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At left: the author with the Dodger boss in the O'Malley home at Lake Arrowhead, California.
A VISIT WITH WALTER O'MALLEY
By MELVIN DURSLAG
In spite of a raft of relocation problems, the controversial Mr. O'Malley's world-champion Dodgers are the most prosperous team in baseball.
It takes between two and two-and-a-half hours, depending upon traffic, to drive from Walter O'Malley's office in downtown Los Angeles to his home on the north shore of Lake Arrowhead in the San Bernardino Mountains. The distance is eighty-nine miles, of which the last twenty-four must be traversed over spiraling roads that ascend to 5200 feet and feature precipitous drops on the starboard side. Coming down the hill is less hazardous, except when winter snows leave the asphalt dangerously iced.
At the end of the journey is the $75,000 chalet to which O'Malley retreats each night from the rigors of running the Los Angeles Dodgers, the most prosperous franchise in baseball today. Sometimes, when business detains him in Los Angeles or when the Dodgers are playing a night game at home, he will sleep in a suite he maintains at the Statler Hilton Hotel.
Attired in an old pair of slacks and a red plaid shirt, and puffing his customary cigar in a holder, O'Malley welcomed me to Lake Arrowhead. He was deeply disturbed at the moment by a suspicion that the food freezer wasn't freezing. Walter cursed softly. "We'll test it," he said "I'll put this tray of water in there and check it later."
On the kitchen wall, adjacent to the freezer, a sign read, "Keep Arrowhead green. Bring money."
The O'Malley home is a unique Alpine-type dwelling built in three staggered levels about 100 yards from the shore line, in a forest of cedar and pine. Mrs. O'Malley's description of the architecture is, "Crazy but comfortable." Scattered-about the three levels are five bedrooms and three baths. The living room, located on the second level, commands a magnificent view of the lake, where the O'Malleys have a private boathouse and landing.
At fifty-six Walter is a rotund man of five-feet-ten and 240 pounds, with slick black hair and youthful brown eyes that flash from behind gold-rimmed spectacles. One of baseball's most controversial figures, O'Malley has been pictured by some critics as a cold schemer who would cast aside any loyalties in order to make a dollar. Others see him as a smart operator pursuing a maximum profit in the normal tradition of American business.
In Los Angeles, his operating base since 1958, O'Malley has been involved in a major land argument. Some citizens have resented the city's trading him 315 acres in an area called Chavez Ravine for Wrigley Field, which O'Malley purchased three years ago from Philip K. Wrigley, the Chicago Cubs' owner.
Shortly after the Los Angeles City Council had passed an ordinance embodying the contract between the city and the Dodgers, the anti-O'Malleys circulated a referendum petition on which they obtained 53,000 signatures, enough to put the question before the voters at the polls. O'Malley was victorious by roughly 25,000 votes, but his troubles still hadn’t ended. A Superior Court judge ruled the contract invalid. O'Malley appealed to the Supreme Court of California which reversed the lower court's decision Subsequent efforts by Dodger opponents whip O'Malley in the United States Superme Court have been unsuccessful.
Meanwhile, as this is written, city administrators In Los Angeles still haven't given final approval to the tract map as submitted by the Dodgers, who. are planning a $15,OOO,OOO ball park on the Chavez site. Grading of some of the land has been completed, but O'Malley admitted to me frankly that there is no hope of his team's opening the 1961 season at Chavez Ravine.
O'Malley also has been under a still-lingering attack for going to Los Angeles in the first place. Unlike major-league clubs that shifted their franchises because of financial distress, the Dodgers prospered in their former home, Brooklyn. Why, then, did they move to Los Angeles?
O'Malley smiled thinly and lighted a fresh cigar. "We had a ball park in Brooklyn that was coverage," he began. "We had parking facilities for only seven hundred cars. If we wanted to have thirty-two thousand fans in the stadium, and we could park only seven hundred automobiles, a lot of fans would have to come by foot or by subway. Yet subway fares were falling off. Fewer people were riding the subways because they were riding in automobiles-and we couldn’t park 'em. That was one factor.
"Another factor was the high cost of maintaining our old ball park. We'd patch up one thing and something else would need attention. We simply had to have a new facility. We worked no it for ten years. We offered to build the park with our money if the city would provide the site. To show we meant business, we sold our real estate at Ebbets Field, Montreal and Fort Worth. It brought us five million dollars. So. I said to Mr. Moses "-New York park commissioner Robert Moses." 'We've got the money. Now what's the next delay?'
"And it was one thing after another. They tried to shift us from our site in Brooklyn to Flushing Meadow in Queens. We finally agreed to look at that. But then we decided that going to Flushing Meadow was no different, in a sense, than going to Jersey City or Los Angeles. You would not be the Brooklyn Dodgers if you were in Brooklyn. And as long as you’re going to move, what difference does it make wether you move five miles or five thousand miles?"
"But the point is," we interjected,"You were still drawing a million people a year in Brooklyn and showing good profits.”
"Yes, we were drawing a million people a year," he answered, "and the Milwaukee, club was drawing two million people There's a difference of one million attendance, right? Lou Perini who owns Milwaukee, is a wealthy man. He is not looking for dividends. If he draws a million people more than we do, at an average admission of two dollars, he has two million dollars a year more to put into his organization for things like absorbing farm-club losses, salaries in the front office, salaries to players, bonus money to attract new players, scouting and all of that.
“Anybody-even a child in public school realize that if that disparity between the two best draws in the league, Milwaukee and Brooklyn were permitted toto continue, it would be only a question of two, three, four or five years before Milwaukee would be the Yankees of the National League and Brooklyn would be the Washington. Well, certainly we're not in baseball to have an apologetic team. We're here because we get a thrill out of competition
O'Malley reflected a moment, then continued almost angrily, ”Look, in five years the Perini Braves would have ten million dollars more to spend in baseball than us. They certainly would have a lock on the pennants. Well, we don’t want that. We don’t want Mr. Perini to win any pennants. We want to win 'em all." "What about the other clubs?" we inquired.
"That's their problem,” said Walter. "This is a competitive game. This is ton a conspiracy nor a monopoly….This is high-level competition.”
I asked O'Malley if in 1957 he tried to influence Horace Stoneham, the owner of the San Francisco Giants, to lion him in moving his club from New York City to the West Cost?
Well, I'd have to answer that this way," Walter replied. "I did ton try to influence him to. leave New York. After he decided to leave New York and go to a particular place, Minneapolis-St. Paul, I spoke to him for the first time and said, ‘Do you think you are going to the best location?’ I told him he would do better in San Francisco and he finally went to San Francisco. I assume a number of other people told him the same thing."
Why did the New York press attack O'Malley so severely for leaving Brooklyn, while Stonemason's move was treated almost as a matter of fact?
"I think that some of the writers realized that Horace’s position was untenable in New York. It was almost impossible for him to operate successfully at the gate. On the other hand, the Brooklyn franchise had been successfully operated. I think, too, that the writers were more or less reconciled to the loss of one club in New York I think they would have been satisfied to have New York reduced to two. But they never reconciled themselves to. just one club, the Yankees.”
I said to O’Malley, ”Some members of the New York press have applauded Stoneham for announcing well in advance in 1957 that he was leaving New York, thus jeopardizing ticket sales. You have been accused of delaying your announcement until every dollar was in the box. How do you answer these critics?"
"First, Stoneham’s forthright announcement didn't cost him money at the gate, but put money in his pocket,” said O’Malley. "People for sentimental reasons came to see the last games of the Giants in New York. Then, too, Stoneham didn't have any program under way to stay in New York. We had a very definite program under way to stay there, and our negations continued throughout the 1957 season.”
In the first two years the Dodgers inhabited Los Angeles, they drew more than 3,900,000 paid admissions. On the negative side, the bitter opposition they have encountered over Chavez Ravine has delayed the building of their stadium. All things considered, is O'Malley happy he came to California.
"Let us say that I am not happy, and I will not
be happy until we overcome some of the inertia that exists here and we are able to get our stadium completed," he answered. "Then I believe there will be a realization for the first time of what we've been trying to do.
"In the meantime, there's a certain amount of frustration and annoyance. Our rental, for example, in the Coliseum. Outrageous. It will run pretty close to a half-million dollars more this year than it did last. I don’t know of a single thing that has annoyed me more. How are you going to finance a fifteen-million-dollar improvement if prior to completion of that improvement your earnings go into a tax-free government facility?" It sticks in O'Malley's craw that his Coliseum landlords, who don’t have to pay taxes the way the Dodgers do should be taking away so many of the ball club's dollars.
Under the terms of his lease with the Coliseum, O'Malley for the first two years paid a flat sum of $200,000 annually. In addition for nine, specified games he was charged 10 percent of the gross and all concessions profits. For the remaining sixty-eight games the concession money went to the Dodgers. Under this arrangement the club paid $310,820 to the Coliseum in 1959. This year, however, the Dodgers are being charged the normal Coliseum rental-a straight 10 per cent of the gross, with all concessions profits going to the lessor. Based no last year's attendance, the Dodgers figure to pay the Coliseum $800,000 in 1960.
"For this," complains O'Malley, "we can't even play in a baseball park, but a modified football stadium. Some of the people who fought to increase our rent were in the original group who invited us to come here, and who offered at that time their beautiful Memorial Coliseum for a dollar a year. I said, ‘I don’t want it for a dollar a year. I want to pay the same rent that other major-league clubs pay.’ This seemed to me a good step in public relations. So we paid a very substantial rental the first two years in the Coliseum- the fact we have to be there a third year or longer is no fault of the Dodgers The Coliseum won has us over a barrel, and they're sticking us good. But that doesn't mean that we feel kindly about it, because we don’t.”
The thought seemed to distress O’Malley. He arose and walked out on the porch with a supply of peanuts with which to feed the neighboring blue jays. The instant Walter appeared, the jays recognized him as an old friend and swooped from the lofty trees to the feed bowl on the railing. They encircled O'Malley, flapping and squawking.
"Did you ever see such birds?" said Walter, chuckling. "They're getting fat no me, just like the Coliseum.”
When we returned to the tape recorder, I asked O'Malley how he intended to finance his $15,000,000 project at Chavez Ravine.
"We plan to finance the new park by a bank loan," he answered. "We believe that we will have to borrow eight million dollars. We will get it from a syndicate of four local banks. The other seven million will be supplied by the Dodgers- money that we have husbanded over the years."
"Is it true that the city rejected the Dodgers' original plans at Chavez Ravine because unauthorized commercial ventures were included?" I asked.
O'Malley laughed heavily. "Do let me tell you a great story," he said. "On our drawings there was a notation, 'Visiting Club Quarters,' which meant dressing room, shower and so forth. A city official wanted to know if this meant we were planning to build a motel there."
O'Malley admitted that his first plans were rejected, but explained it was largely because the drawings weren't clear. He said that he is insisting only upon two commercial enterprises at Chavez, a gasoline station and a restaurant.
Some people contend that once improvements have been made, the value of the real estate alone at Chavez Ravine should zoom to $10,000,000. After the property legally becomes his, what's to prevent O'Malley from selling out at an enormous profit? He holds two thirds of the Dodgers' stock; the, remainder belongs to James Mulvey, now an executive of Samuel Goldwyn Productions, whose family has had a substantial interest in the club for many years.
"Let's ask you a question," he countered. "Do you have a house?"
"Yes."
"Did you pay for it?"
"I paid for part of it."
"All right, and you got the rest of it by a mortgage, which is comparable to our situation. So now you own it, more or less. Shouldn't you be allowed to do with it what you want? Shouldn't you be allowed to resell it and buy a different house? I think so. Let's take a man who owns a hotel. That doesn't mean he has to keep the hotel in the same place until the structure falls apart. I'm speaking now in theory.
"In our case there will be economic , factors that will be at work. When you put fifteen million dollars into a park, you're not only going to hold it and operate it until you get back your fifteen million, but a pretty fair return on your money too."
I said, "But supposing you could sell out next year for twenty million?"
"If I wanted to retire from baseball, I could have done innumerable times in the past. I have no intention of selling. This is something I enjoy. I also am fortunate in having a wonderful organization. I think I have a responsibility to see that this franchise continues to offer our people good employment."
I asked O'Malley, "If you were an average citizen in Los Angeles, with just a casual interest in baseball, how would you feel about a man corning from another city and making a Chavez Ravine-type land deal here?"
"I'd probably be just as suspicious as the opposition boys are out here," he answered. "And particularly if the picture had been distorted. On the other hand, if I were an active member of the Chamber of Commerce, or a real-estate board, or a bar association, or a down- town businessmen's association, or some group like that, I would carefully read the reports of these serious-minded committees and I would very likely agree with their conclusions.
"It's very interesting to note that all of the groups I have mentioned have carefully surveyed the matter, and they completely deflated the balloon of the opposition. First, the story is that this is a giveaway to the Dodgers. Giveaway, hell! We're buying the land. We paid two million dollars for the Wrigley Field real estate, which is almost twice what Chavez Ravine cost the city. We are exchanging our land for Chavez Ravine. The real estate at Chavez has been bringing the city seventy-five hundred dollars a year in taxes. The minute we get it, the taxes run up to over three hundred thousand dollars a year.
"Then we have agreed to spend a million seven hundred thousand dollars for a youth recreation center that will occupy forty acres. Our capital improvement to build the youth center will be a half million. And for twenty years we'll maintain it under a contract whereby we agree to spend sixty thousand a year." At the end of the twenty-year period, the Dodgers take title to the forty acres.
O'Malley clicked off the recorder and strolled into the kitchen to test the ice tray in the freezer. "Still no good," he grumbled. He removed some ice from the refrigerator. '
"You should pay me a hundred thousand dollars for this story," he said. "But I'll mix you a drink instead."
Upon resuming, I asked O'Malley what accounted for the contrast between the Dodgers of 1958, who finished seventh in the league, and the Dodgers of 1959, who won the world's championship.
"The Dodgers of 1958 were a better team than the record showed," he answered. "I'm convinced our fellows had trouble getting adjusted in Los Angeles. Their families were back East, they were worried over their kids, there was a referendum that threatened to run us out of town and there was generally a feeling of tenseness and uncertainty."
"Then why did the San Francisco Giants, also in a new city, have no trouble?" we asked.
"Because the Giants were moving into a fairly free political atmosphere where the mayor and his administration seemed anxious to roll out the carpet. They also had a baseball park in which to play, not a football park."
"Why didn't you use a regular ball park, Wrigley Field in Los Angeles, which is roughly the size of Seals Stadium in San Francisco?"
"For the same reason I left Ebbets Field," he said. "Absolutely no facilities for parking automobiles. Also, in the entire upper stands of Wrigley Field there isn't a single ladies' rest room: You cannot operate a major-league franchise today unless you are very, very much aware of the comfort requirements of men, women and children."
Walter Alston, the manager of the Dodgers, was reported to be the subject of heavy criticism in the club's front office during the calamitous 1958 season. O'Malley was asked how close Alston came to getting fired.
"Well, they say that on five occasions meetings were held on whether Alston should be fired. I freely admit the meetings were held-but not for the purpose of determining whether Alston should go. The meetings were held to try and find out what in the hell was the matter with the team. I won't deny that at those meetings the question came up, 'Has Alston lost control of the club? We didn't think that he had. But when the army loses a battle, the question is always raised, 'Has the general lost control of the troops?'"
"Could Alston have survived another seventh-place finish in 1959?"
"Yes, I think he could have, but I think, too, he would have volunteered to
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step aside to see if a new approach to the problem would be more successful than his. In such an event he would have remained with the organization in a front-office capacity. Alston would want to do what's best for the organization, which in the long run would be best for him."
Some critics, perhaps the loudest of whom has been Jackie Robinson, have argued that the Dodgers up until now have been riding high with a team put together by Branch Rickey, the former president. How does O'Malley answer this charge?
"In the good years preceding 1958," began Walter, "I was accused of being a big man on a team that Rickey built. Then in 1958, when we finished seventh, the team suddenly became mine. In view of our winning the world championship last year, I suppose the critics now want to recapture the team for Rickey. The truth is that only eight of the twenty-five players on our championship roster last year were hired by Rickey, or were products of Rickey farms. This was neither a Rickey team nor an O'Malley team, but a Buzzie Bavasi and Fresco Thompson team." Bavasi and Thompson are the Dodger vice presidents.
"After we beat the White Sox in the World Series, I received a telegram from Rickey in which I'm sure he meant for me to read between the lines. It stated, 'Congratulations to you, Buzzie and Fresco on the great victory of your team.'''
I asked O'Malley how he feels about Jackie Robinson's occasional blasts at the Dodger management.
He replied, "Jackie has a purpose in life and he is trying to accomplish that purpose in the most effective way possible. And a great way to attract attention is to get the Dodgers involved somehow. Jackie is an expert in the field of publicity. He knows how to get it, and he is surrounded by people who also can tell him how to get it."
"How did you get along with Jackie when he was still playing for the Dodgers?"
"I thought we got along pretty well. When I took over the presidency of the club, Jackie and I had a talk. I said, 'Jackie, if you've been under any wraps at all, about turning the other cheek and all that, I would feel better just thinking of you as a ballplayer who is doing the best for your team. If you feel that a situation calls for you to lose your temper, you've got to lose it, I guess.' And Jackie did. And every time he got into a jam, I think the record shows clearly that I was the first one to come vigorously to his defense."
O'Malley was born in New York City on October 9, 1903, the son of a dry-goods merchant. "Our family circumstances were above average," recalls Walter. "My father had been successful. I remember when I was graduated from engineering school at the University of Pennsylvania, he gave me a boat that slept eight. But the stock-market crash caught him, and financially he never recovered."
Shifting from engineering to law, O'Malley was graduated from Fordham Law School in 1930. "A lot of professional people were selling apples on street corners at the time," says Walter, "but I was fortunate in building up an active practice, handling mostly bankruptcies."
O'Malley gradually invested in a multitude of businesses, including building materials, advertising, hotels, railroads, gas utility and beer. He still holds stock in some of these, and owns outright the New York Subways Advertising Company. Associates estimate his net worth, apart from baseball, at close to $2,000,000.
For his two-thirds interest in the Dodgers, O'Malley has invested $1,316,000. Neither he nor his partner has ever taken dividends. As president of the club, Walter is paid a salary of $50,000 a year. "It's more than our needs require," he told me. "My wife and I have a pleasant, but surprisingly simple existence."
The two live alone at Lake Arrowhead. Their daughter, Mrs. Roland Seidler, resides eighty miles away in San Marino, California, and their son, Peter, is attending the University of Pennsylvania.
The O'Malleys employ no household help, aside from a cleaning woman who comes in once a week. They have but one car, a 1958 Buick Century. Their home is furnished modestly. Mrs. O'Malley exhibits no weakness for jewelry or furs. Walter wears ready-made suits. Perhaps their only luxury of consequence is a twenty-six-foot cabin cruiser, KayO, in which they motor on Lake Arrowhead.
"The boat is called KayO for two reasons," explained O'Malley. "First, my wife's name is Kay. And second, at the time we bought it, we had just been kayoed by the lower court on Chavez Ravine."
Now that he is firmly entrenched in Los Angeles, with a franchise that earns more money, than any other in baseball, would O'Malley object to an American League or a Continental League team's moving into the city?
"Well, put it this way," he replied. "I probably wouldn't handle it in such a way as to make it appear I was objecting. But I actually do not welcome another team in Los Angeles, at least during the period when we're trying to retire some of the fifteen million dollars that we will have invested in our new improvement."
Asked if he honestly felt that he was popular in Los Angeles, O'Malley, after considerable deliberation, responded, "I would have to answer yes. I'm thinking of some way to skirt around it modestly, but I'd have to answer yes. The plaques we've received, the citations, the Christmas cards, the letters of appreciation-I think people mean this. On the other hand, there has been almost a total absence of negative mail.
"I realize, of course, that it's our baseball team that has captured the hearts of the public. Whether that reflects personally in my favor isn't important. If I became persona non grata for some reason, it would be smart of me to step aside and let somebody else direct the dub. We never reached that point in Brooklyn, and I don’t think it's even come up for consideration here. I know that certain of my predecessors in Brooklyn got a very bad press."
"Which predecessors?" I inquired.
"Well, I don't think Mr. Rickey would be offended if I said there were many occasions when he considered suing a newspaper which referred to him as 'El Cheapo,' and where certain writers took out on Mr. Rickey their personal feelings."
"How do you feel about your own New York critics in the press?" "I had a personal press in New York that was unusually good-until the move, that is. Had they put the same amount of energy into keeping us there that they've been using in stories since we left, we would still be in New York."
As a final question I asked O'Malley if he would recommend to other clubs the moving threat as a way to get new ball parks built or old parks refurbished.
"No, I don't think that the threat is a weapon that's effective any more," he answered. "It is used too frequently. I've been accused of using it. I think it is ineffectual because it causes resentment and solidifies whatever opposition you might be having.
"I think it is much better to carry out your negotiations to the last degree, and then, when you can go no farther, simply say, 'Sorry, boys, the jig is up.' Commissioner Moses said that to me in New York. I agreed-and left."
O'Malley now looked at his watch. "Better inspect that freezer again," he said. He opened its door, removed the tray expectantly-and still found no ice. He shook my hand. "Forgive me for not seeing you to your car," he said. "I'm going downstairs to check the fuse box."
THE END
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The average price of a new home then was $12700 about 2.46 times the yearly average wage of $5162. Which was about 1.99 times the price of a new car $2600. Today?
Plus with the loss of your Homemaker Spouse, and with your family debit increasing, your family is at risk!
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