No fanatic has been more fortunate than I. I spent my childhood
Living in the Bronx, and that covered the magic half – decade when
My Yankees won the pennant and World Series title every year, from
1949 to 1953. Now, I don’t have an eidetic memory; I can’t recite
Every detail of every game during that stretch. What I can do, even
After all the decades, is share a montage, a patchwork quilt, of
Moments and achievements that symbolize what it was like to be
A golden Yankee fan for five years that have never been duplicated,
And with free agency, probably never will, even with the Dodgers
Shooting for it as a way to get revenge for the frustrations of those
Brooklyn also-rans of years gone forever.
Where do I begin? There is no start or end; the mental movie that
Even now entertains and comforts me but has no fixed structure. Start
Anywhere you wish and just sit back and enjoy the show. May I suggest
The most animated Yankee Hall of Famer, Yogi? I say the name and
I recall two leaping motions: one full of thrills as he jumps into the
Arms of Don Larsen to punctuate the conclusion of the only perfect
Game in World Series annals, the other emphasizing his protest
Against Jackie Robinson’s being called safe at home on a steal. Then,
Randomly, I am bombarded with images of Bobby Richardson
Racking up hit after hit, Billy Martin charging toward the mound to
Make a marvelous pop-up grab, homer after homer by Mantle,
Who then takes his signature trot around the bases, frustrated hitters
Flailing and failing against the superb stuff of Allie Reynolds, Whitey
Ford, Raschi,and Lopat. I treasure the bunting and base-running of
The Scooter, Phil Rizzuto, but I cringe at a vision of Mantle hurt by an
Outfield drainpipe but take pleasure in the grace of Di Maggio in his
Final year. I acknowledge Casey Stengel’s brilliance and consistency
And his mastery of platooning, illustrated by such combinations as
Skowron-Collins, Woodling-Bauer, Johnson-Brown, et al.
It was cool that my first three years as a baseball fan (which coincided
With my father buying our first television set, by the way) were the last
Three years for Joltin’ Joe – – – and he was a Series champ each of
That trio of seasons! It was marvelous that in that spread of seasons,
I got to follow rookies such as Mantle, Martin, Ford . . . and veterans
Such as Bobby Brown, that old Marine, Hank Bauer and the Chief,
Allie Reynolds – – – and even coaches from Yankee years gone by,
Dickey and Crosetti.
When this Series run began, it had only been four years since the
End of World War II – – – and Stengel, believed to be a clown and
Far from a baseball genius, displayed his wisdom and helped return
Nation to peacetime normalcy. But this kid, speaking to you now,
In his naïveté, was ready to accept that his hometown team would
Win the Championship every single year. Oh, don’t worry . . . in
1954, the Cleveland Indians (before they were the Guardians)
Introduced me to reality – – – and that made World Series wins
More precious in their rarity. What I was left with was the joy
Of my patchwork memories of the Bombers from my Bronx
From 1949 to 1953! In the doldrums of the late ‘60’s and the
Early ‘70’s, it was those recollections which were my savior,
A side note: 1949 was the foundation of two significant love affairs
For me. Obviously, it was the start of my life-long love of baseball.
Even more important, personally, the final game of the 1949 Series
Occurred on October 9. Eighty-one days later, toward the end of 1949,
The eventual love of my life was born. Ask me to name my favorite year.
Go ahead; ask me.