Here below.

COMING IN FAUST ...

Ever since Scholastic Coach's 75th Anniversary issue checked into the planet, we've been receiving the kind of mail that editors dream about--heavily opinionated in a positive way.

[ILLUSTRATION OMITTED]

Maybe it's just coincidental, but our very first piece of mail hit both our heart and scoreboard. It was from one of the great football giants of his time who had spent his professional life accumulating winning streaks and high school state championships.

It had all been done at Washington H.S. in Massillon, OH--which pretty much tells you who he was and what kind of football he had coached.

He was, of course, Gerry Faust. And that gave us three good reasons to cheer. Probably no high school football coach of his day had attracted the attention he had, or had been rewarded, in such mind-boggling fashion.

Anyone who ever had heard of Gerry Faust had to know what his crackerjack box had disgorged: In the winter of 1981, Faust, the pride of Massillon, received a five-year coaching contract from Notre Dame.

For heaven's sake--Notre Dame! Has any perennial top-five football power ever rewarded that kind of coaching contract to a high school man? And then had Scholastic Coach follow it up with another Croix de Guerre--a new major department called "Person to Person," featuring an interview with a nationally famous coach every month.

Faust appeared to be a perfect choice as the leadoff man for Person to Person. He was young; he was a winner, totally honorable. But ... could we get him for an interview?

He was in such demand--the newspapers, magazines, television, radio, wherever eye and voice could reach. What could we do to interest him?

Nothing could start without a phone call. It was a brilliant thought. We placed the call and it was cheer, cheer, for old Notre Dame! Faust immediately came on. He listened to our invitation, and then announced that it was a great idea and he'd be happy to do it!

He knew the kind of job we were doing with football coaches and it would be a pleasure to join the team.

We couldn't call it the beginning of a beautiful friendship, but it was the beginning of a lifetime of mutual respect. That is why we weren't really astonished by his letter. It was what you'd expect from the first hero of Person to Person.

TWO GOOD TO BE TRUE ...

The mail that brought us the Gerry Faust congratulatory letter also carried a couple of bouquets from two other friends of Scholastic Coach. Allow us to acknowledge a couple of good guys.

Rod Delmonico, a New Jersey high school baseball coach recruited by the U. of Tennessee 17 years ago. He went on to multiply all of Tennessee's facilities and victories, write articles for us, invent coaching aids, and raise a lot of great-looking kids--one of whom now plays shortstop for him.

Lou Howard, a man of all seasons in Amityville, NY, who was a fabulous high school football coach in the dear old days beyond recall, who never stopped winning championships with a great version of his shot-gun offense, wrote articles and books, served as mayor of his town, raised a houseful of kids (but lost the war), and is currently a motivational speaker.

OKAY FOR THE K'S ...

After mentioning the name of Eddie Gaedel in a recent "Here Below," we were taken to task for referring to him as a midget. That word, we were told, was in bad taste. The politically correct term is dwarf.

Did we get it right? Or was it the other way around? Whatever it was, Eddie Gaedel still had to be the smallest guy to play in a big league baseball game. At 3 feet, 7 inches tall, he didn't even have to argue about it.

And it all was a big joke by baseball's funny man, Bill Veeck. Putting in a dwarf to draw some extra customers. The picture became world famous: a little guy sprawled all over the plate, with nothing happening.

It was ball one, ball two, ball three, and ball four. Take your base. And that was the end of Gaedel's career.

And so who really was the smallest guy in baseball? Who knows? But we can tell you who was the best little guy we ever saw. It was Joe Sewell, 5-6, 155 lbs., third-basemen of the New York Yankees. He looked lost among the Yankee giants such as Babe Ruth, Lou Gehrig, Bob Meusel, Tony Lazzeri, and Earle Combs.

What was never fully understood at the time was what a gift he was for those teams. He was always on base waiting for one of the Yankee sluggers to drive him in.

Hardly anyone ever saw him strike out. He had an incredible record. In 1930 and 1932, he struck out only three times each year! In his 13 full seasons--7,132 innings--he struck out just 114 times. Now remember one thing: When he wasn't working the pitcher for a walk, he was often getting base hits. His lifetime batting average was .312.

The only kind of word for all that in unbelievable. It makes no difference whether he was a midget, a dwarf, or a giant. He was a terrific ballplayer--great enough to make the Hall of Fame.

What we never knew about him was how he did it. In the twilight of his career with the Cleveland Indians and the Yankees, he revealed his secret to a sportswriter:

"I have the bat at home that I used for 14 years. It weighs 40 pounds. I never cracked it because I knew how to swing it the right way.

"I took care of it, worked on it every single day. I rubbed it with a chicken bone and a plug of tobacco and then I'd roll it up and down with a smooth bottle.

"The bat was your tool. You took care of it. The Hall of Fame wants it, but I'm keeping it."

AND ONE DAY OF RAIN ...

When we rose on the morning of November 6th, our orange juice and three morning newspapers lay neatly on our breakfast table ready for instant consumption.

The juice turned out to be perfect. The New York Times had all the news that was fit to be eaten. The USA Today was loud and sporty. And the New York Daily News tabloid, usually full of surprises, carried a thick, black headline that destroyed our year:

"Johnny Sain, 89, Dead"

We hadn't touched base with Johnny Sain since he left the Yankees in 1965, but we had never lost that warm spot for him in our heart.

It had been that way ever since a mutual friend had brought him over to our office in 1962. Johnny, then the pitching coach for the Yankees, had invented a pitching aid called "The Spinner," and he was seeking publicity for it.

It was a baseball with a wooden handle through the middle that enabled a coach to spin the ball around and simulate the movement of each of his pitches.

Johnny was a master at it. He owned a copyright and would begin selling the balls once he had a sufficient supply. We had him write an article on the device, which we illustrated with some still pictures.

We also made a trip to Yankee Stadium to show how Johnny delivered his regular assortment of pitches, using a 35mm motion picture camera to catch all the action for Scholastic Coach.

By this time, we were going to lunch with John whenever the Yanks were home. He would take us to all the places that the players liked.

The #1 spot was "The Dutchman," where Babe Ruth used to go for his steaks.

After lunch, or maybe instead of lunch, we would return to our office and talk pitching. Johnny was incredibly versed in both the mechanics and the mental part of pitching.

He had an incredible teaching record. He always started by selling his philosophy to the pitchers--and that was working every fourth day rather than fifth. The best part about that was that it gave the pitcher more starts--and more chances to win 20 games every season.

His prize pupil was Whitey Ford. Johnny sold him on his philosophy and was rewarded with two fabulous seasons. Whitey won 25 games in 1961 and then 24 in 1963 when Sain coached him.

Sain produced the same kind of miracle when he left the Yankees. He served with the Athletics, Tigers, Twins, and Braves to produce a 20-game winner everywhere he went. Like Whitey Ford, he helped several other non 20-game winners reach that lofty plateau, such as Mudcat Grant, Jim Kaat, Mickey Lolich, Ralph Terry, and maybe half a dozen others.

Sain's all-time favorite pitcher was his buddy with the old Boston Braves, Warren Spahn. He always believed that Spahn was the greatest pitcher he had ever seen. During the 1948 season, in which the Braves fell to the Cleveland Indians in the World Series, Sain (24) and Spahn (15) combined for 39 wins.

The two of them tried to spell each other in the final month of the season, and just about succeeded in accomplishing it.

A sportswriter penned an apropos rhyme about them that summarized that 1948 season. It went like this: Span and Sain, then pray for rain.

To baseball fans in Boston with long memories, it remains the city's national anthem.