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Maury
Allen ...going by the book |
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with Carl Erskine at Cooperstown |
 Pitcher Carl Erskine |
Carl Erskine, now an author, looks
back with affection on Brooklyn
By MAURY ALLEN
of TheColumnists.com
IT WILL SOON measure 50
years ago, October 3, 1951, when I sat in a pal’s Brooklyn
apartment watching Ralph Branca throw a high meatball to Bobby
Thomson.
Thomson hit it over the wall in the Polo Grounds for a 5-4 New
York Giants win--“The Giants win the pennant, the Giants
win the pennant, the Giants win the pennant,” howled radio
broadcaster Russ Hodges--and my world collapsed.
You just had to be a Brooklyn Dodger baseball fan to understand.
Sure, Los Angeles lost a tough one in 1962 and Boston choked
again in 1978 against the Yankees and in 1986 in the Series against
the Mets. Of course, this October could see the incredible Seattle
season go down the drain with one error, one passed ball, one
strikeout.
Nothing can ever equal the pain of that October day half a century
ago.
I was walking down the main street of Cooperstown, New York,
home of the Baseball Hall of Fame, during induction weekend in
early August. The stores were filled with photos of the latest
class of Hall of Famers: Dave Winfield, Kirby Puckett and Bill
Mazeroski.
Then I spotted Carl Erskine pushing his book--“Carl Erskine’s
Tales from the Dodger Dugout" (Sports Publishing, Inc.)--from
a small stand in front of a card collector’s store.
Erskine had retired as a Dodger pitcher a year before I came
on the sportswriting scene. I got to know him through banquets,
golf outings, Old Timer Days and Brooklyn reunions through the
years.
He had won 122 games, lost 78, pitched two no hitters and became
a beloved Brooklyn resident all those summers from 1948 to 1957.
I never covered Erskine
during his playing days, but he seemed as perfect a man as one
could imagine--kind, decent, a loving family man, a marvelous
pitcher, an off season banker
and a ball player who treated sportswriters with respect and
dignity. What an upset.
Ralph Branca was singing the National Anthem at the Hall of Fame
induction ceremonies that weekend in August honoring Dave Winfield,
Kirby Puckett and Bill Mazeroski.
“Ralph could always sing,” said Erskine.
Then we both laughed at the unasked and unanswered question of
could he pitch, especially in relief on that October day at New
York’s Polo Grounds.
Erskine was in the bullpen with a tired arm when manager Chuck
Dressen asked bullpen coach Clyde Sukeforth how Carl was throwing.
“He just bounced his curve ball,” said Sukeforth, in
a more famous statement in Brooklyn than “Four Score and
Seven years Ago.”
“I always bounced my curve ball,” laughed Erskine as
he paused in his selling chores to remember that afternoon 50
years ago. “My arm was tired. So was Ralph’s. So was
everybody’s. It had been a long month as the Giants caught
us. We had to win the last day in Philly to make the playoff.”
Branca and Thomson are touring America in the kind of companionship
Arafat and Sharon will enjoy if peace ever happens in the Middle
East. Thomson remembers the day with one thought, “I beat
Brooklyn.”
Branca can only recall his question to his future wife Ann and
a priest friend, “Why me?”
“I think Ralph has done remarkably well considering the
circumstances,” said Erskine. “I don’t know how
I could have handled the situation. I’m glad I didn’t
have to.”
Erskine’s book is a sweet reminiscence of his time in Brooklyn
and his pals along the trail. He tells witty stories of Roy Campanella
and Gil Hodges, Jackie Robinson and Duke Snider, Pee Wee Reese
and Carl Furillo.
He doesn’t go into much detail of the 1951 playoff except
to say that people have asked him through the years the best
pitch he ever made in baseball. He doesn’t claim the last
outs of his two no hitters have that lasting a memory. He simply
says, “The curveball I bounced in the Polo Grounds bullpen.”
Erskine is still the same handsome devil he was four decades
ago with a little less hair and a little more girth. He wore
a white shirt that day in Cooperstown, no tie, tan slacks and
polished shoes. He looked the part of the bank executive he was
in his hometown of Anderson, Indiana for many years.
Erskine was everybody’s friend on the Dodgers and a hero
to most. He had a fourth child late in his Dodger days who was
born with Down’s Syndrome. He always brought him to spring
training as he helped the Dodger pitchers each year in Vero Beach.
His love for Brooklyn lingers to this day. He was very excited
and animated when he was brought to the new Keyspan Park in Brooklyn
to throw out a first ball at the Mets minor league home of the
Brooklyn Cyclones.
“Brooklyn will always remain a big part of my life. My family
really grew up there. Years later we always called our Brooklyn
pediatrician for advice when the kids got sick,” he said.
Erskine went back to his book sales and we parted with a warm
handshake and promises to catch up on each other on his next
visit to New York.
“I wish you didn’t bounce that curve ball in the bullpen,”
I said.
“Maybe it saved my life,” he said.
Erskine laughed out loud. I only felt like crying.
© 2001 by Maury Allen. The Erskine photo is from the official
Carl Erskine website.
You
can comment on this column or contact Maury Allen with an email
to: talkback@thecolumnists.com
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