Sunday School: Forgotten Faces of Flushing #28: Before Flores there was Mizell

Welcome to the twenty-eighth installment of Mets Sunday School: Forgotten Faces of Flushing, our weekly meditation on the players who slip through Mets history like sunflower-seed shells through the Shea Stadium bleachers.

Last week, we got metaphysical with Ty Kelly—the pinch-hit philosopher of Flushing whose journey spanned continents, clubhouses, and coffeehouses.

This week, we dial things back to the black-and-white days of Metsdom—back to the Polo Grounds, back to 1962, and back to a name that sounds more like a barbecue sauce than a big leaguer. Long before Wilmer Flores became a fan favorite with tear-filled walk-offs and a flair for the dramatic, the Mets had their first Wilmer. Wilmer David “Vinegar Bend” Mizell was a charter member of the Amazin’s—pitcher, patriot, and, eventually, politician.

He appeared in just 17 games for the original Mets, but his story stretched far beyond the mound—into the broadcast booth, the halls of Congress, and the pages of American political history.

Say hello to Vinegar Bend Mizell: a man whose curveball wasn’t nearly as funky as his post-baseball résumé.

By the time Wilmer “Vinegar Bend” Mizell arrived in New York in 1962, the vinegar had mostly evaporated from his fastball. Once an All-Star with the Cardinals and a key contributor to the Pirates’ 1960 championship run, Mizell was 31 years old and on the back nine of a career that had been interrupted by military service and diminished by declining control. In his 17 games for the inaugural Mets, he posted a 7.34 ERA and allowed 10 home runs in just 38 innings—numbers that suggested more "bend" than bite. Still, Mizell wasn't even close to the oldest pitcher on that 1962 staff. He was out-aged by four rotation-mates: Clem Labine (35), Dave Hillman (34), Herb Moford (33), and Roger Craig (32), all part of Casey Stengel’s collection of well-worn arms trying to hold things together with spit, guile, and chewing gum, while collecting Social Security punch cards by the rosin bag.

Still, by mid-July 1962, the Mets had seen enough. Mizell had joined the team in early May after beginning the season with the Pirates and went on to pitch in 17 games for the Amazin’s—including two starts—but was hit hard in most of them. His final line in Flushing: an 0–2 record with a 7.34 ERA, 13 home runs allowed in just 38 innings, and a WHIP north of 1.80. He made his final appearance on July 25, a brutal outing in Milwaukee that saw him surrender six earned runs in just over two innings. In typical 1962 Mets fashion, Mizell faded quietly out of the picture, another casualty of a season defined by futility and recycled arms. Just a few weeks later, Marvelous Marv Throneberry would earn cult-hero status for missing both first and second base on a would-be triple. Mizell? He missed only the strike zone.

Vinegar Bend, we hardly knew ye.

Wilmer Mizell wasn’t born in Vinegar Bend, Alabama—but he grew up there, and the nickname stuck like pine tar. After all, “Wilmer” didn’t exactly scream “bulldog on the mound.”

He was signed by the Cardinals as a raw 17-year-old and made an instant impression—both for his blazing fastball and for reportedly throwing at a batter’s head in his very first pro inning. Mizell had control issues, sure, but he also struck out everyone in sight. By 1952, he was in the big leagues. By ’53, he was an All-Star.

Then Uncle Sam called. Mizell missed the 1954 and ’55 seasons serving in the military. When he returned, his command wavered, but his stuff still had bite. He landed with the Pirates in 1960, helping them win a World Series—just in time to head for the bottom of the standings with the newborn Mets.

Here’s where things get strange, even by Mets standards.

After hanging up his spikes, Mizell became a sportscaster in North Carolina and then, in 1968, ran for Congress. And won. As a Republican. In North Carolina. In 1968. That’s like a knuckleballer winning the Home Run Derby. See, North Carolina had been part of the so-called “Solid South,” where Democrats had ruled the roost since the Civil War. But ’68 was no ordinary election year. George Wallace—the segregationist third-party candidate—actually won the state with 39.5% of the vote. Nixon, the Republican, finished right behind him, and the Democrat, Hubert Humphrey, barely made it out of the dugout. The whole political map was shifting underfoot, and Mizell—folksy, conservative, and as comfortable talking farm policy as fastballs—slid right into that opening.

He served three terms in the U.S. House of Representatives, carving out a niche as a conservative voice with populist appeal. Eventually, Mizell worked in the Ford and Reagan administrations, including a stint as Assistant Secretary of Agriculture. He became known as “Baseball’s Congressman,” though presumably not for his ERA.

Wilmer Mizell’s Mets career was brief, forgettable, and statistically disastrous. But his life? Anything but.

He was a left-handed pitcher who once shut out the Dodgers in Ebbets Field and a lawmaker who debated farm policy on Capitol Hill. He played for Casey Stengel and worked for Ronald Reagan. He wore flannel uniforms and blue blazers.

In a franchise filled with oddball characters and unlikely turns, Vinegar Bend Mizell stands out—not for what he did in a Mets uniform, but for everything he did after it.

Sometimes, the most forgotten faces come with the most unforgettable stories.