Carl Erskine: A boy of summer

April 23, 2024 William A. Gralnick

Sen. Richard Nixon, GOP Vice Presidential candidate, has a smile and a handshake for Brooklyn Dodgers hurler Carl Erskine after his eleven-inning, 6-5 win over the Yankees in the fifth World Series game at Yankee Stadium in New York City, October 5, 1952. AP Photo

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Often I have quoted the adage, “Only the good die young.” This was not the case when it came to Carl Daniel Erskine, dead recently at 97. Any follower of the Sunshine Boys knows all about Erskine the pitcher, that overhand delivery, that over-the-shoulder look back at the plate by the batter when he was either struck out or uncurled himself from the missed swing at “Oisk’s” right curveball that he threw from over the top. It came at you eyes high and ended up at your ankles. But the beauty of Carl Erskine was also his inner beauty.

Erskine was not a fireball presence in the clubhouse, yelling, whooping, and hollering to get everyone up. He was the calming, soothing presence that helped everyone keep their jerseys on, so to speak when things were tight. He was the father’s presence. His teammates loved him. Not a bad word could be found about him. And believe me, this writer tried. He complimented his fielders for good plays but had nothing but encouragement for the guy who screwed up a play. The NY Daily News, not known for flattery, said that Erskine “was one the classiest men to ever play the game.”

He married Betty Khory who was born in 1924. She passed in 2015 having spent 77 years as Mrs. Erskine. The Herald Bulletin called her “his ultimate teammate.” They had four children. One was a boy Jimmy. It is in this story we see the true man. Jimmy was born with Down Syndrome. Not only would he not be a ballplayer, but it appeared that he wouldn’t be much other than a sweet, kind, loving child. It was to that child that Erskine devoted his life. Early on he set up a trust fund so there would be care for life if God forbid something happened to him. The Indy Star said, “In the 1960s, children with intellectual disabilities weren’t usually taken out in public. They typically didn’t receive an education and, if they were at home instead of in an institution, they were kept hidden away.”

“The Erskines took Jimmy to the grocery store, to church, and to restaurants. They took him everywhere they went. “They let him fly,” the paper said.” And fly he did.

He outlived his Down syndrome prognosis by decades and, along the way, became the face of the Special Olympics and he held down a steady restaurant job at the local Applebees. Dad took him to work and brought him home daily. He was 63 years old.

Erskine’s death brought sadness and sorrow to family and friends, but there was also joy in the victory of his long life, a life that was a true testament to “the power of love,” said family friend Ted Green.

When Jimmy Erskine was born on April 1, 1960, the youngest child of Carl Erskine and his wife, doctors told his parents they should send Jimmy to a mental institution. At the time, the average life expectancy for babies born with Down syndrome was 10 years old.

There was no thought of a home or other kind of facility. Caring for one’s child was a dad’s job and he did it. After retirement, though he had an active life in business and the community. According to the LA Times, “Erskine couldn’t get baseball out of his system and he wound up coaching at Anderson University, a small private Christian college, for 12 seasons, winning four conference championships. He also was a founding member of the Fellowship of Christian Athletes. In 1971, Erskine Street in Brooklyn, not far from the former site of Ebbets Field, was named for the former pitcher.” Yet he always lived his life as a father outliving Jimmy by one year. Pneumonia had taken Jimmy down.

We can’t close without a quick look at Erskine the ball player. Being a nice guy doesn’t keep you on a contender for 12 years. Erskine did his part to help. In Game 5 in 1952 — on Oct. 5, his fifth anniversary — he gave up five runs in the fifth. But that was all the Yankees got, and Erskine went the distance in an 11-inning, 6-5 victory. No pitcher has worked 11 innings in a World Series game since. He pitched two no-nos and was an All-Star the year he went 20-6 (1953).

“The capstone of the story is this — a story that Vin Scully swore to, and he’d tell over and over on his broadcasts — Scully says he was looking for any more fives because of an oddity that occurred during a game pitched by Erskine. It was the 5th day, the 5th game, the 5th of October, 5th wedding anniversary, 5 runs in the 5th inning,” Erskine said. “And he said, ‘Carl, I swear to God when you struck Berra out to end the game, I looked at the stadium clock, it was five minutes past five.” Scully to Oisk, “You want a story that sounds made up, that’s one of them. But it’s the God’s truth, the whole thing.”

The next fall Erskine set a single-game World Series record since broken, with 14 strikeouts in Game 3 at Ebbets Field. In 1955, he started the Dodgers’ Game 4 victory on their way to Johnny Podres’ cathartic closing shutout in the Bronx.

In their statement, the Los Angeles Dodgers said, “The Dodgers mourn the passing of one of the team’s all-time greats, Carl Erskine, at the age of 97. Carl was an All-Star, a World Series Champion, a true ally to Jackie Robinson and more in the pursuit of equality, and a pioneering advocate for those with special needs, inspired by his son, Jimmy.

CBS Sports added this: Erskine was also known as a proponent of human rights. He claimed to have seen a lynching rope as a child and told Roger Kahn in “The Boys of Summer.” It had a profound impact. His beliefs were also influenced by a Black childhood friendship, “Jumpin’ Johnny Wilson, a future Harlem Globetrotter. But Robinson was his baseball pal on and off the field. In his book “Tales from the Dodgers Dugout,” Erskine recounts how Jackie Robinson thanked him for stopping to talk to his wife Rachel and son Jack in front of the Ebetts Field crowd. He wrote that he responded to Robinson’s gratitude by saying, “Hey, Jackie, you can congratulate me on a well-pitched game, but not for that.”

Before making the majors, Erskine played with an all Black baseball team. Family friend Ted Green said, “Carl didn’t see color. He saw people.”

In an interview with the NY Times, Erskine said this about arriving at Ebbets Field, “Now as a major league player as I got near the rotunda of Ebbets Field, people spotted me. My first introduction to Ebbets Field was: ‘Hey, there’s Oiskine. From Fort Woith.’ It was just a natural turn of the tongue in Brooklyn.”

Oisk, as he came to be known by his Brooklyn fans, was among the most popular Dodgers, and over the years he was often sought out by sportswriters for his insightful observations. Peter O’Malley, Walter’s son, was thoughtful in his analysis of Erskine.

Speaking to the Mercury Observer, Peter O’Malley, son of Walter gave this thoughtful assessment: “I’ve often thought Carl deserved more credit than he received for his contributions to the success of the Brooklyn Dodgers…”… “He was a calming influence on a team with many superstars and personalities. But getting credit was not Carl and that is what made him beloved.”

Of his character, The Indy Star offered these musings: “But, to those who knew him best, Erskine was so much more. He was a man who, off the field, fought for what was right in the world. Erskine was a fierce champion of human rights, racial equality and, when… Jimmy was born with Down syndrome, Dad became immersed in fighting for people with special needs.

“He was the best guy I’ve ever known,” said friend and filmmaker Ted Green, who produced a documentary on Erskine, “The Best We’ve Got: The Carl Erskine Story.”

Former Indiana Governor Mitch Daniels said… “you didn’t have to be a lifelong Dodger fan to be a huge fan of Carl Erskine and the remarkable character with which he led his life.”

In contrast to the high-profile lives of some of his teammates, Erskine took a certain pride in being “bland.”

“I’ve had one hometown, played for one team, had one wife, hit one home run,” he said. “Nothing fancy.”

When I was writing my book about Brooklyn (The War of the Itchy Balls and Other Tales From Brooklyn), I wrote to him for an endorsement. In a hand crippled by arthritis, for which he apologized, he wrote me that endorsement and wished me luck on the book!

That pretty much says it all when it comes to the character of Carl Erskine.