The boys - eight white, two black, including Buddy Griffey of the Donora Griffeys - walked out. Once in Pittsburgh, the hotel put up a screen between the players and other diners. He had played on a mixed basketball team back in Donora, Pa. His place was with the hitters, and they loved him for that. At All-Star Games, he would see Aaron, Mays, Banks, et al, sitting in a corner, maybe playing a hand or two of cards before batting practice.

He was a lodge member, who acknowledged black players. When I was working on the unauthorized biography “ Stan Musial: An American Life,” which came out in 2011, old opponents recalled how Musial knew their names after they had been in the majors only a few days. Stan the Man was loved in clubhouses, too. The celebrities were stunned to watch the baseball player get up front and remind the crowd how he once struck out in that state Republicans cheered him. “That’s why they booed us and threw things at us. “We were well aware they were against us,” the thoughtful Dickinson said a few years ago. Michener, Arthur Schlesinger, Byron (Whizzer) White, a couple of Kennedy wives, Jeff Chandler and Angie Dickinson. Nobody called them “red states” back then, but there was considerable disdain for the Democrats who came spilling off the chartered plane - James A. Kennedy to join a campaign in the Midwest. How likable was he? In the fall of 1960, Musial was recruited by John F. In the rabid heart of Brooklyn, Dodgers fans called him “that man,” endowing him with a nickname that outlasts his passing Saturday at 92. Stan the Man was considered the best, a potent mix of power and consistency. These were the late years of DiMaggio and Feller, the time of Williams and Robinson, the early years of Mays and Aaron. It needs to be said, over and over again, that Stan the Man was voted by The Sporting News as the best baseball player of the postwar decade, from 1946 through 1955.

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