This ‘Turkey’ Is in Oriole Hall of Fame

They called him “Turkey,” which always seemed so incongruous considering he was probably the best all-around athlete to ever pull on the uniform of the Baltimore Orioles.

Those who saw Dick Hall pitch, however, appreciated the nickname. Hall, one of three new members of the Orioles’ Hall of Fame, along with Stu Miller and Jim Gentile, was a pooner, a guy who seemed to push the ball up to the plate. Few in the history of the game did it more accurately.

During a career that started at third base in old Busch Stadium in St. Louis in 1952 and ended after the 1971 World Series in Baltimore, Hall pitched in nearly 500 games. He averaged fewer than one unintentional walk per nine innings and ended up posting a terrific 71-41 career mark as a reliever.

Well before he got to the mound, Hall turned in a pretty good imitation of being the poor man’s Jim Thorpe.

While attending Swarthmore College, one of the most demanding academic institutions in the land, he dragged down 10 varsity letters. As a junior, he garnered four: for soccer, basketball, baseball and track and field.

Earlier, he had been a football player for a couple of seasons, finishing sixth in the country in pass receptions while gaining All-East and Little All-America honors as an end. “Then the passer graduated,” he recalled with a sigh.

While waiting for the final game of the baseball season one spring, he noted the track team had a couple of meets scheduled. He wandered over, placed second in the 100-yard dash and won the long jump. A week later, at the IC4-A Championships at Penn, he leaped past 23 feet, which still stands as the school record going on four decades later.

During the summers of 1950 and 1951, Hall played ball in New England and visited various clubs interested in him. Branch Rickey and the Pittsburgh Pirates won the signing derby and, during spring break his senior year, Hall went south to take part in the Buccos’ spring drills.

“I was about to head back for my final semester,” he said, “when someone said to me, ‘Hey, why don’t you stick around? You can probably be in our Opening Day lineup.’ Darned if that wasn’t what happened. With one game’s experience at third base, during the last exhibition game in Washington, I was in the Opening Day lineup two nights later in St. Louis, hitting fifth behind Ralph Kiner.”

Only a cad would dredge up what the 1952 Pirates were like. Their record was 42-112, and only a decent September made it that good. Former Pittsburgh manager Billy Herman recalls, “Talent-wise, it was as if World War II was still going on as far as we were concerned.”

Needless to say, Hall wasn’t ready for the big leagues, not even with that ragtag outfit. “First legitimate ball hit my way, which wasn’t until the sixth inning or so, zip, it went right through my legs,” he said. “Five games I lasted at third base. Later, I played some right field, but come cutdown day (a month into the season), they sent me down to Class A

It was after the 1954 season in Pittsburgh, where he hit .239 with but two homers while playing the outfield, that Hall got to thinking he might like to pitch: “A lot of teams had wanted to sign me as a pitcher and, while playing in Mazatlan (Mexico) in winter ball, I volunteered for mop-up duty or whatever.

When not pitching for Mazatlan, where he met and married his wife, Elena, Hall played outfield. He holds a Ruthian mark for the since-reorganized league, having hit 20 home runs while recording a 10-1 record with an earned run average of 1.40.

Hall made it back to the big leagues as a pitcher in 1955 (6-6) and 1956 (0-7), but a sore arm and hepatitis wiped out his ’57 and ’58 seasons. Some men, 28, well into a family (two daughters) and holding a degree in economics, might have bagged it. Hall had a fine 18-5 season in triple-A in 1959, and the Pirates traded him to the Kansas City Athletics.

After all those dog seasons in Pittsburgh, Hall had the bad luck to be sent packing “from a team that won the pennant and World Series to a team that finished last.” The Pirates beat the Yankees to win the 1960 Series, and Hall had an 8-13 record for the awful A’s (58-96).

After sojourn No. 1 with the Orioles (1961-66), he reversed the order, being dispatched from the Series champion Birds to the malingering Philadelphia Phillies, who dumped him after two seasons because of a sore arm. At age 38 and with four kids, Hall still wasn’t done.

It doesn’t match up with the Baltimore Colts acquiring the services of John Unitas for an 85-cent phone call, but the Orioles laid claim to Dick Hall’s most memorable seasons for the price of a plane ticket to spring training in 1969.

One day in the clubhouse in Miami, it became apparent Hall had not lost his verve for the game when a wet-behind-the-ears kid came in and exclaimed, “Can you believe that old guy out there? He’s running around doing all those rinky-dink drills as through they’re important.” Hall went on, the kid didn’t.

It was a good thing Hall stuck around. A career moment arrived during the initial American League Championship Series in October of ‘69: Orioles and Twins tied, 3-3, 12th inning, runners at second and third and one out. Hall is summoned. An intentional pass loads them and he goes after Leo Cardenas, a contact hitter who has had a fine season for Minnesota. Strikeout. John Roseboro flies out. The Orioles score to win and go on to a sweep and the World Series.

In 1970, Hall led the league in wins by a relief pitcher with 10. He saved a game in the five-game triumph over Cincinnati in the World Series. In the off-season, he became a certified public accountant by getting the second highest test score in the state. After his 40th birthday, he won a half-dozen games in 1971 and compiled a .400 batting average (2 for 5).

In retirement, he took up tennis, and it wasn’t too long before he and partner Jerry Phipps won a junior vets title in doubles. He took up golf and it wasn’t long before he bagged a hole-in-one. Recently he put together a round of 70.

“And that’s with just one lucky shot,” he said. “Bounced a ball off the roof of a car as it sped by and the ball ricocheted toward the hole.” He still had to make the putt, though.

Some Turkey.