The definitive and wonderfully told tale of a baseball icon. Mort Zachter has given Gil Hodges the biography he has long deserved.
Michael Shapiro, professor of journalism at Columbia University and author of The Last Good Season: Brooklyn, the Dodgers and Their Final Pennant Race Together
Whether focusing on Hodges the Hoosier, the marine on Okinawa, the home runhitting slugger, or the Brooklynite on Bedford Avenue, Mort Zachter has given us Gil, right down to the nub of his Marlboro. His mincing steps to the mound are remembered along with the candles lit in church and the day Brooklyns heart skipped a beat with his. This one spikes high into your heart; the Hodges epic is a lesson in humanity for all seasons.
Bob McGee, author of The Greatest Ballpark Ever: Ebbets Field and the Story of the Brooklyn Dodgers
Zachter brings the same grace and precision to the page that Hodges brought to first base at Ebbets Field and with methodical research, insight, and pure affection gives life to the man behind the astounding stats, proving once and for all that Hodges truly belongs in the National Baseball Hall of Fame. Kudos to Mort Zachter for giving a beloved Brooklyn legend his due.
Marty Markowitz, former Brooklyn Borough president
In these pages you understand how Hodges defined what it meant to be a role model in a golden age.
Tom Verducci, senior writer for Sports Illustrated
Gil Hodges
Gil Hodges
A Hall of Fame Life
Mort Zachter
University of Nebraska Press | Lincoln and London
2015 by Mort Zachter
Cover image Bettman/Corbis Images
Author photo Nurit Zachter
All rights reserved
Library of Congress Control Number: 2014953036
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
For another team player,
my wife, Nurit
is not what is engraved in stone monuments, but what is woven into the lives of others.
Pericles
only a good player and manager; he was a special human being.
Sandy Koufax
Contents
difficulty in writing about Gil Hodges. Voices in the background keep screaming for restraint and yet every instinct is to succumb to temptation and spill forth the superlatives.
Arthur Daley
I was born in Brooklyn four months, twelve days, and six hours after the Brooklyn Dodgers played their last game at Ebbets Field. I never saw Jackie Robinson steal home or Roy Campanella double down the left-field line or Pee Wee Reese gracefully field a ground ball. But I wish I had.
Gil Hodges, the only Dodgers star player that still called Brooklyn home after the team moved to Los Angeles, lived a few blocks away from where I grew up. Every morning as I walked to my elementary school, PS 197, I crossed Bedford Avenue and looked north in the direction of Hodgess home, proud that he had stayed.
By then Hodges had retired as a player and was managing the New York Mets. In large part due to his leadership, the Mets annual attendance from 1969 to 1972 exceeded that of the New York Yankees by youd call good copy.
In Brooklyn it didnt matter. We knew what we had. Although I never met him, Hodges was a visible figure in the neighborhood. He could be seen walking his dog, a German shepherd named Lady Gina, down Bedford Avenue or stopping by Gil Hodges Field on McDonald Avenue to watch the kids play, or buying Marlboros at Bennys Candy Store on Avenue M.
But Hodges died of a heart attack in 1972 at forty-seven, and with each passing year his name fades from the national consciousness.
For some, memories remain. Well after Hodgess playing career ended, Willie Mays could still recall Hodgess ability to turn the mundane act of tagging a runner on a pickoff attempt into art. , Mays said, as if the pitchers throw hit Hodges glove and the glove swatted the runner at the same time. The whole thing... done in one smooth motion.
Others remain fiercely loyal. Bill Moose Skowron, who played for Hodges when he managed the Washington Senators, asked me, polish. A hitter with power to swat 42 home runs in a season and a team player who drove in more than 100 runs a year for seven consecutive seasons. If votes are based, as the rule says, on the players integrity, sportsmanship, and character, Gil Hodges will ride in. Those words were coined for him.
Unfortunately, integrity, sportsmanship, and character are unquantifiable. They are also a challenge for any writer hoping to cut through the legend that surrounds Hodges hoping to find the humanity that lies beneath. Don Demeter, one of Hodgess teammates who later became pastor of Grace Community Baptist Church in Oklahoma City, made this abundantly clear to me. about Gil Hodges, Demeter said, and you dont either.
Readers will ultimately decide if Ive succeeded in finding the man behind the myth. But what I can tell you for certain is this: if you walked into Bennys Candy Store shortly after Hodges had left, you could hear the owner, Ben Chodesh, in a voice so filled with excitement you would have thought the Dodgers had just moved back to Brooklyn, saying over and over again, , Hodges was just here, Hodges was just here...
Gil Hodges
Shea Stadium, Flushing, New York, October 16, 1969, bottom of the sixth inning of the fifth game of the 1969 World Series: Mets manager Gil Hodges showing umpire Lou DiMuro a shoe-polish-stained baseball as Donn Clendenon looks on. Courtesy of Sporting News 1969. All rights reserved. Reprinted with permission.
His Reputation Preceded Him
.
Gil Hodges stepped out of the Mets dugout holding a shoe-polish-stained baseball in his right hand.
It was a chilly October afternoon in New York and the Mets manager wore a dark-blue baseball jacket over his uniform. Although the familiar No. 14 that had been stitched onto his jersey ever since his playing days in Ebbets Field wasnt visible to the standing-room-only crowd at Shea Stadium watching the fifth game of the 1969 World Series, it made no difference. If, like Neil Armstrong, who that past July took one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind, Hodges had been wearing a NASA space suit complete with helmet and darkened visor, the fans wouldve still recognized him.
He had been, wrote Roger Angell, popular ballplayer in the major leagues, and although Ebbets Field had crumbled beneath an iron wrecking ball almost a decade before, whenever Hodges stepped onto a baseball field he fortified fading memories of warm summer days when Brooklyn was the best the National League had to offer and no one had yet heard of the New York Metropolitans.
Hodges headed toward home plate slowly in that funny, pigeon-toed walk he hadramrod-straight like John Wayne in The Searchersbut with surprisingly small strides for a man who stood almost six feet two inches tall. His toes touched the ground first, then his instep, and finally the heel of his spikes. A little over a year after surviving his first heart attack, Hodges looked much older than forty-five. Yet, there was still a grace and athleticism in his bearing that exuded a sense of confidence and power.
excited... Gil remained calm, recalled his best player, Tom Seaver. The tenser the situation, the more he concentrated. He never wavered, never came within a mile of panic, always observing, always maneuvering, always thinking.
running in his veins, said Mets catcher J. C. Martin.
That morning, Hodges had ride for the outgoing and personable Bob, who would have loved discussing that afternoons game.
Gils silence didnt surprise her a bit. The defining experience of his formative years, surviving the savagery of Okinawa during World War II, had only deepened an inborn solemnity. The defining experience of his final years, that afternoon stroll to home plate was the high point of his professional baseball career. Yet, to him, it wasnt life and death, just a ball game. To a deeply religious man like Gil Hodges, there were more important things.
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