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Authors: Dallas Green
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a game in Chicago, Turk approached me in the Wrigley Field clubhouse with an urgent request.
“Dallas, I’m in trouble, and you gotta help me out,” he said. “I’ve got a stewardess flying in tonight, and I promised to take her to dinner. But I found this other gal I want to stay with for a while.”
“What do you need me to do?”
“When the stewardess gets to the hotel, I need you to have dinner with her. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Late that evening, there was a knock on our hotel room door. I opened it to find a 6'0" blonde staring back at me. I hadn’t done much to prepare for her visit, other than to throw on some clothes. Normally I slept in the nude, so for me, I had already gone above and beyond the call of duty.
I ordered room service for the gal and told her Turk would be back shortly. He was meeting with our manager, I explained. She and I chitchatted for a while about Turk, her life in the skies, and my rookie year with the Phillies. Soon after finishing our meal, Turk bounced in and took her off my hands.
The next day, he gave me a box from one of the Chicago department stores.
“Here, roomie, I got a present for you,” he said.
I opened it to find a pair of silk pajamas.
“If you’re going to entertain my broads, I want you looking good,” Turk said, walking away.
Turk was a real piece of work. One time, our team plane got caught in a hellacious thunderstorm and was jerking up and down like a yo-yo. We were all pretty scared, especially Turk.
“Oh, dear God, if you get us down safely, I’ll quit drinking and fooling around!” he blurted out.
The plane landed without incident. After the close call, I figured Turk would keep his word for at least a little while. No chance.
“Okay, guys, let’s go get a drink and find some broads,” he said as he grabbed his bags.
*
Through her travels with me in the minor leagues, Sylvia knew a lot about the life of a ballplayer. When I returned from road trips, she got a real kick out of my Turk stories. Off the field, the early 1960s were a special time for Sylvia and me. When I got called up to the Phillies, we moved out of my mom’s house in Newport and bought a small brick house in Eastburn Acres, another suburb of Wilmington. Not long after that, Sylvia learned she was pregnant with our first child.
Like thousands of other workers from the Wilmington area, I commuted by rail to Philadelphia. On days the Phillies had a home game, I’d board a train bound for North Philadelphia station. From there, I’d make the 15-minute walk from Broad and Glenwood to Connie Mack Stadium. After games, I’d catch the train back home. That was sometimes an adventure, because the last train from North Philadelphia left at 10:30 PM . With most night games running until about 10:00, I had to hustle to get to the station on time. That meant no showering or lingering around the clubhouse. If I missed the last train from North Philly, I’d have to spend $10 on a cab ride to 30 th Street Station.
I looked forward to the times when friends from Wilmington came to games—that meant I had a lift home. Sometimes Sylvia would come along with them. By all accounts, she fit right in with the other Philadelphia fans. Whenever Gene made a decision she didn’t like, she let him have it. Most of the time, the decision involved removing me from a game. On one occasion, he had a light-hitting infielder named Bobby Malkmus pinch-hit for me. When Sylvia saw Malkmus walking into the on-deck circle, she loudly blurted out, “Oh no, not Malkmus!” Her exclamation prompted the woman in front of her to turn around. The woman was Malkmus’ wife, who had probably heard worse considering her husband had a lifetime batting average of .215.
With so few people in the stands, voices tended to carry at Connie Mack Stadium.
At the start of the 1961 season, Gene promised his team would “win more games than anybody expects.” He was wrong.
The Phillies went 22–55 at
“Dallas, I’m in trouble, and you gotta help me out,” he said. “I’ve got a stewardess flying in tonight, and I promised to take her to dinner. But I found this other gal I want to stay with for a while.”
“What do you need me to do?”
“When the stewardess gets to the hotel, I need you to have dinner with her. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Late that evening, there was a knock on our hotel room door. I opened it to find a 6'0" blonde staring back at me. I hadn’t done much to prepare for her visit, other than to throw on some clothes. Normally I slept in the nude, so for me, I had already gone above and beyond the call of duty.
I ordered room service for the gal and told her Turk would be back shortly. He was meeting with our manager, I explained. She and I chitchatted for a while about Turk, her life in the skies, and my rookie year with the Phillies. Soon after finishing our meal, Turk bounced in and took her off my hands.
The next day, he gave me a box from one of the Chicago department stores.
“Here, roomie, I got a present for you,” he said.
I opened it to find a pair of silk pajamas.
“If you’re going to entertain my broads, I want you looking good,” Turk said, walking away.
Turk was a real piece of work. One time, our team plane got caught in a hellacious thunderstorm and was jerking up and down like a yo-yo. We were all pretty scared, especially Turk.
“Oh, dear God, if you get us down safely, I’ll quit drinking and fooling around!” he blurted out.
The plane landed without incident. After the close call, I figured Turk would keep his word for at least a little while. No chance.
“Okay, guys, let’s go get a drink and find some broads,” he said as he grabbed his bags.
*
Through her travels with me in the minor leagues, Sylvia knew a lot about the life of a ballplayer. When I returned from road trips, she got a real kick out of my Turk stories. Off the field, the early 1960s were a special time for Sylvia and me. When I got called up to the Phillies, we moved out of my mom’s house in Newport and bought a small brick house in Eastburn Acres, another suburb of Wilmington. Not long after that, Sylvia learned she was pregnant with our first child.
Like thousands of other workers from the Wilmington area, I commuted by rail to Philadelphia. On days the Phillies had a home game, I’d board a train bound for North Philadelphia station. From there, I’d make the 15-minute walk from Broad and Glenwood to Connie Mack Stadium. After games, I’d catch the train back home. That was sometimes an adventure, because the last train from North Philadelphia left at 10:30 PM . With most night games running until about 10:00, I had to hustle to get to the station on time. That meant no showering or lingering around the clubhouse. If I missed the last train from North Philly, I’d have to spend $10 on a cab ride to 30 th Street Station.
I looked forward to the times when friends from Wilmington came to games—that meant I had a lift home. Sometimes Sylvia would come along with them. By all accounts, she fit right in with the other Philadelphia fans. Whenever Gene made a decision she didn’t like, she let him have it. Most of the time, the decision involved removing me from a game. On one occasion, he had a light-hitting infielder named Bobby Malkmus pinch-hit for me. When Sylvia saw Malkmus walking into the on-deck circle, she loudly blurted out, “Oh no, not Malkmus!” Her exclamation prompted the woman in front of her to turn around. The woman was Malkmus’ wife, who had probably heard worse considering her husband had a lifetime batting average of .215.
With so few people in the stands, voices tended to carry at Connie Mack Stadium.
At the start of the 1961 season, Gene promised his team would “win more games than anybody expects.” He was wrong.
The Phillies went 22–55 at
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