A new book on Yogi Berra came out just in time to give those of us who grew up loving baseball and the Yankees a little respite from all this bad news.
None of the many Berra biographies are as thorough as this 567-page volume by ESPN’s Joe Pessah called “Yogi: A Life Behind the Mask.”
The pages are packed with facts and figures on Yogi’s Hall of Fame career as a Yankee catcher and his 10 World Series championships, three Most Valuable Player awards and appearances in 15 All-Star Games.
But the book also provides a glowing personal portrait of one of baseball’s most colorful figures and is a wistful reminder of a glorious, long-gone era in sports.
Yogi’s boyhood revolved around sandlot baseball in a middle class section of St. Louis called The Hill. The neighborhood was filled with families of Italian heritage like the Berras.
There was a national infatuation with baseball in those years before and during World War II and a couple of decades afterwards. Boys in my paper mill community batted rocks into fields for hours at a time pretending we were in Yankee Stadium or Fenway Park.
Our games, like those of thousands of kids across America, were in back yards and empty lots. We dreamed of being Berra, Joe DiMaggio or Ted Williams. We read about them in newspaper sports pages and heard their games on plastic portable radios.
The only breaks from our day-long games were for Vienna sausage, potted meat or peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Berra’s favorite sandwich reflected his quirkiness. He like banana and mustard flopovers.
Berra was raised across the street from Joe Garagiola, a catcher in the big leagues for a few years before becoming one of the most popular radio and television announcers in baseball.
Garagiola got a $500 signing bonus from a minor league team that offered Berra just half that much. Garagiola said he was surprised “because I wasn’t even the best catcher on my block.”
It was Garagiola who brought national attention to Berra’s famous verbal slip-ups that became known as “Yogisms.” Berra and Garagiola both died at age 90 and never once failed to call each other on their birthday.
Yogi had a gap between his front teeth, a big nose and craggy complexion. Teammates, who loved him, made fun of him about his appearance. He said, “Nobody ever hit with their face.”
A national organization of women artists determined in a vote that Yogi had the country’s “most stimulating face.” He asked a friend what that meant and was told the artists thought he was sexy. “Geez, I hope Carmen doesn’t read this,” he said.
His Yankee roommate Bobby Brown studied medicine during his playing days and later became a physician. He read medical journals every night while Yogi was reading comic books. One night Yogi said, “My book was great. How did yours turn out?”
Berra said Joe DiMaggio was the best player he ever saw and that Bill Dickey, a Yankee coach and former Hall of Fame catcher, taught him more than anyone else about baseball. Dickey grew up in Bastrop and is a member of the Louisiana Sports Hall of Fame.
Yogi played for legendary manager Casey Stengel. A foul tip broke Berra’s thumb early in his career. Yogi’s mother cut a hole in a lemon, taped it on his thumb and told him to keep it on a week. Stengel said, “ Other catchers wear gloves. Mine wears a lemon.”
One of Yogi’s first famous “Yogisms” was at a banquet in his honor in St. Louis. He said, “I want to thank you for making this night necessary.”
He once said, “You can observe a lot by watching” and “Nobody goes to that restaurant. It’s too crowded.” Another was “Baseball is 90 percent mental and the other half is physical.
His wife’s favorite was when he asked the name of an actor in a movie they were watching. “Steve McQueen,” she said. Yogi said, “He must have made this movie before he died.”
Despite his linguistic blunders, the beloved Berra made baseball’s All-Century team, dined with presidents, received an honorary doctorate, had a museum and minor league stadium named for him, and made a fortune in baseball and on investments in things like Yoo-hoo Chocolate Drink.
Asked if Yoo-hoo was hyphenated, he said, “It’s not even carbonated.”
REPRINTED FROM THE NATCHITOCHES TIMES