In the mid-1970s, Donald Honig sought to interview major league baseball players whose careers occurred between 1920-1955. Thousands of men played between those years; most were dead by the time Honig began interviewing. Undoubtedly, many who were still alive were inaccessible for one reason or another: age, infirmity, distance, irascibility, irrelevance. Eighteen made the cut, some famous, some not. Some I’d heard of, some not.
Wisely, Honig sought (apparently) a mix of players. Some names I recognized immediately are Charlie Gehringer, Lefty Grove, James “Cool Papa” Bell, and Bob Feller, all hall-of-famers. Other hall-of-famers included are Johnny Mize, Ted Lyons, and Billy Herman. Now I know why they’re included, and I won’t fail to recognize their names again. Some very good players and delightful personalities who didn’t make the hall of fame made the list as well. Even the role players, the ones who likely were interviewed primarily because they were asked, had good stories to tell about the stars on their teams, the managers, and even in some instances the management.
The book includes interviews of eighteen different men who played at different times, so it’s difficult to discern insights or trends that tie them all together. They’re best taken as discrete memories of the “I was there when…” genre. Some were witness to baseball history, but that’s not the primary charm of the book. The enjoyment, for me, was the sense that all of them loved the game and remembered their major league days fondly. They were men playing a game and being paid for it. Few of them have regrets, gripes or sour memories.
Memory is selective and contextual. I was a purchaser of baseball cards in the 1950s. I pinned them to the fender support of my bicycle so that they’d thwap when the spokes hit them. I cut out the symbols of the Yankee top hat and cane, the Indians’ racist caricature, the one-eyed Pirate, keeping the symbols and throwing out the cards unless they were of Mantle or Feller or their ilk. But I looked at the cards, shuffled them, read the backs, chewed the gum. Thus was born my love of baseball and the beginning of my fascination with the players.
Working backwards chronologically, Honig’s book picks up just at the point where I didn’t know most of the players or the history. That’s why I wanted to read it. After reading their collected recollections, I better understand why I’d not heard of some, and why it’s a shame I hadn’t heard of others. One great discovery for me in reading this book is that the generation before mine included some truly remarkable players. I’m happy to have met them here.