Thurman Munson died thirty years ago today. Any boy with an interest in sports who lived in the New York Metropolitan area during the 1970’s knows what it meant when Thurman’s Cessna crashed at the Akron-Canton Regional Airport and he burned to death. I will never forget how I leaned of the tragedy. A boy on my block named Ken Bezilla called me to tell me about the early reports. He could hardly speak because he was crying so hard. I didn’t want to believe the news and I was eager to comfort my friend. I told him the rumors couldn’t possibly be true. The Yankee Captain could not be dead. But he was.
I have a friend who has a permanent shrine to Munson in his house. It includes an authentic seatback from the X Section of the Upper Deck, some votives, and a picture of Munson in his Yankee uniform.
It’s hard to understand what Thurman Munson meant to Yankee fans, but you can get an idea from this:
To this day, despite a packed clubhouse, an empty locker next to current Yankee team captain Derek Jeter’s, with Munson’s number 15 on it, remains as a tribute to the Yankees’ lost catcher. The original locker that Munson used, along with a bronzed set of his catching equipment, was donated to the Baseball Hall of Fame (Munson himself is not in the Hall)…
…Thurman’s original locker from Yankee Stadium, which has not been used by anyone since his death, was moved in one piece to New Yankee Stadium. It is located in the New York Yankees Museum. Visitors can view the Yankees Museum on gamedays from when the gates open to the end of the eighth inning and during Yankee Stadium tours.
When the Cincinnati Reds swept the Yankees in the 1976 World Series, I was scarred for life. I was a severely devastated seven-year old. When Reds manager Sparky Anderson rubbed salt in the wounds by saying that Munson couldn’t carry Johnny Bench’s jock, he earned my undying enmity. Johnny Bench batted .533 in the ’76 Series; Thurman Munson batted .529. Johnny Bench never won another championship; Munson won it all in 1977 and 1978.
For kids my age, the death of Munson was a hole in the psyche that could never be filled. When Don Mattingly came along, he showed us that the game could be played as well as Munson had demonstrated and with more talent. But I’ve never mourned a human being as intensely and painfully as I mourned for Thurman Munson thirty years ago today. It might seem silly, but if you grew up when and where I grew up, you’d understand the degree of the loss. In my generation, no Yankee is as revered as number 15.
My parents were no Yankee fans but they took Munson’s death hard.
I could say the same thing about Vin Scully, though of course he’s 1) thankfully still living, 2) not a player, and 3) has one more full year before he retires.
Scully is the voice of baseball for anyone born in the L.A. area, ever since O’Malley swooped in and evicted a shitload of Latinos to build the dumpy stadium at Chavez Ravine.
He also sold a LOT of hot dogs! And gasoline. He is all purpose, he could announce AND fluff O’Malley.
nalbar
I realize Munson was a great player, but Sparky was right (although I would not put it quite so harshly). You pick two statistics that have minimal relevance (WS BA [within .04 at that] and champs won) when comparing two players. That’s not up to your usual standards.
Munson made his name in New York, Bench made his in Cinci, Gee, I wonder which would get more bias coverage?
nalbar
Not to mention the Reds won in 75 as well, so the 77 and 78 Yankees wins are a wash at best when comparing the two catchers.
But, when Sparky made his comment about how it would embarrass Munson to be compared to Bench, Munson had not yet won anything.
Hey, I was a Reds fan and even I thought it was a stupid statement by Sparky at the time. He was one of the Yankees I liked, even as I rooted against them.
Bench had a better career than Munson. He was much more of a power hitter and he didn’t die before he was through. But for a kid who just watched Munson go 4-for-4 in the last game of a devastating sweep, Sparky’s comments were so ungracious that I wanted to kill him.
When Reggie Jackson came to the Yanks in 1977, someone asked him about Munson’s leadership. Munson was the captain of the team. Reggie said, “I am the straw the stirs the drink. Munson can only stir it bad.” I never liked Jackson after that. He earned my gratitude when he hit three homers off three pitches from three different pitchers in game six that year, but I never joined in with those chanted Reg-gie Reg-gie Reg-gie. He hadn’t shown respect and Billy Martin had yanked out of a game at Fenway for lollygagging in the outfield. You don’t lollygag on Munson’s team.
You mention Billy Martin and my mind leaps back to what I think is the greatest comment on managing EVER:
‘One third of the players love you, one third hates you, and one third does not care one way or the other. The secret to managing is to keep the one third that hates you from changing the minds of the ones that don’t care’ [paraphrased]
That is pure genius. And holds true even for local softball teams.
nalbar
I’ve never been a huge baseball fan, but my family was. I was growing up just a couple of years ahead of you in upstate NY and I clearly remember the tragedy. My family was shocked and greatly saddened too.
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25 years later, Thurman Munson’s last words remain a symbol of his life
"But I will not let myself be reduced to silence."Thanks, Oui. A great read.
My formative teenage years were also during the 70’s. And that was a time when baseball was king. Everything was defined by your home team. And my team was your hated Cincinnati Reds. But putting that aside, I cannot help but be dismayed at how far the game of baseball seems to have fallen, both in the dwindling participation of youth, and the seeming constant mobility of it’s players.
I, and most of my friends, knew the starting lineups of all the NL teams by heart. You mention a players name and you could instantly visualize the baseball card of that player. We were, undeniably, 100% immersed in all aspects of the game. We mowed one of the only vacant lots in our subdivision and turned it into a baseball field. Complete with a “real home plate”. We had no idea who owned the lot and nobody seemed to care. In the 70’s, baseball ruled our world. You were never out of earshot of that days game leaking out of any open car window or any window screen, since most people didn’t have air conditioning in our neighborhood.
Today, it is about as rare around here to see kids playing a pickup game of baseball as it is to see an albino deer. For some reason I find that very disheartening. Because to me, there is nothing purer and more exciting than the game of baseball. But in today’s frantic world, we just don’t seem to have the patience or the mindset to truly enjoy it.
I still can see in my mind the picture of the charred carcass of Munson’s plane. He was a Yankee, so as a midwesterner it was your duty to loathe his Yankee-ness. But I also remember his baseball card. It wasn’t one of those posed pictures that so many players had. It was an actual game shot of him standing at home plate in full catcher regalia. His trademark bushy mustache, his hair going every which way, and his uniform dirty, as only a catcher’s can be. That shot, by itself, symbolizes to me everything that baseball was in my youth. And no one symbolized it better than Thurman Munson.
Thank you, Mike. I share your opinions about baseball. And you give a fitting tribute. In return, I will note that the Big Red Machine was the best team of my youth and Pete Rose was my model for how to play the game.
It is truly sad to see how pathetic Pete has become. He has had to stoop to whoring his legend and reputation. But still, when he makes a local appearance there are a lot of aging baby boomers like me with pot bellies and great memories of watching him play that will stand in line with their grandkids and pay the forty or fifty bucks to get his autograph or a picture with him.
Even today, he still evokes those childhood memories. Pete filled Riverfront Stadium for the final event held there before it was torn down. He put nearly 50,000 people in the stands for a charity softball game featuring a gathering of all the aging major league stars of my youth. On that night we were all once again turned into starry eyed teenagers straining to catch a glimpse of the sports idols of our childhood. There is no doubt that Thurman would have been there. It was magic.
Remember too the game the evening following Munson’s funeral. The team flew back from Ohio to play the Orioles. Pinella was too upset to play, after giving one eulogy that morning. Mercer couldn’t even get through his eulogy but went out that night to knock in all 5 Yankees RBIs, including the walk off double in the ninth.
Not to take much away from Bench, but Munson had the special talent that he made everyone around him better. I can’t say that about Bench. The Reds were pretty darn good with or without him. And Munson’s greatest qualities were how he conducted himself on some pretty bad early Yankees teams. And as a father and husband (Bench divorced three times — Munson died trying to spend more time with his family)
I wanted to let a decent amount of time pass before I posted this, but the Yankees were just one of about a billion things I agreed with Steve Gilliard about. I respect the way Munson played the game, and how he carried himself in general… but still. Out of respect, I’m not going to quote Gilly, but I’m sure you all know what I’m thinking.
I miss the hell out of Gilly.