If you were surprised to read that in 1965 I was a twenty-year-old rookie major leaguer, I would understand completely. I was kind of surprised myself.
In 1964 I was invited to early spring training at the Mets major league facility in St. Petersburg, where I guess I did well enough to get myself invited to a week or so of regular spring training with the veterans on the squad, and where it became obvious I needed to be sent to Dunedin, Florida, to join the camp of the AAA Buffalo Bisons. Three weeks into the Bisons’ regular season, I was sent to AA, the Eastern League in Williamsport, Pennsylvania.
I drove my 1964 Ford 390 XL Convertible, burgundy with a black top, on all local roads from Buffalo to Williamsport. The manager there was Ernie White, a former left-handed pitcher for the St. Louis Cardinals and Boston Braves for seven big league seasons in the 1940s. Ernie’s job was to write my name in the lineup and, occasionally, deal with the immaturities of a nineteen-year-old athlete. Which he did with a calm and steady hand. I felt like I had a solid, productive season hitting just under .280 with 14 home runs.
