The LuLac Edition #241, June 7, 2007

PHOTO INDEX: BLOG EDITOR AND CLETE BOYER IN 1990 AT LACKAWANNA COUNTY STADIUM. THEN GM BILL TERLECKY CALLED ME THE NEXT DAY AND KINDLY SAID, "DAVE, I THINK A FRIEND OF YOURS WAS ANNOYING CLETE LAST NIGHT FOR A PICTURE. HE WON'T BE AT THE PARK TONIGHT WILL HE?" AND ME AND CLETE BOYER IN COOPERSTOWN IN THE SUMMER OF 1997.

MY FAVORITE YANKEE

CLETE BOYER



When I was a young boy growing up, the dominant team of my time was the New York Yankees. Following the Phillies and the Pirates, mainly because my tastes had not yet been refined or for that matter defined, I was a bystander when it came to the New York teams. The Mets were just starting and it was a treat to stay up late on Friday night and watch the Met games on WNEP from the Polo Grounds. (I think they ran them on delay). My Yankee friends had their idols, Mantle, Maris and Berra. I was told to pick a Yankee because in our sandlot games, we emulated players and took on their identities. Watching the Saturday games on TV, I noticed the third baseman, Clete Boyer. He made hard plays look easy, something I was never going to master. And his number was simple, “6”. His batting stance and swing were functional, not flashy. My kind of guy. So I made Clete Boyer my favorite Yankee. Taking an old white tee shirt, I carefully imprinted the number “6” on the back with a navy blue laundry pen. Back in 1964, there were no custom made shirts for youngsters, you had to make your own. And I made Clete’s persona my own in that summer sandlot season. I didn’t do too badly either.
Little did I realize that years later, I would have contact with “my favorite Yankee”. In 1990 at Lackawanna County Stadium, there he was, Clete Boyer pitching batting practice. I had to meet him and pestered him until he sat with me, consented to an interview reluctantly and finally posed for a picture. He was pissed and rightly so because I had intruded on his pre game workout. Granted, all he was doing was pitching batting practice but he wanted to do it right. Still, he was okay and didn’t drill me with a ball, but I’m sure he would’ve if he had the chance.
My next encounter came in Cooperstown. Clete had bought a burger joint there aptly called “Clete Boyer’s Hamburger Heaven”. Made the pilgrimage one weekend but Clete was nowhere to be found. We had a great breakfast there and went to town. Clete might not have been at his “Hamburger Heaven” but he was at a store signing autographs. My friend Frank began yammering on about his idol Mickey Mantle and Clete told many stories about “The Mick”. Finally, we were all getting uncomfortable because no one was asking about Clete’s career. So I stepped to the plate. I asked Clete about the 1964 World Series when he faced off against his brother Ken. The Yanks vs. the Cards. I asked Clete who his parents were rooting for when the Boyer Brothers faced each other. He was pleased with the question. “Well, my mom and dad had 14 kids, they never played favorites and that year, in public they said they hoped we’d both win. But I think they were rooting for Kenny because I already had my World Series rings and Kenny had none. So I think they were pulling for Kenny” he concluded. He then posed with me for another picture. This time he was more relaxed and not annoyed with me. He had no pregame responsibilities, just memories to share.
The last time I saw Clete Boyer was again at his “Hamburger Heaven”. We had spent the day in Cooperstown and were on our way home. Stopping for dinner, we saw Clete. He was alone in the back nursing a cold beer. We were invited to sit with him. He signed a photo and talked about the old day and the newer ones too. Said he thought Buck Showalter was a back stabber, told us Torre would be the greatest Yankee manager if they just left him alone and told us George Steinbrenner was really a very generous man. He made it clear he never wanted to be the Yankee manager but thought he’d be able to handle it. As we got up to leave, he asked us for a favor. In the back of the restaurant he had this huge chicken barbeque contraption that was easily 20 yards long. He needed it moved just near the fence so that he could hold his annual barbecue chicken fundraiser for the town. As we struggled with this huge grill like piece of cookery, I laughed to myself about how sweet life was. My favorite Yankee was putting me to work. But we did good and Clete thanked us profusely.
In later years, we went to his restaurant for breakfast and dinner on the way home. It seemed like we were his only customers because no one else seemed to be there. Clete sold the place because he was in declining health. So it came as no surprise that he died at the young age of 70. It was a baseball life packed with glamour, humor, steady workmanship and recognition. Bobby Richardson said this week, "He was a hard liver, I don't think that's any secret," he said. "He lived life to the fullest." Maybe that's why I liked him. He seemed to enjoy every day with gusto, whether it was downing one of his own burgers, a cold beer or telling a story about a team mate or himself. In a very small way, I was glad “my favorite Yankee” and I had intersected in our lives. It might not have done much for his existence but it certainly enriched mine. And that’s how I’ll remember Clete Boyer, solid, fun loving, life loving pinstripe number “6”.