Three Good Men

In November, a ballplayer and a good man - Bernie Gerl - passed away at age 94.  He was the last remaining survivor of a bus crash in 1948 involving the minor league baseball team Duluth Dukes. Since I wrote a novel on the 1946 bus crash of the Spokane Indians team - called "Until the End of the Ninth" - I was well familiar with the 1948 Dukes, and Bernie, for having suffered a similar fate - a fate nobody wants to have. I never met Bernie but I'm a big fan, and learned about him through the years via his son Chuck (we're friends on Facebook). 

When I heard of Bernie's passing, I knew I wanted to write a remembrance for him.

Then in December, Tommy Lasorda passed away at age 93.  His fame is already known. But his connection to the Spokane Indians team, where he managed from 1969 through 1971, is not as well known (though the 1970 team is considered by many baseball scholars to be the best minor league team at the time) . Nor is it well known - unless you have a copy of my baseball novel - that he gave us an endorsement for that book, saying, "This is amazing book. It's a must for any baseball fan."

When I heard of his passing, I knew I wanted to write a remembrance for him. I started to think about how to intertwine a blog post about Bernie Gerl and Tommy Lasorda.

Then in January, Henry Aaron passed away  at age 86.  Just like Tommy Lasorda, his fame is already known. Just like Tommy Lasorda, his connection to the Spokane Indians team - through his minor league manager Ben Geraghty, a survivor of the 1946 bus crash - is not so well known. Not known by anyone is how, with a finally-ready screenplay, I was (nervously) getting ready to try to contact Henry Aaron in 2021 about this story I'd written that included Ben Geraghty - one of his mentors.

Three months. Three men. I had to write about Henry Aaron too - a hero of mine, through the years. All three of them were. But I hadn't yet written my remembrance of any of them. Now there were three. It overwhelmed me, to think of how to do right by each one, and now all three, now all at the same time.

So rather than one post, I've made three separate ones - for Bernie Gerl, Tommy Lasorda, and Henry Aaron - and then this post, to unify.  

They are unified in my mind - inextricably intertwined with Spokane's baseball men of 1946.  

They are unified through each other. Bernie Gerl caught for the Dukes in 1952, when Henry Aaron played for the Eau Claire Bears. Henry Aaron became the Home Run King on April 8, 1974 against the Dodgers, when Tommy Lasorda was the third base coach. (As Aaron rounded the bases, he shook hands with Dodgers infielders Davey Lopes and Bill Russell, who both played for that 1970 Spokane team).

And they are unified by a love for the game. Baseball lives on in our hearts, through them.  

      Bernie Gerl, 1953                              Henry Aaron, 4/8/1974                           Tommy Lasorda, 1970    .

Bernie Gerl

Bernie Gerl, former baseball player for the Duluth Dukes, an all-star, a leader of that baseball club in 1948, and an all around good guy, passed away on November 7, 2020 at the age of 94.

I initially learned about Bernie because he played for the minor league baseball team Duluth Dukes back in 1948 and so was on the bus that crashed that year, killing 5 on the bus. That and the Spokane Indians' bus crash in 1946, killing 9, are the two terrible accidents that minor league ball suffered over the years - but they occurred within 2 years of each other, causing concern at that time around baseball about bus travel.  Readers of my blog will know that I wrote a novel (and now a screenplay) about the Spokane men of 1946, imagining their spirits living on after the crash - a silver lining to the worst pro sports accident in U.S. history. 

What readers don't know - what I did not know myself, during the writing - was that my father saw Bernie and his Dukes' teammates play in Eau Claire Wisconsin, against the Eau Claire Bears, the last game before that 1948 crash. My Dad told me after I told him of the novel I was writing. "I think I saw them play their last game," he said. No, it was the Dukes' last game, not the Indians' team. I know of that crash, I told him. It's the only other one in minor league baseball...

So a 12-year-old was one of about 1,500 people to see men on the 1948 Dukes' team play that final baseball game - he grows up, has a family, never talks to his kids about that game - and then one of his daughters happens to move to Spokane, Washington, happens to learn of the other bus crash from 1946, and finds herself compelled to write about this other 1946 crash.

I don't think there are odds for that kind of coincidence. It's like the story was in my DNA somehow.

So Bernie Gerl - the last survivor of the 1948 Dukes' crash - well, he was a special man for me, tied to history as he was (both baseball and mine). Though the bus crash derailed his rise to the major leagues, it also left him as the holder of memories for those on that Dukes team who died too young. It never left the memories of some.

It must have been strange for Bernie, to be forever tied to one day in history - and to have that day be so tragic.  He survived because a nearby farmer braved the flames and pulled him to safety, but he was still in the hospital for 40 days. He went into the hospital weighing 190 pounds, and left weighing 120. Yet  he was one the lucky ones. Others did not survive. The grief must have overwhelmed both him and the other survivors, all while they received the public's condolences and concern.

From what I have heard, Bernie turned out to be a perfect steward for the 1948 Dukes.  He was a big storyteller, with sound effects and hand gestures. He loved remembering moments from the field, and moments from life. He would go to Duluth every year, starting in the 1990s (the 50th anniversary of the bus crash) - until the trip became too arduous from his home in Joliet, Illinois - to relive those stories, to remember his teammates, at the exact same stadium where he had played so long ago. Duluth's Wade Stadium remains standing, and still has a team - it's the Huskies now, not the Dukes - a collegiate team, not minor league. But it's baseball, and has been for decades.

I went once, to that stadium. It was sobering, to realize how many dreams it has held. Few stadiums still exist from that time - but both Duluth and Eau Claire, WI have held on to theirs.

All of this comes up for me when I remember Bernie Gerl.

I remember too, how Spokane's local baseball historian, newsman Jim Price, interviewed Bernie in 2016 as a way to remember both the 1946 and 1948 teams, and how I let Bernie's son Chuck know about the article. Chuck appreciated the heads up. It turns out, Bernie had told Chuck he'd gotten a call from "some guy in Spokane who knew about the wreck and just wanted to talk baseball" - but hadn't remembered the part where Jim had said "I'm writing an article for the newspaper." Mystery solved!

A great story of Bernie and Hank Aaron - Bernie was catching for the Dukes, a young Hank Aaron was playing for the Eau Claire Bears. Bernie had seen that Hank's lead off 1st base was often too large, and concocted a plan with the Dukes' first base man to throw the kid out. The next time Hank Aaron was on first, Bernie signaled his first base man... next pitch... we'll catch him... The next pitch, Bernie caught the ball, gunned it to first and - the first base man had forgotten all about the plan. The baseball sailed into right field. Hank Aaron got his stolen base. Of all the baseball stories over all the years, Bernie had kept this one to himself until one of his last visits to Duluth, when someone asked, "Hey, do you have any Hank Aaron stories?"  It was a glorious telling, from what I understand - with sound effects and all.

Bernie's grandkids have shown real sparks of baseball talent - gifts inherited from the man himself, no doubt.  I have loved, via Facebook, watching the kids play ball. Ben, the oldest, has become a noted pitcher. He's headed to the pros, as far as I'm concerned - combining natural ability with hard work.

A tragedy occurred after Bernie died - just a couple months after his passing, on January 27, 2021, his wife Bernadine Gerl passed away. They had met through baseball. They postponed their October 1948 wedding because of the bus crash (with the wrong dates engraved on their wedding bands for always). They had lived a rich life together, raised a family together. May they rest in peace together too. 

And then there was a gift. Grandson Ben Gerl - the talented pitcher - was signed to play in Duluth this summer. He is making his way, following in Bernie's footsteps. "A chip off the old block," the headline read. The day Ben takes the field for the first time, to pitch that first pitch, with another catcher behind the plate where his grandfather caught, decades ago... That will be a special day. Bernie would be so proud.

          Bernie at the scoreboard                     Poster of the 1948 players                          Bernie going to Eau Claire

  Bernie and Bernadette (photo by John Gilbert) 

Grandson Ben Gerl (photo courtesy of Chuck Gerl)

(Scoreboard photo: source Chicago Sun Times, The Herald News, July 12, 2013)

Tommy Lasorda

He was a man bigger than life. It's a great expression, but few can pull it off. Tommy Lasorda did.

I can't think of a time when I didn't know who Tommy Lasorda was. I grew up north of San Diego during the 1970s, so my childhood baseball memories of course include him as the Dodgers manager (a job he began at the end of the 1976 season (after a few years' stint as the Dodgers' third base coach). He managed there for 20 years (!!), and even as I grew older, he remained a favorite through those years (as did Lou Piniella - but that was later, after I'd moved to Washington and he was managing the Mariners. Hard not to love Sweet Lou.)

What I never knew - not until I wrote the baseball novel, that is - was that Tommy Lasorda had some of his managing roots in my adopted hometown of Spokane, Washington, and the Spokane Indians minor league club here.  He managed the Indians team (Class AAA at the time) from 1969 to 1971. Baseball American named his 1970 team the best minor league team in the second half of the 20th century. That team posted a 94-52 record (26 games ahead of its closest division competitor), and swept the Hawaii Islanders  - who had won 98 games that season - in the final PCL championship. 

On that 1970 team roster was Davey Lopes, Bill Russell, and Steve Garvey - virtually the L.A. Dodgers' entire outfield from 1973 through 1980. (The Dodgers' third base man Ron Cey played in Spokane in 1971). Bobby Valentine was on that 1970 team, as was Bill Buckner.  Charlie Hough pitched. In total, the players would go on to account for 23 World Series appearances, 21 All-Star selections and one National League MVP award (Garvey, in 1974).

"The other teams hated us, no doubt about it," Bobby Valentine is later quoted as saying. "Tommy was louder than any other manager, and we were better than any other team."

Three Tommy Lasorda quotes (of which there are many):

"The difference between the impossible and the possible lies in a person's determination."

"There are three types of baseball players: those who make it happen, those who watch it happen, and those who wonder what happens."

"I bleed Dodger blue and when I die, I'm going to the big Dodger in the sky."

When I wrote the Indians' 1946 story, my life became intertwined with Tommy Lasorda. It was not a two-way street. I never met him - though I did get a quote from him for my "Until the End of the Ninth" book jacket, as he was friends with my publicist and gave Milt the nod to include the quote from him.  

When he let me use the quote for a second edition (this time with a small publishing house), I imagined him picking up the new copy from Milt, nodding like "glad she's getting somewhere with the story," tossing the book somewhere else, and not worrying about it again.

I've been grateful for the endorsement.

I wonder about his years here. He was a young manager, getting his feet wet, gifted with what soon was seen at the major league level as an amazing managerial talent. Did he kick up dirt in Spokane? Did he yell at umps? (I'm sure he yelled at umps.) Did he wonder if he would make it? 

I worried about him when he got heavy. I was happy when he lost weight. I cheered for him - the least I could do, as he'd been cheering for me. But I was a cheerleader long before that.

I have the story of the bus crash, and the 1946 men, in screenplay form. I'd hoped it would be a film by now. I wanted the chance to pick up the phone, or see him in person, and say, you may not remember me, but thank you for keeping the faith and lending me your name while I got from there to here.

Now I'll never have that conversation with him. When I heard of his passing, I felt so sad. I'd lost a hero. I'd lost a cheerleader. I think I lost a would-be friend.  And the world? The world has lost one of the greats. 

    Tommy Lasorda with the Indians (photo: Jim Price)                      In 2006                             White House initiative

  Tommy Lasorda, and Dodger Stadium (stadium photo credit: Ken Lund)

Tommy Lasorda with some of the 1970 Spokane team (from left, manager Tommy Lasorda and 

players Bobby Valentine, Steve Garvey, Bill Buckner, Tommy Hutton and Bob O'Brien)

photo credit: Spokesman Review

Henry Aaron

Oh, the great Henry Aaron. 

I've always known about him. Most of us have known of Hammerin' Hank. 

Information is readily available. He told his own story in "I Had A Hammer." Documentaries abound, including "Hank Aaron: Chasing The Dream."

What I didn't really know, growing up, or even before I wrote my baseball novel, was what a wonder he was - a gentleman and a scholar, is the expression. Born in 1934, he is oft described as a shy teen from Alabama, swept into major league baseball out of the Negro Leagues on the heels of Jackie Robinson's major league breakthrough in 1947. Hank Aaron played minor league ball in Eau Claire, WI in 1952,  Jacksonville, FL in 1953, and Puerto Rico in 1953 (winter season) via the minor league system of the Boston (then Milwaukee, then Atlanta) Braves, before graduating to the majors in 1954. 

We know the end of the story with Henry Aaron - how he became the best home run hitter in his time, how he handled his ascent to stardom with grace.  The resistance to him - the racism - was palpable as he verged on becoming the new Home Run King (supplanting Babe Ruth, another absolute great).  He dealt with death threats as he stood at the edge of breaking that record at the end of the 1973 season - got hate mail (and fan mail too). The U.S. Postal Service gave him a plaque to commemorate his receipt of more mail that off season (930,000 pieces) than another person, other than politicians.  

As 1974 began, he needed one home run to tie Babe Ruth's record of 714, and two to break it. While there were protests against it, there were so many excited to witness it. Babe Ruth's widow is quoted as saying, "The Babe loved baseball so very much. I know he was pulling for Hank Aaron to break his record." Then Henry Aaron hit his 715th home run on April 8, 1974 - against the Dodgers. 

He ended up with 755 total home runs when he retired after the 1976 season.

Racism in baseball was clear to Henry Aaron as young man rising in the ranks too. So yes, it was clear when he chased Babe Ruth's homerun record in the 1970s. It remained throughout his life, getting better at times (then bad again). Whatever the environment, he did not waver in public - for his life, he was a consistent voice for equality.  I have a favorite interview of him that I now can't find (and watching all the old videos, trying to find it, is a journey in itself) where he is young, a little nervous, but 100 percent firmly standing in integrity as he talked about racism. In interviews, he spoke humbly, and often gave credit to others first - but stated his opinion, diplomatically but also in truth. He was a remarkable man.

Here is an interview from the Dan Patrick Show, on baseball racism - he's saved most of the hate mail letters from the 1970s, to show his grandchildren so they can understand where we've been.

He would later say he almost didn't keep with baseball when he was young. He was a shy 18-year-old who had used sticks to hit bottle caps as a way of learning hone his batting skills, who now was far away from his Alabama home in Eau Claire, Wisconsin (where my father saw him play), then sent the next season to the deep South to the Jacksonville Braves and the segregation there, that still existed (like in his home state), now with the hostility directed at him and the other African American players. He almost quit at one point, he was so homesick. Mentors along the way helped keep him in the game. I expect he would have found his way, regardless. But early-on mentors made a difference as he grew up into the man he became.

Ben Geraghty was one of those mentors.   

I began studying Henry Aaron in earnest after I learned the kind words he had about Ben, who was his minor league manager in Jacksonville, Florida, and who was also one of the 7 men who survived the bus crash of 1946 (which inspired my field-of-dreams style novel "Until The End Of The Ninth," where 9 of 16 men died, which I also am working to turn into a film).

I don't know how I realized the tie between Henry Aaron and Ben Geraghty. But soon I was reading "A False Spring," by Pat Jordan. And there it was. The connection.  Pat Jordan wrote about how Ben was considered one of the best managers at the minor league level, and how the 1946 bus crash helped turn Ben into that kind of manager, with an almost "mystical" quality, that helped him see a player for who he was and what he had to give to the game.

I found this quote from Henry Aaron, about Ben (who died at age 50 back in 1963):

"He was the greatest manager I ever played for, perhaps the greatest manager who ever lived, and that includes managers in the big leagues. I've never played for a guy who get more out of every ballplayer than he could. He knew how to communicate with everybody and to treat every player as an individual."

As I learned all this, I admired Henry Aaron even more, and wanted to let him know I was working on a script for this story that involved Ben Geraghty - his former mentor and manager. I'd gotten the script in shape. I'd met someone long ago (a scout for the Atlanta Braves) who offered to connect me to him when I was ready. I was ready. In the fall of 2020, I knew I was finally ready to try to talk to the great Henry Aaron, and just let him know what I was doing, in honor of his old manager Ben Geraghty.

And then the great Henry Aaron passed away.

People around the country, and the world, mourned. I mourned. Hearts broke. My heart broke.

He was a great player, and an even greater man. 

First Bernie Gerl. Then Tommy Lasorda. Then Henry Aaron.

Here's to hoping these baseball men are playing a pick-up game in the heavens right now.

Henry Aaron in 1953, with the Jacksonville, Florida team, and with manager Ben Geraghty

(photo courtesy of the Jacksonville Jumbo Shrimp)

Preparing to bat for the Braves

Accepting the Presidential Medal of Freedom - and signing a baseball for a fan

(baseball signing photo credit to Arturo Pardavila III)

photo credit:  Wally Gobetz