Delirious Phillies Fans Greet Heroes at Philadelphia International Airport

July 24, 1964 - More than 4,000 deliriously happy fans met the National League-leading Phillies at Philadelphia International Airport at 10:50 p.m. last night as the team returned from a Midwestern trip two full games ahead of the runner-up San Francisco Giants.

The Phils had picked up a game on the Giants just a few hours earlier, defeating the Milwaukee Braves, 13-10, in 10 innings, while the Giants were crushed, 12-4, by the Chicago Cubs.

Grinning airport policemen said they had not seen a reception like it since 1950 — and everyone knows what happened that year.

Several thousand fans had been waiting at the airport since 8:30 p.m. when the Phillies’ United Air Lines jetliner was due to land. Hundreds more joined the crowd even as it was announced that the ballclub’s plane would be delayed until 9:50 p.m. — and then 10:50 p.m. Some of the fans carried hand-lettered signs.

One of them said: “The rest of the teams are out the door. It’s the champion Phillies in ’64.”

Still another sign boosted “Callison for President,” a reminder that outfielder Johnny Callison had smashed two home runs and knocked in five runs in the seesaw Braves game yesterday.

A Beatles fan thrust a placard above the crowd: “Hey, Phillies — We Love You, Yeah, Yeah, Yeah!”

Some Phillies attempted to shake hands and give autographs, but the press was too great. Airport and city police tried to clear an aisle for the pinstriped heroes, but they were brushed aside by hundreds who wanted nothing more than to touch the league leaders.

Callison was surrounded by several hundred fans and almost disappeared in the mob until policemen whisked him into a waiting car. Pitcher Jim (Perfect Game) Bunning was rushed through the shrieking fans.

The Phillies fans came prepared — they dragged with them horns, flags, bugles, drums, and signs.

Parents lifted toddlers on their shoulders to see the leaders of the National League. One youth, Marty Ricci, 17, of 1822 S. 15th St., bedridden with a broken leg, was wheeled along by his happy chums.

The pennant was within grasp of Gene Mauch’s gritty gang, and everyone knew it. It was Caesar’s victorious legions marching into Rome; it was Douglas MacArthur going down Broadway in a storm of ticker tape. It was the winners coming home.

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