career with the Cubs, and we have been going for fourteen years now.

  I’ve had the good fortune to work with kids like Rafael Palmeiro whe
n he began as an outfielder (later they changed him into a first baseman), and Jerome Walton, and Doug Glanville as a rookie. Altogether I had fourteen young people who I helped with their development to become major league players. That’s been quite a thrill. Right now I’m working with a talented kid—Cory Patterson, signed as an outfielder. He’s capable of earning the money they’ve given him. He’s got the attitude, he’s got the ability to learn, and he’s a very quick learner. He’s in the instructional league in Arizona now. They send the young ones out for about five weeks in the fall. We play ball games with other clubs’ kids, and they get instruction at the same time.

  Now I roam all over the country for the Cubs. I spend the summers with the six teams the Cubs have, and I go through them all periodically. I talk baseball with these kids. I talk reality with them. I talk to them about what it takes—and not just in the game. One kid was going around saying, “I’m not going to be a power hitter,” and “I can’t field good,” and I told him, “No, you hit .300 in A ball, and you’re nineteen years old, and you’re going to make millions of dollars. Just keep playing as best you can.” He had a great year, and he is still nineteen—a kid.

  Kids will talk to me because they know I won’t talk behind their backs, and lots of times I’ve told them to go and get a job. I say, “If after three years you don’t have the credentials, you don’t have a future. If you’re not out of the A level after three years, it’s time to start your career in something else, because you’ve got to live.” To me, you’ve got to put some numbers on the board, to have shown by then what you can do. Pitchers take a little longer, but I don’t really get involved with too many pitchers. The only thing I know about pitchers is that I could hit ’em!

  I was a good fielder too. My lifetime fielding average was .997. It doesn’t seem right that the record books got me at .990, because I made ten errors at shortstop when they had me play there that first year. I don’t know how many games I played there, but they put them in along with my fielding in the outfield. I called the Encyclopedia people a few years ago and they said they would change it, but they never did. They just put it all together no matter what position you played, which doesn’t really tell you anything.

  Once I established myself, I could see that the fans would stand and give ovations. You don’t see fielders get ovations like they give these home run hitters, but I was getting them coming out of the field after I made some catches. Time and time again I had an opportunity to make big plays. A lot of times you could play all year and not really show your ability because you got a lot of easy chances.

  So I tell these kids, “Don’t ever give up on a ball. Don’t go three-quarters out. Don’t ever say, ‘What the hell,’ when the ball looks likes it’s hit out, just keep running. You don’t know what is going to happen.” That’s why my kids make a lot of outstanding plays.

  My first year in the majors Casey Stengel picked me for the All-Star team, so the whole thing was wonderful for me. My biggest opportunity came when I played my first exhibition game that spring against the Dodgers—Carl Erskine was pitching and I was five for five. The first baseman was Gil Hodges, second base was Jackie Robinson, the shortstop was Pee Wee Reese, Bobby Cox was at third, Campanella catching, Gene Hermanski in left, Snider in center, and Furillo in right. That’s a pretty good ball club. That was a real turning point. Because I had fears in my mind whether I could really play or not.

  I was very fortunate that Mr. Yawkey sent me to Florida later, as you read in Fear Strikes Out. George Susce, a coach who lived down there, kept saying, “You’re the best right fielder around.” That really helped me because all during my career I had the fear of someone taking my job.

  This is what I try to tell the kids. You can’t be complacent and think, “well my mother or father will take care of me for a year when I get home.” You’ve got to go out and play every game like it’s the World Series, you’ve got to produce, and your competition means only seven percent of you make it. Don’t loaf, don’t put your head down when you strike out. All these things I’ve learned to communicate with these kids. They know I don’t stand for someone coming to me at eight o’clock in the morning without enthusiasm and a desire to learn. I tell them to listen when I’m making corrections and don’t be embarrassed if I pull you over to teach something. But they understand.

  Kids are great. Kids today are smart as hell, and if you know what you’re talking about, they’ll listen. They respect you. And every morning that I come in, they say, “Good morning, Jim,” and I kid with them, and it’s really keeping me alive. Which is why I don’t plan to retire. I wouldn’t be very happy about it. I’m not prepared to sit around the house and watch television all day.

  Baseball is better than ever too. Everybody can play baseball, whether they play with a tennis ball or rubber ball or with toilet paper or whatever. Half of the fans in the stands are women. In baseball there are so many home runs there is tremendous excitement now. I can’t believe how much better the players get each year. And everyone is talking about baseball again—asking “who are you rooting for?” I love it.

  I started out as a guy without an education. But because of baseball and an ability to work hard, I have done all right just the same. So when they say about me, “Is he really nuts?” I can say I worked hard all my life, I fought my fears, and I was determined to win. And I’m a happy man.

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  copyright © 1955 by the Curtis Publishing Company

  copyright © 1955 by James A. Piersall and Albert S. Hirshberg

  afterword copyright © 1999 by the University of Nebraska Press

  cover design by Milan Bozic

  978-1-4532-2074-0

  This edition published in 2011 by Open Road Integrated Media

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  New York, NY 10014

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