Spirit of ’66: Dave McNally helped Orioles reach the summit, then returned to Big Sky country

Forty-one states and nine countries.

By my count, that’s where my work travels took me during my 23 years with the Baltimore Sun. 

I was lucky. My time at the paper (1984-2007) coincided with a golden era for sportswriting, an era when editors at major newspapers didn’t blink at sending reporters and/or columnists to faraway places in search of good stories.

In 1986, assigned to track down players from the Orioles’ 1966 World Series winners and write about what they were doing two decades later, I interviewed Boog Powell and Curt Blefary in Florida; Moe Drabowsky in Chicago; Andy Etchebarren in Milwaukee; Hank Bauer in Kansas City; and Wally Bunker and Eddie Watt in Washington.

None of it happened on Zoom. I flew in, rented a car, drove somewhere, met up, shook hands and sat down to talk. Boots on the ground, as the saying goes. The end result was a series of articles headlined, “Spirit of ‘66.”

It was an all-time assignment, and nearly four decades later, I still recall my trip to Billings, Montana, to interview Dave McNally as especially unique.

It was where McNally had grown up, and he returned as soon as his major league career ended in 1975. He and his wife and their five children were entrenched in a split-level home on a quiet street in Baltimore County, and given the renown McNally had achieved with the Orioles, he could have stayed and forged a fine post-baseball life in Maryland — a tempting scenario, he acknowledged. But he was in his own category in Billings, which had never produced another athlete so successful, or for that matter, another person in any endeavor who’d become so famous. The city erected a statue of McNally years later. He belonged in Billings.

Many Orioles from his era also bought homes in and around Baltimore and put down roots with their families during their playing days. A few did stay, including Al Bumbry and Ken Singleton. A street in Timonium is named for Gus Triandos.

But McNally went back to Billings.

That he was from there had made him a unique figure in baseball. Other players were from California, Texas, other warm-weather locales, the Caribbean, etc., but not the Treasure State, in the heart of Big Sky country.

Over the years, reporters in full stereotype mode had asked McNally about riding horses and wrestling grizzlies. His reality wasn’t so exotic. He’d grown up on a tree-lined street that could have passed for one in Baltimore, in a city with all the usual trappings of sophistication, including a symphony. McNally didn’t work the land. He worked on his fastball.

When he was turning pro after his graduation from high school, his contract was negotiated by a sharp attorney, a family friend who played the Orioles and Los Angeles Dodgers like a pair of fiddles, driving up the price of his signature.

McNally came home after his baseball career partly because he had his future all lined up. His brother was already in the car business. McNally joined him and was quickly owning and operating dealerships. He’d been methodical on the mound, working at a fast pace without exhibiting any emotion, and he brought the same approach to business, grinding through long hours to ensure that his business flourished.

I’d fallen for the stereotype before I visited in 1986, believing I was flying into a western outpost and might possibly see a grizzly. But McNally lived in the suburbs and played golf at his country club. He invited me to come to his house one evening for the interview. We sat in his den for a couple of hours. I vaguely remember some food being put out. In post-work mode with his slacks and shirt still on but his tie loose, McNally was relaxed. He was happy to discuss his playing career, but it was evident that he didn’t need to do it. He’d moved on from baseball.

Plenty of players struggle when their careers end. Not this one.

Here’s an audiobook-style version of the article I wrote about McNally, with me narrating:

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