The Most Tragic Day in Baseball

Carl Mays, a pitcher who won 208 games in his major league career, grew up near Liberty, in Casey County.  Ray Chapman was a shortstop from McHenry, a coal town in Ohio County, about 100 miles to the west.

Chapman first appeard in a big league lineup at the end of the 1912 season, Mays in the spring of 1915.  The number of times they faced each other on the diamond is not recorded, but their meeting on August 16, 1920 was unique; it made baseball history in a way that neither man foresaw or intended.

More than 22,000 fans went to New York’s Polo Grounds that afternoon.  Chapman’s Cleveland Indians held a slim lead in the American League standings over the Chicago White Sox and the host New York Yankees.  (Yankee Stadium had not been built in 1920, and the Yankees played at the Polo Grounds.)

Cleveland grabbed a 1-0 lead in the second inning and scored two more runs in the fourth.  It was an unusually shaky start for Mays, the Yankee pitcher, who had become a highly effective performer, though he was only 26.  His underhand delivery when he threw the ball had earned him the nickname “Sub.”

The 5-foot-10, 165-pound Chapman led off for Cleveland in the top of the fifth.  Mays’ first two pitches had given the hitter an even count (one ball and one strike), when Yankee catcher Muddy Ruel signaled for a fast ball.  Chapman was batting from a semi-crouch, which Mays later observed “made him very hard to pitch to.”  Mays threw the ball, there was a loud THWACK, and the ball rolled back to the mound.  Mays scooped it up and threw it to first baseman Wally Pipp.

But there was no runner.

Suddenly Mays heard plate umpire Tom Connolly calling for a doctor and realized his pitch had not hit Chapman’s bat, it had struck him on the head.

An eyewitness wrote:

“The ball hit Chapman on the left side of the head.  The crack of the ball could be heard all over the stands and spectators gasped as they turned their heads away.  the injured player dropped unconscious and a doctor was summoned to his aid.  The player was partially revived after a time and attempted to walk to the clubhouse with the aid of two teammates.  But his legs doubled up under him and he was carried tot he clubhouse and afterwards taken to nearby St. Lawrence Hospital.

“As the injured ballplayer was being taken to the clubhouse, he tried to speak to Percy Smallwood, trainer . . . but he could not speak.  He pointed to his finger.  Smallwood then understood and gave him his wife’s gift (a diamond ring).  Before the game, Chapman had given it to Smallwood for safekeeping.”

An Associated Press reporter quoted a tearful Mays:

“I got the signal for a fast ball, which I delivered.  It was a little too close and I saw Chapman duck his head in an effort to get out of the path of the ball.  He was too late, however, and a second later, he fell to the ground.  It was the most regrettable incident of my career and I would give anything if I could undo what has happened.  Chapman was a game, splendid fellow.”

It was almost six o’clock when Chapman reached the hospital.  As the hours moved towards midnight, his condition worsened.  In the meantime, Cleveland Manager Tris Speaker had phoned Chapman’s bride of 10 months.  Then the doctors, Speaker and a Cleveland front office official conferred and decided to proceed with the surgery before she came.

A reporter gave this account:

“At 12:30 a.m., Doctors M.J. Horan and T.D. Merigan wheeled Chapman into the operating room.  There they made an incision 3-1/2 inches through the skull on the left side.  The found a rupture of the lateral sinus and a quantity of clotted blood.  A small piece of skull was removed.  Dr. Merrigan added, ‘the shock of the blow had lacerated the brain not only on the left side of the head where the ball had struck it, but also on the right side of the brain where the force of the blow had forced the brain against the skull.’  Immediately after the surgery, Chapman breathed easier and his pulse improved.  So his teammates went back to their hotel, trusting the dawn would bring encouraging news.  They were notified, instead, of Chapman’s death.”

The incident remains the only such fatality in major league history.

The Associated Press reported that Mays had paced the floor all night.  When he received news of the outcome that morning, he resolved immediately to turn himself in to the district attorney.  There the incident was ruled an accident.

The game in New York that day was postponed and at other ballparks throughout the nation, appropriate tribute was paid to Chapman.  A storm of controversy followed.  At least four American League teams, including the Boston Red Sox, for whom Mays had played previously, favored barring the pitcher.  In previous years, he had been accused of deliberate beaning and, in 1919, his transfer to the Yankees for $40,000 and two players came after he had bolted the Red Sox in mid-season.  For a time, league president B.B. Johnson seemed to agree with the protesting players.

However, other voices were heard.  One came from Philadelphia Manager Connie Mack, who said, “Outside of Mrs. Chapman and the Chapman family, I believe no one feels the effects of Chapman’s death more than Mays.  I am of the opinion that he should be extended sympathy instead of trying to blemish his name.”

Chapman’s manager, Tris Speaker, added, “I do not hold Mays responsible in any way.  I have been active in discouraging my players from holding Mays responsible, and in respect to Chapman’s memory, as well as for the good of baseball, I hope all this kind of talk will stop.”

Yankee Manager Miller Huggins told a reporter he believed Chapman’s left foot may have caught in the ground in some manner, which prevented him from stepping out of the ball’s way.  Batters usually have one foot loose at such moments and Chapman had gotten out of the way of the same kind of pitch before.

The day after Chapman died, the New York Times revealed that baseball officials were considering the use of protective headgear.  A few days later, Dr. Robert Coughlin wrote in the New York Medical Journal that his 10-year investigation showed baseball to be “the deadliest of sports.”  Between 1905 and 1915 it had claimed 284 lives; football had taken 215; auto racing, 128; and boxing, 105.

At least 20,623 fans donated to a memorial fund for Chapman.  His funeral mass in Cleveland was moved from his home parish to a church that held three times as many people.  Even so, hundreds stood outside and traffic was snarled.  The esteem in which opponents held Chapman can be gauged by the prompt offer of Detroit shortstop Donie Bush to play the rest of the season for Cleveland, an offer to which his Tiger teammates agreed.

Chapman left an enviable baseball record which included setting a major league mark for the most sacrifices in a season (67) and the most plays of this kind in a single game (6).  In his last four season, he hit over .300 three times and thrice led the league in the most put-outs by a shortstop.  He had married after the 1919 season ended and planned to retire after the 1920 season.

Mays continued to play.  He remained in the majors through 1929, and wound up his playing career with Louisville in the American Association in 1931.

Connie Mack’s plea for sympathy for Mays found one receptive ear in the Rev. William Scullen, who, in his eulogy for Chapman, said, “No hostile word should be uttered against the man who was the cause of this unfortunate accident.  He feels the outcome of it more deeply than most of us do.

“Chapman played the game of life as he played the game of his profession, cleanly and honestly.  He was our friend as a player and as a man.  Sterling athlete that he was, he never knew defeat.  Courageous, and with an indomitable spirit, he played his part in life honorably and he was a strong type of typical American youth and a great example for others.”