When I was growing up, my family members were divided: my mother and my Uncle Hubert were Cubs fans, and my grandfather and I were Sox fans. The other family members did not care about baseball.
After supper, my grandfather would go to his room and study the stock market. He would turn his radio on at 8 p.m. to the Sox station if there was a night game, and I would join him if I wasn’t swamped with homework.
When we bought a television set, we were able to watch Sox home games on Saturday and Sunday afternoons.
I was not a Cubs basher. In fact, Hubert took me to a number of games at Wrigley Field because I appreciated the talents of Ernie Banks, Andy Pafko, and Hank Sauer.
I did not go to a Sox game until I was a senior in high school when my friends and I could drive to Comiskey Park.
During the 1950s the Sox were the better team, winning the American League pennant in 1959 but, alas, losing the World Series to the L.A. Dodgers.
During this time, the Cubs fought it out with the Pirates to stay out of last place.
Remembering some of the Sox players, Chico Carrasquel, Nellie Fox, Gus Zernial, Luis Aparicio, and Eddie Robinson stand out in my mind. Chico Carrasquel and Aparicio were slick-fielding shortstops who hit well and were great match-ups with Nellie Fox as double-play partners.
Nellie was a .300 hitter with little power, but a great glove. When I first saw him on TV, I thought he had something wrong with his face, but I learned he had a chaw of chewing tobacco in his mouth.
Gus Zernial was a power-hitting outfielder who once hit a homer over the left field wall and shattered a car window that was in the parking lot. I heard it happen.
First baseman Eddie Robinson was a robust man with great power who one year hit 36 homers. His homers were generally high, arching drives that often landed in the upper deck at Comiskey Park.
The Cubs’ radio broadcaster, who I remember was a very spirited speaker named Burt Wilson, thought that shortstop Roy Smalley was the greatest Cubs player.
Smalley should have been an outfielder because he had a powerful arm, leading some wag to coin the phrase on a sure double play ball: “Miksis [2B] to Smalley to Addison Street.”
Roy’s son, Jr., played a short time with the Sox. He had a more controlled arm from the shortstop position.
Ernie Banks was as good a shortstop (later first base) and hitter as I had seen in a Cubs uniform. He was always optimistic, and when asked how he felt, he would say, “It’s a great day for baseball; let’s play two.”
Hank Sauer was a stoic man who could really belt the ball, often hitting 35-40 homers a year, but he was slow on foot in left field.
Andy Pafko was a terrific outfielder who saved many games by making circus catches. When the Cubs traded him to the Brooklyn Dodgers, my mother and uncle were very sad.
The three family members who didn’t care for baseball never knew what they had missed.
The rest of us had an inborn love of the game.