Ted Kluszewski's Charcoal Steak House

In the midst of our conquering the autograph lines at this past December's RedsFest, Lou and I took time out - as we do every year - to peruse the memorabilia vendor tables looking for cool and/or rare items to add to our respective collections.  At this advanced stage of development we've each had the opportunity, in some cases long ago, to collect those more ubiquitous baseball items.  Like most youngsters of past generations, as kids we voraciously collected Topps baseball cards.  They once were inexpensive (our parents paid for them, anyway) and thanks to their small size baseball cards were easy to store in bulk.  Boy, did we amass bulk?  Over the years other collectibles came and went, like so many fads (bobbleheads, anyone?), as we each refined our own taste for sports memorabilia.  Player autographs, game-used equipment, vintage tickets, old media guides, etc.  

Always on a sensible budget, of course, because neither of us are J.P. Morgan.

As a collector you find yourself drawn inevitably to a subject or a category of collectibles that are beyond your financial grasp.  Oh, how would I love to have an extensive collection of Ernie Lombardi memorabilia?  Lombardi single-signed baseballs are practically non-existent and the few known specimens of even modest quality require securing a second mortgage.  Onto that bankrupt dream add Lombardi game-used bats or catchers mitts.  You sometimes feel like a kid with his face pushed up against a candy store window until W.C. Fields comes along and says "Go away kid, you bother me!"

While the ransom of Croesus variants of memorabilia remain out of reach, sights necessarily are set on the equally interesting yet infinitely more attainable collectibles.  This is how I came to be in possession of glassware from Johnny Bench's short-lived Homestretch restaurant [Pro Tip; don't pay more than $15 per glass].  What little may be discerned from the Oracle of the Interwebz, Johnny Bench's Homestretch (located in Florence, KY) survived for approximately 18 months before shuttering.  Glassware (and other items) from Johnny Bench's chain of Homeplate restaurants are more plentiful but they do not carry, for me, the value-added combination - dare I say cachet? -  of baseball and horse racing.  Perhaps I should crowdsource funding to re-open Johnny Bench's Homestretch?

Athlete's owning (or having their names attached to) restaurants and bars is nothing new, locally or nationally.  From Joe DiMaggio's in San Francisco to Stan Musial's in St Louis (and elsewhere), well-known baseball players have ventured into the food industry as a means to supplement their post-playing career livelihood.   The restaurant industry is known for its high failure rate and maybe without exception all baseball player-connected restaurants have failed after short terms.  Johnny Bench's chain of Homeplate restaurants soon followed the Homestretch into the trash compactor and Pete Rose's own 70's era Cincinnati dining establishment folded in short order.

Hopes of a worth-it's-weight-in-gold game-used, autographed Ernie Lombardi baseball bat having long since been dashed, years ago I began collecting those more affordable artifacts pertaining to former Reds first baseman and 4-time All-Star [what is the record for hyphens in a single, probably run-on sentence?], Ted Kluszewski.

Students of Reds history, like Reds fans themselves in the 1950s, marvel at the playing achievements, kind nature, spotless personal character and Paul Bunyan-esque physique of the "Big Klu" (shown, above, towering over some pipsqueak first base coach for..... hmmm..... the Milwaukee Braves?).

Would ya look at the guns on that guy?!  Holy Big Red Smokey!

Perusing the vendor tables at RedsFest I came across a menu for Ted Kluszewski's Charcoal Steak House.  I had not previously been aware of the existence of said fine dining establishment (or perhaps had forgotten) and so - considering my modest collection of Homestretch tableware and ephemera - naturally I felt myself being drawn toward this piece of Reds player restaurantabilia [note: this doesn't seem to be an actual word].  Printed in the 1960s, I found it to be in surprisingly good - and intact - condition and reasonably priced.  Having picked up the menu to inspect its condition I then did not put it down again until I got home later that evening.  I had to have it and it was mine!

12-ounce New York Cut Strip Sirloin for $3.95?  1-pound "Man's Size" (gotta love the Swingin' Sixties!) for one dollar more?  Filet Mignon for $4.95?!  God love Jeff Ruby, I know that I do, but these days you can't hear the sizzle of his Filet Mignon for less than ten-times that amount!

The wine list:

A bottle of "gay, bubbly and delicious" Korbel's Brut for $7.50?!  It's "delightful anytime" and at $7.50 a bottle I'd be mighty hide-the-women-and-children delighted myself.  Bob Evans' drilled me for almost $3 for a single glass of milk last week.

Cocktail more your style?  Room for dessert?

$0.85 for a glass of straight bourbon?  A glass of local beer (here I'm imagining a frothy glass of Hudepohl) for two quarters?  Dish of ice cream (or sherbet) for $0.35?!

More research will need to be conducted but so far I've discovered evidence of Ted Kluszewski Steak Houses (or sometimes "Steakhouses") sprinkled around the greater Cincinnati area; 27 East Sixth St. (downtown), 1106 East McMillan St., at the Mohawk Motor Inn on Central Parkway, at the Sharon Rd. exit on the North Mill Creek Expressway (Holiday Inn), at the Park Terrace Motel on U.S. Route 40 in Springfield, OH (northeast of Dayton, OH) and in Kentucky on the Dixie Highway in Ft. Mitchell (Holiday Inn, again).  While most of what the Information Superhighway turns up references Kluszewski Steak House memorabilia ranging from the late-1950s into the early 1960s, some locations may have survived into the 1970s.  Here again, more investigation will be required.

Who knew?

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Travel restrictions during World War 2 meant that the Reds needed to find facilities closer to home in which to conduct Spring Training.  From 1943 to 1945 the Redlegs held Spring Training in Bloomington, Indiana on the campus of Indiana University.  Attending I.U. then was a two-sport scholar athlete named Theodore Bernard Kluszewski who excelled at baseball.....

.....and American rules football.....

Whether by free choice or by direct order Klu, along with some of his fellow Hoosier student athletes, worked as part of a makeshift grounds crew for the Reds.  Legend has it that the Redlegs' head groundskeeper spotted the Big Klu and immediately notified Reds manager Bill McKechnie that he should check out the gentle giant with battleship-class guns who was raking the infield dirt (or chalking the baselines or whatever).  Ted signed with the Reds following his 1946 graduation and after a cup of coffee in 1947 was by 1948 the Cincinnati Reds starting first baseman.

Ted Kluszewski played 11 seasons for the Reds, from 1947-57.  During that period he was a four-time National League All-Star (1953-56) and three times finished among the Top 10 in N.L. MVP voting.  In 1954 the Big Klu led the National League in home runs (49) and RBI (141) but was second in the MVP vote to Willie Mays, the Say Hey Kid.  Maybe all that Kluszewki needed was a popular song to put him over the top?  Isolating Klu's 11 years in a Reds uniform, he batted .302/.357/.512.

Following the 1957 season Ted was traded to the Pittsburgh Pirates where he played a season and a half before again being traded to the Chicago White Sox for the last half of 1959 and all of 1960.  Klu played for the expansion team Los Angeles Angels in 1961, retiring at the end of the '61 season.  

Kluszewski played in the World Series just once, in 1959 with the White Sox.  In six World Series games (25 plate appearances) Klu batted .391/.440/.826 with 3 home runs and 10 RBI.  

Ted Kluszewski was not just a great hitter.  He led the NL five consecutive seasons in fielding percentage among all first basemen (1951-55), four consecutive seasons (1952-56) Klu led all NL first basemen in double plays turned and ranked first (retroactively) in Range Factor during 1951 (and was Top 5 in Range Factor five different seasons).

If ever you have been granted the sublime honor of my company at a ballgame, or perhaps you've been a long-time subscriber to Heavy Artillery (or the ol' web page prior to that), then you will be familiar with my all-time favorite statistic regarding Ted Kluszewski.  Quoting here from Bill James' New Historical Baseball Abstract;  

Can you name the last three players to hit 40 or more homers in a season with 40 or fewer strikeouts?  Ted Kluszewski, 1953, Ted Kluszewski, 1954, and Ted Kluszewski, 1955.  Altogether it's been done seven times - Mel Ott, 1929, Lou Gehrig, 1934, Joe DiMaggio, 1937, Johnny Mize, 1948 and three times by Kluszewski.

The Big Klu retired having played 15 seasons in the Big Leagues.  His lifetime "slash line" stats (batting average, on-base percentage and slugging percentage commonly presented with slashes dividing them) are .298/.353/.498.  On the surface those numbers appear to be good enough for serious Hall of Fame consideration.  For comparison, in 2009 the Hall of Fame inducted former Red Sox outfielder Jim Rice (1975-89) who retired with a slash line of .298/.352/.502.  A superficial scan of comparable Hall of Fame slash lines reveals the following:

Ted Kluszewski    .298/.353/.498

Jim Rice               .298/.352/.502
Orlando Cepeda  .297/.350/.499
Ivan Rodriguez    .296/.334/.464
Billy Williams       .290/.361/.492
Eddie Murray       .287/.359/.476
Yogi Berra            .285/.348/.482
Carl Yastrzemski .285/.379/.462
Dave Winfield      .283/.353/.475
Andre Dawson     .279/.323/.482
Tony Perez           .279/.341/.463

To be fair, there is an obvious bit of apples and oranges in that list.  Due to a host of reasons it's generally not fair to compare the batting achievements of corner infielders and outfielders with those of middle infielders or catchers, and you can see there are two catchers on that list (Rodriguez and Berra [although Yogi did play some outfield late in his career]).  Due to the physical rigors of the position, catchers play fewer games than other position players and are more often to be playing hurt than, say, a first baseman or left fielder.  Otherwise, that is a list of outfielders and first basemen.  Let's continue with a few more corner infielders/outfielders:

Ted Kluszewski    .298/.353/.498

George Brett         .305/.369/.487
Jackie Robinson  .311/.409/.474
Kirby Puckett        .318/.360/.477
Ernie Banks          .274/.330/.500

When looking at Hall of Fame averages among all position players (infielders, outfielders and catchers):

Klu batting average   .298
HOF batting average .302

Klu OBP     .353
HOF OBP   .376

Klu SLG     .498
HOF SLG   .463

Ted Kluszewski has a higher batting average than 81 of the 156 Hall of Fame position players, a higher on-base percentage than 35 of the 156 Hall of Fame position players and a higher slugging percentage than 115 of the 156 Hall of Fame position players.  Here is a brief list of the Hall of Famer "sluggers" with a lower career slugging percentage than the Big Klu:

Reggie Jackson
George Brett
Yogi Berra
Andre Dawson
Al Kaline
Johnny Bench
Eddie Murray
Tony Perez
Ryne Sandberg

There are 500 Home Run Club guys and All-Century Team players on that list.  Double that when you include the other 4 players (cited by Bill James, above) who hit 40 or more home runs in a season with 40 or fewer strikeouts.  So, you might be asking:  

Why isn't Ted Kluszewski in the Hall of Fame?

Then the realization hits you, this must be the point where Mr Heavy Artillery pummels me into submission with his aggressive, combative arguments in favor of the Big Klu being a Hall of Famer. 

If you find yourself thinking this, I'm sorry to say, you're wrong.

Two factors work against Klu, one that would be evident to students of the game outside of Reds Country and one factor that is more likely to be known only to Reds fans from the Crosley Field era of Redlegs baseball.  

Let's examine the latter, first.

1)  During the early years of Ted Kluszewski's playing days with the Reds, from 1947-1951, the distance down the right field line at Crosley Field was 366 feet [today at Great American Ball Park the distance from home plate to the right field corner is a scant 325 feet].  For a left handed (primarily) pull hitter like the Big Klu - even with his massive guns - it was difficult to juice one good enough to get it to fly into the Sun/Moon Deck.  Ted's season-by-season home runs totals from 1948-1951 were 12, 8, 25, 13.  During Willie Mays' first four (full) seasons for the New York Giants he belted 20, 41, 51, 36.  The Crosley Field handicap placed Kluszewski nearly 100 home runs behind the pace of Willie Mays after each had four full seasons in the Bigs.  Afterward, the Reds shortened the right field line to 342 feet - still quite a poke by modern standards - and from 1953 through 1956 the Big Klu blasted 40, 49, 47, 35 bombs.  

What a difference those 24 feet made for Kluszewski.

Beginning in 1958, his age 33 season and embarking upon his post-Reds playing career, Klu only once more batted double-digit home runs in a season (15 for the Angels in 1961).  While still hitting for a good average during those years - he batted over .290 in '58 and '60 - his slugging dropped suddenly and precipitously.  Ted's career total of 279 home runs lags well behind that of Hall of Fame sluggers.

2)  Ted Kluszewski's playing career didn't have the longevity of many (most, really) of the Hall of Fame's sluggers.   If you review the list of "comparables" (above) from Jim Rice to Ernie Banks they all played more years than Klu's 15 seasons save for two; Kirby Puckett (12 seasons) whose career ended prematurely when he went blind in one eye and Jackie Robinson (10 seasons) who spent his early years playing in the Negro League.  Yaz, Brett, Winfield and Tony Perez played for 21, 22 or 23 seasons.  Perez played into his age 44 season, a point at which Ted Kluszewski had been retired for 8 years.   As such, when trying to compare Klu's lifetime slash line to, say, that of Tony Perez one should - and doubtless Hall of Fame voters did so - attempt to formulate some natural regression of performance beyond the age of Klu's retirement at 36 years old which puts Klu onto something of a more equal footing with those Hall of Fame players having more longevity.  Observing Klu's steep drop in home runs it would be hard to extrapolate many more career homers for him up to age 40 and beyond yet it's easier to assume his slash line would see some degree of more significant erosion, especially in lifetime slugging percentage.

Ted Kluszewski also saw 6 of his 15 seasons attaining fewer than 400 plate appearances.  Perhaps this hurt Klu's Hall of Fame chances as much as anything.  He simply did not have nearly as many opportunities to hit home runs or drive in runs as did so many Hall of Fame sluggers. Ted ended his playing career with 6,469 plate appearances.  Our list of "comparables," above?

Klu                  6,469

Rice                9,058
Cepeda           8,698
Rodriguez    10,270
B. Williams   10,519
Murray          12,817
Yogi                8,359
Yaz               13,992
Winfield       12,358
Dawson        10,769
Perez            10,861
Brett             11,625
Robinson       5,804
Puckett           7,831
Banks           10,394 

As of this writing, the Hall of Fame has enshrined 24 first basemen.  When you eliminate those players who played part or all of their careers in the Negro Leagues (and whose Negro League statistics are not counted among Major League records) and when you also eliminate those players who played part or all of their careers in the 19th century when the game was significantly different and additionally when you eliminate "High Pockets" Kelly and "Sunny" Jim Bottomley who both sneaked into the Hall of Fame thanks to the HOF's Veterans Committee you're left with 14 Hall of Fame first basemen (alphabetically):

Ernie Banks
Rod Carew
Orlando Cepeda
Jimmie Foxx
Lou Gehrig
Hank Greenberg
Harmon Killebrew
Willie McCovey
Johnny Mize
Eddie Murray
Tony Perez
George Sisler
Bill Terry
Frank Thomas

Ted Kluszewski was good.  He was excellent for a few seasons.  Rightfully he is a legend in Cincinnati.  But Lou Gehrig or Jimmie Foxx or Ernie Banks or Frank Thomas or Bill Terry he ain't.

In fact, among all Hall of Fame position players when you eliminate the 19th century guys, the Negro Leaguers, those who lost years to military service, those who died (Ross Youngs) or were paralyzed (Roy Campanella) during their careers or were sneaked into the Hall by their cronies on the old Veterans Committee you end up with one - just one - Hall of Famer with fewer games played and fewer plate appearances than Ted Kluszewski..... left fielder Ralph Kiner who played five fewer seasons than Klu.

Klu       .298/.353/.498  279 HR   1,028 RBI
Kiner   .279/.398/.548   369 HR   1,015 RBI

Ted Kluszewski's Hall of Fame vote total reached its peak in his final year of eligibility, 1981, at just 14% of the vote (75% is needed for induction).

*********

In 1969 Ted Kluszewski returned to the Reds as a coach.  Klu served as the Reds hitting coach during the Big Red Machine's back-to-back World Championships in 1975 & 1976.

Ted Kluszewski retained his legion of fans over the years due in part to his playing exploits but also because he was universally known to be a warm, kind, and decent human being who maintained a visible presence in Cincinnati.  In August of 1976, Cincinnati magazine ran an article titled "Me and Mom and Ted Kluszewski" which illustrates this point as well as anything I've found while researching elements for inclusion here.  Have the tissue box handy.

As a tribute to Ted go to Cincinnati sometime this summer, patronize one of the city's leading steakhouses, order yourself a "Man's Size" steak, pair it with a local beer or cocktail or a gay, bubbly glass of champagne, save room for dessert, punch up this Heavy Artillery  post on your mobile device and have a conversation with your table mates about the great baseball career of the Big Klu and the wonderful human being that was Ted Kluszewski.

Afterwards, don't light up.  It's not good for you.

Roll the credits!

2017 Triple Crown Nominated Nomenclature

Late last month, Churchill Downs announced the 418 three-year old thoroughbreds that have been nominated for competing for the 2017 Triple Crown.  At a minimum, 398 will fail to reach the starting gate on The First Saturday in May.

Over the ensuing months The B Team Syndicate will be focusing our laser-like Sport of Kings attention on the allied black arts of handicapping and wagering.  For many of you, however, varying descriptions of interest ranging from being entertained by the spectacle of the event(s) to having an interest in the history of the sport to simply having your hearts warmed by looking at pictures of horses [you know who you are] would more accurately characterize that quality of horse racing which you find attractive.  Some like to follow, root and perhaps - yes, it's true - even wager $2 on a fine equine specimen based upon its Jockey Club-registered name.

In something that is beginning to resemble a tradition, herewith are some of those names which loyal subscribers to Heavy Artillery might find speaks to them in a personal, unique way.  Below you'll also find a selection of names which I think are befitting those magnificent beasts, names which convey the sense of power, stamina and/or nobility inherent within their very nature.  Finally, you'll be treated to a listing of names which are, simply, atrocious.



Names evocative of people you know or maybe are, in fact, you:

Appalachian Gem
B Squared
Blueridge Traveler
Fleet Irish
Formula One
Hey Mike
Irish Freedom
Irish War Cry
Oxford Lane
Phat Man



Names that the horse would be proud of... if it understood human language:

Adulation
American Anthem
Aquamarine
Battle of Midway
Battle Ready
Big Gray Rocket
Big Hit
Bonus Points
Bourbon Empire
Bronze Age
Caustic
Colonist
Commandeering
Divisor
Fireball Shot
Glacier
Industrialist
June Sixth
Lancaster Bomber
Live Round
Lord Admiral
Monaco
Morocco
Multiplier
Pacific Surf
Rocketry
Silver Dust
Task Force
Texican
Ticonderoga
War Secretary



Names that... oh come on!  That's just ridiculous!

Bound for Nowhere
Dog Gone Lenny
Drummer D the T
Fillet of Sole
Gummy
Horse Fly
Hot Dad
Lemonist
Meantime
Menace the Dennis
Milton Freewater
Momma's Baby Boy
Mr. Dougie Fresh
Perro Rojo
Shoe Loves Shoe
Sonic Mule
Spicoli
Squared Squared
Tequila With Lemon
Vandelay
Vending Machine
Yo Y Me

You can view the entire list of 418 nominees here.

Roll the credits!

2016 RedsFest Was BestFest

RedsFest 2016 goes down in B Team record books as the best RedsFest ever!  Hence, my having dubbed this year's iteration as BestFest.  Cutting right to the chase, Lou and I each acquired 13 autographs on the first day of the two-day event.  We killed it.  Being veterans of a couple decades' worth of such events, we'd long ago secured signatures from the star players on today's Big League club and so each year we focus our alliterative autograph acquisition assault on the (many) assorted prospects and minor leaguers who populate much of the roster of appearing players.  The #1 prospect in our crosshairs this year was the Reds' #2 overall draft pick from this past summer's amateur draft, the former University of Tennessee third baseman Nick Senzel.  Senzel was announced among the first hour's group of players signing autographs on Friday.  Lou and I blitzed the swarming crowds of rabid autograph seekers (are there any other kind?) and seized a spot in line near the front.  For those who don't know, here's what Nick Senzel looks like:

And here's what his autograph looks like on the sweet spot of a baseball:

"N. Al?"  

"National American League?"  

"N. Delta... umm... Vertical Loop?"  

Dunno.  This I do know; all of Reds Country is hoping he develops into something closer to the Johnny Bench end of the Reds' draft spectrum and not the Brandon Larson end.

Nick was signing in the Season Ticket Holders only line (membership has its privileges) and due in part to the early hour and also due in part to the seeming dearth of surviving Reds season ticket holders, Lou and I were able to go through Nick's line twice in that first hour of RedsFest.

Herewith, a rapid-fire aggregation of the leading lights from our autograph-seeking achievements On December 3rd and 4th;

Robert Stephenson, pitcher.

Shedric Long (catcher, second base) shooting me the horns.  Very cool. 

Jose Peraza, shortstop.

Dilson Herrera, second base, acquired from the Mets in the Jay Bruce trade.

Rookie Davis, pitcher.

Many former players were on hand Friday and Saturday.  Among the vets, it was great - and heart warming - to see Dave Parker (below) engaging with his hometown fans:

The biggest draw is, naturally enough, the current Reds:

I've been to a nearly innumerable number of RedsFests and Big Red Machine Reunion autograph shows (and a disastrous 1990 Reds Reunion autograph show)  and the 2015 All-Star Game FanFest going back to 1991/92.  I've observed and experienced the full range of player-fan interactions; from players who were last-minute no-shows (Aroldis Chapman) to players who wouldn't deign to glance at the fans (Yorman Rodriguez) or even grunt an acknowledgement (did I mention Yorman Rodriquez?) to players who were friendly, eagerly interactive, talkative and warmly animated.  I'm happy to report - because I'm a Vottomaniac - that I have never seen any player, retired or active, who was more engaging and friendly to every fan who went through an autograph line than was/is Joey Votto.  No sooner than one fan would depart the podium that Joey Votto's eyes would immediately search for the next fan in line, smile broadly, look each fan square in the eye and initiate a friendly greeting.  Votto asked the fans visiting him how their own day was going, if they were having fun, if they were enjoying RedsFest.  At the conclusion of each encounter, Votto thanked the fans for being there.

Must be that Canadian brand of kindness we hear so much about.  Who knows what any of us are like behind closed doors, but in my own experiences Joey Votto publicly has consistently been a decent, generous, kind fellow.

Lou and I spied a variety of personalities and dignitaries at RedsFest on Friday:

Such as WLWT-TV long-time sports anchor "Lonesome" George Vogel.  I don't often watch channel 5 for my local news fix these days.  For the latest breaking news from River City I most often tune into WCPO hoping to catch Tanya O'Rourke.....

..... or newsbabe Ashley Zilka.  She is a fabulous reporter or something.

We ran into two of Lou's old Reily Elementary School best pals:

Tim F. (the man in black, top) and Mitch S. (the man in red, directly above).  None of my preppy Townie friends would know these two fine gentlemen but they were both former Little League teammates on the various Reily-based teams Lou played for back in the day; Cherokee Motors, Big Valley Auto Parts, Wilman Furniture.

Former Middletown Middie and current Chicago Cubs World Champion Kyle Schwarber was in line to get autographs, too!

Lou insists this guy was not Kyle Schwarber.  Maybe he's right.  Maybe.

The highlight of RedsFest 2016, aside from our Nick Senzel crowning achievement, was the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity on Friday to meet the Hit King Peter Edward Rose and to have our photographs taken with him!

The Reds called this opportunity a "Meet & Greet with Pete Rose."  I dubbed it the "Pete & Greet."  The Reds should pay me to come up with names for their events.

OK, OK.  You got me.  A twice-in-a-lifetime opportunity.  We hit up Pete on Saturday, too.  I was proud of my Hit King photos and, later, shared them with Kuertz who I knew would be wildly mildly interested.

On Saturday afternoon The B Team took a time-out from the RedsFest activities and ventured on a brief excursion to the downtown branch of the Cincinnati Public Library in order for my youngest niece (picture above with Peter Edward) to collect an Honorable Mention award for artwork she submitted to a CPL contest.

Awesome, right?!  While waiting for the awards ceremony to begin, I discussed with my niece the Impressionistic nature of her painting (thank you Antiques Roadshow!) and through the voodoo magic of smartphone technology I showed her some of the more famous works of Monet, Degas, Cezanne and Bob Ross.  

Meanwhile, almost simultaneously in Michigan, my oldest niece - and her team - achieved a medal finish in a synchronized skating competition (hence her absence from the Pete Rose photo).

The B Team was killin' it that December weekend!

Speaking of artists, Tom Tsuchiya was at RedsFest demonstrating the technique he uses in creating all the baseball player sculptures (not statues) found outside Great American Ball Park. 

I engaged Tom in a discussion about his sculptures, the details of which I will not bore you with here.

WLW broadcast legend, and former Professional League of American Rules Football tight end, Bob Trumpy was not at RedsFest but when cruising the memorabilia vendor tables we found a jersey autographed by "Grumpy."

Lou and I found this to be funny.  We generally find all things Trumpy to be funny.

Nearing the conclusion of RedsFest late on Saturday afternoon and worn out from ceaselessly killin' it, we retired to the Season Ticket Holders VIP Ultra Lounge.

We luxuriated on the sumptuous faux leather couches, enjoying the dulcet vocal stylings of The Mistics (on stage, behind us).

The Mistics brought their A-game, as they always do.  Midway through the set The Mistics singled-out Reds' Senior V.P. of Business Operations Karen Forgus for a serenade.

We took that as our cue to exit RedsFest as conquering heroes.

Roll the credits!

December 7, 1941

Today marks the somber 75th anniversary of the December 7th, 1941 attack on Pearl Harbor.  This historic event, contextualized as "a date which will live in infamy" by President Roosevelt in a radio address the following day for the American public, marked the most significant fulcrum point in American history since, perhaps, the April 12, 1861 firing on Fort Sumter by Confederate forces or the military engagements of April 19, 1775 between the British army and American colonists at Lexington and Concord.

What follows is a series of excerpts forming a narrative from Winston Groom's superlative book 1942: The Year That Tried Men's Souls that brings to life the unfolding scene on that dark day at sunny Pearl Harbor from so long ago.

*********

Commander Fuchida’s dive-bombers had already climbed high in the sky for altitude while his torpedo bombers had descended and circled so as to come in low from the southwest, that is, the ocean side of Pearl Harbor. The American battleships were moored in line two by two alongside Ford Island, which is in the center of the harbor. It was almost eight A.M., time for morning colors, and aboard the USS Nevada bandleader Oden McMillan had just raised his baton to begin playing “The Star-Spangled Banner.” Some of the bandsmen were puzzled to see large flights of planes diving down toward the battleships at the opposite end of the island, but McMillan concluded it must be some kind of army air corps drill and with a wave of his baton the band struck up the National Anthem. Almost in the same moment he heard explosions at the far end of Battleship Row.

One of Fuchida’s torpedo bombers skimmed across the harbor and launched its torpedo at the Arizona, just astern of the Nevada, as McMillan’s band was finishing the first stanza, then swooped up right over the Nevada’s fantail, where the American flag was being raised. The Japanese tail gunner let loose a burst of machine-gun fire on the musicians, who continued to play the anthem. No band members were hit, but the American flag was suddenly shredded. Other sailors on deck, momentarily confused, stood at attention, their right arms still raised in salute.

According to Walter Lord’s account of the attack, “McMillan knew now, but kept on conducting. The years of training had taken over – it never occurred to him that once he had begun playing the National Anthem, he could possibly stop. Another strafer flashed by. This time McMillan unconsciously paused as the deck splintered around him, but he quickly picked up the beat again. The entire band stopped and started again with him, as though they had rehearsed it for weeks. Not a man broke formation until the final note died. Then everyone ran wildly for cover.”

As the first torpedo bombers came in, some Pearl Harbor personnel waved at them before they realized who they were. Recreational fliers in small light planes out for an early Sunday spin were bewildered, then terrified, as they realized what these huge flights of foreign warplanes meant. Great geysers of water shot into the air as Fuchida’s torpedoes splashed into the harbor on their way toward the U.S. battleships. Meantime, at Wheeler and Hickam Fields and other U.S air bases, the American airplanes - lined up in rows per the anti-sabotage instructions of General Walter Short – were being systematically wrecked and turned into burning infernos on the runway.

All of this only took a few minutes. In his home in the hills overlooking Pearl Harbor, Admiral Husband Kimmel, commander in chief of the Pacific Fleet, had been in the process of dressing for a golf game with his army counterpart, General Short. But by then the duty officer had phoned with the news of the destroyer Ward’s attack on the Japanese sub. Kimmel canceled the game and began redressing in his navy whites to attend to the situation from his office when the phone rang again with the frantic news that Pearl Harbor had just come under Japanese air attack. The admiral rushed outside, his uniform jacket still unbuttoned and flapping, just in time to see the first explosions. He dashed next door onto a neighbor’s lawn, which had a better view of Battleship Row. There he encountered Mrs. John B. Earle, wife of the Fourteenth Naval District’s commander’s chief of staff. The two of them gaped appalled at the unfolding spectacle. The sky was completely filled with Japanese planes and Kimmel instantly recognized this as no casual raid but a full-scale assault. The booms from the torpedo and bomb explosions began to reach their ears. Suddenly the battleship Oklahoma seemed to shudder and then slowly roll over in the shallow harbor until only its bottom was visible.

“It looks like they’ve got the Oklahoma,” Mrs. Earle remarked, awestruck.

“Yes, I see they have,” Kimmel told her, his face now a blanched mask of horror. He was experiencing a naval commander’s worst nightmare, as his fleet was being destroyed before his very eyes.

Then the battleship Arizona seemed actually to lift out of the water and an enormous flash of fire and smoke mushroomed above her forward decks; slowly she began to list and settle, and kept on settling. In that instant eleven hundred U.S. sailors perished. One of the big Japanese sixteen-inch naval shell bombs had hit the Arizona’s deck forward of the turrets and penetrated four decks below into the powder magazine. The ship blew up. The concussion was so stupendous that it blew sailors off of the other nearby ships into the water; it sucked up all the air in the area, actually stopping the engines of cars and military vehicles onshore rushing to or away from the scene; it blew people down inside of their own homes and offices, and even Fuchida, the Japanese air leader circling high above, felt his plane rock and roll.  Battleship division commander Admiral Isaac C. Kidd and the Arizona’s skipper, Captain Franklin Van Valkenburg, had been standing on the bridge and were incinerated by the blast.  Kimmel’s staff car roared up from nowhere and the stricken admiral jumped in and set off for his Pacific Fleet headquarters. By the time he got there the first wave of attack was reaching its most pitiless crescendo: bombs, torpedoes, and machine-gun fire from dive bombers and fighters filled the air; great billows of smoke from burning fuel oil obscured much of the harbor; and added to this was the constant roar of American anti-aircraft guns, which had finally begun coming to life.

Kimmel stood watching from the window of his War Plans office calm but grim-faced, with teeth clenched. Like the Oklahoma, the Arizona had gone down. The explosion had broken her in half. The battleships California and West Virginia had also begun to settle to the bottom. For the moment there was little Kimmel could do. The now famous message had already been dispatched to Washington and other naval commands: “Enemy Air Raid Pearl Harbor. This Is Not A Drill.” Suddenly a spent .30-caliber machine-gun bullet smashed through the window and hit Kimmel on the chest before dropping to the floor. The admiral looked at it, picked it up, and said to one of his staff members, “It would have been merciful if it had killed me.”

Aboard the sinking West Virginia, which had taken six or seven torpedoes in her port side, Captain Mervyn Bennion had been disemboweled by a shard from the Arizona when it exploded. He lay on the bridge perfectly conscious as his ship was gradually engulfed in fire, inquiring how the fight was going. At some point his officers decided to move him to a safer spot and for this agonizing task they recruited a large black cook, third class, named Doris Miller, who was the West Virginia’s heavyweight boxing champion. Captain Bennion died a short while later and Doris Miller, who knew nothing about weapons or weaponry, went out to a machine-gun station and in no time was “blazing away as though he had fired one all his life.”

Two young army fighter pilots, Lieutenants Kenneth Taylor and George Welch, had planned to spend their Sunday at the beach. When they saw the runway wreckage at Wheeler Field they jumped into a car and rushed off to a little grass landing strip about ten miles away where there were a few P40 fighters parked. Soon they were in the air and loaded for bear. Before it was over they racked up seven of the eleven Japanese planes shot down that day by the U.S. Army Air Corps.

Among the most startled people that morning – and that included everyone – were the pilots and crews of the big four-engine B-17 bombers who arrived at Pearl Harbor at the height of the attack. The twelve planes had flown fourteen hours straight from the West Coast with skeleton crews, their machine guns still packed in Cosmoline, listening to the soothing Hawaiian music on the radio guiding them in. They had just about enough gas to make land when they arrived on the scene of the carnage. Japanese fighters, whom the crews first thought were U.S. Army planes, suddenly attacked them. Hickam Field, their designated landing spot, was mostly ablaze with burning aircraft. One B-17 somehow made a landing with three Japanese Zeros on his tail, blazing away at him. Others followed but the rest scattered for the other airfields on Oahu. One managed to land on a golf course, another on a twelve-hundred-foot grass strip half the size of what it took to safely land a B-17.

At 8:40, a half an hour after the attack had begun, there was a fifteen minute lull, and then the second wave of 153 Japanese planes arrived. Pearl Harbor was so enshrouded in smoke by then that it was difficult to find targets, so many Japanese amused themselves by shooting up anything and everything. They strafed private homes, churches, hospitals, mess halls, groups of men, and, for target practice, speeding automobiles and trucks. One army ambulance received fifty-two bullet holes. What the Japanese did not do – and in hindsight this was one of the few blessings of the Pearl Harbor raid – was to destroy the huge fuel-storage tanks containing millions of gallons of precious fuel oil; nor did they destroy the vast naval repair shops and facilities. This oversight allowed the United States military to go on the offensive almost immediately after the attack.

In the middle of all this a stirring spectacle unfolded. The USS Nevada, whose crew at the beginning of the attack had stood at attention while “The Star-Spangled Banner” was played and they were being bombed and machine-gunned, had somehow raised enough steam to get underway – the only big ship that did so. Her senior officers were all ashore but there was an experienced reserve officer aboard, Lieutenant Commander Francis Thomas, who took charge. He knew next to nothing about handling anything as big as a battleship but Chief Quartermaster Robert Sedberry did and by some miracle, or a series of them (it normally took four tugboats to free a battleship from a mooring and set her straight in the channel), the Nevada came on, so as not to remain a sitting duck for the Japanese. She was seriously afire amidships and had a hole blown into her bow the size of a house, but out of the smoke and flames and crash and gloom of the battle she emerged into the bright morning sun full speed ahead, her American flag snapping in the breeze. Men onshore stopped whatever they were doing and gaped at this sight to behold. Many wept tears down their grimy, oil-stained cheeks and a great cheer arose all along Battleship Row, for to see the Nevada headed for the open sea, all her guns blazing at the Japanese planes, meant there was still a fighting U.S. Navy left in the Pacific.