The White Sox victory in the World Series and
the death Sunday of Al Lopez, manager of the Sox’s last AL championship (1959)
before this year, have inspired me to wax nostalgic for times gone by. Please
indulge me a wistful moment, or feel free to ignore.
My claim to fame in these recent events is
that I actually saw the 1959 league champs play. The defending AL champion
White Sox came to Russwood Park for a pre-season exhibition game against the
Cleveland Indians on Easter Sunday 1960. I’m sure Lopez was there, as were
stars from both teams.
I only remember a few things about it. I was
12 at the time.
I remember a big crowd, and the pungent aroma
of cigars and pipes. You don’t get that at ballparks anymore. That’s a good
thing, but every once in a while when they have those retro nights, I’m tempted
to suggest that they do something authentic and allow cigars and pipes — not
cigarettes, just cigars and pipes.
I remember being impressed that day by Ted
Kluszewski, the aging slugger (and onetime Memphis Chick!) who had spent most of his career with Cincinnati
and was now with Chicago. Kluszewski had huge meaty arms, and he liked to cut
his sleeves short so everybody could get a good look at his bulging biceps,
especially pitchers. When he was about to swing, he would pick his lead leg way
up and thrust it into the ground as he swung, as if he couldn’t wait for the
ball to get there so he could whale away at it.
That afternoon Kluszewski crushed a line
drive straight to the second baseman. I hope the fielder had a well-padded
glove, because the ball was a bullet, three feet off the ground when it left the
bat and three feet off the ground when caught.
I also remember seeing Rocky Colavito,
Cleveland’s power hitter then in his early prime. Rocky hit a home run into the
left field corner. I think it was the only homer hit that day. I know it was
the last one in the game.
It was also the last one ever hit at Russwood
Park. The old wooden stadium burned to the ground that night, and with it the
best hopes and dreams of Memphis baseball for some time to come. The cause was
never determined, but it was assumed that it was one of those smoking items I
mentioned earlier, left by a careless fan, perhaps a descendant of Mrs.
O’Leary’s cow.
It was the biggest fire in Memphis history
and has become the stuff of legend. It broke windows in the Baptist Hospital
across the street, and patients had to be evacuated. Every piece of fire
equipment in the city responded, and they even called in some from small
surrounding towns. People actually came to watch it, such was the spectacle.
The Memphis Chicks had to play that season in
a hastily converted football stadium. That’s where I got an autograph from an
18-year-old catcher from Memphis, Tim McCarver; people who appeared to be his
parents stood by beaming at the thought that some child wanted their child’s
autograph. I’m sure neither he nor they ever imagined that the next replacement
stadium would one day be named for him. Nor could they possibly foresee that he
would enjoy two great careers, first as a player and then as a broadcaster.
Today, if course, we have in Autozone Park
the most beautiful stadium in the minor leagues, and Memphis baseball is in its
heyday. The White Sox are once again looking good, and the much-maligned South
Side owns the baseball world. Al Lopez is gone, the Baptist Hospital is about
to be imploded, and some days I don’t feel so good myself. But most days are
good. Today is one of them, and I’m grateful for it, and for lots of good
memories.
(Tom Walsh is a Memphis attorney and poilitical activist.
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