Staring Out The Window with Jim Marshall

An offseason series doing the dirty work

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“People ask me what I do in winter when there’s no baseball. I’ll tell you what I do. I stare out the window and wait for spring.”

Rogers Hornsby is the author of my favorite baseball quote, and one that particularly resonates this time of year when the cold and inclement weather has even reached San Diego. I have to admit, though, it wasn’t until recently that I wondered if Hornsby was independently wealthy. How else was he able to do all that staring while his teammates were out working?

Well, Hornsby was infamous for ongoing legal troubles and overwhelming debts caused by his love for gambling on the horses. Honest work off the field just may not have been for him.

Most players, once upon a time though, did have to work part-time jobs in the offseason. It wasn’t until the ’70s that salaries enabled some to take the winter off. By the ’80s, most Major League regulars earned enough to go without a paycheck until the next season. It’s perspective that seems particularly relevant in our current era of eight- and nine-figure contracts.

And so, here in mid-January, I’m excited to begin a short series called Staring Out The Window. While we wait together for spring, let’s take a look at how some big leaguers spent their winters — back before pitching labs and state-of-the-art workout facilities.

I recently spoke to my friend and former colleague Jim Marshall.

A left-handed hitting first baseman, Marshall’s professional career began in 1950 at the age of 19. He played five seasons in the big leagues before signing with the Chunichi Dragons and taking Japan by storm. The former slugger was still scouting for the Diamondbacks until a couple years ago. Seventy years in professional baseball, including four years as a Major League manager.

During those earliest offseasons, though, there was money to earn.

The first winter was spent working construction, but Marshall made a quick adjustment and soon found himself at Santa Anita Park. While I’m not sure if Hornsby ever visited the track, Marshall was commuting from his home in Long Beach to work as a greeter in the Turf Club.

The work was fun, and he could be himself. “Everybody likes a little baseball talk once in a while,” Marshall says. And, unlike The Rajah, Marshall never bet a single race.

Eventually, winter ball dictated his offseason. He played in Mexico, Venezuela, and the Dominican Republic over the years.

“Fringe players put a lot of miles on to stay in the business,” he admits.

In five seasons, Marshall played for the Orioles, Cubs, Giants, Mets, and Pirates. He was also part of the first non-waiver interleague trade; in November of 1959, the Cubs sent Marshall and pitcher Dave Hillman to the Red Sox.

The following March, before playing a single game for Boston, Marshall was traded to Cleveland, along with teammate Sammy White, who refused to report to the Indians. The trade was voided, and Marshall returned to the Red Sox.

As he recalls, a Sox executive said to him, “It’s not a good feeling when you’re going to the ballpark and both teams don’t want you.”

Ultimately, he landed in San Francisco, where reigning NL Rookie of the Year Willie McCovey was the incumbent at first base.

After brief stops in New York and Pittsburgh, Marshall headed to Japan. Over three seasons in the NPB (the highest level of baseball in Japan), he clobbered homers and drove in 252 runs.

The need for winter jobs had ended.

Before too long, Marshall made the graceful transition to managing. After several years with the Cubs minor league affiliates, he cracked the big league staff. By the end of the 1974 season, he was managing the Cubbies, a job he held through 1976.

Marshall’s final year in Wrigley was also the rookie year of Hall of Famer Bruce Sutter, who passed away a few months ago. Sutter’s split-finger fastball confounded hitters over the course of his 12-year career. While his closer popularized the pitch in America, Marshall had seen his fair share of splitters in Japan.

“Low-ball hitters thought it was right there,” Marshall says of Sutter’s deceptive pitch, “and it disappeared.”

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