(Note from John Eisenberg: This week I’m handing the Bird Tapes keyboard to Jim Considine, a lifelong Baltimorean and Bird Tapes subscriber whom I’ve known for many years. He has authored a pair of articles on Wally Bunker that I think you’ll find interesting. Here’s Part 1. See below for information about Jim, which I also think you’ll find interesting.)
By Jim Considine
On July 11, 1961, San Francisco hosted baseball’s All-Star Game at then-new Candlestick Park with four Baltimore Orioles — Brooks Robinson, Jim Gentile, Hoyt Wilhelm and Jackie Brandt — on the American League squad. Also that day, in the stands at the game, the Orioles hosted a 16-year-old pitching phenom who was considered a possible future All-Star.
The prospect was Wally Bunker, a right-hander from nearby San Bruno, California. Displaying uncanny maturity and pinpoint control on the mound, he had stirred up plenty of attention from major league scouts for a kid who had just finished his sophomore year in high school. The full-court press already was on to sign him to a contract as soon he graduated from high school. The Orioles’ scouting director, Harry Dalton, and his crew of scouts, including Don McShane and Fred “Bootnose” Hoffman, had Bunker in their sights.
All-Star tickets? No problem.
Bunker pitched for the Orioles’ 1962 team in the Peninsula Winter League, a Bay Area circuit for young pros and prospects, and then he signed with the Orioles in June of 1963, shortly after his high school graduation. With a portion of his $70,000 bonus, he bought a Studebaker Avanti II sports car, the fastest car in production in America at the time, capable of reaching 196 mph. It would soon play a role in Bunker’s story. The rest of the bonus went to Bunker’s dad to invest.
The size of his deal made Bunker a “bonus baby,” which meant he had to remain on the Orioles’ roster for two years. Managers generally loathed having such youngsters around to sit and collect dust on the bench. But Bunker was not a typical bonus baby. He debuted with the Orioles late in the 1963 season and then pitched well in spring training in 1964.
Once the season began, though, the closest he came to a game was throwing batting practice. The Orioles had a new manager, Hank Bauer, a tough-as-nails former Marine who’d fought in campaigns from Guadalcanal to Okinawa during World War II and then spent a dozen years with the New York Yankees of Mickey Mantle, Yogi Berra, Billy Martin, and Whitey Ford. He much preferred veteran players to youngsters, which meant Bunker had a long way to go to get in his good graces.
But when an injury opened a hole in the Orioles’ starting rotation, Bauer approached Bunker and said, “Listen, kid, you haven’t pitched in a long while, not since spring training. You gotta be the best-rested pitcher I have. Don’t let it ruin your sleep, but I’m gonna start you tomorrow against Washington.”
Bunker, possibly channeling the spirit of movie star James Dean, cooly replied, “Nothing interferes with my sleep.”
He pitched a one-hitter the next day, beating the Senators, 2-1. Then he won his next five starts. Bauer must have thought he was witnessing a re-staging of the play, “Damn Yankees.” Bunker and the first-place Orioles were the talk of Baltimore.
Bunker’s clubhouse mates had fun with his age. Orioles pitching coach Harry Brecheen said Bunker was “too young to pitch” and “should be enjoying ice cream like the other kids.” Future Hall of Famer Robin Roberts asked, “Are you sure he’s only 19? Those Californians are so relaxed they might have lost his birth certificate.”
Humor aside, Bunker quickly made believers out of others in the game. Ed Hurley, an American League umpire who’d called balls and strikes for as long as Bunker had been alive, said “that kid has the poise of a 50-year-old.” Mickey Mantle himself said Bunker’s sinker “can break your back.”
Brecheen, the pitching coach, said of Bunker: “The kid from California has all of the equipment. He has the size at 6-2 and 195 pounds. He has a whistling fastball that he can make sink or rise. He has a good curve and a good changeup. But most of all, he has control.”
On June 17th, the 189th anniversary of the Battle of Bunker Hill (celebrated as Bunker Hill Day in Boston), Baltimore mayor T.R. McKeldin proclaimed Baltimore’s Memorial Stadium mound “Bunker Hill” after the youngster vaulted the club into sole possession of first place with a win over the Chicago White Sox.
On July 3rd, Kansas City A’s slugger Rocky Colavito foiled Bunker’s bid for a no-hitter, but he still pitched a shutout. Heading into the All-Star break, he had an 8-2 record with a 3.29 ERA – numbers easily deserving of a spot on the American League team. He was left off the roster and continued to demonstrate that was a mistake. In July, he started six games and won five.
That summer, I was an 8-year-old playing in the Northwood Baseball League. I had learned how to do long division so I could figure out batting averages on my own. I thought Wally Bunker was cool.
In August, the city was buzzing over the first-place Orioles hosting the Yankees. The games drew big crowds. My father was able to attend one. I would have loved to go with him, but I had a game myself.
Growing up in “original” Northwood, we were used to the lights from the stadium shining in certain spots on our streets and alleys. On this particular night, our baseball field was near the Montebello Water Treatment facility. The lights were illuminating the surrounding trees and every Oriole accomplishment was met with a roar that we could hear at our game. Oh, how I wished I was there!
The Orioles were in a tight pennant race with the Yankees and White Sox. Bunker met the moment. He won his first three starts in September, lost a 2-1 game to the Twins and then beat the Angels and Indians to improve his season record to 18-5.
On the last Wednesday of the season, he beat the Senators to improve to 19-5. A year earlier, Bunker’s teammate, Steve Barber, had become the first Oriole to win 20 games in a season. Bunker could match Barber’s feat if he somehow earned another win in the final days of the season.
After he beat the Senators, Bunker went out with teammate Frank Bertaina, another Bay Area native. Bunker was driving his sports car, which could hit 196 mph, and decided to have some fun. Around midnight, he and Bertaina were headed back to Bunker’s apartment, which he shared with teammate Chuck Estrada. He was driving around the lake at Druid Hill Park at an excessive speed. A Baltimore City police officer observed the streaking Avanti II and began to pursue. Bunker and Bertaina made the decision to outrun the policeman. The Avanti roared to life, and off they went. The police department did not have cars that could fly, but they did have radios and they apprehended Bunker at North Avenue and Hilton Parkway.
Graphic courtesy of James Considine
Bunker was marched before Judge William Hudnet, who gave him a light slap on the wrist — a $10 fine plus $2 in court costs in exchange for an apology.
“It was not the best neighborhood to be driving through at that time of the morning. I would’ve been in a hurry, too,” Hudnet admonished.
Black church ministers expressed outrage after the Baltimore Sun published Hudnet’s unfortunate comment, which was labeled “absurd” in an editorial. The newspaper correctly wrote that the judge’s job was to uphold the law, not offer his personal estimate of neighborhoods.
It is important to note that the city had been on tenterhooks over the possibility of civil rights tensions producing violence that coincided with the sesquicentennial celebration of the Battle of Baltimore, during which Francis Scott Key wrote the Star-Spangled Banner. The mayor canceled many scheduled festivities to eliminate large public gatherings. The Maryland National Guard was placed on alert.
Bunker’s light punishment and Hudnet’s flippant dismissal of a Black neighborhood could have caused tensions to boil over, but the moment passed without incident.
Image courtesy of James Considine
The only fallout was Bunker being denied a chance to earn his 20th win.
The Orioles did their part to stay alive in the pennant race, winning seven of their last eight games, but they were eliminated on the penultimate night of the season. The next day, they played the Detroit Tigers at Memorial Stadium in the season finale. Bauer gave the start to Milt Pappas, who was not known for putting his best foot forward when nothing was on the line. He did not disappoint, allowing seven runs before he departed in the fourth inning. Stu Miller and Dick Hall stopped the Tigers while the tenacious Orioles scored enough to post their 95th win of the season.
If Bunker hadn’t gone on his joyride, Bauer would have handed him the ball either in relief or to start that final game of 1964. The Orioles’ organization penalized Bunker for his irresponsible behavior.
But that was about the only thing Bunker did wrong all season. Looking to the future, Brecheen, the pitching coach, did some math.
“Nineteen wins for a 19-year-old pitcher, know what that means?” Brecheen said. “That means 20 wins next year [at age 20], then 21 [at age 21], and so on. Won’t be long before he’s a 30-game winner.”
If only that’s what came true.
It was impossible to imagine that Bunker had already produced by far the best season of his major league career.
Biographical note from Jim Considine:
James (Jim) Randolph Considine is a retired resident of Roland Park whose connection with the Baltimore Orioles, Colts, and Ravens runs through four generations. Descended from a clan of Irish Catholics who made their way to Baltimore via County Cork, the family always lived within a block or two of wherever the Orioles played.
My brother and I got our hair cut at a barbershop on Greenmount Avenue where the owner still celebrated the three consecutive world championships of the Baltimore Oriole teams of 1894, 1895, and 1896.
During World War II, my father was a pilot of a B-17 in the 8th Air Force. The pilot had the honor of naming the plane. He named the plane “The Baltimore Oriole.” On George Washington’s birthday in 1944, his plane was shot down. The crew spent the remainder of the war at Stalag Luft One. In a letter he wrote to his mother, he expressed his concern for the fate of the 1944 Orioles following the fire to Oriole Park.
On summer days in the mid-1960s, I rode my bike to Memorial Stadium to explore. If I found an open gate, I would ramble through the stands. A general admission game ticket cost 75 cents. After day games, we would wait to get Brooks Robinson’s autograph, which he always signed with a smile. His autograph was immaterial; connecting with Brooks for a few seconds was the prize.
In 1967, I received a tip from my father that the Colts were selling 200 “student season tickets” for $7. Every day, I rode my bike up to the Colts’ ticket window and asked one of the ladies if any student tickets were available. I was a polite child. The ladies told me no many times before I finally heard a yes. My parents offered to pay for my season ticket as a birthday present. I pedaled home and back with a check for $7. The seats were awful, but who cared?
Later on, I got my first job as a busboy at Johnny Unitas’ Golden Arm Restaurant, where I heard many tales from sportswriters for The Baltimore Sun. I worked for Johnny Unitas and Bobby Boyd for ten years. By then I was the manager. Eventually I hired Bob Eller for the job of line cook at our sister restaurant, Hooligans, in Towson. Eller was a few years younger than me. We became best friends. He jumped at the opportunity to work as an intern for the Colts in 1983 and was heartbroken when the Mayflower trucks headed for Indianapolis. But the Colts hired him in Indianapolis. Eller’s career eventually took him to Cleveland, where he became the Browns’ director of operations in 1987. Nine years later, he returned home when owner Art Modell moved the Browns to Baltimore and they became the Ravens. Eller asked me to help with some projects and eventually I was asked to manage the press box on game days. Eight years later, I joined the Redskins in 2004 as a member of the stat crew, a job I kept for six years.
Now, 15 years later, here I sit, typing away.
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