Boys of Summer Lament Their Loss : Baseball: Campanella is remembered by teammates as an inspiration as well as a great hitter and catcher.

There was a sadness in Clem Labine’s voice Sunday as the former relief pitcher reflected on the death of Roy Campanella and said, “I keep looking at the pictures, but more and more of the faces are disappearing. This is a great loss. He was one of our last heroes.”

They were the Boys of Summer, but more and more now, the images are frozen only in the camera of the mind.

Jackie Robinson. Gil Hodges. Carl Furillo. Sandy Amoros. Billy Cox. Junior Gilliam. Walter Alston. Campy.

The latest loss hammered at Duke Snider.

“We come into the world with no guarantees, but Campy will be remembered as a three-time (National League) MVP and just a great guy to be around,” the center fielder said of the catcher on those Brooklyn Dodger powerhouses of the 1950s.

“Campy would walk into the clubhouse with a Panama hat and cigar every day and say, ‘The same team that won yesterday will win today.’ That set the tone for us, and he was right more often than not.”

In the 10 major league seasons that earned him a place in the Hall of Fame, Campanella played in the World Series five times, but as broadcaster Vin Scully noted Sunday: “The legacy of the man is how he lifted spirits.”

The Boys of Summer remembered him contributing in the clubhouse, on the field and from his wheelchair after the 1958 auto accident ended his career prematurely.

“I always marveled how he never lost his enthusiasm for life or the game,” Snider said. “We’d have a ball (as instructors) at those fantasy camps. He was about the most positive person I’ve ever been around. He’d always have something funny to say in that squeaky voice.”

Said Buzzie Bavasi, the general manger of those Brooklyn teams: “Roy was a general manager’s delight--a great player and a great person. I don’t know of anyone--newspaper and radio people included--who didn’t like Campy. He’d come into my office two or three times a week just to talk baseball. The money meant nothing to him. I think the most he made in a year was $36,000.

“He was just a happy-go-lucky guy who made everyone around him happy. We had an outfielder named Gino Cimoli who kept complaining about his lack of playing time and Campy finally said to him, ‘Shut up, Gino, or they may play you and find out you can’t play.’

“He had a tremendous intelligence and instinct for the game and was a big help to Alston. In fact, Walter even let him manage a couple times when he was ejected from minor league games.”

Said Snider: “If it hadn’t been for the accident, I think Roy would have played another year or two and then been the first black manager. He knew the game and how to get along with people.

“When you have guys like Roy and Jackie and Gil and Pee Wee on the infield, you don’t even need a manager. I remember Walter often saying that all he had to do was sit back and make the pitching changes.

“I mean, Roy helped me and everyone with his competitiveness and attitude. The thing I marveled most at was his endurance, the way he approached every game. He’d catch both games of Sunday doubleheaders in the summer heat and say, ‘When I played in the Negro leagues I’d catch four games on Sunday. What’s two?’ ”

Said Labine: “Everyone talked about Roy’s hitting, but his defense was just as impressive. He was catlike for a guy of his size, and we were always in such agreement on pitch selection that it led to a dual confidence.”

If Jackie Robinson was the missionary, Campanella was the glue that helped hold blacks together in the face of a bias that didn’t simply end with Robinson’s major league breakthrough, Labine said.

Campanella, always the mentor and tutor, went to close friend Don Newcombe on a day that Newcombe threatened to quit over having to throw batting practice between starts and said, “Never take that uniform off, roomie. Make ‘em rip it off.”

They had to rip it off Campanella, but his life didn’t end in that overturned car. He endured mentally and physically, outlasting the medical predictions while displaying that legacy of spirit that “made us forget the wheelchair,” Labine said.

Or as Joe Black, another relief pitcher on a team now frozen in time, another face in the picture, said from Phoenix on Sunday:

“I think about all the kids out there chasing rainbows. They may never hit .350 like Campy did, but they can strive to be like him as a person. To me, he was the ultimate role model.”