Sport: The Battle of Brooklyn

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Dodger fans, than which there are none more fanatic, long ago gave Ebbets Field a charm of its own. Branch Rickey, who became president of the Brooklyn club last winter, has made it over into vendetta alley. Hawkeyes from the stands size up each Rickey move; hawkeyes from Rickey's aerie perched over home plate size up every reflex in the stands. There is plenty for each side to see.

No Illusions, Some Signs. Branch Rickey looks like Lionel Barrymore playing Thaddeus Stevens, talks like an evangelist in a voice that exploits the whisper as aptly as the roar. When he left his world-champion St. Louis Cardinals to take the Brooklyn job, he was in his right mind. One of baseball's most successful businessmen, he had no illusions. Not long before he signed to boss the Dodgers he had said: "Whoever takes over the Brooklyn management will find himself in a burial ground."

Rickey did not choose to be buried. When the team started slipping, he got out the ax. Down it came on seasoned Dolph Camilli, Buck Newsom, Joe Medwick, Johnny Allen. When he was through pruning, only 14 of the 34 spring players remained. With few exceptions, other clubs could find no new material worth buying. In St. Paul, Rickey found 6 ft. 6½ in. First Baseman Howard Schultz; in Montreal, Outfielder Luis Olmo; in Durham, Outfielder Gene Hermanski. He brought in other youngsters. He asked 20,000 school and semi-pro coaches to name their best players, so far has seen 3,700 of them at 15 try-out camps (estimated cost: $100,000).

At first, Dodger fans could not see the new wood for the trees sold down the river. Idolized Camilli, sacked, quit baseball for good. Onetime great hitter Medwick, sold at the waiver price, was blasting base knocks for the rival New York Giants. Heady from two champagne years, Brooklynites were tasting punctured seltzer water. Brooklyn's erstwhile rabid rooters felt that it was Rickey who had left the cap off. They needed more than two hands to catalog his infamies and betrayals. Bleachers were full of "Down with Rickey" signs.

Warm Feeling, Cold Action. Shrewd Entrepreneur Rickey valued the coin of fanatic loyalty, of which mob resentment was only the other side, and planned to cash it. Meanwhile, he did not blame the angry fans. He understood their emotion and sympathized with it. Between this warm feeling and the cold action he knew he had to take, Rickey came face to face with the horny dilemma. He says that during the Camilli hullabaloo he was tempted to make peace.

But Rickey had come to Brooklyn to win ball games. He could not let the ruckus at the rear confuse the front line. Dodger veterans that were haloed for Brooklynites were just too old for Rickey. Of the National League's 24 ten-year men, Brooklyn owned eight (St. Louis: none). Good major-league clubs had a 26-year average; Brooklyn averaged 32. So the captains and the kings departed. Rickey had little left, but at least what remained was no longer "dangerous."* He had broken ground for a typical Rickey machine. Ingredients: youth, sweat, audacity.