1947 Nicknames

With a last name that rhymes with a word for poop, at an early age I knew I was in a world of crap when it came time to dole out nicknames.

Sure enough, on the first day of first grade, the first day, I received a new name. “Kenny Heard, the big bird turd,” came the chant from some little booger-grabbing classmate. And so it stuck. Years later, when I reached adulthood, a friend’s father always greeted me with “Turd,” when he saw me. His name was Richard, so I always responded with “Dick.”

I wasn’t so stunted as to not hand out nicknames as well. In that same first grade, we had a girl whose last name was Lauderbaugh. I ended up calling her “Little Turd Ball.” I know, nice. With our combination of early nicknames it was a wonder we didn’t end up together in some fecal matrimony. Later, a really obnoxious girl got her hair fixed at some salon. Most of us in that class got our trimming from our mothers, electric shears and a bowl for edging. This girl thought she was pretty special and, because it was in northern Minnesota, she didn’t fit into that humbleness for which we all strived. We ended up calling her “Ozob,” which is Bozo spelled backwards, which we said her hair looked like.

And, when I moved to Arkansas while in high school, I burned my foot battling a large woods fire near our home. I still had a strong northern accent and limped around like an Arctic bird. Of course, I became known as “Penguin.”

So, it is with interest and long tradition that I pay attention to the nicknames of the baseball players that are in our APBA replay games. The game company creates cards for players that we use in recreating seasons and lists their names, position, ratings, demographic and, in some cases, their statistics for the year. The cards also include given nicknames.

In 1947, the year that I’m currently replaying, those who gave nicknames were pretty creative.

A few of the names focused on players’ sizes or lack of and some, apparently, were made in irony.

There was Clyde “Big Un” Vollmer, an outfielder with Cincinnati who, at 6-1 and 187, seemed sort of average in size in comparison to other players. He was a mere shadow when facing Pirates pitcher Ernest “Tiny” Bowman who stood 6-2 and weighed 215 pounds. There was also Bill “Big Bill” Voiselle, a Boston Braves hurler, who was 6-4 and weighed 200. Another odd nickname was Del “Skinny” Ennis, a Philadelphia Phillies outfielder. Ol’ Skinny, at 6-0 and 195 pounds, was actually heftier than “Big Un.”

Nicholas “Jumbo” Strincevich, a Pirates pitcher, was 6-1 and all of 180 pounds.  William “Hoss” Cox, a Pirates shortstop, was 5-10 and weighed 150 pounds, which is the lightest player carded for the 1947 season. He is even smaller than Harold “Pee Wee” Reese, the Dodgers’ shortstop who tipped the scales at 169 pounds.

Nationalities were also handed out as names. Earl Harrist, a Chicago White Sox pitcher, was nicknamed “Irish” and was born in that Celtic hub of Dubach, La. Apparently  the Phillies weren’t all that creative when doling out names.  Both pitcher Emil Leonard and second baseman Emil Verban were nicknamed “Dutch.” Both were born in Illinois. Must have been the first name connection. Hometowns didn’t mean much in those days. Andrew “Swede” Hansen, a New York Giants pitcher, hailed from Lake Worth, Fla.

Others were given names based on animals. I imagine Giants first baseman Johnny “Big Cat” Mize overpowered St. Louis Cardinals pitcher Harry “The Cat” Breechen when the two met based upon size alone. Swamps may have been prevalent at the ballparks in Pennsylvania and Ohio. William Dietrich, a Philadelphia As reliever, was known as “Bullfrog” and Cleveland Indians outfielder George Metkovich was called “Catfish.”

Some nicknames played on the player’s actual names. There’s Donald “Cab” Kolloway, a White Sox second baseman who was named as such perhaps for jazz singer Cab Calloway. Detroit Tigers’ pitcher Virgil “Fire” Trucks was a natural as was Boston Braves outfield John “Hippity” Hopp.

And then there were odd ones. William “Puddin’ Head” Jones, the Phillies third baseman, took the cake, or at least the pudding.  Braves reliever Clyde “Hardrock” Shoun should have trademarked his name in light of the successful restaurant franchise of the same name of years later.  John “Bear Tracks” Schmitz, a Cubs ace, was named such because, I read somewhere, of his large size 14 feet and his bearlike shuffle when taking the mound to pitch.

Then there was Giants pitcher Sheldon “Available” Jones. He only pitched in 16 games – six starts and 10 in relief -- in 1947. I can see him in the bullpen when the manager calls for a reliever. “I’m available,” he’d say sadly when someone else was summoned to the mound. I guess he could commiserate with Sam “Sad Sam” Zoldak, who won nine games in 35 contests as a pitcher for the 1947 St. Louis Browns.

Paul Lehner, an outfielder with the Browns, was named “Gulliver,” in 1947, which foreshadowed his future travels. He ended up playing with six teams in seven seasons.

Of course there’s the “Reds” and the “Leftys” that are commonplace for teams back in the day. And in 1947, there were at least three “Spec” or “Specs” and three “Babes,” none who had the power of George Ruth. But there are scores of unique nicknames in this season as there are in any era. They are as reliable as double plays, strikeouts and home runs in baseball. Just ask Yankees outfielder Thomas “Old Reliable” Henrich.

Emulations

When I was a youngster playing driveway basketball at the home of my friend’s in northern Minnesota, I often emulated Kareem Abdul Jabbar’s skyhook.

I should say I tried to emulate Jabbar’s patented skyhook. Back then, I was nine, about 4 and a half feet tall and had the hoops skills of a one-celled amoeba. But it didn’t matter. On that driveway, shooting at a garage door hoop that was only eight feet off the ground, I felt like I was Jabbar. It also didn’t matter that I probably made five out of 100 shots. Back then, in my mind, I was doing what Jabbar did.

Like all kids, I continued emulating sports heroes. When at bat during our whiffle ball games in the small back yard of my friend’s house on  Calihan Avenue in Bemidji, I would wait for the pitch by taking counterclockwise swings and hitching the bat at the top of the swing each time, just like Willie Stargell of the Pittsburgh Pirates used to do. Another hero, another form to copy. And when I pitched, I often held the ball in my glove, shook the glove and raised my arms in my windup as Boston Red Sox pitcher Luis Tiant did.

My baseball skills, like my basketball skills, were non-existent, but I kept at it. At that age, I didn’t realize the one in a million chance it took of being a Jabbar, Stargell or Tiant.

The emulations continued on into my teenage years. When we played basketball in a dusty church gym after my family moved to Arkansas, I would wipe my hands on my shoes like Larry Bird did. I never figured out if I was doing it to clean the dust off my shoes or give my hands more grit to be able to handle the ball better. By then, I had evolved into a 6-foot teenager that still had the one-cell amoeba playing style.  Larry Bird would be ashamed of seeing me, I know now.

When my friends and I snuck onto the golf course in my town to play a few holes, Fred Couples was my golfing hero. So, I tried to be him. I couldn’t copy his skills, of course, so I copied him. I walked like he did, when approaching a shot. I’d pace the fairway with a cool-moving stride just like he did. Couples embodied the essence of nonchalance and being laid back. I came across more like a slinking Xanax addict trying to stay awake.

Again, it didn’t matter. Maybe it wasn’t having gained the sense of failure or that people would be judging me for those moves back then. In college, a few of us journalism students would go to someone’s house, put the Rolling Stones on the cassette deck (this was in the late 1970s) and we’d all become the group. It stuns me now of those Stones’ days because I try to keep a low approach and just stick to the periphery of the public radar. Back then, though, I’d be the brash Mick Jagger. I’d strut around and dance herky-jerky like he did and actually copy his vocals, all while the others were singing and being Keith Richard and Charlie Watts and Ronnie Wood.

I’m embarrassed now even reading back over that last paragraph.

So, what happened? When do we quit emulating our sports heroes (or musical ones) and begin the more subdued life we will carry on to the end. Maybe it’s the realization of not being able to be as good as the real people we tried to mimic. I’ll never be a Fred Couples walker now. After tearing the medial meniscus in my knee last Christmas, I walk around more like Fred Sanford with hemorrhoids. The last time I played golf was maybe 10 years ago on a simple par 3 muni course. I played so poorly that I immediately called a golf shop after the game and tried to sell my clubs. They only offered me a dollar a club, so instead I briefly put them on sale on Craigslist until I realized only serial killers use that internet selling spot. The clubs still sit in my home behind a chair.

If I tried now to mimic the Stargell hitch, I’d get a hitch all right. A hitch in my back, as they say in the south, that would require chiropractic care.

Oh, I still try to emulate people at times. But no longer are the replications of those who can do physical things. As I near six decades of life in a couple of weeks, that whole sports thing is over. Instead, when I was a newspaper journalist until two years ago, I’d try to write like my hero, former Chicago Tribune columnist and author Bob Greene, or bark out questions in press conferences like Sam Donaldson of ABC News used to do.

But those carefree days of thinking I could be like the athletes I admired are gone. Maybe it’s part of the tipping point of when you go from a kid with endless possibilities to an adult who knows reality. It’s part of life, I guess.

Three Games in July

It was the proverbial immovable object against the irresistible force when Brooklyn hosted St. Louis in a three-game series in mid-July of my 1947 APBA baseball season replay. The Dodgers were armed with excellent pitching that helped the team. Starters Ralph Branca was 12-2 at the All-Star break and Jeff Taylor was 11-2. Joe Hatten was 11-3; the Bum’s three starters were 35-7 at the break.

The Cardinals came in with hot bats. Stan Musial and Whitey Kurowski were tied with 18 home runs and Musial was leading the league with 76 RBIs before Pirates’ left fielder Ralph Kiner began slugging at an amazing pace.

The two teams were tied for first at 59-29 when they met in Ebbets field on July 18. In the real season, Brooklyn and St. Louis each one won game in the three –game set and were tied in the third contest, 3-3, after nine innings.

This was APBA, however, and there are no rainouts or games called due to darkness in APBA.

Here’s how the games went.

July 18, 1947

St. Louis 3 Brooklyn 0

Murry  ‘Dick’ Dickson raised his record to 11-4 for the Cards, limiting Brooklyn to only three hits in the third, fourth and sixth innings. St. Louis led 1-0 after Terry Moore drove in Red Schoendienst with a single. There was no scoring through eight as Dickson and Hal Gregg battled. In the ninth inning, though, Stan Musial teed off on reliever Clyde King, clubbing a two-run home run, his 19^th of the year. That win put the Cardinals up by one game over the Dodgers.

July 19, 1947

St. Louis 8 Brooklyn 0

The Cards shut out the Dodgers again as pitcher Red Munger gave up only one hit to Pee Wee Reese in the fifth inning. St. Louis had a balanced attack with Ron Northey hitting his 12^th home run of the year and driving in three runs in the game. Musial added three RBIs, too, with a double and single. Vic Lombardi took the loss, giving up six runs in six innings. Brooklyn closer Hugh Casey, who has been playing poorly of late, gave up the Cards’ final two runs in the ninth.

July 20, 1947

St. Louis 13 Brooklyn 2

The Dodgers finally scored in the fifth inning, but it was far from enough. The Cardinals held Brooklyn scoreless for 22 consecutive innings before Jackie Robinson doubled off Harry “The Cat” Breechan and to score Ed Stanky. Pete Reiser then hit a triple to drive in Robinson that briefly tied the game, 2-2. But the Cardinals scored four in the sixth, four in the seventh and three in the eighth to bomb the Bums. Musial hit a grand slam in the seventh, his 20^th homer of the season. Harry Taylor took the loss for Brooklyn.

By series end, St. Louis had a 62-29 record, compared to Brooklyn’s 59-32.  

It seemed the series took a lot out of both teams. After the three-game set, the Dodgers have gone 2-3, taking two of four against Cincinnati and losing to the woeful Pittsburgh Pirates, 3-2. St. Louis has gone 2-2 after sweeping Brooklyn, losing two out of three at home versus the New York Giants and then winning the first of a four –game set hosting Boston.

In the real 1947 season, Brooklyn won the National League by five games over the Cardinals. In my replay, the Dodgers trail the Cards 3.5 games now with 58 games left. The two teams face off nine more times, including an upcoming three-game series in St. Louis on July 29. Because of a work furlough due to the virus, I’ve had more time to roll games at a quicker pace. I’ve just reached games for July 26 and should be playing the Dodgers-Cardinals series within a week or so. Maybe the Dodgers can return the favor and sweep St. Louis, making the race tighter again. Or maybe the Cardinals will continue their dominance and increase their lead.

It’s why we roll these games.