Not Such A Tough Cookie

Of course, nothing Cookie Lavagetto ever did on a baseball field matched his famous pinch-hit double in the 1947 World Series. Lavagetto had enlisted in the Navy in February of 1942, and the four seasons he missed had ruined his career. "I was washed up," he admits. He played very little in 1946 and even less, only 41 games, in 1947.

To fans of the old Brooklyn Dodgers, Lavagetto's hit has profound historical value. (Where were you when Cookie made his hit?) Briefly, it was the fourth game of the Series, and the New York Yankees led in both the Series and the game, 2-1. Floyd Bevens, the Yankee pitcher, had a no-hit game going into the ninth inning. With two out, the Dodgers got two men on base, on walks. Eddie Stanky was due up, but Manager Burt Shotton told Lavagetto to hit for him. On the second pitch Lavagetto lined the ball off the right-field wall at Ebbets Field. Both runners scored, the Dodgers won and Lavagetto, no matter what he did for the rest of his life, would never be forgotten. It was, ironically, the last hit Lavagetto ever made in the major leagues.

Cookie was released by Brooklyn after the 1947 season, ingratitude which temporarily embittered him toward the Dodger organization. He spent the next three years back in Oakland, playing under Dressen in 1949 and 1950. When Dressen was hired as the Dodger manager in 1951, Lavagetto went with him as a coach. He was there, sitting on the bench, when Bobby Thomson hit his pennant-winning home run.

Dressen insists the Dodgers would have won the 1951 pennant if he had been allowed to use Lavagetto. "I wanted to put him on the active list, but the brass said no. They didn't want to send a young fellow down. Hell, with Cookie to pinch hit down the stretch, I could have won easily."

Cookie stayed with Charley through the pennant-winning years of 1952-53. When Dressen was refused a two-year contract in 1954 and quit, Lavagetto sent Walter O'Malley a terse telegram: "Please accept resignation." The two friends went back to Oakland.

In 1955 Dressen was made manager of the Washington Senators and, of course, Cookie went along as coach. The Senators finished in the depths of the American League in 1955 and 1956. When the team started slowly in 1957, Dressen was abruptly fired, and the manager's job was offered to Cookie. Lavagetto didn't want it. He had never thought of himself as anything more than Charley's coach, and his immediate reaction was to refuse the offer and depart with Charley. What, argued Cookie with typical honesty, could he do for the Senators that Charley could not? But Dressen himself talked to Cookie, coaxed, pleaded and finally persuaded him to give it a try.

Man of decision

From the moment he made his decision to manage, Cookie began to develop into his own man. As a coach, his rich qualities lay dormant under the brass-band personality of Charley Dressen. His world had been secure, cozy. There had been fungos to hit, signs to flash and an occasional runner to wave around third. He could play bridge with the players and refer reporters' questions to Charley. Few people wanted his autograph, and no one wanted him to speak. It was a life free from mental strain. Now, as manager, Cookie led a different life. People wanted him to speak, a duty he has always found difficult. No longer could he play cards with the boys or refer questions to Charley. He learned that when the team is on the road the manager is allotted a hotel suite for himself. Cookie missed having a roommate. Hardest of all was the problem of running a last-place ball club, of deciding batting orders and who should pitch and whether or not to hit-and-run. When the team lost, as it usually did, Cookie took the game home with him and brooded over what had gone wrong. The worrying took a physical toll. He broke out in hives. Sleep came near dawn. Food, which had always tasted especially good to Cookie, became indigestible. He longed to be a coach again.

"He was unsure of himself in the beginning," recalls Russ Kemmerer, then a Washington pitcher. "He tried to manage just the way Charley did. He was sensitive about chewing out a player. You knew sometimes you had a little hell coming, but Cookie wouldn't give it to you." It took a while, but eventually Lavagetto realized he could handle the job. He learned to be decisive about removing a pitcher or juggling his lineup. The hives disappeared, the appetite returned and at night Cookie slept.

The Senators didn't improve, at least not at first. They cruised on peacefully in eighth place. Once they made five errors in one inning. Another time they lost 18 games in a row. To relieve the boredom of constant defeat, Cookie invented a game. Every day the players gathered in the clubhouse in courtroom fashion. Eddie Yost, then captain of the Senators, was the judge. In this setting players accused each other of misdemeanors, like singing poorly in the shower, snoring too loudly or jogging around the bases too slowly after a home run. Herb Heft, the club's publicity man, was once docked $1.25 when the team bus was late. Yost announced the fines. Anyone accused had the right to appeal, but if he lost (which was inevitable), the fine was doubled. All fines were solemnly collected and banked, and when the season was over the money was used to pay for a grand farewell party.