THE LAST GOOD SEASON, by Michael Shapiro, earns itself a provisional rating of FIVE STARS in my mind, based primarily on the quality of the writing (which is uniformly excellent) and the depth of the research (which, within limits, is exhaustive). Yet the book deserves, like Roger Maris' "61*", to be only a qualified ***(**) success.
Much of that qualification comes from Shapiro's heavily touted and slanted thesis that Dodgers owner Walter O'Malley was not responsible for the Dodgers' departure from Brooklyn in 1957, after Robert Moses refused to build a replacement for the aging Ebbets Field.
Shapiro's grasp of the facts regarding Brooklyn is somewhat fuzzy. He says, "Jews went to Midwood [High School], poor blacks to Jefferson." Yet in the Dodger era, Brownsville was predominantly (70%) Jewish. It was not until later that Brownsville became a black neighborhood. Shapiro waxes rhapsodic about Midwood (his childhood home?) but slights the rest of Brooklyn. He admits that by the time he became aware of the Dodgers they were gone. Ironically enough, even while granting O'Malley absolution in absentia he makes and supports every argument as to why the man did not deserve it.
Shapiro blames, among other things, "white flight" for the Dodgers' relocation, but then argues that fans come in all colors. It's as if, in pardoning O'Malley, he is trying to convince us of something he really doesn't believe himself.
According to Shapiro, "Robert Moses is the bad guy in this story." This is an incredibly strong statement, particularly since Shapiro admits in many places that O'Malley was mendacious, that he was arrogant, that his plans for a new Buckminster Fuller-styled stadium seemed, at best, to be for public consumption only (O'Malley stole the scale model from the actual designer, Billy Kleinsasser, and used it without permission or recompense at public events), that he dealt with player and staff salaries in increments of hundreds and thousands of dollars not hundreds OF thousands of dollars (i.e., star pitcher Preacher Roe claims his highest Dodger salary was a paltry $28,000.00 in 1955), that he did not understand the "Little People" who were Dodger fans, that he once (as a youngster) traded a stack of Dodger baseball cards for one Giants' Christy Mathewson, that he fined employees who mentioned Branch Rickey's name in his presence, and, in short, that he was not really a fan of the team he owned.
Shapiro wants to paint horns on Robert Moses' head, and in some sense they do belong there, but not necessarily in the sense that Shapiro would prefer. Like the Master Builders of Ancient Egypt he had virtually unlimited power in his sphere. The ironically-named Moses was a man with a vision for New York, and he set about creating that vision of shining, rising buildings (such as Lincoln Center), vast bridges (the Throgs Neck, the Whitestone, The Triborough, and the frighteningly huge Verrazano are all his), and endless parkways (as a sampling, the Cross Island, the Belt, the Northern State, the Southern State, the Meadowbrook and the Wantagh) linking New York City and its expanding suburbs in a net of urban development. Yet this visionary had pathological flaws. Monomaniacal in his sphere, he had no compunction about unilaterally razing hundreds of city blocks, evicting tens of thousands, and altering the neighborhoods and neighborhood patterns of New York without a thought. Such changes brought other, unanticipated changes---the "through" expressways of The Bronx relegated it to a kind of backwater status accelerating its descent into slum conditions, and Moses' chopping up of neighborhoods in Brooklyn balkanized the Borough into a patchwork of disconnected rich and poor enclaves. Moses was more successful on sparsely-settled Long Island and in Westchester, where his road network created rather than changed demographic patterns.
When these two prima donnas met head-to-head, they treated each other with barely-concealed contempt. Although Moses was at first favorably disposed to a new stadium in downtown Brooklyn, this agreement soured within days. Without access to O'Malley's papers (which he was refused by the O'Malley family), the reason for this sudden souring is unknown, and ripe for speculation. Moses pressed, at first, for a new stadium in Bedford-Stuyvesant, a declining neighborhood; O'Malley refused. Moses promised him a new stadium in Flushing Meadow, Queens (the future Shea); again, O'Malley refused, declaring that the team was to remain in Brooklyn---he countered with an offer to build in Brooklyn, on the site of a ramshackle meat market. Moses refused to condemn the property (a first for him).
This bickering was never about questions of civic-mindedness, fan appreciation, nor humanitarianism. This was strictly a personal issue between the two men that affected millions of people.
While this was going on, the 1956 Dodgers struggled successfully through their World Champion season. Shapiro's snapshot of the team is far more detailed than his portrait of the politics, and is a joy to read. Shapiro is at his best as he describes the dynamic tensions that existed between the various Dodgers, the great negotiator of personalities, Pee Wee Reese, and their fanbase. It is clear that Ebbets Field was no longer a suitable home, at least without major modifications. Parking was very poor, a serious concern in the emerging era of the suburban commuter fan; the stadium itself needed to be revamped, the plumbing fixed, the seating rearranged. Still, Ebbets Field was only 45 years old, and was a solid structure, despite its flaws.
If O'Malley was indeed "desperate to stay in Brooklyn" as Shapiro posits, then why weren't his efforts directed toward staying? Why was he engaged in a stalemated battle of wills with Moses over a new stadium? Perhaps O'Malley simply wasn't "desperate" enough. Certainly, Yankee Stadium and Fenway Park still stand in less than desirable locations, but they draw dedicated fans nonetheless. Had O'Malley spent a part of his considerable fortune buying up some surrounding properties and building a parking complex, and then incrementally improved Ebbets Field with better seating and new amenities, the Dodger fanbase would have continued to travel to Flatbush.
O'Malley did not do this. He wanted land, and a lot of it, on the cheap---had Moses condemned the meat market, O'Malley would have bought the property for pennies on the dollar, a very attractive possibility to a man who squeezed a penny hard enough to put a permanent wave in Lincoln's beard. Los Angeles offered him that and he jumped, literally across a continent, to get it, taking his team about as far from Brooklyn as it was possible to go in his desperation to stay. Yet, if he'd REALLY wanted to stay, Flushing Meadow beckoned. And despite the fact that Flushing is not Brooklyn, the New York football Giants play in New Jersey's Meadowlands and still remain a New York team (the O'Malley-inspired move of the baseball Giants from Manhattan to San Francisco is another issue). In 1957, many of Brooklyn's fans were Long Island transplants, and more would be as time passed. Queens, while not the best of all possible worlds, would have been a convenient waypoint for fans from the old and new neighborhoods.
For that matter, had either O'Malley or Moses given a damn about Brooklyn, they would have cooperated in building a new stadium and reinvigorating Brooklyn. Neither cared to.
"Walter O'Malley was not a bad man. He was devoted to his wife and his children loved him," Shapiro points out. That's nice to know. But O'Malley was also an S.O.B. in business. The two are not mutually exclusive. "Only a sentimental man," Shapiro writes, "would have stayed." Maybe so. But the Dodgers and the Dodger fanbase needed a sentimental man, they needed a fellow fan, they needed a man who loved the team and who loved Brooklyn. What they had was Walter O'Malley, who saw the team merely as a moneymaking concern. O'Malley's actions speak for themselves, regardless of Shapiro's revisionism. And if O'Malley was "not unique" among team owners but merely "so obvious" about his profit motives, the blame is still his for eroding the spirit of The Game, and beginning the slide to where we are today in baseball with its overly mobile nonentity franchises, bloated payrolls, stars on steroids, cupidity and stupidity, and fan disinterest.
In the face of necessity, sentiment oft-times does not serve. But in circumstances of choice, such as faced by the Dodgers, sentiment can be a hedge against callousness.
What O'Malley (and Moses) failed to grasp is that a ball team is more than an agglomeration of men in uniform standing around in an open field. He (they) failed to grasp that a baseball game is more than just nine innings and a cold toting of runs, hits, and errors. It is a conversation at a water cooler, a friendly argument over lunch, an invitation to meet at the ballpark on Saturday afternoon for dogs and beer and a chance to see The Duke of Flatbush. It is a sense of neighborliness, a sense of pride, and was---still is---an important part of Brooklyn's special identity.
As Roger Kahn says in The Boys of Summer, "In the best of all possible worlds the Dodgers would be in Brooklyn and Los Angeles would have the Mets."
That's as it should have been.
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