I read this with some trepidation: I was Mantle’s editor at HarperCollins back in the 90s, for two books—All My Octobers, and Letters to Mickey (a compilation of fan mail he received when he was ill and dying of chronic hepatitis and then, cancer). Many Mantle fans in my family going back to the 50s. What I saw when I worked with him: anguish. When drunk, he was irascible, cruel, vitriolic, given to unpredictable racist ravings. I watched while he made an 8 year old in #7 antique pinstripes cry: the child was waiting for an autograph during a signing at B Dalton on 5th Avenue. A week later, an attorney representing the child’s mother threatened legal action. As his editor I had to explain to him in detail why it wasn’t a good idea for him to dedicate his book to his mistress. Such was working with Mickey. The flipside: as brilliant an athlete as he was, he had clearly been broken very young—the pain dripped off him in rivulets, and I recognized that. He clearly had no idea what it meant to even consider healing, and his family and handlers enabled every move he made. I will read this new book because I want to know more, I want to understand, I want to fathom him as far more than walking destruction wrapped in extraordinary talent.
I read this with some trepidation: I was Mantle’s editor at HarperCollins back in the 90s, for two books—All My Octobers, and Letters to Mickey (a compilation of fan mail he received when he was ill and dying of chronic hepatitis and then, cancer). Many Mantle fans in my family going back to the 50s. What I saw when I worked with him: anguish. When drunk, he was irascible, cruel, vitriolic, given to unpredictable racist ravings. I watched while he made an 8 year old in #7 antique pinstripes cry: the child was waiting for an autograph during a signing at B Dalton on 5th Avenue. A week later, an attorney representing the child’s mother threatened legal action. As his editor I had to explain to him in detail why it wasn’t a good idea for him to dedicate his book to his mistress. Such was working with Mickey. The flipside: as brilliant an athlete as he was, he had clearly been broken very young—the pain dripped off him in rivulets, and I recognized that. He clearly had no idea what it meant to even consider healing, and his family and handlers enabled every move he made. I will read this new book because I want to know more, I want to understand, I want to fathom him as far more than walking destruction wrapped in extraordinary talent.