Leo Ward, who is beyond surprises after 20 years as traveling secretary of the Cards, sat unperturbed. He wasn't really worried because the plane waiting at the airport was, of course, another charter job (the Cards were paying $5,587.18 for this one) and couldn't take off until the team appeared.
The hilarity mounted. Soon, the frustrated bus driver was not target enough. Attention turned to a straw hat worn by Jack Herman, the sports-writer. It was roundly denounced. The black edging around the brim was abhorrent to the players. What was it? Where did he get it? Off a horse? "What was the matter, Jack?" Bob Nieman, the snorer, called out. "Didn't they have your size?" With that, Manager Solly Hemus, a man pondering the game just played and the one Jackson would pitch on the morrow, reached over, plucked the hat off Herman's head and threw it out the window. In the framework of the discussion it seemed a perfectly logical thing to do. (Jack Herman himself admitted that when Solly presented him with a new hat next day.)
Leo Ward ordered the bus stopped at the next gasoline station. He got out, asked for directions and then put the perspiring driver back on course. Within minutes, it seemed, the airport loomed up. The team boarded the charter plane. Stewardesses Sue Lilly of St. Louis and Rebecca Fogg of Birmingham, who had never flown with a ball club before, accepted the gallant offer of Pitcher Ernie Broglio to help with the dinner trays. In the tail Stan the Man played poker. Forward, the gin rummy games resumed. Then, against the drone of the engines, there arose the great snores of Bob Nieman, the outfielder, as a sort of dreadful melody in counterpoint. The club was headed west.
San Francisco could scarcely have been better. Larry Jackson, as mentioned, \von the first game, and in the second, Ray Sadecki, who had already begun to keep his little notebook on opposing hitters, turned in a four-hitter to beat the Giants 7-1.
On behalf of the club, Business Manager Art Routzong threw an elegant dinner party at Ernie's for Manager Hemus, the coaches and the sportswriters. Dr. I. C. Middleman, the club physician, and Mrs. Middleman were there. The talk at the two big tables was of high hopes—and why not? Who but a fool could deny, in the splendor of Ernie's, that the club (which was destined to reach second place) might not go all the way to the pennant this year?
But first, it had to play a pair in Los Angeles. Leo Ward called ahead to the Biltmore Hotel and checked his rooming list with Jim Sinclair, the manager. Everything was all set, said Manager Sinclair. He didn't even bother to mention that the Biltmore was a bit crowded as it was the headquarters of the Democratic National Convention. He knew that a ball club on a road trip couldn't care less.
It was annoying, though. The lobby was jammed, and a fellow couldn't find a spot to sit and read his
in comfort. The elevators were miniature madhouses. And at one point, Traveling Secretary Ward almost blew his top when a whole gang of characters broke into his suite to crowd up to the windows and cheer like nuts as a nonpro named Kennedy drove up with screaming sirens.
It didn't bother the club too much the first day. Boyer's homer beat the Dodgers 4-3. But in the second game the racket back at the Biltmore took its toll. The Cards got bombed 11-7.
The road trip, the swing around the western circuit, was over. The club headed east. There was just one stop to make. Musial, Boyer, White, Jackson, McDaniel and Solly Hemus (who had been fingered as coach) were due in Kansas City for the first All-Star Game. When the charter plane set down at KC, Business Manager Art Routzong got off, too. So did 19-year-old Ray Sadecki who had pitched that four-hitter against the Giants in his last start.
Ray wasn't going to the Ail-Star Game at all. He had a date with his childhood sweetheart, Diane Bush of Kansas City, Kansas. They were going to the 10:30 Mass at St. Peter's Cathedral together.