Danny Kaye | Jan. 16, 1977

“Danny Buys a Ballclub”

The Modesto Bee – Jan. 16, 1977

By: Jim Murray

Captain Mitty looked up through tousled hair. “Get him to bed,” he said wearily. “I’ll fly alone.” “But you can’t, sir,” said the sergeant anxiously. “It takes two men to handle that bomber and Von Richtman’s circus is between here and Saulier.” “Somebody’s got to get that ammunition dump,” said Mitty. “I’m going over. Spot of brandy?” There was a rending of wood and splinters flew through the room. “But of a near thing,” said Captain Mitty carelessly. “We only live once, Sergeant,” said Mitty with his faint, fleeting smile. “Or do we?” “It’s forty kilometers through hell, sir,” said the sergeant. Mitty finished one last brandy. “After all,” he said softly, “what isn’t?” The pounding of the cannon increased, there was the rat-tat-tatting of machine guns and from somewhere came the menacing pocketa-pocketa-pocketa of the new flame-throwers…”

--From “The Secret Life of Walter Mitty” by James Thurber

Sam Goldwyn would have loved it. “Walter Mitty Buys A Ball Club” or “No Blindfolds, Please.” Perfect for a musical. Book by Moss Hart. Lyrics by Lerner and Leowe. Theme song by Dmitri Tiomkin. Ballet scenes by the Bolshoi. Any resemblance to any persons living or dead is purely intentional. Filmed through the cooperation of the American and National Baseball Leaques and their subsidiaries. Starring Walter O’Malley as himself, Catfish Hunter as a guy in a black hat, and Danny Kaye as Walter Mitty, the owner, rated “G” for immature audiences only.

The story was too good to be true. Danny Kaye buying a ball club? An expansion team?! Walter Mitty at the old ballpark?! Hans Christian Andersen feeding the pigeons in a domed stadium in Seattle!? Boffo! It’ll break every box-office record in history, play 18 weeks at the Music Hall, an old-fashioned sentimental kind of movie. There should be a part for Shirley Temple and Rin-Tin-Tin in there some place.

I hurried over to the star’s house to get in on this latest development in the Life and Times of Bowie Kuhn and The Grand Old Game.

There he stood, Walter Mitty, himself—tousled red hair, impish eyes, imperious nose, the mouth of the born mimic. He was playing Fritz of the Waldorf or Escoffier at the moment, apron on, swirling butter around in a skillet to make me an omelet. Danny Kaye’s house should run five Michelin stars.

Calling Danny Kaye an “entertainer” is like calling Charlie Chaplin a “comic” or Elizabeth Taylor a “girl.” He wasn’t born, he was whittled. Invented by the Brothers Grimm. He can’t talk, he sings. He can’t walk, he dances. He’s more Peter Pan than Peter O’Malley. You see him come into a room and you look for the wires. The face is so rubbery he could play every Lon Chaney role without makeup. He’s a 6-foot leprechaun. He’s ageless, restless, stopped every show he was ever in and plays three or more roles in some of his pictures. It is impossible for him to do an ungraceful thing whether it’s cook, dance, sing, golf, fly, walk or talk.

So what’s he doing in the humorless world of big-league baseball? What is a sprite doing in all that cigar smoke and double-crossing and double-dealing? What is Walter Mitty doing with Walter O’Malley! What is a guy right out of Hans Christian Andersen doing with chewing-gum magnates, Cleveland iron mongers, distress real estate operators, food franchisers, Texas oil men and brewers? What’s a dreamer doing with these hard cases, these money-changers? He won’t get a smile out of that crowd.

Danny Kaye as a mogul?! Never! Danny Kaye playing second base, perhaps. Danny Kaye turning the double-play. Danny Kaye as Walter Mitty as Babe Ruth, sure! Did he buy the ball club so he…

“It’s a boyhood dream,” insists Danny Kaye. “Ever since I used to go to Ebbets Field and yell, ‘Lavagetto, you’re a bum!’ I’ve wanted to be in baseball. A ball club of one’s own! You know what that means to a kid from Brooklyn!?

“We first tried to buy the Giants. The Giants! I remember the old Polo Grounds. When we went up there, it was like a safari in enemy territory. We felt like Columbus in the New World. This is Walter Mitty come true.

“When the Seattle franchise came through, we first tried to buy the White Sox. But then we decided to go with the expansion team. Seattle is a big-league city. It can’t miss. It can’t miss. My partner, Lester Smith, and I looked at all the angles. A glorious adventure! I can’t tell you. The conference calls. The crises. What color will the uniforms be? What will the name be? Who’s on first? What’s on second? Is there a Koufax out there? A DiMaggio? What a part! I used to fly across the county just to watch the Dodgers clinch the pennant. I’m a baseball nut. Opening Day! The ‘Crucial’ Series!”

It started to rain. Walter Mitty lighted a cigarette. He stood against the wall. He put his shoulders back, his heels together. “To hell with the handkerchief,” said Walter Mitty scornfully. He took one last drag and snapped it away. With a faint, fleeting smile playing on his lips, he faced the firing squad…

The name of the team is the “Mariners.” It should be the “Mitty’s.” Pocketa-pocketa-pocketa.

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