Chrysler for Sale: The Many Homes of Michael Roarke

By Hailey O'Connell

If Mike were writing this, it would simply read: “Mike died. Chrysler for sale.”

            That is how the obituary of Michael Thomas Roarke opens.

            A man that dipped away from attention, particularly any reporters, he preferred to live quietly. He didn’t want a fuss when he got married, had kids, or won awards. He wanted more time to golf. Despite opportunities to make himself known in the media, he often hid from interviews, much to the confusion of his outspoken wife.

            Mike Roarke spent the first eighteen years at his life calling West Warwick home, and was a star athlete on the Wizards teams. His parents owned a modest home down the street from his grandparents, and his brother still lives on that street today. He fondly remembers Boston College as his first home that brought newfound freedom and opportunity. More specifically, the locker rooms and stadiums of Boston College. He had to give up basketball upon admission, but played and eventually captained both the football and baseball teams. Upon graduation, he had minor league professional offers for both sports, but chose baseball. He figured careers last longer, and his mother insisted all the head banging of football would catch up to him eventually.

Next was a string of rented homes. His minor league career was unpredictable, and after going through a rough patch with hitting, he wasn’t optimistic about being traded to the majors. However, he got his lucky break when he got traded to the Detroit Tigers in 1959. He was a reliable catcher, but not the star, but used it to his advantage. Mike’s skill was understanding the pitchers, so much so that he became a bullpen and pitching coach after his career as a player ended. He managed a string of minor league teams and was a pitching coach for many.

            Home was Cranston, Rhode Island for the majority of his life. Or at least home base, where they would return to after travelling from stadium to stadium. His wife, Merry Sue, would frequent open houses in nearby neighborhoods, hoping to relocate. She wasn’t as attached to the area and didn’t mind a change in scenery. She was born and raised in Wichita, Kansas, and had been endearingly referred to as a “kindred spirit”. Against her parents’ wishes, she abandoned the ranch in Wichita and moved to marry a baseball player. A Catholic baseball player. For the Protestant Blair family, this was a recipe for eternal damnation. So in hindsight, she felt it was her right to choose the house if he chose the region of the country they lived in. However, there aren’t many ranches in Rhode Island.

            The house was small. The exterior was painted brown, which made the curb appeal somewhat less than desirable. Rose bushes grew in the front yard and the grass was always green despite Merry Sue transforming it into a mini ice rink for the kids throughout the duration of their childhood. A screened in porch that stunk of cigarette smoke overlooked a small pool with a recalled diving board. The interior was small, with paintings of Wichita landscapes and shadowboxes of arrowheads adorning the walls. The couches were comfortable and swallowed anyone that dared to sit in them. There was a damp basement that held boxes of baseball memoribilla. The home only had one shower, shared by the seven people living there. Mike and Merry Sue had five children: Susan, Tommy, Karen, Janet and Kelly Jo. It was important to Merry Sue that they had simple names because hers was constantly misspelled, however she did admit that her youngest having Jo as a middle name was an homage to her Midwestern roots. The Roarke family had opportunities to upgrade, but Mike insisted that they didn’t need more space. 

           St. Louis could also be categorized as home for the Roarke family. Although he also worked as a pitching coach for the Red Sox and the Padres, his stint as the Cardinals pitching coach is looked upon favorably, and his relationship with the players has been cemented as part of his legacy there. Perhaps his most impressive stint as well. He enjoyed his friendship with manager Whitey Herzog, and together they coached pitcher Bruce Sutter into the Baseball Hall of Fame.

After his stroke, the hospital was home for a while. Holidays were celebrated in hospital cafeterias, the rehabilitation nurses knew his name and his jokes. His assortment of roommates provided entertainment, some more welcomed than others. He reluctantly called his friends to tell them of the stroke, he didn’t want to make a big deal. He was convinced that his medical issues was proof they were all getting old, and somehow that wouldn’t fly with the cocky ballplayers that made up his circle.

            Then it was an apartment with a handicap accessible bathroom. East Greenich. The porch was open, but it overlooked the manicured lawn that Merry Sue didn’t have to pay a neighborhood boy to maintain. An extra room held all the memorabilla, now proudly on display, and two bedrooms accommodated for Mike’s hospital bed and then Merry Sue’s room. Her furniture, and wardrobe, squeezed in. However, she was so indecisive that she had four different beds during her stay at that apartment. First a queen, then a king, then a queen that fancy hotels used, then a different king because the other hurt her back, then a twin so she could fit two if people wanted to visit her, then a queen again when she decided she liked her privacy when guests visited.

            Next was a nursing home for both of them. It was more affordable, and made more sense for their changing needs. Photos, Kansas landscapes and a portrait of Jesus was hung strategically in Mike’s room, with a framed photo of his wife on his bedside table. (that she put there for him.) When she died first, he was shocked. He had a stroke and pneumonia more times than he could count, and despite her decade on dialysis, she was a fiery and resilient character that seemed nearly invincible. He died a year and two days later than her, after spending the last month of his life in hospice.