The Gentleman

The great thing about Walter Alston is that he endures. The Bronx cheers of second-guessing fans bounce off his hide, and needling from his limber-lipped predecessor Charlie Dressen does not faze him at all. His patience is paying off: he has built a team of winners out of last year's so-so Brooklyn Dodgers.

Last week Manager Alston took his Dodgers to Chicago. They were riding high. For the second time this season they had gone ten games without a defeat. They were nine games in front of the National League; they had won 21, lost only two, and their average stood at .913. By way of reception, "Smokey" Alston got an ossified pickle, a trophy presented by the president of the National Pickle Packers Association, "for getting out of the biggest pickle of the year."

"I hope this brings me luck," mumbled Alston politely, "but I didn't know I was in a pickle to start with."

Legal Headache. When the Dodgers took the field, Pitcher Don Newcombe, just a little bigger than life (6 ft. 4 in., 225 Ibs.), shambled to the mound. The week before, Don had decided that he was just too good to pitch batting practice. Smokey, who had handled Newcombe before, in Nashua, N.H., in Class "B" ball, had quietly told him to clean out his locker and go away. Now, threatened with a fine and properly penitent, Big Don whizzed through a one-hit game. He blew down the absolute minimum of 27 batters as the Dodgers won 3-0.

But the Dodgers proved that they could still get into a pickle occasionally. Smokey's heavy-hitting outfielder, Carl Furillo, had just explained how his golfing technique helped his baseball: "I've done two things: I've changed my grip, and now I hold my neck rigid so I keep my eye on the ball." In Chicago Carl had to take a day off: stiff neck. Then the Dodgers lost to the Cubs 10-8. That robbed the Giants of their only current distinction: until that game, only the Giants had beaten the Dodgers this season.

Even in stolid Milwaukee Smokey Alston found himself managing a teamful of unexpected trouble. Jackie Robinson, his uninhibited veteran third baseman who had barely stopped popping off about how seldom he was playing, came forth with a new idea: he thought he ought to sit out a few games. Milwaukee, however, was no place for Robinson to rest. His visit had already been disturbed by a process server. Last season, in a fit of pique, he had slung a bat into the Milwaukee stands. A couple of local customers, who said they had been hit, were suing for $40,000.

Rejuvenated Del. It was the Braves, not the law, that caused the biggest trouble in Milwaukee. After twelve innings of tied-up (1-1) ball, Braves Captain Del Crandall, hitless for almost two weeks, brushed the bench splinters out of the seat of his pants, stepped to the plate and walloped a game-winning home run. Next afternoon, in his very next time at bat, rejuvenated Del Crandall lofted another one into the stands. But it was too much to expect the Dodgers to run up a losing streak of more than two. They ran off with the game 6-2.

Back in the locker room, the Dodgers had an easy explanation for their success: Walter Alston. At first, Captain Peewee Reese saw it all in terms of baseball tactics: "A manager's biggest problem is selecting pitchers, knowing them, knowing when to bring in another. Alston's brought in the right pitchers at the right time." Just as important" is Alston's other talent, the patience and ability to get the most out of all his men. All season, by winning for such a nice guy as Smokey, the Dodgers had been refuting Giant Manager Leo Durocher, a man devoted to the argument that the big leagues are no place for nice guys. Said Peewee: "Alston is easy to get along with. I don't know whether he knows how to hold his fork, but believe me, he's a real gentleman."

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.