One-of-a-Kind: The Ron Weiss Story

Across 25 years of writing sports feature pieces for the New York Daily News, I can’t tell you how many unsolicited phone calls I got suggesting a story I absolutely had to write. Most of them were well-meaning. A few were bizarre or from the land of make believe. Very few of them ever led anywhere, which is why the voicemail that Ron Weiss left for me almost three decades ago remains an indelible memory, and a sweet one at that.

Ron Weiss was born 86 years ago in the Upper East Side neighborhood of Yorkville, the son of a candy store owner. He has a raspy voice and a thick New Yawk accent, in which he delivers many wisecracks on a daily basis. In his voicemail he was insistent that I return his call to learn more about his best friend, a former Yankee prospect named John Malangone, a kid from East Harlem who, he said, was widely considered to be the successor to the great Yogi Berra. I had never heard of John Malangone, and the more Ron rambled on about the buried childhood trauma that sabotaged his baseball career and much of his life, the less believable it seemed. But there was something that I couldn’t get away from in this message, and it was Ron’s authenticity and passionate advocacy for his friend. Yes, Ron was heavy handed and borderline obnoxious in his persistence, but he was so over the top that he became endearing.

John Malangone (c.) with catching legends Mickey Cochrane (l.) and Bill Dickey (r.) in Yankees spring training in the early 1950s.

“I read your stuff. I know you like underdog stories,” he said, quite correctly. “I’m telling you that John Malangone has a story like nobody else and you have to write it.”

So I called him back, and we had a long phone call, and within a week or two, I was having a catch with John Malangone in Jefferson Park in East Harlem – the same park where he was discovered by the legendary Yankee scout, Paul Krichell, whose other finds included Lou Gehrig. John’s arm was still so strong in his early 70s that it hurt my hand to catch him. Then we went to John and Ron’s favorite coffee shop at 116^th and Second Avenue and had breakfast. The Daily News paid and it was the best $23.50 the paper ever spent, because John laid out his life journey, a poor Italian kid who lived in a tenement with a host of aunts and uncles and cousins; who was five years old when he accidentally killed his 7-year-old uncle while they were playing in the park with a makeshift javelin fashioned with the spoke of an umbrella and a broom handle. As his family grieved in silence, John began carrying a private burden and  that would stay with him for basically his whole life. He never learned to read or write. His social skills were non-existent. He lived life awash in unfathomable guilt, and the emotional wreckage crushed his playing career, even after he was named the MVP of a Yankees’ farm team and none other than Casey Stengel’s anointed him as the heir apparent to Berra. John Malangone had massive power and a stocky body that seemed carved out of cinder blocks. It was no match for his secret.

The story was all that Ron Weiss said it was. I wrote it, and a couple of years later, Ron made the same pitch to the great Gary Smith, who wrote a brilliant Sports Illustrated piece on it. John’s story also became a book (Pinstripes and Penance) and a film, Long Road Home.  All because an amateur, world-class PR guy named Ron Weiss wouldn’t take no for an answer.

“Who is this guy?” I thought upon hearing that first voicemail way back when. Now I know the answer. He is a dear friend.

Ron would sometimes joke to me, “When are you going to write my story?” The answer, Ron, is right now. On Father’s Day, 2024. Not because of good behavior - Lord, no - but because you are a one-of-a-kind human being, and a father, or so say your beloved twin daughters, Serena and Vinica Weiss, who will admit that your occasional lapses into cantankerous behavior sometimes are annoying, but they are more than made up for the kindness and purity of your heart. You also are a faithful husband to the former Patricia Suarez, and let the record show you have been overachieving in the marriage department for 51 years.

Ron is spending Father’s Day in a less-than-desirable location – Westchester Medical Center – because he had a coronary angioplasty performed last week, and when you are 86 they will actually keep you for a few days.

Vinica and Serena Weiss. Dad in the middle.

So what is the Ron Weiss story? It’s about a man who has an irrational love for baseball, so much so that when I called him in the hospital yesterday he went on a semi-rant about the Yankee rookie who botched a bunt attempt in a recent defeat, failing to move the runner over.

“The bunt is the one time your bat turns into a glove. You want to catch the ball with your bat,” Ron said.

Ron was at Yankee Stadium for Mickey Mantle’s first game in 1951. His own baseball career spanned about seven decades. He starred at CCNY and was enshrined in the school’s Hall of Fame. He played in senior baseball leagues until he was 81, and he wants you to know he got a hit in his final at bat. He liked to warm up with a garden rake, swinging it hard to build up his hand and wrist strength. When you call the Weiss home in Highland Falls, New York, his voice welcomes you and then offers a reminder: “There are four seasons - Spring, Summer, Fall and Baseball.”

Baseball hasn’t just been a passion for Ron Weiss throughout his life; it has also lifted him up in the hardest times imaginable, including the suicide of his son, ARon.  Ron actually wrote a guest essay for Coffey Grounds a few weeks ago about his late son, and the chronic, major depression Ron himself has struggled with for much of his life. It got so bad at times he’d barely leave bed for months at a time, but Ron never stopped trying to get beyond it, through years of therapy, searching unrelentingly for what he calls “the light at the end of the tunnel.”

Ultimately, the Ron Weiss story is about a man who is the consummate gamer, a bundle of quirks that command your attention and make you laugh and most of all make you glad he is in your life. You can trust that entire shifts of nurses at Westchester Medical Center have learned all about John Malangone and the beauty of baseball, even as he barks about how the kitchen can’t figure out what to feed someone who has been a vegetarian for 42 years.

“They gave me a whole plate of French fries the other day,” he said. “What am I supposed to do with that?”

Ron Weiss has opinions, and comments, about most everything, but as he spends Father’s Day in the hospital, against his wishes, he has come upon wisdom, and he is totally sold on its enduring power.

“Everybody wants to be loved, and everybody is searching for people to love,” he said. “If you have that, what else do you really need?”

P.S. Happy Father’s Day, Ronnie. Thanks for pitching me that story.