50 years after Mets helped heal America
Miracle team from New York brought USA together during turbulent times
They will gather this month in New York, rehashing stories from 50 years ago, reminiscing about the year they turned the baseball world upside down, becoming perhaps the most beloved team in history.
The 1969 Mets.
The team that helped revitalize a city in ruins and heal a nation in turmoil, showing the world you can turn the inconceivable to the improbable to the possible to the incredible, in a way only sports can possibly do.
“It was turbulent times. Vietnam, race riots, New York City barely staying afloat,” outfielder Cleon Jones, who caught the final out of the 1969 World Series for the Mets, tells USA TODAY. “There was so much hatred in the country after Dr. (Martin Luther) King died in 1968. People were losing their lives. It was a bad scene, man.
“But the New York Mets came along just at the right time. Sports has always been a source of healing, especially in the black community, and we showed how a nation can come together.”
Those ’69 Mets — a melting pot of diversity with white and black players, old and young, future Hall of Famers and fringe bench players, led by a brilliant manager — had the country falling in love with them.
“I know the world is upside down now,” outfielder Art Shamsky says, “but back then, it was really upside down. The country was in turmoil. Vietnam was going on. The city of New York was going down financially, spiritually and morally. We had assassinations. We had
social strife. Everything was going wrong. And then we came along.”
The Mets were the biggest laughingstock in sports, the lovable losers who were the brunt of late-night talk show jokes on those black-and-white TVs with rabbit ears. They lost a record 120 games in their inaugural season in 1962, lost at least 109 in each of their first four seasons, had 737 losses and never finished higher than ninth place in the 10team National League in their first seven years.
Then came 1969. Man walked on the moon. Woodstock. Richard Nixon was inaugurated. The Charles Manson murders. The Beatles released “Abbey Road.” And the Mets shocked the world, winning 100 games and beating the powerful Orioles in the World Series.
“We kept hearing that if the Mets could win the World Series, the U.S. could get out of Vietnam. And it happened.” said outfielder Ron Swoboda, who made an immaculate catch in Game 4. “You felt like America could do whatever it wanted to do at that point. You felt like anything and everything was possible.”
It changed lives and maybe changed America, too.
“It seemed like we rejuvenated the whole country,” Jones said, “not just New York or the Eastern Seaboard. I remember being with the Mets prior to ’69, and you’d go to places like L.A., and there may be one or two Mets fans in the stands. Now, everywhere we went there were Mets fans. We resonated with everyone and gave hope to everybody all over the country. It wasn’t just limited to New York.”
“The country was in such rough times with the riots, and everything so black and white, but we showed unity,” said first baseman Ed Kranepool, who was born and raised in the Bronx. “There was no black and white on our team. We did everything together. We ate together. We socialized together. And we played our hearts out together. Maybe it was tough for people to accept down South, but in New York, we were a team that everyone embraced.”
Jones, 76, who grew up in a community called Africatown 3 miles north of Mobile, Alabama, where the last slave ships entered the country, left home before the 1969 season with white strangers showing disdain and scorn toward him.
When he returned after the World Series, it turned to reverence. The same restaurants that refused to serve him were opening doors for him. Customers offered to pay for his meals. When he bought furniture and items from department stores, he no longer had to worry about credit, his word was just fine. Those death threats that used to litter his mailbox became fan letters seeking autographs.
“Prejudice is something I grew up with in the South. I had a lane and stayed in it,” said Jones, one of four African Americans who was on the Mets roster and who now is a community leader in Africatown, helping repair homes and raise funds. “I remember the hate mail. I got a letter once where somebody wrote, ‘If you go to left field tonight, I’m going to shoot you.’
“That’s the way it was back then. But after that year, I was the prodigal son. When we won the Series, we showed, black and white players, we can play together as a team, live together without incident during the season and really love one another. I really believe we helped make a difference.”
Those Miracle Mets symbolized the sheer faith and determination that can turn despair and misery into triumph and euphoria.
“It was a horrible time what people were going through, especially emotionally with the war,” Shamsky said. “I think what we did made people feel like there was a light at the end of the tunnel. ‘If the Mets can do it, we can do it.’
“It still resonates today. I have people coming up to me and not asking for an autograph but just to shake my hand. I have Vietnam veterans coming up and saying, ‘Thank you.’ I’ve played 13 years in baseball, and nobody has ever asked about the other 12.’’
There will be laughs, memories and plenty of tears when the Mets gather for their June 29 celebration at Citi Field. Some of them talk at least once a week. Some haven’t seen each other since the 40-year anniversary.
With 10 of their teammates already dead, they realize this could be the final time they are all together.
Ed Charles, the heart and soul of the Mets who never knew he could even make a living playing baseball until he saw Jackie Robinson play a spring training game in 1946, died last year at 84. His last major league game was Game 5 of the ’69 World Series.
Others went a whole lot sooner. Tug McGraw, the father of country music star Tim McGraw, died of a brain tumor at 59. Donn Clendenon, who earned his law degree and became a lawyer, died of leukemia in 2005. Tommy Agee died of a heart attack at 58 in 2001. Manager Gil Hodges died of a heart attack at 47, just three years after their championship. Buddy Harrelson just turned 75 but is suffering from Alzheimer’s.
And Tom “Terrific” Seaver, who along with Nolan Ryan were the only players from that team who became Hall of Famers, is 74 but has dementia and can barely remember a thing from that season.
“It’s horrible, and it’s progressively getting worse,” says Swoboda, who also wrote a book. “I asked Seaver, ‘Hey, when Hodges went to the mound, do you remember what was discussed?’ He looked at me and said, ‘I have no memory of that. Any of that. I have no memory of that game.’
“That’s so painful, because memories are treasures to me and all of us. The thought of anything sneaking in there, and stealing my memory from me, is just horrible. It’s beyond words how painful it is to see Tom losing his memory.’’
Four of the ’69 Mets went to see Seaver two years ago at his home and 116acre winery in Calistoga, California, reminiscing about that year, talking about their 51 complete games, the .242hitting offense, and their night together at the Montreal airport bar when their team flight was delayed by hours, allowing them to watch Neil Armstrong become the first man to walk on the moon.
“The irony wasn’t lost on us,” Swoboda says, “that here’s Neil Armstrong leaving footprints on the moon and we can’t even get a damn plane to take us from Montreal to New York.”
They spent about eight hours at Seaver’s home that day, and when the morning turned to the afternoon, and the afternoon turned to night, no one wanted to leave.
“It was really an enlightening, wonderful experience,” Shamsky said, “knowing that season changed our lives forever. But when we left, it was sadness. We all aged. We all lost members of the team. And when we finally said goodbye, you didn’t know if you’d see everyone ever again.”
The reunion perhaps will be most emotional for Kranepool. He had been on a national kidney transplant list for two years and feared he could have been next without someone stepping forward. Being a member of the beloved Mets team, and thanks to the efforts of Mets vice president Jay Horwitz who relentlessly publicized his plight, Kranepool received a new kidney last month.
The donor? Deborah Barbieri, a Mets fan.
“It took 21⁄2 years, then you get a call, and it saves your life,” Kranepool says. “It’s amazing. Jay had a couple of press conferences for me, got me on the front page and back pages of the newspapers, and here I am, ready for our reunion.
“We’ve lost a number of our friends, and this being the 50th anniversary, I think this is the last hurrah. I don’t think many of us will be around to make the 75th.”
But the memories will be around forever.
It doesn’t matter if you’re Wayne Coffey, a 15-year-old Long Island kid who ran on the field after the final out of Game 5 to grab a patch of grass. Or Jones, who remembers searching for Jerry Koosman in the clubhouse to give him the ball from the last out since he was the only one interested in memorabilia. Or Jerry Grote, who wildly leaped into the arms of Koosman.
“I think this 50th anniversary has heightened the power of this narrative,” Coffey said. “Fifty years later, people regard this rightfully so as maybe the greatest team achievement in baseball history. Has there ever been a team as hapless as the Mets reach the summit so suddenly and unexpectedly?”
“I think this team will always resonate with fans,” says Shamsky, who wrote the book “After the Miracle.” “We meant so much to so many people at a time this country needed it the most.”
Said Jones: “None of us who experienced it will ever forget it. Our lives changed that season. In many ways, so did our country.”