Getting the bum's rush: the O'Malley divestiture of the Dodgers is sad, but the displacement of the franchise was more troubling

Sporting News, The, Feb 10, 1997 by Joe Hoppel

I t still doesn't sound right Los Angels Dodgers. The words roll off the tongue like John Shalikashvili.

Sure, the O'Malley -- first Walter, then Peter -- have done a masterful job in building a franchise that has demonstrated you can win and exude class at the same time. From the big shots in the front office to the millionaires on the field to the cotton-candy vendors in the stands, the O'Malley Dodgers have treated their employees as if they were family.

Only thing is, they once broke up a family. In Brooklyn.

Now, after the announcement that the Dodgers are on the block after 47 years of O'Malley stewardship, there's great angst over how baseball will never be the same after the game's last great family divests itself of a storied franchise. As good as the O'Malleys have been to the sport it seems to me that baseball has really never been the same since these same O'Malleys whisked the Dodgers cross-country 40 years ago, from the friendliest confines (Ebbets Field in Brooklyn) to the weirdest confines (the football-configured Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum).

Yes, Brooklyn was a borough in rapid decline in 1957 and cozy Ebbets Field was on the verge of dilapidation and there was no parking around the old ballyard. And, yes, crime was becoming a problem in the area and Walter O'Malley and the politicians couldn't get together on a new stadium and no one took O'Malley seriously when he, in effect, said "Build it, or I will go."

Sadly, because of the time frame and distance, I never made it to Ebbets Field -- unless you count the many dreams during which I've paid a buck-fifty to gain admission. Still, it's clear from vivid childhood memories and a life-long passion for baseball that there was no place quite like Brooklyn in the American sports psyche.

It seemed to be a slice of Americana, a Norman Rockwell painting come to life. Mere was a familial bond between the ballclub and the inhabitants of this closely knit but often put-down borough. Folks could poke fun at Brooklynites' accent or belittle their modest skyline, or confer second-class status on them (as Manhattan's hoity-toity set is wont to do). But a Brooklyn resident loved the Dodgers and his community just like he loved his crazy Uncle Sid -- warts and all. He loved Dem Bums whether they were wacky or wonderful, and they were both over their N seasons. Most of all, a Brooklynite loved the Dodgers because they done him proud -- particularly in the 1940s and 1950s -- and no one could take that away from him.

But then they did.

For 50 consecutive years, through 1952, major league baseball was as stable as Carl Erskine with a three-run lead. Not one franchise moved. Then the Roston Braves high-tailed it to Milwaukee after drawing 281,000 fans in '52 the St. Louis Browns bolted to Baltimore after luring 297,000 in '53 and the Philadelphia A's relocated to Kansas City after their turnstiles clicked slightly more than 300,000 times in '54. Disturbing moves, all, yet understandable considering the woeful attendance and disinterest. In commissionerspeak, the moves unquestionably were in the best interests of the game.

Then came the stunning news in 1957 that the Brooklyn Dodgers were leaving. And they would do so after 13 consecutive seasons of drawing a million-plus fans, in days when a million was a commendable if not coveted figure. For the first time, it seemed as if the almighty dollar was mightier than fans' loyalty or tradition. If the '50s weren't quite the age of innocence as portrayed on those sitcom reruns, they were reasonably close; baseball, though, was innocent no more.

And so began what is commonplace today: the alienation of fans.

Of course, the Dodgers had traveling companions to the West -- the New York Giants. The Giants, as popular as they were in their Polo Grounds horseshoe, simply weren't the Dodgers.

By any meaningful definition, the Brooklyn Dodgers were the first "America's Team.", Before any other team truly came to grips with a changing America, the Dodgers were breaking down barriers, with white, black and Hispanic players standing side by side, working together and winning. In Jackie Robinson's 10 seasons with Brooklyn (1947-1956), the Dodgers won six N.L. championships and, more important, championed racial harmony.

Brooklyn baseball was, of all things, fun. Roy Campanella saying that you had to be a man to be a big-league player but that you needed a lot of little boy in you, too., slumping Gil Hodges being sin led out by a borough priest -- "It is too warm for a sermon ... go home, keep the Commandments and say a prayer for Gil Hodges"; Jackie Robinson dancing off second base, unnerving the opposition; the Sym-Phony band raising the good-time-at-the-ballpark quotient superfan Hilda Chester clanking her cow bell; the Duke crushing one onto Bedford Avenue, Johnny Podres bringing a World Series tide to Brooklyn, at last; Carl Furillo deftly handling the caroms off the right field fence; Billy Loes picking the Yankees to win the 1952 Series against Brooklyn -- when Loes was a Dodgers pitcher; Pee Wee getting a clutch hit; Newk unleashing a high, hard one -- or bashing one, Snider-style; the Abe Stark advertisement below the scoreboard reading. "Hit Sign, Win Suit,"; Casey Stengel doffing his hat in Ebbets Field's early years, revealing a sparrow perched on his head, Bob Dole thinking the Dodgers never left.