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Baseball fans are still talking about the historic homer Mickey hit in Washington this spring. The 565-ft. hit, the first that ever carried over Washington's centerfield wall, was the longest home run ever measured (TIME. April 27). It sent sportswriters scurrying to the records, trying to compare it with some of Ruth's reported (but unmeasured) 600-footers. Like Ruth. Mickey hits towering homers. Like Ted Williams, he smacks crackling line drives. Like DiMaggio. he beats out hot-to-handle grounders if an infielder makes a split-second bobble. Blessed with a sprinter's speed—he has been clocked at 3.1 seconds traveling the 90 feet to first base —he is one of the fastest men in baseball.
As a centerfielder. Mantle still has trouble judging line drives hit directly at him. and occasionally he misjudges a fly ball. But he has proved a quick study in the job of covering Yankee Stadium's center-field acreage, and his throwing arm (his right) has whipping speed. Base runners have learned not to take liberties with him.
Mantle's best fielding advice came from Yankee Coach Tommy Henrich two years ago. Said "Old Reliable": "Do what I tell you—and watch DiMaggio." Outfielder Mantle has a confidence born from experience, now: "Standing around the outfield. I used to hope that they wouldn't hit to me. I was afraid I'd drop it. But now I just catch it and throw it in."
This kind of casual, frank statement, given in an offhand manner, has raised some doubts among professional worriers about Mantle's competitive spark. Ordinarily phlegmatic, like DiMaggio, Mantle was not cast in the same hot mold as the fiercely competitive Ty Cobb or the fiery Frankie Frisch, the most notable switch hitter baseball produced before Mantle. But in the Yankee dugout, out of sight of the crowd. Mickey has been known to kick the water cooler or bruise his knuckles on the concrete walls in moments of angry frustration after striking out. Nowadays, reflecting the restrained professional pride of the Yankees, Mantle has learned to bottle up his anger over a strike-out or a miscue. "I try not to let it bother me," he says placidly.
Mickey lets his bat do his talking for him. This week Switch-Hitter Mantle was the No. 1 batter in the American League, with a .347 average, 39 runs batted in and eight home runs.
Day & Night. For this kind of work, and for the customers he draws to Yankee Stadium by day and by night, Mickey Mantle is being paid about $18,000 a year —not high as star salaries go, but a nice start for a 21-year-old playing his third season as a major leaguer. Moreover, in addition to his salary, Mickey's new public eminence brings him a variety of other rewards. This season he is profitably endorsing Wheaties, Camel cigarettes, Gem razor blades, Beech-Nut chewing gum, Esquire socks, Van Heusen shirts, Haggar slacks and Louisville Slugger bats.
Like a movie star, he can no longer handle the steady stream of fan mail which pours in at the rate of 1,200 letters a week. The Yankees answer it for him. This spring, with the help of a New York baseball writer named Ben Epstein, he published one of the very few autobiographies ever written of a man barely old enough to vote: The Mickey Mantle Story.