Reese Kaplan -- A Minor League Name and Story Most Don't Know

Every now and then you stumble across a page of baseball history that is embarrassingly brand new to you.  We all have our moments of arcane and trivial bits we can't get anyone else to appreciate at nearly the same level.  

We have chosen a sure-thing rookie who never made it, rooted for a seasoned veteran who lost whatever it was he had.  Then there are the sad tales of folks who burst upon the scene only to run into issues with command, health or off-the-field issues that interfered with the ability to play at the utmost level of productivity.  

Recently while looking at some videos on Youtube I stumbled across one such player whose name didn't even generate a flicker of recognition in my memory -- Steve Dalkowski.  As a high school performer he was kind of like Nolan Ryan in that he could dial it up easily over 100 mph (some say even as high as 110 before radar guns became a "thing" that we used to clock velocity).  

The problem was that not only could he fan just about anyone he faced, but he was also unsure where the ball was going to go at that electric velocity.  Striking out 24 of 27 batters in a game is remarkable (yes, he did that on the way up.)   Then again, walking a double digit number of hitters counteracts what you do positively.  In his first year in pro ball he average 17.6 strikeouts per 9 IP but also offered up 18.7 walks over the same span of innings.

The Baltimore Orioles were the team that felt Dalkowski had enough raw potential to draft him and groom him for the majors.  Every time he took the mound it was like a special one-off show where people would stop what they were doing just to watch the the modest-sized southpaw rear back and throw like no one had seen it happen before.  From age 18 in D- ball up through age 25 and 25 when he finally made it to AAA everyone was sure the switch would simply flip and he would be able to become a top-of-the-rotation starter in the majors.

By 1963 they felt that this all-or-nothing approach was going to lead to sustained issues of arm and shoulder problems.  He was converted from would-be starter to would-be reliever.  

Unfortunately the results didn't really match expectations.  The strikeouts went down to more modest 1 per IP, but the walks stayed just as bad.  In one season he struck out 262 and walked an identical 262.  

Under his early minor league manager Earl Weaver he started so show some modest improvement in control.  In Elmira in 1962 he put together a full year at a 3.04 ERA and then the following year as a reliever full time he lowered it to 2.79.  His strikeouts came down to 8.7 per 9 IP which was well below what he had been doing, but the walks continued to bedevil him at 8.1 per 9 IP.  

Weaver was an early advocate of intelligence testing to ascertain how to approach the pitchers he supported and was distressed to find Dalkowski falling well below average in that regard.  

His health problems and his inability throw strikes led to all sorts of violent episodes off the field fueled in large part by his early onset alcoholism.  By the time he was released for good at age 26 in 1965 after falling all the way back to A ball, the media headlined it as a living legend (bear in mind one who never made the majors) cut loose.  

He developed dementia in the mid 1960s which was attributed to his drinking and he wound up being a farm laborer and doing other menial types of work which was doubly difficult for a guy who was proclaimed to be the next big thing.  

It is said that the character of Nuke Laloosh in Bull Durham portrayed by Time Robbins was inspired by tales the writer had heard about Dalkowski while a member of the Orioles organization.  

To get an idea of how fast he was, both Ted Williams and umpire Doug Harvey proclaimed him easily the fastest pitcher they'd ever seen.  Batters were terrified to face him, not due to the velocity but because a hit-by-pitch could cause serious injury since he never knew where the ball was going.  After his single spring training at-bat Williams said he'd never volunteer to face him ever again.

In a 1970 profile of Dalkowski, Sports Illustrated said, "His failure was not one of deficiency, but rather of excess. He was too fast. His ball moved too much. His talent was too superhuman... 

It mattered only that once, just once, Steve Dalkowski threw a fastball so hard that Ted Williams never even saw it. No one else could claim that."  

He was in and out of baseball-related and non-baseball related rehabilitation programs for his drinking after baseball, but most withdrew their financial support when it was discovered the funds they provided for his day-to-day living instead of going for rent instead went to the purchase of more alcohol.  

He was living in a senior citizen rehab facility in 2020 when he contracted COVID-19 and succumbed to it due to his body's inability to fight it off after a lifetime of what drinking had done to his organs.  

There's a great documentary piece to get a sense of who he was and how his life proceeded, but be forewarned it is not a happy bit of light entertainment.  If you have the time, watch The Steve Dalkowski Story, just over 27 minutes to remind you that there are people behind this game we all love and their life stories can turn out to be tragic.