From his major league debut in late 1952 through the 1958 season, Milt Bolling played seven years in the big leagues. But it took almost five seasons, until September 10, 1952, before the right-handed hitting Bolling finally achieved his dream and donned a major league uniform.
In 1999 Milt recalled his first two at-bats: he walked, and then he rapped a base hit off Detroit's Virgil "Fire" Trucks, one of the fastest pitchers in baseball.
"I was batting 1.000 after my first game," Bolling said, with a laugh, "and I should have hung up my spikes right there!"
Friendly, modest, and forthright, Bolling was joking about quitting baseball. By the time he did hang up his spikes, he compiled a .241 lifetime average over 400 games. But stats are misleading, because he was one of the best defensive shortstops the Red Sox saw in the 1950s.
At 6'1" and 175 pounds and right-handed all the way, Milt could cover the ground in the infield and fire out the batter from deep in the hole between third and short. But his career was shortened by injuries.
When he retired on January 1, 1995, Bolling had played baseball, worked in the front office, or scouted for the Red Sox for forty-three years.
A product of sandlot baseball in his hometown of Mobile, Alabama, Milt was born on August 9, 1930. His younger brother, Frank, born on November 16, 1931, played twelve seasons in the majors. Frank became the second baseman for the Tigers in 1954, moved to the Milwaukee Braves in a 1960 trade, and ended his career in Atlanta after the 1966 season.
In 1958, when Milt was traded to Detroit, the Bollings become one of only four brother combinations to play second base/shortstop on the same big league team. The others are Garvin and Granny Hamner of the Philadelphia Phillies in 1945, Eddie and Johnny O'Brien with the Pittsburgh Pirates in the mid-1950s, and Cal and Billy Ripken with the Baltimore Orioles in the 1980s.
The Red Sox signed Bolling right after high school and sent the 17-year-old to Roanoke, Virginia, of the class B Piedmont League:
"I was only seventeen when I graduated. The Red Sox signed me, and they sent me to class-B, and they had C and D-ball at that time. They sent me back in 1949 and I held my own.
"But in '48, I had never faced any pitching like that. There were a lot of guys in the Piedmont League who were coming out of the service after World War II. They were from 23 to 28 years old, and they had experience.
"I was really overmatched. I had defensive skills, but I only hit .184 that year.
"I really liked Roanoke. Back then what happened was that a family who had extra rooms would rent a couple of rooms to ballplayers. Two or three of us would room together."
Regarding signing a pro contract, Bolling recollected, "I was a good student and a good basketball player, too. I had scholarship offers for basketball and baseball. I wasn't going to play pro ball.
"George Digby of the Red Sox came by the house after I graduated, and I signed before he left. I was making $175 a month.
"I got a $1,000 bonus from the Roanoke club, and Boston gave me a $6000 bonus for signing, plus they left some cash on the doorstep. I got another $5000 when I made it to the big leagues. All of that was handled verbally.
"My father agreed with me playing pro ball, but my mother wouldn't agree unless I promised to go to college. I did, and I went to Spring Hill College, which is a Jesuit college in Mobile. I went during the offseasons, and I graduated in 1954.
"In 1949 I went to spring training for the first time. I had a pretty good year in Roanoke, and I hit about .230 with 12 homers. There were a couple of veteran shortstops in the league, and one might have been thirty. It used to be tough to find good offseason job, so guys would hang onto pro baseball as long as they could.
"The older shortstops hit better than I did. But I made the All-Star team, probably for my defense. I did hit more home runs than they did.
"I always thought I was a decent hitter until I went off to play pro ball."
Bolling laughed at the memory, continuing, "I played with men who played semipro ball when I was 15 or 16, and I could rip the ball against those grown guys.
"Mike Higgins was my manager when I reported in 1948 at age 17. The first black dirt infield I ever saw was in Roanoke at Maher Field. All the infields I had ever seen in Alabama were red clay.
"So I stepped in the batter's box to take batting practice. I never even swung, and Mike Higgins said, 'You can't hit like that.'
"I was seventeen, so what could I do? He's a guy who played in the big leagues.
"I said, 'Yes, sir. What do you want me to do?'
"So he told me to move in close to the plate. I never had stood that close before. They threw me five pitches, and I broke five bats, hitting the ball in on the handle. I always stood away when I batted.
"In 1949, I played for Red Marion, Marty Marion's brother. When Red batted, he always faced the pitchers with an `open' stance. So in 1949 I batted that way.
"In other words, every year the manager changed my stance, except in 1950 when I played for Jack Burns in Scranton, Pennsylvania, in the Eastern League. I had the best year I ever had, hitting 288.
"I was hitting about sixth in the lineup. Going into August, I was hitting over .300.
"Jack said, `I want you to have a good year this year, because they're going to put you on the big league roster next year. So I want you to have a good average.'
"So he moved me up to the leadoff spot. And boy, I went into a slump! You get more at-bats in the leadoff spot, and my average dropped.
"They moved me up to Birmingham in the double-A Southern League in the last few weeks, when Fred Hatfield was called up to Boston. I didn't do much there [Milt hit .074].
"In 1951, I stayed in college until the middle of June. I didn't play much because I hurt my arm, and they didn't want to mess with it. At that time they considered me a 'prospect.' I didn't play regular as much as I should have. I hit around .250.
"Then in 1952, when I was in school and I couldn't report until June 15, I only played 54 games. I was on the big league roster on the `voluntarily retired' list, knowing I was going to stay in college. That kept a spot open for someone on the big league roster.
"Boston still had a working agreement with the Birmingham club. The general manager, Eddie Glennon, really liked me and wanted me to play for him. Boston finally gave me a choice of Scranton or Birmingham, so I went to the Southern Association.
"They had a shortstop named Roy Nicely. He threw underhanded from the hole. He had hurt his arm, and he couldn't throw overhand. That was driving Glennon crazy, and that's why he wanted me at shortstop.
"Boston brought me up in September. In '52 they were having the 'youth movement.' They had a lot of guys like Dom DiMaggio, Bobby Doerr, and Johnny Pesky who were getting up in age. They brought in a lot of young guys, and they wanted to look at me.
"I only hit about .250 at Birmingham, but I hit about eight home runs. The ball carried good in the Southern Association at most of the ballparks. I hit some home runs, once in a while, not bad for a skinny guy!"
Milt laughed about the memories.
"When I faced Virgil Trucks in September 1952, I had never been to a big league park before. The first game I ever saw was the one I got in.
"I reported to Detroit. I got there the night before the club got to town. It was an off-day. The next day I went out to Briggs Stadium.
"When the game started, I was sitting on the bench with my glove hanging on a nail. Lou Boudreau was manager of the Red Sox. About the sixth inning, Lou had gotten mad at some of the guys for some reason. Johnny Lipon was the shortstop for Boston, and he'd come over from Detroit in a trade in 1952. He'd played several years for Detroit.
"I'm sitting there looking at this big stadium, just enjoying the game. Lipon, George Kell, Hoot Evers, and all these guys are already on the field.
"Boudreau called a few names, Bolling, Gene Stephens, and somebody else. He said, 'Get in the game.'
"You don't do that. The guys are on the field, and you don't send another guy out there to take their place, unless they're hurt. That's sort of unheard of.
"I'm walking out there on my first day. Johnny Lipon's been in the big leagues for ten years. Here I am, a 22-year-old rookie. He said, 'What the hell do you want?'
"I said, 'Well, Mr. Boudreau sent me out to play shortstop.'
"Lipon started cussing. He wasn't mad at me. He was mad at Boudreau. He was embarrassed. When I got to know him, he was really a nice guy. But that had to be embarrassing for Johnny.
"Anyway, I faced Trucks in the top of the seventh, and he walked me on four straight pitches. I always tell everybody that he knew I was from Alabama and he was scared of me! But that's not true.
"We got a little rally going, and I had to face him again in the ninth. I took a big swing, my bat broke, the ball blooped over the shortstop's head, and I was 1-for-1. I should have quit right there!"
Bolling got married on May 5, 1952. The couple was expecting a baby in February 1953. Milt was studying at Spring Hill College to complete his degree and accept his ROTC commission.
"I went to my ROTC colonel and said, 'I have a good chance to be the big league shortstop for the Red Sox.'
"The colonel said. 'I'll tell you what. I'll let you out of the rest of the ROTC, and you can go to spring training.'
"If it hadn't been for that colonel, I would have gone in the service as a second lieutenant, and I might have missed out on the rest of my big league career. With a commission, I would have been in the service for at least two years."
Milt enjoyed a good season in 1953, hitting .263 with five home runs and 28 RBI and doing a good job at shortstop for the fourth-place Bosox.
"I had my average up to around .270 about the first of August. Then I slid into second base and tore up the ligaments in my left ankle. It was a freak accident. Today they would cast it. They just wrapped it, and I walked on crutches for about ten days.
"Lipon was playing shortstop, and he couldn't throw well. I'd been playing most of that year, and he's gotten a little out of shape.
"Boudreau came to me and said, 'You've got to get back into the lineup.'
"I said, 'Yeah, I'll try.'
"I tried, but I was really limping bad. I couldn't distribute my weight properly, so I over-compensated with throwing.
"You recall that Herb Score got hit in the eye and couldn't remember how to pitch when he came back?
"Well, I couldn't remember how I threw again, once my ankle got well. I forgot how to put some 'mustard' on my throws. I started throwing mechanically. I was throwing differently because I was protecting my ankle. I never could find out how to throw properly again.
"But you had to play in those days. They called it 'jaking' if you didn't. 'You're O.K.,' the manager would say. 'Go out there and play.'
"People forget there were only sixteen major league clubs. The Dodgers had three triple-A clubs, three double-A clubs. I mean, there were good baseball players all over the place.
"Some of those guys in the minors were just as good as you were, but you had gotten the break and you were able to take advantage of it.
"You figure that maybe ten percent of the guys playing in the big leagues were above average. The rest of us were average. The guys in the high minors could do just as well as we could, if they got the breaks that we did.
"There's only so many players. The early 1950s were pre-TV. Pro football and pro basketball didn't become popular until they were able to pay big salaries when TV came along. So the good athletes, if they could play baseball, they did play baseball.
"There was a lot of competition. You played whenever you could play. You didn't ever want to get out of the lineup. Because if you did, you might never get back.
"In '54 I played quite a bit. But my arm was sore and my throws were dying on me. They were dying like crazy."
Milt played 113 games and batted .249 in 1954, but he led American League shortstops with 33 errors.
"In 1955 I went to spring training, and I suffered a bad injury at second base, a freak play again. I got my left arm dislocated, and I was out almost the whole season.
"Mike Higgins told me that I had the job in 1955. I don't know why he was going to stay with me. But when I was out, Billy Klaus became the regular shortstop. In '56 he was the starting shortstop, and I could never get back."
On April 29, 1957, Bolling was traded to the Washington Senators along with pitcher Russ Kemmerer and outfielder Faye Throneberry. Bolling played short and second and hit .227 in 92 games for the last-place Senators.
The next year Milt was traded to the Cleveland Indians in spring training. But on March 27, 1958, he was traded with Vito Valentinetti to Detroit. There Milt was united with his brother Frank, a Gold Glover at second base.
Used in a utility role, the older Bolling got into only 24 games and batted a weak .194. In August the fifth-place Tigers sent him to triple-A ball in Charleston, West Virginia, and that was enough.
"I was only twenty-eight years old, and I should have been reaching my peak. I just couldn't throw like I should, and it just got to be a mental thing with me."
Asked about Ted Williams, Bolling replied, "Ted was great with the players. He was a great guy to get along with, a very boisterous individual. When he was around, he dominated the conversation and the atmosphere.
"Ted used the most vulgar language I ever heard. In fact, I'm a Catholic, and he would say things that I couldn't repeat, because I know I'd get struck dead by a bolt of lightning.
"I'd start to leave, and Ted would say, 'Where you going, bush?'
"I'd say, 'Man, I don't want to get hit by the ricochet!'
"Personally, you couldn't help but like him. He was always trying to tell you how to hit, which was great. He thought he'd made himself into a great hitter, that the Good Lord never gave him any talent at all.
"He'd tell me, 'I can't understand it. You go up there and do everything right but hit the ball. Look, this pitcher's going to start you off with a fastball. Just go up there and look for it.'
"Well, the pitcher might be someone like Virgil Trucks who threw too hard. He might throw the ball right by me, or I might foul it off.
"I'd come back to the bench and Ted would say, 'Were you looking for the fastball?'
"I'd say, 'Yeah.'
"He'd say, 'Well, why didn't you hit it?'"
Laughing, Bolling recalled, "Well, I was trying to!
"Ted had that great hand-eye quickness. I led off one year for about a month or so. When Ted came up to bat, the first baseman would play ten feet back on the grass, the second baseman would be in short right, and the shortstop would be pulled over.
"Well, if you happened to get on first, the other team didn't bother to hold you on base. They wanted you to steal second, because that opened up first base and they wouldn't have to pitch to Williams.
"I've been on first base when Ted would hit a sinking line drive. The first baseman would jump for 'em, and sometimes the ball and the glove would both come off the guy's hand.
"You're standing there, and you're close to the play. You could steal second, but the Red Sox wouldn't let you, because they didn't want to take a chance at you getting thrown out with Ted hitting.
"You're saying, 'Don't hit one down here!'
"I never thought about it until I hit leadoff. I'd seen guys get their gloves ripped off by Ted's shots. You didn't want to be in the way of one of those!
"Ted was like a major leaguer playing with a bunch of Little Leaguers. He made it look so easy.
"I enjoyed baseball, but it got to be a mental thing when I lost my skill at throwing. I had to give it up."
When Bolling retired from the game, he spent three years working for a container ship company in Mobile.
In 1961 when Dick O'Connell became the new general manager of the Red Sox, Bolling applied for a position. He ended up working in the front office until 1965, when his father was dying of emphysema. As a result, he asked for a scouting position. From 1966 until he retired, Milt scouted all over the Southeast.
"I don't miss baseball," the longtime scout said. "I'm enjoying my retirement."
A very good shortstop with promising career major league career, Milt's baseball experiences reflect a large number of major leaguers of his era. A talented young player had to work his way up through an organization's farm system and then hope to be in the right place at the right time to get a break and make it to the big leagues.
The Boston Red Sox needed a good-fielding shortstop, and the Mobile, Alabama, native was in the right place at the right time in mid-1952. But his career took a downward turn in 1953 when he suffered the ankle injury that indirectly hurt his strong throwing arm.
"I enjoyed my time in baseball," Milt Bolling observed. "Today I'm pleased that some of the fans remember me."
» Jim Sargent is a professor of History and chair of the Social Sciences Division at Virginia Western Community College in Roanoke.
Also by Jim Sargent
» Bennie Huffman: Baseball and the Browns in the 1930s
» Hugh Mulcahy: A Phillie "Workhorse"
» Remembering Harvey Riebe: Pursuing the Baseball Dream During World War II and the Forties
» Gene Woodling -- A Champion Outfielder in Baseball's Glory Years
» Wayne Ambler
» Remembering Hal White
» More submissions
Posted July 12, 2002.
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