Don Carman

[metirish]

Cool article.

] The Autograph Man A baseball player answers his fan mail 15 years later. By Bryan Curtis The autograph, at last Some tips on writing a letter to a major-league baseball player: Begin with the formal address: It's "Dear Mr. Wilson," not "Dear Mookie." The first sentence should read: "My name is Bryan Curtis, and I'm [a suitably young age to be asking for an autograph]." Next: "You are my favorite baseball player." This is a mandatory compliment, whether or not it happens to be true. Between the ages of 9 and 12, in what could be considered my letter-writing prime, I'm pretty sure I bestowed it upon every player in the National League East. Sign the letter and insert a baseball card�a "common" rather than a valuable card, in case it isn't returned�along with a self-addressed, stamped envelope. Check your parents' mailbox every day. You may do this, as I did, after a full-on sprint home from the school bus. Every few weeks, if you're lucky, you'll find an envelope with some exotic postmark�Chicago, Milwaukee, Arlington�and your card, now brilliantly autographed, inside. A final word of advice: You'll increase your haul exponentially if you avoid the All-Star team. Choose benchwarmers, utility infielders, and rag-armed pitchers as your correspondents. Gods may not answer letters, but middle relievers generally do. I recount all this because my mother, who still lives in the house I grew up in, sent me an e-mail the other day. Remember those ballplayers you used to write to, she asked. (My mother, it should be noted, made regular, if sometimes grudging, trips to the post office.) Well, she wrote, another one of them replied. Someone named Don Carman, a left-hander with the Philadelphia Phillies. When I got my hands on the envelope, it immediately became one of my favorite possessions. To look at my penmanship is to see a child who has labored just to write his Fort Worth, Texas, return address in a straight line. The envelope has a brown rectangular stain where a baseball card rested against it for years. Carman has affixed his return-address label�he lives in Naples, Fla.�and, touchingly, added additional postage, since I had included a then-current 29-cent stamp. The card, No. 154 in the 1989 Topps set, bears his big, looping signature, signed with a bright-blue Sharpie. Fifteen years ago, I figured Carman as a good candidate for a quick response. With the Phillies, he was a reliable southpaw who chewed up starts (35 in 1987, good for fourth in the National League), before leaving the majors for good in 1993. Where Carman showed greater promise was as a wit, a more cerebral version of Jay Johnstone. After enduring years worth of questions from benighted sports writers ("How'd it feel out there today, Don?"), Carman compiled a list of 37 suitably vapid answers that could be applied to almost any query. These included: "Baseball's a funny game"; "I just want to help the club any way I can"; "I didn't have my good stuff, but I battled 'em"; and, a personal favorite, "We have a different hero every day." Carman posted the list above his locker with a note that told writers, "You saw the game � take what you need." As it turns out, I am not Carman's only recent correspondent. In October, a Philadelphia TV station reported that Doug Ferraro, 23, received an autographed card from Carman in response to a letter that he had mailed out 16 years before. This was now a legitimate mystery, so I called Carman in Florida to find out what happened. "My wife told me it was time to clean the garage," Carman said. "So, I started digging through the stuff and found a box behind my tools. I opened it up and saw it was a bunch of fan mail, 200 to 250 letters." For Carman, this was a slight embarrassment. During his career, Carman had worked diligently to sign and return every one of the two or three letters he received each day. Judging from the date of Ferraro's card and the price of my stamp, he must have gotten our batch of letters some time in 1991, the year he left the Phillies for the Cincinnati Reds. "That year was the year I moved; I got a different house," he said. "I even remember putting them in the box, because it was unusual for me to do that. I thought I'd watch a football game and leisurely do them. It never got done." Carman could hardly bear to throw the letters away. But at age 47, he didn't have the enthusiasm to pick through them, either. So he paid his son Jackson, who is 8 years old, $4 to open and sort them. Then they sat down together, with Jackson, who never saw his father play, marveling at the rapturous odes inside. ("Dear Mr. Carman: You are my favorite baseball player. � ") At first content with merely signing the cards, Carman got caught up in the spirit and started writing notes to the now-grown kids. He lugged the envelopes down to the Naples post office, where he discovered that most of them included 25-cent stamps. "I told the postman I needed 250 10-cent stamps, and 250 4-cent stamps, and he just looked at me like, 'What are you doing?' " Only one of the letters gave Carman pause. Like nearly every other ballplayer, he made regular visits to local hospitals to see the terminally ill. It turned out that one letter was from a man whose wife Carman had visited. The woman had died, the man wrote, and he thanked Carman for brightening her final days. That lovely sentiment was now at least 15 years old. Carman perched over a piece of stationery for 20 minutes before he carefully scratched out his opening lines: "I know it's far in your past, but it's something that meant a lot to you. I know you carry her with you still." He wound up writing three pages. He's still waiting to hear from the woman's husband. After his playing career, Carman earned a degree in sports psychology from Florida Gulf Coast University in Fort Myers. He now works for Scott Boras, baseball's most rambunctious player agent, tending to the psychological demands of his clients. Even though he's been out of the game for more than a decade, new fan letters arrive in his Naples mailbox two or three times per week. The letters�presumably from grown-ups trying to recapture some small ecstasy from their childhood, when there was nothing more wonderful than receiving a piece of mail from a major-league ballplayer�contain the same platitudes. "Most of them say, 'You're one of my favorite players,' " Carman says. He is trying to answer them in a timely fashion.

http://www.slate.com/id/2154698/?nav=tap3

[Guest Johnny Dickshot]

Wow. That's awesome.

[metirish]

Yeah,Carman seems like a really great person,I love his list that he posted for the writers...classic.

[Guest Edgy DC]

I hated the cynical opening. I'll admit that I liked Carman when he played.

]After his playing career, Carman earned a degree in sports psychology from Florida Gulf Coast University in Fort Myers. He now works for Scott Boras, baseball's most rambunctious player agent, tending to the psychological demands of his clients.

Wow. I guess that includes the scorched psyche of Rick Ankiel.

[seawolf17]

That's a great story! When I was a kid, I thumbed through the Baseball Encyclopedie (ah, the days before the Internet) and found all the players with whom I shared a birthday. I wrote to all the active guys, but the only guy who sent me anything back was Nick Capra:



Great, great story. Thanks for the link.

[Guest Johnny Dickshot]

When I was in 3rd or 4th grade I wrote all the teams asking for stuff. I never got a personal response but lots of stickers and photos (some signed, some not) I put into a looseleaf notbook.

The Mets were one of the cheaper orgs: They sent a b/w team photo on paper. Other teams (the Twins, Rangers, Red Sox, Astros IIRC) sent better stuff, real signed photos, stickers. For most teams I selected 2 or 3 guys whose autographs I wanted. Some odd choices I'd made include Butch Hobson, Geoff Zahn, Enos Cabell...

[Guest Edgy DC]

Enos Cabell isn't odd. He was in Bad News Bears in Breaking Training.

Know what's odd? Nick Capra's torso being behind the bottom of the baseball card frame and in front of the top of the frame, like he's sticking his head through a window saying "Hey Verne!"

Somehow, that's just so Fleer.

[stevejrogers]

Edgy DC wrote: Know what's odd? Nick Capra's torso being behind the bottom of the baseball card frame and in front of the top of the frame, like he's sticking his head through a window saying "Hey Verne!" Somehow, that's just so Fleer.

Same year, I want to say Paul Assenmacher's card for some reason, they have a guy looking in for the sign, but to get the bleed effect they have the guy smushed all the way to the side of the card so it looks more like a shot of an outfield wall and the pitcher just got in the shot!

OE: Well it's not Assenmacher, not sure who it was now... Ah well, funny card though

[Theoldmole]

A good man.

[Guest Edgy DC]

I had just read about Carman in the afterword of Dollar Sign on the Muscle, which was a great read and needs to be returned to Dr. Dickshot.

Initially he's referenced in Chapter 3: "Seeing is Believing," set at a minor-league spring training camp in 1981.

After all the prospects had weighed in, put on uniforms, and finished their own stretching exercises, there was always extra time for goofing around. The favorite diversion was a game called Flip, played just outside the clubhouse doors in circles of about fifteen prospects each. The players kept a ball moving without touching it with the throwing hand, simply using the glove to catch and flip in one motion, or to swat the ball without catching it, propelling it anywhere in the circle with added speed. If a player mistouched the ball, missed it, allowed it to hit the ground, or swatted it too wildly for anyone else to flip, he dropped out of the game, and circle tightened --- until only two players were left to smack the ball furiously at each other. Don Carman, a stringbean left-hander, was a consistent winner.

The game demanded sharp reflexes. Maybe it honed them, too, but nobody played Flip with such a practical result in mind. Baseball had once been play to these kids; now it was their work. Before the grind of the day began, they could still turn it into play again, frisking like puppies. But Lou Kahn was not amused.

"I don't like it. The managers don't like it. You could get hurt doin' it --- lose a tooth, or break a nose or a finger. I told 'em if they want to play that game, all right. But if you get hurt and can't do a practice or play in a game, it'll cost you a hundred dollars!... They kept playin'."

The "stringbean lefthander" returns in Chapter 11: "Baseball Detectives," set at an amateur tryout camp. After the tryout, the author goes back with the tryout scouts to watch a minor-league game on the Holiday Inn television, minor-league ball being the only ball there is in the summer of 1981. They want to tune in because they're looking to watch a hot shortstop prospect in the Phillies system that they're excited about.*

"I think Carman pitched last night," Ed Wolf said, "and that's the game they'll show today. It's on tape." I remembered someone telling me at spring training, where Don Carman was one one of the most interesting prospects I saw, that the Phillies had originally signed him out of a tryout camp in rural Oklahoma.

In the afterword, they catch up with all the players scouted in the book, up until 1998.

Minor-league pticher Don Carman (chapters 3 and 11) stood out at spring trainging in 1981 simply by winning so often at games of "Flip." He was gangly but coordinated, a lefty whose breaking pitch disassmebled the swings of lefty hitters. Carman had been undrafted in 1978, but Philadelphia scouts Don Williams and Doug Gassaway signed him that August on the basis of his performance at a tryout camp. He broke into the majors in 1984. In Carman's two best seasons with the Phillies, 1985--1986, his combined record was 19-9, with a 2.78 ERA. But he never regained his form after breaking his thumb in a 1987 car accident. In 1992, after an unsuccessful comeback with the Rangers, Carman retired with a lifetime record of 53-54, 11 saves and a 4.11 ERA.

I remember him as a baffling starter, but one who wore down after five innings.

*Julio Freaking Franco.

[Guest Iubitul]

Irish - thanks for sharing - that was a very cool article.

[Elster88]

Nice job Irish.

[Guest metsguyinmichigan]

When I was 11, my existence pretty much revolved around Tom Seaver and the Mets -- as it should.

Of course I collected cards, and had doubles of Seaver from that year, 1975. Being a kid, I thought, "Hey, Tom might like one of these." not realizing that he probably had BOXES of them. So I sent the card to Seaver with a note and a poem I wrote -- I can remember it, but I'll spare you -- of course never expecting to hear from him.

Some time later, a letter came to the house in an envelope from the New York National League Baseball Club, as it said in the return address. My dad and I have the same first name, but he assumed it was for me.

Opening it up, there was the card I sent Seaver -- signed! -- and an autogrpahed photo as well.

I remember my first reaction was "I wonder why he didn't want to keep the card?" followed by being overjoyed to have not one, but two autographs from my hero.

Naturally, I have both today, framed in the den.

[Guest Edgy DC]

Post the poem, like, yesterday.

[Guest Johnny Dickshot]

Yeah, no use posting stuff on the Internet if you can't open up a vein.

[Guest attgig]

Edgy DC wrote: But he never regained his form after breaking his thumb in a 1987 car accident. In 1992, after an unsuccessful comeback with the Rangers, Carman retired with a lifetime record of 53-54, 11 saves and a 4.11 ERA.I remember him as a baffling starter, but one who wore down after five innings.

pitchers and their freakin car accidents......



and here's another vote to post the poem...

[Guest metsguyinmichigan]

You asked for it....

The Mets are the best
and that is a fact
When the ball comes their way
they give it a smack

They hit lots of homers
They run to the base
We all love Tom Seaver
Because he is their ace.

Being all of 11, I thought I had just about put Robert Frost out of business. Rhyming apparently wasn't a priority.

I have no idea why it's stuck in my head all these years.

[G-Fafif]

Sent back the card, kept the poem. You wouldn't want it the other way around.

[Guest Edgy DC]

metsguyinmichigan wrote: Being all of 11, I thought I had just about put Robert Frost out of business.

Excuse me, but I don't recall Frost putting anything new out after 1975.

Fan-tastick.

[Frayed Knot]

"I don't recall Frost putting anything new out after 1975"

Slacker

[seawolf17]

I read an interview with Seaver a few months ago where he mentioned a poem from an 11-year-old hanging in his den. Touching, really.

[Guest Johnny Dickshot]

Seaver once recited that poem in Sweden, where inspired audiences included musicians from a young ABBA wannabee band searching, until that moment, for a name.

[Willets Point]

Johnny Dickshot wrote: Seaver once recited that poem in Sweden, where inspired audiences included musicians from a young ABBA wannabee band searching, until that moment, for a name.

One could even say they saw it as a sign, and it opened up their eyes.

[G-Fafif]

All that he wants is another po-em...