Image courtesy Triumph Books
Last summer, months before it was announced that Stan Musial would receive the Presidential Medal of Freedom, SLM interviewed author Wayne Stewart about his 2010 biography Stan the Man: The Life and Times of Stan Musial. The 240-page book chronicles Musial’s journey from humble roots in Pennsylvania to three-time World Series champ and Hall of Famer. Stewart reflected on the stats and the selflessness—those things that embody the Cardinals’ true “El Hombre.”
You grew up in Stan Musial’s hometown of Donora, Pennsylvania. What was it like?
I spent my first 21 years there. I happened to graduate with Ken Griffey Sr., on the same baseball team. Proceeding that, there was always sort of a glow that the town had produced so many fine athletes. They gave themselves the nickname: “Donora, Home of Champions.” We always thought that was the case growing up. It was part of your life. You knew Musial was from your town. When he was in town, kids would be looking for his car. On one occasion, my dad took me up to his mother’s house and—this story kind of exemplifies how Stan was always so generous—even though he only had so many days to spend with his mom, he was always willing to take people like us in and spend 5 or 10 minutes, get autographs, shake hands.
You include an anecdote about how he once teased Ken Griffey Jr. about being the "second-best left-handed-hitting, left-handed-throwing outfielder ever born in Donora, Pennsylvania, on November 21."
That’s a good line. I was looking at those stats just the other day, with Griffey retiring, and Griffey had more power and this and that. But as great as Griffey is—a Hall of Famer to be—Stan is a better player all-around.
What’s the most impressive stat, in your opinion?
The 3,630 hits is an awful lot. The oddity of them coming half on the road, half at home kind of typified his consistency and longevity. He also averaged—on baseball-reference.com, how they project if he’d played a 162-game schedule—exactly 104 runs and 104 RBIs every single year. And as a kid, I didn’t realize just how many triples the guy hit.
There are so many great at-bats stories. Which one stands out to you?
Off the top of my head, his 1,000th hit because it was a milestone. Stan had always wanted to reach that, and he’d wanted to eventually become the National League all-time hit leader, which he did. It was a rich story and good starting point for the book.
How did you go about writing the book? Were you able to interview Stan?
No, I talked to his agent and communicated with his grandson, who runs a lot of his business affairs, and the reason they gave me is that he was kind of slowing down and not doing too much of that sort of thing. Fortunately, I was able to speak to a good handful of his relatives, and there are a handful of his classmates still around—a couple former teammates. I think I ended up interviewing around just over 100 people.
It seems one reason his former teammates loved him so much was his practical jokes and magic tricks. What is it about his personality that stood out?
He never forgot who he was, so he never got swell-headed, so to speak. There’s a quote in the book from my uncle, Bobby Jones, who said that very same thing. He comes back to Donora High School as a senior and he’s not able to play ball because he’s already signed a professional contract. Now, it would be so easy for a guy to come back and have an ego—look at me, I’m walking the halls of this class, but I’m already headed for professional ball—but that wasn’t the case. They said he was the same guy. He knew his roots. He never forgot his background; he came from poverty and the Depression. He was just fun-loving all the way. His classmates talked about him playing pranks and practical jokes all the way up to the majors. There were stories like when Chuck Tanner reached first base and Stan was there, and instead of saying, “You’re from my part of the world,” he said it the other way. So he never had an egocentric view.
He always was humble, which may be one reason that he’s often overlooked. Do you feel that’s slowly changing? He was briefly acknowledged at the 2009 All-Star Game.
I don’t. The one movement that to me outshines the All-Star Game attention he got—which, to me, was very limited; I did speak to an official from MLB, I think he’s a writer for them, and he said the reason was strictly because the president was there or they would have done more, like they did with Ted Williams at Fenway; I can accept that to some level, but on a gut level, I think somewhere that weekend they should have done more for him. The only thing I can see now is that Stand for Stan campaign they have going [which later helped Musial receive the Presidential Medal of Freedom]. But like you said, he’s not a chest-thumping kind of a guy. And because he doesn’t demand it and because he’s removed from the game, I don’t see it—the people like you and I who know he’s great, know it. The younger generation or the media are not going to bother to bring his name up at this point.
Considering all of the aspects you examined about Stan’s life, what is it that you most admire about the guy?
The universal theme was the two-pronged aspect of his career and life. He was absolutely fantastic—to me, top 10 all time. And yet, he was generous with his fans and his time. He was a modest, wonderful person. That blend of being a superstar—one of the top 10—and being a really great, down-to-earth guy is extremely rare.
