During the 45-minute Q&A, Balukjian explained his crazy travels trying to track down Hall of Famer Carlton Fisk, getting batting lessons from World Series champ Rance Mulliniks, and his conflict peeling away layers from his baseball hero, Don Carman.
Throughout a long Major League Baseball career, one might have hundreds who they call teammates, but only a select few they can call true friends. Despite bonding while traveling the country for six months trying to win a World Series championship, as soon as teammates clean out their lockers, they often go their separate ways until spring training.
With the platitudes expressed for Darren Daulton in the wake of his passing, one of his teammates shared how a union formed before their first major league game together persisted through Daulton's final hours. Don Carman, a former Philadelphia Phillies pitcher who broke into the majors with Dalton in 1983, explained the nature of their transcendental friendship.
“We had something special, because in baseball I have a lot of really good friends that I spent time with, [but] the day they stop playing, they go home and you never hear from them again,” Carman said via phone shortly after Daulton's death. “It happens all the time. … That's the rule. … He and I had an amazing friendship, a wonderful friendship, [we were] very close, and I loved him like mad. There's not a time where we wouldn't hug, kiss each other, and say, 'I love you,' because you knew you had something different.”
To understand just how their relationship started, go back to the 1983 season when the two were a battery for the Philadelphia Phillies Double-A team in Reading, Pennsylvania. After both had breakout seasons in the minors, the National League champion Philadelphia Phillies called them up when rosters expanded. Arriving in the heat of a pennant race, the pair watched as future Hall of Famers Steve Carlton, Joe Morgan, Tony Perez, and Mike Schmidt worked at clinching the pennant. Finally, with the pennant in hand, manager Paul Owens inserted Daulton into the starting lineup on the next-to-last game of the 1983 season.
In the bottom of the 8th inning, Daulton scored the go-ahead run against the Pittsburgh Pirates, giving Owens the opportunity to summon Carman to seal the deal. The lefty spent most of the season as Reading's closer and he now was in the position to get a save in his major league debut. As a nervous Carman approached the mound, a familiar face greeted him with the right message to get him under control.
“I remember being scared to death,” he said. “Then he [Daulton] came out the mound and said something like, 'We made it. You and I made it. We're here, and we're playing in the big leagues.' I remember still being afraid, but at least I didn't have to worry about how to pitch and what I wanted to do because the guy knew me so well. And I did, I had a 1-2-3 inning. It was obviously my first outing, but it was as much as being comfortable with knowing that I didn't have to think; all I had to do, whatever he put down, I'm going to throw it because I couldn't think because I was so scared. I was the closer in Reading for the last three months of the season, so he knew me, what I wanted to do, and what made me effective, so I didn't have to worry about that.”
Just how Daulton helped to guide Carman in his debut, Carman noted that “Dutch” had a magnetism that drew his teammates to follow him. From the beginning of his career, Daulton had an uncanny ability to inspire that was evident across the league.
“The strange thing about him, everybody in baseball knows he was one of the most special baseball-type people—he was the consummate player and everybody looked up to him, even when he was 26-27, the 35-year-olds looked up to him," Carman said. “He was the leader of every team he was on. I've never met a better leader, just an amazing guy; he was like that in the minor leagues. He was a natural.”
Daulton made it a point to extend himself not only to his teammates, but to everyone around him who made the game run. Carman felt it was how “Dutch” treated those whose names did not show up in the box score that was a true testament to his character.
“It didn't matter if you were grounds crew or the owner of the team, everybody wanted to be around him and everybody felt special,” he said.“It was every person; it didn't matter who you were. If the owner of the team came over, he would walk over, grab him by the face with both hands and kiss him on the cheek. If it was the guys who just dragged the field and they walked by, 'Dutch' would do the same thing. It didn't matter who you were, you demanded his respect because he gave it to you, and everybody felt special.
“There's something about his personality that gave you this feeling that he really does care. This moment he cares about me, enough to pay attention to me, to listen to me, to smile at me, to make eye contact with me, and hear what I just said.”
Philadelphia's love affair with Dutch grew as his spirit and personality resonated with the Phillies faithful. The Phillies honored their leader when they inducted him into their Wall of Fame in 2010. Even amongst the of Hall of Famers, Carman's keen eye noted that in later years, Daulton stood out as the obvious fan favorite.
“When you go to the Wall of Fame in Philly, they call them all out on the field,” he said. “They always call him out last because they know he's going to get the biggest ovation every time. You're talking about Steve Carlton and Mike Schmidt, who spent more time there and are in the Hall of Fame. People would cheer, but when he came out, the place would erupt. He even made fans feel special."
While Daulton stayed in the spotlight, he and Carman remained tight behind the scenes. They participated in each other's weddings while becoming confidants throughout tough times in their lives. They stuck together even when many walked away from Daulton when he released his controversial book, “If They Only Knew” in 2007.
“Throughout all three marriages, he and I talked because he knew he could trust me," Carman said. “He would come to me for advice through all of this, so we've become very close over the years. When he went through his bizarre time when he wrote the book [If They Only Knew], a lot of people didn't know how to respond; I didn't know how, but it wasn't by leaving him because I knew this person and something was wrong. It turns out he had a brain tumor. As soon as they removed the bulk of the brain tumor, the crazy behavior changed and he was back. It was amazing."
When Daulton's brain cancer recently took a turn for the worse, Carman dropped what he was doing to make the three-hour trip to Daulton's bed side. For the next two weeks, he made spending time with Dutch his main priority.
“I kind of put work on hold for the last two weeks because that's when he made a really downward turn,” he said. “I've been with him every other day for the past 15 days. He lives three hours away. I would drive up, see him, and leave [his wife] Amanda, her mother, and his parents. I would spend the day there, go to a hotel, and then come back see him, and then drive home. A couple of days later, I would do it again.”
Even in his final days, Daulton stayed true to form, mustering up whatever strength he had left to make Carman feel welcome. This time, Carman did most of the heavy lifting.
“Obviously it was difficult,” he said. “The last ten days, he couldn't talk, but he could listen, smile, and hug you with one arm as the right side was paralyzed. Since he could do that, I did the talking.”
Carman spent five hours with Daulton on the day he died. Speaking with him only two days later, Carman did his best to hold back tears while humbly expressing gratitude for being there one last time for his good friend.
“I'm just glad I could talk to him.”
* This article originally appeared in the now defunct Sports Post on August, 10, 2017.
Winkles managed the Angels in 1973, when Valentine suffered his career-altering injury while playing the outfield. Valentine explains how the injury changed both of their career trajectories.
Queens based artist Sophia Chang joins the Baseball Happenings Podcast to discuss her work on Topps Project 2020. In the interview, she explains what inspired her debut 1992 Bowman Mariano Rivera design, her foray into the baseball card collecting world, and how she's putting a Queens touch on the new cards.
When Rusty Staub died March 29, 2018, the New York Mets lost a franchise icon. The Mets traded a trio of young prospects to the Montreal Expos in exchange for the six-time All-Star just before starting the 1972 season. Mike Jorgensen, a 23-year-old homegrown talent from Bayside, Queens, was one of the traded players who had to replace Montreal's most beloved superstar.
“He was a hero,” Jorgensen said in a phone interview. “He was the Montreal Expo at the time, and it wasn't a very popular trade in Montreal.”
Going to Montreal with Ken Singleton and Tim Foli, Jorgensen found strength bonding with his new teammates. They turned their collective energy towards the field rather than worrying about living up to Staub's lofty expectations.
“That trade gave me a chance to be a regular player,” he said. “That was the foremost [thing] on my mind. I played up there for five years, so after a little while, [the fan reaction to the trade] wore down a little bit. At first, it was unpopular because he was an All-Star; he was, 'Le Grande Orange,' and he was a big deal.”
The baseball tradewinds reunited the duo in New York at the twilight of their careers. Jorgensen returned to the Mets in 1980 via a trade with the Texas Rangers. Staub joined him from Texas the following year through free agency. Now both seasoned veterans, they became friends by sharing a similar role on the team.
"We would go out to dinner a number of times; it was kind of unusual because we were both kind of winding [down] out careers at the time," he said. "We were both left-handed pinch hitters, [which] I guess you could do it in those days when you had seven guys on the bench; you wouldn't have room for that kind of a thing in today's game."
He recalled one candid bench conversation early in their Mets tenure that exemplified how attentive and competitive Staub was in his reserve role.
“The one thing I'll remember is that he studied the game,” he said. “He was one of the best pinch-hitters in the game, if not the best. He would study those pitchers, sit in the dugout, and look for something if they were tipping pitches or something like that. After a while, he'd say, 'I got him, I got it.' I'd always sit by him and try to pick up the tip myself. The first time he did that, I said, 'Yeah okay, what is it?' He looked at me and he said, 'You know, we're both kind of fighting for the same job.' It wasn't in a bad way, that was just the way he was.”
The 69-year-old Jorgensen, who currently works for the St. Louis Cardinals as their Senior Special Assistant to the General Manager, acknowledged how his former teammate's passing is a tremendous loss to the entire baseball community.
“He was great,” he said. “Obviously, everybody knows the stories about the restaurants and how he was a gourmet cook. … He was a wonderful man [with] everything he did there in New York, especially [with] the police department. It was enjoyable to play with him; it really was. I enjoyed my time with him. Baseball's going to miss him; we'll all miss him.”
* - Ed. Note - This story was originally published for the now-defunct Sports Post on April 11, 2018.
On the latest Baseball Happenings Podcast, we present an interview with New York Yankees and Team USA catcher Erik Kratz. The 39-year-old MLB veteran discussed how he is dealing with the 2020 Tokyo Summer Olympics Games postponement as just another speed bump in his well-traveled career.
Today's guest author is Bill ThompsonfromWords Above Replacement. He shares how baseball cards opened the door to a deep love for the game that still runs strong today.
One Forgotten Detail
When discussing my baseball fandom, there is one critical element I often leave out. I’m not sure why; it’s an important part of my past. I will tell people over and over again the first time I went to Wrigley Field, the first time I heard Harry Caray, or that I realized I loved baseball by going games at Comiskey Park with my uncle. These stories roll off my tongue without hesitation; however, I rarely tell people that baseball cards most influenced my development as a baseball fan.
To this day I can recall going to the store and opening packs of cards. It didn’t matter whether it was Donruss, Topps, or anything in between (truthfully I was more partial to Upper Deck because their cards were always more colorful), I just wanted baseball cards. From the day I opened my first pack, I was hooked. From then on, I spent my money on three things—baseball cards, comic books, and pro wrestling.
There was no better feeling than walking up to the counter at Venture or K-Mart with a handful of packs and knowing I was about to discover more about baseball. The Chicago Cubs and White Sox were known quantities, but the rest of the Major League Baseball landscape was fleeting. My exposure consisted solely of the few days they spent on my television screen while playing one of the two Chicago ballclubs. Baseball cards were the only way I had, at the time, to learn more about the players.
A Trip Into Baseball's Past
Baseball cards were also a conduit to baseball history. I don’t remember the company, but I know early in my collecting life, one of them started including historical players in their packs. Years later, I can’t tell you who the players were, but I can tell you those cards led me to the library to seek out books on baseball history. Historical cards opened my eyes; there was more to baseball than what I could see in the present.
I mainly knew of MLB clubs in my early years. I was going to major market retailers for my packs, which meant I was only getting mainstream offerings. I knew there was a larger baseball world out there; prospect cards made that possible in my mind. Still, knowing Dwight Smith played for the Iowa Cubs didn’t prepare me for what was beyond MLB.
New Collecting Horizons
That all changed when the Venture I frequented suddenly had plastic packs exclusively of minor league cards. I bought as many as I could and dove headfirst into the world of Minor League Baseball. I returned to the library and looked for any books I could find that included the minors in their talks about MLB’s history.
By the mid-1990s, I had binders of baseball cards. They were organized by the team, not by the card company, or year. Talking to other card collectors, I soon realized everyone had their method of storing cards. My method was the correct one, or so I told myself whenever confronted with a different way. Around this time, I recall attending a Schaumburg Flyers game and convincing my uncle to buy me a pack of novelty Flyers cards; the world of unaffiliated baseball was thrust into my lap. I didn’t do much with this new world at first, but over time I used baseball cards as a way to keep track of unaffiliated leagues, teams, and players the best I could before the dawn of the Internet.
Meeting other collectors also took me down a path of self-discovery. For a few years, I thought I needed to have the biggest collection. I gave up pro wrestling and focused all my money on comic books and baseball cards.
An Unexpected Turn
Unfortunately, I also started to steal baseball cards, usually from Venture. I did this unabated for some time until I was finally caught. My obsession with baseball cards led to yet another important moment in my life. While I didn’t spend time in jail, or face any truly harsh consequences beyond a lifetime ban from Venture stores, I learned my actions carried a price. I discovered I didn’t like doing something blatantly illegal, and that having the most cards wasn’t a prize in and unto itself.
Years later, I wish I could tell you I still collect baseball cards. The truth is, I don’t, and my one attempt at getting back into the hobby was neither fruitful nor impactful. Baseball cards don’t play a role in my present-day life; however, baseball cards shaped my baseball fandom and the love I have for the game. Undoubtedly, without these small cardboard treasures, baseball would not have been an easy love affair. They helped me to grow as a fan and a person. While the cards are no longer physically in my possession, their influence is still profound in my heart today.
Bob Stephenson was a giant for many, but it had little to do with his professional baseball career. The former St. Louis Cardinals infielder turned oil magnate and philanthropist, died March 20, 2020, in Oklahoma City. He was 91.
Bob Stephenson / Author's Collection
A second-team All-American shortstop at the University of Oklahoma, Stephenson signed with the Cardinals in 1950. He played two seasons in their minor league system before being drafted into the Army in 1952. He served 13 months in the Korean War, putting his baseball career on hold until 1954.
After a full campaign with Triple-A Columbus, the Cardinals gave Stephenson his big break. He broke camp with the team from spring training and spent the entire 1955 season as their utility infielder, spelling Alex Grammas at shortstop and future Hall of Famer Red Schoendienst at second base.
Stephenson batted .243 in 67 games in his lone major league campaign. While he enjoyed the experience, years later, he discussed the unspoken rigors of a nomadic baseball life.
"The average person doesn't have an idea of what that life is like," Stephenson told author Richard Panchyk in Baseball History for Kids: America at Bat from 1900 to Today. "It sounds pretty glamorous, but when you're playing at that time 154 games a year, and you're making 9 or 12 road trips, it gets to the point, at least in my situation, I'd have to almost read the paper every day to see what town I was in because the restaurants all looked the same.
"[You] go through the ballgame, get through about midnight. I would get home, get back to the room about midnight, have a big dinner, go to bed at three o'clock, get up at noon, and repeat it over. At four o'clock, go back to the ballpark."
Eventually, the travel wore on Stephenson, and he retired from baseball in 1957 to put his geology degree to use. He founded the Potts-Stephenson Exploration Company and built his legacy in natural gas and oil exploration.
Late in his career, he scored a major victory when he sued one of the largest gas and oil producers, the ONEOK Resources Company, for an alleged violation of their accounting practices. PSEC sold their controlling interests to ONEOK in 1997; however, Stephenson remained his stake in the company. In 2003, Stephenson won a lengthy court battle against the energy giant.
Throughout his life, Stephenson extended his generosity to the University of Oklahoma. He made significant donations to the OU School of Geology and Geophysics, as well as their athletic programs.
"Bob Stephenson is a great Sooner and has always been a tremendous leader for us, especially when it comes to supporting our student-athletes and the resources they need to be successful," Vice President and Director of Athletics Joe Castiglione said in a press release. "He has served as a fundraising catalyst on many occasions, and once again has made a significant donation that gets us moving toward our goal of securing the necessary funds to complete our baseball stadium master plan."
Steve Jaronik was nine years old in 1963 when the Milwaukee Braves gave a young kid the experience of a lifetime. Jaronik wrote the Braves asking if he could meet the players from his favorite team. What happened next seems like an impossibility in today's era of teams closely guarding access to their players.
Steve Jaronik with Willie Mays in 1963 at County Stadium
A few months later, Bob Allen, the team's public relations director unexpectedly wrote him a letter with an invitation to the ballpark. He traveled with his family from Illinois, and the Braves took him on a journey that any fan, old or young, would cherish forever. In the video below, Jaronik narrates the entire day's events, which includes meeting multiple Hall of Famers (Hank Aaron, Warren Spahn, Willie Mays) in an emotional play for one's heart.
