Welcome to the eighth installment of Mets Sunday School: Forgotten Faces of Flushing, where we take a trip down memory lane to revisit the orange-and-blue-clad players who time—and often Mets fans—seem to have forgotten. Every week, we’ll rummage through baseball cards (or crumbling programs that smelled like hot dogs) to shine a light on the Mets who didn’t make headlines but still found a way to be part of the team’s unpredictable and unforgettable history at Shea, Citi, the Polo Grounds, and beyond.
Last week, we turned the pages back to the brief Mets tenure of José Cardenal, the well-traveled outfielder whose unmistakable afro and veteran presence made a short but memorable stop in Queens. This week, we shift our focus to Rube Walker—a man who never took a single at-bat for the Mets but left an indelible mark on the franchise as the architect of one of the most revolutionary pitching strategies in baseball history.
So grab a seat, sharpen your pencils, and let’s get to work!
If the 1969 Mets were a finely tuned engine, then Rube Walker was the mechanic, refining each part until it ran with championship precision. Never mind that he wasn’t a pitcher himself—Walker had an innate feel for the craft, a baseball whisperer who could read a hurler’s mind like a dime-store novel and teach them how to think two batters ahead. His legacy with the Mets was built on brains, not brawn, and it was his innovative approach that helped sculpt one of the most formidable pitching staffs in baseball history.
Albert Bluford Walker, known to the world as Rube, father, was a former semipro catcher, had dreams of molding his son into a ballplayer, even going so far as to make homemade baseballs out of wound-up string and black tape. Young Rube earned his nickname as a batboy for the local Class-D team, idolizing a player named Rube Robinson.
After high school, Walker signed with the Cubs' minor league system and quickly established himself as a solid hitter. In 1946, he led the Three-I League with a .354 average, clubbing 13 home runs and driving in 85 runs. The following season in Nashville, he put together a 10-at-bat hitting streak, earning himself a ticket to the big leagues. By 1948, he was a bona fide major leaguer, breaking in as a rookie catcher for the Cubs.
But the baseball gods had other plans for Rube, and in 1951, he found himself shipped to Brooklyn as part of an eight-player trade. There, he found himself in the unenviable position of backing up one of the greatest catchers to ever wear shin guards: Roy Campanella. The highlight—or rather, lowlight—of his time with the Dodgers came in 1951, when he was behind the plate for Bobby Thomson’s infamous “Shot Heard ’Round the World.” Years later, Rube would lament that the pitch Ralph Branca threw was supposed to be a brushback. Instead, it was a meatball, and the rest is cruel baseball history.
Despite his role as a backup, Walker’s time in Brooklyn forged bonds that would shape his future. He roomed with Dodgers captain Pee Wee Reese and formed an enduring friendship with first baseman Gil Hodges, a relationship that would later become one of the most important in Mets history.
Walker remained with the Dodgers through their move to Los Angeles, but by 1958, with Campanella’s tragic car accident and John Roseboro emerging as the team’s new primary catcher, Walker found himself the odd man out. Released in midseason, he transitioned to coaching, staying in the Dodgers’ system before bouncing around the minors as both a manager and mentor. He had an uncanny ability to connect with pitchers, a skill that didn’t go unnoticed by his old buddy Hodges.
When Hodges took over as Mets manager in 1968, he brought Walker along as his pitching coach, a move that would change the franchise’s fortunes. At the time, the Mets had a history of losing that could make even the Cubs chuckle, but they did have one thing going for them—young arms. Seaver, Koosman, Gentry, McAndrew, and a wild fireballer named Nolan Ryan. They had talent, but they needed guidance, and that’s where Rube came in.
Walker’s most revolutionary contribution to the Mets—and baseball in general—was implementing the five-man rotation. At the time, most teams still operated on a four-man cycle, but Walker believed that pitchers had a finite number of bullets in their arms, and spreading out their workload would keep them fresher and healthier. Tom Seaver, initially skeptical, soon became one of the concept’s biggest believers. Over time, the five-man rotation became the standard across Major League Baseball.
Beyond the X’s and O’s of pitching mechanics, Walker was a father figure to his staff. He was less concerned with arm angles and release points than he was with a pitcher’s mindset. He preached the importance of location, strategy, and conditioning. Under his guidance, the Mets’ team ERA dropped a full run between 1967 and 1968, and by 1969, their pitching staff was nothing short of dominant.
The Miracle Mets shocked the world by winning the World Series that year, riding a wave of brilliant pitching orchestrated by Walker. Tom Seaver won 25 games and the Cy Young Award, Jerry Koosman was a rock in the rotation, and the bullpen—anchored by Tug McGraw—was airtight. The Mets had finally arrived, and their foundation was built on Walker’s wisdom.
Rube remained with the Mets through 1981, guiding new waves of pitchers and leaving his imprint on the franchise long after he was gone. He may not have had a Hall of Fame plaque, but his influence was felt every time a pitcher took the mound for the Mets. He took a team synonymous with losing and turned it into a champion, one well-placed pitch at a time. That’s a legacy worth remembering. Next week, we’ll take a another deep dive into another forgotten face of Flushing, a player whose impact on the Mets may have been felt more in the clubhouse than in the box score. Stay tuned!
Comments