Duke Snider is gone, slipping away at age 84. Most fans today never saw him play. How could they? He retired all the way back in 1964, and even that was after a pair of lost final seasons: first with the Mets, which was a joke, and then with the Giants, which, for a Dodger, is almost a sacrilege. Especially for a Brooklyn Dodger.

But he stands out in the literary baseball fan’s memory, in a way that he probably shouldn’t. I mean, first Joe DiMaggio, then Mickey Mantle and Willie Mays: New York had brighter lights in those days—men who were better ballplayers and bigger personalities. Of course, a kind of generous reaction sets in, as soon as one says that. Snider was good. He hit more homeruns in the 1950s than any other player. He was a good fielder, in the days when a centerfielder had to be.