Jim Marshall Did It All

May 25, 1931 - Sept 7, 2025

Jim Marshall, who spent 70 years in professional baseball and shared his love for the game around the globe, passed away last Sunday at the age of 94.

Jim’s experiences inspired four WTP pieces over the years. He lived the stories I love to write about: He roomed with Brooks Robinson. He played against Sadaharu Oh in Japan. He was Rickey Henderson’s first big league manager. Earlier this year, he was honored as the oldest surviving player from the 1962 Mets. I never got around to asking him about when John Wooden recruited him to play basketball at UCLA, but his modesty would have dominated the account anyway.

I met Jim in late 2010 after I joined the Diamondbacks. He was an original member of the organization — an original Met and an original D-back.

Before many home games at Chase Field, Jim would find his way into my office. He arrived at the ballpark early. Very early. Sometimes he’d claim he was beating traffic; I never gave it much thought. Now I can appreciate that he just wanted to be around baseball. While the game was speeding off in a new direction, Jim found comfort in familiar surroundings.

With his once-frequent trips to Asia reduced, he focused on the D-backs minor leagues, filing reports with insight and conviction. His desire to contribute was always strong. He carried with him experiences from his time playing for the Orioles, Cubs, Giants, Mets, and Pirates, from slugging 78 home runs over three seasons with the Chunichi Dragons in Japan, from coaching domestically and abroad, and managing in the big leagues with the Cubs and A’s. He amassed a lifetime of relationships built through playing the game the right way, treating people with dignity, and following opportunities.

Being part of the team kept his spirit youthful. For 70 years he worked in baseball. His love of the game was surpassed only by his love of his wife, Beverly, and his family. He and Bev, who predeceased Jim in 2016, were married for 64 years. I witnessed many octogenarian date nights in the scout section at Chase Field. Baseball was always there.

On one occasion when I called Jim earlier this year, he was at an appointment. He couldn’t talk and asked if I could call him back later. I assured him I could and would.

“Thanks, babe,” he replied, with the same inflection that would inspire nine players to hop from the dugout and run to their positions. At the age of 94 and at the doctor’s office, he still spoke the language of the game — the dugout chatter of humbabes and attaboys. I’m convinced it was his first language.

I called him back the next day. He appreciated my persistence, and I appreciated his willingness to entertain my questions. And, honestly, I was thoroughly impressed by the 94-year-old man’s ability to answer his cell phone on the first ring.

Rufus James Marshall blazed his own trail. He is forever a part of the game. He lived an incredible life and will be greatly missed.

In 1990, Marshall managed the Sun City Rays of the Senior Professional Baseball Association, a short-lived winter league with rosters that read like fantasy camp guest stars. The Rays were 13-10 when the league folded.