The Duke was a star but best early on

I grew up in Brooklyn admiring Duke Snider ["The golden age of centerfielders," Editorial, March 1]. What a time that was for baseball in New York, as a young Snider closed out the 1940s and was joined in the '50s to create a presence powerful enough to have its own identity - "Willie, Mickey and The Duke." You really couldn't mention one without the others; it would have been unfair to the other two. Of course my favorite was Snider, and I was thrilled when stickball teammates took to calling me Duke. But that was because his name was so frequently on my lips.

To me, he resembled Henry Fonda with muscles. And I was quick to defend him when my Giant and Yankee friends pointed out that the Duke had the advantage of being the rare lefthanded hitter in almost completely righthanded lineup (switch-hitting Junior Gilliam being the lone exception). Nor would I allow them to budge me just because Ebbets Field was a bandbox, particularly to rightfield for the Sniders of this world. I think I really would have freaked had they pointed out The Duke didn't mind taking a brief vacation when Pirates' lefthander Bill Werle started against the Dodgers.

Heck, The Duke was a five-tool player and a legitimate Hall of Famer, even if he finished back in the pack from Willie and Mickey. Ailing knees short-circuited his greatness when he landed with the Dodgers in Los Angeles at age 31. There would be flashes of his former brilliance, but after having knocked in 101 or more runs for six seasons in Brooklyn, and having hit 40 or more homers five straight years there, decline set in. But you still checked those late box scores because you remained his fan and, who knows, he might hit one!

Sadly, I met Snider, and it was no pleasure. He was a pretty washed-up 36-year-old at the time, who came to the Mets in 1963 and hit .243, although the infrequent thrill was still with him as he hit 14 homers in 354 at-bats. To me, it seemed like he worked at being unhappy. I would have settled for memories of those sweet years in Flatbush.

Joe Donnelly

Huntington

Editor's note: The writer is a former Newsday sportswriter.