Adventures on Seven Continents And Other Essays

David Halberstam was fifteen years old in the summer of 1949, the year his father died. The family had moved to a new home in Connecticut. The boy didn’t feel accepted in his new environment, so immersed himself in the New York Yankee-Boston Red Sox pennant race as a means of coping.

Forty years later he wrote a book about that season (Summer of ‘49), and, in so doing, met "men I had once admired as heroes."

That is, all except one - Joe DiMaggio - who was uncooperative. The author was philosophical about the latter:

"So be it; if there is a right under the First Amendment to do books such as this, there is also a right not to be interviewed. I’m sorry he didn’t see me; he still remains the most graceful athlete I saw in those impressionable years."

The main characters are DiMaggio, injury-prone and nearing the end of his career, and Ted Williams, in mid-career, convinced that he is the game’s greatest hitter. Some of the Boston sportswriters took exception to this and delighted in trashing Williams in print.

Halberstam reminds us what baseball meant back in 1949, and still does today:

"Baseball was rooted not just in the past but in the culture of the country’ it was celebrated in the nation’s literature and songs. When a poor American boy dreamed of escaping his grim life, his fantasy probably involved becoming a professional baseball player. It was not so much the national sport as the binding national myth."

The anecdotes enliven the test. We are told of the encounter Red Sox manager Joe McCarthy once had with slugger (and boozer) Hack Wilson, when both were with the Chicago Cubs. McCarthy lectured Wilson on the seriousness of drinking, illustrating his point by pouring a shot of whiskey into a glass filled with worms. The worms quickly died. "What did you learn from that?" has asked Wilson. "That if I drink I won’t have worms," the slugger answered.

The teams seemed evenly matched. The Red Sox may have had more talent, but the Yankees thought they lacked mental toughness. They were also devoid of a natural leader. Shortstop Johnny Pesky was feisty enough, but on the small side physically. Second baseman Bobby Doerr was too laid back. Ted Williams "wanted no extra responsibilities - striving to be the best hitter in the game and living up to the expectations of the fans and his teammates was quite enough."

The Yankees, as outfielder Gene Woodling recalled, were a tough team:

"It was a team where everyone demanded a complete effort. It was not a team where anyone every said ‘nice try’ when you made a long run after a fly ball and didn’t get to it...you weren’t supposed to try, you were supposed to do it."

The different personalities of the players were what I found to be the most interesting part of the book. Vic Raschi, the Yankee pitcher, was practically unapproachable on days he was to pitch. Photographers quickly learned to avoid him, or have tobacco juice sprayed over their shoes. He even disliked having his catcher or infielders come out to the mound to visit during the game.

Ellis Kinder, his counterpart on the Red Sox, had his own approach to the game. He was "an old-fashioned, unreconstructed carouser, cavalier in the extreme about training rules and curfews...He believed that baseball and alcohol mixed...He could drink hard all night and pitch hard the next day without any signs of deterioration or fatigue. In fact, carousing was an essential part of his pregame preparation." A young bonus player, Paul Hinrichs, once asked him if he had any tips. Kinder asked him if he smoked, if he chased women, and if he drank. The answer was no to all three. "I’m afraid you will never make it," he said, and walked away (the lad pitched only three innings in the major leagues in his career).

The character of Dom DiMaggio (the Red Sox center fielder and brother of Joe) shines forth. Early in his career he was bothered by the constant comparison with his brother. Dom was a consistent .300 hitter, but was made to seem lacking when compared with Joe:

In the epilogue, Halberstam tells us what happens to the boys of summer in later years. Junior Stephens, the Red Sox shortstop, "robust, powerful, and seemingly indestructible as a player,...keeled over on a golf course and died of a heart attack at the age of 48." Johnny Pesky, the third baseman, seemed on the verge of death until diagnosed as having an allergy to wheat. Second baseman Bobby Doerr was a hitting instructor and coach for a number of years before moving back to rural Oregon, where he could enjoy hunting and fishing. Ted Williams lives in Florida, where he approaches fishing with the same precision as he did hitting a baseball. In his world, you either do things well or you do them poorly. If you chose that latter approach, "he wanted no part of you." Williams never tipped his hat to the crowd after hitting a home run. In his last major league at bat, a home run no less, the crowd begged him to come out of the dugout for an encore, but no avail. As John Updike wrote, "Gods do not answer letters."

For the Yankees, third baseman Bobby Brown became a successful cardiologist (not heart surgeon as the author states) and was President of the America League. Ace reliever Joe Page ran a tavern in the coal-mining region of Pennsylvania, until his death from throat cancer. The intense Vic Raschi also operated a liquor store and died of a heart attack at 69. Shortstop Phil Rizzuto keeps close to the game as an announcer for the Yankees.