Peter Marshall

Peter Marshall is a philosopher, historian, biographer, travel writer and poet. He has written sixteen highly acclaimed books which have been translated into 15 different languages. Two have been chosen as 'Books of the Year'. He has contributed many chapters to books as well as articles and reviews to national newspapers.

His circumnavigation of Africa was made into a 6-part British TV series, an Italian TV series was based on his book on alchemy, and his voyage around Ireland was made into a radio series.

Widely recognized as a bold and original thinker, Marshall has made a major contribution to fields as diverse as anarchism, ecology, alchemy and archaeology. He has been hailed by Resurgence as one of the twenty-five 'visionary voices' who have helped shape the new world view in the last quarter of a century. The Guardian has called him 'a passionate ecologist and animal liberationist'. In all his writings and actions, he has tried to widen the freedom of all beings.

Peter Hugh Marshall was born on 23 August 1946 in Bognor Regis, England, a stone's throw from the sea. His father Bill was a fighter pilot and race-horse trainer but he was brought up with his mother Vera and brother Michael in the home of his grandparents who had owned hotels.

Marshall became a boarder at Steyning Grammar School in the Sussex Downs. He then sailed around the world as a purser cadet in the P & O-Orient Shipping Company before teaching English in Senegal, West Africa. Returning to Britain, he took a BA in English, French and Spanish from the University of London and a MA and D.Phil in the History of Ideas from the University of Sussex.

From 1971-1990,Dr Marshall taught part-time philosophy and the literature of ideas at Chelsea School of Art, Goldsmiths College of the University of London,the Extra-Mural Departments of the University of London and the University of Wales as well as the Open University.

In the 1970s Marshall was a founding member of a libertarian community in Buckinghamshire called Redfield. He went in 1980 with Jenny Zobel to Snowdonia in North Wales for a winter to finish his first book and stayed on for 21 years, first living in a remote cottage in the mountains and then down by the sea. During that period, he travelled to the Caribbean, Africa, India and China for different books. As a keen linguist, he speaks French, Spanish, some Welsh and a little Turkish.

He now lives with the photographer Elizabeth Ashton Hill on an organic smallholding by the River Tamar in Devon, England. He has been a vegetarian for the last 40 years. He spends about five months each year sailing in a small yacht in the Mediterranean. He has two children, Emily and Dylan, and four grandchildren, Theodore, Charlotte, Rose and Jonathan.

Peter Marshall has been the chairman of the Toussaint L'Ouverture Theatre Company and a trustee of the Tree Shepherds. He is now an elected fellow of the Royal Geographical Society and a member of the Society of Authors.

Peter’s website is

You can explore his featured books at:

He was educated at Wellington College, Berkshire, and, following national service with the 7th (Kenya) Battalion, King's African Rifles, he took a first class honours degree in history at Wadham College, Oxford, from where he received a D.Phil. in 1962. [3]

Between 1959 and 1993, he taught in the history department at King's College London. He was appointed Rhodes Professor of Imperial History in 1980, in which post he remained until his retirement.

Between 1965 and 1978, he served as a Member of the Editorial Committee for The Correspondence of Edmund Burke, and between 1975 and 1981 he was Editor of The Journal of Imperial and Commonwealth History. [4] He sat on the History Working Group for National Curriculum in England in 1989 and 1990. In 1987 he was appointed Vice-President of the Royal Historical Society, serving as President between 1997 and 2001. He has been a notable benefactor to the Society.

He is an Emeritus Rhodes Professor of Imperial History at King's College London, where he continues to lecture.

Marshall presents a revisionist interpretation, rejecting the view that the prosperity of Mughal Bengal gave way to poverty and anarchy in the colonial period. He instead argues that the British takeover did not mark any sharp break with the past. After 1765, British control was delegated largely through regional rulers and was sustained by a generally prosperous economy for the rest of the 18th century. Marshall also notes that the British raised revenue through local tax administrators and kept the old Mughal rates of taxation. His interpretation of colonial Bengal, at least until c. 1820, is one in which the British were not in full control, but instead were actors in what was primarily an Indian play, and in which their ability to keep power depended upon excellent co-operation with Indian elites. Marshall admits that much of his interpretation is still contested by many historians. [5]

  • The Impeachment of Warren Hastings, (Oxford, 1965)
  • The Correspondence of Edmund Burke, vol. V, (Cambridge, 1965) (Assistant Editor)
  • The Correspondence of Edmund Burke, vol. VII, (Cambridge, 1968) (Assistant Editor)
  • East Indian Fortunes: The British in Bengal in the Eighteenth Century, (Oxford, 1976)
  • The Correspondence of Edmund Burke, vol. X, (Cambridge, 1978) (Assistant Editor)
  • The Great Map of Mankind: British Perceptions of the World in the Age of Enlightenment, (London, 1982) (Co-editor with G. Williams)
  • The New Cambridge History of India, II, 2, Bengal: the British Bridgehead: Eastern India, 1740 – 1828, (Cambridge, 1988)
  • The Oxford History of the British Empire, vol. II, The Eighteenth Century, (Oxford, 1998) (Contributor & Editor) [6]
  • A Free Though Conquering People': Eighteenth-century Britain and its Empire, (Aldershot, 2003)
  • The Making and Unmaking of Empires: Britain, India and America c. 1750 – 1783, (Oxford, 2005) [7]

A Junior Research Fellowship bearing his name, and jointly administered by the Royal Historical Society and the Institute of Historical Research at the University of London, where he is an honorary Fellow, [9] is awarded annually to a doctoral student in history. [10]


[I’m taking a break for a couple of weeks, and since the Fourth of July is rapidly approaching, I am re-posting slightly revised versions of some of my favorite past essays on the American founding. The essay below is an extended review of the most popular Christian interpretation of U. S. history ever written. The review remains the most widely-viewed piece I have ever posted to this blog.]

Hands down, the most popular Christian interpretation of U. S. history ever written is The Light and the Glory, by Peter Marshall Jr. and David Manuel. Many of you will already know of this work, but for those you who aren’t, here’s a bit of background:

First the authors: A graduate of Yale University and Princeton Theological Seminary, the late Peter Marshall Jr. was a prominent Presbyterian minister and the founder of “Peter Marshall Ministries,” an organization created to remind Americans of their Christian heritage and “restore America to its Biblical foundations.” Marshall’s co-author, David Manuel, was an editor at Doubleday Publishing Company before turning to full-time writing.

Next, their published works: In addition to numerous lesser writings, Marshall and Manuel authored three major works, The Light and the Glory, From Sea to Shining Sea, and Sounding Forth the Trumpet. The first, published in 1977, offers an overview of American history from the voyages of Columbus through the establishment of independence from Britain and the creation of the Constitution. The second and third, written over the course of the next two decades, sketch the history of the nation from the creation of the Constitution to the eve of the Civil War.

Although the authors went on to produce simplified versions of these works for younger readers, all three books in their original versions feature engaging, accessible prose suitable for juvenile readers on up. This versatility has assured for them a wide readership among adults and a popular and enduring place in the curriculum of private Christian schools and home schools. Their combined sales now supposedly approach one million copies and, if correct, this would make the authors far more widely read than any currently living academic Christian historian.

There is much that I admire in these works. Professional historians could learn a thing or two from Marshall and Manuel. They took the craft of writing seriously. They understood that historical knowledge, to make a difference in the world, needs to end up between the ears of general readers. (We academic historians too often think of history as a conversation among ourselves.) Marshall and Manuel also appreciated that history is, above all, a story, and they intuitively understood the power of narrative to convey important truths. This is something historians in the Academy used to realize but have long since forgotten.

Finally, I have no doubt that Marshall and Manuel had good intentions. Although I have known neither personally, I can imagine that it took courage to take the stand that they did. I suspect that they were on the receiving end of more than their share of criticism and condescension from the surrounding culture. I have certainly never been as bold as they.

That said, I cannot recommend these books. They are marred by numerous errors of fact and interpretation, far too many to catalog here. These do not constitute their fatal flaw, however. The fatal flaw in these works is the authors’ well-meant but misguided decision to ground their religious critique of the contemporary United States in an historical argument about the American past.

As they explain in the introduction to The Light and the Glory, when Marshall and Manuel began writing in the 1970s, they were looking for an explanation for the moral crisis that they believe gripped the nation. Surveying the national landscape, they saw a once unified nation now bitterly divided over Vietnam, bitterly disillusioned by Watergate, and succumbing to a variety of moral ills such as mounting divorce and sexual permissiveness. As Christians heartbroken over the trajectory of their country, they sought an explanation. More specifically, as Christians interested in history (Marshall had been a history major at Yale), they sought an explanation in the past.

The Light and the Glory introduces that explanation. Marshall and Manuel summarized their thesis in the form of a rhetorical question in the book’s opening pages: “Could it be that we Americans, as a people,” they asked, “were meant to be a ‘light to lighten the Gentiles’ (Luke 2:32)—a demonstration to the world of how God intended His children to live together under the Lordship of Christ? Was our vast divergence from this blueprint, after such a promising beginning, the reason why we now seem to be heading into a new dark age?”

The thrust of these two works is to answer that foundational question with a resounding “Yes!” Condensing dramatically, their argument is that the U. S. had originated as a Christian nation, had had a special calling from God to be a light to the world, and had fallen away from God, forgetting the Lord’s “definite and extremely demanding plan for America.”

Note that most, though not all, of their argument was historical. Marshall and Manuel’s insistence that God had a special plan for the United States was not a historical conclusion at all. It was a prophetic declaration, a fact that the authors should have been more forthcoming in acknowledging. This important exception aside, their interpretation rests squarely on a series of historical claims having to do with the values of the country’s founders and the degree to which succeeding generations did or did not conform to them.

There were other possible approaches. As a pastor, Marshall simply could have opened his Bible. Employing scriptural principles as a plumb line, he could have instructed his congregation (and any other audience that would hear him) in the ways that current American values fell short of the scriptural standard, in effect calling them (and the nation) to repentance. What he and Manuel did, however, was to intertwine that call to repentance with a historical narrative—not a narrative based on divinely revealed biblical history, but a narrative based on the authors’ interpretation of American history.

Why did they do that? I don’t know what their motives were, but there are two reasons why I think well-meaning Christians in general so frequently do something similar. First, it may seem to strengthen our argument to other Christians. When we buttress a religious argument with an interpretation of American history, we simultaneously appeal to two aspects of American Christians’ identity, namely their Christian faith and their American heritage. Whether they consciously intended this, this is what Marshall and Manuel were doing. They were calling their audience back in not one, but two respects: back to Biblical principles, and back to the supposed ideals of the American founding.

Second, well-meaning Christians may also inject historical arguments in their efforts to reach non-Christian audiences in the public square. For example, in evaluating the moral state of the nation in the 1970s, Marshall and Manuel might have observed that the United States was rejecting God’s standard and simply left it at that. Their assertion might have pierced the hearts of some believers, but what weight, humanly speaking, would we expect it to have with the broader, unbelieving culture outside the church?

Eventually, Christians who want to have a political impact in the public square always have to confront a momentous question: Do we ground our arguments solely in explicitly religious principles, or do we seek some sort of “common ground” on which to build arguments that non-Christians might be more open to? I am not claiming that this is what motivated Marshall and Manuel, but this much is clear: appeals to the American past are one frequent way that American Christians try to influence the contemporary culture without making explicitly religious arguments.

So why was it such a bad idea for Marshall and Manuel to support a religious critique of contemporary America with a historical argument about America’s past?

I can think of three reasons. First, their approach exacerbates an identity crisis that has long plagued American Christians, American evangelicals especially. It is always dangerous to link our commitment to Christ too closely with one or more of our other group attachments. And there is always a temptation to do so. It is so easy to intertwine our faith with adherence to a particular social cause, economic system, approach to education, or political party, for example.

When the boundaries between these loyalties become blurred, we fall prey to what C. S. Lewis in The Screwtape Letters called “Christianity And.” By “Christianity And,” Lewis had in mind a state of confusion in which our ultimate identity in Christ becomes inseparable from other kinds of loyalties that can actually take preeminence in our hearts. When it comes to thinking about the past, I think that “Christianity And” is most often a concern when we grapple with what it means to be both a Christian and an American. The Marshall and Manuel approach merely feeds this temptation.

Second, there is a way in which the linking of religious argument with historical interpretation can unintentionally promote idolatry. That’s a strong statement, I know, and I want to stress that this was never Marshall and Manuel’s conscious intent. In fact, here I have Marshall and Manuel less in mind than more recent writers who regularly appeal to the founders in making arguments about contemporary public policy. Living as we do in a pluralistic society suspicious of anything that looks like “theocracy,” I understand why it is so tempting to make such arguments.

Advocating that the nation return to the supposed principles of our founding seems like an acceptable way to promote Christian values in public life without making explicitly religious arguments. The problem with this approach, however, is that it gives moral authority to the founders of our country, and that is simple idolatry. The founders deserve our respect, unequivocally, but when “What would the Founders do?” becomes a proxy for “What would Jesus do?” we are imputing moral authority where God has not granted it. That is idolatry. There’s no other word for it.

Third, when Marshall and Manuel linked their religious critique of contemporary America to an interpretation of American history, they effectively backed themselves into a corner that made it impossible for them to admit historical errors. Any mistakes in their historical interpretation of the American past would seem to weaken their religious interpretation of the American present. I cannot emphasize this too strongly: This is a predicament no Christian historian should ever be in. The truth of Christianity and the authority of Christian principles are not on trial when we debate American history.

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Heretics and Believers

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Centuries on, what the Reformation was and what it accomplished remain deeply contentious. Peter Marshall’s sweeping new history—the first major overview for general readers in a generation—argues that sixteenth-century England was a society neither desperate for nor allergic to change, but one open to ideas of “reform” in various competing guises. King Henry VIII wanted an orderly, uniform Reformation, but his actions opened a Pandora’s Box from which pluralism and diversity flowed and rooted themselves in English life.

With sensitivity to individual experience as well as masterfully synthesizing historical and institutional developments, Marshall frames the perceptions and actions of people great and small, from monarchs and bishops to ordinary families and ecclesiastics, against a backdrop of profound change that altered the meanings of “religion” itself. This engaging history reveals what was really at stake in the overthrow of Catholic culture and the reshaping of the English Church.

"Magisterial. . . . It is a significant achievement, notable not only for its depth and breadth but also for its sheer liveliness and flair, as Marshall masterfully guides his reader through this period of profound cultural change and transformation."—B. Shannon Gayk, Reading Religion

Peter Marshall - History

Peter Marshall suggests that he maintains a disinterested view of the Reformation, but his book offers a clear and, at times, polemic argument for general readers: “Almost the most unhelpful thing that can be said about the English Reformation is that it was an ‘Act of State,’ simply imposed upon the nation by its successive governments” (xii). Marshall admits that “in one sense, this traditional assessment has merits,” but asserts that more importantly, the English Reformation “was achieved at the cost of eroding the government's power to command, and of empowering ordinary English people to think and reflect—and sometimes to refuse and resist” (xii). The emphasis upon empowering the English people contrasts often with King Henry VIII's changing and evolving ideas of Reformation, but this very dynamic, Marshall argues, creates the conditions for a more pluralistic society.

As Marshall observes, there were many Englishmen and women who rebelled on both sides. He, thus, relativizes the roles of the major players, such as Thomas More and King Henry, amidst a host of names and figures that are often less well-known yet who were, nevertheless, significant in their own right for the English Reformation—figures such as John Browne and William Baker, examples of Lollards who “had seen through the official version, and knew it was a snare and delusion” (108), or the partner of Peter Martyr (Vermigli), Catherine Dammartin, whose corpse was exhumed and reburied in dung because she was “a priest's wife, a former nun, and a heretic buried in Christ Church near the former shrine of St Frideswide: a triple sacrilege in Catholic eyes” (409). Marshall consistently acknowledges the presence of such minor players in the drama of the Reformation however, as is the case of Browne, Baker, and Dammartin, they are usually mentioned only once or twice throughout the entire book because they are legion. Marshall does not see this contextual elaboration of minor figures as detracting from the significance of the major players on the contrary, it is the milieu—in its entirety with all its intricacies and nuances—that finally enables the major players, such as Henry and More, to have such significant roles within this historical drama.

Marshall's innovative emphasis on the people rather than the king is, in a way, ultimately a renewal of the “traditional assessment”—corruptio optimi pessima. He notes that Pope Leo X named Henry “Defender of the Faith” for his “literary efforts against the upstart friar, Martin Luther” (74 see also 126) and acknowledges Henry's relationship with More, but Marshall does much more than that. Marshall's descriptions of medieval Catholic beliefs help explain what was at stake at the onset of the Reformation. Here, for example, is Marshall's depiction of the Eucharist, which is the source and summit of Catholic belief:

At the mass God became truly, physically present among his people. When Christ took bread and declared “this is my body,” he meant what he said. At the high point of the mass, the priest repeated those words, “Hoc est enim corpus meum,” and the host in his hands miraculously turned into the actual body of Jesus […] The consecration, or “sacring,” of bread and wine during the mass was a “transubstantiation,” by which their original substance was obliterated and replaced with the body and blood of Christ. (9)

The length of Marshall's book is appropriate, considering the intricacies of this complex period of history in England. Even still, Marshall sometimes lacks sufficient explanation for certain Catholic doctrines before relating anecdotes of Protestant resistance, and vice versa. Concerning the Catholic doctrine of purgatory, for instance, he says, “Official formulations were remarkably vague about what sort of place it was,” which is not entirely accurate. Like all Catholic doctrine, as Marshall observes, its formulation developed over time, but the Church had indeed provided, by the time of the Reformation, ample and lucid description of purgatory as an antechamber to heaven, and thus primarily as a place of hope, as well as of longing and purification. Marshall grants that purgatory “supplied a logically satisfying method of admitting [imperfect] believers into heaven,” but he highlights that “preachers and authors of devotional books” described it as “a place, indeed, hardly distinguishable from hell” (16).

Connected to the Catholic teaching on purgatory is the intercession of the saints. Marshall observes, “People prayed to saints, including the Virgin Mary, so that they could intercede with Christ on their behalf” (26). The Catholic understanding of intercessory prayer, however, does not merely include but especially prizes that of Mary, the Mother of God. Marshall provides few of the crucial Scriptural or theological underpinnings for why Christians did—and still do—beg for the intercession of the saints, particularly the Virgin Mary's. Marshall concludes: “In practice, it seems likely that most people thought of saints as possessing and exercising sacred power in their own right” (26). It is perhaps more likely that most people saw the saints, especially Mary, as acting by divine power, but Marshall's main point that there was much resistance and rebellion to ecclesiastical authority is salient. These inadequacies are to a certain extent a function of the breadth of his subject matter. Marshall, himself, admits in the preface, “As far as possible, my book proceeds in chronological sequence, and without much if any direct reference to the numerous academic debates and controversies in which the study of the Reformation abounds” (xi).

The book does not finally undermine even the central debate concerning Henry's decision to break with Rome and thereby author the English Reformation rather, it shows how many like-minded Christians, for one reason or another, were at the time opposed to Catholic teaching, or more often, the abuses thereof. Marshall's discussion on purgatory is illustrative. He says that the Catholic Church was “a religious system that advocated the limitless performance of ‘good works’ as a necessary response to Christ's offer of salvation” and thereby “encouraged some occasional shameless hucksterism—all illustrated in vibrant colour by the practices of purgatory” (22). There were abuses of the Church's teaching on purgatory—hawkers who preyed upon human fear to get what they wanted—but these could be viewed as aberrations from the ultimately hope-filled “practices of purgatory.” Marshall notes that medieval Catholicism often operated as a worldly organization seeking worldly success and grandeur, as so many Protestant preachers of the day proclaimed. The Catholic doctrine of purgatory, its misrepresentation, and abuse is only one of the many examples of the highly charged issues of the day that Marshall portrays, and all of these issues, Marshall suggests, are connected to the central rebellion—lay indignation against ecclesiastical authority, an indignation which was only then emblazed and emblematized by Henry's own lay, though royal, rejection of the papal ruling against the legitimacy of his divorce from Catherine of Aragon and subsequent marriage to Anne Boleyn.

Marshall is not one-sided against Catholicism in his critical analysis of the “heretics and believers” of sixteenth-century England. He strives to give equal opportunity in his censure of Catholics, Protestants, and those who were somewhere in-between. King Henry VIII, at various points in his reign, is representative of all three of these types. As Marshall says of Henry: “His theology was a moving target, a work in progress, a nest of contradictions” (295). Pointing to late-medieval society's strong penchant for Aristotelian (and Thomistic) philosophy, Marshall observes:

Henry's was an age that instinctively identified the best path as a middle way between two extremes, Aristotle's “Golden Mean.” Yet through a decade punctuated by brutal parallel executions, England had painfully learned that the king's “middle way” was not a mild theological ecumenism, but an assertion of his right to discipline anything he chose to define as dissent. (295)

Marshall concludes his book with some martyrdom accounts, such as that of the Jesuit Edmund Campion, who was martyred toward the end of the sixteenth century during the reign of Queen Elizabeth and whom Marshall quotes on the last page of his book alongside the Protestant Elizabeth Folkes, who was executed under the relatively short reign of the Catholic Queen Mary. Marshall chronicles both Protestant and Catholic “believers and heretics,” as both fighting and being fought, killing and being killed, to show, it seems, that no one is wholly to blame or praise for the tumult and glory of the era.

Marshall's book contributes a consistent and convincing argument for the English Reformation's tremendous relevance for today. It is this conviction that drove Marshall to have written his book in the first place, and it is contagious. In the seventeenth and final chapter, he says, “Yet the Reformation, whether we choose to recognize it or not, is a foundational fact of modern England and Britain, as also, at a remove, of America and other places around the globe where British people have settled over the centuries” (577). As he suggests, the struggle of the Reformation is not over, and we ought to persist in the hope, as More fervently prayed at his execution, that we “may yet hereafter in heaven all merrily meet together, to our everlasting salvation” (578).

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Peter Marshall (1902-1949) was born in Coatbridge, Scotland. Throughout childhood, he struggled with poverty due to his father’s death when Peter was only four years old. He moved to the United States in 1927 and graduated from Columbia Seminary in Decatur, Georgia in1931. He pastored three churches including the New York Avenue Presbyterian Church in Washington, D.C. the last twelve years of his life. He served as Chaplain of the United States Senate from January, 1947 until his death. His life story was made into a motion picture based upon the biography written by his wife entitled, A Man Called Peter.

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Born in Bognor Regis, England, Marshall became a boarder at Steyning Grammar School in the Sussex Downs. He then sailed around the world as a purser cadet in the Merchant Navy before teaching English in Senegal, West Africa.

He returned to England to take a Bachelor of Arts in English, French and Spanish from the University of London and a Master of Arts and a Doctor of Philosophy in the History of Ideas from the University of Sussex. As a part-time tutor, he taught in the Extra-Mural departments of the University of London and the University of Wales, the Open University, and the Brighton and Chelsea schools of art.

In the 1970s, Marshall was a founder member of Redfield community in Winslow, Buckinghamshire, England. He went in 1980 to live in Snowdonia National Park in North Wales to write his first book. He stayed on for 21 years, first living in a remote cottage in the mountains and then down by the sea. He now lives in Devon, England. He has two children.

Marshall has contributed to fields as diverse as anarchism, ecology, alchemy and archaeology. He has been described by Resurgence magazine as one of the 25 'visionary voices' who have shaped the new world view in the last quarter of the 20th century. [4] His philosophy of Liberation Ecology is presented in Riding the Wind (1998).

Marshall has been described as "a passionate ecologist and animal liberationist" by The Guardian. [5] He is an elected Fellow of the Royal Geographical Society and a member of the Society of Authors.

Pete LaCock

Pete LaCock, the son of Hollywood Squares host Peter Marshall, was a first baseman, outfielder, and DH for nine years in the major leagues. He is best known for his 1977 and 1978 years, when he hit .303 and .295 respectively for the Kansas City Royals. His last major league appearance was in Game 2 of the 1980 World Series.

A first round pick out of high school by the Chicago Cubs in the January 1970 amateur draft, he broke into the majors in 1972 at age 20. He was MVP of the American Association in 1974. That year, as the first baseman for the Wichita Aeros, LaCock hit .327 with 23 homers and 91 RBI. According to an August 3rd Sporting News story, LaCock became angry at Frank Haraway, the official scorer for Denver Bears games. LaCock had been charged with a fielding error after not being given a hit earlier in the game. He picked up a ball and threw it in the press box, narrowly missing Colorado Governor John Vanderhoof who was sitting near Haraway. LaCock was suspended one game for this by Joe Ryan, AA President.

Pete's only career grand slam came with the Chicago Cubs. He slugged it off one of the final big league pitches thrown by Hall of Famer Bob Gibson, September 3, 1975 at Busch Stadium II, in a 11-6 Cubbie victory. Several years later, LaCock squared off against Gibson in an 'old-timers' game. Gibson's first pitch drilled Pete in the ribs.

LaCock went to Japan in 1981 with the Taiyo Whales after signing a two-year contract for $800,000. He said he was not worth that much. He hit .273/.359/.433, unimpressive for a 1B. He was criticized for his refusal to bunt in one game, for going into the Yomiuri Giants clubhouse to talk to Yomiuri OF Gary Thomasson, and for making excuses when he made an error. He once gave his bat to the umpire as a dispute for a called third strike, saying "You're taking the bat out of my hands, anyway, so you might as well have it." Due to his poor performance and his behavior, he was released even though the club had to pay his full 1982 salary.

In 1989, he played for the St. Petersburg Pelicans and Winter Haven Super Sox of the Senior Professional Baseball Association. LaCock batted .318 with 4 home runs and 35 RBI in 71 games. In 1990, he played for the Sun City Rays, also from the Senior Professional Baseball Association. He was leading the league in both batting average (at .407) and on base percentage (at .500) in 23 games when the league folded.

LaCock served as the hitting coach for the Tucson Toros in 2009, helping the club to their first playoff berth in the Golden Baseball League.

This article [1] indicates that, as of 2019, LaCock is retired. In the article, he talks about the friendships he formed with the celebrities on Hollywood Squares, as well as about his baseball career.

Watch the video: Trial by Fire by Peter Marshall (January 2022).