The Pecan Park Eagle

Marty Marion is dead at 93. He passed away Tuesday night, March 15, 2011, in St. Louis, and leaving this world with the reputation of having been one of the greatest defensive shortstops in baseball history and a Cardinal icon. Over the course of his 13-season career (1940-1950, 1952-1953), Marion batted only .263, never hitting .300, but his defensive ability won him the National League’s 1944 Most Valuable Player Award and eight selections for the NL All Star team. Known as “Slats” for his long and limber frames – and as the “Octopus” for his ability to reach and stop just about every ball hit his way, Marion was respected as the greatest shortstop in Cardinals history until Ozzie Smith came along and, even then, some of the old-timers still hung around to argue his case.

Bud Thomas, Marty Marion, & Stan Musial, 2003.

As a player, Marion was an 11-season Cardinal (1940-1950) and a 2-year limited service guy for the old St. Louis Browns. Marty managed the 1951 Cardinals and then took his talents down the hall at old Sportsman’s Park/Busch Stadium I as the playing manager of the 1952-1953 Browns and the last mentor in that club’s history. He later took over as manager of the 1954 Chicago White Sox during the season and then stayed on to mentor the Sox through the 1955 and 1956 seasons.

In the late 1950s, Marty Marion served as president of a group that purchased the Houston Buffaloes of the AA Texas League and their stadium property from the Cardinals and moved the franchise up to participation in the AAA American Association for three final seasons (1959-1961).

Marion and Company hoped to use their position in Houston to gain the first major league franchise awarded to that booming area, but that 1960 nod went instead to a group led by Judge Roy Hofheinz and their commitment with Harris County to building baseball’s first domed stadium. The competition created enough acrimony to make the subsequent and MLB-required purchase of the minor league territorial rights from the Marion group a tense and expensive proposition for Hofheinz and his Houston Sports Association. The unpleasantness killed any hopes that some of us held for our town going into major league baseball as the “Houston Buffaloes” or “Buffs.” Once settled, Hofheinz then ditched the whole decades old club identity as Buffs in favor of their new his-ego-blessed name, the “Houston Colt .45’s.” Three years later, the club would Hofheinz-morph again into the “Astros,” and the new ballpark would transform into the “Astrodome,” Eighth Wonder of the World.

Very quietly, and little known to most people, Marty Marion was the straw that stirred the drink on Houston’s new Major League Baseball back in the early 1960s.

And now he’s gone. As a player. As a manager. As an entrepreneur. As a living icon of St. Louis baseball history.

Marty Marion & Bill McCurdy, 2003.

Old teammates like Red Schoendienst and Stan Musial will argue forever that Marty “Slats” Marion belongs in the Hall of Fame anyway  for his defensive ability and winning baseball savvy. A story that the late Red Munger once told me strongly suggests that the part about the “savvy” is nothing less than 100% true.

Back in 1947, according to Red Munger, he was pitching against the Brooklyn Dodgers at Ebbets Field when Jackie Robinson reached second base on a double down the left field line and began that little hop-hop dance off the bag in an effort to distract the Cardinal pitcher. All of a sudden. Marty Marion had called a quick timeout and was standing behind Munger with his glove covering his lips as he spoke.

“Hey, Red,” Marion whispered, “I’ve counted the hops this guy takes when he leaves the bag and how many steps he takes going back. We can pick him off. When you hear me sneeze out loud, just turn and throw a low hard one to the third base side of the bag. OK?”

“Gotcha,” Munger whispered into his own glove, as he never even looked in Robinson’s direction. “Let’s pick this guy off!”

Before he could even throw another pitch to the plate, Munger heard the Octopus sneeze. “AH-CHOO!”

Munger stepped off the rubber and wheeled a perfect throw to second. Marion’s glove awaited. ‘YOU’RE OUT!” The umpire called.

Not even close. Munger and Marion had caught Robinson a step off base he could not regain. The embarrassed, but fiery Robinson got up, but he didn’t run straight to his dugout. He first trotted by Munger on the mound, just slow enough in passing to leave a teeth-clenched message:

“You will never get away with doing that again!” Robinson spouted.

“And you know what?” a smiling Red Munger added. “Jackie was right. We never did it to him again, but that one time it worked was worth a lifetime of good memories, – Are you asking me if Marty Marion belongs in the Hall of Fame? Hell fire, man. Open the doors this afternoon.”