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Plane crash a chilling reminder of Munson

Joe Gergen

October 12, 2006

They never met. They were from different generations, grew up in different parts of the country, played different positions. What joins them now and forever was their enthusiasm for flying and the circumstances of their demise.

Sadly, both died in their private planes. Remarkably, both died as Yankees. Cory Lidle never enjoyed the success of Thurman Munson. He never was an All-Star, never played for a team that won a postseason series, never had the opportunity to spend the entirety of his career with one franchise. And yet his last public appearance three days earlier occurred in the same Yankee Stadium clubhouse just steps away from where Munson's locker remains empty in silent tribute to the former catcher.

Munson's death, at the age of 32, was stunning not because of how it happened but because of who he was. When his plane struck the ground short of the runway at the Ohio airport near his Canton home on Aug. 2, 1979, he was an emotional leader of a team that had won consecutive world championships in 1977 and 1978. He was a combative figure that commanded the attention of baseball fans everywhere but, particularly, those in New York, where he played for a decade.

Lidle never spent more than two full seasons with any of the seven major-league franchises that employed him. He was a Yankee for only one summer and might well have been forgotten as soon as spring training rolled around in 2007 if not for the fact his plane flew into an apartment building on the Upper East Side of Manhattan yesterday. The very thought of such an incident conjured chilling memories of 9/11. But no sooner were the fears of such a replay diminished than the crash of 10/11 gained distinction for the identity of one of the two occupants.

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What were the odds that the next major-league player to die in his own plane also would be a Yankee, if only a temporary one headed for free agency and a different uniform? Lidle knew about Munson. He had to because of the way the Yankees have chosen to preserve their history.

In addition to the empty locker, there's a plaque in Monument Park -- alongside the Yankees' bullpen where Lidle had many occasions to warm up -- dedicated to the gritty catcher.

Munson's number, 15, was retired in the wake of his death, which occurred on an off day when he was at home practicing takeoffs and landings. That isn't likely to happen in the case of Lidle, who wore the same number 30 in New York that he had with his previous club, the Phillies. Fifteen times two equals 30.

The catcher was 32, a husband and the father of three young children in 1979. The pitcher was 34, with a wife and a 6-year old son. Munson was listed at 5-11 and 191 pounds, small for a major-league catcher. Lidle was 5-11, 190 pounds, undersized for a pitcher in this era of massive bodies and inflated statistics.

Chances are they would have enjoyed each other's company. Munson was a well-regarded prospect, but he played with the hunger of a man who had been criticized and overshadowed all his life. Lidle wasn't even drafted out of high school. He pitched in an independent league. He was a replacement player during the strike. He came back from elbow surgery. He had to prove himself over and over again despite posting a winning record on good teams and bad.

And then there was that fascination with flying. The tough-minded Munson, who helped to revive Yankee tradition, used his plane to fly home to Ohio at a moment's notice. Lidle, a Californian who embraced Yankee tradition, loved the sight of Manhattan from the sky. Both considered themselves at peace in the air.

Munson's impact on New York, concluding with that terrible exclamation point 27 years ago, remains to this day. Lidle was not on that level as a player. But because of what happened yesterday it will be difficult to remember the former without thinking of the latter.