A Federal Case

Under fair April skies, the bastard was born. Twenty thousand curious but enthusiastic fans had turned out from all corners of the city to witness the debut of Chicago’s latest professional team — the Chi-Feds of the newly organized Federal League. ChiFeds, Buffeds, Pit-Feds, Hoosier Feds; for what they lacked in imagination, these Federal League people at least knew how to put on a show. Marching bands, fireworks and even a live bull — yes, a bull — livened up the proceedings in Weeghman Park. The ballpark was a monument to the imagination, daring, and financial resources of one man — Charles Henry Weeghman, who like Theodore Dreiser, was a rural farmboy from Indiana who came to Chicago seeking fame and fortune.

It was the realization of a dream for “Lucky Charley,” as he watched his collection of castoffs, has-beens, and never-weres trounce the Kansas City Packers 9-1 before 20,000. When asked if the Chi-Feds would be called by any other name, player-manager Joe Tinker had a snappy reply. “Boys,” he said to the writers who had their doubts, “call us the Blues. Because only blue bloods get to be Federals.” Well paid blue bloods, thanks to Weeghman.

When James Gilmore needed financial backing to start a third major league, he turned to Charles Weeghman, a pioneer in the fast food industry, whose string of Chicago lunchrooms had made their owner a millionaire. Pundits labeled the diners as the “one armed dairy lunch,” because each table resembled the old fashioned school desk. Move ’em in, and move ’em out was the Weeghman way of eating.

Charley Weeghman was an interloper — the kind of man polite society turned their backs on. He was just not one of t he smart set. His money was earned, not inherited. His lust for the public favor no doubt inspired him to tie in with Gilmore. But Gilmore and Weeghman were not cut of the same fine timber as Comiskey and Johnson. It was not so easy in 1914, as it had been in 1900, to start another major league. The Federal League based its existence on the notion that the reserve clause was null and void; something akin to calling the Ten Commandments worthless. At first, Gilmore urged his backers to sign players not under contract. Later, when Ban Johnson’s support was not forthcoming, the Feds went after contract players in earnest. Joseph Tinker was the first big prize landed by Weeghman. Tinker accepted a $10,000 advance to play for the Chi-Feds in 1914. He was at the end of a long and illustrious career, but the name recognition was sorely needed.

The rest of the 1914 team was made up of lesser lights. Rollie Zeider, Dutch Zwilling, and Claude Hendrix were journeymen, but on this team they were the stars. Weeghman was an impetuous man, whose mouth got him into trouble. After doling out $7,000 to land the knuckleballing Tom Seaton, Weeghman promised the Ward brothers of Brooklyn that if they invested in the Federal League, he would give them his best pitcher. After the Wards purchased the Brooklyn franchise, Weeghman expressed his regrets over his rash remarks. Seaton would remain a Chi-Fed.

Gilmore backed the Wards in their claims, and with the greatest reluctance Seaton was surrendered to the “TipTops” (the Wards owned a baking company). And there went the Chi-Feds’ 1914 pennant. While the team was being assembled piecemeal, construction of the new Federal League ballpark began on the North Side. Zachary Taylor Davis was hired by Weeghman to design a modern concrete and steel stadium modeled loosely after the Polo Grounds. The stadium cost $250,000, and was officially dedicated March 4, 1914. Seating capacity was 14,000.

The game on the field often took second place to the legal wranglings with organized baseball. The Chicago team began their first season without a first rate catcher after the Feds brought suit against Bill Killefer for breach of contract. Killefer returned Weeghman’s advance and reported to his original team, the Phillies. The Feds lost the first of many legal frays when Judge Clarence Sessions declared that Killefer could remain a Phillie because Gilmore and Weeghman had not come into court with clean hands. This gambit would be used time and again during the Federal League war.

For the Chi-Feds, the 1914 season was a three team horse race fraught with emotion. Tinker’s men exchanged leads with the Baltimore Terrapins and the Indianapolis Hoosiers on a daily basis. Claude Hendrix was the pitching mainstay, completing 34 games and winning 29.

Tinker, Weeghman, and Company gave the fans a good show. The Cubs and Sox by comparison were hardly factors in their respective races. It wasn’t until the last week of the season that matters were settled. The team that helped the Chi-Feds establish their credibility with the fans, the Kansas City Packers, ruined their pennant hopes with a double victory on October 6th. It was a financial, if not artistic, success for Weeghman. The rest of the league was hard hit, but Lucky Charley claimed a profit of $20,000, which may be an exaggerated figure.

The hard line of the National and American Leagues showed no signs of cracking that winter. The Feds retrenched for another go at it, and in Chicago, Weeghman made no little plans. Just as Gilmore opened a massive anti-trust suit against organized baseball, Weeghman entered into serious contract negotiations with Walter Johnson.

When Clark Griffith failed to improve upon a $10,000 a year salary, Weeghman entered the fold with the promise of the $6,000 signing bonus. Three Finger Brown had recently inked a Federal League contract, and with Johnson on the team, the prospects for success in 1915 seemed bright. Sensing impending danger here, Charles Comiskey allegedly advanced Griffith $3,000 so that his star pitcher could remain in Washington. The Big Train returned Weeghman’s bonus and stayed with the Senators. “I can assure you Johnson will not play for any team but the Whales,” Weeghman had falsely prophesied.

The owner assumed that a player of Johnson’s stature would welcome the chance to play for a team with such a grandiose name. After all, the biggest commercial whales were to be found on the North Side of Chicago. Right? At least, that’s what Weeghman thought when he selected D.J. Eichoff of 1451 Hood Ave. as the winner of the “Name the Chi-Feds” contest.

In year two of the great experiment, the Whales began with a stronger lineup than in 1914. George McConnell, a 37-year-old pitcher culled from the Chicago Cubs roster, enjoyed the year of his life as he won 25 games. Tinker had quite a staff in 1915. Claude Hendrix reported to camp out of shape, but twirled a no-hitter against the Pittsburgh Rebels on May 15. “Miner” Brown was the third man on the staff, and his steadying influence helped keep the Whales in the thick of things as the season wound down.

Weeghman was criticized by the media when he staged “Eastland Sufferer’s Day,” following the dock side capsizing of the big steamer, which killed 900. In what must be viewed as a publicity stunt, Weeghman donated a disappointing $955.14 from the proceeds of a game with Buffalo. He had promised $10,000 but it rained.

By Labor Day, the Tinker-Fed Whales trailed Pittsburgh, St. Louis, and Newark by four-and-a-half games. Attendance sagged, due in part to a series of weekend rainouts that cost Weeghman $83,000. In a vain effort to stimulate interest, he followed the example of other Federal League owners by cutting the price of a bleacher seat to a dime. Jitney Ball, the writers dubbed it. The Feds just called it hard times.

The Chicago sports fans found out about the Whales when it was too late. They fought gamely to secure a tie with the first place Rebels on October 2 by sweeping a doubleheader in Pittsburgh.

Schedule quirks worked to the Whales’ advantage. The Federal teams played a disproportionate number of games, which left the St. Louis club out of options, and out of games while the Whales had a remaining doubleheader with Pittsburgh on their own grounds to decide things.

In a city where the “big choke” is a fact of life (at least in the sport of baseball), the Whales came through splendidly. The Whales won both games in the “gloamin”; certainly not an unusual occurrence in this ballpark. Thirty-four thousand fired up fans cheered the Whales to a 5-4 extra inning victory in the first game. Bill Bailey, a seldom used, little known, side-arm pitcher out of St. Louis, hurled the Whales to a championship in the nightcap.

The umpires were about to call the game in the sixth inning because of darkness when Max Flack stepped up to bat with a man on third in a scoreless tie. He punched Elmer Knetzer’s best pitch to right center with the game winning hit. Two more runs came in before the inning was called. The Whales claimed the title by one percentage point over St. Louis.

Weeghman called for a three cornered World Series, but was denied by the National Commission. Charles Comiskey and President Murphy of the Cubs did not bother returning Weeghman’s phone calls when the idea of a three-way City Series was proposed.

The Federal League died in the courts that winter, but Weeghman was placated by baseball. As a part of the peace agreement, he was allowed to purchase 90% of the Cub stock from Charles Taft. He sunk $500,000 more of his restaurant money into what became another losing proposition. For a time, he basked in the glow of publicity, which is what he wanted all along.

At the peak of his career, Weeghman built Wrigley Field, owned pro-teams, ran with the gamblers at Saratoga, and introduced the fast food restaurant. But his day in the sun was fleeting. After he sold his interests in the Cubs to William Wrigley and J. Ogden Armour, he drifted into relative obscurity. Beset by labor agitation and competition from the Thompson Restaurants, Weeghman’s chain was thrown into a receivership on August 13, 1920. A few of his old baseball cronies financed his purchase of a Manhattan bar and grill, but that too failed. The sobering end came on November 2, 1938 at the Drake Hotel in Chicago. Forgotten at 64; a boy wonder no longer.

The Federal League was a glimpse at the distant future. The trails they blazed for players seeking relief from the reserve clause would be realized in 1976. The Whales were exciting and refreshing, but it is doubtful that they could have competed with the Cubs or Sox. Their legacy was a small one.