Pitts, Lasorda the true stars of a World Series memory

Tommy Lasorda visited his hometown of Norristown last week. Unfortunately, unlike so many other reunions, it was not a happy one – he attended the funeral of his brother, Morris Lasorda.

A long line of mourners passed through Holy Saviour Church in Norristown to pay their respects to the well-liked third of five brothers in the Lasorda clan. It was a solemn scene, buoyed by many happy memories.

Aside from the funeral, Lasorda’s return was like so many others over the years. Family and friends crowd around and, before long, the stories start flowing. The former Dodger manager and baseball Hall of Famer is usually the catalyst for most of the stories.

This time, the shoe was on the other foot.

I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to re-tell a story that took place 40 years ago – this week. The return of the Dodgers to this year’s World Series sparked the memory.

A young, energetic sports writer, I was in my first two months of employment as assistant sports editor at The Times Herald. Mentoring was being done by the legendary sports editor Red McCarthy.

It was October of 1977 and the area was abuzz because Lasorda, the hometown hero, was making his first appearance in the World Series … in his first year as a manager … against the New York Yankees … in Yankee Stadium.

The day before the opening game, McCarthy looked up from his desk in the ancient sports department and uttered the most surprising sentence of my life, to that point: “I have a press pass for tomorrow night’s opening game of the World Series. Do you want to go up there and write something about Lasorda’s big night?”

To that point, almost all of my writing had been confined to covering high school sports.

Too amazed to speak, I was hit with another sentence.

“The only catch is, you have to take another guy with you. I had promised him I would give him a ride but, since you are going, you have to take him.”

It didn’t sound like such a difficult addendum to my assignment. But I had never met Mike Pitts.

One of the most well-known figures in Norristown, Pitts was a barrel-chested, gravel-voiced saloon keeper. His watering hole on the East End of Norristown was frequented by an incredible assortment of characters, including many from the sports world.

In succeeding months I would learn that a visit to Pitt’s Bar could result in a chance meeting with just about anyone from Joe DiMaggio, to Eagles great Steve Van Buren and to a num-

ber of Philadelphia Phillies, including local resident Bobby Wine.

But, in those early days, I didn’t know Mike Pitts from silent film actress ZaSu Pitts.

That would change quickly. Anyone who met Pitts got an immediate and heavy dose of personality. To say he was a garrulous character was an understatement.

So, to avoid the expected traffic, we met early at his bar for the drive to Yankee Stadium. I should have known this would be a different trip when he emerged with a bag full of sandwiches for the drive – enough to feed six people.

“You never know who you might meet,” he barked, in a voice that was straight out of a 1930s gangster movie.

Before we had reached the New Jersey Turnpike, he had already asked about every aspect of my life … and I had heard most of his life story.

By the time we reached Yankee Stadium, my head was spinning from all of the stories … and my side was hurting from laughing.

I began walking to the press entrance and we made arrangements to meet after the game. I then asked where he was sitting.

“I don’t have a ticket yet,” he answered.

No ticket? First game of the World Series? What … How?

“Don’t worry about me,” he said confidently. But … What? The decibel level raised about three notches as he repeated, “Don’t worry about me.”

Too shocked to reply, I walked up the ramp to the press box.

As is the case before League Championship games and World Series games, the managers come onto the field during batting practice for a mob press conference. More than 100 writers pressed close to Lasorda to see how the rookie manager would handle the bright lights of baseball’s biggest moment.

Those who didn’t know him, had no idea that there wasn’t a stage large enough to intimidate Lasorda. He reveled in the attention.

Then, in mid-sentence to one of his answers, he stopped and looked in my direction, as I stood a few rows back amidst the mob of scribes.

“Hey, how about that,” Lasorda yelled. “My hometown paper from Norristown, Pennsylvania sent someone up to cover this game. I think that’s great.”

I was still in shock a few minutes later, as the press conference broke up. Suddenly the pre-game din was pierced by a loud outburst from behind home plate. “Hey, Mungo.” Lasorda immediately pirouetted when he heard the nickname that was only used by boyhood friends.

There was Mike Pitts, calling to him from the front row. Lasorda walked over, the two exchanged hugs and had a quick conversation. Then Pitts sat down … in the second row … directly behind home plate.

After the game, after filing a story, I made my way back to the parking lot. There was my much-older sidekick … waiting for me, talking to anyone who would listen.

As soon as we got in the car, for the long drive home, I asked, “How did you get that ticket? How did you get right behind the plate?

“Didn’t I tell you not to worry about me,” he retorted. “Well, don’t worry about me.”

Then, as I shook my head and put the car into gear, he reached under the seat, pulled out a paper bag and said in typical local vernacular, “Wanna sangwich? I told you they would come in handy.”

By the time the story was over, despite the solemnity of the funeral scene, Lasorda and his two remaining brothers – Harry and Smokey – were wiping the tears of laughter from their eyes. I even imagined a smile of the face of Morris.

“That Mike Pitts was really a memorable character,” said Lasorda, shaking his head.

And, 40 years later … this very week … that 1977 World Series is still marked by the indelible memories of that trip to Yankee Stadium.