A Winning Pitch: An Update to Our Nov. 10, 2008, My Turn

Michael Goldsmith advocated for MLB to play a bigger role in fighting ALS. Baseball listened.   
Mark Starr
NEWSWEEK

From the magazine issue dated Jul 13, 2009

It's been three years since Michael Goldsmith received what he calls his "death sentence": a diagnosis of ALS, also known as Lou Gehrig's disease. In recent months, Goldsmith has seen the paralyzing muscular disorder, which has no cure, progress rapidly. His speech is impaired, and he's more reliant on a wheelchair.

Still, Goldsmith, 58, plans to be at Yankee Stadium July 4 to partake in baseball's 70th-anniversary celebration of what may be the sport's most memorable non-game moment: Gehrig's "luckiest man" farewell speech. Before every major-league game, a ceremony will honor the great Yankees first baseman as part of the launch of MLB's "4ALS Awareness" campaign.

It was Goldsmith's My Turn last November that triggered events. Since his diagnosis, Goldsmith has found solace in the game he loved as a boy. Baseball and ALS are inextricably linked through Gehrig—and to Goldsmith, it made sense that MLB should assume a leadership role in fighting the disease. "It's time to end the heartbreaking legacy that bears his name," he wrote. "I now look to the game of my youth to give me and others like me a chance for life."

New York Times columnist George Vecsey picked up on the idea—and, most important, baseball commissioner Bud Selig did, too. Selig says he has watched the Lou Gehrig biopic, The Pride of the Yankees, at least 50 times (and still cries at the end). "If our history can … help find a cure for this horrible disease," he tells NEWSWEEK, "it's the right thing to do."

Less than a week after the My Turn was published, MLB, working with Goldsmith, had already begun planning its Gehrig tribute. It's only the start; Selig promises an ongoing partnership with the ALS community. At all 15 games on July 4, the 4ALS logo will be prominently displayed on uniforms, batting helmets, and first base, and there will be live and video readings of Gehrig's speech as well as fundraising activities.

Goldsmith has been buoyed by MLB's commitment to his cause. While he may not consider himself "the luckiest man on the face of the earth," he recognizes the enormous potential of this campaign. "ALS robs us of our future," he e-mails. "MLB's decision has produced renewed hope."

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70 years ago, Lou Gehrig showed the world strength in the face of death

BY Anthony Mccarron
DAILY NEWS SPORTS WRITER – June 28, 2009

Lou Gehrig walked unsteadily to the microphone on that sweltering afternoon, a uniform once sewn to fit his hulking frame now hanging loosely, his blue eyes downcast. When baseball's Iron Horse slowly began to speak, the cacophony of noise in the bleachers around then-12-year-old Irv Welzer stopped.

"All of a sudden, the quiet came," recalls Welzer, who bought a 55-cent ticket to history that day. "Out there in the bleachers, in those seats, you had real, real fans. It really hit them. The hush came and we realized what he was saying.

"By then, we were teary-eyed."

It was July 4, 1939, Lou Gehrig Appreciation Day, just over two months since Gehrig's last game and the day he delivered his famous "Luckiest Man" speech. The message of hope and gratitude from a dying man was so powerful that it still resonates across baseball and in the fight against the awful disease that took Gehrig's life less than two years later at 37.

Since his death, Gehrig, the greatest player to come from New York City, has perhaps superseded his remarkable accomplishments on the baseball field to become an icon for the quest to find a cure for Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis (ALS), which is better known as Lou Gehrig's disease. It is a sickness that destroys the nerve cells controlling muscles and ultimately causes paralysis. After diagnosis, most patients live for three to five years.

Right now, about 35,000 Americans are suffering from the disease, according to Ray Robinson, a member of the board of the ALS Association who also wrote the Gehrig biography, "Iron Horse: Lou Gehrig in His Time." Each year, the disease kills about 5,000 and about 6,000 new cases are diagnosed.

On Saturday, the 70th anniversary of the speech that some have dubbed the game's Gettysburg Address - William Safire included it in a book about the great speeches in history, alongside those of popes, queens and Pericles - every home team in baseball will host a reading of Gehrig's speech during the Seventh inning stretch as part of baseball's efforts to raise funds and awareness for ALS organizations.

Players will wear special uniform patches and games will be played with a specially-marked first base, which has happened only a handful of times in baseball history, says Jacqueline Parkes, MLB's chief marketing officer, including the day Jackie Robinson's number was retired. In announcing the campaign, baseball commissioner Bud Selig called Gehrig's speech "one of the defining moments in baseball history."

An era of great orators was dawning - Churchill and FDR would soon make their extraordinary wartime speeches - but Gehrig was a reluctant genius. Shy by nature, he did not want to make the speech and dreaded the day of honor. Even as the event began, while Gehrig sat nervously in the dugout, he told Yankee manager Joe McCarthy, "I'd give anything to get out of this."

"It's certainly baseball's most tragic moment, its greatest speech and probably the game's most humane moment, too, when baseball became a lesson in life," says Jonathan Eig, who wrote the 2005 biography "Luckiest Man: The Life and Death of Lou Gehrig."

"Especially back then, we tended not to think of players as human beings," Eig adds. "We didn't have the same celebrity culture we do now. If a player got sick or had a personal problem, it was private. Gehrig was really one of the first to go public. He could've retired into anonymity, but he told the world how he felt about dying. It was unusual.

"He celebrated his life with the speech instead of dwelling on the terminal diagnosis."

***

Gehrig was the son of German-immigrant parents and grew up in a Yorkville tenement, dazzling a Yankee scout while slugging for Columbia University. Later, Gehrig blossomed into perhaps the finest first baseman in history with a career average of .340 with 493 homers and 1,995 RBI and a streak of 2,130 consecutive games. Hall of Fame rules were waived so he could be inducted the same year as the speech.

But at the end of his career, Gehrig, the man known for his powerful physique, the man legendary sportswriter Jim Murray once called "Gibraltar in cleats," had weakened. In pictures from spring training of 1939, it appears as if his once-mighty shoulders had shrunk.

Robinson, in his book, writes that Gehrig had trouble tying his shoelaces.

So on May 2, Gehrig told manager McCarthy that he was benching himself. Babe Dahlgren took over first. Gehrig was diagnosed with ALS in June, though the public was unsure what that meant. There were even controversial, erroneous reports - including in the Daily News - that said what Gehrig had was contagious.

"Did I know he was dying? I didn't," says Robinson, who as an 18-year-old sat in the right-field bleachers, his eyes filling with tears as Gehrig delivered his speech. The tears, plus the haze that hung over the field from the cigar and cigarette smoke of a crowd of 61,808 made it difficult for Robinson to see his hero. "I don't think many people knew. Most people then were unsophisticated about medicine and I think they confused it with polio."

The day of the speech, which came between games of a doubleheader against the Washington Senators, was hot and muggy. "Everybody wore short sleeves, but everybody's shirts became wrinkled from their perspiration," says Nancy Welaj, who came from Manville, N.J., about 45 miles away, for a different celebration - her future brother-in-law Johnny Welaj, a Senators outfielder, was honored before the opener.

Welaj, now 89, was sitting close to the field, she recalls, among bigwigs from Manville. Gehrig, at one point, gave her a small wave. "It was wonderful," she says. When he spoke, Gehrig's voice quivered, Welaj says. "He was in a very saddened state.

"After the speech, we were all numb. Then we cheered and everybody clapped. We clapped until we couldn't clap anymore."

With his teammates from the '39 club and many, including Babe Ruth, from the 1927 "Murderer's Row" watching, Gehrig initially refused to speak after collecting gifts and trophies and listening to the speeches made about him. Eig writes that there was a "big blast of noise from the crowd. 'We want Lou!'" Gehrig turned toward the dugout and workers prepared to haul everything away, but McCarthy spoke into Gehrig's ear, Eig says.

Gehrig followed his manager's directive and moved toward the microphone. Then came the quiet that Welzer, who grew up to be a two-time, Tony Award-winning Broadway producer, describes descending over the Stadium. Dahlgren was on alert - McCarthy had told him earlier to catch Gehrig if he started to totter, Eig says.

When Gehrig spoke, he never looked up - the way Gary Cooper, playing Gehrig, does in the movie "The Pride of the Yankees" - but he delivered an eloquent address. Several biographies note that Gehrig and his wife, Eleanor, had prepared some remarks the night before, but Gehrig used no notes.

His voice cracked, but that still couldn't hide his New York accent and there was no trace of the slurred speech that sometimes afflicts ALS victims. He opened by saying, "Fans, for the past two weeks you have been reading about the bad break I got. Yet today I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of this Earth." He ended by saying, "I have an awful lot to live for."

In between, Gehrig thanked everyone from fans to his teammates to Yankee brass such as McCarthy and Miller Huggins to his family, including Eleanor, who he said "has been a tower of strength and shown more courage than you dreamed existed." At the end, Ruth hugged him, a truce in a rift between the men that had lasted since 1934.

Rosaleen Doherty, a Daily News reporter, sat with the Gehrig family and wrote in the next day's editions, "Lou's wife was trembling from head to foot, but when she spoke, her voice was low and even." She quoted Eleanor Gehrig saying, "I'm glad Lou was able to walk out there and make his little talk over the microphone. I knew he wouldn't let the fans down."

***

The speech laid bare a man who was difficult to know. "Suddenly," Eig says, "everyone's eyes were opened. He was a much more thoughtful person than anyone realized. He was so shy, writers hadn't gotten to know him. I don't think he knew it was a life-changing moment or that it changed the public view of him. He probably saw the great response it got in the papers the next few days. People left him alone after that, he was allowed privacy. There weren't reporters following him around like there would be today. He just went forward with his life, trying to figure out what was next."

Today, Gehrig is an important piece in the search for a cure for the disease. Just having Gehrig's name and baseball feats attached to the disease raises awareness, says Ellyn C. Phillips, the president of the ALS Association Greater Philadelphia chapter. And the fact that a powerful man nicknamed "The Iron Horse" who showed up for work every day for almost 14 straight seasons, died from ALS makes it clear "how hideous the disease is," says Phillips, whose husband died from it 25 years ago.

Phillips says ALS organizations try to stress Gehrig's final words. "Staying positive is important," she says. "It makes a difference in quality of life."

Some people, Phillips says, interpret Gehrig's words as pure gratitude, that he's the "luckiest man" because he has family and support from teammates. Others believe the tough Gehrig is girding himself for a challenge, that he's saying, "I'm not going to let this disease beat me," Phillips says.

But on that hot day, nearly 70 years ago, when Gehrig's final words rang out over the public address system, it was hard for a little boy in the bleachers to think the speech meant anything other than sadness. All these years later, Irv Welzer still remembers the melancholy he shared with thousands of others packed into the Stadium.

"They felt like I felt," Welzer said. "Even at 12 years old, you know. I was a dyed-in-the-wool Yankee fan. Lou was my idol of all idols. For me, this was a very sad day because I saw that this was going to be the end of Lou as far as the Yankees were concerned. This was it.

"We were losing Lou."

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KID PLAYED CATCH WITH GEHRIG 70 YEARS AGO

By KEVIN KERNAN, New York Post
June 28, 2009

LIFE is never a straight line. Robert Tierney was a 15-year-old kid playing baseball in a park one June day in 1939 in Rochester, Minn., when out of nowhere came Lou Gehrig.

"He was visiting the Mayo Clinic and was looking for a place to work out," Tierney, now 85, says in a strong voice. He remembers that day as if it were yesterday.

"As far as we know, I'm the oldest guy alive who has ever played catch with Lou Gehrig," Tierney says from his home in California. "It was great at the time, I didn't know all this stuff was going to happen."

No one, not even the Great Gehrig, knew what was ahead as he suffered from amyotrophic-lateral sclerosis, which would soon become known as Lou Gehrig's Disease.

This was a much different time. Back then, unless you went to a major league game, you only saw your heroes in the newsreels or in the newspaper. Gehrig was a big man, but for all his ability, Tierney could see stunning cracks in the armor because of ALS. The Hall of Famer had played his last game. He appeared in just eight games that season, batting .143. The man who had played in 2,130 consecutive games was a shell of his former superstar self because of the ravages of ALS.

"He wasn't as frisky as you would expect a major league baseball player to be," Tierney explains, "but he was hoping to be able to play baseball again. He was really struggling with that disease."

Gehrig gave Robert some sound baseball advice. Tierney was a backup second baseman. He could not move well because of a leg injury. "I played catch with him a few times and I was real gimpy," Tierney recalls.

Gehrig suggested he become a pitcher. Tierney did just that.

"I had a lot of fun the next several years pitching, pitched down in Louisiana, pitched on some barnstorming teams," Tierney says. "He gave me some great advice. He talked baseball with all the kids."

Tierney met Gehrig "six or seven times" during his stay in Rochester, at the park or different events around town, and got Gehrig to sign a baseball.

"The guy who played Lou Gehrig in the movie did a dynamite job," Tierney says of Gary Cooper, "but he wasn't Lou Gehrig, I can tell you that. Lou Gehrig was just one great guy. He was so sincere. There could never be another one like Lou Gehrig. He had a great way with kids. He'd play first in our games, but wouldn't hit, he didn't want to hurt anyone."

On July Fourth that season, the Yankees honored Gehrig at Yankee Stadium. That is where Gehrig made his famous farewell speech, saying, "I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of the earth." Life would continue for both men, but never in a straight line. Gehrig died less than two years later on June 2, 1941, 16 years to the day he replaced Wally Pipp at first base.

Eventually, Tierney married. He and his wife Geraldine adopted two boys and they had a wonderful life, married more than 40 years. "We both got married a little late," Tierney explains. He worked for an airline. She was a deputy city clerk and worked for IBM. In 1999, Geraldine passed away.

She suffered from ALS and died from complications of the deadly disease. Life is never a straight line.

"It's a terrible disease," says Tierney, who is actively involved with the San Diego chapter of the ALS Association. "It sneaks up on you. Geraldine was a great mother, really a jewel. She tried to keep the disease from me for several years. One day, she was down in the garden and couldn't get up. She had to wait for a neighbor to come home to help. I found out about that later."

MLB will raise awareness on July Fourth. It's been 70 years since Tierney first saw Gehrig in that park. After all these years, there still is no cure for ALS.

Robert Tierney always will have his memories of Gehrig and that autographed baseball. Gehrig's birthday was June 19. Recently, at the assisted living home where Tierney lives, it was movie night. They played "Pride of the Yankees."

"In the movie, when the kid comes out of the crowd and says, 'Don't you remember me,' that kind of reminded me of myself," Tierney says.

His story is no movie, though, and his memories of Lou Gehrig on this Fourth of July will come straight from the heart.

The Luckiest Man

On July Fourth, the Yankees and each home team will host an on-field reading of Lou Gehrig's Farewell Speech during the seventh-inning stretch. All players will wear a "4uALS" patch on their chest and MLB will promote the effort in a variety of ways. In addition, MLB.com will conduct an online auction to raise funds for the cause, and MLB will continue to work with four key organizations to identify additional opportunities to raise funds and awareness.