Top of the League

In the Yankee dugout, Charles Dillon Stengel, visiting "Perfessor" from The Bronx, shuffled, scratched and sprawled elegantly, then announced in learned accents that any fool could see who was holding those Cleveland Indians up in first place. Old Casey scowled across the green infield of Cleveland's Municipal Stadium: "That young feller," he gestured grandly, "that feller's a ball player. He'll give you the works every time. Gets all the hits, gives you the hard tag in the field. That feller's a real competitor, you bet your sweet curse life."

Out of the Doldrums. Anyone familiar with Casey's floating pronouns knew his man: First Baseman Al Rosen, 29, a scramble-nosed pro whose seasoned ability was the main reason why the Cleveland Indians were at the top of the American League. For a couple of disconcerting days last week, Rosen and the Indians faltered before the class and drive of the rejuvenated Yankees; they lost a three-game series 1 to 2. But they were still in first place, and Cleveland's long-suffering fans still clung boisterously to the notion that this was the Indians' year.

For three straight years the club started the race like champions. For three straight years they folded in the stretch. This year they did not even start well. Ten games into April, they had won only four. The man who prodded them out of the doldrums was Al Rosen. The American League Most Valuable Player of last year, Al Rosen, third baseman, made a quick switch to first, played like a practiced veteran, and opened a spot in the lineup for a flashy, hard-hitting rookie named Rudy Regalado. The Indians started after the lead. Now that Regalado is slumping at bat, Manager Al Lopez has another capable first baseman, ex-Oriole Vic Wertz, so he can safely bench Regalado and send Rosen back to third.

The Hard Way. Rosen's old-pro versatility has not come easy. As a prewar bush-leaguer he seemed so hopeless in the field that a Class C manager took one scornful look and said, "Listen, kid, you'd better go home and get yourself a lunch pail. Forget about baseball. You either have it or you don't. You don't." Al ignored the advice.

He was used to doing things the hard way. As a Florida schoolboy he was an all-around athlete, but he had to sandwich his sports in between part-time jobs. He played baseball on American Legion teams at 11, was a semi-pro at 14 (mainly because of his ability with a bat), and still found time to help support his family. For a while he was a slat-painter in a venetian-blind factory.

Not until 1950, with three years in the Navy and five years in the minor leagues behind him, did Al catch on as a Cleveland regular. Even then, it was his powerful bat that made him. In the field, Rosen admits, "I've got to work and keep thinking. When I don't, I'm bush league, or worse."

Clearly, he has kept working. Behind the Indians' fine pitching staff, Wynn, Lemon, Garcia, Feller & Co., he almost always turns in a creditable performance. At the plate he is always a threat. In all pennant-hungry Cleveland, there is no happier sight than Al Rosen, firmly established in the batter's box. The ball steams in, his hips swing in a fast little shake, his left leg lifts for a quick thrust forward, and the big bat whips around. It has connected often enough to make him the league's second-ranking batsman, after his teammate Bobby Avila. (Average .340, 14 home runs, 55 runs batted in.) If the Rosen bat keeps coming through in the clutch for the second half of the season, the Indians may well be the team that breaks the Yankees' long lease (five in a row) on the American League pennant.

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