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He wanted Los Angeles to grade and improve the land in Chavez Ravine and build access roads, and, what is more, he wanted the work done promptly. The Dodgers, then, would build a stadium. They would expect a couple of consecutive 99-year leases on the land at $1 a year, and they intended to pay no taxes. There were numerous other demands. But if the O'Malley ultimatum dismayed Mayor Poulson, he gave no sign. He simply took the paper back home and turned it over to the bright young men he has hired to mind the store.
"Anarchy." When O'Malley went West again a few months later, he was met by a motorcade of baseball-happy loons. The town was decked with Dodger flags; he felt like a conquering hero. He figured he had it made.
Then he met with Mayor Poulson's brain trust. Los Angeles, he learned to his dismay, was not about to give away Chavez Ravine on O'Malley's terms. "The thing got more and more confusing," he admits. "I finally asked, 'Well, who's the big guy out here? Who do I have to deal with?' "
The answer was: no one. As Hoodlum Mickey Cohen once wailed, when asked who got the political payoff for a gangster's operations in Southern California: "There's no politics in Southern California you can deal with. It's anarchy!"
It seemed anarchy to Walter, too. Not only were the mayor's boys telling him to tone down his demands, there was some active and growing opposition to letting him into Chavez Ravine at all.
Picked for a Patsy. To bolster his case, O'Malley retreated to New York and started looking for a traveling companion. The National League's train and plane fares for a summer schedule would shoot up as much as $35,000 per team if two teams went West. The cost of accommodating only one California club would have been prohibitive. O'Malley had already picked out his patsy. Horace Stoneham's New York Giants were going broke up in the Polo Grounds. O'Malley simply called San Francisco's Mayor George Christopher, invited him to New York and introduced him to Horace.
Although he shares O'Malley's girth, Stoneham shows none of O'Malley's guile. He wanted to move, and he said so. He and Mayor Christopher came to terms quickly. Despite the almost certain knowledge that it was settling for a second-rate club, San Francisco welcomed its Giants.
It all seemed so easy and so pleasant that last week's opening day with the Dodgers lulled some San Francisco fans into thinking they had actually imported a winner. The weather was balmier than any Bay City afternoon is supposed to be in spring. Centerfielder Willie Mays, who may wind up the season as the team's only visible means of support, hit two for five. The vaunted rookies, First Baseman Orlando Cepeda, Third Baseman Jim Davenport and Outfielder Willie Kirkland, outperformed their promise. For the moment, life was wonderful.