ball a bit doubtful. Also a good hitter. May make an outfielder.”
Bob Broeg once ruminated on how far his pal had traveled, noting how the 1940 All-Star Game had been held in St. Louis while Musial was mostly pitching in the low minor leagues.
“And he is sitting in a room in Daytona Beach, trying to keep score,” Broeg said for a documentary. Pausing for effect, Broeg added, “I’ve seen this scorecard. Max West of the Braves hit a three-run homer to win the game, 4–0.” Broeg noted that West was a right fielder—and that twelve months later Musial would be playing right field in Sportsman’s Park.
“Now that’s incredible,” said Broeg, who had a bit of a stammer. “I mean, I think it’s, uh, the most fantastic story you have.”
It became even more fantastic after Musial injured his shoulder and faced the 1941 season fearing his career was over.
Nineteen forty-one is most remembered for the attack on Pearl Harbor and the growing global involvement in World War II. But in the narrowworld of American baseball, that year is remembered for Ted Williams’s .406 batting average, Joe DiMaggio’s consecutive-game hitting streak of 56, and Bob Feller’s 25 victories and 260 strikeouts.
It was also the year Stan Musial roared upward, from virtual reject to astounding rookie.
He began his fourth season at the Cardinals’ minor-league camp in Hollywood, Florida, a sore-armed pitcher scheduled to pitch batting practice to top prospects and then perhaps be released. Fortunately for him, the Cardinals had a vast cadre of managers and instructors who could recognize talent and bring it along.
In the swarm at Hollywood, Musial came under the scrutiny of the manager of the Class AA farm team at Columbus, Ohio, an older gent named Burt “Barney” Shotton, who had once played the outfield for the Browns and Cardinals.
Shotton watched Musial try to pitch on the sidelines and said, “Son, there’s something wrong with your arm. At least, I know you’re not throwing hard enough to pitch here. I think you can make it as a hitter. I’m going to send you to another camp with the recommendation that you be tried as an outfielder.”
Years later, Musial would honor Shotton as “a man who never seems to have received enough credit for the help he gave me,” and would describe Shotton as “a dignified, bespectacled man best known for later managing the Brooklyn Dodgers to two pennants.” This was in 1947 and 1949, when Shotton would manage Jackie Robinson against Musial’s Cardinals.
One person Musial did not include in his memories of those trying days was the general manager of the Cardinals, Branch Rickey. However, as Musial became the best player ever to emerge from the Cardinals’ farm system, Rickey placed himself near the center of the process.
Interviewed on camera nearly two decades later, Rickey gave his ornate version of the retooling of Stanley:
He was signed as a batting practice pitcher for the Columbus, Ohio, club in the spring of 1941, training in Hollywood, Florida. It was the first time I was impressed with his ability as a hitter. Barney Shotton was the manager of the Columbus club. That morning when I came tovisit him, he said, “Do you know a batsman named Musial?” And I said, “I never heard of him, but I do know a pitcher named Musial and he was sent here to pitch to your hitters.” And he said, “I want to show you where he hit the ball in this park out here,” and when we got out there that morning, he showed me where he hit the ball over the bank of the railroad in right center, and I asked him, “Did you see him hit it?” and he said, “I did,” and if he hadn’t seen it, he wouldn’t have believed it, and I said, “Well, I wouldn’t, if you don’t mind, I won’t either.”
After that long shot, Musial at least had some hope of making it as a hitter as he traveled from coastal Hollywood deep inland, first to Albany, Georgia, and then to Columbus, Georgia, where the
Bob Broeg once ruminated on how far his pal had traveled, noting how the 1940 All-Star Game had been held in St. Louis while Musial was mostly pitching in the low minor leagues.
“And he is sitting in a room in Daytona Beach, trying to keep score,” Broeg said for a documentary. Pausing for effect, Broeg added, “I’ve seen this scorecard. Max West of the Braves hit a three-run homer to win the game, 4–0.” Broeg noted that West was a right fielder—and that twelve months later Musial would be playing right field in Sportsman’s Park.
“Now that’s incredible,” said Broeg, who had a bit of a stammer. “I mean, I think it’s, uh, the most fantastic story you have.”
It became even more fantastic after Musial injured his shoulder and faced the 1941 season fearing his career was over.
Nineteen forty-one is most remembered for the attack on Pearl Harbor and the growing global involvement in World War II. But in the narrowworld of American baseball, that year is remembered for Ted Williams’s .406 batting average, Joe DiMaggio’s consecutive-game hitting streak of 56, and Bob Feller’s 25 victories and 260 strikeouts.
It was also the year Stan Musial roared upward, from virtual reject to astounding rookie.
He began his fourth season at the Cardinals’ minor-league camp in Hollywood, Florida, a sore-armed pitcher scheduled to pitch batting practice to top prospects and then perhaps be released. Fortunately for him, the Cardinals had a vast cadre of managers and instructors who could recognize talent and bring it along.
In the swarm at Hollywood, Musial came under the scrutiny of the manager of the Class AA farm team at Columbus, Ohio, an older gent named Burt “Barney” Shotton, who had once played the outfield for the Browns and Cardinals.
Shotton watched Musial try to pitch on the sidelines and said, “Son, there’s something wrong with your arm. At least, I know you’re not throwing hard enough to pitch here. I think you can make it as a hitter. I’m going to send you to another camp with the recommendation that you be tried as an outfielder.”
Years later, Musial would honor Shotton as “a man who never seems to have received enough credit for the help he gave me,” and would describe Shotton as “a dignified, bespectacled man best known for later managing the Brooklyn Dodgers to two pennants.” This was in 1947 and 1949, when Shotton would manage Jackie Robinson against Musial’s Cardinals.
One person Musial did not include in his memories of those trying days was the general manager of the Cardinals, Branch Rickey. However, as Musial became the best player ever to emerge from the Cardinals’ farm system, Rickey placed himself near the center of the process.
Interviewed on camera nearly two decades later, Rickey gave his ornate version of the retooling of Stanley:
He was signed as a batting practice pitcher for the Columbus, Ohio, club in the spring of 1941, training in Hollywood, Florida. It was the first time I was impressed with his ability as a hitter. Barney Shotton was the manager of the Columbus club. That morning when I came tovisit him, he said, “Do you know a batsman named Musial?” And I said, “I never heard of him, but I do know a pitcher named Musial and he was sent here to pitch to your hitters.” And he said, “I want to show you where he hit the ball in this park out here,” and when we got out there that morning, he showed me where he hit the ball over the bank of the railroad in right center, and I asked him, “Did you see him hit it?” and he said, “I did,” and if he hadn’t seen it, he wouldn’t have believed it, and I said, “Well, I wouldn’t, if you don’t mind, I won’t either.”
After that long shot, Musial at least had some hope of making it as a hitter as he traveled from coastal Hollywood deep inland, first to Albany, Georgia, and then to Columbus, Georgia, where the
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