The sad news arrived last night of the passing of Edwin Donald "Duke" Snider, "The Duke of Flatbush." Snider was the very first batter Nellie faced in the major leagues--and he struck him out! In Happiness is like a Cur Dog, Nellie recalls his debut on the Ebbets Field pitcher's mound, and the thrill and terror of pitching to Duke Snider.
Being in the bullpen for the Pirates in 1954 at Ebbets Field was similar to having a rifleman’s MOS in the infantry. You knew you were going to get into the battle, but you weren’t sure when. The fans at field level were so close they could reach out and touch you. The wonderful intimacy was great for the Dodgers and their fans, but hell for the visiting team players, since the bullpen was located in foul territory down the left field line.
The Dodgers’ roster that opening day in 1954 was loaded with established veteran players. Junior Gilliam, Pee Wee Reese, Duke Snider, Jackie Robinson, Roy Campanella, Gil Hodges, Carl Furillo, and Billy Cox. They didn’t waste any time unloading on Pirates’ veteran starter Max Surkont. They got to him for eight hits in four innings, including home runs by Gilliam, Robinson, and Campanella for a 7-1 lead.
The bullpen phone rang in the fifth inning and Cal Hogue, a rookie right-hander with an outstanding curve ball, got the call. Cal pitched well, allowing only one hit in three innings before leaving for a pinch hitter in the top of the eighth. When the Pirates played in Ebbets Field, the eighth inning was usually the Dodgers last inning at bat. This game was to be no exception.
In the top of the eighth inning, Sam Narron, the Pirates’ bullpen coach, answered the bullpen phone and in what sounded like an executioner’s voice, said, “King, it’s you.” With my major league debut moments away, I took off my jacket and began to experience intense anxiety. I said a silent prayer, “Please God, get me out of here without too much embarrassment.” Additional thoughts began going through my mind– “You can't hide a bad performance in New York, there are so many media covering the game; I have to face at least one hitter before they can take me out…”
I had been praying for this moment for a long time. As I looked at Duke Snider, I remembered the old adage, “Be careful what you pray for, you might just receive it.” Here I was, a right-handed, low-ball pitcher facing one of the best left-handed, low-ball, power hitters in the majors—and in a ballpark with a short porch in right field.
Atwell signaled for a sinker on my first pitch. Somehow I got it near home plate on the outside corner and Snider fouled it for a strike. I was now able to breathe, but I still couldn’t spit. I threw a curve inside for ball one, and then got a curve ball where I wanted it, low and inside off the plate, and Snider fouled it off for strike two.
Atwell signaled for another sinker. As I made the pitch it was like I was seeing it in slow motion—I threw the ball, followed through and for some reason Snider, with two strikes on him, tried to drag a bunt and fouled off the pitch. I suddenly thought, “Damn, he struck out!” If you saw the emotion Johnny Podres displayed in the final game of the 1955 World Series at Ebbets field, you have some idea of how I felt inside. Now I could spit! I got through the inning giving up only one hit and no runs.
Nellie loved the holiday season. Thanksgiving was probably his favorite; he always savored a good turkey dinner with all the trimmings! On Christmas mornings he would make pancakes with fresh sliced apples and cinnamon for his daughters, even long after they stopped believing in Santa Claus.
One of Nellie's most treasured memories of childhood was seeing a train set under the Christmas tree when he was four years old. He said that was the greatest thing Santa ever brought his family.
Sadly, Nellie will not be with us this holiday season. But his words, wisdom, memories, and laughter live on in his book. If you are still looking for that special gift for all the baseball fans on your shopping list, consider purchasing a copy of Happiness is Like a Cur Dog. Proceeds will go to support the newly established Nellie King Fund to create scholarships for underprivileged children, student-athletes, and sports journalism majors. Our mission is to create a lasting legacy in Nellie King's honor.
Here is an excerpt from the introductory chapter of Nellie's best-selling memoir:
This is the story of the wonderful journey that took me from the Milton S. Hershey Industrial School for Boys to the minor leagues, and then to a major league career as a relief pitcher for the Pirates. As such, it is a story about finding happiness, or rather, letting happiness find me.
Psychologist Abraham Maslow has a term for those moments in life when your senses are completely open to everything that is going on around you. He calls them “peak experiences.” Your mind is completely at ease and immersed in the “now,” while your senses are soaking up everything in vivid detail. How wonderful it is—and how rare—in a life in which our enthusiasm and energy is all too often sapped by our day-to-day obligations, worries about the future, and fears rooted in past experiences. When love and satisfaction with one’s work come together, peak experiences can happen.
I enjoyed my first peak experience in the summer of 1948. I was pitching for the New Iberia, Louisiana Pelicans in the Class “D” Evangeline League, and enjoying a truly successful season, winning 20 games and pitching 284 innings. I woke up early one morning after another winning game with a feeling of peace and serenity that was new to me. The mugginess of the bayou had not yet engulfed the day. A cooling breeze was lightly stirring the white lace curtains of the window near my bed, wafting in the sweet smells of the flowers opening outside. The pleasing songs of birds only accentuated the quiet.
I lay there for several minutes, completely enthralled with the sensation of profound contentment. “This is how life should be lived,” I thought. But the more I tried to hold on to the experience, the faster it ebbed away, until it finally evaporated. Yet, it was such a wonderful moment that I can relive it in my mind to this day. I've enjoyed other peak experiences in baseball, when moments are simply allowed to just happen and unfold. As a pitcher, I was deeply involved in “the now,” with no anxiety.
In my years of association with Pittsburgh Pirates’ baseball from 1948 to 1975, I’ve seen the organization go through the whole gamut of human emotions. Pittsburgh is no stranger to hardship, and the Pirates have known their years “in the cellar.” Like the city itself, the team emerged from the darkness and soot of the 1950s to enjoy two shining decades that Bob Prince called “the halcyon days” of Pirates baseball.
Surely, it was a peak experience for the entire western Pennsylvania region to be a part of Bill Mazeroski’s dramatic home run at Forbes Field, clinching the 1960 World Series. Pittsburghers also enjoyed the honor of witnessing the excellence of legendary players like Roberto Clemente and Willie Stargell. How lucky I was to have played and broadcast during these halcyon days of Pirates’ baseball!
In this book I attempt to capture an era in baseball that is rapidly fading. During my brief major league career I played against such Hall of Fame greats as Stan Musial, Ernie Banks, Hank Aaron, Eddie Matthews, Jackie Robinson, Frank Robinson, Ken Boyer, Roy Campanella, Duke Snider, Pee Wee Reese, Don Newcombe, Sandy Koufax, Don Drysdale, Warren Spahn, Robin Roberts, and many others. As a broadcaster I was privileged to view and describe the excellence of Roberto Clemente, Bill Mazeroski, Willie Stargell, Bob Gibson, Johnny Bench, Joe Morgan, Tony Perez, Lou Brock, and many more.
Committing these memories to paper has been personally satisfying. I hope you will enjoy reading them as much as I did living them.
When Nellie asked Roberto Clemente in a June 28, 1970 interview "How many years do you want to play baseball in the major leagues?", Roberto prophetically replied, "I’m a very funny person because I think that I would like to play as long as I can help the ball club. Sometime, like last year, I played with a very bad left shoulder and it was very tough for me. I don’t want to play like that because I hurt myself, I hurt the fans and I hurt the Pittsburgh organization.
"I would like to play until I get to 3,000 hits. I think that is something not too may fellows accomplished in the past and not too many are going to accomplish in the future either. So I would like to play until I get 3,000 hits."
38 years ago today on September 30th, 1972 Nellie King was set to announce the 4th inning when he graciously handed over the microphone to long time partner Bob Prince so he could go down in history calling Roberto's 3,000th hit... which ended up being his last.
“1960 was the start of Nellie King’s second career as a broadcaster working at small radio stations near Pittsburgh. It was the year the Pirates became “World Champions” by defeating the New York Yankees in a seven game World Series on Bill Mazeroski’s “walk-off” home run. Where do you go from there? Well, in 1967 Nellie replaced Don Hoak on the Pirate broadcasting team. It’s a whole new reason why this book is a great read. In his early years working with Bob Prince he had the chore of closing most of the games. Bob would say, 'There’s a fly ball to the outfield and when it comes down, Nellie will be back with the re-cap.' With a King and a Prince, how can you go wrong?”
-- Ralph Kiner, Hall of Famer and Mets Broadcaster
“From Branch Rickey to the colorful Bob Prince, Nellie King has had a 30-year ride in pro ball that will keep you turning the pages of his book. To say it’s a must-read is an understatement. Thanks, Nellie, for taking us along!”
-- Joe Garagiola, Hall of Fame Broadcaster
“Nellie King’s memoirs take Western Pennsylvanians on an enjoyable trip through many of the great moments in the area’s sports yesteryears, particularly those seasons when the Pirates were at the top of the baseball world. His reminiscences strike familiar chords when he writes about his local radio days covering the Masters and other tournaments in my golfing heydays. Nellie has always been one of the ‘good guys’ in the sports world, and that comes through on the pages of this book.”
-- Arnold Palmer, World-renowned Pro Golfer
“Lanky, long-armed Nellie King pitched exactly 173 and a third innings for the Pittsburgh Pirates from 1954 until 1957. He won seven, lost five games (including one in the Grand Canyon), and saved six. But far more than most players with longer and glitzier resumes, Nellie made baseball his life by turning his colorful experiences and sweet insight into stories. And here he has done us all the great favor of writing them down. Somebody buy this man a beer!”
-- Mark Bowden, Best-selling Author of Blackhawk Down
In honor of tonight's first game of the 2009 World Series championship, Nellie recalls a series that the Yankees lost, in the last inning of the last game. Nellie's book is now on sale, and would make a great holiday gift for Pirate fans and baseball aficionados everywhere.
Enjoy this excerpt:
...The 1960 Pirates were a group of experienced, mentally tough, hungry, happy, at times crazy, but always-confident players who felt they owned the final three innings of every game. To the fans and the media, they were the “Battling Bucs.”
Benny Benack’s Dixieland Band created a loose and fun-filled atmosphere at Forbes Field that summer with a theme song written by an advertising agency for Iron City Beer, which had everyone singing, “The Bucs Are Going All the Way, All the Way this Year!” Little did the fans realize that the team’s trademark of coming from behind to miraculously win games would continue all the way to the final inning of the last game of the World Series.
The series was supposed to be a mismatch between the favored New York Yankees and the underestimated Pirates. It was, when you added the total runs scored that the Bucs won all the close games. Prior to the Series, I interviewed a few Pirates’ players, asking whom they thought would be the star of the Series. Groat, Face, Law, Hoak, Clemente, and Virdon were often mentioned. Harvey Haddix, whom I had played baseball with in the Army, was the only player to pick Bill Mazeroski. I asked him why, and with the wisdom of a veteran pitcher he said, “Because the Yankees will pitch to him.”
The Series, which began and ended in Forbes Field, was as dramatic as you could get. The Bucs won the opener 6-4, but were blown out in two straight embarrassing losses, 16-3 and 10-0. Their confidence shaking, the Bucs won the final two in Yankee Stadium with strong pitching from Law, Haddix, and Face, who saved the first three wins.
With the Pirates leading 3-2 in the series, back in Forbes Field for the sixth and, if needed, a seventh game, winning the World Series was now a reality for Pittsburgh fans.
However, Whitey Ford shut out the Bucs 12-0 for the second time, so there would be a seventh game. New York Daily News sportswriter Dick Young best described the situation. His lead line read: “As Mrs. Dionne said to Dr. Dafoe, ‘Don’t go away. There’s more to come’.” (Dr. Dafoe was the name of the doctor who delivered the famed Dionne quintuplets.)
The series now came down to one last game. It was to be the most memorable baseball game ever played in Pittsburgh, and perhaps in World Series, history. Blowing an early 4-0 lead, the Pirates trailed 5-4 following Yogi Berra’s three run homer off ace reliever Elroy Face in the sixth inning. The Yankees appeared to wrap it up with two more homers in the eighth for a 7-4 lead. But there was indeed “more to come.”
Trailing by three, the Pirates’ Gino Cimoli pinch hit for Face and singled to right center. Then the Pirates got a huge break when Virdon’s grounder to Tony Kubek appeared to be a sure double play ball, but the ball took a bad hop on the “alabaster plaster” (as Pirates’ announcer Bob Prince described the rock hard infield at Forbes Field), hitting Kubek in the throat and putting two on and no outs. The blow forced Kubek to leave the game and Joe DeMaestri replaced him at shortstop.
With nobody out, Groat gave one of many of his clutch hits, with a single to drive in Cimoli. Jim Coates replaced Bobby Shantz, who had earlier pitched four scoreless innings. With runners at first and second, Bob Skinner moved Virdon and Groat to third and second with a perfect sacrifice, but Rocky Nelson’s fly ball to right did not allow Virdon to score. With two out and a 7-5 lead, Coates would make the blunder that set the scene for the most exciting finish of a deciding game in the history of the World Series.
Roberto Clemente came to bat and tapped a slow roller down the first base line, which should have been the final out of the inning, but Coates was late covering at first and Clemente, hustling as he always did, was safe. Virdon scored, to cut the Yankees’ lead to one run at 7-6. Hal Smith, who replaced Burgess (who left for a pinch runner in the seventh) hit what then appeared to be the series-winning hit. With the count of 2-2, Smith hit a three run homer to left center that gave the Bucs a 9-7 lead going into the ninth.
Bob Friend, who rarely relieved, was called on to finish the game. Bobby Richardson and pinch hitter Dale Long opened the Yankees’ ninth with singles to put the tying runs on base. With the Yankees’ left-handed power hitters—Maris, Mantle, and Berra—coming up, Murtaugh had no choice but to go with left-handed pitcher Harvey Haddix. Harvey retired Maris on a foul out, but Mantle singled, scoring Richardson to make it 9-8 as Dale Long, the tying run, went to third just ahead of the throw by Clemente with only one out.
Casey Stengel, who had erred in allowing Long to stay in the game, finally realized he needed speed, and Gil McDougald was inserted to pinch run for Long at third base.
In one of the most unusual plays, Berra hit a line drive to Rocky Nelson, who was holding Mantle on at first base. Nelson trapped the ball, tagged first, which took off the force play at second. As Nelson went to throw to second, Mantle, who probably thought the ball was caught on the fly, or made one of the most intelligent running decisions in series history, (I firmly believe it was the former) slid back into first base ahead of Nelson’s tag, as McDougald scored the tying run. I vividly recall watching catcher Hal Smith after this play. His head and shoulders dropped in disbelief. The game was now tied and his three-run homer was just a footnote in the box score. Haddix then retired Bill Skowron to bounce out to end the inning.
Viewing the game from one of the booths overhanging the first base side at Forbes Field, I recall how eerily silent it was, similar to a wake, as the Pirates came to bat in the bottom of the ninth. Bill Mazeroski stepped in to face Ralph Terry, the fifth New York pitcher of the game.
The rest is history. Maz hit what many believe remains the most dramatic home run in baseball history to beat the Yankees 10-9 and capture the 1960 World Series Championship.
How Mazeroski felt during those historic moments remained untold until some forty years later. It came not during a sports interview, but during a post-dinner question and answer session at a Pirates Alumni golf outing at South Hills Country Club in the summer of 2001. An audience member asked Maz to “Walk us through what was going on in your mind at that time.” Maz, in his humble “aw shucks” way, preferred not to respond until everyone, players included, pleaded with him to do so.
Roy McHugh, a prominent sports writer for the Pittsburgh Press in 1960, had witnessed Maz’s home run, and when I told him later about the question asked by a fan at the dinner he remarked, “What a great question! Nobody thought to ask Maz that question before.”
As best as I can recall, this is how Maz described that unforgettable event:
“As a kid living in Rayland, Ohio, I was a big Cleveland Indians fan and hated the Yankees. I remember thinking as we took the field in the top of the ninth inning with a two run lead, ‘here we are, needing only three outs to beat the Yankees to win the World Series.’ However, when the inning began to fall apart and they tied the game I started to think, ‘The damn Yankees always seem to win the big games!’ After the inning ended in a tie, I sat dejected in the Pirates’ dugout, feeling the disappointment of losing the lead, until I heard a coach holler, ‘Maz, grab a bat, you’re the lead off batter in the inning.’
“I had completely forgotten I was the batter to open the bottom of the ninth inning.”
Maz continued his vivid recollection of that moment,
“All I was thinking of was getting a good ball to hit and to hit it hard. The first pitch from Terry was a high fastball that I took for a ball. I remember hearing Johnny Blanchard, who took over the catching duties when Berra moved to left field, holler to Terry, ‘Keep the ball down on this guy. He’s a good high ball hitter!’ The next pitch was another high fastball, but in the strike zone. I knew I hit it good and ran hard, knowing it could be a double and possibly a triple as Berra was going to have trouble fielding the carom off the left center field wall.
"As I approached second base, I noticed the third base umpire raise his hands signaling a home run. That’s when I began celebrating, waving my hat, knowing we had actually beat the Yankees. From the time I reached second base and saw the umpire signal home run, until I touched home plate, my feet never touched the ground.”
The crowd at Forbes Field, along with people working downtown and everywhere in western Pennsylvania, began a spontaneous and amazingly peaceful revelry. To this day, Pirates’ fans who took part in the celebration can tell you where they were and what they were doing when “Maz” hit that home run. Only a year ago a fan told me he was driving on Smithfield Street near Kaufmann’s department store, listening to the game on radio when “Maz” hit the home run. He jumped out of the car, left the motor running, went into a bar across the street and joined in the festivities. Soon the people in the bar moved out into the street with their drinks, joining in the bigger celebration outside. Confetti was now pouring from office buildings downtown; people were driving with their lights on, yelling, and honking their horns.
I was lucky to witness the Pirates’ clubhouse celebration. Players sprayed champagne all over the room as they shared hugs with each other. Bob Skinner and Bill Virdon each grabbed a bottle of champagne and shrewdly hid them in their lockers. ….
Nelson “Nellie” King is a captivating storyteller who loves to share highlights from his long association with the Pittsburgh Pirates. He witnessed many historic moments during his days as a pitcher (1954-1957) and a broadcaster (1967-1975) with his beloved “Buccos,” from the 1950s when the Pirates were “in the basement” to the thrill of the 1971 World Series Championship victory. Now King has recorded his memories in his new book, Happiness is like a Cur Dog: The Thirty Year Journey of a Major League Pitcher and Broadcaster.
In his memoir, Nellie takes us from his birthplace in the hard coal-mining village of Weston Place, Pennsylvania, to the golden age of Pittsburgh Pirates baseball.
One of King's most cherished and vivid memories goes back to 1941 when, as a thirteen-year-old, he saw his first major league game at Shibe Park in Philadelphia as the Phillies squared off against the Cincinnati Reds. Back in those days, fans were allowed to exit from the playing field. As King walked past the visitors' dugout, his brother remarked that both Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig had sat there. Fourteen years later, on April 24, 1955, Nellie would also sit there in a Pittsburgh Pirates uniform.
King considers 1956 the most enjoyable season of his major league career. Nellie was a part of the Pirates team that surprised everyone by moving into first place in the National League on June 20. That year, he had a record of 4-1, 7 saves, and an ERA of 3.15. Joe L. Brown, who was in his first season as a general manager, made a bold decision to go with a roster dominated with talented but inexperienced players, creating the nucleus of the 1960 World Series Champion team.
Although an arm injury unexpectedly ended his bullpen days in 1957, Nellie was able to keep a positive attitude and strong faith that things happen for a reason.
Nellie ultimately found his true second career, sports broadcasting, in 1960. From 1967-1975, he was one-half of the Pirates broadcasting duo alongside Bob “The Gunner” Prince on KDKA radio. Together, the “royal” team of Prince and King would broadcast what Prince called the "Halcyon Days" of Pirate baseball. Current Pirate color analyst Steve Blass thinks that Nellie had a great style of interviewing. Blass thought that King's best quality was to make the person he interviewed feel at home and comfortable.
King's playing and broadcasting careers spanned a generation, and his comments on the game as it is played today are wrapped in colorful stories from baseball's golden age.As the undisputed folk historian of Pirates baseball, King brings to life some of the greatest names in Pirates history: Branch Rickey, Danny Murtaugh, Roberto Clemente, Willie Stargell, Bill Mazeroski, Vernon Law, and Dave Giusti. With a sparkling talent for narrative and a reverence for the players, managers, coaches, sportswriters, and fans of his beloved Pirates, King provides rich insights into the politics and economics of baseball during a period of profound social and cultural change, particularly the game’s role in the transformation of race relations in mid-century America and the way that farm systems and growing franchises changed the meaning of baseball in America, on and off the field.
If you love the Pittsburgh Pirates, baseball history, or a good tale well told, this book is for you!
The Biblical saying, “for where your treasure is, there will your heart be also,” sums up my varied career. It is rewarding to look back over the 80 years of my life and realize that following my heart has always led me to happiness and satisfaction. From the time I graduated from high school until today, there were only four years when I was not doing what I truly wanted to do: two were spent in the army during the Korean War, and two devoted to trying to make a living selling mutual funds after the end of my baseball career. All the other years I found joy, satisfaction, and success by listening to my heart and doing things I truly loved.
True to the paradox many discover as they grow older, my overall memory has become less acute, while my recollections of long-ago games, events, and relationships are increasingly vivid and cherished. One memory in particular stands out: on a brilliant summer day in 1941 when I was 13 years old, I saw my first major league game. My older brother Bill and my uncle Nelson (for whom I am named) took me to Philadelphia to see the Phillies and Reds play at Shibe Park. The Cincinnati Reds had won consecutive National League titles in 1939 and 1940, so they grabbed my attention much more than the Phillies that day. I recognized pitchers Paul Derringer and Bucky Walters, as well as their manager, Bill McKechnie. The most recognizable of all, though, was Ernie Lombardi, the Reds’ huge catcher.
I barely noticed the Phillies’ double play combination that day. Danny Murtaugh was playing second and Bobby Bragan was at shortstop. As a child sitting in Shibe Park, I could never have imagined our paths would cross in the major leagues just 13 years later. Danny Murtaugh was my manager at New Orleans in 1954, and later with the Pirates in 1957. My wife, Bernadette, and I were honored when Danny later became the godfather of our first daughter, Laurie.
Years later, as a radio and television broadcaster for the Pirates, I was fortunate to renew my association with Danny when he managed the 1971 Pirates to a World Championship. I pitched for Bobby Bragan in 1955 at Hollywood, and in 1956 with the Pirates. Bragan’s confidence in my ability to throw strikes enabled me to enjoy my brief success at the major league level before an arm injury forced my retirement in 1957.
Seeing my first major league game with my uncle and brother was certainly memorable, but what happened after the game that day in Shibe Park remains particularly vivid. In those days, you could exit the old ballparks from the field. As a kid, I was completely enchanted to be that close to the diamond on which the players had moved, seemingly larger than life. As I walked, starry-eyed, past the visiting team’s dugout on the first base side, my brother said, “Hey, Nels—Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig sat in this dugout!”
Fourteen years later, on April 24, 1955, I was sitting in that very same dugout, wearing a Pirate uniform, about to make my first appearance as a starting pitcher in a major league game. From the perspective of the boy who first saw Shibe Park in 1941, the chance of this ever happening would have seemed as remote as making it into baseball’s Hall of Fame! Recalling my brother’s words on that summer day gave me a deep feeling of satisfaction that words can never describe.
This is the story of the wonderful journey that took me from the Milton S. Hershey School for Boys to the minor leagues, and then to a major league career as a relief pitcher for the Pirates. As such, it is a story about finding happiness, or rather, letting happiness find me.
Photo: Shibe Park, home of the Philadelphia Athletics from 1909 to 1954, was renamed Connie Mack Stadium in 1953
