THE Yankees’ charter touched down at Newark Airport in the predawn darkness of October 10, 1977. Five thousand fans were waiting for it. The Port Authority had called in reinforcements from the Newark Police Department, but the extra twenty officers who had been dispatched to help contain the crowd made little difference. When the DC-8 taxied to a stop at 4:19 a.m., the mob broke through the barricades and charged it.
Martin was the first to disembark. He descended the ramp, which was swarming with drunk fans, to chants of “We love Billy!” Martin’s stature, never in doubt, was now more exalted than ever. “If our planners and politicians had brass and brains like Billy the Kid, we would be living in Fat City instead of Tap City;” wrote Daily News political columnist William Reel. “Martin for Mayor!” Yankees’ fans couldn’t keep their hands off him. Pushing through the surging crowd, Martin had his pocket ripped from his pants, a chain torn from around his neck, and a shoulder bag looted.
Reggie poked his head out of the plane and promptly ducked back in. He emerged a few minutes later and pressed on through the
swirling masses, spilling a drink on himself as he made his way toward the team bus. By now the fans had spotted the “N.Y. Yankees” lettering above the windshield and had swarmed it as well. The roof of the bus buckled beneath the weight of unsteady bodies.