LEUKEMIA first came for his grandfather and got him at 40. Then it came for his father. It got him at 32. Now, it is coming after the MVP of the ’69 World Series, Donn Clendenon. He is 64.
“The doctors don’t know [how long I have,]” Clendenon, the first basemanthe Mets acquired from the Pirates just before midnight of the June 15, 1969 trading deadline, told The Post this week from his hometown of Sioux Falls, South Dakota. “I don’t see how they can speculate on the time. The whole thing is with this type of cancer [Chronic Lymphocytic Leukemia] is when your body doesn’t respond to the drugs, that’s when you go to various stages. My body has responded beautifully up to now.
“But I know that ultimately my body will not respond, and that means I will have to cheer for that happy baseball team in the sky.”
Now, don’t be mistaken, Donn Clendenon’s story is not a sad one. He writes about it in his new book, Miracle in New York: The Story of the 1969 Mets Through the Eyes of Donn Clendenon.
The book is not about leukemia. There is just a one paragraph mention of it at the end. He’s knownabout the condition since 1985.
He deals with it the same way he’s dealt with everything his whole life. He worked every day of his baseball career at other jobs – GE, U.S. Steel and Mellon Bank to name a few. He is a lawyer today. And he had an addiction to cocaine in the early ’80s. He overcame it and now helps others. He deals with life head on.
“Branch Rickey once told me, ‘Do you know what a true professional is?'”said Clendenon, whose father passed away when he was just six months old.
“I said, ‘What is it?’
“‘It is a person who when they are knocked down will get up on their feet, brush themselves off and continue to pursue their goals.’ “
He watched the ’99 Mets at the end of the regular season and it put him in a time machine, back to ’69 when he was the 6-foot-4, 209 pound slugger.
“It gave me goose pimples,” Clendenon said. “I sat on the bench during the playoffs with the Braves in [’69.] I had goose pimples and was nervous, because sitting on the bench is tough. I had the same feeling.
“I think that all of the ’69 Mets have a special relationship with the ’99 Mets, because we all met at a dinner,” added Clendenon of the private dinner on Jan. 20. “One of the things I liked was that Bobby Valentine said he hopes that this current team can have the same success as the 1969 Mets.
“I’ve got my fingers crossed. All I want them to do is have the same success we had 30 years ago. They can do it. They have more personnel and talent than we did. I think our pitching staff was a great deal better than theirs.”
But the MVP of the ’69 Series says he messed up 30 years ago. He felt he messed up big time before Game 1 against the heavily-favored Orioles.
“I let the team down because I let the guys get real tight,” Clendenon said. “Our clubhouse before the game was like a morgue. Normally, we kept a lot of stuff going, laughter. Because what breaks tension? Laughter. It was my first World Series and it was their first World Series, so we were all scared as hell.
“After they beat [Tom] Seaver, I knew Seaver was only 25 percent of the Seaver I knew. They just beat us by only 4-1, and I knew we were going to kick their butt. I told Frank Robinson that, because they were saying the ‘Miracle is over.’
“After the first game, everyone was telling jokes [before the rest of the games,] like we were the whole season in New York. And we went out and beat them.”
It started in the fourth inning of Game 2, Clendenon sent a curve ball from Dave McNally over the right field wall. The miracle was not over. The Mets were World Champions in five games. He finished the Series with three homers, a .357 batting average and the MVP trophy.
He’s still a champion. When his 19-month-old grandson, Alex Clendenon, is sick and Donn visits him in Philadelphia, he must stay away. The chemotherapy has weakened his immune system. He’s gone for chemo on two occasions. First in 1995 and then last year.
As with everyone else, chemo knocks a lot out of him. But he doesn’t just stay in bed. People die in bed, he says. So he would get up and walk the hospitals halls. Build up a sweat, then take a shower.
“One thing about chemotherapy, it kills the good as well as the bad, but that is better than the alternative,” said Clendenon, who still works actively as a lawyer. “The alternative is dying.”
After he finishes a chemo treatment he feels weak, but he goes and plays golf.
“I can’t hit the ball out of my shadow,” Clendenon said. “But just the idea of being able to concentrate on golf, it helps me.”
Next month, Clendenon expects to go for chemotherapy again. Leukemia is coming after him and eventually it might repeat family history, but his disease should know – if hasn’t figured it out already – it is up against a true professional.