July 26, 1939—In perhaps the greatest offensive
performance of his career, catcher Bill Dickey belted three home runs,
leading the New York Yankees to a 14-1 run of the St. Louis Browns,
continuing a turnaround for the Bronx Bombers that would lead to victory that
fall in the World Series.
When I mentioned to a friend that I would be
blogging about Dickey, he laughed and said, “Oh, you mean the OTHER Number 8!”
It was Dickey’s misfortune to be overshadowed by another catcher who surpassed
him in career home runs, World Series rings, and hold on the popular
imagination: Yogi Berra. The two wore the same uniform number, and with both
going to the Baseball Hall of Fame, the team eventually retired the number as a
way of honoring each.
As it happened, Berra might not have developed into
what he became without Dickey. But more on that shortly…
The first half of July 1939 had been rough for the
Yankees in general and Dickey in particular, marked by the devastating medical
diagnosis that ended the career of the catcher’s road roommate and best friend,
Lou Gehrig, and the team’s tribute to the slugger on July 4—“the most emotional
day I’ve had in my life,” Dickey would remember.
After a five-game losing streak just before the
All-Star Game, the Yanks lost a July 13 game they led 4-1 going into the bottom
of the eighth inning, then saw their pennant lead over the Boston Red Sox shrink
to just 5½ games. Then they righted the ship, winning seven straight away games
against the Cleveland Indians and St. Louis Browns.
Back in New York on the 26th, traps set
through Yankee Stadium caught 5,000 Japanese beetles that had mysteriously
invaded the ballpark. Maybe the Browns were nettled by what had gotten into the
field that afternoon, because they were utterly powerless to stop a Yankee
onslaught that included at least one run in every inning.
Leading the way was Dickey—but then again, nobody
was particularly surprised. At 32, Dickey was, like Gehrig, mature in age and
manner—a necessity on a team with its share of brash young players—and, thus, a
model on how to comport one’s self.
At the same time, he was still in the prime of his
career. Dickey was probably only surpassed at his position in the 1930s by
Mickey Cochrane and Gabby Hartnett. He may have taken special satisfaction in
his offensive explosion on this day because he’d been advised by his first
manager, Miller Huggins, to concentrate on making contact rather than hitting
the long ball, as the team already had someone who specialized in the latter
department (Babe Ruth).
Dickey would finish the 1939 campaign by batting
.302—the last time his average would be over .300—with 24 homers and 105 runs
batted in. That fall, he would cap it all by clubbing two home runs and 5 RBIs
in the World Series against the Cincinnati Reds.
Moreover, he remained sterling on defense. He had
mastered the art of adapting to conserve his physical skills as long as
possible (notably, adopting a one-handed catching technique, saving his right
arm from wear and tear), while the years had only deepened his savvy in the
linked arts of knowing how to get opposing batters out and how to get the best
out of his own pitching staff, a lineup ranging from strong, silent Red Ruffing
to ebullient but erratic Lefty Gomez.
(Once, facing muscular slugger Jimmie Foxx, Gomez
shook off all Dickey’s called pitches till the catcher walked to the mound to
ask what he did want to throw Foxx. “Nothing,” Gomez responded: “Let’s
wait a while. Maybe he’ll get a phone call.”)
The last link to the Ruth-Gehrig team of the late
1920s, Dickey served as the bridge to the Joe DiMaggio-led dynasty of the late
1930s and 1940s. Remarkably, though, his influence extended into the
mid-Sixties. It happened like this:
In 1946, with his own playing days winding down,
Dickey took over as manager from Joe McCarthy, who, after clashing with new
general manager Larry MacPhail, parted ways with the team. But Dickey had his
own differences with MacPhail and quit with 14 games left in the season.
Before the 1949 season, however, a new GM, George
Weiss, asked Dickey to serve as a coach under new manager Casey Stengel, with
one special assignment: take young catching prospect Yogi Berra under his wing.
The team had no doubt about his ability to hit, but his defense was suspect.
So Dickey got to work—as Berra put it, “learning me
all his experience.” It involved fouls,
pop-ups, plays at the plate, controlling the pitcher and the game, knowing
everything on the diamond—in effect, acting as the on-field stand-in for the
manager. Dickey would do the same for Elston Howard, the 1963 American League
MVP.
"Bill Dickey isn't just a catcher,” wrote
sportswriter Dan Daniel. “He's a ball club."
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