On July 29, 1970, the Houston Astros sold Joe Pepitone to the Chicago Cubs, ushering in a new and (for a time) happy chapter in the swingin' slugger's career. 45 years later, almost to the day, my wife and I arrived in Chicago to begin the next chapter of our lives — one which will hopefully last substantially longer than Pepi's ultimately stormy tenure in the Windy City.
As any reader of my books, this blog, the Big Hair and Plastic Grass Facebook page or my Twitter account probably already knows, I have a deep affection for Joe Pepitone. While some decry his playboy ways and squandered talent, I think he brought an inimitable, sideburned insouciance to the game, and his newly back-in-print autobiography, Joe, You Coulda Made Us Proud — which totally warped my mind when I first read it at the impressionable age of twelve — remains one of the most entertaining and straightforward player memoirs ever published. So it was a profound and particular joy for me to interview Pepi earlier this summer for Rolling Stone, especially since our conversation turned out to be even funnier and more colorful than I could have hoped.
The resulting Rolling Stone Q&A — which you can read here — got a ton of traction, thanks in part to Joe's revelation that he used to stash various recreational drugs (gifts from Chicago's legendary Bleacher Bums) in the Wrigley Field ivy during games, and then trot out several hours after the game to retrieve them. But given the word-count limitations of the piece, there was plenty of good stuff that I wasn't able to include in the piece. So, now that I finally have a little free time after weeks of packing, moving and unpacking, I can share some other, unpublished gems from our interview:
Me: Reading your book again, I was really struck by how baseball was initially a refuge for you — that it enabled you to get away from the gangs and the problems at home.
Joe Pepitone: You know what it was, Dan? It was a surprise. I never thought about anything; I was a stickball player, and my brother’s team needed an outfielder. I went out there and hit three home runs in one game on a high school field — and I was fourteen years old. There was a scout that saw me, and the whole thing started from there. Even in the minor leagues, I had no expectations of getting to the majors; I just loved the game so much, you know? I was just having fun. [Baseball] allowed me to get away from my strict father. My friends partied their asses off, and I couldn’t do anything. And when my father died at 39 years old, I was free, man; my mother couldn’t hold me back — nobody could. I got a $25,000 bonus when I signed with the Yankees, and I almost spent the whole bonus on my way down to spring training. I bought a car and a boat, bought a dog and put it in the boat, and he was barking all the way down to spring training. [Laughs] Joe DiMaggio, I swear to god, he asked me, “Are you here to play ball or for vacation?” “A little of both,” I told him. Next day, everything was gone — they took everything back. And that’s the way it was, even when I made it to the majors. It was fun, and my father wasn’t around to knock the shit out of me, so I did what I wanted to do. It was all in front of me, man!
I tell ya, you have no idea what fun meant to me, after my father passed away. I loved my father, I adored him — how tough he was, the way he protected his family. But he knew how to do it a different way, you know? He showed his love in a different way. “You’re gonna be good, or I’m gonna knock the shit outta you!” He’d come to my games, and you have no idea how drastic it was. A black guy stepped on my foot one day; it went through my spike, and I was lying on the field and bleeding a little bit. He came out and dragged this sonofabitch off the field, right in the middle of a semi-pro game where I was being scouted, and just beat the shit out of him. The team didn’t want him to come to the games anymore. But I’ll tell you what, man; he was the type of guy that would hit you, and then apologize immediately after that, like, cry apologizing. One time he almost blinded me; he threw an ashtray that shattered in my eyes. I was gonna be signed within a year, and I couldn’t see shit because of the splinters in my eyes. After that, he never raised his hand to me. But then he died soon after that. What are you gonna do?
There’s a memorable story in your book about a couple of mob goons offering to knee-cap Moose Skowron, so that you could take his place at first base for the Yankees.
Oh, there were a couple things like that. They said, “Hey, Joe, we could get you on that first base thing.” I even told Moose about it. [Laughs] Because Moose was always on my ass about my partying. All the Yankees were like that in those days — “Don’t fuck with my money; get home early!” That’s the way it was. They roomed me with Moose one time. He really went to bed at 10 o’clock and drank milk, all that shit. I went out one night with Billy Hunter, and Moose said, “If you’re not home by 1 o’clock curfew, I’m putting the chain on the door.” Shit, I came home about three in the morning, bombed out of my head with Billy Hunter. Sure as shit, the chain was on the door; “Sleep out in the hallway!” he yelled out. I kicked the door down, the chain went flying, and he grabbed me — I weighed 175 pounds at the time, and Moose was like 220. I said, “Ohhh, shit!” The next day, Ralph Houk came to me and said, “You’re not rooming with Moose anymore. He doesn’t want you!” And shit, by ’63, I had Moose’s job. Mantle even told me, “You should send him a telegram saying, ‘I told you so!’” [Laughs] I had a great year that year, and was the only Yankee player who made the All Star starting team.
Houk aside, it didn't seem like there was anyone who was really talking sense to you in those days.
Not really, not really. It’s not like baseball is today, where you’re making a lot of money, and you’ve got coaches paying attention to your injuries, they pay attention to you mentally, you know what I’m saying? They got psychiatrists working for you today. Ralph Houk was good, but there was never no talks about, “Hey, you gotta settle down,” until I didn’t show up one day. Nobody ever sat me down and said, “Hey, Joe, you gotta do it this way.”
Still, as much of a hard-ass as Houk was, it seems like he had a real soft spot for you. He gave you a lot of second chances.
Oh, sure! When you’re going good, they do that. When you’re going good, you can get away with things, and everybody loves you. That’s why I thought I could put a telephone in my locker. [Laughs] And that was the same with Ralph. Ralph was a great, great guy, man. I loved playing for him. Every time I hit a home run, I looked at his face to see what he thought of it. I always hustled; I always did, even with a hangover. [Laughs] I figured if Mickey can do it, I can do it. I tell you what — there was not a day I went on that field where I didn’t want to play well. With my ego, my pride, I was not going up there to strike out and not hustle. That ego sets in, and you want to play, you want to do the best you can.
Okay, who was the toughest pitcher you ever faced?
Who was that guy from Detroit — left-hander, I forget his name…
Mickey Lolich?
Yeah, Lolich. I hit a lot of home runs off that sonofabitch, but he was tough! But the toughest guy I ever faced was Sparky Lyle — all I ever got from him were sliders. I hit a lot of lefties good, but Sparky Lyle, that sonofabitch, I’d come up to the plate, and he’d put his glove up to his face and laugh, like, “There’s no fucking way you’re going to hit me!” [Laughs] He would just fucking laugh. And I’d be there at the plate, saying, “What the fuck are you laughing at?” But I never got a hit off him; he never threw me a fastball, only sliders, sliders, sliders, sliders, sliders. That was his whole thing. Everything was a slider with Sparky Lyle. But I got to know him real well after baseball, and he’s a real fun guy.
(Note: Pepi's recollections totally check out. While he did homer six times off Mickey Lolich — the most he hit off any MLB pitcher — Lolich also struck him out 21 times, eight more times than any other pitcher whiffed him. And he went hitless with one walk in 13 plate appearances against Lyle.)
You arrived in Chicago in 1970 with no small amount of fanfare, right?
Let me tell you what happened. I joined the team in Cincinnati, and we were flying back, and Leo Durocher wanted to talk to me, so I was sitting up front with Leo. Next thing you know, we landed at O’Hare, and this chauffeur with a hat on comes up and yells, “Is Joe Pepitone here? His limousine is waiting!” [Laughs] Leo says, “You ordered a fucking limousine?!?” I said, “No! I don’t know who the fuck this is!" I asked the chauffeur, "Who the fuck are you?” He said, “I’m the Fabulous Howard, and you can use my limousine as long as you’re here in Chicago.” He drove me to the Executive House, and he said, “Joe, listen; I could use the publicity, so you can have my services for free as long as you want.” I said, “Look, as long as I’m going good, I’ll keep you.” And I told Leo that. Next morning, I get a phone call from Fabulous Howard. He says, “Joe! I’m here to take you to the ballpark!” I say, “I’ll be right down — I’m getting dressed!” I come down, and he’s got a line of photographers out there that he’s called for the publicity, and he rolls out this big red carpet for me, and on the end it says, “The Fantastic Pepitone”! [Laughs] The next day it was in the papers. Everywhere I went with him, there was a photographer waiting.
You also opened a bar in Chicago, Joe Pepitone’s Thing. How did that come about?
Oh yeah, The Thing! The guy had this bar, I knew the guy real well, and he was in trouble; I figured I’d help him by giving him ten thousand dollars, but he took the money, gave the place to me and took off! It was mine; I was like, “What am I gonna do with this?” So I made it into like a little dugout thing, the tables were like home plate, bats underneath, all that. Fireplace in the middle… it was nice, a little downstairs place with pictures of players on the wall. Bo Belinsky and his girlfriends from the Playboy Mansion would come down; a lot of celebrities came down. We were going so fucking good, and then after a year they had this drug probe on the whole street; I was the only celebrity at the time who owned a place, so they came down on me. There was nothing going on — it was just a probe, you know what I’m saying? But it got in the papers, and the players were told to stay away; it hurt me, and I gave it up after about a year and a half. Oh yeah, the Thing — it was a fun time.
I’ve been looking everywhere for some kind of memorabilia from the bar. Does any of that even exist anymore?
You should check with my ex-wives; they’ve probably got some of that shit. {Laughs] They got everything else from me, anyway!
I've always loved Joe Pep. First player to bring a hairdryer into the clubhouse. Ha ha. Joe was Brooklyn style all the way.I read his bio over and over. Your page is great. Btw..When I ran across this I right away thought of Jimmy the Bug!
Posted by: William Bevis | 10/06/2015 at 07:24 PM
the irony of the Yankees clean shaven policy is Pepitone was the firs long haired (For that time) and sideburned player I remember seeing
Posted by: the Axis | 04/21/2022 at 05:57 PM