Photography by Scott Rovak
Opening Day without Stan? It’s hard to believe, but there’s no need to grieve. The Stan Musial legacy appears destined to rank right up there with Lucky Lindy and the Spirit of St. Louis in our city’s history.
Yes, take heart. Baseball is back, and the memories of Stan the Man live on. Always remember that Stan belongs to us because he played and stayed a Cardinal, where he wanted to be.
Stan’s our man—for the record books and the ages.
The last time I gave Stan Musial my autograph, it cost me a few bucks. I signed a check at his Stan the Man shop to buy some mementos for our grandsons.
“How old are you, Martin?” Stan asked.
“Same as you,” I replied.
“You look older than that,” he giggled, with that little laugh of his.
He seemed especially delighted that he had hit me out of the park with a totally unexpected whap.
What was going on here? Baseball’s perfect knight is a put-down artist? Did he suspect Dizzy Dean was actually my all-time favorite Cardinal?
Stan had a few months on me. I am scheduled to be 92 on June 3. As we well know, Stan was 92 when he departed our loving midst in January.
***
None of us equals Stan in his particular achievements.
Apart from being hailed as the Greatest Cardinal of Them All, Musial has a billionaire, Rams owner Stan Kroenke, named after him. What next? Our new bridge?
Like the rest of us, Stan was a fan—not of himself, mind you. Stan was a fan of all mankind. His primary loves were evident. As befits a man who merited the highest honor a president can confer on a citizen, he loved God and country. He loved his wife, Lil. He loved his children and grandchildren. He loved St. Louis, baseball, and the Cardinals. Stan loved life.
And people who had never met him or never saw him play baseball loved this man like none other. Why? Possibly because men of all ages fantasized that Stan was the man they would most like to be. Perhaps women saw Stan as the perfect gentleman, whom they wished their husband might be.
My lovely wife, Mae, has always been unabashedly fond of Stan. At a dinner party, she was once seated next to him and innocently pleaded, “Stan, tell me how you hit all those home runs.”
Modestly, Stan replied that he was blessed with extraordinary peripheral vision and that he knew what the pitcher was throwing at him before the ball arrived.
Stan did not brag about what other gifts contributed to his record as one of baseball’s all-time great hitters. He always acted as though being with Mae had made his day.
Stan the everlasting fan!
Stan was a U.S. Navy veteran, but he would have made a great Marine, embodying the motto Semper Fidelis.
Always faithful, that’s our Stan.
***
It’s fair to ask how and why Stan Musial remained such an icon in St. Louis, 50 years after he played his last game as a Cardinal.
When Stan made his annual appearance on Opening Day, riding around Busch Stadium in a convertible or golf cart and saluting the crowds, he was in top form as Stan Our Man. Sure, he had some ham in him—who doesn’t when one is that popular? Remember, Stan was a great performer, and not just on the baseball field.
If you would like a view of vintage Stan at his best, look up the YouTube video of him on yesteryear’s popular TV show What’s My Line? He’s tall, handsome, slim, smiling, debonair, poised, articulate—hey, we’re not describing Joe Medwick here.
Through the magic of the Internet, we can relive many of Stan’s greatest moments. On the Web, you can see Stan’s induction into the Baseball Hall of Fame. You can watch the St. Louis Globe-Democrat’s great sports editor Bob Burnes describe Stan’s final year, which historically coincided with Pete Rose’s rookie year (and whose final hit went past a diving Rose at second base).
***
For years, Mae and I were privileged to be the guests of Gene and Joan Slay at their Christmas parties at St. Raymond’s downtown. Former Rep. Bob Young reserved a table for us with the Musials, as well as state Sen. Ed Linehan and his wife.
Stan was center-stage at these events. He loved to crack jokes and play tricks. During the meal, he might place a spoon on his nose and let it remain balanced there, as though it were the most natural thing to do. He and Ed Linehan also had a way of making the table levitate in mysterious fashion.
Stan was a true civic asset and a goodwill ambassador.
When Dunc Bauman, former publisher of the Globe-Democrat, was chairman of the Advertising Club of Greater St. Louis’ annual gridiron dinner, he decreed that the ban on women participating was to end. To make it official, Bauman invited Rep. Leonor K. Sullivan to attend the dinner as the guest of honor. Sullivan was a widow, and Dunc asked Stan to be her escort. The otherwise all-male gathering cheered for them.
Many people remember Stan’s partnership with Julius “Biggie” Garagnani in operating their restaurant on Oakland Avenue, near the old Arena, with both serving as gracious hosts.
Lesser known, perhaps, was their restaurant at the Hilton St. Louis Airport hotel, where Mae and I once hosted a pair of hotshot East Coast lawyers at lunch. Stan sighted us, welcomed our friends, and made certain that we were being well-served. Our guests were doubly astonished, that we knew the great Stan Musial and that Stan Musial knew us.
In recent years, Stan was in the daily starting luncheon lineup at the Stan Musial Grill at the Missouri Athletic Club’s West Clubhouse, along with a squad of pals led by Jim Hackett, the retired St. Louis chief of detectives.
Stan greeted everyone as a friend.
Quite often, when we were with Stan and Lil, he would whip out his harmonica and play a medley for us. The most memorable occasion was at a dinner when Cardinal John J. Carberry, then archbishop of St. Louis, was the guest of honor. Carberry played a nifty harmonica and violin himself, and he wasn’t bashful about performing. (Coincidentally, it’s been reported that His Eminence was not too shabby of an infielder in his seminary days.)
Carberry’s Brooklyn roots made it even more fun for him to perform with Stan. In fact, Flatbush fans were the first to refer admiringly to “That Man,” and former St. Louis Post-Dispatch sportswriter Bob Broeg is credited with popularizing the moniker Stan the Man thereafter.
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Stan had the gift of making other people feel like they were members of his family, and this bond has carried over to our children and grandchildren.
Writing to me following Stan’s departure, here’s what our youngest son, Joe, now far away in Saudi Arabia, recalled: “You took me to my first Cardinals game, which happened to be Musial’s last game, the season finale in 1963. That has been unforgettable for me. I was 8 years old. Before that, I had been immersed in St. Louis’ love for their hero, Stan the Man…
“They say that unborn babies hear very well and are influenced by their mother’s voice and music and other ambient sounds. Bob Costas in his remarkably touching eulogy described Harry Caray and Jack Buck broadcasting the Cardinals games as the soundtrack of our youth.
“I was born on July 5, 1955—exactly one week before Musial’s walk-off homer in the All-Star Game. Harry and Jack and Stan’s heroics were the soundtrack of my life in utero and in my earliest infancy. I have been a Cardinals follower since before I was born.”
Cardinals baseball truly is part of our family’s DNA. Mae’s parents, Nelson and Edna Mosher, lived at 3939 Lexington, within sight and sound of Sportsman’s Park. On their front porch, they could read the Globe-Democrat from the glow of the ballpark lights. From the roar of the crowd, they would know whether the game was going well.
It has been suggested that Stan was not fully appreciated nationally because other stars of his era, such as Joe DiMaggio, Ted Williams, and Willie Mays, had the benefit of playing in bigger markets with mass media.
Stan had no reason to feel shortchanged—not only did sportswriters and broadcasters cover him, they blanketed him. In his Hall of Fame induction, he thanked the media for all of the attention devoted to him.
Until his last day, Stan’s closest friend remained his old roomie Red Schoendienst, himself an extraordinarily successful Hall of Fame player and manager.
In my view, Red is the one who hasn’t received his fair share of national recognition.
***
Someone striving to evaluate the Total Stan or Inner Stan might conclude there was something in life he esteemed more than batting titles, Most Valuable Player honors, All-Star appearances, Hall of Fame membership, or even the Presidential Medal of Freedom.
Indeed, there was something more important, deep inside of him: Stan was a man genuinely devoted to his Catholic faith.
Bishop Richard Stika, who was pastor to Stan and Lil at Church of the Annunziata in Ladue in recent years, eloquently affirmed this truth in his eulogy at the Cathedral Basilica of Saint Louis. Cardinal Timothy Dolan, Archbishop of New York and a native son of St. Louis, presided at Stan’s funeral Mass, which was celebrated by Archbishop Robert J. Carlson.
In his characteristic modesty, Stan had once shrugged off being the “greatest Cardinal of them all.” If someone had asked him who his choice for that title might be, he could have slyly named his personal friend, Karol Józef Wojtyla, a humble Polish patriot and gentleman like himself, better known to us as Pope John Paul II. His Holiness was proud to call Stan his friend, and he entrusted sensitive missions to him on several occasions.
Stan once said he was sorry he never attended college, as his father hoped he would. But Dad no doubt would have been pleased to learn his son was a hit with the College of Cardinals.
