Chapter 5

Changing of the Guard

GIVEN THE CLUB’S SUCCESS IN 1971, few moves of any significance were made prior to the 1972 season. One major change did occur, however, as Murtaugh chose to step down as the team’s manager. Speculation that Murtaugh would retire had surfaced periodically during the ’71 campaign, particularly when he had to miss a stretch of 16 games due to health problems, and similar talk could be heard during the World Series against Baltimore. Pirates superscout Howie Haak told the media he had a hunch that Murtaugh would quit if the Bucs won the series. “Murtaugh’s a guy who likes to win and he wants to go out while he’s on top,” Haak said while the Pirates held a 3–2 series edge. “What better time would there be than this year?”¹ Murtaugh at the time remained noncommittal, saying only that his family would sit down and discuss his future after the season was over. But on November 23, Murtaugh did indeed retire and Bill Virdon, who had patrolled center field for the 1960 World Series champion Pirates and had served as a coach under Murtaugh, was named to take over as manager. Virdon felt he was ready—in fact, he felt he was ready years earlier, even before he did a two-year minor league managerial stint in the New York Mets’ system. “I think I can manage,” he told the media at a press conference announcing his hiring and Murtaugh’s retiring. “Time may prove otherwise.”² Virdon did not lack confidence in his team, either. “We have a good ballclub,” he said. “There’s no reason why we shouldn’t keep on winning.”³

And win they did in ’72, despite injuries that slowed both Clemente and Stargell, who had undergone off-season knee surgery. The Pirates started slowly and found themselves in sixth place in May. But the club latched onto first place for good on June 18 and posted an overall mark of 96–59, good for an 11-game margin over second-place Chicago. The regular season was highlighted by a piece of history that occurred on September 30, when Clemente became the 11th player in major league history to collect 3,000 career hits with a double off the Mets’ Jon Matlack in the Great One’s final regular-season at-bat. No one knew at the time, but it also would prove to be his last at-bat in the big leagues.

Stargell enjoyed another outstanding season—not as robust as the previous year but still worthy of MVP consideration, as he finished third in the balloting behind winner Johnny Bench and runner-up Billy Williams of the Cubs. Playing mostly first base—in part to rest his sore knees and in part to bail out the slumping Robertson, who hit only .193—Stargell batted .293 with 33 home runs and 112 RBIs, scored 75 runs and banged out 28 doubles in 495 at-bats over 138 games. He posed no problems for his new manager, even though he was one of Murtaugh’s biggest boosters. “If you wanted him to do something, he’d do it,” Virdon said of Stargell. “He loved to hit. He played mostly first base that year and I might have had to push him a little bit defensively to make him work, but he didn’t mind it. He didn’t resent it. He did what you wanted him to do. He wasn’t a militant. He always had a good frame of mind—he was always smiling and keeping everybody loose, encouraging people. He was a good person and he knew how to operate in the clubhouse. He just loved it.”⁴

Virdon’s first year at the helm was like a dream, at least in the regular season. “It was the easiest team to manage,” he said of the ’72 club. “When I went to the ballpark, I knew we were going to get six runs—and I had pretty good pitching, too.” Stargell had plenty of help at the plate. Clemente had somewhat of an off-season but still hit .312 with 10 homers and 60 RBIs in 102 games. Oliver continued to excel, batting .312 with 12 homers and 89 RBIs, while Hebner batted an even .300 with 19 homers and 72 RBIs. And that wasn’t all—catcher Sanguillen drove in 71 runs and hit .298, while Clines excelled as a fourth outfielder, hitting at a .334 clip in 107 games. Stennett, the young second baseman, also contributed, hitting .286 in 109 games. On the mound, Blass enjoyed perhaps his finest season, going 19–8 with a 2.49 ERA, while Ellis won 15 games; Briles, 14; and Moose, 13. Giusti continued to loom large as the closer in the bullpen with a 1.93 ERA and 22 saves in 74⅔ innings, and Ramon Hernandez—Stargell’s former Grand Forks teammate from the 1960 Northern League campaign—was nearly as effective as Giusti, posting a 1.67 ERA and 14 saves in 70 innings.

For the second time in three seasons, the Pirates matched up with Bench, Perez, Rose and the rest of Cincinnati’s Big Red Machine in the National League Championship Series. But unlike 1970, the ’72 Reds featured a dynamic Hall-of-Famer in the making—Stargell’s old friend from the East Bay, Joe Morgan. Now in the prime of his career, Morgan scored a whopping 122 runs, smacked 16 homers, drove in 73 runs and stole 58 bases to go along with a .292 batting average. Gary Nolan anchored the pitching staff, winning 15 of 20 decisions with a 1.99 ERA.

The teams split the first four games in the NLCS, with each team winning once at the other’s home park. Blass and Hernandez combined to stifle the Reds in a 5–1 Game 1 win at home, but Cincinnati produced a four-spot in the first inning of Game 2 and went on to post a 5–3 win. Briles, Kison and Giusti limited the Reds to eight hits and two runs in a 3–2 Game 3 win at Cincinnati, but Morgan and Company evened things with a 7–1 pummeling of Ellis in Game 4, as the Pirates managed just two hits off Ross Grimsley. It all came down to a decisive Game 5 at Cincinnati’s Riverfront Stadium, and the Pirates scratched out a pair of runs off Don Gullett in the second to take a 2–0 lead. Hebner doubled in one run and Cash singled in another. The Reds scored once in the third off Blass on Rose’s RBI double, but the Pirates answered in the fourth on consecutive singles by Sanguillen, Hebner and Cash. The Reds managed another run off Blass in the fifth, but the Pirates maintained their 3–2 lead into the bottom of the ninth. Giusti came on in relief of Hernandez, who had gotten the final two batters in the eighth after taking over for Blass. But Giusti could not make the lead stand up, as Bench deposited a palm ball into the right-field seats, and Perez and Denis Menke followed with consecutive singles. When Giusti went 2–0 on Cesar Geronimo, Virdon called on Moose to come on in relief and the right-hander retired the next two Reds to leave runners at first and third. But with Hal McRae at the plate, Moose uncorked a wild pitch in the dirt on a 1–1 delivery, allowing pinch-runner George Foster to score the game- and series-winning run.

Virdon, asked if he regretted calling on Giusti to start the ninth, would have none of that. “I thought Giusti had good stuff,” Virdon said. “Bench got a pitch that was up and hit it out. That upset him. Then he tried to rush and he was a little wild. I had to get a strike-thrower in there. But Dave Giusti doesn’t have anything to apologize for.”⁵

Momentarily lost in the gloom was yet another subpar NLCS performance by Stargell, who went 1-for-16 in the five-game set with the Reds. When coupled with his performance in the previous year’s playoffs against the San Francisco Giants, Stargell was in a 1-for-30 funk in NLCS play. The Pittsburgh media did not jump on him, however, after his most recent tailspin. “Willie Stargell asks no pity for his 1-for-16 playoff bat,” the Post-Gazette’s Feeney wrote on October 12. “Willie Stargell hurts inside today. He hurts because he wanted desperately to help carry the Bucs all the way. It wasn’t to be. Maybe next year.... Willie’s long ball was missing, but it was not a one-man loss to the Reds. Pittsburgh, as a team, won a world championship last year. This year, the team didn’t make it.”⁶

Indeed, Stargell wasn’t the only one who failed to deliver at the plate. Oliver started strong but had only one hit in his last 13 NLCS at-bats. Hebner was 1-for-12 before getting two hits in his last game, and Alley did not have a hit in 16 plate appearances. The team had a .190 batting average for the five games.

Stargell, not surprisingly, didn’t have much to say afterward. “It’s tough right now,” he said softly to reporters. “Six months of planning and preparation and everything and it comes to this. Just like that, it’s over.” Clemente—who unbeknownst to him or anyone else had just played his final game in a Pirate uniform—tried to pick up the mood in the clubhouse. “Giusti! Damn you, Giusti,” he screamed at the veteran right-hander, who was sitting on the floor, his chin slumped against his chest. “Look straight ahead. Pick up your head. We don’t quit now. We go home and come back in February.”⁷

But Clemente would not come back in February. On New Year’s Eve, a four-engine DC-7 piston-powered plane that was carrying the 38-year-old outfielder and relief supplies from his native Puerto Rico to earthquake-stricken Nicaragua crashed shortly after takeoff from San Juan International Airport at 9:22 P.M. The plane, carrying a crew of three and one additional passenger, came down in the sea about a mile and a half from shore, and Clemente’s body never was found. Clemente, who was leading his nation’s efforts to aid the Nicaraguan quake victims, made the trip personally because he was concerned that supplies were falling into the wrong people’s hands in Nicaragua. Clemente’s efforts were not unnoticed, even before his fatal crash. A letter to the editor that appeared in the Post-Gazette on New Year’s Day—the day before the crash was reported—praised his efforts. “[A]mid this world of bombings, murders and overall destruction, it seems an anachronism to find a person such as Roberto Clemente, filled with pride, strength, determination and love. But Sr. Clemente could never be more right for his time. His is an example it would do us all good to follow,” wrote Trudy Labovitz of Pittsburgh.⁸

Clemente’s death stunned everyone connected with the Pirates. “He died caring,” GM Brown said. “I’m sorry about baseball last. The big thing is losing Roberto Clemente, the man.” Giusti couldn’t grasp the reality of the situation two days after the fact. “I’ve been around other superstars. I never saw any of them have as much compassion for his teammates like Clemente did. He would treat a rookie like he was Willie Stargell.” It wasn’t just his leadership that would be missed, though, as Virdon well knew. “When you think of baseball in Pittsburgh, you think of Clemente,” he said. “There’s no way to replace him. We will just fill the spot. He was the best I ever saw in my era.”⁹

When the Pirates reassembled the following February, Clemente’s loss became all too apparent. For his part, Stargell tried to step into the breach, accepting the offer to become team captain—an offer made by Murtaugh, who while no longer managing the club still remained involved as the team’s director of player acquisition and development. Stargell, concerned over the losses of Clemente and Mazeroski, tried to convey his own personal philosophy of remaining on an even keel—never getting too high or too low. It was the same approach he had learned from his stepfather, Percy Russell, while coming of age back in the projects of Alameda. “Roberto meant so much to the Pirates and made players like me feel so welcome,” Stargell would say years later. “He taught me what an important influence you can have on a team and in the clubhouse. It was a lesson I never forgot and tried to relate to young players on the team.”¹⁰

Kison, who missed much of the 1973 season while nursing a shoulder injury, said he appreciated Stargell’s efforts in the wake of Clemente’s death. “It was a sudden shock to the team and Willie took over in effect as the leader and stabilized the group. He had a calming influence on one and all. With his sense of humor and with his leadership characteristics, which included being a father influence to some and a brother influence to others, he just stabilized the situation. He had an uncanny way of verbalizing things, whether it was soothing someone or firing someone up. It was a gift. The man had huge shoulders and he took on the responsibility of a lot of things. He was a very stabilizing force both on and off the field.”¹¹

Stargell never proclaimed himself as the club’s leader. He didn’t have to, said Bob Smizik, a longtime Pittsburgh journalist who had the Pirates beat at the Pittsburgh Press from 1972 through 1977 and remains active today on the city’s sports scene, having crossed into the blogosphere several years ago. Smizik characterized the Pirates’ effort in 1973 as “heroic” and said Stargell did what he had to do. “He had to pick up the mantle for Clemente and he did,” he said. “I remember after Clemente died, Al Oliver saying he needed to step up and be a leader on the team. But Willie never said that; he never changed.”¹²

On the field, the Pirates sported a different look, with Sanguillen moving out from behind the plate to take over for his best friend Clemente in right field, backup Milt May stepping in for Sanguillen as catcher and Robertson reclaiming first base, a move that allowed Stargell—no longer worried about his knee—to return to left field. The moves did not pay off at the outset, as the club got off to a dreadful start, even falling into the NL East cellar for several days in late June. The team continued to scuffle but somehow remained in the thick of things into September despite Clemente’s absence and the bewildering loss of form by Blass, who went from a Cy Young-caliber starter to a 3–9 record and a mind-boggling 9.85 ERA in 23 appearances. He worked only 88⅔ innings and yielded 84 walks, hit 12 batters and threw nine wild pitches. It was then, with the Pirates 68–70 and trailing first-place St. Louis by three games in the NL East, that Brown lowered the boom on Virdon, firing him on September 6 and replacing him once again with his longtime friend and collaborator, Murtaugh. Brown wouldn’t elaborate on his reasons for the firing. “It’s enough of a blow to be relieved,” Brown said. “I don’t want to be specific. I don’t want to get into chapter and verse. It’s unfair and unreasonable. My criticisms are kept within me.” Virdon took his dismissal with his usual stoicism. “I did what I thought I had to do,” he said later. “It didn’t work out. But it’s only natural to be hurt.”¹³Some players were not pleased with the change; others were not unhappy. “I have no feeling,” Stargell said. “The shock hasn’t subsided yet.”¹⁴

The change energized the club, at least for a while, as it won seven of nine and reclaimed first place by mid–September. But the Bucs faltered down the stretch and finished 80–82, in third place behind the division champion Mets and runner-up St. Louis. The lackluster mark, particularly coming off a championship-caliber performance the year before, was not a surprise, given the void left from Clemente’s death. “It was an emotional year, trying to get over the shock of losing one of your leaders, one of your teammates,” Kison said. “It was certainly not something you could prepare for.”¹⁵

Stargell certainly was not to blame for the Bucs’ downturn, as he had one of his best seasons, crushing 44 home runs and driving in 119 runs while batting .299. He appeared in 148 games—the most in his 21-year career—and posted career highs in runs (106), doubles (43), slugging percentage (.646) and on-base-plus-slugging (1.038). His herculean homers also came, including a 468-foot upper-deck bolt off Gary Gentry on May 31 at Three Rivers Stadium and a shot on May 8 that cleared the right-field pavilion at Dodger Stadium, the second time he had hit one out of that particular park.

Stargell was a master at work, and all who watched recognized it as such. “He was one of the smartest hitters I’ve ever been around,” Bartirome said. “He would set pitchers up. I used to call him on it. He’d swing and miss in the first inning if nobody was on. The pitcher would throw a curve or a slider, or whatever pitch was the best that pitcher had. He’d swing and miss by a foot. He’d turn and ask the catcher, ‘What was that pitch?’ I’d never seen anything like it. Then in the eighth, if we were behind with a couple of guys on, he’d know that pitch was gonna come.”¹⁶

Oliver related nearly an identical observation. “He was one of the few hitters I knew who could go to the plate and on occasion look for certain pitches in key situations. It might be a pitch you got him out with in the first inning, but in the eighth or ninth inning, you couldn’t get him out. He looked for it, and if he got it, he didn’t miss it. Lots of guys look for pitches and get them and then not capitalize on them. He could do it. He just knew how guys were going to pitch him in certain situations. Most of the time in key situations, he outsmarted them.”¹⁷

Willie unleashes his mighty swing, the one that propelled 475 balls beyond outfield walls throughout the major leagues and made him one of the game’s all-time great sluggers (courtesy Pittsburgh Pirates).

Stargell was miles removed from the days of being platooned against left-handed pitching, as all the hard work he had put in over the years had finally paid off. The left-handed Veale recalled the hours of time Stargell spent in batting practice, asking Veale to throw to him so he could get comfortable hitting against southpaws. “I would pitch him off-speed stuff just so he would get used to it,” Veale said. “We’d come out early and he’d hit a couple of bags of balls. I would tell him, ‘If I hit you, just chalk it up to on-the-job training.’ He got to the point where he wasn’t afraid to hang in there against left-handers. At that time, I could throw just about every day. So I’d throw to him for five or 10 minutes. I’d tell him that I was coming inside or going away or high and tight, just to let him get an idea what a fastball looked like coming out of my hand. Then I’d show him a few breaking balls, and move them around from one side of the plate to the other. I would try to explain to him that all he needed to do was keep his eyes on the ball from the time it leaves my hand to the destination of where he wanted to hit it. All he had to do was make solid contact. And if it got into his power zone, he would smash it. And it was gone.”¹⁸

Stargell’s home run, double and RBI totals led the National League that season. But once again, he came up short in a close vote for the Most Valuable Player award, this time finishing second to the Reds’ Rose, who hit .338 with 230 hits, 64 RBIs and 115 runs scored. Rose finished with 274 total points and 12 first-place votes to Stargell’s 250 points and 10 first-place votes. One voter—Bill Conlin of the Philadelphia Daily News—ranked Stargell eighth although he said later he had done so mistakenly and had meant to vote Stargell second behind Rose.¹⁹

Stargell said he felt like the ’73 season was his best, but he added, “I knew when the season was over that I wasn’t gonna win it. There’s a lot of things that can be said, but it’s nothing but talk, nothing ever comes out of it. Awards are fine, but if it’s done on a political basis, I don’t want any part of it. I don’t know what goes into it. They should let the fans know just how does one player qualify as most valuable player?²⁰

Willie shows his appreciation to the crowd as he jogs out onto the Three Rivers Stadium turf to take his defensive position (courtesy Pittsburgh Pirates).

Despite his MVP-worthy numbers, Stargell might have done some of his best work off the field that year, filling the leadership void created by Clemente’s death and helping Blass to maintain some semblance of order in a life that had spun out of control—literally. “When I was going through all my crap, all of the players stood tall for me,” Blass said. “But I don’t know if anyone stood taller than Willie.”²¹

The Pirates’ sub-par season prompted a number of changes for 1974. Brown dealt catcher May to Houston for pitcher Jerry Reuss—who would go on to win a team-leading 16 games and complete 14 of his 35 starts—shuttled second-baseman Cash to Philadelphia for pitcher Ken Brett and swapped Briles to Kansas City for utilitymen Kurt Bevacqua and Ed Kirkpatrick. Stennett, who broke out with 10 homers and 55 RBIs the previous season, was tabbed as Cash’s replacement at second. Alley retired, opening the door for a pair of young shortstops—Frank Taveras and Mario Mendoza. Blass somehow made the club even though in one spring training appearance against the Cardinals he walked or hit seven straight batters of the 11 he faced in the first inning and he walked 25 in his first 14 Grapefruit League innings. But he would not be around for long.

The myriad changes didn’t seem to do much good, at least in the early going. Two months into the season, the Pirates were 14 games under .500 at 18–32 and in last place in the NL East. And things didn’t improve all that quickly; by July 15, the club was still struggling at 39–49. But an eight-game win streak got things moving in the right direction, and in the waning days of August, the club won eight of nine to head into September with a 70–62 mark before winning 18 of its final 29 to finish 88–74 and claim the franchise’s fourth division title in five years. Stargell more then held up his end of the offensive attack, collecting 153 hits in 140 games, scoring 90 runs, bashing 25 homers and driving in 96 runs while hitting .301. He got a major hand from young outfielder Richie Zisk, who ripped 17 homers and drove in 100 runs to go with a .313 batting average. But it was another young outfielder who served notice that he was the one to watch. His numbers were hardly spectacular—he hit .282 in 220 at-bats with four home runs and 29 RBIs, which came on the heels of a .288 effort in 139 at-bats in 1973—but it wouldn’t be long before Dave Parker would become a major force with the Pirates and one of the major leagues’ most talented players.

While Parker was getting comfortable with life in the big leagues, Stargell and his Pirate teammates said goodbye to a onetime mainstay whose sudden and inexplicable slide confounded teammates, fans and virtually everyone connected to baseball. Blass—who won 78 games over a five-year stretch that culminated in a 19–8 mark and a glittering 2.49 ERA in 1972—made his final regular-season appearance in a big-league uniform in 1974. It came on April 17 against the Cubs in Chicago. The loquacious right-hander, whose wit and humor delighted teammates, fans and media members alike, came on to start the fourth inning of a game in which the Pirates trailed 10–4, and he proceeded to give up five runs in the fourth, two in the sixth and one more in the eighth. In addition to the eight runs, five of which were earned, Blass surrendered five hits—two of which left the park—and walked seven while striking out two in five innings of work. Blass wouldn’t quit, though, taking an assignment with the Pirates’ Triple-A franchise in Charleston, West Virginia. But things didn’t get much better there; in 17 starts he fashioned a 2–8 record with a 9.74 ERA, walking 103 batters in 61 innings and nearly hitting as many men (16) as he struck out (26).

Blass’s struggles were not the only odd development of the ’74 season. In August, word leaked about the pending release of a book ostensibly about Stargell titled Out of Left Field, which was written by Bob Adelman and Susan Hall and was scheduled for publication by Little, Brown and Co. later that month. In a letter written in March, 1973, to David Litman—Stargell’s agent—Hall said she and Adelman were interested in Stargell “as a successful black man who has worked to earn distinction, and who, in turn, contributes to the success of his team and to aid those people who’ve helped him on the way up—he pays his dues.”²²

But the book—researched during the challenging 1973 season—was reputed to contain intimate conversations and details of activities that did not put Stargell or some of his teammates in a favorable light. “This book is not the kind I expected,” he said. Jerry McCauley, a New York literary agent who represented Adelman and Hall at the time they were writing the book, called it “a gossip tale, an outrageous breach of confidence, a lousy way to sell a book.” Adelman defended the work, saying he was surprised at Stargell’s reaction. “I thought Willie would love the book. It was understood that the book would be candid, spontaneous and controversial. It was to be an unvarnished account. But I don’t think it hurts Willie at all. We tried to be fair and sensitive.”²³ The Pirates did not want the book published. Hall’s attorney, David Blasband, sent a telegram to the Pirate offices that said the club had “intentionally and maliciously interfered with Susan Hall’s contractual relations with her publisher and have caused substantial damage to her and her reputation.”²⁴ Blasband threatened legal action unless arrangements were made to correct the situation. Ultimately, at the end of August, Hall did file a federal lawsuit. In the wake of the controversy, Little, Brown and Co. canceled the book’s publication. But it did not go away—it would resurface two years later with a different publisher.

The Bucs, who clinched the ’74 NL East crown on the same day that the Cleveland Indians made history by naming Frank Robinson as the major leagues’ first black manager, edged the second-place Cardinals by a game and a half. That put the Pirates on a collision course with the Los Angeles Dodgers in the NLCS. The Dodgers put together a 102–60 mark, besting the second-place Reds by four games. And they kept rolling in the playoffs, polishing off the Pirates in four games. Right-hander Don Sutton did the bulk of the damage, shutting out the Pirates on four hits in the opener and then limiting the Bucs to three hits in a 12–1 series clincher in Game 4. Pittsburgh’s only win came on a solid outing from Kison in a 7–0 victory in Game 3. Unlike his previous two playoff series, Stargell performed well, collecting at least one hit in each game and going 6-for-15 overall. He also ended a streak of 73 at-bats in the playoffs without a home run, crushing a three-run shot in Game 3 that gave him and his teammates hope, at least for a while. “Willie can inspire a team without opening his mouth,” Zisk said after the game. “When he hit that home run it showed me what a little aggressiveness can do. If we’re going to go down, let’s go down swinging.”²⁵The hope was short-lived, however; while Stargell homered again off Sutton in Game 4, that was the only run the Pirates could muster.

Stargell returned for yet another go in 1975 and most of his teammates did likewise as the Pirates made few changes prior to the season. One note of finality sounded, as in late March the club requested waivers on Blass, who had spent most of the previous year in the minors trying to regain the form that had made him one of baseball’s top right-handed starters earlier in the decade. One other transaction—the acquisition of outfielder Bill Robinson from the Phillies—certainly helped the club but would pay even bigger dividends a few years down the road. But perhaps the most noteworthy development that occurred in 1975 was the full-scale arrival of Parker, who surpassed Stargell in both batting average and power numbers as the Pirates rolled to their fifth NL East title in six seasons, putting together a 92–69 record to outdistance the second-place Phillies by 6½ games. Off the field and inside the clubhouse, things remained pretty much the same as they had been throughout the ’70s—a rollicking conglomeration of all-inclusive, equal-opportunity cut-ups. With Clemente gone three years now, Stargell—now entrenched at first base, where he had played for the second half of 1972 before being moved back to left field at the start of the ’73 season—was the undeniable team leader. Not because he chose to be, but because the role simply came to him. “Leadership is something that just evolves when you get a group of players together in a clubhouse,” said Reuss, who in his second year with the Pirates in ’75 again led the team with 18 wins and had a stellar 2.54 ERA. “Willie didn’t try to hide any problems—instead what he did was accent them. When I was there, all the white players were on one side of the clubhouse and then there was the door. And then there was what Willie called the Ghetto, and then Spanish Harlem. He had fun with it. If you’d come over to talk to him, he’d say, ‘What are you doing over here—you know better than to come over here.’ Or if he came over, he’d say, ‘I just want to smell the air there. It’s so much cleaner than in the Ghetto.’ He knew it was this way in society. So rather than try to hide it, he’d call it what it was and try to have some fun with it. In some cases, for the guys who were uptight, it loosened them up. You could pretty much say whatever you wanted. If you said those things today, it would be on YouTube and you’d sound as if you were the most incredible racist or bigot. But in the clubhouse, in those days, it was OK—it was accepted. And guys just laughed about it. What it did was allow guys from different cultures and ages and parts of the country a chance to come together and say, ‘This is common ground—bring these things up and talk about them; whether you want to be serious or laugh about it, we’ll get past it. Willie was the one who invited everyone to be that way. It allowed everyone to go out and play the kind of game they were capable of playing. I was there for five years and every year I was there, we were in the hunt. And Willie played a big part in that.”²⁶

Reuss played for eight clubs during a 22-year career and said it wasn’t that way in every clubhouse. “Each club has its own distinctive personality and is driven by the strongest personality in the clubhouse,” Reuss said. “Murtaugh refused to be bigger than the players. He had certain players and he’d say, ‘I want you to take care of it. And you do it your own way.’ And Willie did. Those clubs I played on had Willie’s stamp. He made the clubhouse his own and not because of his ego, but to bring people together first, to allow people to be comfortable in a situation where you have 25 different people of different ages, different backgrounds and different places. As a person, rather than a player, he wanted everyone to be comfortable. This was everyone’s home to share and he wanted everyone to be as comfortable as if it was someone’s home. And he knew that would help them be comfortable and produce. That’s one reason why the Pirates had so much success. I don’t think it was a coincidence at all. That’s how he made the Pirates his own, just like Clemente made the Pirates his while he was there.”

Reuss remembers the prankster side of Stargell as well. In 1977, when Reuss notched his 1,000th career strikeout in a game against the Cubs, the victim was Clines, the former Pirate who grew up watching Stargell in the Bay Area. The next day, Clines received a baseball with a note that read, “Gene, this was my 1,000th strikeout. Would you please sign it?” A little while later, Reuss received a baseball that was signed, “____ you, Gene Clines.” Reuss had no idea what was going on, so he went over to find Clines and ask him about it. “You didn’t send me the ball?” Clines asked Reuss, who told him he had done no such thing. “Then the same thought came to both of us simultaneously—Stargell,” Reuss told Mike Littwin of the Los Angeles Times.²⁷

In 1975, Stargell remained a formidable offensive force, pounding out 22 home runs, driving in 90 and hitting .295 despite missing 18 games with a broken rib. He said later that although he felt he should have been considered for the MVP award, he knew he wasn’t the favorite—that tag belonged to Stargell’s old East Bay buddy Morgan, who hit .327 with 17 home runs, 67 stolen bases and 94 RBIs. Before the MVP voting that year, Stargell—disgruntled over failing to win the award in 1971 and 1973—said he would not accept it even if the voters chose him.

Even on his own team, Stargell was surpassed—at least statistically—by the brash young Parker, who belted 25 homers, collected 101 RBIs and batted .308, second on the team only to Sanguillen, who finished at .328. Parker and Stargell had crossed paths years before, in ’71, when Parker had made his first visit to spring training with the Pittsburgh organization, just a year removed from high school. “He was impressed with my ability—he told me that,” Parker recalled. “My first year in the majors was ’73, but I should have been in the big leagues in ’71. But look at what I had in front of me—Clemente, Oliver, Stargell and then you had Dave Arrington, Zisk, Gene Clines.”²⁸ Stargell told Parker about the importance of keeping an even keel, and he didn’t just talk the talk. He lived it. “I’d watch him go to the plate and strike out nine out of 10 at-bats and he’d never change his demeanor,” Parker said. “He never threw his helmet, never threw a bat.”

But Stargell’s even-keeled philosophy didn’t resonate so much with the huge left-handed hitter, who had picked up the nickname “Cobra” from Bartirome, the Pirates’ trainer. “He wouldn’t get too high or too low and that worked for him,” Parker said. “But I needed to verbalize. I was a hard-nosed, very physical player and I would express my feelings right away. Willie was one who held his in. What worked for me was putting myself on the line. I would tell people before the season started that I would win the batting title. I’d say, ‘When the leaves turn brown, I’ll be wearing the batting crown.’ By putting myself on the line, I had to live up to it. Being aggressive and carrying that aggression out onto the field helped me as a player. It’s whatever works for you.”

Parker’s aggression helped the Bucs enjoy a solid regular season, particularly in the first half when they put together a 55–33 mark. The club took possession of first place for good on June 7, but went just 37–36 after the All-Star break and by mid–August the Phillies had clawed their way into a tie for first base. But by September 8, the Bucs had rebuilt their lead to 6½ games and they were never truly challenged down the stretch. However, the same couldn’t be said for the post-season, as the NLCS proved a rocky road once again. This time, the Pirates met their old nemesis, Cincinnati, and the results were eerily similar to their first NLCS battle, back in 1970. Again, the Reds swept the series in three games, winning 8–3, 6–1 and 5–3. Stargell reverted back to his earlier form, going just 2-for-11 and failing to drive in a single run.

He was not alone; the club hit just .194 in the three games, going a collective 25-for-129. “We knew about their hitting and speed and defense,” Murtaugh said of the Reds after the clincher. “But we didn’t think their pitching would be strong enough to hold us. They just stopped our bats.” Stargell remained dignified in defeat, despite yet another post-season cold spell. “I’ll tell you one thing,” he told the media later. “I’ll take my chances with these 25 guys again next year.”²⁹

But a few of those 25 would be somewhere other than Bradenton, Florida, when the Pirates gathered for spring training in 1976. During the off-season, Brown sent Brett, Ellis and highly regarded minor-league second baseman Willie Randoph to the Yankees for pitcher George “Doc” Medich, who was expected to become the ace of the staff. He also shipped reserve infielder Art Howe—like Randolph, a future major league manager—to Houston for infielder Tommy Helms. Even those calling the action on the Pirates flagship radio station KDKA would be different, as the venerable Prince and his sidekick King were fired. Prince’s outrageous wardrobe and colorful use of the language had endeared him to generations of Pirate fans since his arrival in Pittsburgh in 1948. Hundreds of distraught callers supported Prince, who had offered to step down voluntarily if given the chance to work one more season. “It’s the first time I ever begged for anything,” he said later.³⁰ Stargell was taken aback by the firings of Prince and King, even participating in a parade in their honor. “That was an example of Willie’s caring attitude,” King said. “It didn’t surprise me, coming from him, and I certainly appreciated it.”³¹ The outpouring of support from players and fans had no bearing on KDKA’s decision to dismiss the two broadcasters. Prince moved on to a network position and then the Houston Astros and King landed a sports information position at Duquesne University. Meanwhile, new broadcasters came on board.

And on the field, the ’76 Bucs—sporting new black pillbox-type caps with gold stripes, in honor of the nation’s bicentennial celebration—continued to do what they had done most of the ’70s: hit and win. Parker’s power numbers dipped a bit, as he managed just 10 home runs, but he still knocked in 90 and hit a robust .313. Oliver hit for an even higher average—.323—while finishing with 12 homers and 61 RBIs, and Zisk tied Robinson for the club lead in homers with 21 while driving home 89 with a .289 average. Robinson, who managed to pile up 416 at-bats despite not having a regular starting position, also contributed 64 RBIs to go with his .303 average. On the mound, four of the five starters enjoyed outstanding seasons—young John Candelaria led the staff with 16 wins while fellow lefty Jim Rooker chalked up 15 and Kison and Reuss each won 14. None lost more than nine, and Reuss’ 3.53 ERA was the highest among the quartet. Only the newcomer Medich, who came from New York with great expectations, failed to deliver, as he went just 8–11.

Also failing to deliver, at least in the manner in which Pirate fans and team management had become accustomed, was Stargell. The big bopper did hit 20 home runs but drove in only 65—his lowest RBI total since his rookie year in 1963—while batting a subpar .257. But the slugger had good reason to struggle. On the night of May 26, Stargell’s wife, Dolores, began experiencing a pounding headache, and a short time later, the couple went to a nearby hospital, where Dolores suffered a stroke and a brain aneurism. She underwent surgery but was left partially paralyzed on her left side and was required to undergo extensive rehabilitation. The experience devastated both husband and wife; Dolores later said she believed it triggered the ultimate demise of their marriage. Stargell missed a number of games during Dolores’s illness, and after he returned to the lineup, he never found his customary groove. “The ’76 season was hell, capital H-E-L-L,” Stargell told Sports Illustrated writer Anthony Cotton three years later. “I couldn’t concentrate. I could only see Dolores with all this equipment strapped on her, and my mind drifted quite a bit.”³²

If Dolores’s medical issues were not enough of a weight to bear, Out of Left Field—the controversial book that raised eyebrows all over the baseball world before being pulled in 1974—was back and ready for distribution by Two Continents Publishing Group. The 223-page book consisted largely of transcribed conversations with Stargell, general manager Brown, Murtaugh, Virdon and several teammates, including Blass, Briles, Zisk and Ellis. It even featured Dolores Stargell and a self-proclaimed baseball groupie named “Gayle.” The book featured discussions about baseball—including an account of Stargell’s contract negotiations—but it was the sexual escapades and tales of drug usage that had the baseball world buzzing. A Two Continents Publishing Group press release characterized it as a “searing, startling, brutally honest book ... baseball as the powers would rather you didn’t know it, baseball as the fans couldn’t know it, baseball in its real glory, warts and all.”³³ Ellis, by this time, had moved on to the New York Yankees but his Pittsburgh-based attorney, Tom Reich, called the book “disgusting. The bottom line is that it makes me sick. It’s one of the most offensive things ever. Willie Stargell is one of the finest men and athletes in this town and he’s being victimized by this stuff.”³⁴

Dolores—known as Dee in the book—revealed that her famous husband would bring cards home from women who missed him “very much. Just funny little cards signed by women. Willie denies everything. As long as he denies it, that’s fine with me. It can never hurt me if I don’t know about it specifically.”³⁵

Despite the distractions Dolores’s illness posed, the publication of the controversial book and Stargell’s subpar individual effort, the Pirates went 92–70. But when post-season play began, they were on the outside looking in, as the Phillies claimed their first-ever NL East title. It didn’t come easy, though. After trailing by 15½ games on August 24, the Bucs made a late run and cut the margin to just three games on September 17. But they proceeded to lose their next three in a row and saw their deficit grow to 4½ games. It never got smaller and they wound up second, nine games back. The ’76 season would signal a major changing of the guard in the Pirate organization, as Brown stepped down as general manager on September 29 and Murtaugh retired just three days later, citing his health as a major factor. Brown, who was 58 and had been with the Pirates for 21 years, said he thought his departure might actually help the organization in some ways. “The nature of my position is that you leave a stamp on the team,” he told the media. “The people in Pittsburgh feel a certain way about the team, and it’s not all good. A change could be good. We’ve been doing it Brown’s way for 21 years. Maybe it’s time for new ideas, new thoughts.”³⁶

Harding “Pete” Peterson was named to replace Brown as general manager, and his first order of business was finding someone to succeed Murtaugh. Among the names that surfaced early was none other than Stargell; after all, he was universally respected, and another black player-manager had been hired recently in the Indians’ Frank Robinson. But Stargell dismissed such talk before it gained any momentum. “All I want to do is play,” he told the media on the same day he was named the recipient of the Catholic Youth Association’s second annual Art Rooney Award. “I have a few years left before I think about that.”³⁷ On November 5—the day before Stargell was to receive yet another award, this time the Brian Piccolo Award from the national YMCA in Seattle for “unselfish contributions to the betterment of man and community”—Peterson ended the speculation about who would manage the Bucs by “acquiring” Chuck Tanner from Oakland. Peterson had to send catcher Sanguillen and cash to the Oakland A’s for the rights to employ Tanner, a native of nearby New Castle who was coming home for his dream job. Tanner joked at his press conference that he had agreed to take the job only after Murtaugh took “an oath that he really retired.”³⁸ Sadly, a little more than three weeks later, Murtaugh suffered a stroke at the age of 59 and died two days later on December 2. That wasn’t the only death in the Pirate family that off-season, as the right-handed Moose died in a car accident on October 9—his 29th birthday—while headed to a dinner party that followed a golf outing near St. Clairsville, Ohio. “Here’s a young man in the prime of his life, alive and healthy one minute and not with us anymore the next,” a distraught Murtaugh said after hearing the news. “I can’t tell you how depressing that is.”³⁹

Peterson wasted no time in putting his stamp on the ballclub. In addition to bringing in a new manager, he dealt away a couple of backup infielders for reliever Grant Jackson, then shipped Zisk and pitcher Silvio Martinez to the White Sox for pitchers Rich Gossage and Terry Forster—both of whom Tanner had managed before. Then, in the middle of spring training in March 1977, Peterson sent Giusti, Medich and five prospects to the A’s for Phil Garner. The scrappy Garner had been playing second base in Oakland but was expected to take over at third for Hebner, who had played out his option and signed with Philadelphia.

The changes, coupled with Tanner’s natural and infectious enthusiasm, had players and fans alike keyed up for the ’77 campaign. The Bucs caught fire early, winning 16 of 17 before the season was a month old. By May 24, the team was 26–12 and in first place by 2½ games. But within a week, the Pirates had yielded the top spot to the defending division champion Phillies and, despite coming close during the dog days of August, never quite caught up to their cross-state rivals, finishing second, five games back. Still, the club put together an outstanding 96–66 record—the most wins since the ’71 championship team collected 97.

Perhaps the pivotal—and most memorable—game of that season occurred on July 8, when the Pirates roared back from a 7–3 deficit and a bench-clearing brawl to pull out an 8–7 win over the Phillies. With the Pirates leading 3–2, the Phillies’ Garry Maddox hit a two-run homer in the seventh to put his team ahead 4–3. Kison then hit Mike Schmidt with a pitch, prompting Schmidt to bark at Kison, who then challenged the Phillies’ slugger to back it up with some action. Schmidt obliged and headed to the mound, and a wild melee ensued, emptying both benches in the process. But the fireworks weren’t over. The Phillies scored three more runs off Kison and reliever Kent Tekulve in the eighth and led 7–3. But after Oliver led off the bottom of the inning with a double, Phillies reliever Tug McGraw hit Stargell in the back with a pitch, and that sent Stargell slowly toward the mound—with a bat in his hand. Again, both benches emptied and this time McGraw and Phillies manager Danny Ozark—both of whom had been warned after Kison had hit Schmidt—were tossed.

“It hurt,” Stargell said, when asked why he headed toward the mound. “Out of instinct I started out there. Then I realized I had a bat in my hand and I wasn’t going to start swinging a bat.” The Pirates, though, started swinging, rallying for four runs in the eighth to tie the game and then pushing home the deciding run in the bottom of the ninth on a four-pitch bases-loaded walk in one of the year’s most satisfying wins. “If the adrenalin on our bench were water,” said Oliver, “everybody in Pittsburgh would have drowned.”⁴⁰

Even after the win, the Bucs sat in third place, 8½ games out of the lead. But it sparked a run that saw them trim their deficit to a single game by August 6. That was as close as they got, though, as the Phillies held on, eventually finishing with a five-game margin over the Pirates. The Bucs made their run with virtually no help from their slugging first baseman, as an injured elbow incurred while trying to pull the Phillies’ Greg Luzinski out of a pile during the Kison–Schmidt brawl left Stargell unable to generate any power. So, after playing for another week, he was taken out of the lineup and relegated to a seat in the dugout, where his teammates ribbed him, calling him “Judge” for spending so much time on the bench. “I want to get back in there real bad,” said Stargell, by then the club’s all-time leading home-run hitter with 401, “but there’s nothing I can do until the numbness goes away.”⁴¹ The club placed him on the disabled list August 5 and he underwent surgery in September, his season cut short after just 63 games. Despite missing two weeks in mid–April and another week in early July, Stargell finished with 13 homers and 35 RBIs in 186 at-bats—roughly the equivalent of 40 homers and 105 RBIs over a full season—and a .274 batting average.

Some began to wonder if it was the beginning of the end of Stargell’s career. After all, he had come off his worst season in years in 1976 and followed it up with just a 63-game effort that was punctuated by a season-ending injury. And he was 37 years old—not exactly the age when ballplayers figured to resurrect their careers. Some even called for the gentle giant to step aside and make way for one of the younger prospects. But Tanner stood by his first baseman. “Nobody’s going to tell Willie Stargell when to quit!” Tanner said. “He’ll have a job as long as he wants one.”⁴²

While Stargell worked to rehab his surgically repaired elbow, Peterson was busy operating on his roster, trading the veteran Oliver to Texas as part of a four-team deal that brought pitcher Bert Blyleven—a future Hall of Famer—and outfielder John Milner to Pittsburgh, signing free-agent pitcher Jim Bibby and then reacquiring Sanguillen from Oakland.

The 1978 Pirates were counting on those new faces, along with a return to form from Stargell and second baseman Stennett—who suffered a broken leg the previous August—and more of the same from Parker, who had a monster year in 1977, leading the league with 215 hits and 44 doubles, pounding out 21 homers and driving in 88 runs while hitting .338. But Parker’s big bat and the new faces didn’t help the club get off on the right foot, as it was scuffling in mid–June with a 27–31 mark in fourth place, 6½ games back. By that time, Stargell had registered seven homers and 34 RBIs. Included during that run was a two-homer night on May 20 off Wayne Twitchell in Montreal, with one of them traveling 535 feet—among the longest Stargell ever hit and the longest ever hit in Olympic Stadium. “How can anybody hit a ball that far?” Tanner marveled afterward. Stargell was unfazed, noting that a couple of the balls he had hit into Three Rivers Stadium’s upper deck had traveled farther than the shot he hit off Twitchell.⁴³

Willie bundles up on a chilly day in Pittsburgh (courtesy Pittsburgh Pirates).

The club sustained a major loss at the end of June when Parker—trying to tag up and score the tying run in the bottom of the ninth inning against the visiting Mets—dived head-first into catcher John Stearns. The result: a fractured left cheekbone and a three-stitch cut about his left eye that kept him out of the lineup for 11 games. By the time he returned on July 16, the Pirates were 43–43, in third place, six games back. Some members of the local media gave the Bucs up for dead. The Post-Gazette’s Feeney wrote on August 7: “The Pirates yesterday were placed in the funeral parlor, reserved for teams due to be eliminated from the pennant race in September. The burial date is anybody’s guess.” The headline read, “Bucs Dead, Funeral Date Pending.⁴⁴ It got worse; by August 12, the club sat in fourth place, 11½ games back, with a 51–61 record. But from that point on, the team went on a tear, winning 37 of its last 49 games to make a late—but ultimately unsuccessful—charge. It all came down to the last series of the year, a four-game set with the first-place Phillies, who held a 3½-game lead. The Pirates won the first two—the second one coming on a balk that brought home the game-winning run in the bottom of the ninth inning—but the dream died the following night. The Phillies took a 10–4 lead into the bottom of the ninth, but the Pirates rallied to cut it to 10–8 and had the tying run at the plate in the person of Stargell. But the big slugger did not come through, striking out instead, and when Garner grounded out to end the game, it also ended the Pirates pennant hopes.

For Stargell, though, the season represented a major achievement, as he showed he was far was finished. Thanks to some judicious use by Tanner, who gave the veteran a day off now and then, Stargell slugged 28 homers and drove in 97 runs in only 390 at-bats and batted .295. His performance did not escape notice; he was named the league’s Comeback Player of the Year. Although clearly in the twilight of one of the game’s best-ever careers, he also clearly had a little gas left in his tank—and he would show the baseball world just how explosive that fuel could be in 1979.