A chance encounter sometimes has the power to alter the trajectory of an entire life.
Back in 1980, Greg DeHart was a young baseball player in his early twenties pitching for the Burlington Bees, a Single-A affiliate of the Milwaukee Brewers, trying to realize his dream of making it to the big leagues.
Things weren’t going very well for DeHart that fateful day in Burlington, Iowa, earning him a mound visit from his pitching coach … and another unlikely visitor.
DeHart then watched as a strange scene developed – a gangly 6-foot-5 inch figure in a tattered, dirt-soaked jersey with a giant question mark on the back trailed his coach to the mound and began mimicking the coach’s walk and mannerisms, wildly gesticulating and pantomiming with long, rubbery limbs that seemed to have a mind of their own.
When the pitcher inquired as to what the heck was going on, the sneering face with a baseball-sized nose smirked and barked five words back at him that DeHart would abide by years later as a documentary filmmaker when making a movie about this character’s remarkable life: “Just go with it, kid.”
And go with it, he did. As DeHart would ultimately find out, this odd-looking fellow before him was no drunken fan or transient hobo trespassing on the field, but the one and only Max Patkin, famous for decades in the minor league baseball universe as “the Michelangelo of baseball clowns.”
“It was such an unusual event when he came out to the mound that I just never forgot it,” DeHart said by phone from his home in Los Angeles. “Max put me on the spot, so I had no idea he was performing. When I became a filmmaker, I always wanted to do a film about the minor leagues, and that day where I met Max, that was my intro to the minor leagues. So, away I went.”
Before the sports mascots of today, there were clowns like Patkin, the subject of DeHart’s latest film, Max Patkin: The Clown Prince of Baseball. The documentary premiered in late March at Greater Nevada Field, the home of the Reno Aces, a minor league affiliate of the Arizona Diamondbacks. The film was produced by Sunn Stream Productions.
As DeHart depicts in the film, Patkin, born in West Philadelphia in 1920, was minor league baseball royalty as a traveling clown whose 5,000 consecutive performances (give or take) across small town America over a 50-year period made him a legendary figure who now has a permanent exhibit in the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, N.Y., and was featured in the movie Bull Durham.
Though Patkin’s act took him to every corner of the country, his unofficial home base where he performed more than anywhere else was in Reading, at minor-league Phillies games.
The Clown Prince of Baseball features archival footage and sound bites of Patkin, who died in Chester County in 1999, as well as conversations between DeHart and Patkin’s daughter and only child, Joy.
DeHart also conducted interviews with a litany of people who knew Patkin inside and outside of baseball, including Hall of Fame pitcher Bob Feller, former MLB coach Don Zimmer, broadcaster Harold Reynolds, Philadelphia sports media personalities Angelo Cataldi and Stan Hochman and Bull Durham director Ron Shelton, who would become a key figure late in Patkin’s life.
It’s a passion project for DeHart, who began making it more than 20 years ago before growing unsatisfied with a rough cut of the film and moving on to other projects. It was only within the last few years that he was able to raise the funds to see the documentary through to the end.
“It’s a very personal film for me, coming from a very impactful moment that I never forgot about,” DeHart said. “I’m really glad I got it finished, for me and for Max.”
Four decades before DeHart’s unexpected run-in, another cosmic twist of fate brought together future Hall of Famer Joe DiMaggio and a young Navy sailor by the name Max Patkin, who was stationed in Hawaii during World War II. In 1944, DiMaggio and some other pro ballplayers were visiting Patkin’s base when an exhibition game broke out between the players and servicemen. Patkin, himself a pitcher with dreams of going pro, surrendered a home run to DiMaggio.
In a spontaneous act of showmanship, Patkin tossed his glove down in mock disgust and chased after DiMaggio around the bases, much to the delight and consternation of the crowd.
Just like that, an unconventional career was born. Patkin pitched briefly for the Wilkes-Barre Barons after the war, but an arm injury thwarted his playing career. Cleveland Indians owner Bill Veeck hired Patkin as a coach for a few seasons, but when Veeck sold the team in 1949 Patkin began barnstorming in minor league stadiums as a family-friendly entertainer.
Patkin’s act was simple, yet enduring. During games, wearing his trademark baggy uniform with an always askew baseball cap on his head, he would contort his face into various shapes, mock opposing players and coaches, and take long sips of water that he would then shoot out of his mouth into the air like an erupting geyser. Patkin would also interact with fans in the crowd all while the game was being played, bringing smiles everywhere he went.
“His timing was perfect coming out of the war,” DeHart said. “Max was a natural comedian, and he made people laugh by using his odd looks and famous gait as a distraction. People had never seen anything like this, and they needed to laugh and lighten up after World War II. He did this for 50 years, and even as the country, technology and entertainment all changed, Max’s act never did. By the time he retired in the 90s, he was doing the same thing and people were still laughing.”
Patkin loved baseball, and this was his way of honoring the sport in his own unique way, reminding people across America every night that baseball is a kid’s game that is supposed to be fun for everybody.
The Phillie Phanatic is perhaps the most iconic of all sports mascots, but he hides behind a green furry costume and constantly tinkers with his act, while Patkin presented his same authentic self night after night. His fabled 5,000 consecutive games puts Cal Ripken Jr.’s 2,632 consecutive games streak on notice, especially while having to leave the ballpark to travel to a new city after each game.
“Ripken would at least play three or four games before going to the next city,” DeHart said. “Max traveled every single day to perform at a different ballpark, and he never missed a single one. It was important to Max not only as his livelihood in how he got paid – people needed the laughter. It was a lonely thing being in a hotel room in a different city each night, but he got to hear the laughter and clapping and see the smiles on the faces of little kids.”
Patkin was a true innovator, but his own personal story was littered with sadness. He had a tough childhood, encountering bullying due to his unconventional looks, antisemitism and a difficult connection with his parents, who didn’t speak English. He found solace on a baseball field, even if baseball was what would later keep him on the road as an adult away from his wife and daughter for a majority of the year.
“In a way, it was his bargain with the devil,” DeHart said. “The classic clown cliche story of hiding his pain in the name of getting laughter, and a lot of pain came with it. The adulation he received came with the pain of being away from his family.”
In the end, Patkin sacrificed his own joy for the joy of others, though he did get to enjoy some of the fruits of his labors as he neared the end of his life. For starters, Patkin was the first person Shelton cast in Bull Durham, the iconic 1988 baseball film about life in the minor leagues starring Kevin Costner, Tim Robbins and Susan Sarandon.
Patkin played himself (of course), got to share scenes with Costner and even dance with Sarandon when Crash Davis, Costner’s character, was initially too shy to do so himself. Shelton shot a funeral scene for Patkin in the film but says in the documentary he later cut it because he simply couldn’t live with being the one who killed Max Patkin.
“One of the things Ron talks about in the film is how could he do a film about the minor leagues without Max Patkin?” DeHart said. “Max is the minor leagues. Max was the first person Ron called and cast. What that did for Max was remarkable. His life’s work was being recognized. It was a badge of honor for Max to be in Bull Durham, his way of making it to the big leagues. All of a sudden he was getting recognized in big city airports instead of the backroads of small town America. Max was proud of being in such a successful film and talked about it all the time. After 35 or 40 years, he finally got his recognition.”
While Patkin did not live long enough to see himself memorialized in Cooperstown, his daughter was there the day Patkin’s exhibit was unveiled to the public. And the Reading Phillies did induct Patkin into their Hall of Fame months before his death in 1999 from an aneurysm, with Patkin on hand to perform his famous act one last time. Patkin was also a 1984 inductee of the Pennsylvania Sports Hall of Fame.
In the age of social media and technology, Patkin was one of the first and likely last of his kind. These days, most mascots wear animal or other funny costumes, and some even have their own social media accounts. Patkin was a different kind of celebrity than Gritty or the Phillie Phanatic, even if his act paved the way for both.
“Max’s act would still play today, for sure,” DeHart said. “It’s the little details, like the way he moved his face or the jokes he told along the way. His act was so unique, and at the time nobody else did it. There was no costume, no hiding…Max’s face was his costume.”
DeHart said the response to the film a month after its release has been fantastic. He’s enjoyed reminding old generations of baseball fans about this unique performer they might have encountered decades ago, or teaching younger fans about Patkin’s trailblazing routine.
“I think if Max was alive, he would have loved it,” DeHart said of the film. “He would be signing autographs of his baseball card and talking to every single person who asked him about his life. He kept every article or poster about himself; he documented his own life because it did mean something for him to be recognized, and I hope this film will help with his legacy as well.”
Max Patkin: The Clown Prince of Baseball is available for streaming at SunnStream.com.
