The Cardinals Way Read Online Free Page B

with future major league stars—though Vinegar Bend Mizell did pitch to a 2.48 ERA for them—but Kissell had the kind of year that eventually got him honored by the Winston-Salem Hall of Fame.
    And how he did it, through personally connecting with his players, became a hallmark for Kissell every bit as important as that book of his, which was a living document. To know Kissell then, or any day of his life until the end, was to see him perched in a dugout, watching, writing. His papers are overflowing with observations, from long-lost games in the 1950s, or the 1970s, or the 1990s, or the 2000s.
    I’ve always enjoyed working with the kids. I still do.
    â€” G EORGE K ISSELL, 2004, AT AGE EIGHTY-FOUR 2
    Hi George, This note from Dick Schlueter, member/catcher, Hamilton Ontario, Cardinals—Class of 1948—I think the last time we talked was spring training in Albany, GA in 1949.… But my prime reason for this note—for old times sake (to be sure) but to thank you for your help/guidance as a baseball coach/manager and of greater importance guidance “in the game of life.”
    â€”L ETTER TO G EORGE K ISSELL FROM D ICK S CHLUETER , 2000
    The Cardinals, short on infielders at the end of the 1950 season, offered Kissell a chance to come up and play in St. Louis. Kissell was married to Ginny (Virginia) by then and had two small children. He turned the Cardinals down, preferring to stay at Winston-Salem and manage the youngest pros.
    â€œI should have gone up and had the cup of coffee when I had the chance,” Kissell told a reporter, staring out onto a back field in St. Petersburg, according to a 1994 partial clipping I found among his papers. “But I did what I thought was right at the time.”
    The Cardinals hardly begrudged Kissell for his selfless decision. Instead, they gave him a project—a raw converted pitcher out of Alba, Missouri, who the Cardinals hoped could make the transition to third base. His name was Ken Boyer, and if you’d gotten up early and made your way to Al Lang Field in St. Petersburg that spring, you’d have seen a small man with a booming voice showing Boyer every possible ground ball a third baseman needs to learn how to field.
    It worked out for both Boyer and the Cardinals. Six All-Star Games, five Gold Gloves, and the 1964 NL MVP of the World Champion Cardinals isn’t a bad return on a spring project.
    Not that Boyer enjoyed all that hard work at first, chafing at Kissell’s instruction at times, and complaining to his minor league teammate, a second baseman (and Kissell’s roommate) named Earl Weaver. Kissell benched Boyer.
    â€œAnd I told Weaver, ‘You tell him when he’s ready to take advice, then he’s ready to play,’” Kissell said in 1994.
    Thirteen years later, the Cardinals sent the reigning NL MVP to the Cardinals’ Winter Instructional League, to tell a new generation of young players what George Kissell had made possible.
    Boyer called the coaches together and pointed to Kissell. “I just want to say a word. You know this little guy here, I couldn’t stand him when I played for him. But he taught me, more than anyone else, the meaning of one word— respect . I just want to thank him.”
    Dear George: In the 1960s, I played in the Cardinal organization (1964–1968).… You were a roving coach (“ambassador!!!”) and I always thought we had a pretty good relationship.… As a college graduate, we talked about one of your children who, at the time as I recall, was either in medical school or trying for acceptance.… George, I have always remembered your professionalism and the extent of your knowledge.… It has taken me more than 30 years to write this letter, but I want you to know that you were an influence on me at a time when I was a bit cocky for someone with low average ability. I wish I would have been as smart at 21–25 years old as I am