Never Stopped Clapping for Stan the Man

Mr. Jack Cantrell leaned forward. The easy conversation suspended. If a car turned down Field Street, I didn’t notice. Time actually came to a halt. Mr. Jack’s chin lifted slightly. He tuned his good ear toward the airways emanating from that old table model radio. The cigarette hung between his lips, forgotten.

Stan “The Man” Musial was digging in. Our Cardinals were down by a run. Robin Roberts was the best pitcher Philadelphia had. Some would say the best in the National League. He could ride his fastball up and in or throw that sharp curve knee high on the corner. It was getting late.—the bottom of the seventh. Mr. Jack was older than dirt. I was still wet behind the ears. But we both knew this was our chance.

The guy who wrote “hope springs eternal” got it right.

1957 was a good year for the St. Louis Cardinals. We were right in the middle of a great pennant race with the Brooklyn Dodgers and Milwaukee Braves. We needed this game! Vinegar Bend Mizell had pitched too good for us not to win. We had been discussing the fire at the saw mill when Don Blasingame opened the seventh inning with a walk. Mr. Jack was telling me (again) about Enos Slaughter’s mad dash to win the 1946 World Series when Joe Cunningham singled up the middle. Musial stepped in and life ceased to exist save for Stan screwing himself into that batting stance once described as a little boy peeking around a corner.

Harry Caray, behind the KMOX microphone, was aptly detailing the wind blowing out toward Grand Avenue; the high, cloudless sky; Ashburn in center taking a few steps to his left; and how difficult it was to pick up the ball against the white shirts in the grandstand behind the big right hander. No one pulled for the Cards harder than Harry. And the rise in his voice as the first pitch was a tad wide told us he also understood the game now hung on every pitch. Stan ran the count to 2 and 2 and whacked a high hard one off the right center field wall just below the Longines clock. Another double for the Man, both runners scampered home and the Cards took a lead Vinegar Bend would not relinquish!

We never knew in our little patch of the world between the South Fork of the Obion and the Big Sandy River what the weather would do. Politics was even a riskier business. A good year for us hung on cotton or hog prices. School could go either way—depending on who was teaching that semester.

Stan Musial was our one constant. He was “The Man” year in and year out. He was going to show up every day. He was going to play like life itself depended on him. He was going to hit .300, bang out 30 homers and drive in 130 runs. And did you notice how he was always smiling? I don’t care if it was a picture on a box of Wheaties, a clipping from the Nashville Banner or the front page of the Sporting News, Stan was enjoying his work. And he carried so many of us along with him!

My first girl friend quit me in 1963 because I wouldn’t take her to the picture show to see “Fun in Acapulco.” Musial had announced this was his last season. I pondered on all he had done for me over the years and Elvis couldn’t touch that. I drove over to Mr. Jack’s and we celebrated alone. I figured I owed it to Stan.

I was listening on that final Sunday in St. Louis when he banged out two singles against Cincinnati to end his brilliant career. Gary Kolb came in to pinch run for him and I realized it was over. Tears streamed down my face. It had nothing to do with the 17 odd baseball records he held at the time of his retirement. It really had nothing to do with the Cards not being able to replace him. It transcended baseball immediately. A chapter of my life was coming to an end. He was way more than a baseball player. He gave hope and friendship and joy to a little heart trying to figure out “things” down at the end of Stonewall Street.

Stan is never very far from my thoughts but I bring him up today because he is on the front cover of the current Sports Illustrated. They have a full length shot of him in uniform taken in the late Forties or very early Fifties. You think about that. Forty-seven years after his final game he is featured on a national sports magazine! It was a great article contrasting how Stan treated his fellow man versus the way most athletes do it today. It detailed Stan signing every autograph, taking a special moment to brighten someone’s day, giving the media full access, win or lose. It quoted Robin Roberts on how polite Stan was to EVERY one (Robin didn’t mention the game winning double in 1957). And it detailed the esteem Musial still commands in St. Louis and throughout the baseball community. Stuff that I could have told you in 1963…

I wonder how many of today’s “stars” will adorn the cover of any magazine in 2057? Leo Durocher, the flamboyant manager of the Dodgers and Giants when they played in New York, coined the phrase, “Nice guys finish last” as he pushed his teams toward the September stretch drive. Stan has proven to the world the fallacy of that statement.

And he has proven to me all over again my trust and faith in him was never misplaced. It’s nice to see your hero still holding up. I grew up cheering him…..and I’m still clapping for him today.

I’d give a gold crossed wooden nickel if Mr. Jack was still alive to share this story with us. Me and him and Stan……man, it’s just like old times!

Respectfully,

Kes