Willie Mays 1959

If reports can be believed, most big league scouts got wind of Willie almost from the time he first put on a Barons' uniform. Harry Jenkins, once a director of farm personnel for the Boston Braves, has revealed that he first started keeping an eye on Willie when he was only 13. It is a fact that the Braves made an offer for Willie shortly after the Barons signed him. They offered $7,500 for Willie's contract and $7,500 more if he made good. They could not, of course, sign Willie until he graduated. The Chicago White Sox were also waiting for Willie to finish school. But while they were waiting, a couple of Giant scouts, Ed Montague and Bill Harris, arrived in Birmingham to look over Baron First Baseman Alonzo Perry. They decided that Perry wouldn't do, but after the game Montague went directly to a telephone and called New York. "I saw a young kid of an outfielder I can't believe," he said. "He can run, hit to either field and has a real good arm. Don't ask any questions. You've got to get this boy."

Montague's enthusiasm was infectious. He was told not to leave Birmingham until he had signed Willie. Montague offered the Barons a flat $10,000 for Willie's contract, which took care of the Braves' proposition. The day after Willie graduated in June 1950, Montague showed up at his home and offered him $2,000 to sign with the Giants. Willie and his father said that wasn't enough; they wanted $6,000. Without dickering, Montague immediately telephoned Horace Stoneham and explained the situation. Stoneham said to give Willie what he wanted.

This story indicates that Willie has never underestimated his value. Now that he is pushing 28, one of the things he would like to set straight is the persistent old tale that he loves to play baseball so much that he really doesn't care what he is paid. "Maybe that makes a good story," Willie said, "but I never said anything like that to Mr. Stoneham. If a fellow hits .340 or something like that year after year and plays good ball, he sure can say he's worth whatever he can get."

Willie was 19 when he reported to the Giants' farm club in Trenton, N.J. By midseason it was apparent he was already too good for Class B ball. He was allowed to season until the next year, however, and then brought up to Minneapolis and Triple-A ball. That year Willie couldn't do anything poorly. He hit a fancy .477 and still worked overtime trying to improve his hitting. A devoted admirer of Joe DiMaggio, he spent hours practicing DiMag's stance, copying his swing. As for his fielding, then, as now, he didn't have to worry about it. If it was humanly possible to catch a ball, Willie would catch it. Frequently, as Minneapolis soon discovered, he did it when it wasn't humanly possible. Minneapolis had never seen a ballplayer like Willie. On the probably valid assumption that it never would again, fans made the most of the opportunity. To this day some Minneapolis fans remove their hats and grow misty-eyed when the name of Willie Mays is mentioned.

Naturally, news of this brilliant young busher reached the ears of Leo Durocher, who was wallowing noisily in a slough of despair and managing a team laughingly called the Giants. Durocher asked for Mays to be brought to New York. Horace Stoneham refused. "He's not ready for the majors," he said. "Anyway, he's due to go into the Army at any minute."

The Giants lost 11 games in a row. Durocher screamed incessantly for Mays. Finally, Stoneham capitulated. But to prevent a mass demonstration in Minneapolis, he took the unprecedented step of inserting ads in the local papers which began by apologizing for taking Mays away and concluded with this ringing plea for fair play: "Mays is entitled to his promotion, and the chance to prove that he can play major league baseball. It would be most unfair to deprive him of the opportunity he earned with his play."

There still is no logical and completely satisfactory explanation of how 20-year-old Willie Mays wrought such magic with the Giants back in 1951. But it is a fact that with his arrival a bunch of unhappy and dispirited players, united only in that they wore similar uniforms, suddenly became a team, one of the sweetest ball teams in modern history. Probably Durocher deserves more credit than he is given. From the day he first clapped eyes on Willie he was electrified by his potentialities. To anyone who would listen he predicted that Willie would go down in baseball history as one of the greatest players of all time. Durocher loved to hear Willie talk. Willie was his lucky talisman, his mascot, his jester and his ward. Willie relaxed him. Before a game, when he was normally tense and worried, he would start a pepper game with Willie and in a few minutes be gamboling like a rookie. Durocher's enthusiasm was contagious. The team liked Willie and he became their mascot also.

Willie still adores Durocher. "Leo never steered me wrong—ever," he says. "He was good to me and I liked him the same way I do my father. I miss him all right, but a man has got to learn to look after himself in baseball."

But if Willie was good for Durocher, it also is true that Durocher was good for Willie. In his first few games with the Giants, the new hope was a dismal flop. In 26 times at bat he came up with just one hit, a lone home run.

One night after a game, Durocher came into the clubhouse and found Willie sitting in front of his locker crying. Leo put his arm around him and asked, "What's the matter, son?"