Tim McCarver, 1941-2023

My signed photo of Tim McCarver and Steve Carlton. I never got to meet Tim McCarver, so I'm pleased I bought this in 2022. (Photo by Mark C. Taylor)

Catcher and longtime MLB baseball broadcaster Tim McCarver passed away yesterday at the age of 81. I’ve grown up hearing Tim McCarver’s voice on baseball games, and it’s hard to imagine baseball without him. I also felt a connection to McCarver because he was the “personal catcher” in the late 1970’s for my favorite baseball player, Steve Carlton.  

As a kid, I remember my dad was not a big fan of McCarver’s commentary, as he felt that McCarver simply talked too much. (My father was not alone in this viewpoint.) I didn’t disagree with my dad, but I eventually grew to like McCarver’s commentary, in part simply because of his ubiquity. He was always there, for every World Series and All-Star Game. By the time McCarver left the Fox network after the 2013 season, I found myself missing McCarver’s Southern accent and incisive insights. I didn’t really realize how much I liked McCarver until he was gone. I don’t think McCarver and Joe Buck were a great broadcast team—to me, it never felt like they actually knew each other outside of the broadcast booth. I blame Joe Buck’s robotic stiffness, as I can’t imagine how anyone wouldn’t get along with the friendly and garrulous McCarver. I don’t hate Joe Buck, but I don’t really like him, either. There’s nothing really wrong with Joe Buck, but there’s nothing really right with Joe Buck, either. Joe Buck just does every sport and does a B- job at every sport.  

Back to Tim McCarver. I’m very glad that I read William C. Kashatus’ excellent 2022 biography of McCarver and Steve Carlton, Lefty & Tim: How Steve Carlton and Tim McCarver Became Baseball’s Best Battery, as it gave me a greater appreciation for Tim McCarver’s baseball career. McCarver was an extremely gifted athlete, and he had football scholarship offers from many colleges, including Notre Dame, but he turned them down to sign with the St. Louis Cardinals. McCarver graduated from high school in June of 1959, and on September 10, 1959, he made his major league debut. He turned 18 a month later. By 1963, McCarver was in the big leagues to stay. In 1964, McCarver was the regular catcher for the pennant-winning Cardinals, and he hit .478 in the World Series, as the Cards beat the Yankees in 7 games.  

Not known for his speed, McCarver is the only catcher to ever lead the league in triples, as he slugged 13 in 1966. He appeared in two more World Series with the Cardinals, in 1967 and 1968, and finished runner-up to teammate Orlando Cepeda in the 1967 NL MVP vote.  

McCarver handled two of the greatest pitchers of all-time: Bob Gibson and Steve Carlton. McCarver has related stories of how Gibson forced McCarver to face his own prejudices, and they became great friends. McCarver was behind the plate for one of the greatest seasons by a pitcher ever: Bob Gibson’s 1968 season, when he hurled an unbelievable 1.12 ERA over 304 innings. McCarver was also behind the plate for part of Steve Carlton’s legendary 1972 season with the Phillies, when Carlton won an incredible 27 games for a team that only won 59 games. Gibson and Carlton’s success speaks to McCarver’s prowess as a handler of pitchers.  

In mid-1975 it looked like McCarver’s playing career was over when the Boston Red Sox released him. But the Phillies picked him up, and Timmy carved out a niche as a pinch-hitter and Steve Carlton’s personal catcher. The Phillies’ regular catcher was Bob Boone, a fantastic defensive catcher, but Carlton and Boone didn’t always see eye to eye on pitch calling. Boone had introduced Carlton to strength and martial arts coach Gus Hoefling after the 1975 season, and the strenuous workouts helped improve Carlton’s performance on the mound. One of the best-known exercises called for Carlton to stick his left arm into a barrel of rice and try to work his hand down to the bottom of the barrel. 

With Hoefling’s workout routine, and his friend McCarver behind the plate, Carlton rejuvenated his career, winning 20 games in 1976, and three more Cy Young Awards in 1977, 1980, and 1982. McCarver retired after the 1979 season, and he made a seamless transition to the broadcast booth with the Phillies. But the Phillies did McCarver a favor and activated him as a player in late 1980 so he could become a four-decade player. As Carlton stopped talking to the press in the late 1970’s, McCarver also became Carlton’s “designated talker,” answering the questions from reporters that Carlton refused to.  

Tim McCarver leaves behind a long legacy in major league baseball, and he’ll be fondly remembered by those who appreciated his talents behind the plate and behind the microphone. 

317 Keith Hernandez Baseball Cards

The box of 317 Keith Hernandez baseball cards I recently bought. (Photo by Mark C. Taylor)

I’ve always liked Keith Hernandez. He was one of those players I knew about pretty early on in my childhood baseball fandom, which started right around 1986 and 1987, probably the peak of Hernandez’s fame. I knew Keith Hernandez played first base for the Mets and had an awesome mustache. I knew that his nickname was “Mex,” even though he wasn’t actually Mexican. (The 1980’s were a different time...) I knew the Cardinals had made a disastrous move by trading him to the Mets in 1983 for Neil Allen. (And Rick Ownbey, but as a kid it stuck in my mind as Hernandez for Allen.) And from the backs of his baseball cards, I knew that Keith Hernandez was a Civil War buff. I theorized from all of this that Keith Hernandez must be a pretty cool guy. (And this was before I knew that Keith smoked cigarettes in the dugout and did crossword puzzles.) I read Hernandez’s book If At First, a diary of the Mets’ 1985 season, when I was a kid, although I don’t know if I made it through all 400+ pages of it. And a good amount of it just went over my head, of course. As an adult, I read Hernandez’s entertaining book Pure Baseball, in which he examines two baseball games pitch by pitch. I remember finding the book in a used bookstore and thinking to myself, “Wow, going through a game pitch by pitch? That’s for like a hardcore baseball fan. Oh wait, that’s me.” And I always enjoy reading random articles about Keith and his cat, or whatever random things he’s been talking about on Mets broadcasts. 

Recently I had a dream that Keith Hernandez figured in somehow. I don’t remember exactly what it was, maybe I saw one of his baseball cards? Who knows, my subconscious focuses on odd things sometimes. After that I decided, “You know what? I need to get all of Keith Hernandez’s baseball cards.” I found an inexpensive lot on eBay. Fittingly enough, it was for 317 Keith Hernandez cards—Keith wore number 17 for the Mets. (The Mets retired his number in 2022.)  

Some of the special 1980's cards included in the lot.

The lot featured a nice variety of Hernandez’s cards from 1980-1991. Nothing super rare, but a few special cards beyond just the base issues from the major manufacturers.  

Keith Hernandez's iconic 1979 Topps card. It's such a great card.

The lot unfortunately didn’t include Hernandez’s iconic 1979 Topps card. This is a card that I’ve had since childhood, and it’s just so cool. Keith is looking off-camera, smiling and handsome, his iconic mustache now at it’s full glory. (Vern Rapp had forbidden facial hair during his stint as Cardinals’ manager, so Keith was clean-shaven on his 1978 Topps card.) As a kid, I remember finding it odd that the “STL” logo on Keith’s batting helmet was peeling off. (Same with the helmet on Lou Brock’s 1979 Topps card.)  

Hernandez’s 1980 and 1981 Topps cards are pretty cool as well. I can’t believe that Topps gave Keith card number 321 for the 1980 set, instead of a “star” number ending in 5 or 0. Hernandez had “star” numbers in the 1977 and 1979 sets, so I guess they were on an every other year pattern with Keith. But he led the majors in batting average in 1979, hitting .344! He was the co-MVP with Willie Stargell in 1979, of course he should get a star number card the next year!  

Sorry Fleer, Keith doesn't live in St. Louis anymore.

It’s funny to see that Fleer still thought that Keith lived in St. Louis in 1987. Obviously, no one at Fleer had read If At First, where Keith describes his East Side condo.  

These baseball cards stuck in my memory. Athletes can be intelligent too!

Keith’s 1985 Topps card and his 1988 Topps Big card both reference his interest in the Civil War. As a kid who was also interested in the Civil War, I thought this was pretty cool, and proof that Keith must be a smart guy.  

Keith's 1991 Score and Fleer cards. It's so odd to see him with the Indians.

This lot of 317 cards also featured a few cards of Hernandez with the Cleveland Indians. It’s just weird to see Keith in a uniform that isn’t the Cardinals or Mets. Hernandez only played 43 games for the Indians in 1990 before injuries forced him to retire. This lot of Keith Hernandez cards brought back fond memories of one of the coolest baseball players of the 1970’s and 1980’s.  

Book Review: The Roof Over Our Heads, by Nicole Kronzer (2023)

The cover of The Roof Over Our Heads, by Nicole Kronzer, 2023. (Photo by Mark C. Taylor)

Author Nicole Kronzer

A fun bit of Roof swag: a notebook from the (fictional) Jorgensen House. (Photo by Mark C. Taylor)

Nicole Kronzer’s young adult novel The Roof Over Our Heads is a wonderful love letter to theater, families, and belonging. The main character of the novel is Finn Turner, a 17-year-old who lives with his two mothers and two brothers in a Victorian mansion owned by a theater company. But the theater has a new artistic director who isn’t convinced that the expense of the mansion is worth it to the theater’s bottom line. Finn’s mothers get the idea to perform an interactive play in the house—while the cast lives in the mansion as though it’s 1891.  

The plot is a clever spin on the old “Hey, let’s do the show right here!” trope, and Kronzer’s sense of humor is evident in the terrific title of the play: A Midsummer Night’s Art Heist Garden Party Escape Room Murder. Finn has to navigate through many complications, including figuring out how he will successfully memorize his lines, and how his footman character will be able to chat with his crush Alexa, playing one of the daughters of the household. The other daughter of the household is played by Jade, who used to be best friends with Finn in middle school, but now their friendship has hit a rockier patch. Throw in a drama teacher who is relentless about staying in character, and a dude-ish organ performance major, among others, and you have a recipe for delightful comedy.  

The condensed time structure of The Roof Over Our Heads heightens the tension, and the narrative drive will keep you turning pages. The Roof Over Our Heads is funny, heartwarming, and charming. Anyone who has experienced the magic inherent in theater will enjoy immersing themselves in the backstage dramas contained herein. Nicole Kronzer’s first novel, 2020’s delightful Unscripted, also had a theater theme, and even though my own acting career was limited to high school, I loved being back in that universe in The Roof Over Our Heads.

 

I knew that I was going to like The Roof Over Our Heads long before I actually read it. The first time I met Nicole Kronzer was in the fall of 2021—our mutual friend, the talented illustrator Katharine Woodman-Maynard, was taking one of my F. Scott Fitzgerald walking tours, and she had invited Nicole as well. I think about the third sentence Nicole said to me was “My next novel is set in the James J. Hill house!” I replied, “I used to be a tour guide there!” Although the house in The Roof Over Our Heads is called the Jorgensen House, it shares many characteristics with the James J. Hill House, and it was with gleeful pleasure that I read Kronzer’s beautiful descriptions of a place that I know so well. The next time I go to the Hill House I’ll be imagining Finn and the other characters running from one wing to another, running lines as they go, preparing for the next performance of A Midsummer Night’s Art Heist Garden Party Escape Room Murder. 

Book Review: Being Elvis: A Lonely Life, by Ray Connolly (2016)

Paperback cover of Being Elvis: A Lonely Life, by Ray Connolly, 2016. (Photo by Mark C. Taylor)

Simply put, Elvis Presley was one of the most significant figures in the history of 20th century music. Elvis has become such an icon that it’s hard to separate his work from the celebrity surrounding him. British writer and journalist Ray Connolly examined Presley’s life in the excellent 2016 biography Being Elvis: A Lonely Life. Connolly’s book doesn’t attempt to be the definitive Elvis biography; rather, it presents us with an examination of Elvis’s personality in a relatively brief 320 pages.  

Connolly has clearly done his homework—to write such a tight biography of Presley means that he has a thorough command of his sources and the narrative that he crafts. Like Baz Luhrmann’s 2022 film Elvis, Connolly places much of the blame for Elvis’s decline on his manager, Colonel Tom Parker. Unlike Luhrmann, Connolly fully dissects Elvis Presley’s personality, in an attempt to try to illuminate Elvis’s actions. Elvis is a tricky subject for a biographer—on the one hand, there’s too much information to wade through, as seemingly everyone who ever met Elvis has written a book. Serving Royalty: How I Made a Cheeseburger for Elvis at McDonald’s, by Mark Taylor. (That book doesn’t actually exist.) And yet at the same time, Elvis gave very few interviews after 1960, so there isn’t a ton of material where Elvis describes his own thoughts and feelings.  

For someone at his level of fame, Elvis Presley was at times curiously passive about his own career. That’s a bit of an overstatement, as he was often tenacious in the recording studio to achieve the sound he wanted on a record. But if you think of people at Elvis’s level of fame, say, Frank Sinatra or Barbra Streisand, the picture that emerges is of powerful people who might border on control freaks. That wasn’t Elvis Presley. For all his dissatisfaction with the movies he made, Elvis did little to take control of his Hollywood career. I also think that Elvis was often hindered by his enormous fame—it was a burden sometimes. Elvis was so famous, on such a different level than just about anyone else, that he couldn’t blend into a movie: his movies aren’t just movies that Elvis happens to be in, they are ELVIS MOVIES.  

I’d argue that Elvis did make some good movies, like Jailhouse Rock and King Creole, but when you compare his movie career to Bobby Darin’s, you see a stark difference. Bobby Darin was a very successful entertainer, but he wasn’t burdened by the same level of fame that Elvis was. When Darin broke into movies, he didn’t have to just play Bobby Darin in every movie he made. Darin’s first movie role was in 1961’s Come September, where he starred alongside Rock Hudson, Gina Lollobrigida, and Sandra Dee. Darin didn’t have to carry the whole movie himself, as Elvis so often had to. Darin also made several movies where he didn’t sing, something Elvis always wanted to do. Darin’s other films include Too Late Blues, directed by John Cassavetes, State Fair with Pat Boone and Ann-Margret, Hell is for Heroes, with Steve McQueen, Pressure Point, with Sidney Poitier, and a supporting role in Captain Newman, M.D., with Gregory Peck, Tony Curtis, and Angie Dickinson. Because Colonel Parker was risk-adverse in the extreme, there was no way that Elvis was going to be in a John Cassavetes movie, or appear with stars like Steve McQueen and Gregory Peck, who might overshadow Elvis.  

Reading Being Elvis reminded me of what an instant phenomenon Elvis Presley was. The recording session on July 5, 1954 that produced Elvis’s first record, “That’s All Right,” was the first time that Presley had ever sung or played with other musicians. (p.32) Not bad for a debut. By July 5, 1956, Elvis Presley was the hottest thing in show business.  

Connolly unearths tantalizing nuggets, like the Colonel’s negotiations with RCA for a proposed 43-city tour in 1963. RCA balked when Parker demanded a guaranteed advance of $1 million, and so the deal came to nothing. Since his release from the Army in 1960, Elvis had only performed 3 live concerts in 1961—he hadn’t toured since 1957, and I’m sure the demand for tickets would have been huge. Another opportunity lost.  

While the 1960’s had been a decade of making movies and not touring, the 1970’s were the opposite, as Elvis appeared in Las Vegas and toured extensively throughout the United States. Connolly hits the reader with the astonishing fact that, besides Elvis’s 2-year stint in the US Army, the longest break of his career was a four-month hiatus in 1975. (p.280) At that point, Elvis was in obvious need of a rest, for his health and to regain his enthusiasm for his career.  

Being Elvis, the 2018 documentary Elvis Presley: The Searcher, and Luhrmann’s 2022 movie all make the point that singing in Las Vegas was not good for Elvis’s voice. I’d be interested to hear someone explain more about this. Is singing in Las Vegas generally detrimental to singer’s voices? If so, how did Vegas staples like Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin thrive for decades in the desert? Or was there something specific about Elvis’s voice that the dry desert air damaged?  

1973 was a key year in Elvis’s career. The year began on a high note, with a huge global audience viewing Presley’s satellite TV special Aloha from Hawaii. It was a huge milestone for Elvis. But by the time Elvis opened his August shows at the Las Vegas Hilton, a Hollywood Reporter critic wrote “It is tragic, disheartening and absolutely depressing to see Elvis in such diminishing stature.” (p.269) 1973 was also when Elvis should have finally broken free from Colonel Parker’s unimaginative management of his career. Elvis fired the Colonel but made no move to contact anyone to replace Parker. Parker correctly gambled that Elvis would eventually come back, and so he did. Instead of touring the world, as he should have done, Elvis performed 180 concerts in 1973, all within the USA.  

Elvis needed a break, but his finances were in such poor shape that he would have had to plan ahead, and curb some of his famously generous spending, in order to take some time off. Elvis also needed someone other than his father, Vernon, handling his money. Vernon was honest, often criticized Elvis’s lavish spending, and he did the best job he could, but he was not financially sophisticated. It’s rather shocking that one of the most famous entertainers in the world handed his finances off to his father, who hadn’t even graduated from high school. That might have worked fine in 1955, when Elvis was basically just making money from touring, but by 1975, his finances needed outside help.  

Being Elvis is a sympathetic portrait of a gifted artist who was adored by millions of people around the world, and yet his life was a lonely one indeed. The Elvis I like to think of is the one who lives forever inside the music he left us. I love hearing Elvis get lost in a song, the way he did when he was jamming on songs. Listen to the joy in his voice as he tears into songs like “Reconsider Baby,” “Hi-Heel Sneakers,” “Stranger in My Own Home Town,” “Don’t Think Twice, It’s All Right,” and “Merry Christmas Baby.” That’s Elvis the way I want to remember him, not the jumpsuited icon, not hidden away inside the gates of Graceland, but singing for the sheer joy of it.