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Cuddy Divorces Mild Bill Terry #.

 

St. Bernard Of Press Coop Adop ts Branch Rickey

As Newest Object Of at Defensive Mien

By JACK CUDDY

NEW YORK, Dec, 1.—(UP)—
Sweet Wilyum Terry, the Memphis
choir singer, has departed from
the New York baseball scene. We,
personally, will miss him much,
because we had played the role of
self-appointed defender during

Terry’s wrangles with New York)

sports writers.

Now | that Bellicose Bill: has
resigned as director of the Giants’
farm system, we will have no one
to defend, unless we espouse the
cause of Branch Rickey, the choir
singer from St. Louis who already
is getting off on the wrong tootsie
in his relations with gentlemen of
the metropolitan press. David
Harum Rickey, you will recall, is
the new president and general
manager of the Dodgers.

We
Rickey as swell fellers because
they’ve been strictly on the up-
and-up with us. And we always
speak of a man as we find him,
entirely unprejudiced by the com-
plaints of others. However, in the
case of Terry, we were sort of a
lone voice crying in the wilderness.
After Memphis Bill became mana-

ger of the Giants in 1932, his

brutal frankness, lack of diplomacy
and scorn of certain other mana-
gers who had sycophant leanings,
lured him into unfortunate verbal
exchanges with various New York
sportswriters and made him a
quick target for their barrages of
black-and-white bullets.

During the eight years before

/Terry succeeded John McGraw at

the Giants’ helm, he had been one
of the game’s greatest first base-
men—a brilliant fielder and a

 

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Giants’

 

BILL TERRY
mark of .401—the last major to
top .400 until Ted Williams Bened

the trick in 1941.
But even as a player, he was a

confirmed independent, and on
certain occasions a rebel against
the master-minding of McGraw.
Terry's ability and independence
as a player made him popular with
the writers, against whom he had
no-ire. His belligerence was aimed
in other directions.

When he became manager, he
thought this happy situation would

-continue,.without -any..change in

his own attitude. He didn’t realizy
that as pilot he was front man for
the club, the buffer between his
players and the press, and that it
was almost as important to main-
tain cordial relations with the
writers as it was to turn out win-

poeetaiuiter in 1930 he ted hel ce

National circuit with a batting|

Hence, alisoush Sweet Wilyum
proved a managerial genius in

‘many respects—winning the pen-
-|nant and world series in 1933, a}.

yéar after he had taken over the
last-place club, and winning flags
in ’36 and ’37—he was. constantly
under fire from. the- press coop.
The strain of this feud, coupled
with the fact that key players of
the McGraw regime were fading
out, caused- a -recession in the
fortunes. They finished
third in 1938, and then dropped
into the second division for three
consecutive seasons.

The writers slammed Terry un-
mercifully and unceasingly. Crowds
fell off at the Polo Grounds, an
Bill gave over the managerial p
to Mel Ott, popular little outfielder,
a year ago. Terry took control of
the club’s farm system, which then
comprised nine minor clubs, but
which probably will have but one,
Jersey City, in 1943 because of war
conditions,

It is rumored that Terry may
take over the futile Phils, in some
capacity. Bill could do a good job
there, if he evaded contact with
the press. He’s a master of base-
ball economics. But we know Bill’s

 

 

 

attitude toward writers will not

change, He’s a wealthy man now,
one of the richest in the game.

§| He doesn’t have to change; and he
wouldn’t if he had to—because he’s |

that kind of a feller,

“Meanwhile Branch Rickey,
elderly and apparently benign, is
an entirely different type. Branch
is not a firebrand. Instead, he goes
in for the old “oil.” Already the
writers are complaining that

‘Branch is so complacently evasive

to’ pertinent. questions, that he
lends the impression he thinks the
metropolitan baseball Boswells are
a bunch of “dopes.”

One of the writers told us re-
cently: “Rickey must think he’s
still talking to the. boys in St.
Louis.” We replied: “Now, now—
that’s not very complimentary to
the St. Louis lads.”

“Maybe you're right,” -he said,
“put there’s a lot of difference
between handling three or four
writers in St. Louis and 20 or 30
in New York.”

Looks like Branch will soon need
our help.

 

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