ALICE AND LEFTY EXCHANGE LETTERS, AS DAYS GROW ROSIER FOR COLT .45S

Coleslaw, Texas
May 11, 1963

Dear Lefty,
     I saw Miss Ona, your old numbers teacher, the other day and she asked
about you.  She said she read the papers this spring and, having seen your
math work, that you holding out for more money was a FARSE.  She said you
never learned to borra from column to column, and she doubted that you
ever would.
     She told me she only passed you because pressure had been on her as
you were an athlete.  I guess you are right about her being an old maid,
and etc. etc. etc.
     Well, I am still working at the dime store, and sometimes Lefty I
wish in my work that I didn't have to meet the public so much.  The minute
you caught the bus for Apache Junction they started into my personal life. 
Like Mrs. Hoyt Brisbee, who says Alice, you are such a pretty and nice
girl I HATE TO SEE YOU WASTED ON THAT PHONY.
     Everybody says that if you ever marry me it will be the miracle of
the century.  I always say that miracles do happen, as the Colt .45s won
three straight from the Cubs.  Ha, ha.
     I guess you heard that Clovis Johnson came home from college last
week, and has been trying to date me.  Pa says I should.  Pa says that old
man Johnson's money looks like more security to him than your hairy
pitching arm.
     There's a lot more, but I know you have enough troubles and I don't
want to worry you none.
                                             You know me, Lefty.
                                             Alice

May 12, 1963

Dear Alice,
     Things are looking much better, thank goodness.  We are starting to
win a little and our manager, Harry Craft, says it's all right for us to
start going out in the daytime again.
     I'll say this, though.  During all those grim weeks, we never got
down on ourselves.  We never lost our sense of humor, or our spirit, or
our appetites.  
     What burns me up is the way the fans act.  When the Mets lose,
everybody laughs.  When we lose, everybody gets mad.  Do they think we
like getting beat? 
     I tell you, Alice, when you have a road trip like we had in the East,
it takes courage just to come home.  You can't imagine how we felt.  Here
we had been gone 11 days and we come home with two wins to show for it,
and we land at 3 in the morning and nobody wants to get off the plane.
     It's pitch black outside and the morning moisture has fogged the
windows, and you can't see a blessed thing.
     "Let's make the writers get off first," said Jim Campbell.
     "Maybe we ought to wear our batting helmets," said Don Nottebart.
     And then we open the door and we look out and guess who's waiting for
us?  Nobody.  From the rear of the plane somebody says, "Welcome home,
Cactus League Champs."
     That's how it is in last place, Alice.  Even a large, hostile crowd
is better than no crowd at all.
     Actually, I shouldn't say there was nobody there.  Two mechanics
showed up, one baggage man and three players' wives, and one of them
couldn't find her car keys.
     But you know me, Alice.  I'm not complaining about the fans.  They've
been good to us, and if they had come out to the airport I wouldn't have
blamed 'em for bringing a rope.  Even so, we didn't take any chances. 
When the bus pulled away from the airport Johnny Temple yelled to the
driver:
     "Turn the light off, bussy.  There may be snipers."
     Well, that trip East was as rough as a stucco bathtub.  Out in Los
Angeles, Sandy Koufax shut us out on two hits and struck out 14.  Koufax
is quite a guy.  His index finger has had more publicity than some
people's bodies.
     Then we got to Philadelphia, and you know what happened to us the
first three games there.  One night a bunch of us were walking back to the
hotel, and the breeze was blowing in from the paper mill.
     "What's that awful smell?" asked Bob Aspromonte.
     "I don't know," said Don Mc Mahon, "but it wasn't there until we got
into town."
     Then we split a couple games in Cincinnati, but the Reds clobbered us
in the third one, 13-3.  You might recall that Frank Robinson killed us
with five straight hits.  He got two homers, a double and two singles. 
Robinson's weakness is a three-base hit.
     While we were in New York, some of the Met writers almost got in a
fight in the press box over which one was the first to write "I Love the
Mets" in his column.  I don't think we'll have that problem with our
writers in Houston.
     But we're really just one big happy family.  The part I like best is
all the fun and kidding and fellowship on the bus going back to the hotel
at night.  Once Hal Woodeshick, our other lefthander, was talking about
the time he got hit in the jaw with a wild throw before a game.
     "It caught me right here," said Hal, "and knocked me out cold.  At
least that's what they told me when they revived me."
     "Woody," said Temple, "what makes you think they ever revived you?"
     See what I mean?
     Once we get going and start winning, it'll be happy times for sure.
     The point is, when the Colts lose we feel worse than anyone.  But
don't worry about the fans.  Just remember, Alice, a man is never so rich
as when he has a lot of money.
                                         You know me, Alice.
                                         Lefty

P.S. We made it four straight today.  Tell Clovis to put that in his
parking meter.