Impact Player

by Bobby Richardson

  Ralph told me that McDougald had been hit by a line drive during batting practice. Until he got better, the Yankees planned to put me in his lineup spot. And they wanted me to begin the next day.

  I called Betsy first. “New York is a lot closer to Sumter than Denver is,” I told her hopefully. Next I called my dad. Even though it was only a temporary call-up, he was thrilled that I would be joining the Yankees.

  On my flight to New York, I sat next to Ruth Pesky, the wife of Bears coach Johnny Pesky. Johnny had played for the Boston Red Sox, Detroit Tigers, and Washington Senators, and the right field foul pole at Boston’s Fenway Park was named Pesky’s Pole as a tribute to him. Mrs. Pesky and I spent the flight talking about what it would be like playing in my first major league game.

  Welcome to the Big Leagues

  I felt slightly timid joining the Yankees. I didn’t know if Mickey Mantle would remember me, but he did. He reached out to me when he first saw me and made me feel welcome again.

  I have a picture from that day of Mickey and me in the dugout. I’m sitting on one of the steps and Mickey is next to me, with one foot on the dugout floor and the other a step higher. Mickey is pointing toward the field, and I’m looking out toward where he is pointing. It looks casual and unrehearsed, but Mickey planned the whole thing. He knew that a photographer was likely to snap a picture of him anywhere he was. So he told me, “Come over here, and they’ll take this picture if we sit together. I’ll be pointing things out.” Sure enough, a photographer saw us and snapped the picture of the star and the rookie together.

  That was the kind of person Mickey was, always thinking of and looking out for others. He never sought out attention for himself, preferring instead to find ways of deflecting attention onto his teammates. Mickey was a superstar—one of the biggest superstars ever in baseball—but he was always a team player.

  The day I joined the Yankees, my name was indeed in the starting lineup. I was hitting second, just before Mickey Mantle and Yogi Berra. On the field, I took McDougald’s spot at second base, between Jerry Coleman at short and Joe Collins at first.

  That was Friday, August 5, 1955. The Yankees were playing the Detroit Tigers at Yankee Stadium and were one game out of first place, trailing both the Chicago White Sox and the Cleveland Indians. The Tigers were in play-off contention too, so I was stepping directly into the midst of a good pennant race.

  A familiar face was on the mound for us the day of my first game: Don Larsen. The Yankees had traded for Don during the off-season, and after a few starts at the beginning of the season, he’d been shipped down to the Bears. He’d been fantastic for us in Denver and had been called back up to New York about a week before my call-up.

  Casey put me second in the batting order, behind right fielder Hank Bauer and directly in front of Mickey. After Hank grounded out to third to start the bottom of the first, I stepped into the box against Jim Bunning, a rookie right-hander who would wind up being elected to the National Baseball Hall of Fame and be just as successful during a long political career. I grounded out on a routine ball to Tigers shortstop Harvey Kuenn.

  In my next at bat, leading off the fourth inning, I reached base for the first time on a walk off Bunning. Then I stole second base. Mickey walked behind me, and I scored on Yogi’s two-hundredth career home run. Not a bad way to score my first major league run—ahead of Mickey Mantle and Yogi Berra.

  My first hit came in my final at bat, in the seventh inning off relief pitcher Babe Birrer. I would love to say that my first major league hit was a real smasher, but in truth it was an infield single to the first baseman. But hey, a hit’s a hit, especially in the major leagues. We won that day 3–0, with all the runs being scored on Yogi’s milestone homer, and moved into a tie for first place in the league.

  What stands out most for me from that first game is that I didn’t have a single ball hit to me at second base. No grounders, no pop-ups—the only time I got to touch the ball was when we threw it around the infield after someone else had recorded an out. It’s true what they say about a professional ballplayer’s nerves calming a bit once he’s been involved in a play. Not having a ball hit to me meant I battled a case of the nerves on defense for the entire game.

  I got my second big league hit the next day. We were trailing the Tigers 7–5 going into the bottom of the ninth, and I had been held hitless in my first four at bats. Leading off the inning, I reached on another single—another infield single. Mickey singled me to third with one out, but we weren’t able to score and lost to Detroit. I had only one ball hit to me in my second game, and I made an error.

  We concluded the series on Sunday by splitting a doubleheader, and Casey had me leading off during the first game. I finally made my first play on defense, as the middle man in a 5-4-3 double play in the first inning, but I went hitless in eight at bats in those two games. After we had Monday off, McDougald was back to starting at second and Carey was at third for the next game on Tuesday. I played in three more games as a substitute without getting to bat again before being shipped back out.

  I had known going into New York that my stay would be short, and I wasn’t surprised to be returned to the minors. I was, however, surprised with where I was sent: Richmond, Virginia. The Virginians were the Yankees’ other Triple-A team, in the International League, but they weren’t as good as the Denver Bears. In fact, when I joined the team along with veteran relief pitcher Jim Konstanty, who’d also been sent down, the Virginians were a dismal forty-two games out of first place.

  My being shipped to Richmond instead of Denver wasn’t a demotion. The regular season was winding down, and the Yankees wanted to keep me closer geographically. A player was required to be on the roster on September 1 in order to be eligible to play in the postseason. If the Yankees needed to bring me back up quickly to meet that deadline, it would be easier to have me nearby in Richmond instead of farther away with the Denver team.

  I understood all that and was glad the Yankees wanted to keep me that close. But after being in a playoff race with Denver, then joining the American League pennant chase with the Yankees, hooking up with a team whose season was in the tank sure felt like a demotion. Not surprisingly, morale was low on the Richmond team. Few fans were coming to their games. Players were skipping pregame batting practice and infield practice. It was as though everyone in the clubhouse couldn’t wait for the season to end. It wasn’t an enjoyable situation, but at least I had the chance to play every day—and hope the Yankees would need me again.

  I spent almost a month with the Virginians. We finished in last place, thirty-six and a half games behind the first-place Montreal Royals. After our season ended, the Yankees did call me up as part of the expanding of rosters late in the season. But that was after the September 1 deadline for postseason eligibility, and mostly I was there “just in case.” With the pennant clinched, Casey started me in both games of a doubleheader on the final day of the regular season to give his starters a day off before the World Series. I got two hits that day, and both were to the outfield, not of the infield variety. In my two stints with the Yankees that season, I played in eleven games and had four hits in twenty-six at bats for a .154 batting average.

  While the Yankees went on to the World Series, losing in seven games to the Brooklyn Dodgers, I returned home to Sumter to start my dove-hunting season. Imagine my surprise later when I opened a copy of Sporting News magazine and learned that, even though I had been with the Yankees for about a month, I had been voted by the players to receive one-third of a share of their World Series earnings.

  Players in the World Series receive a financial reward for reaching the postseason, with players from the winning team receiving larger amounts. Players who had played in the World Series could vote to give players from the season who were not part of the Series a portion of the bonus money. I received a one-third share, or a third of what a full-season player would receive. I think my share came to about eighteen hundred dollars. Getting to spend about a mo
nth in the majors had been bonus enough for me. But receiving that extra check gave me an introduction to the Yankees players’ generosity and sense of family.

  Chapter 5

  Wedding Bells and Baseball

  Between the 1955 and 1956 seasons, my relationship with Betsy grew more serious. I took a job over the winter working at the Gulf service station in town. One day Betsy drove up in her family’s big, blue Buick Roadmaster.

  “What can I do for you?” I asked. “Want gas?”

  “Fill it up!” she said.

  So I filled it up with gas, and when it came time to pay, all Betsy had was two dollars. That Roadmaster’s tank held a lot more than two dollars’ worth of gas, but she had never purchased a full tank of gas before and had no idea how much it could cost.

  I paid for her tank of gas. I can’t remember the amount, but I do recall figuring that it amounted to almost what I would make in a full week of work at that service station. Betsy later admitted that the only reason she came to get gas was so she could see me. It turned out to be an expensive little visit for me, but she certainly was worth it.

  Just about all my spare time that off-season was spent with Betsy, attending football games, playing miniature golf (by that point I was more competitive and was able to win without her throwing the match), and attending church together. I wanted to marry her and found subtle ways to broach the topic to see how receptive she would be to the idea. I had been dropping hints in my letters to Betsy, saying that Ralph Houk had told me, “You ought to marry that young girl back home,” or that our pastor had been saying, “Betsy is pretty mature for her age.” I could tell that Betsy loved me and that marriage appeared to be in our future.

  All too soon the off-season came to an end, and I was headed to St. Petersburg for the third consecutive year to take part in Casey Stengel’s pre-spring training. Then, for the first time, I stayed in St. Petersburg to take part in the Yankees’ major league spring training. And I did well enough there to be included on the big league roster for the start of the regular season.

  We headed north by train with the Philadelphia Phillies, who were also just out of spring training, and we stopped in Savannah, Georgia, to play an exhibition game. Not only was my dad there, but so was a large group of family and friends from Sumter. I didn’t start the game but was substituted in, and I hit a triple. That was especially exciting to me because, even though it was just an exhibition game, it was still my first game as a major leaguer in front of my dad.

  The Phillies’ third baseman in that game was Willie Jones, who went by the nickname of “Puddin’ Head.”

  “You’re from South Carolina, aren’t you?” Puddin’ Head asked me as I stood on third, waiting for the next play.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  Puddin’ Head told me he was from a small town that I recognized as being near my hometown.

  “I’m from Sumter,” I told him.

  “Glad to see you,” he said. Puddin’ Head and I were quickly becoming best friends right there at third base. “How about you move your foot and let me get the dirt off that bag there.”

  “Sure,” I said and stepped off the bag.

  Puddin’ Head still had the ball in his glove, and he reached over and tagged me.

  The umpire at third base was also from South Carolina.

  “I can’t believe you did that,” the umpire told Puddin’ Head. “He’s safe. I will not call him out.”

  Then the umpire looked at me. “Don’t you ever do that again.”

  I learned my lesson, and never again did I step off the bag like that without first calling time-out.

  Starting in New York

  Back then, clubs started the season with expanded rosters before having to cut down to the number of players they would carry throughout the season, until rosters expanded again in September. For Casey, having a larger roster was like playing with a deck that had sixty-five cards: it just gave him more options to manage.

  Casey had to be one of the most unconventional managers in modern baseball history when it came to platooning and substituting players. He loved to put in pinch hitters at unexpected times. “Hold that gun,” he would say to summon the scheduled batter back to the dugout in favor of a pinch hitter. Sometimes it seemed like he had drawn a number out of his cap to determine when he would do it. Casey didn’t care if it was the first inning; if he wanted to bring in a pinch hitter, he would. I never understood why Casey put in pinch hitters at such odd times, though it’s difficult to argue with Casey’s managerial record.

  When I arrived in New York to start the regular season, I didn’t expect to stay long. Despite Casey’s substituting ways, the infield seemed set. Gil McDougald was back at second base after starting the most games at second of anyone in 1955. Also, Billy Martin had returned from his military service for the final month of that season and had now had a full spring training to work out the rust. I figured I would spend the bulk of the season in Denver.

  Knowing I probably wouldn’t be with the Yankees for long, I asked Betsy and her mother to come up early in the season for a visit. I had told Rizzuto that I wanted to marry Betsy, and he’d recommended I buy a ring from a jeweler friend of his who could give me a good deal. One day when Betsy and I were walking in the city, I suggested we stop at the store Rizzuto had told me about “just to look” at rings. I wasn’t going to ask Betsy to marry me until I was certain she would say yes. But watching her check out the rings in that store, I knew the time was right to propose.

  After dinner at a restaurant close to the Concourse Plaza Hotel near Yankee Stadium—and having obtained the blessing of Betsy’s mother—I proposed, and Betsy accepted. We decided to marry that fall after the season ended.

  Betsy and her mother planned to follow the team on our trip to play the Baltimore Orioles. Then they would ride the train back from Baltimore to Sumter. The day before they were to leave for home from Baltimore, Betsy went with me to the ballpark while her mother stayed at the hotel. Betsy and I arranged to meet in the seating area after the game.

  After the game, though, I was delayed because Casey called me into his office. I was being sent down to Denver.

  “Don’t get discouraged,” Casey told me. “We’ll call you back up. Just go down there and play good.”

  I had played in five games at the time, starting only two of those. At one point I had gone two weeks without appearing in a game. I’d had one hit in seven at bats. I just hadn’t been given an opportunity to play and show what I could do.

  Even though I’d expected that the move down was coming eventually, it was still disheartening to leave the majors. A player just couldn’t assume that everything would go as planned and he would be back. A bad injury could happen. There could be an extended hitting slump at the wrong time. Some fast-rising prospect could climb past him on the ladder.

  The meeting with Casey didn’t last long, but my equipment had to be packed, and I had to get my travel arrangements from the team’s traveling secretary. Meanwhile, poor Betsy was all alone in the stadium, waiting for me. The seats around her emptied. Then a policeman walked over and told her that the stadium was closing and she would have to leave.

  An idea came to Betsy. The workers in the concession stands were still there cleaning up, so she went to a nearby concession stand and tried to blend in with them so she could stay in the stadium. She told me later that she began praying about what she should do next. While she was praying, I saw her standing there and walked over to her, much to her relief. (It’s always nice to hear the person you love say that you are an answer to prayer!)

  I apologized for taking so long and shared what Casey had just told me. Betsy was probably just as disappointed as I was. I was leaving the majors, and Betsy had to say good-bye for who knew how long. Betsy and her mother headed south, and I headed north to New York to pack up my belongings and then get back to Denver.

  Newlyweds

  Once I joined the Bears, I really started missing Betsy more
than ever. Waiting until the off-season to marry seemed too far away; I wanted to get married now, during the season. So did Betsy.

  I asked Bears owner Bob Howsam for permission to leave the team long enough to return home and marry Betsy, then rejoin the team.

  Howsam’s response was short: “That’s the silliest thing I’ve ever heard. Wait until the end of the season.” End of conversation.

  Then I went to our manager, Ralph Houk. We were close, and I knew I could tell Ralph what I wanted to do. He had encouraged me to marry Betsy, probably because he had witnessed too many ballplayers during his playing days marry girls who were interested in them only because they were ballplayers or for their money. He knew what Betsy and I had was different.

  “Absolutely—go home,” Ralph said. “Take as long as you want. Don’t worry about it. I’ll cover for you.”

  Ralph’s permission set the planning hurriedly in motion. We picked the date of June 8 at our church, Grace Baptist. The Bears would be playing in Indianapolis right before then, so I would fly home from there. Of course, I wanted to look good for my wedding, so before I left for South Carolina, I got a haircut in a hotel barbershop. In my letter to Betsy that day, I told her that I’d had “my ears lowered.”

  Because Betsy had grown up without her father around and had only sisters, she had never heard that phrase. When she read that letter, she ran to her mother and said, “Mom, Robert said he had some kind of surgery on his ears! I think they looked fine!”

  “Betsy,” her mother explained, “that’s a haircut.”

  We married on a Friday and immediately started the drive to Denver to join the team. I don’t think we had what would be considered a real honeymoon until after our fifth child was born.