Movie Review: The Wolfman.

February 20, 2010

Lon Chaney, Jr. (1941)

Benecio Del Toro (2010)

My adult son Neal and I went to see the new version of “The Wolfman” yesterday. As a lifelong fan of the classic horror films, I could not have missed it for anything, although I must admit to some expectation of disappointment that I carried with me into the Cinemark Theatre at Memorial City Mall. The great early Karloff, Lugosi, and Chaney flicks about Frankenstein, Dracula, and The Wolfman all had that beautifully seductive storyline and the measured pandering to our fear of the unknown going for them to make them great. Modern horror films too often give way quickly to “slash and claw” scenes of nauseating visual results. They also have those animated wonders of modern technology going for them full speed in place of plot quite often too. There is usually nothing mysterious about them. Once the gore starts, it doesn’t stop. It’s as though the young producers play every new horror movie to an audience they assume suffers from a group infection of attention deficit disorder.  They assume that there  has to be a kill or a sight-thrill every fifteen seconds just to keep the audience from walking out.

I won’t spoil the plot for you here, but I will comment on certain elements – and how they registered with me. First of all, you go to a new movie like “The Wolfman”  knowing that most films today are produced for younger audiences. That’s why we older folks have Turner Classic Movies on its own cable channel. Other than a few people like Martin Scorsese, older Americans are the forgotten consumer group in the new American cinema.

“The Wolfman” wasn’t bad. It gave much more attention to storyline and the dysfunctional history of the Talbot family than the 1941 Chaney version ever did. Benecio Del Toro was terrific as Lawrence Talbot, the man who gets bitten into becoming a werewolf and, of course, Sir Anthony Hopkins is his usual brilliant self as Lawrence’s emotionally distant father, Sir John Talbot, the Lord of the grisly looking Talbot Manor in rural England. Emily Blunt is fine as Gwen Conliffe, the grieving former fiance of Lawrence’s murdered-in-the-forest-and-moors-under-the-full-moon brother, Ben Talbot.

The time is 1891. Lawrence Talbot is a succesful actor in New York after being raised in America from the time he was a small boy, following the throat-slashing murder of his mother back at the English manor. His older brother Ben remains there and is raised by their father. Lawrence is called back to England by a letter from Gwen when Ben turns up missing. Lawrence returns to find that his brother had been savagely murdered in the forest under the full moon by either an unheard of animal or an extremely crazed human. The movie unfolds from there. I will not ruin the rest for you with further specific comment on the plotline, except to say that it contains a new twist in the old tale.

I think director Joe Johnston did a nice job by 2010 standards. The story was full and the movie wasn’t overrun with visual gore by today’s standards, although there definitely are some images you may not care to see. A couple of heads and a few body parts get severed along the way. I certainly see it as too violent for small children.

In spite of the special effects we have today, I still prefer the man-to-wolf metamorphosis of Lon Chaney, Jr. to the much more complex one we see in the Benecio Del Toro transformation. The old Wolfman was far scarier to me – and maybe that has to do with the fact I was something like a first grader when I first saw him at the Studewood Theatre in the Heights a few years after the movie’s first release and then had to walk home by myself at movie’s end.

The visual settings in the forest, and on the moors, and on the streets of London, were fantastic. I had two problems with The Wolfman’s visual personification: (1) he reminded me too much of an Incredible Hulk that hadn’t shaved in about two months; and (2) he simply moved too fast for a creature his size, tackling victims at almost lightning speed. In fact, The Wolfman took people down the way the Houston Texans hoped Mario Williams would sack quarterbacks as a defensive end when they drafted him at the number one spot back in 2006. This Wolfman guy is a shoo-in for Canton if he ever plays in the NFL.

One more nice touch. Geraldine Chaplin, the daughter of Charlie Chaplin, is perfect as Maleva, the wild-eyed old Gypsy woman who knows too much about werewolves to not be spooky.

One final take: Hairy terrorists beware! At one point, The Wolfman is captured and taken to London for psychiatric treatment in his Lawrence Talbot state. The first treatment of choice is waterboarding! I’m not sure if there’s some kind of tongue-in-cheek political message intended there, but I rather think there is.

The movie’s worth a look, but not as good as the original Chaney film. If you enjoy the visual trip to turn of the 20th century English forests in the dead of a misty full moon light, it will still be worth your time.

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Knuckleballer Al Papai.

February 19, 2010

Al Papai went 21-10 & 23-9 for the 1947 & 1951 Houston Buff Champs.

Al Papai brought two things to every game I ever saw him pitch: a dead pan facial expression and a knuckleball that floated all over the place. When it floated near the plate, he was often virtually unhittable as a 21-game winner for the Texas League and Dixie Series champion Houston Buffs of 1947. Returning to the Buffs in 1951, Papai went even deeper into the win column, finishing a second Texas League pennant season for the Buffs with a record of 23-9. At 6’3″ and 185 pounds, Papai resembled a string bean vine that  delivered unhittable grapefruit pitches. They twitched, wobbled, and floated, but you didn’t hit ’em far.
Papai pitched two additional years for less talented Buff clubs. He was 14-13 for the 8th and last place 1952 Houston Buffs and 11-16 for the 6th place Houston club. Over the course of his 14-season minor league career (1940-1958), Al Papai compiled a career record of 173 wins, 128 losses, and an earned run average of 3.29. His four 20 plus win seasons as a minor league pitcher all came late at ages 30, 34, 38, and 39. His last two big years came as a 23-7 mark for Oklahoma City of the Texas League in 1955 and a fine 20-10 record for Memphis of the Southern Association in 1956.
Al started late, but he was a gamer. During his four major league seasons (1948-1950, 1955), Al Papai never could find the consistency that would have allowed him the career path of the great Hoyt Wilhelm. He was just too out of control too often and too hittable to make it in the big leagues. In his various time with the Cardinals, Browns, Red Sox, and White Sox, Al Papai compiled a career major league record of 9 wins,  14 losses and an earned run average of 5.37. In 239.2 innings of major league work, he walked 138 and struck out only 70.
Papai did possess a dry sense of humor. Former ’51 Buff teammate Larry Miggins tells the story of how Al Papai served as escort to one of several young bathing beauties at Buff Stadium in 1951 who were competing for the title of “Miss Houston Buff.” Papai’s responsibility was for a beautiful girl named Kathryn Grandstaff, the eventual winner. That same girl went on to Hollywood from her bathing beauty days at Buff Stadium to become an actress named “Kathryn Grant” and the eventual new wife of singer Bing Crosby. Advised of her success at a later meeting with Miggins, Papai commented that “I just hope she remembers that I made her what she is today.” – That must have been one powerful walk, Al!
This memory is trying to conclude on a sad note. In 1995, I was helping the late Allen Russell locate the addresses of his former players for an invitation to a “Last Roundup of the Houston Buffs” in early October 1995. Papai’s was one of the last addresses we located, but his invitation went out in early September.
We soon learned that Al’s invitation had arrived on the afternoon of his funeral in Springfield, Illinois. He had passed away on September 7, 1995 at the age of 77. His lovely widow came in his behalf and I refuse to be sad about Al Papai. He was a great guy who gave it all he had. With a little more relaxation in his inner temperament, he might have had a career equal to Wilhelm’s. He certainly had the mechanics of the knuckleball in place. He just seemed to falter in the bigs from that old bugaboo of trying too hard.
Anybody out there ever run into that problem?





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A Walk on the West Houston Wild Side.

February 18, 2010

For many of us in Houston these days, the walking/jogging tracks are our primary venues for physical exercise. Bear Creek Park on Eldridge has been my home field for over twenty years with  an occasional few laps at Thomas Hershey Park on Memorial Drive thrown in every once in a while to break the spell.

Over the years, it seems to me that we regulars have been seeing a lot more wildlife on the walking paths than we once did. Wild deer standing around the paths at dusk in the spring and fall, however, have been regular sights for years at Bear Creek. Snakes in the springtime and rabbits all year-round are also no big news, anymore, any more so  than the sight of raccoons, possum, buzzards, vultures, cardinals, and a wide variety of other indigenous wild birds.

It’s just that lately we’ve been getting an increase in the sporadic sighting, especially at Hershey, which trails for great distances along side Buffalo Bayou, of more exotic predators like wolves, coyotes, and most recently, a cougar.

I wouldn’t want to meet up with any of those last few guys on any walking trail anywhere, but it’s possible that any of us might one of these days. The wildlife refuge beyond Addicks Dam has been so stirred up in recent years by the incredible residential and commercial growth west in Katy and north around Little York that it isn’t hard to figure why we are seeing more wild life moving inward upon us. They aren’t being pushed away by Houston’s growth. They seemed to getting squeezed from the perimeters to move back into some of the neighborhoods in the Memorial Drive area to look for food.

Sometimes that food source is the family pet, so keep your eyes open to what’s going on around you. It’s one of the prices we have to pay with our relentless willingness to mess with Mother Nature.

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Casey’s Lucky Charm.

February 17, 2010

What's that hiding under your cap, Casey?

Back in the 1950s, you had to love this guy, even if you hated the New York Yankees and the way they routinely ran over all the other clubs like a Nazi panzer division. Remember what happened during Stengel’s rein as manager from 1949 to 1960? In that 12-year span, the Yankees took the American League pennant 10 times, and also they won the World Series in 7 of their 10 trips to the really big show.

Remember too, Casey’s managerial career wasn’t all about winning, During the 1930s and early 1940s, Stengel managed 10 second division clubs in the National League at Brooklyn ((1934-1936) and Boston (1938-1943). He also followed his run with the Yankees as the manager of the original “Amazin’ Mets” for three straight 10th place NL finishes (1962-1964) and a fourth season (1965) that finished old Casey once the club started the season 31-64.

I have to confess. I never was a big Yankee hater as a kid and I loved what I read about Casey. The story of how he once changed boos to cheers as a player at Brooklyn by bowing at home plate and releasing a bird from under his cap just cracked me up at age 11. I thought, “Man! This Casey Stengel fellow is my kind of guy.”

One of my favorite Casey Stengel stories is about the time he managed at Toledo during the 1920s. He did something there that was mindful of his managerial mentor, John McGraw of the New York Giants.

McGraw once kept an untalented tuberculosis patient named Charles Victory Faust on his pitching roster as a good luck charm. He even pitched him a couple of innings in 1911 in meaningless games with no great harmful results. Following suit, Stengel carried a fellow named Al Herman on his 1926 Toledo Mud Hen roster as a “good luck token.”

Herman had shown up that year at Toledo, asking for a tryout. A young fellow from the Bronx, he didn’t have much of anything on the ball and we don’t know why he chose Casey and Toledo to display his wares. Perhaps he already had tried McGraw in New York and then went to Toledo by referral. we don’t really know. All we know is that Casey took him in, in spite of his obvious missing talent.

Herman possessed a stiff, contorted, stunted windup that resembled something he had only tried in the confines of his Bronx apartment building before a mirror. Still, Stengel kept him on the roster for good luck until one day at Minneapolis when he was forced to use him. With no help from a pitching coach, Stengel had used up all of his real pitchers and now needed to hold onto a lead with no one else left in the pen but Herman,

Into the game came Al Herman to pitch the bottom of the 9th. He looked awful warming up.

There must have been some magic dust in the air that day. Herman faced three batters. They each hit the ball a long way, but the way was straight up in the air, as though they were batting in a chimney. Herman had retired all three batters on towering infield pop flies and saved the game for Casey and the Toledo Mud Hens. Amazing!

Stengel ended up using Herman eight times in 1926. In 15 innings, Herman walked 11 batters and struck out only one. After the season, he vanished from baseball and disappeared forever from the limelight.

Wouldn’t you love to know what happened to Al Herman after baseball? That would be some follow-up story.

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The 1st Great Buff: Tris Speaker.

February 16, 2010

Tris Speaker's .314 Buff BA in 1907 Led the Texas League.

Tris Speaker hailed from Hubbard, Texas. He grew up playing baseball at the turn of the 20th century, a time when great contact hitters and fielders with built- radar screens for flying things did not go nameless for long among the early bush-beating scouts in the boondocks. Add to Speaker’s resume his intelligence, speed, baseball intuition, and quickness of mind and body reaction to events on the field. Speaker had it all.

He played his first season at age 18 for the Cleburne Railroaders of the Texas League. He batted only .268 with one homer in 82 games, but it was a pitcher’s league and a pitching season. Teammate George Whiteman led the league in hitting that season with an average of only .284. On defense, Speaker shone bright and true in the outfield from early on. He could catch anything in the air that was humanly reachable.

In 1907, the Houston Buffs celebrated their return to the Texas League from four years of toil in the South Texas League by signing Speaker for their club. Speaker promptly used the opportunity to become a 19-year old batting champion. His .314 mark led all others. and his 32 doubles and 12 triples shone forth as a preview of things to come. For the time, they were good enough to prompt his sale late in the season to the Boston American League club.

Speaker hit a buck fifty-eight in 19 times at bat for the 1907 Boston Americans, who then turned around and sold his contract to Little Rock in 1908. Speaker responded by hitting .350 in 127 games for Little Rock and the Bostons bought him back near season’s end. He only hit .224 in 31 games as a 1908 Boston tail-ender, but the corner had been turned. Tris Speaker would see the underside of .300 only twice more in his next twenty years of major league play.

He would leave the game with 3,514 hits over 22 major league seasons (1902-1928), a lifetime batting average of .345, and the all time baseball record for doubles at 792. He won a batting championship by hitting .386 for Cleveland in 1916 and he won a World Series as playing manager of the Indians in 1920. He earlier won two World Series as a player for the 1912 and 1915 Boston Red Sox.

As a fielder, Speaker was renown for playing shallow because of his ability to go back and get the long ball.  He also holds the record for most unassisted double plays performed by a center fielder over a lifetime career. His 449 career assist also are a record for big league outfielders.

The achievements are two numerous to list. These are the amazing ones to me: (1) the man batted over .380 five times; and (2) he struck out only 220 times in 10,195 times at bat in the big leagues. Tris Speaker was elected to the Baseball Hall of Fame in 1937 – a full two years before the place even opened to the public and became physically prepared to conduct its first 1939 induction ceremony.

Without a doubt in my mind, The Grey Eagle is the greatest former Houston Buff of all time. Dizzy Dean is my choice as second man on that very short, but very special list.

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My St. Valentine’s Day Massacre Lineup!

February 13, 2010

Chicagoland: Vote Early! Vote Often! Vote for Al's Guy!

Roses are red,

Violets are blue,

Spring’s coming soon,

And baseball is too!

While we’re staring out the window at those ashen gray skies, fighting the cold dampness and awaiting the return of all that’s sweet about life, here’s a St. Valtentine’s Day lineup that’s designed to massacre the off-season blues with our love of the game. All the players on this special team are former major leaguers who mostly have passed the “ya gotta have heart” test.

The St. Valentine’s Day Love Massacre Lineup:

Pitcher: Slim Love (BL/TL) (28-21, 3.04) (1913-1920)

Catcher: Rick Sweet (BB/TR) (.234, 6 HR) (1978, 1982-1983)

First Base: Cupid Childs (BL/TR) (.306, 20 HR) (1888, 1890-1901)

Second Base: Bobby Valentine (BR/TR) (.260, 12 HR) (1969, 1971-1979)

Third Base: Jim Ray Hart (BR/TR) (.278, 170 HR) ((1963-1974)

Shortstop: Jake Flowers ((BR/TR) (.256, 16 HR) (1923, 1926-1934)

Left Field: Pete Rose (BB/TR) (.303, 4,256 career hits) (1963-1986)

Center Field: Bob Bowman (BR/TR) (.249, 129 career hits) (1955-1959)

Right Field: Moonlight Graham (BL/TR) (1 Game, 0 At Bats) (1905)

Manager: Bobby Valentine doubles as playing manger. His overly qualified back-up at second base, Cupid Childs, is too Valentine-cool not to play, so he is assigned to play first base for our club. Meanwhile, after a 105-year wait, Moonlight Graham gets a chance with this club to finally to take his first time at bat in the big leagues. How romantic is that?

Happy Valentine’s Day, Everybody! And don’t forget to treat your Special Sweetie nice on Sunday, February 14th!

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The Father of the Texas League.

February 11, 2010

John J. McCloskey: Father of the Texas League & 1st Houston Pennant Manager.

As we’ve recently examined on these pages, professional baseball got off to a rough start with the 1888 Texas League season. Ballparks had to be built; patterns of regular game attendnce had to be established; players had to be signed and paid; weather and transportation had to cooperate so that games could be played on time as advertised; and ball club owners had to devise ways of making all this happen without losing money.

How this all happened over time is a total testament to patience, will, passion, and the power of professional baseball to become the first American sport to win over the hearts and minds of the American public. It didn’t come as easy as the “if you build it, they will come” exhortation from the movie “Field of Dreams”,  but it happened in Texas too, thanks to numerous pioneers, and none more notable of mention than John J. McCloskey, the man we remember today as “The Father of the Texas League”.

It all started innocently enough.

In the early fall of 1887, the world champion St. Louis Browns of Charlie Comiskey and the New York Giants of John Montgomery Ward toured Texas, mostly playing local amateur town teams that possessed only that “snowball-in-hell” chance of winning. None did.

Another team of younger minor league stars from Joplin, Missouri also came through Texas at this time and just “happened” to intersect with the Giants in Austin. The Joplins were led by a “black-haired lively young Irishman” named John J. McCloskey. In little time flat, McCloskey had arranged for a series of three games in Austin, pitting his Joplins against the Giants for what promised to be the biggest crowds that either team had seen in their separate barnstorming tours.

It was the perfect wild west scenario – a gunfight between the old established gunslinger (the Giants) and Billy the Kid (the Joplins). We don’t know today how much McCloskey played up that angle, but it would be very surprising to learn that he did not. From what we can know of the man, he was a fellow who loved baseball, but one who also possessed that P.T. Barnum huckster spirit for selling whatever angle he could find that would lure crowds to the game.

In spite of three future Hall of Fame members (John Montgomery Ward, Buck Ewing, and Tim Keefe), the Giants quickly dropped two games to the young and spirited men of Joplin. For some reason, weather or travel plan conflicts entering into it, the third game was not played and the Giants left town.

The smoke that lingered in Austin after the Giants-Joplin games included a taste for the blood offerings of professional baseball and the willing guidance of one John J McCloskey on how a Texas League of Professional Baseball Clubs could be put together fairly quickly.

McCloskey and his young Joplin aces gave Austin supporters the nucleus for a good club as “Big John” and his group spread out to all the other larger cities in the state, and as far away as New Orleans, and they recruited participants in the formation of the Texas League.

The Texas League got underway in 1888. The rest is history, shaky history, but successful history over time. The unchallenged, clearest thing about it is that John J. McCloskey, indeed, was the true Father of the Texas League. His baseball DNA is all over every park built for play in the Texas League from 1887 through about 1900.

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In The Big Inning …

February 10, 2010

Houston's Baseball Tree Was Not Without Buffaloes Forever.

In the 1861 beginning of Houston “Base Ball”, there were no Buffaloes, no paychecks, and no players. Organized several weeks beyond the Texas secession from the Union, base ball had to wait for the end of the Civil War before it really took off as the most popular sport in town, but the seeds of love for the game had been planted early.

Contrary to popular theory, Houston already knew about baseball prior to the Civil War. It was not one of those southern cities that only learned about baseball through the experiences of returning Confederate veterans who had been exposed to the game as prisoners of war.

Remember. Houston’s founders, the Allen brothers, came here from New York in 1836. They brought with them other New Yorkers and they continued to attract new settlers from the northeast section of the country that was already involved in the evolution of baseball. For all we know, the first Houstonians may have been playing some kind of baseball from the very start, and certainly from beyond the 1845 date of the Cartwright-rules game that came into fashion on the Elysian Fields of New Jersey. It is most unlikely that the founding group that met in the upstairs room above J.H. Evans Store in Market Square on the night of April 16, 1861 had never played a single game of base ball on Houston soil prior to that evening.

If only F.A. Rice were here for five to ten minutes borrowed time from his eternal tour of eternity beyond the grave, he could clear up  lot of questions for us. F.A. Rice was the man the new HBBC elected as their first president on that now documented date of the group’s formation. He could clear up so much for us with even a few nods of the head. Unfortunately, that’s not how this thing works.

All we know for sure from that little newspaper clipping about the April 1861 foundation of the Houston Base Ball Club is that organized interest in the game existed in Houston at least as early as the beginning of the great Civil War.

Unfortunately, the graves and their occupants cannot be summoned to help us flesh out most of the unreported details.

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On the “DL” Today …

February 9, 2010

I spent the weekend telling myself that it was just a pesky little  allergy that would blow its way by in a couple of days. Yesterday afternoon, my body answered with a resounding call of “wrong diagnosis.” Now I’m aching and running a low-grade fever. Yep. I’m down with some kind of respiratory virus today and I’ll be taking off however many day(s) needed for recovery. I will also go see my primary care physician tomorrow morning and get an antibiotic prescription to fight any secondary infection that may already be in place.

Bummer. But I’ll be back soon. God Willing.

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Seems Like Old Times.

February 8, 2010

Buff Stadium in Middle Right of Gulf Freeway, Early 1950s.

It was located four miles east of downtown Houston. When its first Opening Day came around on April 11, 1928, many Houstonians still grumbled over the fact that Buffalo Stadium, the new baseball home of the Houston Buffs had been built so far out in the sticks from the city. West End Park, after all, had been right there on Andrews Street, off Smith, near where almost everybody lived back in the booming 1920s. The old park may have found its way to some  dilapidation and it may have offered  inadequate seating capacity, but it was close. And close counted for something back in the pre-freeway days.

The city had rallied to the travel problem by making sure that rail service to the new ballpark from downtown was easy to use. Union Station, the current home site of Minute Maid Mark, in fact, was one primary place to catch the ballgame  train that went out to Buff Stadium on what was then known as St. Bernard Avenue in 1928. That same thoroughfare is called Cullen Boulevard these days. It’s been Cullen so long now that hardly anyone alive still remembers it by its earlier identity.

Buff Stadium was the brain child of Cardinals General Manager Branch Rickey. Buffs President Fred Ankenman oversaw the ballpark’s construction in 1927-28, bringing in the project on budget at a cost of $400,000 much harder dollars then the kind we see today. Mr. Rickey even came down from St. Louis on the train to attend the 1928 grand opening of the new ballpark in Houston and he brought Baseball Commissioner Kenesaw Mountain Landis with him. Judge Landis was most impressed too, pronouncing the new Buff Stadium as the finest new minor league baseball park in America.

Landis’s favorable impressions were important to Rickey. Rickey hoped to soften the old man’s heart from the idea that major league ownership of minor league clubs was bad business for the local community. The original 8,000 seat Buff Stadium stood as a symbol of progress and improvement in Houston minor league baseball under Cardinal ownership. To some extent, Rickey had accomplished his mission in bringing Landis to Houston in April 1928. Nothing ever really cured the contentious relationship between these two men, as Rickey would learn years later when Landis freed Pete Reiser and a few others from reserve clause capture by the St. Louis Cardinals, but that’s a story for another day.

Look at the Houston skyline in the picture. The Gulf and Esperson buildings were still the icons of Houston architecture in the 1950s – and that freeway and its rascally pal roadways had only begun to play their role in Houston’s massive spread to the hinterlands.

The Houstonians of 1928 thought that the four-mile trip to Buff Stadium from downtown was a major expedition. Today we drive four miles just to reach a Whataburger or rent a DVD movie. So where’s all this progress we keep talking about?

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