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Is it possible to be more famous as somebody else than yourself? It certainly was for me in the 1980s.
While I was quite anonymously launching my recovery from addiction and starting my new life, a character in a soon-to-be-well-known sitcom was beginning to entertain millions. The sitcom was Cheers, and his name was Sam “Mayday” Malone. He was played superbly by Ted Danson, who received eleven nominations for outstanding lead character in a comedy series, won twice for his role as a tremendously talented major league pitcher whose career had been hampered then cut short by alcoholism. Sound familiar? It should—his character was based on me.
I would have loved the show without that link. I found it highly enjoyable. I might not have even known about my relation to the Malone character had a Cleveland attorney friend familiar with the show not informed me that its writers knew my story and were actually fans of Sam McDowell, which inspired the connection. His fictional recovery coincided chronologically with my real one.
There were, of course, differences between us. I did not run a bar in Boston, and he had been a relief pitcher. Another was that Mayday never married (though he twice got close with Diane). He was a woman-chasing bachelor. I had already been wed twice when Cheer s ended its highly decorated run in 1993. And I was open to another long-term relationship. I simply had not found the love of my life. Then it happened. The year was 1998.
The seeds of the story were planted a decade earlier when I met Toronto Blue Jays pitcher Todd Stottlemyre, whose quite talented father Mel matched up against me often on the mound as ace of the Yankees staff in the 1960s. Todd and I became close friends. Meanwhile, my son Tim and I befriended a golf pro named Greg Gagliano, who worked at the Landsbrook Club in Palm Harbor, Florida. Tim and I, as well as my girlfriend at the time, all owned homes at the Tarpon Woods Country Club, which was across the street from Landsbrook, where we all played often.
Eventually Todd and Greg hatched a plan to build their own championship golf course. Todd sought investors, including friends such as me and his father. The result was the Diamond Players Club in Clermont. Gagliano also acquired management contracts with two other golf courses that had been failing. He became so busy that he called on me to help manage his clubs in 1998. It was an inviting proposal. I sold all my investments in Tarpon Woods and purchased a home in Clermont, just six blocks between both the Diamond Players Club and the Legends Golf Course.
It was a life-changing move. But commuting from Pittsburgh to Florida had become a grind so shifting full time to the Sunshine State proved beneficial personally and professionally. I continued to visit relatives in Pittsburgh three or four times a year and enjoyed invitations from the Pirates for their Christmas Dinner for the Alumni and annual charity golf tournament. I relished opportunities to visit with former player friends there. But living in Florida allowed me to start a more relaxing career. Even so I continued to work for BAT—my formal retirement had not begun yet.
Not that I ever really retired. I have not been one to gain satisfaction wiling the hours away in a rocking chair. I continued to keep my eyes and ears open not so much for money-making ventures but to find new ways to help people. Such a possibility arose when I met orthopedic surgeon Mike Ray during one of my many flights back and forth between Pittsburgh and Clermont. He was a sports-medicine specialist who had not only treated Olympians and triathletes but had helped save the careers of professional football and baseball players. He had also worked to repair the knees, shoulders, hips, and elbows of retired athletes. A humble man, he had done so without seeking publicity.
Ray expressed a tremendous interest in my work with BAT. We decided to seek out ways as a team to help retired athletes struggling to make ends meet and who had seriously abused their bodies in action. We arrived at the idea of flying those who did not have an orthopedic specialist to Clermont for free help funded by BAT. I approached BAT with the idea and received an enthusiastic thumbs-up. The result was that Ray selflessly helped many retired athletes who had no insurance and at no cost to them.
In 2001 he began studying stem cell therapy, which had been embraced in other parts of the world and had attracted a wide variety of celebrities dealing with pain management. While medical professionals in other countries had been using and perfecting it for more than three decades, the United States had fallen behind. Ray and I studied papers and spoke often about it over the next two years.
The simple definition of stem cell therapy is that it is a system that helps bodies heal themselves. When we’re born and while a child we have trillions of stem cells helping us grow tissue, helping us fix or heal certain injuries. As we grow older our stem cells dwindle to the point that when we are in our fifties and beyond we have comparatively few. There are many different types of stem cells that are found in many areas of the body, including fatty tissue and bone marrow. Each has different qualities for different purposes.
Stem cell therapy remained banned in the United States largely because of the control of big pharmaceutical companies, but we continued to study its benefits with great interest. It was finally opened up in America and even aided a former athlete known as Sudden Sam, who for about a quarter century had no meniscus in either knee. Since the pain was minimal I lived through it. But in 2017 I twisted my knee stumbling on a sprinkler on the golf course. The pain was excruciating.
I had been advised by doctors that eventually I would require a knee replacement so I asked Ray about stem cells. He asked me drive to his practice in Naples. There he injected stem cells in my knee. Two weeks later the pain was gone. I was blown away but still skeptical because during my baseball career, shots of lidocaine eliminated pain for several hours but the pain then returned. European research papers about stem cell treatments claimed that healing could last from a few years to permanently but it still had to be proven to me.
Soon I received another painful opportunity. I tore my right shoulder rotator cuff moving furniture in my home in 2018. I could not move it without agony. I wasted no time after the original diagnosis to contact Ray, who by that time was using exosomes, the powerful healing properties of stem cells. He injected exosomes in my shoulder, and four days later the pain had completely disappeared. An MRI did not show any evidence of the tear three weeks later. I quickly recommended stem cell therapy to my wife Eva, who was suffering from serious arthritis in her hands and a strained shoulder ligament. She received exosomes shots in her shoulder and intravenously in her arm for the arthritis. By the time we returned home from our three-and-a-half hour drive, her pain was gone. I am now sold on exosomes.
One can only imagine just how beneficial such treatment could be for retired athletes, especially football players, whose physical issues later in life have been well-documented. Ray and I have in recent years begun work with various companies to create a program to help former athletes. I was indeed particularly shocked while attending a convention of retired NFL players. About three thousand were in attendance and I would estimate that three-fourths of them had serious problems walking. We have since become involved and hope to continue helping. Why should these men live out their lives as cripples when they can be healed?
One problem is that stem cell therapy in the United States is so new that most medical personnel are unfamiliar with how it works despite the fact that Europeans have benefitted from the results for decades. My primary physician originally thought it was a myth then dismissed research when I showed it to him. Because I am still involved with many of the medical professions, I speak with those in different disciplines. And only perhaps one in twenty recognize the therapy. All they need is an open mind and a bit of education. My pulmonologist saw the results of my different breathing tests and inhalation therapy. He was sold and is now part of our formal studies.
Positive results with autism, Parkinson’s, chronic obstructive pulmonary disease, and arthritis are finally receiving attention from the medical profession. But it is a slow process. The retirement village in which I currently live is a prime example. Neither the homeowners nor the medical professionals here have any clue about stem cells—the helpful ones and the not so helpful ones—and their benefits.
My move to Florida proved eventful beyond my introduction to stem cell therapy. I gained a wonderful companion in my personal life. The monumental moment that brought me love would not have happened had GPS been in existence in 1998. I was asked that year to present an award to Carmen Bush, wife of then-Florida governor Jeb Bush, for all her work with teenagers on drug prevention. The event was scheduled for Dr. Phillips High School in Orlando. I needed to ask for directions along the way. In such situations I always pick a large shopping center so if one person does not know I can always ask another.
I spotted a K-mart with plenty of vehicles in front and I noticed a woman getting out of a yellow sports car. A vision of loveliness. Why not get directions and meet a beautiful blonde at the same time, right? It became obvious that she could not speak English very well so since I had a bit of time to kill I asked her to join me for a cup of coffee. She paused for a bit, then agreed. After learning her name was Eva and that she was Slovakian, I asked her to meet me at my country club at nine o’clock after I returned from the banquet. Another yes.
But did she mean it? I repeatedly called the country club chef from the event to find out if she had arrived. The answer every time was no. I assumed she’d had second thoughts and cancelled. After all, a quick cup of coffee near K-mart does not exactly constitute a lengthy introduction. I made one last call. Bingo! She was there. We enjoyed our time together and began dating. I found her fascinating. I learned that she once served as director of entertainment for the Slovakian government, a connection that later came in handy when we visited her native land and family.
Among the first idiosyncrasies I noticed was that no matter how high-class the restaurant we visited in Orlando and central Florida, she would always order shrimp cocktail and salad. I finally asked her why and she explained to me that those were the only two items on the menu she could decipher in English. But she studied the language, adding it to the list she spoke fluently that already included Slovakian, Russian, Polish, and Czech. She could also speak but not read German.
Eventually I began thinking about marriage. But I hesitated. The idea brought back haunting memories. Alcoholism wrecked my first one and my second lasted but nine months. I felt fortunate to have met and dated several wonderful women since then but my past seemed to have precluded the notion of tying another knot.
I fell in love with Eva and as we grew more involved, the thought of marriage became a pleasant one. I shared with her neither my worries nor hopefulness. I felt the need to clear my mind. It would not have been fair for me to bring my baggage along in our relationship. After all, being in a good recovery that had already lasted nearly two decades guaranteed nothing. I wanted to ensure that I was ready for my first proper, caring, and loving marriage. My fears could best be described as paranoia.
Time and Eva healed that mental wound. After a couple years of dating I decided to pop the question. She was special and I wanted the moment to be special. I planned to ask her for her hand on her birthday. My secretary made wonderful plans. She invited Eva’s friends—some who flew in from Slovakia and whom she had not seen in years—for a party at the country club restaurant. The event was attended by about thirty-five people. Eva and I sat in the middle of a long table. We began the festivities with a fine meal. Then it was time for dessert. Little did she know that her engagement ring had been planted in a huge cake baked by our chef and that soon I would ask her to marry me.
The cake was ready. I was ready. The chef gave me a signal. I tapped Eva on the shoulder and she turned to me. “Honey, I’d like to ask you something,” I said. She turned away and continued her conversation with friends. I tried to ask her again and she turned away again. So I waved to the chef. He brought the cake over to the table so she could not miss it. No dice. She kept talking with her friends. What she eventually could not miss was the large, shiny diamond ring resting in between layers of cake. The room fell silent. Everyone but me believed what they’d attended was simply a birthday party.
A look of shock fell over Eva. “What are you telling?” she blurted out. “I’m asking you to marry me,” I replied. More silence as she came to grips with the enormity of the event. She began to cry. In between tears she said, “Yes!” Bedlam erupted throughout the restaurant. An occasion to remember forever.
One might be shocked to learn that I had never revealed my baseball career to Eva. She did not become aware of it until years later when we flew to Pittsburgh for the annual Pirates Christmas party. While I was in the bathroom, Ginger Briles, wife of fine pitcher Nelson Briles, turned to Eva and asked, “Do you know who you’re married to?” She replied quizzically, “Yes… Sam.” Ginger said, “No, you’re married to one of the great pitchers in baseball.” All she had known after hearing me take calls in the wee hours of the morning was that I was a counselor. That night and several thereafter she peppered me with questions about baseball. I had never unpacked my trophy collection or awards from my time in the sport. They’d been all stuck in the garage for about eighteen years and I just never got around to taking everything out to dust and clean.
Eva eventually became keen to my first career. I introduced her to many former Indians players during an event in Cleveland. They were intrigued by her accent. Among them were my former pitching mates Gary Bell and Louie Tiant. They wanted to know if Eva and I ever argued. “I don’t know,” I replied. “I don’t understand Slovakian and she doesn’t understand English.”
One might wonder why during all those years with Eva I did not reveal that I was once a famous athlete. Two factors entered into the equation. The first was that as part of my recovery I had to understand that the past had passed. I was a recovering alcoholic only, not a former ballplayer. I took my revival as a person so seriously that I truly let go of my previous career. I became so involved with counseling that it was no longer important. I never brought it up—not to Eva or anyone else unless they gained that knowledge on their own and inquired.
The subject of my baseball career arose when friends or neighbors discovered it on their own. But that was rare. To them I was just one of the boys and that is the way I liked it. I wanted them to appreciate me for me, not my uniform. As for Eva, why would she care? That was my mindset. I thought a few times about telling her but I figured as a Slovakian it would mean nothing to her.
Anyway, I introduced her family to the sport when we visited. They were not the only folks there to learn about the game. Rawlings donated $10,000 of equipment and balls for me to put on clinics in Slovakia. One was held in an open field in front of the old Communist headquarters building. There were no baseball diamonds—just soccer fields. But they had to suffice.
Eva did more than suffice as a wife. I had married a gem. She was indeed born under Communist rule in Czechoslovakia in 1958. The nation remained under a repressive regime until 1987—an experiment with greater freedom under progressive leader Alexander Dubcek in 1968 was brutally quashed by the Russian army. She arrived in America in the early 1990s in what was intended to be a three-month stay. She enjoyed her stay so much she decided to stick around a bit longer and procure a work visa. But after we’d met and had been dating for a while she secured a permanent visitor visa. A year later we were wed—quite a shock for her given that I had repeated over and over to her that I would never marry again. Famous last words.
Eva began the rigorous process of gaining United States citizenship in 2001. It required background searches including family history as well as education in American history and the English language. She finally earned citizenship in 2008 after a seven-year period she considers well worth the struggle.
She has come a long way. And she has taken me a long way. I acquired new knowledge and interests through her background. Her upbringing in a Communist country has led to many spirited conversations and a thirst for understanding that filled me with respect for her. I am amazed at the courage and strength it took for her to move to a foreign land without speaking the language, having no protection from family and friends. I know I could never have done that.
I have become quite the expert on European governments, particularly from the old Eastern bloc. What I learned from Eva greatly differed from the lessons taught in history class. It was a thrill for me to travel to Europe to visit her family members throughout Slovakia and the Czech Republic as well as other countries in that area of the world. They even threw a birthday bash for me inside the old Communist Party headquarters in the center of Slovakia. My opportunity to soak in many of the World War II sites proved eye opening and emotional. Among them was Auschwitz, the deadliest killing factory of the Holocaust. I felt sickened but also enlightened listening to Eva’s family members and neighbors talk about their experiences during the war and beyond. It must be noted that Eastern Europe slid right from the horrors of the war into the horrors of Russian oppression and stifled freedom.
Her growth as a person and an American has inspired me. She formed her own cleaning business and acquired the contracts of many stores in Florida. My children have embraced her and we have even become friends with Carol and her husband. We spend time with them when we visit Pittsburgh where my kids, their families, and some of my relatives still live. Eva and I travel throughout the United States and I find it admirable how she excitedly learns about the land and history of her adopted nation. What I once took for granted about living in America I have gained greater appreciation for because of Eva. She points out facts about our country that I had forgotten.
Oh, and her cooking! I can hardly imagine that she rarely cooked in her life before we met. She has blossomed into an incredible cook and baker. Wherever we have lived, the neighbors quickly discovered her expertise and demanded one of her masterpieces, particularly her specialty, an Irish wedding cake that requires eight hours of baking time. Folks fall over themselves scrambling for a slice.
It all added up. I was a late bloomer. But now that I had blossomed I yearned to maximize my potential as a person and enjoy life to the fullest. One more major weakness remained. It was time to kick a habit that had gripped me since before I stepped onto a professional ball field.