Sunday School: Forgotten Faces of Flushing #40: From No-Hitter to Miracle: The Story of Don Cardwell

Welcome back to Sunday School: Forgotten Faces of Flushing, our weekly rummage through the Mets’ attic, where we dust off the bubble-gum cards and game-used jerseys of the guys who made you squint and go, “Wait… didn’t he play for us?”

Last week, we left the field and stepped into the broadcast booth, where we revisited the forgotten voices of Flushing — Steve Albert and Lorn Brown. Neither became a household name like Kiner, Murphy, or Nelson, but both guided Mets fans through some of the leanest years in Queens with their own quirks, professionalism, and persistence.

This week, we’re back on the mound — and back in the 1960s — with a pitcher who defined the word “journeyman,” yet still managed to leave his fingerprints all over the Miracle Mets. He was a no-hit wonder, a surprisingly dangerous hitter, a glove-punter, and the man who once tore Ron Swoboda’s love beads right off his neck. We’re talking about Don Cardwell, the veteran arm who became the wise elder of the Amazin’s staff and played a sneaky-big role in one of baseball’s most unlikely championships.

Don Cardwell wasn’t flashy, but his baseball life was one of those Forrest Gump–style journeys through history. He once threw a no-hitter in his very first start after being traded to the Cubs in 1960 — the only pitcher in big-league history to pull that off. Later, with the Mets, he found himself as the senior citizen on the staff, mentoring kids like Tom Seaver and Jerry Koosman while still taking his turn in the rotation. And in between? Well, he hit 15 career homers as a pitcher, so he wasn’t exactly an automatic out.

Cardwell came to the Mets in December of 1966 in one of those trades you had to squint at: Don Cardwell and Don Bosch for Dennis Ribant and Gary Kolb. Bosch was supposed to be the prize, the slick young center fielder of the future. Instead, it was the “other Don” who stuck around long enough to see the Mets go from punchline to miracle.

His very first assignment in Queens? Opening Day, 1967. Talk about pressure. The Mets had only been around five seasons, and already Cardwell was just the second man in team history to make his debut as the Opening Day starter. He pitched well for eight innings against his old team, the Pirates, before giving up back-to-back doubles in the ninth and taking the loss. Welcome to Shea, Don.

Still, he was solid in those early Mets years. In ’67 he threw three shutouts for a team that could barely hit water if they fell out of a boat. In ’68, the “Year of the Pitcher,” he managed a 2.96 ERA, the best of his career, though naturally the Mets repaid him with 13 losses. He was the guy who, after one particularly frustrating outing, booted his glove all the way from the mound to the dugout like he was trying out for the Giants’ kicking unit.

Cardwell was also a bit of a cultural contrast to his younger teammates. When Ron Swoboda showed up on a team flight in 1968 wearing love beads — a gift from some fans in Los Angeles — Cardwell, a no-nonsense southern conservative, ripped them right off his neck. Peace, love, and understanding? Not on Cardy’s watch.

By 1969, at 33, Cardwell was the elder statesman of the pitching staff, a grizzled veteran surrounded by baby-faced arms. And he delivered some of his best Mets moments when it mattered most. Early in September, with the Mets improbably closing in on the Cubs, New York hosted the Pirates for a Friday night doubleheader. Cleon Jones was hurt, Art Shamsky was sitting out for Rosh Hashanah, and the Mets’ lineup looked about as intimidating as a wet noodle. Somehow, they stole the opener when Jerry Koosman drove in the only run and threw a shutout.

Then came the nightcap. Cardwell took the ball against Dock Ellis, and just like Koosman, he helped his own cause. His second-inning single drove in Bud Harrelson — the only run of the game — and Cardwell held Pittsburgh scoreless into the ninth before Tug McGraw closed it out. Two games, two 1-0 Mets wins, both decided by their pitchers’ bats. Shea went bonkers, and the Mets vaulted further ahead of the collapsing Cubs. That was Cardwell’s Mets career in a nutshell: not flashy, but absolutely essential at the right time.

Cardwell finished that miracle season 8–10 with a 3.01 ERA, then watched from the bullpen as the Mets shocked the Orioles in the World Series. His only postseason appearance came in Game 1, when he pitched a scoreless sixth inning in relief of Tom Seaver. That was it. His entire October résumé. But if you asked Seaver, Koosman, or the other young pitchers, Cardwell’s true contribution wasn’t in the box score — it was in the locker room, as a mentor who showed the kids how to be professionals.

“He was a tremendous mentor to the young guys on our staff,” Seaver said later. “When he said something, you listened. He was the ultimate professional.”

After 1970, Cardwell’s time in the big leagues came to an end, but by then, he had earned something more valuable than a gaudy win-loss record. He had a place in the story of the Amazin’ Mets — a steady veteran presence, a bridge from the franchise’s fumbling beginnings to its miracle peak.

Don Cardwell might not be the first name you think of when you remember 1969. He might not even be the tenth. But like every Miracle Met, his fingerprints are there if you look closely enough — on the glove he once punted, the bat he swung for a pennant-race RBI, and the calm advice he gave to a generation of Mets pitchers who went on to become legends.