Slightly OT: Oldest living MLB player turns 100 today.
dude
Posts: 1,454 ✭✭
This guy lives about 4 miles from me.
Old-timer in a league of his own
By MICKEY HERSKOWITZ
Copyright 2005 Houston Chronicle
On Monday, the oldest living former major-league baseball player Raymond Lee Cunningham will celebrate his 100th birthday.
Nothing in his big-league baseball career prepared Raymond Lee Cunningham for fame and recognition.
After all, his time in The Show consisted of two cups of coffee: the Cardinals called him up from the minors at the end of the 1931 and '32 seasons. His lifetime batting average was .154.
But there are at least a hundred reasons for the recent surge in interest and curiosity directed at this wispy, modest Texan, who prefers to be known as Lee, even though everybody loves Raymond.
Of course, they love him as Lee at the Windsong Village Convalescent Center in Pearland, where he is a resident and where, Monday, he will celebrate his 100th birthday as The Oldest Living Former Major League Baseball Player.
Distinction by default
He gained this distinction when a former pitcher for the old Washington Senators and St. Louis Browns, Paul Hopkins, died last year at 99.
Talk about your double whammy.
The Senators and Browns were terrible teams for most of their existence and disappeared long ago.
Now they have taken Hopkins with them.
Cunningham never knew his predecessor. They never spoke. You doubt that one even knew of the other.
But you get an insight into Lee's nature when you hear his reaction.
"I'm proud of the honor," he said, "but I'm sorry that someone had to die for me to get it."
You don't know exactly how to respond to this. You don't get to be The Oldest Living Anything without a large number of people going to that great diamond in the sky.
In a roundabout way, Cunningham acknowledges this when he answers two obvious questions.
What is the best thing about turning 100?
"People fuss over you and act like you did something great."
And what is the worst thing?
"There are not many people my age still around."
Hitting the big time
Born in 1905, Cunningham was 26 when he joined the Cardinals for the final weeks of the 1931 season. His salary was $500 a year, and he dreamed of making the big club and knocking down the big bucks, four or five times that much.
Baseball had been his ticket off the farm in the little town of Mesquite. But no matter what work you were in, or not in, few were rolling in money because the country was in the grip of the Great Depression.
It was a vastly different America when Cunningham arrived in St. Louis.
Herbert Hoover was the president. Prohibition was the law of the land. The Star-Spangled Banner was adopted as the country's national anthem. The George Washington Bridge had been completed, connecting New York and New Jersey.
The Cardinals whipped Connie Mack's Philadelphia A's in the World Series in seven games.
And Southern Cal, coached by Howard Jones, won the college football championship with a 9-1 record.
Cunningham roomed with Dizzy Dean, the future Hall of Fame pitcher, during spring training. He met the most enduring of all baseball icons, Babe Ruth, and asked him for advice.
"Hang in there, kid," the Babe told him, "you're gonna make it."
We assume Ruth gave roughly the same message to all young players because he had not actually seen Lee play. Nor would an objective person judge Cunningham as having "made it" on the basis of his record.
"I don't like to brag," Lee said, "but one thing I could do was hit. I could flat-out hit."
On the surface, this statement seems inconsistent with his numbers and you grope for a sensitive way to point this out. He was hitless in four at-bats in 1931. A year later, he went to the plate 22 times and had three walks and four hits.
You clear your throat and say, "I see where one of your hits was a double in 1932."
"The Cardinals didn't give me much of a chance to play," he said. "Maybe they didn't think I was very good."
He thought he knew better because he had hit .360 twice in the minors and .359 once. He was a line-drive hitter and a splendid infielder, but his real triumph was in reaching the majors.
He stood a hair over 5-7 and weighed 150, and he played high above his inches.
Famous roommate
But there were only 16 teams in the big leagues, and fewer than 400 jobs. The Cardinals were on the cusp of their greatness as the Gashouse Gang, the era of Dean, Pepper Martin, Sunny Jim Bottomley, Wild Bill Hallahan, Tex Carleton, Ripper Collins and Frankie Frisch, the Fordham Flash.
What names! What glory! What grandeur! But the odds were against any rookie cracking that lineup. In a nice coincidence, there were two players from Houston on the 1931 and '32 teams — catcher Gus Mancuso and right fielder George "Watty" Watkins.
Cunningham was asked how he enjoyed rooming with the legendary Dean.
"Dizzy was a swell fellow," he said. "I have wonderful memories of him. I just can't remember many of them. But he pulled a lot of gags. He kept you laughing."
Cunningham injured his arm in 1934, whipping a sidearm throw to first on a swinging bunt. He retired, then made a comeback a few years later, spending a season with the Houston Buffs. After baseball, he worked as a salesman for Grand Prize beer and for an oil company.
Life after baseball
He was 47 when his son, Gary, was born, and they took in their share of games at Buff Stadium and the Astrodome.
Lee still gets a dozen or more requests for autographs a week. Gary, who works in the beverage industry in the Houston area, has the task of answering the fans, and collectors.
You can't really say he was born 20 years too early, but the mind swims at the idea of the money he would be making at memorabilia conventions as The Oldest Living Former Major Leaguer.
His hands no longer have the strength or precision to do much signing, but when you near 100 you get credit for knowing your name, much less signing it.
Lee chewed tobacco in his playing days and enjoyed a cigar, but among bad baseball habits these might be regarded as minor. He was the youngest of five sons, and his longevity appears to be a debt to his mother, who lived to be 94.
Celebrate a century
Relatives from around the state will descend on Pearland on Monday to celebrate Raymond Lee Cunningham's birthday.
Ice cream and cake and memories unspoken will be served.
"A few years ago," Gary said, "he couldn't have cared less about being known. He's a celebrity now because of where he is, and he loves it. He really does. And we're happy for him."
He earned it by hitting a hundred in the mortality league.
LINK
Old-timer in a league of his own
By MICKEY HERSKOWITZ
Copyright 2005 Houston Chronicle
On Monday, the oldest living former major-league baseball player Raymond Lee Cunningham will celebrate his 100th birthday.
Nothing in his big-league baseball career prepared Raymond Lee Cunningham for fame and recognition.
After all, his time in The Show consisted of two cups of coffee: the Cardinals called him up from the minors at the end of the 1931 and '32 seasons. His lifetime batting average was .154.
But there are at least a hundred reasons for the recent surge in interest and curiosity directed at this wispy, modest Texan, who prefers to be known as Lee, even though everybody loves Raymond.
Of course, they love him as Lee at the Windsong Village Convalescent Center in Pearland, where he is a resident and where, Monday, he will celebrate his 100th birthday as The Oldest Living Former Major League Baseball Player.
Distinction by default
He gained this distinction when a former pitcher for the old Washington Senators and St. Louis Browns, Paul Hopkins, died last year at 99.
Talk about your double whammy.
The Senators and Browns were terrible teams for most of their existence and disappeared long ago.
Now they have taken Hopkins with them.
Cunningham never knew his predecessor. They never spoke. You doubt that one even knew of the other.
But you get an insight into Lee's nature when you hear his reaction.
"I'm proud of the honor," he said, "but I'm sorry that someone had to die for me to get it."
You don't know exactly how to respond to this. You don't get to be The Oldest Living Anything without a large number of people going to that great diamond in the sky.
In a roundabout way, Cunningham acknowledges this when he answers two obvious questions.
What is the best thing about turning 100?
"People fuss over you and act like you did something great."
And what is the worst thing?
"There are not many people my age still around."
Hitting the big time
Born in 1905, Cunningham was 26 when he joined the Cardinals for the final weeks of the 1931 season. His salary was $500 a year, and he dreamed of making the big club and knocking down the big bucks, four or five times that much.
Baseball had been his ticket off the farm in the little town of Mesquite. But no matter what work you were in, or not in, few were rolling in money because the country was in the grip of the Great Depression.
It was a vastly different America when Cunningham arrived in St. Louis.
Herbert Hoover was the president. Prohibition was the law of the land. The Star-Spangled Banner was adopted as the country's national anthem. The George Washington Bridge had been completed, connecting New York and New Jersey.
The Cardinals whipped Connie Mack's Philadelphia A's in the World Series in seven games.
And Southern Cal, coached by Howard Jones, won the college football championship with a 9-1 record.
Cunningham roomed with Dizzy Dean, the future Hall of Fame pitcher, during spring training. He met the most enduring of all baseball icons, Babe Ruth, and asked him for advice.
"Hang in there, kid," the Babe told him, "you're gonna make it."
We assume Ruth gave roughly the same message to all young players because he had not actually seen Lee play. Nor would an objective person judge Cunningham as having "made it" on the basis of his record.
"I don't like to brag," Lee said, "but one thing I could do was hit. I could flat-out hit."
On the surface, this statement seems inconsistent with his numbers and you grope for a sensitive way to point this out. He was hitless in four at-bats in 1931. A year later, he went to the plate 22 times and had three walks and four hits.
You clear your throat and say, "I see where one of your hits was a double in 1932."
"The Cardinals didn't give me much of a chance to play," he said. "Maybe they didn't think I was very good."
He thought he knew better because he had hit .360 twice in the minors and .359 once. He was a line-drive hitter and a splendid infielder, but his real triumph was in reaching the majors.
He stood a hair over 5-7 and weighed 150, and he played high above his inches.
Famous roommate
But there were only 16 teams in the big leagues, and fewer than 400 jobs. The Cardinals were on the cusp of their greatness as the Gashouse Gang, the era of Dean, Pepper Martin, Sunny Jim Bottomley, Wild Bill Hallahan, Tex Carleton, Ripper Collins and Frankie Frisch, the Fordham Flash.
What names! What glory! What grandeur! But the odds were against any rookie cracking that lineup. In a nice coincidence, there were two players from Houston on the 1931 and '32 teams — catcher Gus Mancuso and right fielder George "Watty" Watkins.
Cunningham was asked how he enjoyed rooming with the legendary Dean.
"Dizzy was a swell fellow," he said. "I have wonderful memories of him. I just can't remember many of them. But he pulled a lot of gags. He kept you laughing."
Cunningham injured his arm in 1934, whipping a sidearm throw to first on a swinging bunt. He retired, then made a comeback a few years later, spending a season with the Houston Buffs. After baseball, he worked as a salesman for Grand Prize beer and for an oil company.
Life after baseball
He was 47 when his son, Gary, was born, and they took in their share of games at Buff Stadium and the Astrodome.
Lee still gets a dozen or more requests for autographs a week. Gary, who works in the beverage industry in the Houston area, has the task of answering the fans, and collectors.
You can't really say he was born 20 years too early, but the mind swims at the idea of the money he would be making at memorabilia conventions as The Oldest Living Former Major Leaguer.
His hands no longer have the strength or precision to do much signing, but when you near 100 you get credit for knowing your name, much less signing it.
Lee chewed tobacco in his playing days and enjoyed a cigar, but among bad baseball habits these might be regarded as minor. He was the youngest of five sons, and his longevity appears to be a debt to his mother, who lived to be 94.
Celebrate a century
Relatives from around the state will descend on Pearland on Monday to celebrate Raymond Lee Cunningham's birthday.
Ice cream and cake and memories unspoken will be served.
"A few years ago," Gary said, "he couldn't have cared less about being known. He's a celebrity now because of where he is, and he loves it. He really does. And we're happy for him."
He earned it by hitting a hundred in the mortality league.
LINK
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Comments
Didn't Chester Hoff own that coveted title for about a decade or so. That 'dude' lived forever
check this guy out!
http://www.deadoraliveinfo.com/dead.nsf/rnames-nf/Radcliffe+Ted+Double+Duty
http://www.deadoraliveinfo.com/dead.nsf/cnames-nf/Calment+Jeanne