Reflections on Johnny Antonelli, a Rochester legend and friend

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We are sitting on a stage in jam-packed Gleason Auditorium at the downtown branch of the Rochester Public Library several years ago, microphones in hand, and I’m asking Johnny Antonelli to reminisce about his glorious 1954 season when he was the best pitcher in baseball.

All of a sudden, he removes his World Series ring and hands it to someone in the front row and tells the stranger to try it on and pass it on to the other 150 people in the room. I immediately become concerned that one of these ringbearers might run out the door with this historic baseball bauble. Johnny wasn’t worried in the least. The greatest born and bred ballplayer Rochester ever produced just wanted everyone to be able to touch a piece of history, to share in the joy he felt during that Fall Classic 66 years ago when he had a win and a save in the New York Giants’ sweep of the heavily favored Cleveland Indians.

As I learned after our friendship blossomed during a collaboration on a book about his wonderful life, this was just Johnny being Johnny. He loved sharing that ring and his marvelous stories. He loved connecting with people and making those around him feel good.

In retrospect, I got so much more than a book out of Johnny Antonelli. I got friendships with him and his loving wife Gail that were priceless. And, as I reflect with tears of sorrow and joy on a life that ended last Friday at age 89, I realize I received something else of great value. Through his actions, Johnny showed me and countless others the importance of kindness, humor and courage. He probably didn’t realize it, but he became a role model and a father figure to me.

I once told Johnny how grateful I was for his compassion and generosity. He seemed a little embarrassed, because he never, ever was one in search of compliments. A devout Catholic, he said he attempted to live his life by the Golden Rule. “Just treat people how you’d like to be treated,’’ was his philosophy. Simple, but powerful. Think how much better this world would be if we all followed Johnny’s lead.

I have nothing but fond memories of the man, especially those tales he told. I filled a book with them. And, after it was published, I probably could have added several more chapters. Johnny had a wonderful, self-deprecating sense of humor. He loved telling the story about how Cleveland’s leadoff hitter Al Smith clubbed a home run off him on the very first pitch Johnny ever delivered in a World Series. “I have a record that can be tied but never broken,’’ he said when asked about that gopher ball. “First World Series pitch, home run. Can’t top that.”

He also liked to joke that he helped Hank Aaron surpass Babe Ruth as baseball’s all-time home run king by serving up several long balls to Hammerin’ Hank. He told me that his best pitch wasn’t a fastball, changeup or curve, but rather any ball he threw that was hit in the same area code as Willie Mays — the finest ball-shagging centerfielder the game has ever known and a long-time teammate of Johnny’s with both the New York and San Francisco Giants.

Jokes aside, Johnny was one of the best pitchers in baseball during the 1950s, a golden era when the Big Apple fielded three big-league teams. In a seven-year stretch, the stylish lefthander compiled a 114-89 record with 22 shutouts and nine saves, while being selected to six National League All-Star teams. His greatest season would be that ’54 campaign, when he tossed six shutouts and won 21 games to earn pitcher-of-the-year honors from The Sporting News, a weekly newspaper regarded as the “bible of baseball.” Unlike today, Cy Young Awards weren’t presented to the top pitcher, but if they had been Johnny would have won in a landslide.

His story really is the American dream story. Son of an Italian immigrant, he became a celebrated three-sport athlete at Jefferson High School, excelling in football, basketball and baseball. His dad, Gus Antonelli, became his son’s biggest advocate, even traveling to spring training to show scouts, managers and general managers scrapbooks chockful of newspaper clippings about his boy.

In a bold move, Gus rented Red Wing Stadium (later renamed Silver Stadium) and invited Major League Baseball scouts to watch his 18-year-old son pitch against an all-star team featuring some of the best semi-pro players in the area. It was a calculated risk, but one that paid off handsomely. Johnny wound up pitching a no-hitter and struck out 17 batters.

The next day, representatives from the big-league clubs beat a path to Gus’ door in hopes of convincing his son to sign a contract. The New York Yankees gave a low-ball offer of $25,000, arguing that Johnny would make an annual World Series bonus by playing for the Bronx Bombers. Gus wasn’t buying their sales pitch. When all was said and done, he accepted the Boston Braves offer of $52,000 — in part because Gus hit it off with team owner Lou Perini, who also was Italian. Johnny was on a plane to Beantown the next day.

In that pre-draft era, players who signed “bonus baby” contracts had to be placed immediately on the big-league club’s 25-man roster. This created resentment among many veteran players, and Johnny had to deal with ostracism during his early years with the Braves. He would become one of 21 MLB players who never spent a single day in the minors. His big break came when he was traded to the Giants just before the ’54 season. Feisty manager Leo “The Lip” Durocher told him he wanted him to be the ace of the staff, and Johnny quickly fulfilled that wish.

Many athletes in their primes believe it’s going to go on forever. They don’t think about what they will do once the games are done for good and the cheering stops. But Johnny was different. He had a plan for a post-baseball career while playing. He took his World Series bonus check and purchased his first Johnny Antonelli Firestone Tire Store. And he worked at being a businessman as hard as he worked at being a pitcher. At its peak, his tire empire would feature nearly 30 stores and several warehouses in the Rochester area and upstate New York. An argument can be made that as sensational as he was on the diamond, he was even more successful as an entrepreneur.

Tired of the travel and eager to spend more time with his wife and young children, Johnny retired after the 1961 season, turning down a $38,000 contract to pitch for the New York Mets during their inaugural season. That offer was substantial money in those days, and after Johnny said “thanks, but no thanks,” incomparable Mets manager Casey Stengel quipped: “I guess Johnny Antonelli must be doing a good job of selling those black donuts (tires) in Rochester, N.Y.”

As mentioned, I really got to know Johnny Antonelli the person during our weekly interview sessions while compiling his life story. A book was published. A friendship blossomed. My wife and I looked forward to summer get-togethers when we would take Johnny and Gail and several of their grandchildren to Red Wings games at Frontier Field. There, he would do as he had done in Gleason Auditorium, offering up his ring to anyone who wanted to try it on. Over time, so many people had held and slipped it onto their fingers, that some of the words on the ring were smoothed over. And that was fine with Johnny because it was an indication of how much joy it had brought people.

I was fortunate to attend numerous functions with him, including a memorable trip to Cooperstown, where we did a talk and booksigning at the Baseball Hall of Fame, and were given a special behind-the-scenes tour. Occasionally, I would begin our talks by joking that between us we had 126 career major league wins, six All-Star selections and a World Series ring. I also joshed that if Johnny had signed with the Yankees, he might have had a handful of rings, and he — not Whitey Ford — would have become known as the “chairman of the board.” He always got a chuckle out of our friendly repartee because he was a person who enjoyed laughing with others and at himself.

In recent years, Johnny faced a foe more daunting than Stan Musial with the bases-loaded: Cancer. He dealt with it the way he dealt with most everything in life. He displayed grace and courage.

I will miss his sense of humor. I will miss his marvelous stories. I will miss his kindness. I’m honored I was able to write a book chronicling his remarkable life. But I’m much more honored that he called me a friend.

Until we meet again, Johnny. Until we meet again.

Best-selling author and nationally honored journalist Scott Pitoniak is the Rochester Business Journal sports columnist.