Word: irvins
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...some rumors, led Club President Horace Stoneham, on the spot, to issue two flat denials: 1) Giant Manager Leo ("the Lip") Durocher has no intention of quitting, nor will he be fired; 2) the Giants will not leave New York. The Giants, however, did leave fading (34) Outfielder Monte Irvin, key man on the pennant-winning club in 1951, down on the farm...
...fourth inning, with the Dodgers coasting along on a 2-0 lead, Left Fielder Sandy Amoros raced home from second on a blooping single. Monte Irvin's peg beat him to the plate. Umpire Pinelli spread his arms, palms down. Safe? Leo Durocher, the Giants' manager, boiled from the bench. Unaccountably astonished because Durocher and 27,297 fans had misunderstood him, Pinelli jerked his thumb over his shoulder and allowed that Amoros was out. Durocher simmered down. Dodger Manager Alston kicked up a brief fuss just for the record...
...option to buy the property was held by the U.S. Tin Corp., formed in 1948 by President Harry R. Fischnaller and two other promoters. They issued, to themselves and others, 178,500 shares of stock for which the company apparently received no money. Among the stockholders are Irvin Hoff, administrative assistant to Washington's Democratic Senator Warren Magnuson, and Anne Sanders, a Magnuson secretary. Although Hoff claims that he paid Fischnaller in 1951 for his 3,500 shares, the company lists his stock as issued "for services rendered...
...years before. But by the time the Giants signed him, the ground was well broken for Negroes in the majors. The Brooklyn Dodgers and Jackie Robinson had been the pioneers, and the New York Giants, by the time Mays signed his contract, had already taken on Hank Thompson, Monte Irvin and a Cuban catcher named Rafael Noble.* Willie Mays was able to meet the test strictly on his merits as a ballplayer...
...Brooklyn. "Do you think those bums'll call it off?" muttered Hank Thompson as he riffled through his fan mail. "Hell, no. Anything for a lousy dollar." He slouched over for a rubdown from the trainer. Off in a corner, Willie Mays and his road-trip roommate, Monte Irvin, laughed apathetically over a joke. Across the room, a group of players carried on a silent gin-rummy game. Conversation, what there was of it, was dominated by an unimaginative profanity. Soon someone cussed out the clubhouse boy and sent him for sandwiches. Outside, a bunch of hopeful boys clustered...