A Brief Encounter with Whitey: Connie Mack Stadium 1957

I was never much of an autograph hound. Never lined the fence at the ballpark with the other kids before a game with pen and program outstretched hoping to attract a ball player's attention.  Never went down to the bullpen to shout at a player to toss me a ball. Never went to see ballplayers at their personal appearances or winter caravans. It wasn't my thing. I didn't want to bother the players. For that reason, I never had a close encounter with a professional ballplayer of any stripe, until one drizzly, soggy day at Connie Mack Stadium.

Even though I was a huge Phillies fan and lived about 25 miles from that ballpark at 21st and Lehigh, and even though my grandparents lived in Juniata Park about four miles from the park, I only got to two or three games a season. My dad worked a lot and money was tight. But June 8, 1957, the day after my 10th birthday, was one of those days I got to go to the game. It was Keystone School Safety Day and if you were a school safety you got in free and I was a safety at school and so there I was with about 8,000 other kids to see the game.

We took a school bus down to the game and were chaperoned by teachers and parents. My dad was among them. I had my glove with me just in case a foul ball came my way. I was nervous that the rain might lead to a postponed game. We were seated high up in the lower grandstands behind those annoying pillars at old Connie Mack. The stands provided some protection from the occasional light rain that was falling and, of course, a slightly obstructed view of the field.

As we got into our seats, I looked out on the field, which gleamed the bright spectacular green of moist grass. The sky was ominously gray. Another ominous scene was the sight of the umpires and Phillies manager, Mayo Smith and Cubs manager, Bob Scheffing, walking around inspecting the field. The PA announcer proclaimed, "Ladies and Gentleman, this game will be delayed 1/2 hour due to the wet grounds." A collective groan went up, but I was pleased. At least it looked like there was a chance they might  play. 

With the rain falling steadily now, the good seats close to the field were practically empty as fans sought shelter. I asked my dad if I could go down closer to the field. He said, "OK, but be careful and don't bother anybody." A couple of other safeties and I hustled down the steps to the chain link gate on the right hand side of the first base dugout (the Phillies dugout) to see what we could see. No matter how far we leaned over, we could not see into the dugout, but I did notice that the field was a different shape than I expected. Instead of being flat, it was rounded, higher in the center of the field and slopping toward the foul lines. My dad later explained this "turtle back" shape was to help the field drain after a rain.

Just then a  Phillies player hopped out of the dugout and came over to open the gate where I was standing. He raised the latch and, as I stood wide mouthed and motionless, he said, "Excuse me, son." and opened the gate toward me. I knew immediately it was Richie Ashburn. Even though baseball wasn't on tv as much those days, my baseball card collection contained several images of him form over the years. He looked much bigger to the ten-year-old me than his baseball card statistics would indicate, 5'10" and 170 pounds. He looked broad, even husky. Definitely a man among those boys at the fence.

I shuffled back a little and Ashburn came through the gate. He didn't smile. He didn't look up. He just dipped his shoulder in that characteristic way of his (which you can see immortalized in his statue in Ashburn Alley at Citizens Bank Park), and bolted up the steps to the concourse above, his spikes click-clacking on the concrete as he went. As he moved away from me, I noted how white his uniform looked and how marvelous that big red number 1 looked on his back.

At about that moment, the PA system crackled to life again and the announcer intoned, "Ladies and Gentleman, today's game between the Phillies and Cubs has been postponed due to wet grounds. Please hold on to your rain checks, which will be honored at a later game." That was it. All the kids around me groaned. I trudged back up the steps, slump shouldered,, where my dad greeted me with, "I'm sorry son."

I blurted, "Dad, did you see that. That was Richie Ashburn. He walked right by me and he talked to me and he was right there, like I could have touched him." 

"I saw that. Good for you. We better be getting out there to the bus. Maybe we can get to a game later this year." 

"Yeah, OK, dad."

In 1957, the Phillies teased their fans with an early run at the pennant. In fact on that June 8th day when I "met" Richie Ashburn, the Phillies were in third place just one game behind the league leading Cincinnati Reds, and had won nine of their last 12 games. By mid-July the Phillies were tied for first place. It all turned out to be a mirage, however, as their hitting faltered down the stretch. They finished the season in fifth place, 18 games behind the pennant winning Milwaukee Braves. 

Ashburn had a good, but not great year. His average dipped to .297, the first time in 5 years he had hit below .300, but he did lead the league in walks with 94 and collected more than 500 putouts in the outfield for the fifth time in his career.

It was a brief encounter for sure, but to this 10-year-old it was a memorable one and remains the closest I have ever gotten to a future Hall of Famer.