Sunday School: Forgotten Faces of Flushing #43 :The Yankees Had M&M, the Mets Had H&H: Meet the Mets’ Hiller and Haddix in ’67

Welcome back to Sunday School: Forgotten Faces of Flushing, our weekly rummage through the Mets’ attic, where the dust smells like pine tar and nostalgia, and where we occasionally stumble across treasures we thought we’d forgotten. Last week, we focused on Ron Herbel, a sturdy right-hander whose brief but reliable stint with the Mets in 1970 made him the kind of pitcher every team needs: steady, uncomplaining, and quietly effective.

This week, we return to the 1960s, to a Mets clubhouse still finding its identity, and to two men who shaped that young franchise in ways that rarely appear in the box score. Chuck Hiller, the scrappy second baseman, arrived in New York in 1965 bringing veteran stability, a World Series grand slam to his name, and a contagious grin. Harvey Haddix, a meticulous former pitcher remembered for his near-perfect 12-inning masterpiece in 1959, was the team’s pitching coach, shaping a generation of Queens arms with precision, patience, and an insistence on fundamentals. Thanks to a lost WOR TV tape discovered decades later, we get to hear them , Hiller with his humor and thoughts on happiness, Haddix with his technical wisdom and baseball discipline reminding us that a team is more than numbers on a scorecard. we can now hear them in their own voices, sharing insight into leadership, team chemistry, and the art of preparation.

By the time Hiller arrived in New York in 1965, he had already left his mark on baseball history. A 30-year-old infielder joining a young and struggling Mets team, he had the distinction of hitting the first-ever National League grand slam in a World Series with the San Francisco Giants in 1962.

Hiller was never a power hitter, but his glove, speed, and hustle made him a valuable player and a clubhouse presence. In New York, he provided veteran stability, sprinkled in memorable moments like multi-hit games and home runs against stars like Bob Gibson, and brought humor and perspective to a team still learning how to be competitive. After leaving the Mets in 1967, he devoted decades to coaching and mentoring, working with players like Darryl Strawberry, Frank White, and U.L. Washington, always emphasizing fundamentals and the importance of happiness.

Where Hiller represented the emotional heartbeat of the clubhouse, Harvey Haddix brought the technical core. A three-time All-Star known for pinpoint control, Haddix is forever remembered for his near-perfect 12-inning masterpiece in 1959. By 1966, he had transitioned into coaching, taking the same intelligence, rigor, and patience that defined his pitching to the Mets’ mound. Haddix emphasized coordination, timing, mechanics, and situational awareness, shaping a generation of young pitchers while ensuring that fundamentals were never overlooked.

The recently discovered WOR tape captures both men in candid conversation, revealing their perspectives on leadership, development, and the Mets’ fans. Hiller’s Midwestern pragmatism comes through immediately when asked about leadership in the clubhouse.

“I don’t know… I think take charge and leader and all that baloney is overrated. I think if you have the right kind of ballplayers, you don’t need it.”

He believed that cohesion and morale began at the top:

“I think probably where it starts is from the manager. I think it’s a feeling… with a club, you have this feeling of coming back, winning games, and other feelings like this. Sometimes you lose it, you wonder… it’s something you can’t say, ‘Well, tomorrow we’ll go out and get it.’ It either is, or it isn’t. And you just don’t pick it up. I think it’s something you have to work on. It comes from the top.”

For Hiller, the ultimate goal was happiness, both for players and for the team as a whole:

“I think a manager can instill happiness, and I think happiness is the point where a lot of this stuff starts from. If a man is happy, he’ll go out and do a lot of extra things for you. Instead of telling a man to run 10 laps, he might run 15 if he’s contented.”

He was equally perceptive about the fans, noting that their enjoyment and patience were intertwined with on-field success:

“Fans don’t like a losing team. Everybody likes a winning team. But we have wonderful fans… they come out mainly to have fun and see a good ball game. But the more games we win, the happier they’re going to be.”

Hiller also offered insight into both young and veteran players. On the rookie Don Bosch, he was encouraging but measured:

“I sure hope he does. I think he can play baseball for us. I’m no one to judge really, because none of us have seen him play that much. But from what everybody says, I think he’ll help us a lot and do a good job for us. He’s a nice boy and he plays the game right. I think he’ll be a good addition to our club.”

On seasoned veteran Tommy Davis, Hiller showed respect for professionalism and consistency:

“He’s like most good ballplayers… he comes to do his job, and he does it, and that’s it. I’m sure it would be very little of me to try and say anything about him, but because we all know what he’s done, I’m sure he’s going to keep on doing the same thing for us. Yeah, he’s a big league ballplayer. I wish we had nine of them like him.”

Haddix’s voice on the tape provides the technical counterpoint, emphasizing preparation and fundamentals. He broke down pitching into its essential components, starting with coordination and timing:

“Running is coordination. When a pitcher takes that big step on the mound, you time your body, your muscles are toned, and this all falls into place. Some guys are ready to do it; some never do.”

He stressed the mental readiness necessary for the hazards of the mound:

“Each ball you throw has a chance of coming right back at you… some fellows are better at that than others. Your primary thing is to throw good stuff. Anything else comes secondary.”

Fielding and mechanics were part of his teaching, too:

“We went through all the basic things… positioning, how to cheat a little on a bunt situation… Repetition helps it all come about… some fellows are ready to do this after they’ve thrown the ball, and some are not. It comes easy to some, and some it never does.”

Evaluating a deep roster of young pitchers was a delicate balancing act:

“We’ve got 20 boys here as pitchers. They all have thrown real good so far, except a couple like Chuck Estrada and Floyd Weaver, who we haven’t been able to use yet. Chuck’s had a blister on his finger and Floyd has had a little tightness in his shoulder that he hasn’t been able to throw. But all the ones that have been out there so far have been very impressive. It’s our primary job to find out who can do the best job for you. You can’t let personalities or anything else get in the way. You have to pick out the 10 or 11 best men that will help you.”

Even when assessing older veterans making a comeback, Haddix’s eye for quality never wavered:

“It still boils down to the fact that we look for stuff. Stuff you just can’t beat out there. Not even experience in the world will help if he can’t throw good enough stuff to get men out.”

Together, Hiller and Haddix represent two sides of the same coin. Hiller was the playful grinder who understood the emotional heartbeat of a team, while Haddix was the disciplined craftsman who demanded precision and preparation. Both quietly shaped the culture of a young franchise in ways that rarely appear in box scores, reminding us that baseball is as much about preparation, personality, and invisible gears as it is about hits and strikeouts.

Thanks to the surviving WOR tape, their voices endure — crackling across nearly six decades, full of humor, insight, and that unmistakable spring optimism. Hiller reminds us that happiness counts. Haddix reminds us that fundamentals never lie. And both show that the story of a team goes far beyond wins, losses, and statistics — into the clubhouse, the training field, and the hearts of those who play the game.

Now, for the first time in nearly 60 years, you can hear them yourself. Listen to the lost 1967 WOR tape below, and step back into a moment when the Mets were young, hopeful, and learning — with Hiller and Haddix helping to teach them how to win the right way.