As 1967 team reunites, time is perfect for Red Sox to do right by Tony Conigliaro

It was 50 years ago this Friday. Red Sox outfielder Tony Conigliaro lay crumpled at home plate, the victim of an errant pitch that struck him squarely on the face. As a hushed Fenway Park crowd watched on, teammates lifted him onto a stretcher and carried him off the field.

The hometown hero was just 22, blessed with a sweet right-handed stroke that had already made him the youngest American Leaguer ever to hit 100 home runs. Along with fellow All-Stars Carl Yastrzemski and Jim Lonborg, he was at the center of a Boston baseball revival that had risen a team of perennial losers from a decade in the doldrums to the thick of the 1967 pennant race. Tony C was as big a hero as it got in these parts.

And this week, as Yastrzemski, Lonborg, and other members of the "Impossible Dream" team return to Fenway and celebrate the 50th anniversary of their magical summer, the Red Sox organization should use the occasion to pay proper homage to their fallen teammate:

Retire Conigliaro's number 25.

Spare the talk about how such honors should only go to the best of the best in team history. Those who saw him play -- players and fans alike -- are in agreement that were he not nearly fatally beaned that August night, Tony C. would have hit somewhere in the neighborhood of 500 homers playing half his games at Fenway Park.

Conigliaro led the AL with 32 homers at age 20.

It was fate that denied him both that chance and the opportunity to play in the '67 World Series due to a cracked left cheekbone, dislocated jaw. and a damaged retina in his left eye. Doctors said he'd never play again. Yet Conigliaro had the guts to come back after 20 months and produce two more standout seasons with essentially no peripheral vision and a terrible blind spot in his bad eye.

Eventually the situation deteriorated to the point where he had to quit at age 26. A final comeback in 1975 produced many tears but too few hits, and a massive heart attack in 1982 left Conigliaro largely incapacitated and non-verbal. After eight excruciating years for he and his family, during which he never lived independently, he died at age 45 in 1990.

He didn't hit his 500 homers or make the Hall of Fame, but Tony C.'s legacy of courage and youthful glory is more than worthy of the highest honor the Red Sox can give.

"Here is a guy who literally gave his life for his hometown team," says Richard Johnson, curator of The Sports Museum and a leading authority on all things Boston baseball. "What could be more deserving of our respect than that?"

(Associated Press)

This topic has come up for discussion before. Steve Buckley of the Boston Herald has long beat the drum for Conigliaro, with occasional help from the Farrelly brothers, but while the team has widened its number-retirement ranks in recent years, Tony C. has not made the cut.

So why not now? This is likely the last time so many of Conigliaro's former Red Sox teammates will ever all be together again -- Yastrzemski, Lonborg, Mike Andrews, Reggie Smith, and the rest. Rico Petrocelli, the first guy to reach Tony C. when he went down like a shot at home plate, will be here too.

Yaz and other Tony C. teammates are here this week.

Tuesday and Wednesday's games fall during the WEEI/NESN Jimmy Fund Radio-Telethon, and Thursday is an off-day. So why not make Friday the night?

Fifty years to the day of what is likely the most tragic day in franchise history, the Red Sox could invite Mike Lowell (another great ballplayer to wear 25) to take off his jersey and hand it to Tony C's brother -- and onetime Red Sox outfield mate -- Billy Conigliaro. Tony's nieces and nephews could unveil his number in right field and Billy could throw out a ceremonial first pitch to his remaining brother, Richie.

Then Billy would give way to the current Boston team and its opponents for the night: the New York Yankees.

A pennant race under the biggest spotlight -- two things Tony C. relished but never got to enjoy enough. It may be short timing, but the Red Sox could still make it happen.

FOR DISCUSSION: Should the Red Sox retire Conigliaro's number -- and why?

My Vineyard visits with Bill Lee, Yaz, Tony C., and days gone by

One of my Vineyard visitors.

I had never heard of Nelson Chittum, who went 3-0 with a sterling 1.19 ERA for the 1959 Red Sox. Then I met him yesterday, along with Carl Yastrzemski and Bill Lee.

Each summer I pack up my lucky 2004 SUV with the Red Sox/Jimmy Fund license plates and drive/ferry my family to Martha's Vineyard for a last gasp of summer before Labor Day. Michelle  loves reading and letting her mind unwind from the daily challenge of helping her patients recover from strokes and brain injuries; Jason and Rachel, now 14 and 11, enjoy the final unstructured days before school.  

Me? I love the trip back in time.

The beaches and bike trains and Ben and Bills ice cream are all great, but my favorite moment of each year's journey may be the first few minutes Jason and I spend rifling through the baseball cards at the Chillmark Flea Market. They are split up into beat-up boxes marked "1950-60s" "1970s-80s" and "Red Sox." and we fly through them all -- putting aside those "possibles" we will consider for purchase. 

Little stickers in the top right corner of each card's protective plastic sleeve tell us what it will set us back, and Jason knows I'm seldom going to spend more than $5 for any given card. It's not Honus Wagner I'm after here, but a few moments of my childhood -- and Jason's. 

Before my eyes, my son has quickly become a full-fledged teenager. He grew about 8 inches in the last 8 months, and his voice dropped from tenor to bass. His body is filling out, taking him from the "before" photo in the old Charles Atlas ad much closer to the "after." He recovered from major leg and hip surgery in February faster than anyone expected, and spoke in front of 1,500 students and family members as his middle-school salutatorian in June.

Jason, before time took over.

In two weeks he will be a freshman at Newton North High, my alma mater, and plans to join the wrestling team and the theater program. Other than the three or four games we go to together at Fenway each year, baseball is very far from his mind. I've tried rekindling his interest, but he'd rather talk about movies, music, or even politics than the Red Sox pitching rotation. I'm slowly accepting it.

For those couple minutes at the flea market, however, both of us are 8 year-olds enthusiastically mining for gold. Ken Goldberg, who owns the cards along with a treasure-trove of road signs, books, and other items, stands back and watches. I am sure he has seen this countless times before -- fathers, sons, and the occasional mom and daughter thumbing back through the decades.

I collected baseball cards feverishly through my grade-school days, picking up most of them at Garbs drugstore by the Boston College trolley stop. Friends -- Greg Rutan and Kim Myers most spring to mind -- would accompany me on these trips, and we'd look over our loot while devouring ice cream sundaes next door at Brigham's. We'd always hope for Red Sox, of course, and barring that a star like Munson or Palmer or Foster. 

Ken helps bring me back.

It was the same with me and Jason when he was a little kid. We'd haunt the few remaining baseball card stores left in the Metro West area, and split our time buying new packs and looking through oldies. He devoured baseball history books and covered his walls with posters of Big Papi, Ted Williams, Hank Greenberg, and (of course) Jason Varitek.

Then, one by one, the stores starting closing, reflecting a generation of kids that was moving increasingly online or onto "faster" sports like basketball and football. My son's interest waned along with the public's; he was a mediocre ballplayer, like his old man, and probably stayed in Little League one year longer than he wanted to for my sake.

Now Jason is a self-professed nerd who spends his time writing and playing intricate online computer games with friends all over the world. The posters and books in his room are changing along with his interests. My nephew is the baseball star; Jason is the star of Katan. 

Until we get in front of Ken's table.

"Look -- a '75 Yaz!" Jason yells, at the same moment I pull out my 1960 Nelson Chittum (I'm a sucker for any card with that old smiling Red Sock logo). A confident-looking 1978 Bill Lee -- that summer, I remind Jason, would not turn out well for him or the team -- comes out next. 

He spots a '65 Tony Conigliaro, where the 20-year-old stares out at the camera with a steely resolve. The card is bent and faded, giving it no real value, but Jason knows better: this is Tony C. in all his young, handsome glory, before the Gods of Fate beat him down.

Forever young.

    

In 1975, Tony Conigliaro was the story of spring training

Yaz and Tony C, together again

Each Red Sox spring training a new underdog emerges as a surprise in camp, and all but forces management to keep him on the roster with a string of standout performances.

The hits often stop coming once the regular season starts (see Jackie Bradley Jr., 2013), but for a brief moment or two in the sun these unlikely heroes are a great source of discussion for columnists and sports talk radio callers. 

Forty winters ago, the biggest offseason news in the American League was Hank Aaron's trade to the Milwaukee Brewers after 20 years in the NL with the Braves. Meanwhile, in Winter Haven, Fla., another former home run king showed up at Boston's spring training camp under far different circumstances. 

He had been away from the major leagues for more than three years, but talked his way into a tryout and even offered to pay his own way to Florida. The Red Sox said that wasn't necessary, management would pick up the tab for the 30-year-old hopeful.

Hopeful: 1975

Of course this wasn't just any hopeful. This was Tony C.

Tony Conigliaro, born in Revere and raised a few miles from Fenway Park dreaming of a spot in the Red Sox lineup, had lived that dream and then some. He was signed by his hometown club out of St. Mary's High in Lynn and had an outstanding first year in the minors with Waterloo. 

Portrait of a young slugger.

He first made spring training headlines in 1964, when his slugging prowess against big-league hurlers prompted manager Johnny Pesky to declare him ready for the majors just a few months after his 19th birthday.

Pesky was right. Conig hit 24 home runs as a rookie, 32 to lead the AL in 1965, and slugged his 100th career blast during the magical '67 season -- making him the youngest American Leaguer ever to reach that plateau. His sweet right-handed swing was made for Fenway, and he looked like a 500-homer man for sure.

If that wasn't enough, he also cut rock records and had a face made for Hollywood. Every Boston boy wanted to be Tony C., and every Boston girl wanted to date him.

It's a happy birthday for Tony.

One pitch that hit Conigliaro squarely in the face on Aug. 18, 1967 changed everything. It nearly killed him, severely damaged his left eye, and kept him out of the thrilling AL pennant race and the World Series. Doctors predicted he would never play again. 

He defied the odds, rebounding after more than a year off to hit 20 homers for the Red Sox in 1969 and 36 (along with 116 RBI) in '70 -- even though he later admitted he could only see out of his good eye. 

Star-crossed: Brothers Billy (left) and Tony C.

Management likely suspected his secret, and gambled that Tony couldn't keep it up by trading him to the California Angels after the 1970 season in one of the most unpopular deals in team history. 

They were right, however; things never jelled for Conig out west and he retired midway through '71 with his eyesight getting worse. Tony came home, took up karate, and opened a nightclub with his brother and former Boston outfield partner Billy. Most figured that was the end of the story.

Airbrushed Angel, 1971

Now here was Tony C. again, back alongside his old teammates Carl Yastrzemski and Rico Petrocelli laboring under the Florida sun in those softball-style '75 uniforms. His left eye had checked out OK -- his doctor called the recovery "a miracle" -- and Boston needed more pop in its lineup. 

If Conigliaro could recapture the old magic, general manager Dick O'Connell promised, he had a good chance to make the club as a designated hitter or outfielder.

Dick O'Connell believed in Tony.

And while he didn't exactly crush the ball in spring training, Tony C. did hit well enough early on to force management's hand. As Bostonians were recovering from more than 17 inches of snow, their hearts were warmed when O'Connell signed Conigliaro to a contract with Triple A Pawtucket on March 5, 1975. 

"If he makes good during the spring," the GM told reporters, "he will then be given a contract with us."

A 5-for-8, 5-RBI spree over the final couple games of the exhibition schedule helped Conigliaro's cause, and on April 4 the Red Sox announced he had made the team's 25-man MLB roster. He was in the lineup as the DH against Aaron and the Brewers on Opening Day at Fenway Park, and had a single in his first time up. 

Asked if he could have imagined a year earlier that he and Aaron would be together like this, Tony C. smiled. "The only way would be if he came to my nightclub."

Aaron and Anthony: Opening Day, 1975

Conigliaro was back where he belonged. He hit his first homer a few days later -- his first in an MLB game in nearly four years -- and Yastrzemski told reporters that "There's no question that Tony is going to really help us." All of New England was rooting along with Yaz. This would be the comeback of all comebacks.

In the end, it just didn't happen. Conigliaro struggled, rookie Jim Rice took over as the regular DH, and despite continuing to get huge ovations each time he stepped to the plate at Fenway, Tony C. couldn't get his sweet swing back. In June, with his average at .123, management gave him a choice -- accept a trade, go to the minor leagues, or be released. 

He wanted to play in the majors, but when no other teams were interested, he opted for Pawtucket. After more struggles there including a .220 average and back spasms, he quit for good on August 21 and announced he was taking a job as a TV sports broadcaster with Channel 10 in Providence. 

A new career

Conigliaro looked forward to a long new career, but this wouldn't come to be either. He suffered a massive heart attack and irreversible brain damage in 1982, at age 37, and spent the rest of his life under the care of his family before dying in 1990 -- right around the time he might have been making his Hall of Fame induction speech had life dealt him different cards. 

"If I thought the Red Sox would ever need me, I'd keep playing," Conigliaro said during a press conference at his Nahant bar when he quit in the summer of '75. "But they certainly don't need me."

He was wrong. Boston was in first place at the time, and would wind up winning the AL East and the pennant behind the dynamic rookie duo of Rice and Fred Lynn. 

But Boston always needed Tony C.    

      

       


    

Love and Logic: Leonard Nimoy and the Boston Red Sox

Call to the bullpen: Pedro is gassed.

He gained fame traveling among the stars of Hollywood and the United Federation of Planets, but Leonard Nimoy -- who died Feb. 27 -- was at his roots a Boston boy whose life in many ways paralleled that of his hometown baseball team.

Nimoy fell in love with theater while growing up in the West End neighborhood near the Boston Garden. He found time between productions to help support his family by selling newspapers near Boston Common, where his competitors most likely included two other sons of immigrants -- twin brothers Arthur and Henry D'Angelo -- who later became known as owners of the Red Sox superstore Twins Enterprises.

(If you've never heard of the West End, that's because it no longer exists -- it was torn down in the name of urban renewal in the early 1960s and replaced with high-rise apartments and the Central Artery Expressway.) 

Portrait of a young fan.

Young Leonard began attending games at Fenway Park when Ted Williams was at his peak in the 1940s. He recalled seeing The Kid homer on more than one occasion, and likely had a special spot in his heart for Boston's nine-language-speaking bullpen catcher Moe Berg as a fellow brainy Jewish kid from a humble background. 

By the time Ted left for the Marines in 1952, Nimoy had too -- spurning his parents' wishes of a medical or law career by heading to California in search of stardom. It didn't come quickly, and while driving a cab to make ends meet Nimoy once picked up a fellow Hub native who peppered him with questions about life back home: John F. Kennedy. Since both were baseball fans, it's likely that the Red Sox were one topic of conversation.

Taxicab encounter: Two commanders

Like the Sox, Nimoy struggled during the next 15 years before finally making it big in 1967. While Boston shocked the baseball world that summer with its improbable ninth-to-first "Impossible Dream" team, Nimoy became an out-of-this-world superstar as half-human, half-Vulcan Mr. Spock. He took advantage of his popularity on "Star Trek" by dabbling in a second career as a singer, but just as Boston outfielder Tony Conigliaro discovered with "Little Red Scooter," Nimoy's crooning "The Ballad of Bilbo Baggins" didn't make anybody clamor for him to quit his primary job.

Listen if you dare.

After their glorious revival of '67 the Red Sox slumped a bit the next few years, during which "Star Trek" was canceled, but both the ballclub and Nimoy's career  had a resurgence in the late 1970s. The adventures of Spock, Captain Kirk, and their Enterprise crew hit the big screen at the same time the Red Sox were annually battling the Yankees for American League East supremacy. 

He never found Babe's piano either.

One wishes a coach employing Vulcan logic could have been on hand in 1978 to stop Don Zimmer from banishing Bill Lee from the rotation or sending up Bob Bailey to face Goose Gossage, but Nimoy was too busy furthering the "Star Trek" franchise and narrating the hit TV show "In Search of..." There he looked for Big Foot, Amelia Earhart, and the Loch Ness Monster, but Boston fans would have been happier had he sought out more pitching.

Another revival came in the late 1980s -- three division titles and a pennant for the Red Sox and a blockbuster film directed by Nimoy: "Three Men and a Baby." One of the movie's stars, coincidentally, was Ted Danson, who had previously made a name for himself playing washed-up Boston relief ace Sam "Mayday" Malone on "Cheers." 

It must have been exasperating for a man of Nimoy's intelligence to endure the string of excruciating and seemingly preventable Red Sox setbacks during this period. Spock may have lacked emotions, but the man behind the ears had to feel the pain.

Would a well-timed Vulcan nerve pinch have kept John McNamara from leaving Bill Buckner in Game 6 of the 1986 World Series, or Grady Little from taking out Pedro in the '03 ALCS? One can only speculate, but it sure would have been fun to try.

Take that, Grady!

By the time the Red Sox finally broke through in Stardate 2004, "Star Trek" was into its third generation of fans and Nimoy as Spock had become a pop culture icon of the highest order. His reaction to Boston's incredible comeback against the Yankees in the ALCS is not documented, but he was likely not surprised. 

After all, the Red Sox had that season briefly employed a pitcher, Joe Nelson, whose best pitch was known as a "Vulcan Changeup."

Now that's logical.

     

What does Will Middlebrooks have in common with Tony C. and Jim Rice?

Another bad break for the 2012 Red Sox.

Will Middlebrooks saw his terrific rookie season come to a grinding halt on Friday night, but he can take solace in knowing he’s in very good company.

Hit on the hand by a pitch from Indians reliever Esmil Rogers in the ninth inning of Friday’s 3-2 Boston victory at Cleveland, the Red Sox third baseman suffered a broken bone in his wrist that will result in his likely missing the remaining two months of the season. This latest blow in a season full of injuries weakens Boston’s already-thin chances at a playoff spot, and astute fans of the team are reminded of two other rookies whose first seasons were marred by very similar injuries.

Tony C. -- the ultimate hometown hero.

In 1964, hometown hero Tony Conigliaro was a leading candidate for Rookie of the Year honors with 20 homers by late July when he had his right forearm broken by a Pedro Ramos pitch – also, ironically in Cleveland. The injury put Conigliaro on the disabled list for six weeks and he wound up with 24 home runs in 111 games; Twins outfielder Tony Oliva, with 32 dingers, was voted the American League’s top rookie.

Eleven years later, as Conigliaro was playing the final games of a career shortened by a horrible 1967 beaning, another rookie superstar emerged for the Red Sox: Jim Rice. A Triple Crown winner for AAA Pawtucket the season before, Rice adapted quickly to the majors and teamed with fellow rookie outfielder Fred Lynn to lead Boston to the AL East title. Unfortunately, Rice would not get to enjoy the fruits of their labor.

On Sept.  21, with the Red Sox just a few days away from clinching the division, Rice had his left hand broken on a pitch by Detroit’s Vern Ruhle at Tiger Stadium. Rice had a .309 average, 22 homers, and 102 RBI at the time, enough to clinch Rookie of the Year honors in almost any season, but Lynn was just a bit better at .331, 21, 105 (plus a Gold Glove) in capturing both this honor and the MVP Award.

Lynn was hurt more often, but Rice's '75 injury was most costly.

More importantly, Rice would miss a thrilling postseason in which the Red Sox lost a seven-game World Series to the Cincinnati Reds. With the future Hall of Famer in the lineup, it’s not hard to imagine that Boston’s 86-year Fall Classic drought might have ended 29 seasons earlier.

The Red Sox are not likely headed to the postseason this year, with or without Middlebrooks. Nor was he likely to be Rookie of the Year; like Rice, he has been overshadowed by another outstanding first-year player in Los Angeles of Anaheim’s Mike Trout.

Still, it would have been fun to see what kind of stats Middlebrooks could put up with another 50-odd games to play in. He’s likely not to see action in many if any more this year, with his numbers stuck on a .288 average, 15 homers, and 54 RBI in just 75 contests.

If he can rebound to have a career similar to Jim Rice, however, Red Sox fans will certainly take the trade-off.