Young Man on Olympus

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In Chicago one day last week. White Sox Pitcher Billy Pierce, a lefthander, stared moodily down the 60-ft. stretch between the mound and home plate and faced a special problem. At the plate stood a corn-haired youngster just four years out of an Oklahoma high school, with NEW YORK spelled out in block letters on his flannel shirt, a big numeral 7 on his back. As it must to all other clubs in the American League, came the plaguing question: What does a pitcher throw to Mickey Mantle of the New York Yankees?

Bat cocked righthanded. fingers flexing and caressing the handle, Mantle crouched at the plate and waited. As the pitcher went into his windup. Mantle dug his spikes more firmly into the batter's box, hunching his fullback's body (5 ft.11 in., 195 Ibs.) into a deeper crouch. The pitch bulleted toward him at something like 80 m.p.h.—a fast ball, letter high, over the outside corner of the plate.

Mickey Mantle set a muscular chain reaction in motion. Starting in the ankles, rippling through knees, hips, torso, broad shoulders and 17-in. bull neck, he brought his bat around in a perfect arc to meet the ball with a sharp crack. High and deep it sailed. The White Sox centerfielder. playing deep, went a few steps back, then stood, face upturned, as the ball sailed over the fence for a 425-ft. home run.

The next night in St. Louis it was the turn of another pitcher, a righthander this time, to face New York's No. 7. To gain the slight advantage which lefthanded batters are religiously believed to enjoy against righthanded pitchers (and vice versa), switch-hitting Mickey Mantle batted lefthanded. He let four pitches go by, then drove the fifth into the right center-field stands 405 feet for another homer. All in all. Mantle's week was an excellent demonstration of why pitchers turn grey. It was also one of several good reasons why the 1953 New York Yankees have opened a long early lead on all the other clubs in the league, and may be heading for something without precedent in baseball : five pennants in a row.

Turnstiles & History. As the proprietors of an expensive ten-acre layout of steel, concrete and lovingly tailored grass in The Bronx known as Yankee Stadium, the New York Yankees Inc. are today full of a rich and understandable satisfaction. The Olympian Joe DiMaggio is gone, and there will never be another DiMaggio—just as there has never been another Babe Ruth or another Lou Gehrig (Yankees all). But with only one full season in the major leagues to his credit, Mickey Mantle already shows signs that he may be another Olympian in the making.

Like a few stars of the past, and like the St. Louis Cardinals' Stan Musial, or Boston's Ted Williams (now a marine fighter-pilot in Korea). Mantle is that combination of color, speed and power at the plate that makes baseball turnstiles spin. Naturally, the Yankees are delighted. So, with duly diminished enthusiasm, are the other American League club owners. Mantle makes their turnstiles spin, too, and in a year when TV has all club owners worried.