“Out in the bullpen, Ray Sadecki was warming up. Aware that he had not pitched well in the Series, and that [St. Louis Manager] Johnny Keane was down on him, he wondered whether Keane would go to him if [New York Yankee Bobby] Richardson got on. Until then Keane said he never thought of lifting [Bob] Gibson. But if Richardson had gotten on, he would have gone to Sadecki. Keane went out to the mount to talk with his pitcher for a moment. [Tim] McCarver did not go all the way out because he knew Gibson hated it when the catcher came out, and besides, there was nothing to say. The count was 1-1. Richardson liked the ball high and out over the plate, and Gibson made a very good pitch to him, a fastball that moved in on him at the last instant. Richardson popped it up…”
- David Halberstam, October 1964
Being a St. Louis Cardinals fan, I picked up David Halberstam’s October 1964 thinking that it focused on the World Series that year, which pitted the young, forward-thinking Cardinals against the New York Yankees, a famous franchise fast becoming moribund.
This turned out not to be the case.
Rather than a tightly-narrated account of a seven-game series – which St. Louis won – October 1964 is most interested in the last season of this particular Yankee dynasty, and its aging legends.
Being a Halberstam fan, I am willing to forgive the misleading nature of the title.
***
October 1964 is the literary equivalent of an early summer ballgame, where the stakes are low, the pacing is languid, and having a beer or two certainly helps. Known for his sharply written books on war and politics, Halberstam was also a baseball fan. Like his earlier Summer of ‘49, this is a meandering volume that serves mostly to string together the anecdotes he collected, while also warming himself – and us – in the honeyed glow of nostalgia.
Over the course of 373 pages, Halberstam leads us through the entire 1964 season, alternating between the Cardinals and the Yankees, culminating in the titular month of October. While sports-writing has had its share of star wordsmiths, Halberstam doesn’t go out of his way to ratchet up the tension or engage in Grantland Rice-like phrasemaking. He is content instead to share the stories he gathered, in the nearly eighty interviews he conducted with all-timers such as Bob Gibson, Stan Musial, and Buck O’Neill.
***
For the most part, this is a super chill read. It is, after all, about a sequence of games played many decades ago. Reading it had a calming effect on me, similar to the feel I used to get when studying the box scores as a kid.
There is, however, a serious thread woven into the tale: that of race. In 1964, it had been only seventeen years since the debut of Jackie Robinson, and black ballplayers were still treated as second or third-class citizens, especially when they had to travel down south, where de facto segregation still existed, even though declared unconstitutional by the Supreme Court.
As Halberstam moves through the season, he compares and contrasts the Cardinals and Yankees, exploring both the moral and practical effects of their race relations. The Cards, like the National League in general, were quicker to integrate. They seized on the power and speed that black ballplayers brought to the game. This resulted in a lineup that included base stealer extraordinaire Lou Brock, star center fielder Curt Flood, and flame-throwing hurler Bob Gibson.
The Yankees were far slower to embrace the trend. In point of fact, they held the line of racial supremacy longer than all but three other teams. Led by executive George Weiss, a racist and a Hall of Famer – the two are not mutually exclusive in this grand old game, unfortunately – the Yanks were built around an aging core of Whitey Ford, Mickey Mantle, and Roger Maris. The choices made by the Cards and the Yanks set them on vastly different trajectories in the near term. The Cards made it to two more World Series in the 60's; the Yanks entered an 11-year period of mediocrity.
***
Labor relations, though not given as much space, is also an important theme. It is customary today to bemoan the astronomical salaries of athletes. Reading this provides a fascinating perspective on how different – and unfair – things used to be. Before Cardinal star Curt Flood made his bid for free agency, teams enjoyed almost complete leverage in negotiations, holding players to a fraction of what they’d be worth on an open market.
***
These are heavy topics, but like I said, this is not a heavy book. Halberstam doesn’t pound on these motifs. Instead, he unspools them gradually, as he introduces you to the various managers, coaches, executives, and players on both sides.
For Halberstam, the ebb and flow of each game is not nearly as important as the personalities. He wants you to meet Mickey Mantle, and understand how difficult it was for him to let go, even with a knee held together by skin and bandages. He wants you to know the good and decent Buck O’Neil, a famous Negro League first baseman who never got his chance in the majors, and who scouted future Hall of Famer Lou Brock for the Cubs. By introducing these people, and telling their stories, he is able to explore a lot of issues without turning things into a lecture.
***
There are parts of October 1964 that haven’t aged well, especially if you are a baseball fan interested in advanced statistics. In keeping with the sepia-tinged, old-timey feel, the only statistics that matter to Halberstam are win-loss records and earned-run-averages for pitchers, and batting average, home runs, and runs-batted-in for hitters. Back then, those numbers meant something. Today, if you try to use those measures – which are often out of the player’s actual control – you will be mocked as a luddite.
***
Baseball has come to mean a lot to me. That’s why I read this. I grew up with the game. In true Field of Dreams style, it was the only connection I had with my dad. Over time, I drifted away. I preferred playing basketball or watching football. Baseball seemed to belong to a different era, when everything was in black-and-white and men always wore suits with vests.
Then I had kids, and I came back to the game. Life seemed to be moving super-fast, and I needed to slow it down. Know what slows things down? An afternoon of baseball, because baseball takes as long as it takes.
Or at least it used to, before the pitch clock made everything more exciting, and me feel a lot older, a lot faster.
***
Baseball is not America’s most popular sport, but it remains the national pastime. It is nearly as old as the country, and that gives it a special connection to history. Helped along by Halberstam, baseball’s lore is told and retold, passed on like heirlooms, and the old players are never dead. They’re always beside us, in their primes, as points of comparison and yardsticks of excellence. Baseball makes you believe in endless worlds, worlds where Mantle is loping across the outfield grass on two healthy knees; where Gibson is still young, and bringing the heat; worlds where the summer never ends; and worlds where Halberstam is still passionately banging out his books.