Phillies collapse of 1964 still felt by fans

Half-century-old relics from the 1964 Phillies are scattered all over this region like pieces of a shattered heart.

The baseballs Jim Bunning autographed, the Dick Allen rookie cards, the team photos, the yellowed newspaper clippings, the Phillies merchandise that sold as briskly here that memorable summer as Beatles records.

Strips of unused World Series tickets, as if awaiting some magical reversal of fate, are kept in scrapbooks, displayed in frames, stored in safe-deposit boxes.

At its Preview Gallery in Northeast Philadelphia, the Philadelphia Sports Hall of Fame recently unveiled a display of '64 Phillies memorabilia, including one of Allen's famous 40-ounce bats.

Even more commonplace than the physical artifacts is the mental residue, a civic feeling Paul Owens, the Phillies late general manager, once characterized as "a great big cloud hanging over the city."

Fifty years later, many of the Philadelphians traumatized by 1964 are gone. For those who survive, a pair of Phillies world championships has helped obscure the painful memories.

But more than any single event in Philadelphia's sports history, that season shaped and, many would argue, continues to shape the outlook of Philadelphia's fans. It's why, even now, the 1964 Phillies remain so vivid a chapter in our sports narrative.

"One thing that I've noticed over the years," said Bobby Wine, a Phillies shortstop in 1964 and a coach when they won the franchise's first World Series 16 years later, "is that people here remember 1964 better than they do 1980."

Those who endured 1964 - so traumatic that it left hard-bitten Howard Eskin in tears - will understand forever that, no matter how late in a game or deep in a season, disaster is lurking.

"That season has forever colored my approach to Philadelphia's teams," said Marc Inver, a fan from Lafayette Hill. "There have been seven world titles during my 64 years, but I can never again be optimistic about our teams' chances."

He's not alone. James McGahey, a Lancaster minister and Philadelphia native who blogs about sports, wrote that not even his deep Christian faith can help him forget.

"In moments of thoughtful reflection, I can see how they influenced my own fandom at a fundamental level," McGahey wrote. "For me, losing and choking are the expected results whenever my Philly teams play. . . . That failure taught me a dubious lesson I wish I could unlearn but deep down inside know I never will."

When the Phillies finally ended their historic frustrations and won titles in 1980 and 2008, many got past their disappointment and the negativity it engendered. But others did not.

"I had a boss who was an ardent Phillies fan," said Meridyth Senes, 67, a fan from Bala Cynwyd. "He was at [their last home appearance in the 10-game losing streak]. He started to get deep chest pains. He was rushed to the emergency room. It wasn't a heart attack, but it was a serious heart problem. He never watched, listened to, or attended another Phillies game. He said they'd broken his heart."

Those who don't remember that Gene Mauch's Phillies blew a 61/2-game lead with just 12 to play are sometimes baffled why so many Philadelphians can't forget it.

The 1993 Phillies were as unaware of franchise history as they were of etiquette, so when their 11-game division lead was trimmed to four in mid-September, they were puzzled and angered by the angst that gripped Philadelphia.

"Players couldn't understand why there was such a fuss," recalled Chris Wheeler, then one of the team's broadcasters.  "I tried to explain it was one of those 'You had to be there' situations. [I told them] Jim Bunning pitched his perfect game, and Johnny Callison won the 1964 All-Star Game. The stars were aligned. We all believed the World Series was inevitable."

And, for a time, the impact of the infamous implosion also extended into the Phillies clubhouse. Flamboyant pitcher Bo Belinsky, who died in 2001, found that out when he joined the '65 Phils, destined to finish sixth.

"I remember walking into the clubhouse on the first day of spring training," he said in 1989. "I bounced in, looked at all my new teammates, and said: 'Hi, guys!' Nothing. Not one player said a word. It was like a morgue, like someone had just died. I thought to myself, 'Whoa, what happened here?' And then I remembered . . . '64."

As powerful as the evidence might appear, not everyone buys into the theory that 1964's blown pennant was a transformative event for Philadelphia.

"To me, '64 wasn't a sea-change, it was confirmation," said Mitch Nathanson, a Villanova law professor who has written about the Phillies and is finishing a biography of Allen, that team's rookie star. "People forget that Philadelphians didn't feel good about this team for a lot of years before that one.

"It's true that a lot of fans got on board for the ride that season. But when it all fell apart, they were like: 'Oh, that's right. These are the Phillies. They aren't ever going to win.' "

To back that up, Nathanson pointed to all the booing at Connie Mack Stadium that season even though the Phils were in first place through most of it. Following their final, 0-7 homestand, several Phillies alluded to the boos.

"What hurts more than anything," catcher Clay Dalrymple told The Inquirer, "is the individual that comes down, leans into the dugout and says nasty personal things. This happens in Philadelphia. I've never seen so many individuals walk up, look you in the face, and say: 'You no good so-and-so.' "

In that same story, Ruben Amaro Sr., the current GM's father and a Phils shortstop in '64, expressed a similar sentiment.

"I think everybody just wants to get out of this place," he said.

The negativity they encountered has a long history in Philadelphia, one Nathanson dates to the early 19th century, when the city began to resent its loss of status as the nation's political, cultural, and financial center.

"That now manifests itself through sports and particularly baseball," Nathanson said. "In this way, we retain a link to our fathers, grandfathers, and great-grandfathers. In short, it's in our blood, passed down from one generation to the next. . . . It's what makes us uniquely Philadelphian."