GaryMrMets
11-20-2003, 04:09 PM
http://www.nydailynews.com/city_life/big_town/index.html
Happy Landings
Incident at the 1943 Series
By ELLIOT ROSENBERG
Hurler Spud Chandler was so shaken, he needed several minutes to recover. The thunderous warplane was over Yankee Stadium, some said, by what seemed like about 10 feet; why, it barely cleared the third-tier roof. Radio listeners following Red Barber's account of this 1943 World Series opener on WOR likened the roar to that of Luftwaffe dive bombers in the newsreels.
Three times in eight minutes, the "Unwelcome Series Guest," as the Daily News captioned the plane, zoomed over the ballyard. One observer, apparently confused by the fog of war, insisted that three separate planes had buzzed the stadium - medium bombers, he said, flying "so low pilots could have reached out and touched the flags atop the stands."
Savvier aircraft spotters right away knew the intruder to be a Boeing B-17 Flying Fortress, the Army Air Forces' four-engine heavyweight, 74 feet long with a wingspan of 103 feet. All in all, if some among the 68,676 spectators, plus the pinstriped right-hander on the diamond, were to be scared out of their wits, better by one of our own stunting sky jockeys than a dead-serious Heinkel or Junkers airman.
Until the unwelcome visitor's entrance, the afternoon was as good as it gets for a hometown crowd. St. Louis had humiliated the Yankees back in the '42 Series, whipping them four games to one despite the presences of Joe DiMaggio, Buddy Bassett, Red Rolfe and Tommy Henrich. Those four were gone this year. Sparkplug shortstop Phil Rizzuto did show up, but he was wearing a sailor suit.
Selective Service had not slashed through the Cardinal batting lineup so sharply, and, statistically, St. Louis outdistanced New York by 25 points in batting average. It also was a fleeter and better-fielding team. If the Yankees were to avoid a second straight Series loss, pitching was key, and ace Chandler (20-3 record, 1.64 ERA, five shutouts, American League Most Valuable Player) had to produce.
Among celebrities in the packed stands when Baseball Commissioner Kenesaw Mountain Landis threw out the first ball were Mayor Fiorello LaGuardia, Gov. Thomas Dewey, baseball legends Babe Ruth and Tris Speaker and aviation figures Glenn Martin, the aircraft manufacturer, and Eddie Rickenbacker, America's flying ace of yesteryear. The latter two were among those who certainly knew a Flying Fort when they saw one.
Down on the field, as the seventh inning ended, Chandler was getting his job done, holding the Cardinals to two runs, only one earned. The Yankees had scored four off St. Louis starter Max Lanier, the biggest blow being second baseman Joe Gordon's homer in the fourth. (By next season, Gordon would join DiMaggio and the others in uniform.)
Now, as the big Army bird descended from the clouds, assaulting everyone's eardrums, Chandler's reaction was nothing compared with LaGuardia's. After all, Spud carried only the fortunes of 24 teammates if he unraveled at the mound. Hizzoner shepherded 7 million-plus fellow New Yorkers, specifically those clustered in the Bronx ballpark this day.
The mayor quickly called First Army Air Forces Headquarters and - citing General Business Law, Section 45, Subdivision 8, forbidding flying below 1,000 feet above an open-air assemblage - demanded that disciplinary action be taken against the offending pilot.
"It flew right down over the stands," LaGuardia told reporters. "If anything had happened, a thousand people would have been killed."
The identity of the errant airman immediately became a subject of pressbox speculation. One reporter, aware that Cardinal manager Billy Southworth's son was an AAF flier, figured it might have been young Billy Jr. giving dad a noisy hello. But Southworth said his son was stationed in England.
Fiorello threatened to file charges if such a thing ever happened again. The Army said it would look into the matter. Draconian punishment, all agreed, was out of the question: The United States needed every one of its able-bodied B-17 pilots in their cockpits, not in stockades.
Eventually Hizzoner turned to more pressing city business - the driver strike, for example, that left 400,000 families without milk deliveries while 600,000 quarts soured daily.
In due course, the pilot was identified as one Lt. Jack W. Watson, 21, of Indianapolis, and three months later he was heard from again: From an airbase somewhere in England came a dispatch detailing young Watson's valorous actions following a raid on a Nazi fighter plane factory at Oschersleben. He had ordered his crew to bail out once their severely stricken Fortress reached safety over England, then stayed at the controls himself and guided his ship down for an emergency landing.
Hailed as a hero, Watson was big news back stateside, and he took the occasion to announce that he hoped Mayor Fiorello LaGuardia of New York was not still "sore" at him.
LaGuardia, an old World War bomber pilot himself, was not. "All is forgiven," responded His Honor. "Congratulations. I hope you never run out of altitude. Happy landings."
Spud Chandler, for his part, quickly composed himself after the aerial antics of that Oct. 5 afternoon. After winning Game 1, he wrapped up the 1943 Series six days later by pitching a 2-0 shutout.
Happy Landings
Incident at the 1943 Series
By ELLIOT ROSENBERG
Hurler Spud Chandler was so shaken, he needed several minutes to recover. The thunderous warplane was over Yankee Stadium, some said, by what seemed like about 10 feet; why, it barely cleared the third-tier roof. Radio listeners following Red Barber's account of this 1943 World Series opener on WOR likened the roar to that of Luftwaffe dive bombers in the newsreels.
Three times in eight minutes, the "Unwelcome Series Guest," as the Daily News captioned the plane, zoomed over the ballyard. One observer, apparently confused by the fog of war, insisted that three separate planes had buzzed the stadium - medium bombers, he said, flying "so low pilots could have reached out and touched the flags atop the stands."
Savvier aircraft spotters right away knew the intruder to be a Boeing B-17 Flying Fortress, the Army Air Forces' four-engine heavyweight, 74 feet long with a wingspan of 103 feet. All in all, if some among the 68,676 spectators, plus the pinstriped right-hander on the diamond, were to be scared out of their wits, better by one of our own stunting sky jockeys than a dead-serious Heinkel or Junkers airman.
Until the unwelcome visitor's entrance, the afternoon was as good as it gets for a hometown crowd. St. Louis had humiliated the Yankees back in the '42 Series, whipping them four games to one despite the presences of Joe DiMaggio, Buddy Bassett, Red Rolfe and Tommy Henrich. Those four were gone this year. Sparkplug shortstop Phil Rizzuto did show up, but he was wearing a sailor suit.
Selective Service had not slashed through the Cardinal batting lineup so sharply, and, statistically, St. Louis outdistanced New York by 25 points in batting average. It also was a fleeter and better-fielding team. If the Yankees were to avoid a second straight Series loss, pitching was key, and ace Chandler (20-3 record, 1.64 ERA, five shutouts, American League Most Valuable Player) had to produce.
Among celebrities in the packed stands when Baseball Commissioner Kenesaw Mountain Landis threw out the first ball were Mayor Fiorello LaGuardia, Gov. Thomas Dewey, baseball legends Babe Ruth and Tris Speaker and aviation figures Glenn Martin, the aircraft manufacturer, and Eddie Rickenbacker, America's flying ace of yesteryear. The latter two were among those who certainly knew a Flying Fort when they saw one.
Down on the field, as the seventh inning ended, Chandler was getting his job done, holding the Cardinals to two runs, only one earned. The Yankees had scored four off St. Louis starter Max Lanier, the biggest blow being second baseman Joe Gordon's homer in the fourth. (By next season, Gordon would join DiMaggio and the others in uniform.)
Now, as the big Army bird descended from the clouds, assaulting everyone's eardrums, Chandler's reaction was nothing compared with LaGuardia's. After all, Spud carried only the fortunes of 24 teammates if he unraveled at the mound. Hizzoner shepherded 7 million-plus fellow New Yorkers, specifically those clustered in the Bronx ballpark this day.
The mayor quickly called First Army Air Forces Headquarters and - citing General Business Law, Section 45, Subdivision 8, forbidding flying below 1,000 feet above an open-air assemblage - demanded that disciplinary action be taken against the offending pilot.
"It flew right down over the stands," LaGuardia told reporters. "If anything had happened, a thousand people would have been killed."
The identity of the errant airman immediately became a subject of pressbox speculation. One reporter, aware that Cardinal manager Billy Southworth's son was an AAF flier, figured it might have been young Billy Jr. giving dad a noisy hello. But Southworth said his son was stationed in England.
Fiorello threatened to file charges if such a thing ever happened again. The Army said it would look into the matter. Draconian punishment, all agreed, was out of the question: The United States needed every one of its able-bodied B-17 pilots in their cockpits, not in stockades.
Eventually Hizzoner turned to more pressing city business - the driver strike, for example, that left 400,000 families without milk deliveries while 600,000 quarts soured daily.
In due course, the pilot was identified as one Lt. Jack W. Watson, 21, of Indianapolis, and three months later he was heard from again: From an airbase somewhere in England came a dispatch detailing young Watson's valorous actions following a raid on a Nazi fighter plane factory at Oschersleben. He had ordered his crew to bail out once their severely stricken Fortress reached safety over England, then stayed at the controls himself and guided his ship down for an emergency landing.
Hailed as a hero, Watson was big news back stateside, and he took the occasion to announce that he hoped Mayor Fiorello LaGuardia of New York was not still "sore" at him.
LaGuardia, an old World War bomber pilot himself, was not. "All is forgiven," responded His Honor. "Congratulations. I hope you never run out of altitude. Happy landings."
Spud Chandler, for his part, quickly composed himself after the aerial antics of that Oct. 5 afternoon. After winning Game 1, he wrapped up the 1943 Series six days later by pitching a 2-0 shutout.