And the mascot, Charlie O
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I was reading Jim Hunter's autobiography today and came across this from Jim Hunter. The later events (the bad season) are from 1974.
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...early 1969 I borrowed $120,000 from Mr. Finley to buy that particular plot of land promising to repay the debt at a rate of $20,000 per year plus 6% interest for as long as it took. The acreage in question was just a few hundred yards east of where I live today but miles ahead in soil content and productivity, it's rich black dirt fed by the Perquiman's River.
A great buy. Or so I figured. But come June, Finley started hounding me and my dad for his money back. All $120,000. Right now. "But I'm supposed to pay you in installments," I said. To which he responded, "I know, I know, but I'm buying a hockey team and a basketball team, and I need the money."
I told Finley the truth. I didn't have the money. Not at what he was paying me a year ($75,000), and I wasn't about to go robbing Peter to pay Paul. Not after all my daddy taught me. But Mr. Finley was in one of his
Charlie O. (the mule) moods. He wanted his money back. End of conversation. For a while, at least.
Then the call started. Day and night. Night and day. Only on the days I pitched. Of course, Finley denied knowing I was pitching. This is from the man who knew how much popcorn they sold every night, what lights were out in the restrooms.
"Cat," he'd say over and over again, the same raspy voice, "do you know who this is?"
"Yes, sir, Mr. Finley."
"I...need...my...money."
It never varied. Or ended. "I...need...my...money." I'll admit it; it got to me. Try having your boss call up just before a sales presentation. See how you do. That's why, as I mentioned before, I started eight games in August and lost everyone, ending the season 12-15. It got so bad that when I went to the ballpark I wouldn't take any calls. "I...want...my...money."
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From
Catfish: My Life in Baseball by
Jim Hunter and
Armen Keteyian