Ferguson Jenkins usually finished what he started on mound

THE BALTIMORE SUN

NEW YORK -- In the broiling heat of a July afternoon at Wrigley Field, several New York Mets stood around the batting cage discussing the starting pitcher for the Chicago Cubs. The man's name was Ferguson Jenkins, and he was the ace of the Chicago staff. The year was 1969.

"That Jenkins doesn't even sweat," Art Shamsky said. "He wears long sleeves on days like this."

Noting that the temperature and humidity both were straining to reach 100, Tommie Agee smiled. "I want to see if Fergie runs out to the mound today," he said.

An hour later, Agee had his answer. Jenkins sprinted to the pitcher's mound. He was wearing a long-sleeved sweatshirt under his Cubs uniform.

In his minor-league days with the Philadelphia organization, he recalled Wednesday, Jenkins played with Dick Allen at Macon, Ga. "When we got promoted," he said, "it was to Little Rock, another hot place. Dick and I wore long sleeves all the time. It was our trait."

Pitching, Jenkins decided, was "mind over matter" whoever the opponents, whatever the weather. "I just tried to pitch my kind of game," he said.

It so happened that particular afternoon in Chicago was atypical for Jenkins because he was knocked out of the game early. At the height of his 19-year major-league career, the man finished what he started more often than not. In 1969, for instance, he completed 23 of his 42 starting assignments and pitched 311 innings.

Nor were those personal highs. Two years later, he was credited with 30 complete games, and in 1974 -- at the age of 30 -- he worked 328 innings for the Rangers. In that same season, Gaylord Perry, approaching his 36th birthday, pitched 322 innings for the Indians.

Their selection to the Hall of Fame, in the company of batting wizard Rod Carew, was a salute to baseball past, when 'f workhorse pitchers started every fourth day and were unfulfilled if they didn't go the distance. In 1990, by contrast, Ramon Martinez of the Los Angeles Dodgers led all major-leaguers with a dozen complete games and Frank Viola of the Mets was first in the National League in innings pitched with 249.

It didn't faze Jenkins that he qualified for immortality with one vote to spare. "After all," he explained, "I won and lost a lot of one-run games."

Indeed, in 1968, when he won 20 of 35 decisions, the Cubs were shut out in nine games Jenkins started. He lost five of those games by a 1-0 score. "I thought, with some luck, I could have won 26 or 27 games," he said. With some luck, Jenkins might also have appeared in a World Series, a distinction that eluded all three of the newest Hall of Famers.

But Jenkins wasn't about to curse his luck Wednesday, not even with his wife lying in intensive care in an Oklahoma hospital after an automobile accident last month. For a man who started with one strike against him -- growing up in Canada at a time when the country fielded no major-league franchise -- and added a second when he was charged with drug possession by Canadian authorities in 1980, it was a great day. "This is my world championship right here," he said.

Baseball wasn't even his first love. Like the vast majority of Canadian youths, he aspired to hockey.

But he also could throw a baseball, a sport that gained favor in his eyes after his exploits as a defenseman failed to earn him a college scholarship. If his fastball wasn't overpowering, at least he knew where it was headed. Back in Chatham, Ontario, he could throw rocks through the open doors of freight cars passing over the Chesapeake and Ohio tracks. "I always had control," he said.

That wasn't good enough for the Philadelphia Phillies, who decided on the basis of eight major-league appearances that his fastball wasn't sufficiently swift for the big leagues. He was dealt with Adolfo Phillips and John Herrnstein to Chicago for graybeards Larry Jackson and Bob Buhl early in the 1966 season. Manager Leo Durocher placed the man in the rotation before too long and Jenkins proceeded to win at least 20 games for six consecutive seasons, from 1967 through 1972. In none of those seasons did he pitch fewer than 289 innings.

But even the Cubs lost faith after a subpar 1973 season, trading him to Texas for Bill Madlock and Vic Harris. Jenkins responded with a brilliant 1974 season. His 25 victories tied him with Catfish Hunter of the Oakland A's for the major-league lead and the surprising Rangers almost derailed Oakland's march to a third consecutive World Series title. It was during his second tour with the Texas team, six years later, that Jenkins was arrested, an incident that stained his reputation and threatened to undermine everything he had accomplished.

"When we flew into Toronto, four bags didn't come down [the baggage chute]," Jenkins said Wednesday. "The ones belonging Mickey Rivers, [coach] Frank Lucchesi, a batboy and me. Supposedly, they weren't on the plane and came in later that night. I don't believe that. The next day I went to the ballpark and was taken off the field by narcotics officers. Bowie Kuhn suspended me, even before I went to trial."

Jenkins wouldn't claim that he had never tried drugs. "But drugs did not influence my life," he said. "And in that particular case, I still say the articles found in my bag weren't mine."

An arbitrator overturned the suspension, enabling the pitcher to finish the season, and Jenkins, although convicted by a Canadian judge for drug possession in December, was given an absolute discharge, wiping clean his record. "It was hardest on my father," the pitcher said. "He was living in Canada. He really didn't believe me at first. It took him a while to realize what happened wasn't entirely my fault."

The first person he called after getting the good news on Tuesday night was his father. Ferguson Holmes Jenkins, 84 and troubled by arthritis, resides in a senior home in Chatham. "I told him I made the Hall of Fame and he started shouting," the pitcher said. As well he should have. Jenkins will become the first player from Canada inducted into the baseball shrine on July 21. "And my father," he said proudly, "will be right there with me in Cooperstown."

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