It was the final game of the World Series, and Wrigley Field was packed with 38,710 screaming fans. "It's the top of the ninth, with the score Cubs one, Yankees zero. The Yankees are up at bat, with two outs. The bases are loaded with Tony Kubek on first, Whitey Ford on second, and Yogi Berra on third."
As Mickey Mantle stepped up to the plate, the crowd roared. "The Mick" had hit .304 for the season and had forty-two home runs under his belt for the year.
Jack Brickhouse, the Wrigley Field announcer, said, excitedly, "Oh, oh...it looks like they're going to change pitchers. They're taking out Moe Drabowsky...Cub Manager Bob Scheffing is talking to the umpire...let's see who's coming in...it's Howard Keller! Keller is walking up to the pitcher's mound, and the crowd is screaming! The whole burden of the World Series rests on this youngster's shoulders. Can he strike out the great Mickey Mantle? We'll know in a moment! Keller is on the mound now...he looks around the loaded bases...takes a deep breath, and winds up. Here's the pitch...Mantle hauls back the bat...takes a swing, and misses! Strike one!"
The crowd had become hushed. Mantle moved forward a little, his face grim, his bat cocked, ready to swing. Howard Keller checked the runners. The pressure was enormous, but he seemed to be cool and composed. He turned to the catcher, looked in for the sign, and wound up for another pitch.
"There's the windup and the pitch!" the announcer yelled. "It's Keller's famous curve ball...Mantle swings on and misses! Strike two! If young Keller can strike out the Mick, the Chicago Cubs will win the World Series! We're watching David and Goliath, ladies and gentlemen! Young Keller has only played in the big leagues for one year, but during that time he has made an enviable reputation for himself. Mickey Mantle is Goliath...can the rookie Keller beat him? Everything is riding on this next pitch.
"Keller checks the runners again...here's the windup...and here we go! It's the curve...Mantle bails out as it curves right over the heart of the plate...Strike three called!" The announcer was screaming now. "Mantle is caught looking! The mighty Mick has struck out, ladies and gentlemen! Young Howard Keller struck out the great Mickey Mantle! The game is over - the World Series belongs to the Chicago Cubs! The fans are on their feet going crazy!"
On the field, Howard Keller's teammates raced up to him and picked him up on their shoulders and started to cross the...
"Howard, what in the world are you doing?"
"My homework, Mom." Guiltily the fifteen-year-old Howard Keller turned off the television set. The ball game was almost over anyway.
Baseball was Howard's passion and his life. He knew that one day he would play in the major leagues. At the age of six he was competing against kids twice his age in stickball, and when he was twelve, he began pitching for an American Legion team. When Howard was fifteen, a scout for the Chicago Cubs was told about the young boy. "I've never seen anything like him," his informant said. "The kid has an outstanding curve, and a mean slider, and a change-up you wouldn't believe!"
The scout was skeptical. Grudgingly, he said, "All right. I'll take a look at the kid." He went to the next American Legion game that Howard Keller played in, and he became an instant convert. He sought out the young boy after the game. "What do you want to do with your life, son?"
"Play baseball," said Keller promptly.
"I'm glad to hear that. We're going to sign you to a contract with our minor-league team."
Howard couldn't wait to tell his parents the exciting news.
The Kellers were a close-knit Catholic family. They went to mass every Sunday, and they saw to it that their son attended church. Howard Keller, Sr., was a typewriter salesman, and he was on the road a great deal. When he was at home, he spent as much time as possible with his son. Howard was close to both his parents. His mother made it a point to attend all the ball games when her son was playing, and cheer him on. Howard got his first glove and uniform when he was six years old. Howard was a fanatic about baseball. He had an encyclopedic memory for the statistics of games that were played before he was even born. He knew all the stats of the winning pitchers - the strikes, the outs, the number of saves and shutouts. He won money betting with his schoolmates that he could name the starting pitchers in any team lineup.
"Nineteen forty-nine."
"That's easy," Howard said. "Newcombe, Roe, Hatten, and Branca for the Dodgers. Reynolds, Raschi, Byrne, and Lopat for the Yankees."
"All right," one of his teammates challenged. "Who played the most consecutive games in major-league history?" The challenger was holding the Guinness Book of Records in front of him.
Howard Keller didn't even pause. "Lou Gehrig - two thousand one hundred thirty."
"Who had the record for the most shutouts?"
"Walter Johnson - one hundred and thirteen."
"Who hit the most home runs in his career?"
"Babe Ruth - seven hundred and fourteen."
Word of the young player's ability began to circulate, and professional scouts came to take a look at the young phenomenon who was playing on the Chicago Cubs minor-league team. They were stunned. By the time Keller was seventeen, he had been approached by scouts from the St. Louis Cardinals and the Baltimore Orioles and the New York Yankees.
Howard's father was proud of him. "He takes after me," he would boast. "I used to play baseball when I was a youngster."
During the summer of his senior year in high school, Howard Keller worked as a junior clerk in a bank owned by one of the sponsors of his American Legion team.
Howard was going steady with a pretty schoolmate named Betty Quinlan. It was understood that when they finished college, they would get married. Howard would talk baseball by the hour with her, and because she cared for him, she listened patiently. Howard loved the anecdotes about his favorite ballplayers, and every time he heard a new one, he would rush to tell it to Betty.
"Casey Stengel said, 'The secret of managing is to keep the five guys who hate you away from the five who are undecided.' "
"Someone asked Yogi Berra what time it was, and he said, 'You mean right now?' "
"And when a player was hit in the shoulder by a pitched ball, his teammate said, 'There's nothing wrong with his shoulder except some pain - and pain doesn't hurt you.' "
Young Keller knew that he was soon going to join the pantheon of the great players. But the gods had other plans for him.
Howard came home from school one day with his best friend, Jesse, who played shortstop on the team. There were two letters waiting for Keller. One offered him a scholarship at Princeton, and the other a scholarship at Harvard.
"Gee, that's great!" Jesse said. "Congratulations!" And he meant it. Howard Keller was his idol.
"Which one do you think you're going to take?" Howard's father asked.
"Why do I have to go to college at all?" Howard wondered. "I could get on one of the big-league teams now."
His mother said firmly, "There's plenty of time for that, son. You're going to get a good education first; then, when you're through playing baseball, you'll be fit to do anything you like."
"All right," Howard said. "Harvard. Betty is going to Wellesley and I can be near her."
Betty Quinlan was delighted when Howard told her what he had decided.
"We'll get to see each other over the weekends!" she said.
His buddy, Jesse, said, "I'm sure going to miss you."
The day before Howard Keller was to leave for the university, his father ran off with the secretary of one of his customers.
The young boy was stunned. "How could he do that?"
His mother was in shock. "He...he must be going through a change of life," she stammered. "Your...your father loves me very much. He'll...he'll come back. You'll see..."
The following day Howard's mother received a letter from an attorney, formally stating that his client, Howard Keller, Sr., wanted a divorce and, since he had no money to pay for alimony, was willing to let his wife have their small house.
Howard held his mother in his arms. "Don't worry, Mom, I'm going to stay here and take care of you."
"No. I don't want you to give up college for me. From the day you were born, your father and I planned for you to go to college." Then quietly, after a moment: "Let's talk about it in the morning. I'm very tired."
Howard stayed up all night, thinking about his choices. He could go to Harvard on a baseball scholarship or take one of the offers in the major leagues. Either way he would be leaving his mother alone. It was a difficult decision.
When his mother didn't appear at breakfast the next morning, Howard went into her bedroom. She was sitting up in bed, unable to move, her face pulled up on one side. She had suffered a stroke.
With no money to pay for the hospital or doctors, Howard went back to work at the bank, full-time. He was finished at four o'clock, and each afternoon he hurried home to take care of his mother.
It was a mild stroke, and the doctor assured Howard that in time his mother would be fine. "She's had a terrible shock, but she's going to recover."
Howard still got calls from scouts from the major leagues, but he knew that he could not leave his mother. I'll go when she's better, he told himself.
The medical bills kept piling up.
In the beginning he talked to Betty Quinlan once a week, but after a few months the calls became less and less frequent.
Howard's mother did not seem to be improving. Howard talked to the doctor. "When is she going to be all right?"
"In a case like this, it's hard to tell, son. She could go on for months like this, or even years. Sorry I can't be more specific."
The year ended and another began, and Howard was still living with his mother and working at the bank. One day he received a letter from Betty Quinlan, telling him that she had fallen in love with someone else and that she hoped his mother was feeling better. The calls from scouts became less frequent and finally stopped altogether. Howard's life centered on taking care of his mother. He did the shopping and the cooking and carried on with his job. He no longer thought about baseball. It was difficult enough just getting through each day.
When his mother died four years later, Howard Keller was no longer interested in baseball. He was now a banker.
His chance of fame had vanished.