Monthly Archives: October 2017

Biographical, Entertainment Industry, History

That’s Entertainment

During the summer of 1938 a New York school teacher spends his three-month break visiting distressed friends in Vienna.  He has stopovers in a few European cities along the way.  These experiences, augmented by a keen eye and a vivid imagination, inspire him to write a play.  The play is not published; it is not produced.  And yet, the play’s story would soon go on to inspire, captivate, and enthrall millions of entertainment seekers almost immediately, and well into the future.

Thanks to Netflix, we’ve been already able to watch a fair fraction of the movies acclaimed this year (2012) by the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences – this, within only a few months after the Academy’s big awards ceremony.  So far our reaction has been: Yawn – a big fat Yawn.  Yes, there is some evidence of good acting, with occasional clever writing.  But really, there is nothing to recommend.

 The biggest disappointments are (if it’s not too late to save you considerable time): The totally forgettable “The Descendants”, ”Hugo”,” Midnight in Paris”, “The Bridesmaids” and the almost memorable “Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close.”  It’s not unlike what Gertrude Stein said about Oakland: “There isn’t any there, there.”  [Disclosure: “The Artist” just became available and is nearing the top of our queue].

This justifies, yet again, why we’ve been turning more of our “couch leisure entertainment time” to European-produced TV shows and movies.  There is much more enjoyment, meaning, risk and diversion – both just plain fun and also intellectual diversion.

Take for example one of our favorite actors, Bruno Ganz, from Switzerland.  Ganz is an established successful actor, with a long career of dynamic performances in challenging roles.  Most Americans barely know him, if at all, since his movies are all filmed in foreign languages: German (various dialects, including Swiss German — Schwiizertüütsch) and Italian.  At age 63 he, along with many other actors, took a crazy chance and risked their careers and reputations to make a terrifying movie about despicable people during a horrific time in history.

Hardly anyone doesn’t know about The Downfall (Der Untergang), with Ganz as Adolf Hitler during the final days of the Third Reich.  Sadly, our era’s familiarity is mostly accidental.  Even comical. There are almost infinite parodies to be found on YouTube and across the internet of the critical scene wherein Hitler reacts to being informed that there are no armies left to defend Berlin.  Ganz brilliantly portrayed the man who is maniacally delusional, emotionally unstable and violent.  And ultimately, suicidal.

Decades before Ganz, other actors had more personal reasons for making such “statement” movies.  Here I’ll touch on two:  Conrad Veidt and Laszlo Löwenstein.  And we’ll peek at the unpublished and unproduced play that brought them together, while imprinting them both forever on the cinema psyche.

Veidt (pronounced like “fight”) was born in 1893, in Kaiser’s Germany, in Berlin.  He became interested in theatre and acting while away on the eastern front in World War I, when he received a letter from his girlfriend saying she had taken up an interest in acting.  Veidt became very ill at the front, returned home, and took up acting – originally as a way to contribute to the war effort by performing for troops.

Conrad Veidt as Major Strasser

That relationship quickly dissolved, but soon after the war Veidt’s career took off in the silent movie era.  He was bold and brave from the beginning: in 1919 he played an openly homosexual character in Anders als die Andern (Different from the Others)

Veidt ground out a couple dozen movies in the 1920s (including Germany’s first “talkie” in 1929), as he worked through a couple of marriages.  In the early ‘30s he finally met the love of his life: Lily Prager, a Jew.  He courted and married her.  Then came 1933.  Hitler rose to the German Chancellorship as Der Führer.  Veidt and his new bride fled to England.

He continued making movies, and eventually moved to the US to make movies in Hollywood, where he found himself typecast as a German on account of his accented English.  He passed away suddenly of a heart attack, aged only 50 – without knowing that the last major movie he ever appeared in would go on to win the Academy’s Award for Best Picture, as well as Best Adapted Screenplay.

_________________________________________

Laszlo Löwenstein (pronounced like LOO-ven-sh-tine) was born in 1904, in Rózsahegy, part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, moving at a young age with his widowed father to Vienna, which he considered his hometown. Born and raised Jewish, he began acting while quite young.  His career blossomed: he was frighteningly effective as the first serial murderer ever portrayed in cinema in an early talkie, usually called simply “M”, released in Germany in 1931 (Actual full name: “M – Eine Stadt sucht einem Mörder”:  “M – A City Looks for a Murderer”). Löwenstein  began to draw a lot of attention.

[one reason I liked the movie is that whistling — one of my favorite little hobbies and skills — plays a key roll in finding the murderer]

In 1933 Löwenstein also fled from Germany, for the same reasons as Veidt and thousands of others, ending up first in London.  Here, his talents, creepy looks, success in sinister roles such as in M, and odd accent attracted the attention of producer Alfred Hitchcock.  Although this connection got him a few roles, he moved on in the mid-‘30s, thereafter making a successful Hollywood career of second-tier roles, mostly playing sinister villain-type roles.

Peter Lorre as Signor Ugarte

Middle age brought on severe gallbladder problems, and Löwenstein eventually became addicted to morphine, as he struggled to find a balance between pain and awareness.  Eventually, complications led to a stroke, and he too died relatively young, aged only 59.

_________________________________________________________

Murray Bennett was a vo-tech (vocational/technical alternative high school) teacher from New York when he took his 1938 summer vacation to travel to Vienna to visit and help Jewish relatives in Vienna.  Austria had just been annexed into the Third Reich only a few months before.  His experiences in Europe, traveling to and from Vienna, through cosmopolitan and vibrant cities like Paris and Marseilles, led him to write a play based on the sights, sounds and feelings he experienced.  He worked with cohort Joan Alison on the script.

A quick synopsis of the three-part play reveals colorful, cynical people living in difficult times; a play about people who get overwelmed by history, and try desperately to balance between doing the best thing for their own self-interest on one hand, and just plain doing the right thing on the other.  Its action is centered on a night club — called a café — with a casino and live music.  Bennett called the play: “Everybody comes to Rick’s.”

Marquee for Rick’s Café Américain

After a few years of failure trying to sell the script for theatre production, Bennett was eventually able to get a movie company, Warner Brothers, to buy the script for $20,000, almost exactly 70 years ago from this writing (*1st draft 2012*), in early 1942.  This was shortly after war had come to the US in the form of the bomber troika at Pearl Harbor: dive bombers, torpedo bombers and high altitude bombers.  Warner was eager for a cosmopolitan script in an exotic setting that could be re-crafted into a war theme. A plot with a positive allied-friendly story line.

Recruitment of actors began almost immediately.  Filming of the movie, set exotically in Vichy-France-controlled Saharan Morocco, followed very soon thereafter.  In fact, the screenplay was not yet complete when filming began.   Much of the script was written – or made up – a day or less before shooting.  But the plot remained largely the same, which can be re-summarized as:

·  Man and beautiful woman with a mysterious past meet, and fall in love;

·  Man loses beautiful woman in the tumult of unfolding history that steamrolls their lives, and due to an unexpected arrival from the woman’s past;
· Man grows crusty and cynical, becoming purely self-interest driven and “sticks his neck out for nobody”;
· Beyond all odds, they find each other again;
· Through personal growth, self-discovery and new sensitivities to the world, the man turns out to be not so cynical and selfish after all; … and,
· Man gives up the beautiful woman for the good of mankind;
· An unlikely and “beautiful” friendship begins.

Such a movie could not be complete without villains, and two convincing villains are required for “Rick’s”.  One was a slimy parasite, who by nefarious crimes — probably including murder — comes into possession of important valuable documents.  When the couriers of the documents turn up dead – and the documents turn up missing – police are instructed to “round up the usual suspects.”

The other convincing villain is a Nazi officer – a refined man of culture and high society; a man who is not concerned so much with the missing documents, but rather with ensuring that Nazi resistance fighters don’t go free.  In the end, the heretofore cynical protagonist, Rick, turns heroic.  He gives the woman the freedom she needs to help fight oppression – and then shoots the evil Nazi officer, Major Strasser, in cold blood.  Police are instructed, once again, to “round up the usual suspects.”

Strasser, deliciously evil, was played exquisitely by Conrad Veidt; his German manner and accent coming into perfect play.  The slimy character, Signor Ugarte, was played by Laszlo Löwenstein, had since changed his name to a much more American screen-friendly name: Peter Lorre.

Of course, the hero of the story – the selfish cynic who proclaims throughout the movie “I stick my neck out for nobody” and at the end of the story sticks his neck out for little more than “a hill of beans” in order to make a statement against fascism – is Rick Blaine, played by Humphrey Bogart.

     For the movie the title was changed to Casablanca, which premiered in November 1942, with its nationwide release delayed until January, 1943.  Thus it was withheld for Academy recognition until 1944, whereupon it won Best Picture, with Jack Benny as emcee.

Casablanca is consistently rated among the best 10 motion pictures ever, usually among the top three.

As with many great films, the real heroes of the story were not the characters played by the glamorous actors — Ingrid Berman’s natural beauty, Bogart’s rugged good looks, and Claude Raines’ personality that almost stole the show completely — but rather the actors who played the non-headline roles.  Actors who had fled the terror of Nazidom, and through their acting in support roles, were able to make a token strike back at the evil that had pervaded their homeland.

Ingrid Bergman as Ilsa Lund — certainly one of the most beautiful women in the world

Much too late for the would-be playrights Bennet and Alison, “Everybody Comes to Rick’s” was eventually produced in 1991, fifty years after its writing, receiving  fair-to-poor reviews.  It’s just hard to match up with a historic five-star movie.

Remember when movies meant something?  Remember when you actually went to the movies?  You went “there”?  And there was a there, there?

I wonder what generations hence will say about Hollywood’s current millennial films.  Probably: YAWN.

Joe Girard © 2012, 2017

 

Comments Welcome below or at joe@girardmeister.com
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Notes:

[1] So anxious was Warner to get the movie made, that Casablanca has one of the most blatant and significantly historically inaccurate plot holes in the history of successful films.  The supposed missing documents were two “Letters of Transit”, signed by General de Gaulle, that permitted its holders free passage out of Vichy territories like Morocco.

In fact, there were not only no such things as such “Letters of Transit” – especially blank Letters, for that matter, for anyone to use – de Gaulle had no standing with Nazi-friendly Vichy France, having fled France almost immediately after the June, 1940 Armistice.  Thereupon he helped found and then lead the Free French Forces, which were quite technically in an open and declared state of war with Vichy at the time.

[2] Almost exactly coinciding with Casablanca’s premier, the actual city of Casablanca was captured by Allied Forces as a part of Operation Torch, under General Eisenhower.  Most French military stationed there put up no resistance and subsequently joined the Allies, fighting with the Free French against Vichy and Nazi Germany.

Autobiographical, Philosophy

Dear Diary

Dear Diary,

First and foremost, I’m declaring myself “healed” from the brain injury. It has been a most interesting and revealing three and a half years since “the crash.” I suspect that some effects will linger indefinitely (zaps and swirls), but the worst is over. I so declare it!  I’m functional. I can drive. I can think clearly. All … the … time.

Dear Diary

I have gained immeasurably, mostly renewed appreciation for many things at the highest levels. For my wife. For my oldest son. For siblings, nieces and nephews. Cousins. For my life. Health. For so many friends past and present.

Speaking of past. As hinted at earlier, many hours of “healing quiet” led to a fairly detailed reconstruction of my life. I compiled a very long list of people.

To qualify for “the list” required that the person be most likely alive (or that I could find a close relative). Further, (a) I owed them a long outstanding Thank You; or (b) I owed them a similarly aged apology; or (c) they were a friend or special acquaintance with whom I’d lost contact because of the winds and vagaries of fate.  In several cases, it was all three reasons. Seems, dear Diary, like I’ve written that before, most likely in Happy Anniversary, Baby, my most soul-baring entry, among many, in your pages to date.

Oh, Diary. At this point my pretty-darn-good memory became rather a burden.  The list was long.

Alas, I was not able to contact everyone.  Some keep a low profile.  Some have names that are too common.  Still, thanks to the internet (Facebook and LinkedIn were big helps) and some sleuthing (sometimes I felt like a stalker), I was able to contact a vast majority.  I have loosely labeled these as “Repairs.”

In some cases I was able to reach close family members. Or friends of theirs I could recall. These also qualify as Repairs.

Unfortunately, most on-line “people finders” eventually want money to get beyond simple, insufficient, tantalizing information.  I wouldn’t do that, which limited my success, I suppose, in some cases.

The List included old professors, mentors, lady friends, roommates, teammates, officemates, workmates, golf buddies, business partners. All touched my life in positive and meaningful ways.  In one case I am in very positive, but light, contact with a wonderful couple who will never recall who I am — not sure I want them to; so I have not revealed to them the reason for our correspondence. (Maybe I am a stalker).

Some of us are now connected on Facebook or LinkedIn.  Mostly just by email.  A few were by cards and in two cases, just a short phone call. Weird.  I felt like a 16-year old boy again, asking a girl for a date, all the way from the phone ringing, all through the phone chat, and until we hung up.

Like the continual diminishing of my head injury symptoms, achieving this is like an oppressive weight being expunged — or at least lightened — from my soul. Sometimes we’ve rehashed old memories; in some cases that seemed unprudent — still, in those cases, I was able to replay good times and bad in my head without tormenting them.

I confess, Diary, that it was fruitful to relive joys, mysteries, disappointments and frustrations.  It’s all in the past, and all for the better.

Nonetheless, the List and the Repairs are nearly at a close.  A few tasks will linger, but that’s life.

In coping with the task, I compiled a list of quotes to inspire me.  To soothe me.  Below a few are shared.

While they talked they remembered the years of their youth, and each thought of the other as they had been at another time
— John Williams

Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art… It has no survival value; rather it is one of those things that give value to survival. — C.S. Lewis

Every time I thought I was being rejected from something good, I was actually being re-directed to something better. — Steve Maraboli

A clear rejection is always better than an insincere promise. — unk

Friendship is always a sweet responsibility … — Kahil Gibron

Well diary. That’s it for now.

Oh, one last thing, Diary.  I may be “healed” but don’t think that this means I’ll be scribing upon your pages more often.

Joe Girard © 2017 {yes it’s weird to put a copyright symbol in a diary entry. 🙂 }

 

Other quotes:

You not wanting me was the beginning of me wanting myself.  — Nayyirah Waheed

… when a door closes it can feel like all doors are closing.  A rejection can feel like everyone will reject us.  But a closed door leads to clarity. It’s really an arrow.  Because we cannot go through that door, we will go somewhere else.  That “Somewhere Else” is your true self.  — Tama J Kieves

Poetry

Halloween Visitor

Written for my children, and children everywhere … of all ages.

_________________________________________________________________-

‘Twas the first and thirtieth of October,
That occurred this story so strange and sober.
In his bed, not asleep, a young boy lay
On that Hallowed Eve, for his mind was at play.

His siblings around him were all long adrift
In that sea where one’s thoughts tend to wander and shift.
And in the next room his mom and his dad
Were getting some rest from the day that they’d had.

And in through the windows the clouds and full moon
Teamed up to make shadows like goblins and goons
And witches and creatures of horrible fright
Who only came out on a Hallowed Eve Night.

Then the night’s breezes, they blew and they blew,
Till the windows and curtains, all open they threw.
Thus came a chill o’er the children within,
And each pulled his blanket right up to his chin.

A full bank of clouds moved in front of the moon;
The room grew dark; the boy realized soon
That a chill settled in, from his head to his toes.
So he ‘rose from his bed, for the windows to close.

When all of a sudden, to his great surprise,
In climbed a young boy, right ‘fore his eyes.
“Excuse me,” he said, “this is my annual chance,
To be yet alive, and exit Death’s trance.”

You mean,” asked the boy, remarkably calm,
“You’re a spirit, a ghost, attaché from beyond?”
“Essentially right, though you’ve nothing to fear.
Please be still and listen to the reason I’m here

.

“I’ve a task this one night to be ‘mongst the living:
There’s a message, a story, for me to be giving.
All I ask is that you hear and receive it.
After that, it’s for you to dispose or believe it.

“Please hear me out, just let me start.
I’ll tell you a story that may break your heart.
See, there’s no way I’ll assume Heaven’s Glory,
Till somebody finds the end to my story.

“I’m stuck here between my death and my life;
It all has to do with an old whittling knife.
I’m just ten years old, the same as are you;
‘Though my last birthday was in ‘twenty-two.” (i.e. 1922)

Then the guest, he paused, and looked at his host,
He who was poised, and looked back at the ghost.
The living boy nodded in tacit approval.
He would not be asking for this guest’s removal.

He began: “I lived a youth full of bliss
Ten years in this town with my mom dad and sis
In a quaint little house at the edge of town.
It wasn’t fancy, but it was our own.

“To support the war effort dad worked the mines;
I seldom saw him not covered in grimes.
Then in ‘eighteen, in came the flu;
I seem to remember a sister named Sue.

“Mom brought in work, she cut and she sewed,
Earning some cash for the debts that we owed.
Oft’ my live sister was seen or heard,
With me picking fruit in the old orchard.

“Things got much better when the war ended,
‘Though it took a while till broke hearts were mended.
Dad left the mines and worked in a store.
He so much enjoyed those clean shirts that he wore.

“He then had some time to put Life in his life;
To do what he wanted: dote on his wife
And his two children that she bore.
‘Though they never said it, they wanted some more.

“He worked with my reading, worked on my writing,
And taught me how to walk ‘way from fighting.
And how to ‘preciate some fine things in life.
What I ‘member most was that old whittling knife.

“Dad had got it from his own dad,
At a young age and a time so sad,
When he’d left forever – the story was told –
To go and work building the new railroad.

“Dad taught me the safety, taught me the care;
How to oil the stone and always beware:
‘Whittlin’s mostly for your relaxation
Whilst playing around with your imagination.’

“And by the time my birthdays reached ten
I’d whittled all sorts of neat things for them.
And ‘though they weren’t great works of art,
I could see that my parents were proud from the heart.

“And then didst come that October so cold;
The wind was merciless, endless and bold.
We fired the stove up day after day
To stave off the cold; ‘twas the only way.

“Chilled to our bones came the thirty-first;
It seemed that then the wind was the worst.
Nearly overcome were we by our plight;
Dad chose to fire the stove through the night.

“We fell asleep slowly, with tumultuous dreams,
For all ‘round the house the devil’s breath screamed.
And then ‘round midnight it came down the flue
And into hot embers a new life it blew.

“It blew so hard it opened the stove’s front door
And that is whence the flames did pour.
It was then that I felt my small world shake;
Dad had us outside ‘fore I was awake.

“I watched in amazement. I watched our house burn.
Oh what a sadness! A terrible turn.
It was good, I remembered, that dad saved my life.
And then I remembered that old whittling knife.

“Without further thought I rushed in through the door
To my own place where my treasures were stored.
When I reached my room I heard a ‘crack’;
The roof was collapsing – my head was whacked.

“I was pinned underneath heavy oak timbers;
My face pushed into a floor of hot cinders.
I heard my dad’s voice; he’d come after me.
He lifted me up — … but it was not to be.

“The walls caved in, and exposed to the weather
And fire around us, we died together.”
The ghost stopped here, to catch his breath.
The host wiped a tear, saddened by death.

The lonely ghost then slumped right down to the floor,
Still donning those flannel pajamas he wore
On that fateful night, so long ago,
With burn marks and rips, all riddled with holes.

“I cannot enjoy all of heav’n’s pleasure,
Without knowing for sure the fate of that treasure.
It must be safe or I won’t go on
To be with my father in the Great Beyond.

“So always since then
I’ve been caught in between
The Heaven and Earth: Forever Halloween.
And once each year, on the Hallowed thirty-first,
My spirit takes form, and I visit the earth.

“I visit young boys in my old home town
To see if that knife has ever been found.
And insure its eternal safe use and care
As if my devoted dad were still here.”

The live boy shifted – looked away from the spirit.
“I’ve something to say; I think you should hear it.
‘Twas years ago that this land was cleared
Of a burned-out old wreck to build our house here.”

He quivered and shuttered, and wept as he talked;
While toward his bureau, ‘cross the bedroom he walked.
“ ‘Twas my uncles and dad who performed that work;
They rescued some odds and ends from the dirt.”

When he reached the bureau, he breathed a few sighs,
And cleared out some wetness from his nose and eyes.
“They found many things; several they saved.
Among them are two, later to me they gave.”

He pulled out a drawer, and reached therein deep
Where his few precious things he did within keep.
“It’s with some regret that to you these are shown:
An old whittling knife and well-worn whetstone.

“Now that your story by me has been heard,
I must confess: I believe every word.
You’re welcome to have this knife and this stone.
They surely are yours, as your story has shown.”

He held them out plainly for his guest to see,
And them take away into e-ter-ni-ty.
The guest’s eyes were wide with surprise and delight:
“I can’t take these along on a heaven-bound flight.

“All I ask is a promise, from you to me:
That always cared for, this knife shall be.
That you love your parents, respect and kiss them.
You’ll never know how much you may miss them.”

The living boy nodded, accepting the vow.
The ghost then said: “I’ll be leaving now.
I thank you for the great evening I’ve had.
I can finally go and be with by dad.”

He went to the window; waved a silent good-night –
Then slowly, slowly, faded from sight.
The wind ceased its blowing, and then the full moon
Resumed its glowing – Casting light in the room.

The boy closed the windows, and then shook his head –
Replaced the items, and went back to bed.
His mind ceased its playing, so soundly he slept.
To this very day, that promise he’s kept.

Joe Girard © 1994, 2017

 

Biographical, History, Sports

Last At Bat

Situation:
Archrivals in a World Series game; two outs in the 9th inning. The score is close. Tensions very high. Emotions bare.

A wily veteran strides confidently to the plate. His steely eyes are focused. All of his life and long professional All Star career have prepared him for this moment, which is most certainly destined — one way or another — to go down in shining unforgettable sports history.

He is seemingly unaware of much of the situation, which includes a screaming over-capacity crowd in the major leagues’ most famous stadium: often called “The House that Ruth built.” Most of the 64,519 attendees want him to fail, screaming their desire.

He steps into the left-handed batters box to go up against a pitcher who is otherwise little-known. A pitcher who seems destined to not be long remembered. A pitcher who is at the end of a moderately successful year, yet in the midst of a mediocre career. A pitcher whose last appearance on a baseball mound, just a few days ago in this same World Series, was an unmitigated disaster, rather than as pitcher for baseball’s proudest team in one of their most important games.

_______________________________________________

First Pitch:

The right-handed pitcher, a career starter, does not even use a windup. He gets his sign, nods, takes a single long stride and throws his cut fastball, falling awkwardly toward first base after delivery.

It fades outside.  The veteran holds his swing.  BALL ONE.

_________________________________________________

The Batter

This moment, this kind of circumstance, was exactly the situation for which Dale Mitchell was now standing at home plate.  He’d been acquired by the Brooklyn Dodgers on July 31 — just over two months ago — to add experienced hitting savvy to their pennant run, and to their possible World Series roster.

Mitchell’s professional career was outstanding, if not also a bit unlikely. Except for these last 10 weeks, he’d spent all his Major League career with the Cleveland Indians.

If any statistic stands out over his career, it is the near impossibility of striking him out.  In 4,358 plate appearances over 11 years Mitchell struck out only 119 times, and astounding 2.7% rate, and placing him in 7th place all time in most unlikely to strike out.  Ranked against all batters with over career 100 plate appearances, Mitchell was approximately in the 99.9th percentile for least likely to strike out.

But Mitchell’s career was far better than simply not striking out.

He broke in with the Indians in September 1946 – after three years’ service in the Army in WW2 in Europe – and put up a .432 average in the season’s final 11 games.  For the next 7 years, as a full-time player, he batted over .300 … and was a 3-time American League All Star.

A few stats that should get any baseball fan’s attention.

  1. For the years 1946-1960 only two players had better career batting averages than Mitchell: Hall of Famers Stan Musial and Ted Williams.
  2. In 1949 Mitchell put up more than twice as many triples (23) as strikeouts (11) … that’s a scant 11 K’s in 685 plate appearances!!

World Series experience?

Dale Mitchell, career .312 hitter.

In 1948 Mitchell was among several stars – including Hall of Famer Lou Boudreau – who led the Indians to a Series victory over Boston (Braves) … after defeating the other Boston team (Red Sox) in a one game playoff to break the AL pennant tie.

In 1954 the Indians won an astounding 111 games (out of only 154 games in a season back then) for a winning percentage that might be the best forever – a prodigious .721! They lost the series to the New York Giants.

However, at the start of that 1954 season Mitchell was moved to the bench as part of an Indian youth movement; he got mostly only pinch appearances.  Still, he hit .283 and struck out only one time in 69 plate appearances; half his already extremely low strike out rate.

Loren Dale Mitchell was born in the west central plains of Oklahoma to tenant farmers in 1921. With farms spread far and wide, he had no one to play baseball with – except occasional toss with his dad, who bought a used lefthanded first baseman’s glove for his son to practice with.

At age 10 he survived being struck by a car while walking home from school on a country road, breaking his collar bone and suffering deep gashes on his face – and a severe concussion.

Through these years his family endured the Great Depression and the worst of the Dust Bowl.  They were among the toughest Okies; they stayed.

Besides his dad and 15-year older brother, Dale had few others to learn and play sports with. This changed when he went to Cloud Chief High School, where a mere 160 students came from a huge agricultural Dust Bowl-swept school district.  Here his athletic prowess stood out. He earned 12 letters in three sports over four years: in baseball, basketball, track. Not just a local star, Mitchell set the state record in the 100-yard dash at a state meet, a fleet footed 9.8 seconds, a record that stood for many years.

Mitchell’s accomplishments caught the attention of the University of Oklahoma.  So off he went to study and refine his baseball skills, at OU. There Mitchell developed his proficient hitting style – focus on contact and line drives, spraying the ball to all fields. After his sophomore season, when he hit a very impressive .420, he was drafted into the Army Air Force.  The next three years were spent in Europe – where he served as quartermaster, helping the allies free Europe from fascism.

Returning home to Oklahoma – to meet a 2-1/2 year old son he’d never seen – he completed his education and college baseball career in a phenomenal season – he set the University’s single season Batting Average at an astounding .507 … A record that still stands today.

Jobless, in need of money with a wife and young son, Mitchell sought out the AA minor league affiliate of the Cleveland Indians, in Oklahoma City.  They signed him.  Soon, his performance caught the attention of the mothership, and in September 1946 Mitchell was called up to the majors.

L Dale Mitchell: War veteran, survivor of the depression and dust bowl, survivor of getting plowed into by a car as a child pedestrian … and a long major league career of frustrating pitchers with his bat control, great eye and superb eye-hand coordination.

Yes, he was uniquely qualified to be at the plate at this golden moment in baseball history.

Second Pitch:

Working quickly, the pitcher gets a sign for a curve ball.  He nods, steps and slips a nasty pitch at the bottom of the zone.  Again, Mitchell does not swing.  The umpire puts up his right hand. STRIKE ONE.

_______________________________________________________________

The Pitcher

Of all the pitchers, in all of major league baseball, over all of time … the man standing on the pitcher’s mound this sunny October afternoon was surely one of the least likely to be in this moment.

His name was Don Larsen.  Today, until now, in Game 5 of the World Series, he had faced 26 batters.  None of them made it to first base. Only Dale Mitchell remained between him and baseball immortality … a Perfect Game.   Not just a Perfect Game – 27 up, 27 down – but a Perfect Game in a World Series game.

Maybe if it were Whitey Ford or Don Newcombe this moment could be at least a little bit believable.  But Don Larsen??!!

Don Larsen. Off balance delivery. First pitch, game 5, 1956 World Series. Copyright Time-Life/Getty Images

Larsen’s career was far from impressive.  It was mediocre, and it was pretty much otherwise unnoticed.  His career stats are nearly feeble.  His lifetime win-loss record was 81-91 (and this included several seasons with the powerhouse Yankees).  Heck, as recently as 1954 he lost 21 games in one single season.

He walked an average of 4.4 batters per game, and struck out only 4.9 per game. [1] Not only are these rates fair to poor for any era of the game, the ratio of 1.1 strikeouts per walk is among the very poorest of any pitcher with a resume of over a few seasons.

And yet … 1956 had been a relatively successful year for Larsen. Bouncing in-and-out of the starting rotation, he managed a 11-5 record … going 4-0 in four starts in September.

The sweet taste of this past September was severely soured by his performance in Game 2 of the series, three days ago, across town in Brooklyn. He didn’t make it out of the 2nd inning, walking four, striking out zero, and giving up 4 runs.

With the series tied at two games apiece this was a critical home game.  One the Yankees could not afford to lose. Now, just three days after pitching horribly, Hall of Fame manager Casey Stengal called on Larsen to pitch game 5. Fans and sports writers were amazed.  What was Stengal thinking?

He had a hunch about Larsen.

Don Larsen. He’d had faint glimpses of success.  But never, ever greatness.

Now he was looking at immortality.

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Third Pitch:

Still working quickly – staying in rhythm – the sign is for a fastball.  The one that Larsen’s been getting to fade away all game.  He nods, steps and fires.

The wily veteran Mitchell takes a swing, trying to poke it to left field.  He whiffs!  STRIKE TWO.

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The Umpire

“Babe” Pinelli certainly knew baseball.  He knew its ins and outs; he knew every angle; he knew every rule; he knew its history.  He was at the end of a respected 21-year umpiring career.

Before that he had an on-and-off 10 year career in the Major Leagues, up and down on the roster, mostly with the Cincinnati Reds.  For four years (1922-25) he was their regular third basemen, and compiled a very respectable .293 average over those seasons.

Perusing his statistics, it’s easy to surmise that he did – perhaps – think rather too much of his abilities.  He was caught stealing 80 times out of 151 attempts.  During his prime (’22-’25) he was caught 72 times out of 130 attempts.  This is a very, very poor success rate.

Born Rinaldo Angelo Paolinelli, Babe grew up hanging around the wharfs in San Francisco. “Babe” was well respected among players.  He was regarded as fair (he had the gumption to call strikes on the more famous “Babe” – Babe Ruth – when Ruth was at the end of his career and attracting thousands of fans to stadiums wherever he went, and Pinelli was at the beginning of his umpiring career).  And players regarded him as pleasant; was generally considered one of the least likely to throw a player out of a game, regardless of how loudly they protested.

And yet, he was fully aware of the situation, the potential for history, and his place in that history.  This is, of course, hearsay, but Pinelli confided later to players that if he had a chance to make this a Perfect Game, he was going to take it.

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The Catcher.

Behind the plate, in front of Pinelli, is the Yankees’ catcher, Larsen’s catcher. He is one of the most well-known and famous names and people of all time – inside or outside of baseball.  He is Lawrence Peter Berra, affectionately known for all time as simply “Yogi.”

Certainly, one of best all-around catchers and athletes of all time, Yogi knew the game.  Yogi knew hitters. Yogi knew pitchers. Yogi knew how to call a game.  If anyone, besides providence or the almighty, oversaw this game, it was Yogi. He knew exactly how to help a pitcher “work” a batter.

Of his countless famous quips, Yogi said: “It ain’t over till it’s over.”  This game was not over, yet. Yogi studied the batter, Mitchell, closely.  He knew Mitchell well from his 10 years with the Indians in the American League. He knew how to “work” Mitchell.  Now, … if only Larsen could deliver.

Fourth Pitch:

With the count one ball and two strikes, Larsen suddenly breaks his routine for the first time all afternoon, finally showing some stress.  He removes his hat.  He wipes his brow.  He paces around the mound, pausing to gaze at the outfielders, and the fans beyond. Yogi shouts some encouragement.

Larsen stops pacing, and climbs the mound. Deep breath. Toeing the rubber, he looks in to Yogi.  Switching speed again.  Another curve.  A nasty one.  But Mitchell is tough, and he fouls it off. Still ONE BALL and TWO STRIKES.

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The Batters Eye.

Have you ever been to, or watched, a baseball game and wondered why there are no seats in straight-away centerfield?  Or, if there are seats, they are covered with a dark tarpaulin?

It’s been a well-accepted fact since the 1890s that batters can see a pitched ball better, and sooner, if the background behind the pitcher is a flat, consistent, simple dark color.  Today, post about 1960, all ball parks have the “batters eye.”

But this was not always the case. Nor was it so in Yankees Stadium on this day, October 8, 1956.

Game 5, 1956 World Series. No Batters Eye in Center Field. Lots of white shirts. Copyright Frank Hurley.

I’ve reviewed old pictures, and it appears that it was customary to remove the batters eye when there were large crowds, and uncover the centerfield seats.

It’s well known that enough fans in the batters eye would don white shirts when the visitors were batting, and dark shirts when the home team was batting, to give the latter an unfair advantage.

Photos show that, across town, in Ebbets Field in Brooklyn, the Dodgers used the same tactic during the Series.  One wonders why there weren’t more no hitters – and Perfect Games – in those days.

Fifth Pitch (the Final Pitch):

As Larsen waited for a new ball (the previous pitch was fouled off), the outfielders moved a few steps to their right, toward left field. A pretty good indication a fast ball is coming.

Mitchell is wise, catches the small shift, and suspects the fade fastball — the one that runs away from him is coming.  He is correct.  It is the fade fastball.

At this point history diverges.  There are many different assessments as to what truly happened.

According to Mitchell – and several of Larsen’s Yankee teammates in the field – the pitch was higher and probably more outside than any other pitch called a strike that day.

Video shows that Mitchell started to swing, but checked up, stopping short of committing.

Umpire Babe Pinelli was working his last game ever behind the plate at the end of a 21-year major league career.  What a way to go out – as the umpire who called a perfect game in the World Series.

He was not going to miss this opportunity.

Up went his right hand.  Out came some words that sounded like “Strike Three! YER OUT!!”

Some say Mitchell did not check his swing. Other say it was a poor strike three call. Others, that it was a good call.  The record books say it was a called strike three.

Catcher Berra, who, from the only surviving video, was likely already halfway up out of his crouch to catch the high pitch, jumped up and ran to hug Larsen.

Yogi Berra jumps into Don Larsen’s arms moments after the Perfect Game

Mitchell turned to protest the call, but Pinelli was already gone!

Larsen, Mitchell and Pinelli are all answers to famous baseball trivia questions.  Larsen is the unlikely hero.  Mitchell (and many say Pinelli too) is the goat.

I’ve watched the video a few times and it’s just too grainy.  And the film frame rate is wrong, so it seems to be going too fast.  Also it’s from an unfamiliar angle: from up high and not quite directly behind home plate.

But I’m going with what some Yankees on the field said, as well as Mr “Contact-Hitter-Who-Almost-Never Strikes-Out” Mitchell said himself. That pitch should probably have been called a ball. He should have been able to see at least one more pitch.

From experience I can say that (1) yes, umpires make mistakes; and (2) sometimes they can also get caught up in the moment.

The umpire is always right.  So … on October 8, 1956 Don Larson threw the only No-Hitter – and Perfect Game – in World Series history.

Box Score, Game 5, 1956 World Series — the Perfect Game

Larsen and Mitchell afterward.

Don Larsen enjoyed his life of celebrity … even as his career faded into less than mediocrity.  He’d always been known as sort of a funny and fun-loving guy, willing to tip a glass and break team curfew. He even ended up pitching with the Chicago Cubs in one of their truly horrible years.

Larsen was also a military veteran, giving up two years in the prime of life, to serve in the Army during the Korean War.

Later in life he tried his hand at several careers, from liquor to paper peddling. Evidence and stories suggest he was not very successful.

Of all coincidences, Larsen was in attendance at David Cohn’s Perfect Game for the Yankees, in 1999, throwing out the ceremonial first pitch to – of all people – Yogi Berra.

Still among the living, Larsen recently sold his Perfect Game uniform to help pay for his grandchildren’s college educations.

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Mitchell invested almost all his playoff and bonus earnings during his professional baseball career into Oklahoma real estate near his home town.  After his ball career he developed these holdings into a successful oil and gas business.

His success drew the attention of Martin-Marietta, and he was recruited to be VP and run their concrete division.  He retired from there in 1985 to live in Tulsa, Oklahoma.

The University of Oklahoma opened a new baseball park in 1982, named for Mitchell: the L. Dale Mitchell Baseball Park.

He remains the all-time batting average champion for the University of Oklahoma, and was enshrined in the Oklahoma Sports Hall of Fame in 2005.

He maintained his “innocence” on that final pitch until his death.  He refused all interviews and media orchestrated “truce” reunions with Larsen for years afterward. “I ain’t going to talk about a fake strike out.”

Mitchell passed away in January, 1987 – aged only 65 – of a heart attack.

Baseball is America’s Game, and I wish it could bring us together again.

Joe Girard © 2017

[Feel free to comment below or Email Joe.]

[1] actually these strikeouts and walk rates are per nine innings pitched

Other stuff

  • Although this was the last At Bat in Game 5, Mitchell had one more at bat in the deciding Game 7.  He made an out and the Yankees also won that game. Mitchell retired after the 1956 season.
  • Pinelli umpired two more games — games 6 and 7 of the Series — but not behind home plate.  He then retired.
  • October 8 is also the day the Great Chicago Fire started (1871), as well as many other horrific fires across the Midwest.  In Peshtigo, Wisconsin up to 2,500 died.
  • Let’s give Larsen his due respect.  On that Dodgers team was Jackie Robinson, Gil Hodges, Duke Snider, Roy Campenella, Jim Gilliam.  A great line up … and all had a good year in 1956.
  • Jackie Robinson also retired after the 1956 season.