The Tortured Arm

The arm is one of the most remarkable relics in baseball. Years of catastrophe have put a permanent crook in the elbow. Under the strain of a game, the arm literally shortens two inches. Says one National League trainer: "You name it, that arm has it--bone chips, arthritis, a pathological condition, anything that can go wrong."

The battered right arm belongs to a powerful (6 ft. 4 in., 212 Ibs.) Negro of melancholy mien named Sad Sam ("Toothpick") Jones, 33, and it is largely responsible for putting the San Francisco Giants on a tottering perch at the head of the National League. Last week Sad Sam chomped morosely on his customary toothpick and turned a sullen eye on the Philadelphia Phillies. His crackling curve ball seemed about to eviscerate righthanded batters before breaking sharply to catch an inside corner. Humming and hopping, his fast ball loosened up any Philly who dared dig in too firmly. When he was through, the Giants had won 9-1, and Jones had scored his second victory in six days to become the Giants' first 20-game winner (20-12) since 1956.

First Million. As a starting pitcher, Sad Sam ("Take a look at this mug. What else can they call me?") is at his grim best against the Giants' challengers. He has five wins over Milwaukee, three over Los Angeles. What is more, Jones is willing and able to trudge in from the bullpen to save a game. Despite its long medical history, Jones's arm is plenty strong enough to stand the strain. It always was; his problem was control. Although he had not played much baseball growing up in Monongah, W. Va. (pop. 1,622), Jones developed such speed that Army Air Corps coaches turned him into a scatter-armed fireballer during World War II. After the war, Wild Man Jones wandered with indifferent success through the Indians' system until 1955, when he was sold to the Chicago Cubs.

There, Jones pitched a no-hitter, but never began to realize his potential until he went to the St. Louis Cardinals in 1957. Last year he had a record of 14-13, but led the league's starters with an earned-run average of 2.88, and struck out 225 batters. Traded to the Giants, Jones has had no trouble finding the plate this season: "I guess when you throw a million balls you learn what's going over and what ain't."

Flat v. Round. By dugout standards, Jones is something of a wit, delights in snipping up the socks and shorts of teammates, who retaliate by cutting the brims off the hats he wears to cover his thinning, reddish-brown hair. Jones also always wears a toothpick in a corner of his mouth, although he once almost choked when one stuck in his throat after a collision with Milwaukee's Hank Aaron. "I'm strictly a flat-toothpick man," says Jones. "Those round ones get stuck between the bicuspids and molars. And I don't go much for those perfumed quill kind either--too dangerous."

Jones and the Giants know that this is the week that may decide the three-way pennant fight: they play two games with Milwaukee, three with Los Angeles. Sad Sam is ready. "The arm's been ten years hurting," he says. "Now I've got control of this crooked elbow, I don't mind when it hurts."

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