Crabs Legend Wally Scott Passes Away

Editor's note: Wally Scott, who played for the Humboldt Crabs from 1946-1948 and again in 1951, passed away last week. We have decided to reprint the following article, written by former Crabs boardmember Jim Gould, from our 2008 program in his memory...

WALLY SCOTT – RADIOMAN, GUNNER, SHORTSTOP

On June 6, 1944 Wally Scott flew over bloody Normandy in his B-17 on the way to drop bombs on the Germans. He remembers looking down, seeing all those ships and wondering: “Damn, what’re all those boats doing down there?”

The Japanese, the last of the Axis Powers, surrendered 14 months later when Staff Sergeant Wally Scott of Blue Lake, California was in Clovis, New Mexico training for B-29’s. Nine months later, Wally had traded in his radio and headphones for a bat and glove; his sergeant’s stripes for a uniform with the Humboldt Crabs.

The baseball season was only a few weeks old when the veteran survivor of World War II was nicknamed “Great Scott.” He was the quintessential short stop. And he was a Humboldt County lad.

Wally was yet another Native American with a gift for Baseball. A child of the Yurok nation, with a little Irish and Scottish thrown into the mix, Wally grew up in Blue Lake dividing his time between school, sports, working and fishing.

“I worked for my uncle splitting wood for ten cents a cord,” he recalls. “I’d get another ten cents for weeding a row of vegetables. Man, those rows seemed like two miles long.”

By the time Wally graduated from high school in 1941, he was an accomplished ball player. He knew of Crabs founder Lou Bonomini and Reco Pastori from their baseball reputations and from playing against Reco in high school, but he became a friend when he played with them for Samoa-Arcata in the old Redwood League after his junior year in high school.

The California Scholastic Federation CSF took a very narrow view of high school athletes playing sports in their summers off. They banned Wally from playing baseball his senior year.

Despite the ban, Wally had scholarship offers from UCLA and St. Mary’s. He had the goods. He was recognized as one of the most gifted infielders ever in Humboldt County. The summer after he graduated, the manager of Samoa-Arcata, Ed Hemingway, suggested that Wally go down to San Francisco where he could play ball with teams that hired pros in the off season and where he had a greater chance of being seen by pro scouts. Wally put the scholarship offers on hold and headed off to San Francisco. San Francisco was 280 miles away. In 1941 it was a two day journey.

“I went to San Francisco to earn some money and play baseball. I wanted to get out and see the country,” he says. “I’d never been any further from Blue Lake than Eureka.”

“I worked for a meat packing company called Moffett Manteca down on south Third in San Francisco,” Wally says. “I got 60 cents an hour. I lived with my cousin, Bill Scott, in an apartment way up on Golden Gate Avenue and took a bus to work. The apartment cost me $12.00 a month”

Wally established a reputation playing for his “company” team. Moffett Manteca’s owners took their baseball seriously. Several gifted amateurs played for the company team. There were several pros as well, ballplayers who worked for Moffett Manteca in the off season playing winter ball for the meat packing company.

“We had one guy who played outfield for the Phillies,” Wally says. “I can’t remember his name. Pros didn’t make a zillion dollars in those days. This guy made $6000, which was very good money, but it still wasn’t enough for most of these guys and their families. Almost every pro had an off season job. It wasn’t like today.”

Wally was working for Moffett Manteca when the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor. His apartment building was owned by a Japanese family. “One day a bunch of trucks showed up and the whole family was taken away,” Wally remembers. “We never saw them again.”

Shortly after that, pro scouts found Wally. Hemingway’s advice had been correct. Wally had been “seen.” He signed a contract in “C” ball (roughly equivalent to today’s A level leagues) with the Salt Lake City Bees, a farm club for the San Francisco Seals in the Pacific Coast League. Scheduled to move up to the Seals after the 1942 season, Uncle Sam came calling first. Instead of Seals Stadium Wally moved up to a .50 caliber machine gun and radio headphones on a B-17.

The odds were against the airmen who flew in bombers in those days. Crews were originally to be routed home after 25 missions. That was extended to 30. Then the magic number was raised to 35. Very few crews made the Going Home Team. Very few.

Wally flew on the Yankee Rebel. The crew of 10 had four members from the South, four from the North, one from Southern California and Wally from Northern California, so “Yankee Rebel” was the compromise.

After 32 missions with his crew, the 351st Bomb Group made Wally a full-time trainer for newly arriving radiomen from the states. It was a fateful assignment. Shortly after leaving the Yankee Rebel, the aircraft was shot down with the loss of its entire crew.

“There are a lot of stories like that,” Wally says simply. But he says it quietly. And he’s looking away when he says it.

Wally came back to the states to train more radiomen, but he hated the regimen of stateside military service.

“Geez, you were saluting somebody every time you turned around,” he says. “Nobody saluted anybody on the airbases in England. You knew your crew and most of the other crews in your group. You respected people for the jobs they did. Nobody’s chances were very good. Saluting wasn’t important.”

Wanting to get back into the “real” world, Wally signed up for B-29’s. He was in training when the war ended. He beat the odds. He came home with the Air Medal, the Distinguished Flying Cross and a Purple Heart, courtesy of German flak that blew through the radio compartment, destroying the radio, knocking out some electrical power and slicing through Wally’s flight clothes, right across his ribs. Another gunner gave him first aid.

“It’s what we did,” he says. “We looked out for each other.” Kind of like a ball team.

When Wally returned to Humboldt County, Lou Bonomini came calling. He was looking for the finest short stop in county history. Wally put on a Crabs uniform and played from ‘46 through ’48. Within a few weeks in 1946 he’d earned the  “Great Scott” nickname. But pro scouts came calling again. Wally signed with the Salem Senators, a farm club for the Portland Beavers in the old Pacific Coast League.

Two years later, Wally came home for good. The aunt who had raised him had died. There were expenses. Someone had to step up to the plate and take over. Just like taking over that .50 caliber in 1942. Somebody had to the do the job. Wally was the guy. He came home. He took over. He played one last year for the Crabs in 1951.

“There were a bunch of characters playing ball in those days,” Wally recalls. “They all had jobs but played ball because they loved the game. Nobody worked in an office. They were lumbermen, fishermen, farmers, and they were tough. There were some memorable fights. The officiating wasn’t always good. Guys got angry.

“I hung out with some goofy guys, Dave Hauger and Bob Matthew. We’d go a bar in Arcata and have a beer before a game to get loosened up. Bob hit the longest ball I’ve ever seen anywhere. It went clean over where City Hall is today and ended up down near where Long’s Drugstore is. Nobody believes it, but I saw him do it.”

The Crabs fans were as dedicated in those days as they are today.

“We played for big crowds,” Wally says. “Full houses. And they were loud.”

And because they were playing in Arcata, they also played in the famous fog.

“Sometimes at night it would get so foggy, I could hardly see the pitcher. If you could hit a ball in the air, it was a home run. You could hear guys, but you couldn’t see ‘em. We called off a lot of games in those days, the fog was that heavy.”

When Wally returned to settle his aunt’s estate, he officially retired from his dreams of professional baseball. He played that last season for the Crabs ’51, but he stayed active, playing for other teams on occasion in Blue Lake and Eureka. And he’d play ball with the local kids when they came calling. He recalls playing catch with the Iorg boys in Blue Lake before Dane went on to the Crabs, the Phillies, St. Louis and Kansas City. He’d play today, but the years take their toll. He’s 85 now, but you’ll see him at the park – occasionally – when there’s no fog – and the sun is shining.

Wally Scott has led a most memorable life. Radioman, turret gunner, B-17 survivor lumberman, mill worker, and of greatest importance to us, the famed shortstop, Great Scott, of the Humboldt Crabs.