ST. LOUIS (AP) - Stan Musial was remembered during a funeral and memorial outside Busch Stadium on Saturday as a Hall of Famer and a St. Louis icon embraced by generations of fans who never had the privilege of watching him play.
Costas noted that even though Musial, who died Jan. 19, was a three-time NL MVP and seven-time batting champion, the pride of Donora, Pa., lacked a singular achievement. Joe DiMaggio had a 56-game hitting streak, Ted Williams was the last major leaguer to hit .400, and Willie Mays and Mickey Mantle soared to stardom in the New York spotlight. Musial didn’t quite reach the 500-homer club _ he finished with 475 _ and played in his final World Series in 1946, “wouldn’t you know it, the year before they started televising the Fall Classic!”
“What was the hook with Stan Musial other than the distinctive stance and the role of one of baseball’s best hitters?” Costas said. “It seems that all Stan had going for him was more than two decades of sustained excellence as a ballplayer and more than nine decades as a thoroughly decent human being.
“Where is the single person to truthfully say a bad word about him?”
There was enough room in the large Roman Catholic church for a handful of fans. One of them wore a vintage, No. 6 Musial jersey. Another clapped softly as pallbearers carried the casket from the church to the hearse to the tune of bagpipes.
Among those in attendance were baseball Commissioner Bud Selig, former St. Louis standout Albert Pujols and Hall of Famers Bob Gibson, Lou Brock, Ozzie Smith, Bruce Sutter, Whitey Herzog and 90-year-old Red Schoendienst, who once roomed with Musial. Joe Torre, a former MVP and manager in St. Louis, and Tony La Russa, who became close with Musial during his 16 seasons managing the Cardinals, sat near the front along with current manager Mike Matheny.
Pujols, who had been on track to challenge many of Musial’s franchise records before signing with the Angels 13 months ago, exchanged hugs with Fred Hanser, a member of the Cardinals ownership team, before taking his seat.
Jim Edmonds, a star center fielder for two World Series teams in the 2000s, has the same last name as one of Musial’s sons-in-law. He said Musial informed him that they were distant relatives, and greeted him as “Hey, Cuz!”
“I thought he was kidding at first,” Edmonds said. “That’s pretty cool.”
Jack Clark, a slugging first baseman for the Cardinals during the 1980s, said he perhaps respected Musial most for his decency during baseball’s sometimes difficult period of integration in the 1940s and 1950s.
“Stan kind of crossed that color barrier. When people were getting on the African-American players, he stuck up for them. It was a time when you could kind of get your finger pointed at you for that stuff,” Clark said. “People loved him, and he loved them right back.”
Bishop Richard Stika, pastor at Musial‘s’ church in suburban St. Louis for several years, speculated during the homily about why Musial was never ejected from a game during his career: “I think deep down, that was because he didn’t want to go home and face Lil.”
Musial’s wife of nearly 72 years, Lillian, died last year.
Grandson Andrew Edmonds said the public Musial was no different from the private Musial, the grandpa who bought McDonalds for the family every Sunday. He recalled a fan telling him, “Your grandpa’s best attribute is he made nobodies feel like somebodies.”