Stan Musial: What a man he was!

A historic era in American sports ended last Saturday, Jan. 19. Virtually the last survivor of the great major league baseball players of the 1940s and ’50s, Stanley Frank “Stan the Man” Musial, died at his Missouri home, peacefully, surrounded by family members, at age 92.

Stan the Man was a great athlete (seven National League batting titles, three-time Most Valuable Player, key player in three St. Louis Cardinals world championships), of whom one could truly say, “Never was heard a discouraging word.”

Which means, in this scandal-obsessed age, he would have been considered “boring.” He married his high school sweetheart when both were 20 years old, in 1940, and they stayed happily married until her death, almost 72 years later. They raised four children, none of whom, as far as I’ve ever heard, did anything to bring unfavorable attention to their parents. Nowadays, celebrities feel like they’ve failed if they don’t go through marital partners almost as often as they change their socks. That is, if they even bother to MARRY their partners. As to children, they’re often more likely to go to Africa and adopt a black baby, to show how “compassionate” and “inclusive” they are,  than to have any kids of their own.

As compared to athletes in this era of performance-enhancing (and illegal) drugs routinely taken (and they often get caught, and disgraced, later), children fathered out of wedlock, and arrogant, “in your face” behavior, no breath of scandal ever touched Stan the Man. He was of an equitable temperament, playing in 3,026 games in his career and never once being ejected for any reason. His teammates loved him; his opponents liked and respected him.

Stan Musial played his first game with the Cardinals on Sept. 17, 1941, and the final one on Sept. 29, 1963. Almost exactly 22 years, liking less than two weeks. He missed the 1945 season because he had enlisted in the U.S. armed forces in January of that year, in the final months of World War II. Had he not missed that season, his career stats would have been even more impressive.

His best year as a hitter was 1948, when he won the batting crown with a .376 average; hit 39 home runs, one short of giving him the triple crown; scored 135 runs, and batted in 131, on 230 hits, including 46 doubles, and 18 triples, all tops in the National League that year. His slugging percentage was an awesome .702 that year. He was chosen league MVP in 1943, just his second full season; 1946, his first year back from the military; and 1948.

Besides the nearly-perfect 22 years dividing his debut and his farewell game, there were other, oddly symmetrical things about his statistics. For one, of his 3,630 career hits (second only to Ty Cobb’s 4,191 for many years), 1,815 came at the Cardinals’ Busch Stadium, and 1,815 on the road — an exact 50-50 split. For another, in his career he batted in 1,951 runs — and scored 1,949 himself. Almost an even split there, too. Stan was a man of consistency. Home or on the road, he could hit anywhere.

And when Musial got his last hit — a run-scoring single against the Cincinnati Reds on Sept. 29, 1963 — the ball whizzed past a rookie second baseman whose hustle didn’t quite get him to the ball in time. His name? Pete Rose — who would, many years later, tie, then pass, Musial’s National League record for hits, then finally out-do even the immortal Cobb.

When he retired, Musial held or shared 55 baseball batting records. And he played in 24 All-Star games — yes, 24 in 22 seasons. You see, for a few years, major league baseball held two All-Star games per season.

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Stanislaw Franciszek Musial was born in Donora, Pennsylvania, on Nov. 21, 1920, of Polish-Czech ancestry. His father, an immigrant from Poland, always called him by a nickname which became anglicized to “Stosh,” which close friends and family from his childhood called him even after he was “Stan the Man” to the whole world. When Musial started school, his name was officially Americanized to Stanley Frank Musial — and two generations of sportswriters, had they known, would have heaved a sigh of relief.

Stan Musial played baseball in high school, showing great skill — as a left-handed pitcher. He was signed by the St. Louis Cardinals’ organization in 1938, playing some minor league ball. But one day he injured his left arm in a fall, jeopardizing his career. So his manager decided to convert him into an outfielder. What a fateful decision! We’ll never know what kind of major league pitcher he’d have been — although we can guess, an outstanding one. What a fateful fall!

Musial got his nickname during a game with the Dodgers in Brooklyn early in the 1940s. After he gave the Bums’ pitchers fits in several at bats, a portion of the Brooklyn crowd could be heard murmuring a phrase each time he went to the plate. A sportswriter from St. Louis who was in attendance asked a counterpart from Brooklyn, “What are they saying?” The Brooklynite replied, ” ‘Here comes The Man again.’ ”

Not “THAT man.” “THE man.” The St. Louis sportswriter, sensing a great hook for his story about the Cards putting it on the Dodgers on their home field, reported the phrase in his story on that day’s game. The nickname, with its alliteration and its implication that Stan was “THE Man,” a baseball adult among boys, immediately took hold with the Redbirds’ fans, then the baseball world as a whole. An immortal, affectionate moniker was born.

“The Man” used an unorthodox, left-handed stance at the plate: Legs and knees close together, bat cocked near his left ear. Then when the ball was delivered, Musial would unwind like a coiled spring: BAM!

Once asked to analyze his batting success, Musial said: “I would memorize the speeds at which every pitcher in the league threw his fastball, curve and slider. Then, when they let go with a pitch, after the first 30 or 40 feet I could judge which way the ball was going to break as it got near the plate.”

The Man gave these pieces of advice about how to be a successful athlete — as well as for longevity in life: “Get eight hours of sleep regularly. Keep your weight down. Run a mile a day. If you must smoke, try light cigars — less inhaling.” He was also quoted on another occasion: “Get up from the table when you’re still a little bit hungry.” At six feet tall, he maintained a steady 175 pounds all through his career.

Musial was as popular with his fellow players as he was with his fans. In the late 1940s when major league baseball became integrated with the signing of Jackie Robinson to the Dodgers, then other black players including some with the Cardinals, Stan the Man went out of his way to welcome them to the team and the league, helping ease the transition of the game to one more representative of all Americans.

He was a big favorite of fans, too, especially children. His friend, Hollywood star John Wayne, once suggested something that Musial began doing and which became popular with the small fry: He carried autographed baseball cards of himself around, handing them out to fans when they greeted him. An amateur magician, he would do sleight-of-hand tricks for his child fans, and with a little encouragement would whip out his harmonica and play various tunes for them, of which his favorite was “The Wabash Cannonball.”

In Musial’s day, major league baseball stopped its westward march at St. Louis, and the many radio stations in the Missouri area carried Cards’ games all over the Midwest, spreading Musial’s fame. Former president Bill Clinton has recalled doing his homework as a child at his home in Arkansas while listening to Cardinals’ games on the radio at his elbow.

After his retirement, Musial continued with his successful life for nearly 50 more years. He was a director of the St. Louis-based Southwest Bank; did well in the restaurant and bowling alley businesses; and sold his own baseball souveniers.

Musial also was active in charitable and civic causes. In February 2011, he went to the White House in Washington, D.C., where he was awarded the Presidential Medal of Freedom by President Obama. It’s the highest U.S. civilian honor.

But it was probably an honor in 1969 that gave Musial his biggest thrill. He was voted into the Baseball Hall of Fame at Cooperstown, NY, the first year he was eligible.

“It was … a dream come true,” he said at the time. “I always wanted to be a ballplayer.”

Stan Musial wasn’t a ballplayer; he was the ballplayer.