The Poignant Life of Catfish Hunter

JIM “CATFISH” HUNTER, the former baseball star, had a good country and small-town upbringing in and around Hertford, North Carolina. He was a big game pitcher who knew how to win. He threw strikes, even to dangerous hitters, rarely walked a batter, and helped first the Oakland A’s and then the New York Yankees to win World Series titles. He was on five World Series winning teams.

Jim “Catfish” Hunter

Jim was the youngest of ten kids, born to two wonderful parents. His mother, Lillie, was a warm woman who loved to cook cakes, pies and peanut brittle. His father, Abbot, worked 14-hour days logging pine in the woods or farming. Abbot was not a big man, maybe 5'10" with thin wrists and ankles, but enormously strong through the chest, and very strong, sound and opinionated in his thinking.

Some of the Hunter family

He told all his children: You don’t have to say much if you’re doing the right thing. But make sure you know what you’re doing. Be a leader, in a modest way. Work very hard. Show loyalty and help good people in their time of need. Choose your friends carefully. Steer clear of loudmouths and the problems they stir up. Never let anyone disrespect you or your family.

Jim’s older brothers taught him to pitch. Jim was a great natural athlete, a star pitcher at Perquimans County High, an All-State wide receiver who won the state 440-yard dash. Plenty of Major League baseball scouts starting coming out to see Jim pitch. The one Jim liked most was a straight-talking former journeyman catcher from Salisbury, North Carolina named Clyde Kluttz.

Another thing that influenced Jim Hunter a little was going to a Phillies game with his Dad and brothers, when Robin Roberts was pitching. Roberts had an easy motion and didn’t appear to throw hard. But he was masterful that day; one big league hitter after another flailed at the ball and went down. Almost every hitter who faced him went oh-for-four — a comfortable oh-for-four.

Jim’s friends thought “Hunter” was the perfect name for Jimmy Hunter. He was a guy who’d have been perfectly happy to be a hunter or a game warden if he hadn’t been such a great athlete. He loved Remington 1100 shotguns, loved to hear the sound rabbits made when they ran, loved to train a hunting dog to catch the smell of a deer.

On Thanksgiving Day 1963, Jim was out hunting with several family members. His older brother Pete’s gun went off and 45 shotgun pellets went into Jim’s right foot. The foot was a bloody mess. They rushed Jim to the hospital, where a doctor took out about a dozen of the pellets but couldn’t get the rest of them. At first, the accident seemed to have ended any hopes of a Major League baseball career. The little toe on his right foot was totally gone.

But doctors told the Hunters that the little toe is sort of an extra appendage. A pitcher doesn’t need a healthy little toe, if the other four toes on that foot are in good shape. Jim healed up, quietly worked like hell, and began dominating high school hitters again.

Clyde Kluttz

Clyde Kluttz was still around, observing, encouraging Jim, giving paternal advice. It was Kluttz who showed him the proper grip for a sinker ball.

In June 1964, Charlie O. Finley, the irascible, visionary, headstrong, untrustworthy SOB who owned the Oakland Athletics, signed Jim to a $75,000 contract. $75,000 was a fortune to the Hunter family but Charlie Finley ran a little roughshod over Jim, told him he had only 24 hours to accept that $75,000, or he’d never see the money again.

This sowed a little seed of distrust in Jim, the idea that Finley was a disrespectful loudmouth, and Jim would have to fight him to get paid what he was worth.

Finley believed that baseball was too boring, and wasn’t being promoted properly. He wanted colored bats and balls, and he wanted his players to have colorful nicknames. So he told Jim ‘From now on, your nickname is “Catfish” because you ran away as a boy and came home with two catfish that you caught.’

Jim wasn’t going to argue over that little fairy tale but didn’t bother to tell his parents about his new name. Lillie Hunter read about it in the newspaper and got mad; she’d raised a big flock of children, and none of them had ever run away from home — or had any reason to.

Jim had a way with words and a great drawl. When he was at the Mayo Clinic, in Rochester, Minnesota, trying to get his right foot worked on some more, he thought it was amazing how attentive the nurses were, and peculiar how many questions they were asking him, about all kinds of things. Finally, he realized the nurses just liked to hear him talk.

In the winter of 1965, the A’s sent a bunch of young players to play winter ball in Caracas, Venezuela. Jim was miserable. He hated the brutal sun, disliked the local customs, couldn’t speak a word of Spanish… He finally went to the doctor and faked an arm injury. He figured to get out of Venezuela, the injury would have to be serious, so each time the doctor even touched Jim’s right arm, Jim screamed. So the doctor put him in a wrist-to-elbow cast, which was unbearably itchy in the heat.

Even then, it was hard to get permission to fly back to the states. Finally, the A’s brass said okay. The cabbie driving Jim to the airport didn’t speak English. Jim figured the airport must be a common destination for cabs. He said “AIR-PORT! slowly and loudly. He flapped his wings like a bird and pointed to the sky. The cabbie finally nodded and took him on a three-hour ride which didn’t go near any airport and ended up back at the hotel. Jim’s old teammates on the A’s teased him for years about his days in Caracas.

The A’s were awful in those days, but that meant there were roster spots available, so Jim Hunter never pitched a day in the Minors. He soon became the A’s ace, and in 1966 and 1967 made the American League All-Star team.

On May 8, 1968, Jim Hunter pitched a perfect game — retired all 27 batters he faced. It was just the seventh perfect game in Major League history. Aside from the famous World Series perfect game by Don Larsen, it was the first perfect game by an American League pitcher since 1922. Jim also had three hits in that game, and drove in several runs at the plate.

In 1968, the Oakland A’s finished over .500 — the first time the A’s had been over .500 since 1952, when the team played in Philadelphia. By 1968, a core of gifted young players was in place. Sal Bando at third base. Dick Green at second. Bert Campaneris at short. Joe Rudi in left field, Bill North in center and Reggie Jackson in right. Hunter, Vida Blue and Ken Holtzman pitching. Rollie Fingers in the bullpen.

Reggie Jackson, the star rightfielder and slugger

A first-rate manager, Dick Williams, managed this group and from 1969–1976, the Oakland A’s won at least 87 games every year. With Williams pounding into them the fundamentals of baseball, they won 101 games in 1971, won the World Series in ’72, ’73 and ’74, and won 98 more games in 1975.

Jim Hunter kept things simple. When backup catcher Gene Tenace met with Jim to talk about what pitches he wanted to throw to Detroit Tigers hitters in a playoff game, Jim said: “What do you mean? Whatever you put down.” He didn’t believe in shaking off the catcher. Tenace thought he must be an outstanding signal-calling catcher until the next game when he caught John Odom and Odom shook him off constantly.

Catfish had an ideal pitcher’s temperament: intensely competitive but also cheerful, calm, and funny. He knew himself and what he could and couldn’t do, not only in general but on each particular night. He gave up a lot of home runs — but most of them were solo home runs. He’d be setting people down, pitching a very tidy game, when someone would hit a 450-foot home run off him, and he wasn’t fazed at all. All part of the game.

Behnid the calm, cheerful demeanor was an intense competitor

In the 1974 World Series, the Los Angeles Dodgers were the favorites. They’d won 102 games that year. But Bill Buckner of the Dodgers made the mistake of saying publicly that only a few of the A’s could make the Dodgers roster. Jim Hunter resented that remark, and used it for motivation, as a number of the A’s did. The A’s won the World Series, four games to one.

Jim Hunter was the ace pitcher, Reggie Jackson was the star slugger and each helped the other one win, so things were good between them. But Reggie Jackson and Jim Hunter were a study in contrasts. Reggie was a city kid, proud and touchy. Very bright — he’d tell you himself that he had a 160 IQ. He was a classic, free-swinging slugger who loved the spotlight and would end up, quite deservedly, in the Hall of Fame. But he complicated every locker room he was in because he craved attention. He struck poses that ruffled people’s feathers, and said things that rubbed people the wrong way. He was the loudmouth Jim had been raised to avoid.

Jim Hunter never told anyone he was smart; he just did things well. He didn’t need the spotlight, didn’t worry if the other pitcher threw the ball harder than he did. He almost always had better control. He threw strikes. He also had excellent control when answering questions from the press. He was direct, polite and as honest as possible. He very rarely criticized anyone publicly, and when he did, he did it with humor so it didn’t sting.

He always returned home to North Carolina, and loved nothing more than going out hunting with his dad on the third Monday in November — the first day of hunting season. When he spoke about wanting to buy a pretty house on a lake, Abbot replied ‘A lakefront is no place to bring up kids. Raise’em on a farm so they’ll appreciate hard work.’

The A’s never drew big crowds at home, even for playoff games, and Charlie Finley always worried about money. After the 1973 World Series title, Finley bought his players the cheesiest World Series rings Jim Hunter had ever seen, with green glass instead of diamonds, and Jim didn’t hold back about that.

Charlie Finley, a showman and a Scooge

Charlie Finley’s Scrooge-like ways came back to bite him when he tried to stiff Jim out of 50,000 dollars that Finley was supposed to pay to a life insurance annuity. In December 1974, the arbitrator Peter Seitz declared Jim a free agent. Finley kept trying to pretend it was all a misunderstanding, and Hunter should sign a new deal before he hit the open market. Finley tried bluster. He tried emotional appeals. He said he’d taken a big chance on Hunter, signing a young man with a badly damaged right foot when no one else was interested. But Jim had tired of Finley and decided to sign elsewhere.

Now that any team in baseball could legally make him an offer, about 20 teams inquired. Phone calls poured into the law offices of Jim Hunter’s lawyer in Ahoskie, North Carolina. Owners came in person to plead their case. The Kansas City Royals and San Diego Padres were salivating. The Dodgers offered Hunter a 2-year $3 million contract — but Hunter hadn’t forgiven the Dodgers for Bill Buckner’s comment in 1974. And when Jim asked Tommy John of the Dodgers if he liked the Dodgers manager Tom Lasorda, Tommy John said no, he didn’t.

Suddenly, Ahoskie, North Carolina became a well-known spot for baseball people

Clyde Kluttz was working for the Yankees now, and Jim signed with them. It also helped that he was lobbied by Thurman Munson, the Yankees catcher. In the crazy days of “The Bronx Zoo” with the egos of George Steinbrenner, Billy Martin, Reggie Jackson and many more, Jim Hunter was the same modest country boy he’d always been — and the Yankees ace.

Jim enjoyed Thurman Munson, who was always tough on his pitchers, demanding they “bear down.” If he didn’t see the effort he expected, Munson took a step or two toward the mound before he threw the ball back. And if THAT didn’t send a message, he’d walk all the way out to the mound, and rip the pitcher to his face. In the 1978 World Series, he walked out to the mound and said: “Catfish, you better make sure you hit my glove exactly where I put it because you ain’t got diddly squat tonight.” Both men laughed about it later.

Thurman Munson was a tough-minded catcher. Catfish liked him.

When Reggie Jackson came over to the Yankees, Jim chuckled and said: “If you think things are ‘controversial’ now, wait till Reggie starts his shit.” When Reggie wrote his memoirs, he praised Jim Hunter as a pitcher and as a man — but he couldn’t help saying Jim should have come to his aid more when Reggie had trouble with his teammates in 1977. Whereas, Jim thought Reggie had dug his own grave.

Yankees Manager Billy Martin with Reggie Jackson, in a good moment

Hunter used to get raked over the coals by Lou Piniella of the Yankees about all the home runs he gave up. Piniella would say “I know how George can get back some of that money he gave you. He’s going to sell hard hats to the fans who sit in the right field stands when you pitch.” Jim would retaliate by noting that Lou had been replaced in Kansas City by the immortal Jim Wohlford.

The Yankees won it all in 1977 — and again in ’78. Jim was scheduled to pitch the clinching game and Yankees owner George Steinbrenner came into the training room before the game, terribly nervous, needing to talk to Jim about the game, how he was going to approach it. Steinbrenner saw Jim lying down getting a rub down from the trainer, and Steinbrenner said, “You can do this… right, Cat?” And Jim Hunter said “Yep,” and that was the entire conversation.

“Yep” could be an entire conversation

After the game, there was a big party and Steinbrenner wanted Jim to party with him. Jim had no interest. His dad wasn’t well, and Jim was going home to Hertford to see him. Besides, tomorrow was the first day of hunting season.

The last years of his playing career were tough. In a single year, 1979, his father, Clyde Kluttz and Thurman Munson all died. Kluttz had assured Jim he was fine but died from a blood clot. Munson had assured Jim he was a skilled pilot but killed himself when he crashed a Cessna plane he was flying. Munson didn’t have his shoulder belt on, smashed his head, the plane caught fire, and by the time they got his body out of the plane, it was burned beyond recognition.

The death of Abbot Hunter was the hardest to take. His quality of life had been awful near the end, hooked up to tubes in the hospital. Still, Jim couldn’t imagine him dead and wasn’t ready to lose him. His siblings had done much more visiting with their father than Jim had, because of the constant traveling required to play Major League Baseball. Jim handled the reading of the will and the funeral arrangements.

Hunter himself was diagnosed with diabetes, had arm trouble — and then in 1998 was diagnosed with Lou Gehrig’s Disease. When he died in September of 1999, he was only 53 years old. He was buried at Cedarwood Cemetery in Hertford, right next to the baseball field where he’d played high school ball so brilliantly.

At 33, Jim Hunter had retired to his farm, to raise soy beans, peanuts, cotton and corn. It wasn’t so much the arm trouble that pushed him to retire. It was the knowledge that his children were growing up with an absent father during the long baseball season. He wanted to play catch with his kids, to coach their Little League teams, to advise them about life the way Abbot Hunter had advised Jim.

Another reason Jim wanted to get back to Hertford was that his brothers were all kind of hardheaded, and there were times when the fussing and feuding made various brothers cut off contact with each other. Jim was a peacemaker, the little brother who knew how to smooth things over and bring feuding brothers back together again.

Back home in Carolina

Jim thought it was pitiful how little money farming paid for all the hours and heart and soul you put into it. Flatten the land properly with a tiller. Spray it with just the right kind of fertilizer. Add lime to neutralize the soil, especially for soybeans. Plant at the end of March. Pick at the end of August. Plant your corn, plant your peanuts, plant your beans. Pray that a bad frost doesn’t make your peanuts rot in the ground. Cultivate the corn. Keep the grass from taking over. Keep the weeds away from the beans. Spray the peanuts to keep away the grasshoppers. Spray the soybeans to keep away the worms. Drain your irrigation ditches. Don’t spray just before a rainstorm or all your work and spray is wasted. Curse the weather channel when they give out the wrong forecast.

“Then why do you do it?” his wife Helen asked.

Jim didn’t really know why. Partly, it was outside work, where you could breathe fresh air, feel the sun on your skin. Working in an office could never hold a candle to working outside. But more than that, farming reminded him of his childhood and of his father.

Even after his father was gone, Jim swore he could feel Abbot Hunter walking right beside him.

Catfish, near the end