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Stan Musial.
You have no idea what those words mean to some people. They are more than the name of one of the greatest players in baseball history. His death Saturday (Jan. 19) at age 92 served as a remarkable reminder of the impact his name carried — and still carries — to those of us who grew up in St. Louis during his playing career.
To hear or see Musial’s name is to hit the rewind button of life and recall memories associated with him.
Among those memories is going to my first baseball game at Busch Stadium with my father and brother. In addition to being amazed by the illumination the lights provided, there was the reality of seeing “Stan the Man” in person. It was one thing for Harry Caray to describe Musial on the radio. It was another to see him occasionally on a televised Cardinals contest. But to see him actually step to the plate as something other than a black-and-white figure on a TV screen? Incredible.
Even more incredible was finding a Musial baseball card in a pack purchased at the neighborhood drug store. It never happened. Well, at least not to me or anyone I knew. You would hear stories of how someone in South County had been fortunate enough to open a Topps pack with Musial in it. But you’d have a hard time believing such stories.
Years later, of course, I did manage to own a Musial card when the internet provided sources for such purchases.
The Musial autograph was easier to come by. Somewhere on the second floor of the elliottharris.com headquarters, there is a Musial autographed baseball. Maybe even more than one. Elsewhere at corporate headquarters (most likely in the basement) is an autographed photo from his last game on Sept. 29, 1963. Not that I attended. My brother Rob did. It was one of the few Cardinals home games televised in that era. And a sunny Sunday, if memory serves (which it occasionally does).
In typical Musial understated style, he singled in his final at-bat with the ball eluding a rookie Cincinnati second baseman named Pete Rose.
Another way of obtaining a Musial autograph was going to his Stan and Biggie’s restaurant. The only thing that came close to Musial being at the eatery and signing an autograph was the toasted ravioli.
St. Loujis Cardinals legend Stan Musial and wife Lil.
Those of us who occasionally tried to copy his corkscrew batting stance had difficulty duplicating anything close to the success that Musial enjoyed. He ended his career with 3,630 hits — 1,815 at home and 1,815 on the road. Among his most memorable was hit No. 3,000. It came at Wrigley Field. The Cardinals were hoping he would reach that milestone in St. Louis. Instead the seven-time National League batting champion pinch-hit against the Cubs. He delivered a run-scoring double on May 13, 1958.
“I’m glad the hit was off a top-flight pitcher like Moe Drabowsky,” Musial said after the game.
Asked by photographers who took a photo of him kissing an attractive blonde in a front-row seat whether he knew the woman, Musial chuckled, “I better. She’s my wife.”
The statistical accomplishments that led to his being a first-ballot Hall of Fame inductee (93.2 percent of the vote) include one that speak to why so many youngsters — at least those who followed the Cardinals — could look up to him. In his career (3,026 games), he never was ejected from a game. He struck out 696 times in 10, 972 at-bats. He had 1,599 walks and never struck out more than 46 times in a season.
Among his most amazing numbers: He was married to childhood sweetheart Lil — who died in May, 2012 — for almost 72 years before her death May 3, 2012.
Musial could have been a mega-star had he played in New York or or Boston. His .331 batting average and 475 home runs would have been glorified beyond belief. Instead his greatness was muted by playing in St. Louis. Not that it kept him from being a 24-time NL All-Star selection.
Observed broadcaster Bob Costas: “He didn’t hit a homer in his last at-bat [as Ted Williams did]; he hit a single. He didn’t hit in 56 straight games [as Joe DiMaggio did]. He married his high school sweetheart and stayed married to her, never married a Marilyn Monroe. He didn’t play with the sheer joy and style that goes alongside Willie Mays’ name. … All Musial represents is more than two decades of sustained excellence and complete decency as a human being.”
He also represented decades of pleasant memories for some of us. And, even in death, will continue to do so.
Speaking of being ejected, another baseball great who died Saturday had more than his share. Baltimore Orioles manager Earl Weaver was almost as colorful as he was successful. Hall of Famer Weaver, who won one World Series title, was 82. He holds the American League record for ejections with 97.
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