Casey Stengel: Clown or Genius? Or Both?

It is a truism of baseball that no manager can win without the horses. But even with the horses, does he need something else? It’s a manager’s job to get the most out of 25 individuals, from nervous rookies to temperamental stars. 

Take the case of Casey Stengel. For 14 years in the National League, he was an aggressive .284-hitting outfielder, batting .393 in three World Series.

Then, for nine years managing the Brooklyn Dodgers and Boston Bees in the National League, he had mostly colts and nags in his stable, finishing in the second division every year -- seventh five times in the eight-team league.

He was considered more of a clown than a leader of men. He would cut up while coaching at third base, and give inquiring reporters mostly double-talk.

George Kelly, a former teammate on the Giants, was a coach at Boston. “Stengel would never give you a direct answer to a question. If an interviewer asked him one question, he’d get four answers. And if you had four questions to ask, you’d never get past the first one.”

Casey then dwelt for several years in the minor leagues from Worcester to Oakland with mediocre results. Kelly recalled that when Stengel was managing in Toledo, his players weren’t talking any baseball. They were all about looking at the stock market in the newspapers.

Casey Stengel: clown or genius?

One day he says to them, “I see you’re interested in the stock market. I’ll give you a tip. Buy railroad stock. A lot of you guys are going to be traveling.”

After finally winning a pennant with Oakland in the Pacific Coast League in 1948, Stengel reached the big top, hired to manage the Yankees in 1949. Suddenly he had a stable full of thoroughbreds.

In the next 12 years he won 10 pennants and seven World Series. He then was signed to manage the newborn expansion New York Mets, and finished 10th and last in each of their first five years. 

So, was Casey Stengel still just a clown whether he won or lost? Or did he have something else that the horses responded to – when he had them?

For the answer, we went to three of the horses he had with the Yankees: Gil McDougald, Gene Woodling and Joe DeMaestri.

Gil McDougald

Infielder Gil McDougald played in eight World Series in his 1951-1960 career with the Yankees. Equally adept at second or third, he appeared in three All-Star Games as a shortstop, but never played a full season at one position.

From the start Casey Stengel was on me constantly, every time we had a team meeting. Nobody on the club could understand it. They told me I got so mad at him there was smoke coming out of my head.

After the 1955 World Series, the team went to Japan. Casey declared the hotel bar off limits. It was a hot night and I felt like having a beer. I went down and looked around and didn’t see anybody in the bar, so I went in and ordered a beer.

Then I looked in the corner and there was Casey surrounded by Japanese sportswriters. I said to myself: Well, no use running now. Besides, it’s not during the season, so he can’t fine me much.

Gil McDougald: “[Casey Stengel] knew his players, who to prod, who to get on and who to leave alone.”

A few minutes later, Stengel came over and sat down beside me. I said to him, “Case, I gotta ask you a question. You must hate my guts.

For five years there isn’t one thing I’ve ever done that’s made you happy. Why don’t you just get rid of me and save yourself a lot of aggravation and me a certain ulcer, and we’ll both be a lot happier.”

He said, “I’m not trading you ever.”

“But Case, why are you always getting on my butt?”

“Very simple. You’re a better ballplayer when you’re mad. I plan on keeping you mad. What do you think would happen if I got on Phil Rizzuto that way?”

Then I understood. Phil’s locker was next to mine. Case was using me to shake up Phil and the thers. He knew I would play all the harder. That’s what made Case a great manager.

He knew his players, who to prod, who to get on and who to leave alone. He knew to treat Mickey Mantle with kid gloves because if he said something to Mick he’d go brood or something.

Gene Woodling

Outfielder Gene Woodling was a key member of the New York Yankees’ five consecutive World Championships (1949-1953.)

Casey Stengel was a hell of a psychologist. Don’t you kid yourself. That guy made me successful. [Outfielder] Hank Bauer and I used to tell him we wanted to play. And when we didn’t play it made us mad.

We told him to go to hell and everything else. What’s wrong with that? I coulda killed the old man a lot of times. He loved it. He was thinking, “That pair of squareheads. When I turn them loose, they’re gonna go out and beat somebody.” 

When you take inventory of your career and come to him, you say, “This guy made me a good ballplayer.” How can you hate him? There was no hate. I wanted to play and got mad when I didn’t get to play.

He knew who to stir up and who to leave alone. Stengel was the toughest manager you could play for. When you went to that ballpark, it was no nonsense.

The first time a pitcher walked around the mound, dilly-dallying like they do today for the TV camera, Casey would tell the pitching coach, “Go get him. He’s afraid to throw the ball.” I never thought Casey was funny. Not until he went to the Mets.

Joe DeMaestri

Infielder Joe DeMaestri was traded with Roger Maris from Kansas City to the Yankees in 1960.

Casey Stengel was a master psychologist. I saw him do something with Mantle one day that was unbelievable. We were getting into our game uniforms and Mick had had a rough night.

He was hurting pretty good, too. He was sitting there, bent over, wrapping his legs. Casey could see us from his office window.

Casey walks up to Mantle, looks down at him and says, “You’re not gonna play today” and walks away. Before Casey got back to his office, Mantle was right there and says, “Don’t you ever take me out of that lineup.”

If there was any thought that Mickey didn’t want to play that day, Casey changed it just by looking at him and saying, “You don’t want to play today.”

In meetings Gil McDougald and I would get back in our lockers as far as we could cause we’d start laughing. Casey could talk all day long and you didn’t know what he was talking about.

So, Casey Stengel, genius or clown? Or both? You decide.