Chandler could be described as a man of contradictions. He was known for his smile and jovial nature (he picked up the nickname “Happy” in college and it stuck the rest of his life). He could also be ruthless and vindictive, and never forgave those he perceived as enemies. Chandler grew up in Kentucky during the Jim Crow era, making racial segregation a part of his experience. Later in life, however, his strong moral compass and Christian principles influenced his support of Rickey and Robinson. And even his detractors acknowledged that the major league game was in better shape when he left office than when he began.

Albert Benjamin Chandler was born in Corydon, Kentucky on July 14, 1898. He was the oldest child of Joseph, a farmer, and Callie (Saunders) Chandler. A younger brother, Robert, was born in 1899. Albert’s mother was a teenager, maybe as young as 15, when he was born. Unable to cope with raising two young boys, she abandoned the family when he was about three. That, and his brother Robert’s accidental death during his teen years, were two of Chandler’s most painful childhood memories.

Chandler was raised by his father and relatives. At a young age, he began to earn extra money from a newspaper route and doing odd jobs in the community. In 1917, he graduated from Corydon High School, where he was captain of the baseball and football teams. His father wanted him to study for the ministry, but instead he enrolled in Transylvania College in Lexington, Kentucky. There, he was captain of the school’s baseball and basketball teams, and quarterback of the football squad. During World War I he began officer’s training school at college, but hostilities ended before he was called to active duty.

During summers while still in college, Chandler tried his hand at semi-professional baseball, playing for the Lexington Reds, where a teammate was future Hall of Fame outfielder Earle Combs. In 1920, Chandler pitched for a team in Grafton, North Dakota.1 He apparently had some talent – he had a 7-1 record and the ball field in town was later named in his honor in 1946. Later that summer he had an unsuccessful tryout with the Saskatoon club of the Class B Western Canada League.

Happy returned to Transylvania College and earned his Bachelor of Arts degree in 1921. He then entered Harvard Law School, but after one year, he returned home and enrolled in the University of Kentucky College of Law. He received his law degree in 1924 and was admitted to the Kentucky bar the following year. On November 12, 1925, he married Mildred Watkins, a local teacher. The couple would have four children: Marcella, Mildred (Mimi), Albert Jr., and Joseph Daniel.

Chandler built a successful law practice in Versailles, Kentucky, but soon became interested in politics. In 1928 he became chairman of the Woodford County Democratic Committee; The following year, he was elected to represent the 22nd district in the Kentucky State Senate. Chandler first held statewide office when he was elected Kentucky’s lieutenant governor in 1931 under Democratic Governor Ruby Laffoon. The two disagreed often, primarily over establishing a state sales tax, and Laffoon later stripped Chandler of some of his responsibilities.

Chandler soon set his sights on the governor’s office, but feared Laffoon would select another candidate to succeed him by calling for a nominating convention instead of a primary election. This precipitated an early demonstration of Chandler’s famed political skills. Under the Kentucky Constitution, the lieutenant governor became acting governor whenever the governor left the state. When Governor Laffoon went to Washington to meet with President Roosevelt, Chandler called the legislature into session and lobbied for quick passage of a bill requiring the primary election. Before Laffoon returned to the state, the bill passed and was signed into law by Acting Governor Chandler. Thereafter, Chandler won the gubernatorial primary and was elected to his first term as governor of Kentucky in 1935.

During his term as governor, Chandler oversaw the repeal of the sales tax, replacing lost revenues with new excise taxes and the state’s first income tax. He also oversaw a major reorganization of state government, realizing significant savings for the state. These savings were then used to pay off the state debt and improve the state’s educational and transportation systems. By this time Chandler had begun to think about the presidency. As a stepping stone, he stood for a United States Senate seat in 1938, but lost. But when Senator M.M. Logan died in office in 1939, Chandler resigned as governor, and had his successor appoint him to the vacant Senate seat.

As a senator, Chandler generally supported the Roosevelt administration, but disagreed with certain aspects of New Deal legislation and some of the President’s policies concerning European and Pacific war operations. Despite opposition from many in the black community, Chandler won reelection to a second Senate term in 1942. Ever ambitious, Chandler thought he had enough support to be Roosevelt’s running mate in 1944, but when he failed to receive support at the Democratic National Convention. Senator Harry Truman of Missouri was chosen for the vice-presidential spot on the ticket instead.

During World War II, professional baseball was depleted when hundreds of players were called into the armed services. Many advocated for shutting baseball down during the war, but Chandler was an outspoken proponent of continuing baseball. Major league team owners took notice. When baseball’s first commissioner, Judge Kenesaw Mountain Landis, died in November 1944, those owners decided his replacement needed to be someone with the political skills and contacts needed to further baseball’s interest in Washington. Chandler agreed to be a candidate, partly because the commissioner’s $50,000 annual salary was much more than he was earning as a senator.

Several other candidates were considered, with National League President Ford Frick the early frontrunner. But influential team owners Warren Giles (Cincinnati) and Phil Wrigley (Chicago Cubs) were opposed to Frick. Meanwhile, New York Yankees co-owner Larry MacPhail began to advocate for Chandler. With MacPhail’s backing, and support from New York Giants owner Horace Stoneham, Chandler’s name rose to the top of the list. When the owners met in Cleveland on April 24, 1945, an informal poll showed that Chandler likely had the support of two-thirds of the 16 major-league team owners needed for election. A second ballot showed he had the necessary majority, and the third vote taken made the choice of Chandler unanimous.

Because the war was still in progress, Chandler retained his Senate seat until November 1, 1945. He then resigned to commence his term as baseball commissioner. Despite the support he had had during his election, many team owners were upset with Chandler because he had delayed assuming office. He angered the two league presidents by advocating increased pay for umpires during the 1945 World Series. In addition, the press, particularly in the East, disdained him as a “windbag politician,” too undignified for the commissioner’s post. Chandler further alienated the press by moving the commissioner’s office from Chicago to Cincinnati.

On October 23, 1945, or just a week before Chandler took office as commissioner, Brooklyn Dodgers part-owner Branch Rickey announced that he had signed Negro Leagues star Jackie Robinson to a contract with the Montreal Royals, a Dodgers farm team in the International League. After Robinson had played a season in Montreal, Rickey’s intention was to bring him up to the Dodgers in 1947 and thereby surmount baseball’s color line by making Robinson the first black player in the major leagues since the 1880s.2 For this plan to succeed, Rickey knew he needed Commissioner Chandler’s support, and was assured he would have it.

By 1946, the Dodgers had signed several other black players, including Don Newcombe and Roy Campanella, to minor-league teams. That summer a special committee met in Chicago and submitted a report to the owners and league presidents. The report detailed every subject under discussion – except the “Race Question.” Omitted from the report were arguments made in favor of continuing major league segregation. Those in favor of keeping the color line in place advanced two arguments. (1) The signing of more black players would lead to the end of the Negro Leagues, and some major-league owners were dependent on rent paid by Negro League teams for the use of their ballparks. (2) Black players on major-league rosters would mean more black fans, which in turn would arguably lessen the value of major-league franchises by making the game less attractive to white patrons.3

Chandler said little publicly, but his support for the signing of Robinson became evident through his actions. As commissioner, he had the authority to void Robinson’s contract, but he did not. When Robinson and the Royals traveled to Louisville, Kentucky for the Little World Series in 1946, Chandler warned the Colonels ahead of time that any racial protest would not be tolerated.4 Following extreme jeering of Robinson, much of it of a racial nature, by members of the Philadelphia Phillies and their manager Ben Chapman during a game early in 1947, Chandler threatened Chapman and Phillies players with disciplinary action if any further incidents occurred. And when members of the St. Louis Cardinals threatened to strike in protest of the presence of Robinson, Chandler backed up NL President Frick’s threats to suspend any members of the Cardinals who followed through with the strike.

Rickey and Robinson deserve most of the credit, but Robinson acknowledged Chandler’s role in the integration of baseball. In a 1956 letter to Chandler, Robinson said, “I will never forget your part in the so called Rickey experiment.”5 At least one other former player also appreciated Chandler’s contribution to baseball’s integration. Don Newcombe, who joined Robinson on the Dodgers in 1949, later said, “Some of the things he did for Jackie Robinson, Roy Campanella, and [me] when he was commissioner of baseball – those are the kinds of things we never forget.” Newcombe added that Chandler had cared for black players in baseball “when it wasn’t fashionable.”6

The integration of Robinson was the most significant event of Chandler’s term, but there were other serious issues he had to deal with. In early 1946, Mexican millionaire Jorge Pasquel and his brothers sought to elevate their nation’s baseball league to major-league status. They offered big-league players large salaries and bonuses to jump their contracts and play in Mexico. Chandler responded by imposing a five-year ban from baseball on any players who accepted Pasquel’s offers. Still, 18 major leaguers played in Mexico, but the game’s biggest stars (like Stan Musial and Ted Williams) all turned down lucrative offers to play in the Mexican League.

Shortly thereafter, Robert Murphy, a former negotiator with the National Labor Relations Board, attempted to organize Pittsburgh Pirates players for the purpose of collective bargaining. Murphy opposed the reserve clause in player contracts and sought more rights for the players, including the right of salary arbitration. Commissioner Chandler worked successfully with Pirates management to avoid any player strike, but had contingency plans to field a team of replacements if the Pirates players had struck.

At the same time that Robinson was making his debut with Brooklyn, Chandler had to settle a dispute between the New York Yankees and the Dodgers. Before the 1947 season, Yankees president MacPhail signed two Dodgers coaches, Chuck Dressen and John Corriden, while both were still under contract with Brooklyn. Dodgers manager Leo Durocher was also reportedly seeking the Yankee manager’s job while still working for Brooklyn. In addition, evidence had been uncovered about Durocher’s alleged association with gamblers. Chandler responded to all this by suspending Durocher “for conduct detrimental to baseball” for the entire 1948 season. He also suspended Dressen for 30 days, and fined MacPhail and the Brooklyn club $2,500 each.7

The 1948 season was relatively quiet, but in 1949 Mexican League jumpers Danny Gardella, Max Lanier, and Fred Martin filed suit against Organized Baseball. They alleged that the ban imposed by Chandler had denied them a means of pursuing a livelihood. Central to the lawsuit was a challenge to major league baseball’s longtime exemption from federal antitrust laws. A lower federal court denied relief, but Chandler and club owners were anxious to avoid any further scrutiny of the antitrust exemption on appeal. Chandler therefore agreed to relax the ban and reinstate the players two years early. Still, Gardella did not drop the suit, and Chandler and baseball executives eventually agreed to an out-of-court monetary settlement of his claims.

In 1947, Commissioner Chandler sold the radio rights to that year’s World Series for $475,000 and then used the money from the contract to establish the first pension fund for major league baseball players. In 1949, he negotiated a seven-year contract with Gillette and the Mutual Broadcasting System to broadcast the Series. Proceeds from that $370,000 deal went directly into the pension fund. Then in 1950, the same two companies negotiated a six-year, $6 million contract to telecast the Series. Again, Chandler channeled the contract proceeds into the players pension fund.

Although baseball club owners were Chandler’s employer, he had often asserted his independence, and by midway through his term, the commissioner had made a number of enemies among the owners. For example, he angered Yankees co-owner Del Webb when he voided a trade between the Yankees and White Sox involving outfielder Dick Wakefield, leaving the Yankees on the hook for Wakefield’s salary. In 1949, Chandler lost the support of Chicago White Sox boss Chuck Comiskey when he fined and later suspended White Sox general manager Leslie O’Connor for illegally signing a high school player. St. Louis Cardinals owner Fred Saigh disagreed with Chandler’s handling of the Mexican League players, while Chandler initiated investigations into Saigh’s possible gambling connections, creating another enemy.

At the December 1949 winter meetings, Chandler asked the owners to extend his contract beyond its 1952 expiration date. In raising the matter, Chandler treated his reappointment like a political campaign, making speeches and public appearances all over the county. He had overwhelming support among fans, and most of the players were with him as well. Ted Williams said, “I know the players are strong for Chandler. Chandler has always been good to me.”8 But Chandler had failed to realize that the players and fans did not have a say in the matter. His fate would be decided exclusively by 16 voters, the major league team owners.

In order to put the reappointment question off, the owners passed a rule that the re-election of a commissioner could not be considered more than 18 months or less than 12 months before the commissioner’s term expired. When the reappointment question came up again the following December at meetings held in St. Petersburg, Florida, Chandler’s strongest supporters were Clark Griffith of Washington, Walter O’Malley of the Dodgers, and the Giants’ Horace Stoneham. The Cardinals’ Saigh was the most vocal member of the opposition.

The vote was far from decisive. Initially, nine owners voted in favor of Chandler’s reappointment while seven were opposed. The owners changed the requirement from a simple majority to a 75% super-majority after Landis died in 1944. Thus, subsequent ballots were needed. The second vote was an eight-eight tie because Cleveland owner Ellis Ryan switched sides after Frank Lausche, the governor of Ohio, was mentioned as a possible successor to Chandler. Ultimately, Chandler was not re-elected, even though a third and final vote was 9-7 in his favor. After the outcome was decided, Chandler remarked, “It’s the first time I ever won a majority but lost an election.”9

Commissioner Chandler negotiated an agreement with the owners to remain in office until July 31, 1951, but he was a lame duck. Rather than one specific incident, his failure to secure a second term seems to reflect how he often sided with the interests of the players instead of the owners. For this, he was often called the “players’ commissioner.” Chandler was a baseball fan at heart, and bemoaned how the owners treated the game that he loved as a big business, all the while expecting Chandler to go to Washington and argue that baseball was not interstate commerce and therefore entitled to its antitrust exemption.

Following his term as commissioner, Chandler returned to Kentucky to resume his law practice. But he soon began to rebuild his political base in preparation for another run for governor. He won a second term in 1955. Upon taking office, he discovered that he had to raise taxes in order to balance the state’s budget, but he nevertheless found enough funds to establish a medical school at the University of Kentucky, later named Chandler Medical Center in his honor. In the wake of the United States Supreme Court’s Brown v. Board of Education ruling in 1954, Chandler had to call out the National Guard on one occasion to enforce the integration of one of the state’s public schools.

When his second term as governor ended, Chandler set his sights on the presidential nomination at the 1960 Democratic National Convention, saying that frontrunner John F. Kennedy was “a nice young fellow … (but) too young for the nomination.” Again, Chandler failed as a candidate for national office, in part because he did not adapt well as political campaigns moved from personal interaction with voters (his strength) to television. Undeterred, he made three more unsuccessful runs for governor in 1963, 1967, and 1971.

After he left the commissioner’s office, Chandler was essentially ignored by Organized Baseball and his two successors, Commissioners Ford Frick and William Eckert. He was not invited to All-Star games or to any other functions associated with major league baseball. It was not until Bowie Kuhn became commissioner in 1969, and had to deal with Curt Flood‘s demand for free agency, that people recalled that Chandler had dealt with similar issues regarding baseball’s reserve clause 20 years earlier. Flood’s ethnicity also stirred memories of Chandler’s role in bringing Jackie Robinson into baseball.

In 1982, the Veteran’s Committee inducted Chandler into the National Baseball Hall of Fame. He saw his election as something of a vindication for his contributions to baseball and his accomplishments while in office. In his induction speech, Chandler said, “I figured that someday I’d have to meet my maker, and he’d ask me why I didn’t let that boy (Robinson) play. I was afraid that if I told him it was because he was black, that wouldn’t have been sufficient. I told (Dodgers President Branch) Rickey to bring him on.”

In 1988, Kentucky Governor Wallace Wilkinson gave Chandler voting rights on the University of Kentucky’s board of trustees (he had previously been an honorary, non-voting member). During a trustees meeting that April, the University’s investments in Africa that April were discussed. The almost-90-year-old Chandler said, “You all know Zimbabwe is all nigger now. There aren’t any whites.”10 These comments spurred protests, threats of strikes by students, and calls for Wilkinson to replace Chandler on the university board. After first trying to explain away his remarks by saying that racial slurs were commonly used during his childhood, Chandler apologized and always expressed regret about what he said.

Happy Chandler lived quietly with Millie in Versailles until his death from a heart attack on June 15, 1991. He was 92. He was survived by his wife, two sons, two daughters, 12 grandchildren, and seven great-grandchildren. One of his grandsons, Ben Chandler, represented Kentucky’s 6th District in the U.S. House of Representatives from 2004 to 2013. Happy Chandler was buried in the churchyard of Pisgah Presbyterian Church near Versailles.

During his lifetime, Chandler received numerous accolades and awards. But perhaps his most impressive achievement was how he was remembered by the person who knew him best, his wife Millie. Shortly after Happy died, she said, “He had a most satisfactory life and accomplished many, many things, a lot of things the general public doesn’t know about. His mind was always on seeing what he could do to make things equal for those who were considered downtrodden.”11

Sources

Unless otherwise noted, much of the information contained in this biography was taken from detailed profiles about Chandler in the May 3, 1945 and March 21 and March 28, 1946 issues of The Sporting News.

In addition to the sources cited in the notes, the author also consulted:

“Did Happy Chandler Deserve Bows for Letting Jackie Play?” New York Times, June 30, 1991.

Hill, John Paul, “Commissioner A. B. Happy Chandler and the Integration of Major League Baseball: A Reassessment,” NINE: a Journal of Baseball History and Culture (Fall 2010), 19 (1): 28-52.

Moffi, Larry, The Conscience of the Game: Baseball’s Commissioners From Landis to Selig, (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2006).

Deford, Frank, “Happy Days,” Sports Illustrated, July 30, 1987.

Trimble, Vance H., Heroes, Plain Folks, and Skunks: The Life and Times of Happy Chandler (Chicago: Bonus Books, 1989).

Marshall, William, Baseball’s Pivotal Era: 1945-1951 (Lexington: University Press of Kentucky, 2015).

Zimbalist, Andrew, In the Best Interest of Baseball: The Revolutionary Reign of Bud Selig (New York: John Wiley & Sons, 2007).

Banner, Stuart, The Baseball Trust: A History of Baseball’s Antitrust Exemption (New York: Oxford University Press, 2002).

At the Plate and on the Mound: Profiles From Baseball’s Past, iUniverse, 2001.

Mann, Arthur, Baseball Confidential: Secret History of the War Among Chandler, Durocher, MacPhail, and Rickey (New York: McKay, 1951).

Notes

Eckert brought a significant understanding of business and bureaucracy to the table; however, his quiet nature helped feed the perception that he was ill-equipped to deal with an array of headstrong major league owners and the demands of an emerging players union. He knew nothing about the industry, and it showed. At times he simply failed to insert himself into circumstances that begged for leadership.

William Dole Eckert was born in Freeport, Illinois, on January 20, 1909, to Frank Lloyd and Harriett Julia (nee Rudy) Eckert. Harriet was seven years older than Frank, had been married previously and brought two children into the marriage: Robert McCline, 12 years old at the time of William’s birth, and Mary McCline, 7. William was the couple’s only child together. Frank supported the family as a traveling salesman and did well, considering that the couple maintained live-in servants.

The Eckerts soon moved to Indiana, settling in Indianapolis and then Madison. William played first base and outfield for the Madison High School nine. At age 15 in 1924, Eckert joined the Indiana National Guard, following his brother Robert into the military. Two years later he enrolled at the U.S. Military Academy at Air Force Academy. He played football there, gaining the nickname Spike after an especially successful intramural contest. He even played a little baseball in intramurals.

Eckert graduated from West Point in June 1930, ranking 128^th in a class of 241. Classmate Lauris Norstad, future commander of North Atlantic Treaty Organization forces, remembered, “A less flamboyant man you could hardly imagine. He was very quiet, dignified and orderly. A man of moderation.” After graduation Eckert was assigned to a field artillery unit as a second lieutenant. In September 1930 he entered flying school in Texas and later transferred to an advanced flying school. After graduating as a pilot in October 1931, he transferred to the Army Air Force. He was stationed in the Panama Canal Zone from 1935-37.

Eckert became a flying instructor in 1937, when he was a first lieutenant. He changed his path when he entered the Graduate School of Business Administration at Harvard in September 1938, ultimately earning a Master’s degree in 1940. From there, he became heavily involved in logistics, maintenance and supply, and worked at such positions throughout World War II at Air Materiel Command at Wright Field in Dayton, Ohio. In January 1944 he entered Army and Navy Staff College and, upon graduation, was assigned to Europe as commander of the 452^nd Bomb Group of the 8^th Army Air Force. He won the Distinguished Flying Cross and was promoted to colonel in August 1944. He later served as chief of maintenance and supply in Europe.

Eckert was assigned to the office of the undersecretary of the Air Force in November 1947. Throughout the 1950s, he shifted between positions as deputy chief of staff for material and as vice commander of Tactical Air Command at Langley Air Force Base, Virginia. Eckert was promoted to his final rank of lieutenant general in 1957. At the time the 48-year-old was the youngest three-star general in the armed forces.

In February 1960 Eckert became comptroller of the Air Force. However, after suffering a heart attack in early 1961, he retired from active duty on April 1. On that date he was awarded the Distinguished Service Medal. Eckert settled outside Washington, D.C., with his family, holding positions representative of a retired general. He was director of the Logistics Management Institute, a Department of Defense advisory group, a consultant for aviation firms and sat on the board of electronic and real estate companies.

In August 1964 longtime commissioner Ford Frick announced his intention to retire the following year. During his final year in office, he submitted a report suggesting changes in baseball’s administrative structure that he believed would strengthen the game in these “changing times.” Heeding Frick’s suggestions, the new commissioner would oversee five top-level executive deputies, each supervising a particular department and staff. Four would head public relations, broadcasting, player affairs and amateur baseball departments. The fifth deputy would be known as the administrator. For this post, the owners wanted a “baseball man,” with an outsider as commissioner. The administrator would in essence be the commissioner’s chief advisor and coordinate the activities of the four departments.

A slew of new owners had entered the game in recent decades. They were strong businessmen, spoke for their individual interests and weren’t shy about taking their grievances to the courts or to the court of public opinion. They were also aggressive in their business demeanor and preferred to lead rather than being guided. In short, they didn’t want a commissioner telling them how to run their multi-million dollar investment. Some of them also resented the control Dodgers owner Walter O’Malley seemed to wield within major league circles. O’Malley was always prepared and well-informed on issues, and was often able to win enough fellow executives over to push through his objectives.

The list of potential replacements for Frick eventually included 156 names. General Eckert was among them. Just who recommended the general is uncertain. Some reports suggest that after Air Force General Curtis LeMay declined interest in the job, he suggested Eckert. Athletics’ owner Charlie O. Finley claimed it was John Fetzer of Detroit who pushed for Eckert’s nomination. A screening committee, consisting of Fetzer and John Galbreath of the Pirates, was appointed in March 1965, and soon pared the list to fifteen. However, Eckert’s name wasn’t among them. A revised list of 10 finalists was presented on October 20, including Eckert. His name was never mentioned in the Sporting News or in any other major periodical prior to his election. The screening committee only put up one name for a vote, Eckert’s. The 56-year-old was elected unanimously by the twenty franchises at the November 17 winter meetings in Chicago. He was appointed to a seven-year term at $65,000 per year.

Researchers at the New York Times couldn’t find any substantive notes on the man in their vast files. This was expected; in part, that was the owner’s objective. They wanted someone beholden to no one in baseball. One comment from that day stuck throughout Eckert’s reign. New York World-Telegram writer Larry Fox blurted, “Good God! They’ve elected the Unknown Soldier.” A story circulated that some of the owners thought they were electing Eugene Zuckert, former secretary of the Air Force. Charlie Finley later exclaimed, “we wound up with a guy nobody knew, who knew nothing about sports. That’s when I began to realize I was sitting with a bunch of dummies.”

Sportswriters described Eckert as dull and stone-faced. Ridiculously, one writer noted that Eckert “isn’t even especially handsome.” The general’s style didn’t seem to match the world he entered. In Lee MacPhail’s words, after meeting the general for the first time, “I liked him, but was amazed at how soft-spoken, low key and almost retiring he was.” Writers weren’t especially attracted to the stoic, buttoned-up and dignified manner of a career military man. From the other perspective, Eckert didn’t know what to make of the environment he stepped into. He was noticeably ill at ease. To make matters worse, Eckert knew little or nothing about baseball. In fact, former colleagues noted that he didn’t much care for baseball. He preferred squash, tennis, golf, polo and horse jumping. When asked to name his favorite team and players of yore, Eckert said that he moved around in the military and never developed any attachments. Most took this as an indication of lack of interest in the sport. He wasn’t the all-American guy in love with baseball and hot dogs that newsmen typically associated with.

Naturally, Eckert made a few gaffes. He referred to the Cincinnati Cardinals and didn’t seem to know that the Dodgers had moved to Los Angeles. He bored his audiences with lengthy comparisons of baseball to life in the Air Force. He also wrote his speeches and recited them word-for-word in a monotone, as he had done in the military. Particularly irking to the sportswriters was Eckert’s habit of speaking from cue cards, even in one-on-one communication. In Miami in December Eckert pulled out the wrong index cards and began giving a speech to sportswriters that was intended for a cocktail party with United Airlines officials later in the day. He thanked the reporters for their contributions to the airline industry and dove into technological advances in the aviation industry before an aide hurriedly approached the podium. Another time, he mixed up his cue cards and gave the elements of his speech out of order.

Working tirelessly, Eckert made great efforts to delve into his new environment. He insisted on meeting everyone in the game. There were countless cocktail parties and other formal and informal gatherings. Eckert worked every room, greeting all and trying to work his charm and gain a measure of familiarity. He asked everyone to call him “Spike” to establish an informal rapport.

The owners persuaded Baltimore general manager Lee MacPhail to leave the Orioles and accept the job as Eckert’s administrator. MacPhail did so at great personal cost–he loved Baltimore and the Orioles were in the middle of posting the most victories of the decade; four pennants were soon to follow. Eckert was happy to have him, declaring, “Here’s a man who at some sacrifice has agreed to become administrator. He will be invaluable to me and we will operate as a team.” MacPhail advised Eckert to discontinue Frick’s propensity for avoiding a tough decision by declaring every issue “a league matter.” That wasn’t Eckert’s style, anyway; he preferred to face issues head on.

Eckert stayed up nights trying to familiarize himself with the baseball business and the game’s history. As one reporter put it, Eckert didn’t want to look dumbfounded when someone brought up Hack Wilson or another great from the past. Still, Eckert was deathly afraid of phone calls, each potentially raising a topic he didn’t grasp. MacPhail spent his first few months in the office monitoring Eckert’s calls and quietly offering advice throughout each conversation.

At spring training in 1966, Eckert met with owners and minor league, amateur and college officials. He hung around the clubhouses and batting cages, speaking with players, managers, coaches, umpires and writers. At night he invited many to his room for drinks and conversation. The players, at least, were impressed. As ten-year veteran Hank Aguirre noted, “I never talked to a commissioner before.”

Eckert brought solid assets to his new position, including honesty, a financial background, years of administrative experience and an understanding of bureaucracy. He was well educated, could accept criticism and sought everyone’s opinion before making decisions. When a reporter referred to the commissioner as a czar, Eckert flinched, proclaiming “Before I act, I like to get the views of others. That’s how we did it in the military.”

Eckert lived in Fort Washington, Maryland, outside D.C., with his wife, the former Catherine Douglas Givens, the daughter of an Army officer. The couple met in 1938 at Randolph Field, a military base in Texas, and were married on June 15, 1940. They had two children: William Douglas, in 1965 a sophomore at West Point, and Catherine Julia, a graduate teaching student at Purdue University. Eckert took a small apartment in New York and set up his headquarters at the old Mets’ offices on Fifth Avenue, empty since the club had moved into Shea Stadium.

Early in 1966, Eckert began to promote baseball internationally. As he emphasized, “I can visualize within the foreseeable future the spread of major league baseball on an international scale to include Japan, Canada and several Latin American countries. I see major league baseball as a means of contributing to international friendship.” He spoke of the possibility of a future team in Canada, Mexico or even in Japan. In the fall of 1966 the commissioner accompanied the Dodgers to Japan after the World Series on a goodwill and exhibition tour. He later gained agreement guaranteeing that a major league club would visit Japan every other year.  

Talk of possible major league expansion also dominated baseball conversation in 1966. Eckert was hounded on the issue virtually from the day he took office. Initially, he misspoke, declaring that expansion wasn’t plausible for the next eight or ten years. He then corrected himself, moving the timeframe up to the next three to five years. The commissioner also took up a cause that American League president Joe Cronin had been espousing for years: interleague play. Cronin and Eckert could never gain the approval of the National League or its president, Warren Giles. After Eckert’s first year in office, MacPhail left the commissioner’s office to become the general manager of the last-place Yankees, and was replaced by Atlanta Braves president John McHale.

Few realized it at the time, but the hiring of Marvin Miller as head of the Players Association in March 1966 would change the game dramatically. In June Miller was excluded from a meeting for negotiating a new television contract, which funded the player’s pension plan. Miller cautioned the unaware commissioner that a change in the pension plan without the players’ approval would violate labor laws. The owners did not want Eckert to take the lead is labor relations; they hired an experienced labor negotiator, John Gaherin, and had him report directly to the owners.

In early 1968 the players and owners signed the first formal collective bargaining agreement, which included a new procedure on settling grievances (with an arbitrator) and a $10,000 minimum salary. Miller was pleased that the players aligned en masse for the union’s cause. The owners now saw at least a hint of the union’s potential.

Meanwhile, the two major leagues butted heads throughout 1967 and ‘68 in running disputes that led many to seek Eckert’s ouster. On October 18, 1967, the American League granted Charlie Finley permission to relocate his Kansas City A’s to Oakland, while also announcing plans to add new teams in Seattle and Kansas City. The National League had coveted Seattle, and also objected to the AL putting a team right across the bay from the San Francisco Giants.   Eventually the National League agreed to expand as well, into San Diego and Montreal, but felt they had been rushed and outmaneuvered. Furthermore, the National League wanted Eckert to veto the American League’s decisions to split the expanded twelve-team league into two divisions. As Cubs vice president John Holland put it, “I’m not saying he lacked the courage. He just didn’t know the rules. These moves put baseball in a bad light. A strong man would have prevented it.” Others in the National League had harsher assessments, especially when Eckert boasted that he “always advocated expansion together” after the National League finally agreed to expand.

Martin Luther King was assassinated on April 4, 1968, at the end of spring training. Baseball responded by postponing several season-opening games. Eckert was hailed by The Sporting News, among others, for putting “baseball on the side of social justice.” However, the owners roundly criticized Eckert for not penalizing players who had refused to participate in spring training games after the assassination. In response, Eckert named Monte Irvin as assistant director of promotion and public relations, the first African-American to hold a major post in the commissioner’s office.

Baseball’s reaction after the assassination of Robert Kennedy in June was a total debacle, one that landed squarely in Eckert’s lap. Kennedy’s funeral was to be held on Saturday, June 8, and President Lyndon Johnson declared that the following day would be a day of mourning. Eckert was unsure of the course baseball should take; he conferred with staff and league owners in an attempt to gain a consensus. All this did was muddy the decision-making process and lead to a meek response. In the end Eckert decided to postpone the start of Saturday’s games until after the funeral and to leave it up to the individual clubs to decide the fate of Sunday’s games.

Kennedy’s funeral train from New York to Washington was delayed for hours because of huge crowds along the tracks. Baseball parks were filled with fans, with no one knowing when the games would start. Some teams chose to play, while others did not. Giants owner Horace Stoneham blew his stack when the Mets’ players refused to play in San Francisco. (Kennedy was a senator from New York.) Stoneham had promoted the game heavily and had advance sales of over 40,000 seats. He wanted the Mets to cover his $80,000 in losses. National League president Warren Giles declared the game a forfeit, but softened his stance when he realized the potential embarrassment to baseball. The Cincinnati players also voted not to play, but manager Dave Bristol coaxed them into changing their minds. The arguments continued on Sunday as well. Only Baltimore and Boston called off their games. Kennedy aides wired their thanks to the players who voted to honor the fallen senator.

By Monday baseball was being roundly criticized, with Eckert taking the brunt. Once again, it seemed that he lacked the necessary forcefulness to deal with the owners. Ron Fimrite of the San Francisco Chronicle wrote, “Eckert is even more slavish in this regard for his employers than were the rubber stamps who preceded him.” Detroit television personality Al Ackerman noted that Eckert, “has the scorn of both the public and the owners and I predict his career as commissioner will not last long.” Eckert handled the criticism stoically, as he always did. However, he was dismayed and contemplated offering his resignation.

In August 1968 John McHale left the commissioner’s office to run the expansion team in Montreal, further weakening the support team surrounding the novice commissioner. At the end of the season American League president Joe Cronin fired two umpires, allegedly because they were trying to unionize the league’s umpires. In retaliation the remaining umps threatened to strike the World Series. Eckert once again sat by as events unfolded. Fortunately, the umpires took the field.

After the winter meetings in San Francisco, the owners held a private session on December 6 while Eckert was busy at a press conference. The commissioner was then asked to join the meeting. He announced to the press an hour later that he had resigned, though he was still under contract for four more years, more than half his term. The owners sat with their eyes averted as Eckert answered the press’s questions, more than once insisting that he had resigned. One reporter noted, “You had to admire the guy the way he went through it all and then stayed there afterward. He could have ducked out a side door. I had to like the man.”

Yankees’ president Michael Burke emerged from the meetings and declared, “We need an executive with more clout.” Another executive called for a “bold and imaginative man at the top.” Baltimore owner Jerold Hoffberger stated, “We can’t go floundering around…without leadership.” Rumors immediately surfaced that a group of younger owners were behind the move to force the commissioner out. One such unnamed executive declared, “A lot of young people in baseball think the game is not keeping up with the times, that we’re still living in the 1880s. These people are beginning to take over.” Another unnamed young owner exclaimed, “It’s obvious that none of these fine businessmen would permit in their own organizations the kind of inefficiency and duplication we have allowed to creep into major league organization. Today’s meeting was like a breath of fresh air.”

Perhaps Cubs owner Philip Wrigley summed it up when he declared that baseball needed a “baseball man” as commissioner, and that Eckert was unfamiliar with the game. In 1965 the owners had wanted an outsider. Three years later, they reversed course. Speaking long after Eckert left office, Marvin Miller wrote, “I am always amused when subsequent commissioners of baseball get carried away with their own importance and assert the fiction of their all-powerful role. All commissioners are controlled by the owners (who) retain the real power. And every baseball commissioner must eventually learn that reality or find himself unceremoniously booted out of his job.”  In the end the owners selected one of the National League’s attorneys, Bowie Kuhn, to lead them. Unlike Eckert, Kuhn was very hands-on, involving himself in the minutest of decisions involving owners and players, until he, too, was forced out in 1984.

Eckert officially left office on February 4, 1969, with a healthy severance package. He enjoyed himself in retirement, vacationing and traveling frequently. On April 16, 1971, William Eckert was felled by a heart attack while playing tennis at the Lucayan Towers in the Bahamas, dead at the age of 62. He was interred at Arlington National Cemetery in Virginia.

Sources

AF.mil/bios

Ancestry.com

Burk, Robert F. Much More Than a Game: Players, Owners, and American Baseball Since 1921. Chapel Hill, NC: The University of North Carolina Press, 2001.

Chicago Defender

Chicago Tribune

Hartford Courant

Helyar, John. Lords of the Realm: The Real History of Baseball. New York: Villard Books, 1994.

Koppett, Leonard. Koppett’s Concise History of Major League Baseball. Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1998.

Leggett, William, “Court-Martial for a General,” Sports Illustrated, December 16, 1968

Los Angeles Times

MacPhail, Lee. My Nine Innings: An Autobiography of 50 Years in Baseball. Meckler Books, 1989.

Marquiswhoswho.com

McKelvey, G. Richard. The MacPhails: Baseball’s First Family of the Front Office. McFarland, 2000.

Miller, James Edward. The Baseball Business: Pursuing Pennants and Profits in Baltimore. Chapel Hill, NC: The University of North Carolina Press, 1990.

Miller, Marvin. A Whole Different Ballgame: The Sport and Business of Baseball. New York: Carol Publishing Group, 1991.

New York Times

Powers, Albert Theodore. The Business of Baseball. Jefferson, NC: McFarland and Company, Inc., Publishers, 2003.

Sporting News

Underwood, Tom, “Progress Report on the Unknown Soldier,” Sports Illustrated, April 4, 1966

Washington Post

Zimbalist, Andrew. In the Best Interest of Baseball?: The Revolutionary Reign of Bud Selig. Hoboken, New Jersey: John Wiley & Sons, 2006.

In fact, Frick was the first commissioner to recognize reality. He was an employee of the owners, and he acted like it. At the same time, he maintained the fiction that the commissioner represented “in that order ­— players, the public, and the owners.”2 The New York Times’s Arthur Daley aptly described him as “a sound-thinking, but powerless, man.”3

Frick is best remembered for a word he never spoke. He never said there should be an asterisk in the record book beside Roger Maris’s 61 home runs.

He would rather be remembered as the father of the National Baseball Hall of Fame. It was Frick’s idea, and he championed it over the opposition or indifference of other baseball leaders. “That’s my baby, the thing I’m proudest of,” he said.4 Not shackled by tradition, he unsuccessfully pushed for interleague play and legalization of the spitball.

Ford Christopher Frick was born on a farm near Wawaka, Indiana, on December 19, 1894, to Emma (Prickett) and Jacob Frick. His father, known as Jack, became postmaster of Brimfield, Indiana, a small town about 40 miles northwest of Fort Wayne.

The only son in a family with four daughters, Ford was a prodigy. He completed eighth grade at 11 and graduated from Rome High School at 15, second in a class of 10 students. He recalled a magical childhood spent fishing, hunting, and exploring the woods. Baseball captivated him early. When the Chicago Cubs came to town for an exhibition game, catcher Johnny Kling let the boy carry his spikes to the ballpark and found him a seat near the team’s bench.

Frick worked his way through DePauw University in Greencastle, Indiana, by waiting tables and writing sports as a stringer for out-of-town newspapers. He played varsity baseball as a first baseman who didn’t hit much and couldn’t throw.5

After graduation he went to Walsenburg, Colorado, to teach English and coach, but soon found the job he wanted as a newspaper reporter. His stories on the 1921 flood in Pueblo, which killed an estimated 1,500 people, attracted the attention of an editor for the Hearst papers in New York. The small-town boy headed for the big time. He had married a Denver girl, Eleanor Cowing, and they had a son, Frederick. Frick settled his family in suburban Bronxville, where he lived for the rest of his life, changing addresses only once.

In the Golden Age of hero-worship sportswriting, Frick was no more than a minor star, barely visible in the New York galaxy of Grantland Rice, Damon Runyon, Paul Gallico, Frank Graham, and John Kieran. Frick was known as the fastest writer in the press box. “Maybe I wasn’t a good writer, but I was a hell of a typist,” he said.6

Covering the Yankees for Hearst’s Journal, Frick made his mark as the ghostwriter of Babe Ruth’s newspaper columns and Babe Ruth’s Own Book of Baseball. Unlike most newspapermen, he tackled radio with enthusiasm and some skill, broadcasting World Series games with Graham McNamee on NBC and delivering a daily sports roundup on New York station WOR.

Frick cultivated other baseball eminences including Yankees manager Miller Huggins and the Giants’ John McGraw. Every time he went to Chicago, he called on Commissioner Kenesaw Mountain Landis. The networking paid off in 1934 when he was chosen to head the National League Service Bureau, the league’s publicity office.

He had been in the job less than a year when NL President John Heydler retired because of poor health. Frick, not quite 40, was unanimously elected president. Awarded a $20,000 salary, he took a pay cut because he had to give up his radio work.

Veeck, Robinson, and Racism

The African American sportswriter Wendell Smith asked the National League president in 1939 whether Organized Baseball prohibited black players. Of course, Frick said no. He blamed segregation on the fans, who he insisted would not accept integrated teams: “I am sure that any major league manager would use a colored player if he thought the fans in his city would stand for it.”7 Smith, indignant and incredulous, pointed out that white fans paid to watch “the Brown Bomber,” Joe Louis, beat white fighters and rooted for integrated college teams.

Frick may have taken more direct action to preserve segregation. Bill Veeck claimed that he tried to buy the Philadelphia Phillies in 1942 and planned to stock the roster with black players, three years before Jackie Robinson signed with Montreal. Veeck said he notified Judge Landis as a courtesy, only to be thwarted when Landis and Frick found another buyer. In his 1962 autobiography, Veeck wrote, “Word reached me soon enough that Frick was bragging all over the baseball world—strictly off the record, of course—about how he had stopped me from contaminating the league.”8

Frick never commented on the allegation. How much of Veeck’s story is true, and whether he seriously tried to buy the Phillies or just talked about it, is an enduring mystery.

Frick never said or did anything publicly to challenge the rule of Jim Crow in baseball. But he emerged as a hero during Robinson’s rookie year in another incident that has created lasting debate.

After Robinson had played only 15 games for the Dodgers in 1947, the New York Herald Tribune published an explosive story charging that some St. Louis Cardinals players had plotted to organize a league-wide strike against the presence of a black man in the majors. Sports editor Stanley Woodward reported that Frick had quashed the plot, warning the players that they would be suspended if they went through with it. “This is the United States of America, and one citizen has as much right to play as another,” he told them, according to Woodward’s account.9 Dodgers broadcaster Red Barber called it Frick’s “finest hour.”10

Frick never made that speech. He said so himself. When Cardinals owner Sam Breadon came to him with rumors of a strike, he told Breadon that the league would stand behind Robinson. Frick said Breadon reported back that the strike talk was “a tempest in a teapot,” just a few players “letting off steam.”11 In more than 70 years since, no hard evidence of such a strike conspiracy has surfaced. Wendell Smith, among many others, thought the story “was greatly exaggerated.”12

Like Veeck and the Phillies, the story of Robinson and the Cardinals is impossible to prove or disprove. But before Robinson, when racial segregation was the most important moral issue facing baseball, Frick let others lead.

The Commissioner

When Judge Landis died in November 1944, World War II was entering its fourth year and Congress was threatening to enact “work or fight” legislation that would shut down baseball. Although Frick’s name was put forward as a possible successor, the owners chose a man with political connections, Kentucky Senator Happy Chandler.

Chandler quickly alienated some owners with his folksy style and his intrusion into matters they considered none of his business. They forced him out in 1951 before the end of his term. Some owners wanted to hire another big-name outsider such as General Douglas MacArthur or Chief Justice Fred Vinson. Frick insisted he never wanted the job. But after three months of wrangling, he was elected in September 1951 for a seven-year term at $65,000 a year.

Frick did not attend the meeting where the final vote was taken. When owners couldn’t track him down by telephone, they sent police to his home in Bronxville. Frick and his wife had gone to a neighbor’s house for dinner.13

Owners had chafed under 24 years of Landis’s ironfisted rule and six years of Chandler’s muddling and meddling. They chose a commissioner who wouldn’t rock the boat, but wouldn’t steer it, either.

The commissioner had no authority to make rules; his job was to interpret the rules. After Landis’s death, the owners had adopted two important restrictions on the commissioner’s power to act in the best interests of baseball. First, they stated that any policy approved by owners could not be overturned under the “best interests” clause. Second, they reserved the right of any owner to sue the commissioner.14 There would be no more Landises.

Spokesman for the Game

Frick came to his new job with one obvious advantage: He looked the part. He was 56 when he took office, a trim 5-foot-10 with an impressive shock of gray hair. Serving as the public face of the baseball industry was one of his most important duties, nowhere more so than before the United States Congress.

By his count, he testified before congressional committees 17 times. He was usually on the defensive, arguing that Congress should not regulate baseball. He was an effective, if bland, spokesman, unshakable under questioning.

His first test came even before he was elected commissioner. In July 1951 the House Judiciary Committee’s Subcommittee on Study of Monopoly Power opened hearings on baseball’s exemption from antitrust laws. With the commissioner’s office vacant, Frick was the owners’ leadoff witness. He said the antitrust exemption underpinned the two fundamental principles of the professional baseball industry: the reserve clause, which bound players to their teams, and territorial rights, which prohibited a team from moving into another team’s territory.

Frick declared that the reserve clause was vital to ensure the integrity of competition: “How can public confidence in player loyalty and will to win be maintained if the player, while playing for one club, may seek a job with another, or may be pressed with offers from several other clubs?”15

The congressmen aimed their sharpest questions at the majors’ refusal to expand beyond 10 markets in the Northeast and Midwest. “You have kept the status quo for 50 years,” subcommittee chairman Emanuel Celler of Brooklyn remarked, while shutting out Los Angeles, which had grown to be the nation’s third-largest metropolitan area in population, and San Francisco, the seventh largest.16

Frick responded that he believed the Pacific Coast cities and other fast-growing markets would have big-league teams within a short time. No one pressed him to say when the time might come.17

The Celler subcommittee recommended that Congress take no action on the antitrust exemption as long as the issue was before the courts. Eight separate lawsuits challenging the exemption were pending. The key case, a suit by Yankees minor leaguer George Toolson, went to the US Supreme Court. In 1953 the court upheld the exemption and the reserve clause.

Congress revisited the issue several times, calling the commissioner back to sing his familiar song. In another round of hearings before Celler’s subcommittee in 1957, Frick refused to yield an inch: “The reserve clause has got to stay if we are to continue in business. We could not operate with modifications. The reserve clause and territorial rights are fundamental needs of a unique business.”18 On his watch, Congress never tampered with the economic foundation of Organized Baseball.

A New Map

“Probably no single program in baseball history,” Frick wrote, “created more controversy, aroused stronger fan feeling, or brought more vituperative discussion, pro and con, than the movement of clubs and the expansion of the major leagues.”19

The new commissioner inherited a troubled industry. Attendance was trending downward at all levels of professional baseball. Major-league attendance had peaked in 1948 and did not recover until after the majors expanded in the 1960s. Most ballparks were situated in decaying inner cities with little parking, while fans were driving their new cars to new homes in the suburbs. The St. Louis Browns were nearly bankrupt, the Philadelphia Athletics were heading down the same road, and the Boston Braves were propped up by a rich owner.

In Frick’s first three years in office, the major-league map saw the first changes in half a century: Braves to Milwaukee, Browns to Baltimore, and Athletics to Kansas City. In 1958 the Dodgers and Giants brought big-league ball to California. These moves were “league matters,” beyond the commissioner’s purview.

Attorney William Shea’s effort to bring another team to New York led to formation of the Continental League, a self-styled third major. Although the league existed only on paper, it signed up the revered executive Branch Rickey as its president and recruited financial backers in eight cities eager for big-league status.

The new circuit found a champion in Congress to put pressure on the existing majors. Tennessee Senator Estes Kefauver introduced legislation to end baseball’s antitrust exemption and limit major-league teams to controlling only 40 players — outlawing large farm systems. Commissioner Frick denounced the bill as “vicious” and “discriminatory.” He predicted doom for the minor leagues, since the majors would end their support of farm clubs if they stood to lose most of the players in the draft.20

Frick had long favored a third major league rather than expanding the American and National Leagues. “The Continental League can have our endorsement, too, as soon as they settle certain things,” he said.21 But the majors put up roadblocks. They said any new major circuit must meet certain criteria for market size and stadium capacity, and would have to pay off the minor leagues whose territory it invaded. And they made no provision to share players with the Continentals.

Ignoring the commissioner’s preference, AL and NL owners were not about to welcome eight new competitors. They pre-empted the Continentals by expanding their own ranks. Allowing the Washington Senators to move to Minneapolis-St. Paul, the AL put a new team in the nation’s capital to mollify Congress and gained a foothold in California with the Los Angeles Angels in 1961. The NL added the New York Mets and Houston Colt .45s in 1962.

Boxed In

Fewer than one in four American homes had television sets when Frick became commissioner in 1951, but the flickering black-and-white boxes were spreading in a pandemic that would soon overwhelm all other forms of entertainment — radio, movies, live theater, and baseball. How baseball dealt with the new medium became a vital issue, one that remains unsettled.

At first the majors limited local TV broadcasts to a 50-mile radius around each ballpark, protecting minor-league teams. When the US Justice Department warned that any such restriction might violate antitrust laws and threaten baseball’s exemption, the majors repealed the rule. That left each team free to set its own television policy.

A conflict between greed and fear animated those policies. Some clubs televised almost all home games, welcoming the fees from TV stations. Others allowed only a few telecasts for fear of hurting attendance. (Long-distance video lines to televise road games were nonexistent or prohibitively expensive in television’s early years.) All agreed that the TV coverage should not be too enticing. As Frick put it, “The view a fan gets at home should be worse than that of the fan in the worst seat in the stadium.”22 Teams limited the number of cameras and controlled where the cameras were placed.

Meanwhile, the minors were protesting that major-league telecasts were killing their attendance, but those complaints were overblown. TV’s biggest threat was the prime-time entertainment that kept fans away from night games.

Major-league baseball became a regular weekend fixture on network television in 1953 when ABC inaugurated the Game of the Week with the outrageous ex-pitcher Dizzy Dean at the mike. The Saturday afternoon games moved to the more powerful CBS network, and NBC began its own weekend series in 1957. The networks voluntarily blacked out their games in all big-league cities and in minor-league markets when the local club was playing.

Baseball was still determined to control the home viewer’s access. When NBC introduced the now-familiar center-field shot, Frick demanded that they stop using it, and the network meekly complied.23

In 1958 Frick told a congressional committee, “The minors are being wrecked.”24 He testified in favor of legislation that would allow a blackout of major-league telecasts into minor-league cities when the local team was at home. The legislation did not pass at the time, but three years later National Football League Commissioner Pete Rozelle led the way in persuading Congress to approve the Sports Broadcasting Act of 1961, allowing all professional sports leagues to set broadcasting policies and negotiate league-wide TV contracts.

Finally in control of its TV product, Major League Baseball made a fateful choice. NFL teams agreed to share all television revenue, but baseball owners shared only network money. Each team kept its local rights fees for itself, widening the revenue gap between large- and small-market clubs. The NFL policy ensured prosperity for all; the team in the small city of Green Bay survives.

Shortly before he left office in 1965, Frick urged the owners to follow the NFL’s lead. “We haven’t solved TV yet, nor the related problem of the economic balance between the clubs,” he said.25 That is still true more than a half-century later.

Little Town Blues

Attendance in the minor leagues hit an all-time high in 1949 when 42 million fans watched games in 59 circuits. Ten years later attendance had dwindled to 12 million in 21 leagues. Nearly three-fourths of the fans and two-thirds of the leagues had vanished.

Television was one of many causes of the decline. The minors had expanded too fast in the brief boom after World War II; some tiny towns had as many professional ball clubs as traffic lights: one. One of the most successful minor-league operators, Chattanooga’s Joe Engel, pointed to new competition for the recreation dollar. Watching cars roll past his ballpark towing boats on the way to the lake, Engel said, “That is the funeral procession for baseball here — everywhere — in the minors.”26 Major-league franchise shifts and expansion claimed seven of the largest Triple-A markets (home to 10 teams).27

Commissioner Frick starkly framed the issue in 1953 testimony before a Senate subcommittee: “[T]he minor leagues cannot exist without the major leagues; the major leagues cannot exist without the minor leagues.”28

Identifying the problem was easy. Finding a solution, impossible. Major-league clubs resisted giving direct subsidies to the minors. Socialism! Most minor-league owners agreed on the need for a reorganization, as long as their team was not the one being reorganized. The crisis reached a flash point in 1962. Several Triple-A franchises folded, leaving the Pacific Coast League with seven teams and the American Association with five. At the minors’ winter meeting, one official said, “This is just like death row.”29

For two years, Frick had been pushing a drastic restructuring called the Player Development Plan. With the undertaker knocking at the door, both the majors and minors finally accepted it. The majors would subsidize 102 farm clubs in 18 leagues. The 61-year-old American Association ceased to exist. B, C, and D classifications were abolished.30 “If a minor league operator can’t make a go of it under this plan, his city doesn’t deserve to have baseball,” Frick said. “The majors will give him the players, train them and pay part or all of their salaries.”31

The Player Development Plan completed the majors’ takeover of the minor leagues. Just as Judge Landis had feared three decades before, the surviving clubs would be vassals of their big-league parents.

Unrest in the Ranks

Among the commissioner’s duties was a seemingly innocuous one, the administration of the players’ pension plan. Although the pension was small change — $100 a month for a 10-year veteran ­— it was the players’ prize benefit. Commissioner Frick and the owners, through their arrogant mismanagement of the pension plan, planted the seed of player resentment that led to formation of the most successful labor union in American history.

The owners refused to allow player representatives to see the plan’s financial records, with good reason: The commissioner’s office was skimming tens of thousands of dollars from the pension fund each year for administrative expenses.32 Player reps suspected that something was rotten, but they had no way of knowing.

In 1953 they hired their first legal adviser, New York lawyer J. Norman Lewis. When the player representatives brought him to a meeting with owners, Frick informed them that their lawyer would not be allowed in the room. The player reps walked out of the meeting.33

That got results. Within weeks, Frick released a financial statement for the pension fund, though not the complete records. Owners agreed to add two player members to the board that administered the pension plan and earmark 60 percent of radio-TV revenue from the All-Star Game and World Series for the fund.34 When Frick negotiated a rich new network contract in 1956, the players got bigger pensions. But the pension plan continued to be a point of friction between players and management.

As a result of the dust-up, the players formally established the Major League Baseball Players Association with Cleveland pitching star Bob Feller as its first president. In its early years, the association was, as the historian Charles P. Korr described it, “an informal ‘players group’ with no organizational structure, no philosophy, and no detailed program of action.”35 The association employed only a part-time executive director and a part-time legal adviser. Player representatives went out of their way to declare that it was not, not, not a union.

The players did win a $1,000 increase in the minimum salary, to $7,000 a year in 1958, but it was a gift from the owners. The ballplayers’ organization was “powerless,” recalled National League player rep Ralph Kiner, and the players had no feeling of solidarity. Their attitude was, “I got mine, now you get yours.”36

That left the commissioner and the owners free to do as they wished, and they wished to do as little as possible for the players. But a backlash was building under the surface. With more and more television money flowing into the game, some players realized that they were not getting their fair share. Led by veteran pitcher Robin Roberts, a few began pushing to hire a full-time professional staff to look after their interests. Less than six months after Frick left office, the players chose Marvin Miller, an experienced steelworkers union negotiator, as their first full-time executive director.

The *

The American League’s expansion to 10 teams in 1961 also expanded the schedule to 162 games rather than the 154 that had been standard since early in the century. Around Opening Day Sporting News writer Fred Lieb speculated on how the longer season might alter the record books. Lieb thought most individual records were safe, but said Ruth’s 60 home runs was the most vulnerable because several sluggers had come close before. He reported that some observers “recommend adding an asterisk to any new records.”37

By July 17, a little past the halfway point, the Yankees’ Roger Maris had hit 35 homers and was 19 games ahead of Ruth’s pace. His teammate Mickey Mantle hit his 33rd that night, putting him seven games ahead of the Babe. Commissioner Frick chose the day to circle the wagons around Ruth. Frick ruled that a challenger must break the record in 154 games, or else “there would have to be some distinctive mark in the record books” to differentiate between a 154-game season and 162.38 Sportswriter Dick Young introduced the word “asterisk” into the conversation when he asked Frick a question.39

That decision is remembered as Frick’s unfair attempt to preserve his hero’s legacy. At the time, it was not so controversial. Frick regarded the 162-game schedule as a temporary measure; he expected that both leagues would expand to 12 teams within a few years and revert to 154 games. The Sporting News polled several dozen baseball writers and found they agreed with the commissioner’s ruling by a 2-1 margin. A smaller survey of all-star players produced a 12-5 vote in favor.40

As for the two men most affected, Mantle said, “If I should break it in the one hundred fifty-fifth game, I wouldn’t want the record.” Maris agreed: “[I]f Mick breaks it I hope he does it in 154. The same goes for me.” Who knows whether they really felt that way, or were just saying the politic thing? Maris did complain that Frick should not have issued his decree in midseason, changing the rules in the middle of the game.41

Both Yankees fell short of Ruth ­— Maris hit his 59th in the 154th game, while Mantle was stuck on 54 and injured. Frick reaffirmed his decision: “As for that star or asterisk business, I don’t know how that cropped up or was attributed to me because I never said it. I certainly never meant to belittle Maris’ feat should he wind up with more than sixty. Both names will appear in the book as having set records, but under different conditions.”42

Maris hit No. 61 in game 162. No asterisk ever appeared in the official record books. Maris’s and Ruth’s records were listed on separate lines for 30 years until baseball’s records committee decided that a season is a season.

On the Way Out

The rise of professional football in the 1960s challenged baseball’s claim to be the National Pastime. The NFL’s popularity spiked after the 1958 championship game, when the Baltimore Colts defeated the New York Giants in a thrilling sudden-death overtime. An estimated 45 million people watched the game that “changed Sundays,” in the words of NFL Commissioner Pete Rozelle.43 The upstart American Football League spread the pro game to new cities.

Baseball’s commissioner claimed there was no reason to worry. “Actually, baseball has more than doubled its attendance in the last 20 years, so why should people say we are slipping?” Frick said.44 In fact, the growth in attendance was largely driven by expansion and franchise moves to new, baseball-hungry markets. By 1969 a Louis Harris poll found that football had become America’s most popular sport.45

Frick did recognize the need to change baseball’s antiquated governing structure. Early in his first term, he said owners were “attempting to operate a 1954 machine with an 1890 motor.”46 The chaotic expansion of 1961 and 1962 exposed the lack of coordination between the independent American and National Leagues, and the commissioner’s lack of authority.

In 1963 Frick announced that he would retire at the end of his contract two years later. As his exit date approached, he spoke up in uncharacteristically blunt language to urge the owners to put their house in order.

In a letter to owners that was released to the press, Frick called for restoration of Landis-like powers to the commissioner. He reminded them that the commissioner’s job was created to combat the loss of public trust after the Black Sox scandal. “Today it is the conduct of the owners and operators themselves that is being questioned by the public.” Too many owners, he charged, were “unwilling to sacrifice the welfare of the individual for the benefit of the whole.”47

Leonard Koppett of the New York Times said the commissioner “gave the club owners a verbal spanking and himself an excuse, by implication.”48 It was as if the teacher’s pet had thrown rocks at her car.

And the owners listened. At their 1964 winter meeting, they repealed the limits on the commissioner’s authority. Owners would no longer be allowed to sue the commissioner, and he would have veto power over any policy that he considered detrimental to the game.49

The owners also approved a draft of amateur players, as the NFL and NBA had been doing for years.  Frick had been pushing for the draft to rein in bonus-baby spending that left low-budget teams unable to compete for young talent.

In a January 1965 interview with the New York Times, Frick said the game’s biggest problems were the economic gap between rich and poor teams and the need for further expansion. He urged the owners to share local television revenue to balance the financial scales.50

Frick listed his proudest achievements as racial integration, expansion, and “my own baby, the Hall of Fame.”51 After retiring he served as chairman of the Hall’s board of directors and of its veterans committee, which voted on the induction of old-timers.

Even in that role, he couldn’t avoid controversy. After Ted Williams used his induction speech in 1966 to urge the Hall to admit some Negro League stars, Frick objected that Negro Leaguers did not qualify because they had not played 10 years in the majors. He appeared blind to the reason they hadn’t played in the majors. Public outrage forced the Hall to open its doors to black stars.

Frick was elected to the Hall of Fame in 1970. The highlight of the former commissioner’s year was his annual trip to the induction ceremony, where he attended the members’ private dinner and sat with fellow members on the porch of the stately Otesaga Hotel for an old-fashioned “fanning bee.” “Two or three die every year,” he said, “but everybody talks about these guys as if they were still alive. They’re just not there, that’s all.”52

A series of strokes disabled him in the 1970s. Frick died at 83 on April 8, 1978. After his death the Hall created the Ford C. Frick Award, given to announcers for meritorious service.

The subtitle of Frick’s autobiography is “Memoirs of a Lucky Fan.” Being a sportswriter had been fun, being commissioner had been an honor as well as a trial, but at heart he was always the young fan who carried Johnny Kling’s spikes.

After Frick, four of the next five baseball commissioners left office under a cloud of one kind or another (the fifth died in office). Frick’s greatest skill may have been survival. Ineffectiveness was the price he paid for it. 

Acknowledgments

Photo credit: Topps Company.

This biography was reviewed by Jan Finkel and fact-checked by Chris Rainey.

Notes

1 William Marshall, Baseball’s Pivotal Era, 1945-1951 (Lexington: University Press of Kentucky, 1999), 426.

2 Study of Monopoly Power, Hearings Before the Subcommittee on Study of Monopoly Power of the U.S. Congress, House Committee on the Judiciary, 82nd Congress, First Session, Serial No. 1, Part 6: Organized Baseball (Washington: Government Printing Office, 1952), 1054.

3 Arthur Daley, “Sports of the Times,” New York Times, September 12, 1958: 29.

4 Jerome Holtzman, No Cheering in the Press Box (New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1973), 201.

5 Information about Frick’s personal life comes from John P. Carvalho, Frick*, Baseball’s Third Commissioner (Jefferson, North Carolina: McFarland, 2016).

6 Holtzman, No Cheering, 88.

7 Chris Lamb, Conspiracy of Silence (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2012), 134.

8 Bill Veeck with Ed Linn, Veeck—As in Wreck (New York: Putnam, 1962), 172.

9 Stanley Woodward, “Views of Sport,” New York Herald Tribune, May 9, 1947, reprinted in The Sporting News, May 21, 1947: 4.

10 Red Barber, 1947: When All Hell Broke Loose in Baseball (Garden City, New York: Doubleday, 1982), 175.

11 Ford C. Frick, Games, Asterisks, and People (New York: Crown, 1973), 97-98.

12 Jules Tygiel, Baseball’s Great Experiment: Jackie Robinson and His Legacy (New York: Vintage, 1984), 188. For a detailed discussion of the alleged strike, see Warren Corbett, “The ‘Strike’ Against Jackie Robinson: Truth or Myth?” Baseball Research Journal 46:1 (2017).

13 “Police Break the News to Frick as He Prepares for Bed,” The Sporting News, September 26, 1951: 4.

14 Marshall, Pivotal Era, 39.

15 Organized Baseball, Report of the Subcommittee on Study of Monopoly Power of the House Judiciary Committee, 82nd Congress, First Session (Washington: Government Printing Office, 1952), 213.

16 Ibid., 190.

17 Ibid., 202.

18 Dan Daniel, “‘Game Facing its Most Critical Period’—Frick,” The Sporting News, July 17, 1957: 5.

19 Frick, Games, 119.

20 Dave Brady, “Frick Clears Sacks Testifying Against Kefauver Sport Bill,” The Sporting News, May 25, 1960: 9.

21 “Third Major Standards Set; Don’t Need Mediator – Frick,” The Sporting News, January 13, 1960: 9.

22  “Fond Farewell?” Baltimore Sun Magazine, May 29, 1966: 12.

23 The history of baseball on television comes from James R. Walker and Robert V. Bellamy Jr., Center Field Shot: A History of Baseball on Television (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2008).

24 Jack Walsh, “TV Curb Needed to Save Game—Frick,” The Sporting News, July 23, 1958: 7.

25 Joseph Durso, “Frick, in Last Year, Warns Big Leagues,” New York Times, January 3, 1965: 2.

26 Steve Martini, “Joe Engel,” The Engel Foundation, http://www.engelfoundation.com/historical-importance/joe-engel/, accessed July 20, 2017.

27 The majors evicted Triple-A franchises in Milwaukee, Baltimore, Kansas City, Los Angeles, Hollywood, San Francisco, Oakland, Minneapolis, St. Paul, and Houston.

28 Neil Sullivan, The Minors (New York: St. Martin’s, 1990), 239.

29 Clifford Kachline, “Minors Doomed Unless Majors Act,” The Sporting News, December 8, 1962: 2.

30 United Press International, “Minors Will Receive $1 Million Subsidy,” Washington Post and Times Herald, December 2, 1962: C4.

31 Clifford Kachline, “Majors Pick Up $10 Million Tab in Minors,” The Sporting News, December 15, 1962: 5.

32 The early history of the Players Association comes primarily from Charles P. Korr, The End of Baseball as We Knew It (Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 2002) and Robert F. Burk, Much More Than a Game (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2001).

33 Edgar Munzel, “$7,580,000 Cost Hike Threatens Pension,” The Sporting News, December 9, 1953: 1.

34 Joseph Sheehan, “Athletes Receive Unusual Benefits,” New York Times, February 24, 1954: 30.

35 Korr, The End, 9.

36 Ibid., 19.

37 Frederick G. Lieb, “Top A.L. Marks Beyond Reach, Lieb Predicts,” The Sporting News, April 26, 1961: 8.

38 “Ruth’s Record Can Be Broken Only in 154 Games, Frick Rules,” New York Times, July 18, 1961: 20.

39 Frick, Games, 155.

40 C.C. Johnson Spink, “Writers Back Frick’s Homer Decision,” The Sporting News, August 9, 1961: 1.

41 Hy Hurwitz, “Mick Wouldn’t Want Mark If It Was Set in 155 Games,” The Sporting News, August 9, 1961: 6.

42 “No * Will Mar Homer Records, Says Frick with †† for Critics,” New York Times, September 22, 1961: 38.

43 Tom Callahan, Johnny U: The Life and Times of John Unitas (New York: Crown, 2006), 173.

44 Oscar Kahan, “Bigwigs Rap Runner-Up Tag Tacked on Game,” The Sporting News, January 31, 1962: 6.

45 Louis Harris, “Harris Poll: Football Now No. 1 Sport,” Fort Lauderdale (Florida) News, April 23, 1969: 6B.

46 Dan Daniel, “Frick Warns Against Attempting to Run ’54 Machine on ’90 Motor,” The Sporting News, February 10, 1954: 1.

47 Russell Schneider, “Judge Would Have Been Proud of Frick,” The Sporting News, November 21, 1964: 5.

48 Leonard Koppett, “Baseball’s Open Secret,” New York Times, November 6, 1964: 43.

49 “Majors Official Vote Restores Commissioner’s Broad Powers,” New York Times, December 5, 1964: 36.

50 Durso, “Frick, in Last Year, Warns Big Leagues.”

51 Ibid.

52 Holtzman, No Cheering, 204.

Kuhn, a lawyer who had worked for the firm serving the National League, spent 15 years as the sport’s chief executive, presiding over a period of change unparalleled in the game’s history. He was voted into office unanimously by 24 owners — including four from expansion teams that would take the field for the first time that year. By the time he was forced out by owners in 1984, there were 26 major-league teams. A host of new stadiums had opened — many with new artificial turf. World Series games were played on weeknights (a change for which Kuhn had advocated forcefully; NBC objected — until the overnight numbers came in). A designated hitter had been introduced into the American League. Free agency — and a stronger players’ union — had come to the major leagues, with five work stoppages during Kuhn’s reign.

But Kuhn was a man out of step with the times. A serious, if not pompous man — “Even his undershirt was stuffed,” wrote Dave Anderson of the New York Times2 — Kuhn had grown up an unabashed baseball fan, working as a scoreboard operator (a job that was unnecessary in most ballparks by the time he became commissioner) for the Washington Senators. (It was on his watch that baseball left the nation’s capital, not to return for three decades.) He tried to root out any vestige of gambling in the game, which seems nearly quaint two decades into the 21st century. The sportsmen he admired as owners — men like Horace Stoneham, Joan Payson (obviously, not a man, but possessing those same inherent qualities, he said in his autobiography) and Tom Yawkey — were fading away. They were replaced by a new guard, men like Charles Finley, who referred to Kuhn as “the village idiot,”3 and George Steinbrenner, whom Kuhn suspended for campaign finance violations, and who ultimately led the charge for Kuhn’s ouster. The new breed of owner might have raised Kuhn’s ire more than did Major League Baseball Players Association director Marvin Miller, who served as the commissioner’s foil on more than one occasion.4

Kuhn backed the idea of the DH as well as interleague play, had the foresight to advocate revenue sharing — a potent topic even today — and talked about three divisions and a wild card team well before it was implemented by his protégé, Bud Selig. But in many ways, Kuhn was very much a man standing athwart history, yelling stop. He was a firm believer that the major points of the game should be unchanged. He advocated for the game’s reserve clause during the arbitration hearings for Andy Messersmith and Dave McNally, and upheld the ban on female writers in baseball locker rooms. But like Hyman Roth in The Godfather, Part II, Kuhn made money for the game.5 By the time he departed, attendance was higher, television contracts were fatter, and franchise values had increased dramatically.

Okrent saw the commissionership as a “doomed monarchy,”6 and in many ways, Kuhn was part of the slide. At least theoretically, Kenesaw Mountain Landis was a czar, advocating on behalf of the game. Kuhn himself enacted the “best interests of the game” clause, most notably in vetoing sales of players by Finley. He also saw himself as commissioner for the fans, owners, and players. But less than a decade after Kuhn’s departure, the commissioner’s role was filled by Selig, himself an owner (“Baseball’s Henry Clay,” said Kuhn, who had known him for decades7).

“What the world saw was a remote, arrogant man, vain and hung up in the trappings of his office,” Okrent wrote in the review of Kuhn’s autobiography. “What the owners got was more formidable.”8

Bowie Kuhn was born October 28, 1926, in Takoma Park, Maryland, and grew up in Washington D.C., the third child of Louis and Alice Kuhn. Louis Kuhn was a German immigrant, arriving in America as a baby in his aunt’s arms on October 1, 1894.9 The elder Kuhn ended up initially in Pittsburgh, but after fighting for the U.S. Army in World War I, he met Alice Waring Roberts. Her family had come to America in 1634, and branches contained many prominent figures (including Jim Bowie, inventor of the eponymous knife and fighter at the Alamo).10 Alice was also a passionate fan of the Washington Senators.

Louis and Alice married on May 20, 1920, and returned to Alice’s native Washington D.C. Son Lou was born a year later, and a daughter, Alice, was born in 1923, followed by Bowie in 1926.

As a teen, Kuhn worked at the Senators’ home field, Griffith Stadium. “I have had only a few jobs in my life, but the best was scoreboard boy at Griffith Stadium,” he recalled in his autobiography.11 Kuhn was a diligent student at Theodore Roosevelt High School in Washington D.C. At 6 feet, 5 inches, he was also the tallest. His senior year, he was approached by the high school basketball coach, a recent George Washington University graduate not much older than his players.

“Son, you’re the tallest boy in the school,” the coach said. “How come you’re not out for the basketball team?”

“Because I’m a lousy player,” Kuhn told him.

“You let me be the judge of that,” said the coach.

After a week of workouts, the coach said, “You were right and I was wrong,” effectively kicking Kuhn off the team. Even then, Red Auerbach could be a keen judge of talent.12

Following graduation from Roosevelt in 1944, Kuhn enrolled in the V-12 program, a partnership between the U.S. Navy and dozens of colleges, where men would take classes at the colleges and become Naval officers. Kuhn started out first at Franklin & Marshall College in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, and then transferred to Princeton University in New Jersey, where he ultimately graduated with an honors degree in economics. Kuhn then went to law school at the University of Virginia, graduating in 1950.

Kuhn spent the summer in Europe, and then returned to the United States, where he took a job with the firm of Willkie, Owen, Farr, Gallagher, and Walton, at the time one of the most venerable and prominent law firms in the United States. Its alumni included U.S. Supreme Court justices Felix Frankfurter and Charles Evans Hughes, and one of its namesakes was Wendell Willkie, who ran for president against Franklin Roosevelt in 1940 and then became one of the president’s trusted associates.

Willkie’s name on the wall was a selling point for Kuhn, who was enthralled as a teen by Willkie’s dark horse candidacy for president. Another selling point? The firm’s clients included the National League. Kuhn took the job and moved to New York.

One of Kuhn’s earliest jobs with Willkie was working on a case that was headed to the U.S. Supreme Court. Earl Toolson, a minor-leaguer in the New York Yankees farm system, had sued rather than accept a minor-league assignment, challenging baseball’s exemption to antitrust laws, ruled in a court decision nearly 30 years earlier.

The Supreme Court upheld the lower courts’ decisions against Toolson. It also upheld the exemption ruling on precedent, saying that any change to the status would have to come from Congress, which was already holding hearings on the matter.13

Otherwise, Kuhn’s law career was nondescript, with more billings related to corporate law than baseball. While in New York, he met Luisa Degener, a widow, in 1955, and married her the following year in Dutchess County. They remained married until his death in 2007. They had a son, Stephen, and daughter, Alix, together. Kuhn was also stepfather to Luisa’s two sons, Paul and George.14

In 1964, the Milwaukee Braves, with their lease at County Stadium expiring in 1965, sought to move to Atlanta. It was a period of great upheaval for the major leagues, with expansion adding four teams and six teams relocating since 1952 — starting with the Braves decamping from Boston for Milwaukee.

Unsurprisingly, the city sued to keep the Braves in Milwaukee, and Kuhn found himself in an awkward position: As the National League’s lawyer, he had to defend the move, but he said, “My heart and my responsibilities were not in the same place. I have always seen franchise movement as an absolute last resort.”15 His career as commissioner would show one glaring exception to that policy.

In his autobiography, Kuhn noted that the move came in Ford Frick’s last year as commissioner, and posited that had it come before then, Frick would have blocked it. But Frick was on his way out, replaced by William Eckert as commissioner in 1965.16 His reign was brief, and at the owners’ meetings in San Francisco in December 1968, Eckert was thrown over the side. Yankees president Michael Burke was touted as a potential candidate, as was San Francisco Giants vice president Chub Feeney, but no consensus could be reached at the winter meetings. John McHale, a compromise candidate, withdrew from consideration.

Thus, Kuhn — already familiar to owners for his work with the National League — was elected unanimously the following February on the first ballot as interim commissioner. He would receive $100,000 for his one-year term — which was a pay cut from his job at Willkie, Farr, and Gallagher.17

On the eve of the 1969 Opening Day are, left to right, Dr. Albert Anderson, a member of the San Diego Stadium Board of Directors; Bowie Kuhn, Commissioner of Major League Baseball; and San Diego Padres president E. J. “Buzzie” Bavasi. (COURTESY OF TOM LARWIN)

Eckert was an outsider when he was named commissioner. Kuhn was very familiar to owners and league offices. Leonard Koppett of the New York Times noted, “the only similarity (between Eckert and Kuhn) is that most baseball fans never heard of either until they acquired the title of commissioner.”18

Within a month, Kuhn had his first issue to deal with. The Astros had traded Rusty Staub to the expansion team in Montreal for Jesus Alou and Donn Clendenon. The Astros’ manager was Harry Walker, whom Clendenon considered an unrepentant racist. Clendenon opted to retire. Astros owner Judge Roy Hofheinz was beside himself and sought to void the deal. The new Montreal team, the Expos, were already marketing the red-headed Staub as “Le Grand Orange,” and had no urge to send him back to Houston. Kuhn interceded, ordering the Expos to add extra compensation while Clendenon stayed in Montreal (if only briefly; he was traded to the Mets in midseason).

Kuhn also interceded in the Red Sox’ trade of Ken Harrelson to the Indians. The Hawk, no doubt reading the tea leaves of the Clendenon deal, used the threat of retirement to negotiate a new, more lucrative contract. (Harrelson, of course, was already an early beneficiary of free agency, after Finley gave him an outright release from the Athletics.) Kuhn also encouraged bargaining, which had been broken off in the start of 1969, to resume between Miller and the union and the Player Relations Committee, avoiding a potential work stoppage over benefit disputes.19

With the season on time, Kuhn spent his first opening day as commissioner at the newly-renamed Robert F. Kennedy Stadium as Ted Williams made his debut as manager of the Washington Senators. President Richard Nixon was on hand to throw out the first pitch in what was being celebrated as professional baseball’s centennial season. (RFK hosted the All-Star Game that year as well.) Kuhn then went to Jarry Park to watch the first major-league game outside the United States.

The 1969 season ended with Curt Flood being traded from the Cardinals to the Phillies. He was between contracts but, because of baseball’s reserve clause, was effectively bound to the Cardinals. It did not involve Kuhn directly at first, but the trade became the most consequential event in his term as commissioner. On Christmas Eve, Flood wrote a letter to Kuhn saying that the trade violated his rights, and although he had an offer from the Phillies, he wanted to make himself available to other teams.20

“Dear Curt,” opened Kuhn’s reply. A Black man had addressed the commissioner as Mr. Kuhn, and he responded by using the player’s first name, a move the Players Association found patronizing. “I certainly agree with you that you, as a human being, are not a piece of property to be bought and sold. That is I think obvious. However, I cannot see its application to the situation at hand.”21 Flood sat out a year, taking a lawsuit all the way to the Supreme Court. He lost, but the case laid the groundwork for free agency.

In February 1970, Kuhn suspended Denny McLain, in advance of a lengthy Sports Illustrated story detailing the pitcher’s involvement with bookmakers and organized crime figures. (Upon his election, Kuhn said, “The important thing is that Denny McLain and Bob Gibson be household words, not Bowie Kuhn.”22 This was likely not what he had that in mind.)

Kuhn was a hard-liner when it came to gambling in sports, believing the commissioner’s duty was to protect the game’s integrity. The previous year, he had asked Finley and three Braves directors — Bill Bartholomay, John Louis, and Del Coleman — to divest themselves of interests in Parvin-Dohrmann, a company that owned and operated gambling casinos.23 Later on in his tenure, he banned Mickey Mantle and Willie Mays from baseball activities when both had roles working at casinos. But after a year at the helm, owners had taken a liking to Kuhn, and gave him a full seven-year contract that summer.

In 1971, for the second time in little more than a decade, it appeared that the team calling Washington D.C. would relocate. Bob Short, a Minnesota native with no ties to the nation’s capital except involvement in Democratic politics, had bought the Senators following the 1968 season — largely with other people’s money. His own cash flow problems increased, and by 1971, he was teetering on the verge of bankruptcy.24 Kuhn enlisted local businessman Joseph Danzansky to try to buy the team and keep it in Washington, but those efforts failed, and Short ultimately moved the team to Texas.25 Owners voted in favor of the move and Kuhn approved it, noting ruefully in his autobiography that he’d worked at Griffith Stadium and then later served as the Senators’ executioner.

Also in 1971, Kuhn started a panel to help find worthy Negro League candidates for the National Baseball Hall of Fame. At that time, such men were technically proscribed from entering the hall (one of the rules for election by the Baseball Writers Association of America was that players had to play in 10 major-league seasons). It had been five years since Ted Williams’ induction speech urging the recognition of worthy Negro League players, and two years since the BBWAA formed a committee to do so. Opposition was fierce, particularly from former commissioner Ford Frick and the hall’s director. Kuhn announced a worthwhile display of Negro League Hall of Famers in another part of the building — to great outcry. The Hall of Fame, chastened, opened its doors to Negro League inductees, the first being Satchel Paige.26

On October 13, 1971, the first night game was played in World Series history. Game Four was under the lights at Three Rivers Stadium. Kuhn had advocated for weekday games to be played at night (day World Series games on the weekend continued for another 16 years). More than 51,000 fans — the largest crowd to watch baseball in Pittsburgh to that point — were in attendance to see the Pirates beat the Orioles 4-3 — and another 63 million tuned in on television, garnering a 34.8 rating and a 54 share. It was, ironically, one of the few topics on which Kuhn and Finley agreed.27

But any glory for Kuhn was short-lived, as the MLBPA struck for the first time in 1972, over issues relating to pensions and binding arbitration. It was a watershed moment, and Kuhn, by his own admission, was powerless. “This was a matter of collective bargaining, and no commissioner in any sport has the power to say, ‘I am the arbiter, I will settle it,” Kuhn said, adding that he’d worked behind the scenes. He also couldn’t resist taking a shot at Miller, noting, “No other commissioner has had to deal with a professional negotiator and a union. The coming of Marvin Miller as executive director of the players association in 1966 has presented baseball with problems that never existed before.”28 The following year saw a brief lockout before a new agreement was reached, featuring two important changes. The Curt Flood rule was implemented, where a player with 10 years of service, including five with their current team, could veto any trade from that team. Also, binding arbitration was implemented for salary disputes.

When the mound was lowered in 1969 following the year of the pitcher, other ideas, including a designated hitter, were proposed. As the 1970s dawned, the idea of the DH got more traction thanks to owners like Finley, whose profile was rising as the Athletics started winning. Kuhn said because Finley was for it, there were owners, like the Dodgers’ Walter O’Malley, automatically against it. In 1973, the American League agreed to adopt the designated hitter on a three-year trial basis, and after that trial basis, adopted it permanently. The American League also endorsed interleague play. The National League did not. Kuhn, who did support it, could have cast a deciding vote for it, but opted instead for a commission to study the idea.

Hank Aaron ended the 1973 season with 713 home runs, one shy of Babe Ruth’s career record at the time. Prior to the 1974 season, Braves owner Bill Bartholomay announced that Aaron would sit out the opening series of the season in Cincinnati and make his debut in front of the home fans. Kuhn interceded, saying such a move endangered the integrity of major-league baseball, and lobbied Bartholomay to change his mind. (Kuhn said that had no announcement been made and Aaron came down with an injury that kept him out for three days, he likely wouldn’t have acted.29) With Kuhn and Vice President Gerald Ford watching, Aaron hit the record-tying home run in Cincinnati in the season opener.30 The Braves returned to Atlanta, and in their home opener against the Dodgers, Aaron hit the record-breaking home run.

Bowie Kuhn was in Cleveland. He’d addressed the Wahoo Club that day and had sent Monte Irvin to Atlanta in his stead, with the intent to join him at some point. After all, nobody knew when Aaron would break the record, right? Irvin was introduced as a representative of Kuhn … and booed. The incident led to a rift between Kuhn and Aaron for years.

In 1975, Kuhn was elected to a second term as commissioner — not without controversy. Finley tried to engineer a putsch with the aid of Jerry Hoffberger, who had owned the Orioles since their move from St. Louis. The Orioles were never the cash cow Hoffberger had hoped for, and he was shopping the team around. Kuhn, who once invited Hoffberger to dinner and stuck him with the check, a slight for which the Orioles owner never forgave him, wanted to see the team sold to Washington interests.31 Early straw polls indicated that Finley and Hoffberger had enlisted Steinbrenner, still smarting from his suspension for campaign finance violations, and Rangers owner Brad Corbett. Kuhn recalled Mickey Mantle and Billy Martin, well in their cups, knocking on doors and lobbying against Kuhn.32 Ultimately, though, he was re-elected unanimously by National League owners, joined by 10 of the 12 American League owners.33

That December, federal arbitrator Peter Seitz ruled in favor of pitchers Andy Messersmith and Dave McNally, effectively ending the reserve clause in major-league baseball. The era of free agency was underway, and Finley, realizing that many of his players would leave, started dealing them away. He sold the contract of Vida Blue to the Yankees and those of Rollie Fingers and Joe Rudi to the Red Sox at the trade deadline, netting a total of $3.5 million, but the deal was voided by Kuhn — and more than a few people saw it as retribution by the commissioner against one of his foes. Finley, unsurprisingly, sued, but two years later, by which time the players had all found new homes as free agents and the Athletics were the dregs of the American League West, a federal judge ruled that Kuhn had acted within his powers as commissioner.34

In 1981, the players union struck again, for 50 days, the longest and most acrimonious work stoppage to that point. Unlike in 1972, when Kuhn said he had no authority to interfere, “I could have stopped that strike at any time in ’81, and I decided that the wisest course was for the players to take their licking on this one in the hopes that we wouldn’t face the same problem” in the future.35 At the end of that season, nine owners, smarting from the strike, wrote Kuhn that they wouldn’t support him in a bid for another contract.

Kuhn’s luck finally ran out in 1982, as he sought yet another contract as commissioner. To get it, he needed approval of three-quarters of the owners in each league, and while he got that in the American League (the nays were Steinbrenner, Eddie Chiles of Texas, and George Argyros of Seattle), he was unable to get the votes in the National League. Astros owner John McMullen, Braves owner Ted Turner (whom Kuhn had fined and suspended — later rescinding the suspension — for tampering in trying to sign Gary Matthews), Cardinals owner Gussie Busch, Reds owner William Williams, and Mets owner Nelson Doubleday voted against retaining Kuhn. Except for Busch, the votes against Kuhn were all from members of baseball’s new guard, taking ownership of their teams during Kuhn’s reign as commissioner.36

Kuhn stayed on as commissioner to help find a successor, who turned out to be Peter Ueberroth, Time’s Man of the Year for his efforts organizing the 1984 Olympics in Los Angeles. In 1987, Kuhn published a book, Hardball: The Education of a Commissioner,37 and even contemplated getting back into baseball — as an owner! He said in an appearance at Hiram College in Northeast Ohio that he considered trying to buy the Cleveland Indians before the Jacobs brothers, Richard and David, did so.38 “I got interested in the Indians when Dave LeFevre’s group stalled,” Kuhn said. “That’s when I thought about putting together a group of friends to buy it. I know we could have gotten the money, but it would have taken more time than I was willing to give.”39

Kuhn returned to Willkie, Farr, where partners described him as a man long on ceremony but short on work. It was expected that he’d probably transition into some kind of foundation role,40 but in 1988, he formed a new law firm with Harvey Myerson, a famed New York trial lawyer whose clients had included Donald Trump in his lawsuit against the NFL.41 In December 1989, Myerson & Kuhn filed for bankruptcy, and the following spring, the New York Times noted that Kuhn was in Florida — but not for spring training. He had sold his home in New Jersey and moved to the Sunshine State, which protected residences from being seized in bankruptcy proceedings. Kuhn was on the hook for at least $3.1 million in debts; Myerson was ultimately convicted of fraud in 1992.42

Kuhn remained in Florida, where he founded a consulting firm, and served as sort of a lay minister for his Catholic faith. In October 2004, he had heart surgery, repairing a valve as well as a double bypass. The following April, when baseball returned to Washington D.C, he was in attendance as Selig’s guest at the new Nationals’ opener against the Diamondbacks at RFK Stadium.43

Kuhn died March 15, 2007, at the age of 80, at St. Luke’s Hospital in Ponte Vedra Beach, Florida, where he had been hospitalized for several weeks with pneumonia. Upon Kuhn’s death, Ueberroth said, “Bowie was a great commissioner, and in my opinion he belongs in the Hall of Fame.”44 And that December, Kuhn was elected to the Hall of Fame by the Veterans Committee (as was O’Malley, seen by many of the owners that hated Kuhn as the one pulling the strings). Miller, who also appeared on the ballot, was not. “That’s like putting Wile E. Coyote in the Hall of Fame instead of the Road Runner,” Jim Bouton said.45 It would be a dozen years before that oversight was corrected.46

Acknowledgments

This biography was reviewed by Bill Nowlin and Rory Costello and fact-checked by Henry Kirn.

Sources

In addition to the sources cited in the Notes, the author consulted the Bowie Kuhn files, National Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum

Notes

1 Daniel Okrent, “Baseball’s Ruling Servant,” New York Times, March 8, 1987: 380.

2 Dave Anderson, “Why Bowie Kuhn rose from the dead,” New York Times, July 18, 1975: 48.

3 Kuhn was slightly more diplomatic, saying in his autobiography that Finley “had few redeeming qualities,” not necessarily an uncommon opinion of him. Bowie Kuhn, Hardball: The Education of a Commissioner (New York City: Times Books, 1987), 126.

4 Kuhn was quoted in his New York Times obituary as saying Miller had “the wariness one would find in an abused animal.” Richard Goldstein, “Bowie Kuhn, 80 former baseball commissioner, is dead,” New York Times, March 16, 2007: C10.

5 And, like Roth — spoiler alert — ended up being cast aside, albeit not as violently, in a power consolidation.

6 Okrent, “Baseball’s Ruling Servant.”

7 Kuhn, 412.

8 Okrent, “Baseball’s Ruling Servant.”

9 Kuhn, 14.

10 Kuhn, 12.

11 Kuhn, 15.

12 Kuhn, 14. Kuhn notes that Auerbach, who left to join the Navy, was succeeded by another coach, who talked Kuhn back onto the team, where he lettered as a senior.

13 Those were the hearings where Casey Stengel gave an imitable, incomprehensible statement to House members, which then prompted Mickey Mantle to say, “My views are just about the same as Casey’s.” The case was Toolson v. New York Yankees, Inc., 346 U.S. 356 (1953).

14 Richard Goldstein.

15 Kuhn, 21.

16 Before owners agreed on Eckert, Pirates owner John Galbreath suggested as commissioner Paul Brown, in his brief interregnum after being fired by the Browns and before starting the Cincinnati Bengals. https://www.dispatch.com/article/20130929/sports/309299746

17 Leonard Koppett, “Bowie Kuhn, Wall Street Lawyer, Named Commissioner Pro Tem of Baseball,” New York Times, February 5, 1969: 29.

18 Leonard Koppett, “Bowie Kuhn, Ambassador,” New York Times, February 6, 1969: 45.

19 Kuhn, 40.

20 Letter from Curt Flood to Bowie Kuhn, U.S. Archives. https://catalog.archives.gov/id/278312, accessed November 2, 2021.

21 Correspondence between Curt Flood and Bowie Kuhn, Kuhn clip file, Baseball Hall of Fame.

22 Koppett, “Bowie Kuhn, Ambassador.”

23 Among Parvin-Dohrmann’s holdings were the Stardust, which they bought from the remnants of the Cleveland Mayfield Road Gang — and later sold to Allen Glick’s Argent Corporation, a story thinly fictionalized in the movie Casino.

24 That 1971 Senators team included Denny McLain and Curt Flood, prompting Kuhn in his memoirs to say, “Poor Short seemed to be collecting everyone’s problems.”

25 Danzansky was also the man who tried to buy the Padres and relocate them to Washington two years later.

26 Kuhn, 110. He said he made the announcement envisioning exactly what happened, that people would be so upset that they would demand equal induction.

27 Bill Francis, “A Classic Under the Lights.” BaseballHall.org, https://baseballhall.org/discover/a-classic-under-the-lights, accessed November 2, 2021.

28 Carl Lundquist, “Weak or strong? Kuhn’s role aired,” The Sporting News, May 27, 1972: 33. Kuhn clip file, Baseball Hall of Fame. Kuhn’s two living predecessors as commissioner, Ford Frick and Happy Chandler, backed up his claim, both noting that many of the commissioner’s powers had been limited after Judge Landis’ death.

29 Kuhn, 122.

30 And they did boo. They were not saying “Boooooooowie.” The author says, “I will never pass up a chance to make a Simpsons reference.”

31 Peter Richmond, Ballpark: Camden Yards and the Building of An American Dream (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1993), 56-57.

32 Kuhn, 150.

33 Joseph Durso. “Owners elect Kuhn as Finley’s coup fails,” New York Times, July 18, 1975: 48.

34 Jerome Holtzman, “Charlie Finley courted disaster, and he got it in baseball’s ‘best interests,’” Chicago Tribune, June 25, 1989. https://www.chicagotribune.com/news/ct-xpm-1989-06-25-8902120504-story.html

35 Murray Chass, “Kuhn’s Legacy Is Not All That It Seems,” New York Times, March 20, 2007: D5. “They won it?” Chass quoted Marvin Miller as saying.

36 Joseph Durso, “Kuhn is voted out as baseball commissioner,” New York Times, November 2, 1982. https://www.nytimes.com/1982/11/02/world/kuhn-is-voted-out-as-baseball-commissioner.html

37 Astros owner John McMullen had sought to block Kuhn from writing any type of baseball-related memoir as a condition of his severance. Kuhn, 435.

38 The college, the alma mater of President James Garfield, was notable for hosting Browns training camp from 1952 to 1974.

39 Paul Hoynes, “Stuffed shirt Kuhn finally loosens up,” Cleveland Plain Dealer, February 19, 1987: 79.

40 Steven Brill, “How Could Anyone Have Believed Them,” American Lawyer, November 1989, Bowie Kuhn clip file, Baseball Hall of Fame

41 “Myerson guilty of overbilling clients,” United Press International, April 29, 1992. https://www.upi.com/Archives/1992/04/29/Myerson-guilty-of-overbilling-clients/2840704520000/

42 David Margolick, “Bowie Kuhn Is Said to Be in Hiding,” New York Times, February 9, 1990: D1.

43 Associated Press, “Kuhn, 78, upbeat after bypass and more,” ESPN.com, November 2, 2004, https://www.espn.com/mlb/news/story?id=1914765

44 Mike Kupper, “Bowie Kuhn, 80; baseball’s commissioner in stormy era,” Los Angeles Times, March 16, 2007. https://www.latimes.com/archives/la-xpm-2007-mar-16-me-kuhn16-story.html

45 Jorge Arangure Jr., “Miller remembered for his place in the game, and his absence in the Hall,” New York Times, January 22, 2013. https://www.nytimes.com/2013/01/22/sports/baseball/marvin-miller-remembered-for-his-influence-on-baseball.html?_r=0

46 Marvin Miller was inducted into the National Baseball Hall of Fame in 2020, with ceremonies held on September 12, 2021.

Some said that baseball owners found Judge Kenesaw Mountain Landis on the federal bench, but Leo Durocher got it right when he said, “They got him right out of Dickens.”1 Ruth put the fans back in the parks, but Landis made sure what they witnessed was honest. The Sultan and the Czar worked different sides of the street but between them, they saved the game.

As baseball’s first commissioner, Landis was the first and last court of recourse. Though standing only 5-feet-6 and weighing about 130 pounds, Landis was an intimidating presence. Players and owners alike quaked when they were called to his Chicago office.

Kenesaw Mountain Landis was born in Millville, Ohio, on November 20, 1866.2 It was only a little over a year after the close of the Civil War. His father, Dr. Abraham Landis, had served as a surgeon with the Union forces. It was no surprise that Kenesaw loved Civil War history.3

In 1869 Abraham Landis relocated the family to Seven Mile, Ohio, and then moved to northern Indiana in 1875, settling in Logansport.4 In 1882 Kenesaw enrolled in an algebra class, simultaneously reaching the end of his secondary education. The course so frustrated him that the 15-year-old dropped out of high school.5

In 1889 Kenesaw secured admission to the Indiana bar, which was permissible then even without a high-school education and without passing an examination. He “read law with the firm of Custer and Stevenson in Marion, Indiana,”6 where his brother Walter was the editor of the Chronicle newspaper.

Kenesaw soon realized that he needed a degree if he was going to practice law, and he enrolled in Cincinnati’s YMCA Law School. He transferred to Chicago’s Union Law School (now part of Northwestern University) for his senior year, graduating in 1891.7

In the Union Army, Abraham Landis was under the command of Lt. Col. Walter Quinton Gresham during Sherman’s advance through Tennessee and Georgia. Gresham later served in three separate Cabinet posts and was considered a potential presidential candidate. In 1893 Gresham was appointed secretary of state by President Grover Cleveland. He needed a personal secretary and he chose a 26-year-old Chicago attorney with no knowledge of foreign affairs, Kenesaw Mountain Landis. When Gresham died in 1895, the president offered young Landis the post of minister to Venezuela. Missing the legal profession, he declined Cleveland’s offer.8 He returned to Chicago and resumed the practice of law, forming a partnership, Uhl, Jones & Landis, with two former Washington associates, James Uhl, former undersecretary of state, and Frank Jones, a former assistant postmaster general.9

President Cleveland had told Landis he was missing a great opportunity by refusing the diplomatic post. Landis responded, “Maybe you think so, Mr. President, but there’s a girl … who thinks otherwise.”10 Landis, 28 years old, and Winifred Reed, 23 years old, were married on July 25, 1895. They would have three children.

Back in Chicago, Landis became active as a progressive Republican — they were the majority party in Illinois. “In 1902 rumors even floated of a Landis congressional bid.”11 But a real campaign would have to wait until 1904, when Landis managed the campaign of a fellow attorney, Frank Orren Lowden, for governor of Illinois. Landis was in charge of Lowden’s Cook County headquarters.

Even though Lowden lost in his bid for the governor’s nomination, he was appointed to the Republican National Committee, providing him with contacts in Washington. Through these contacts, President Teddy Roosevelt offered Lowden a federal judgeship. He declined the offer and encouraged the president to name Landis to the position. Roosevelt included Landis in a slate of judicial nominees he sent to the Senate, and his nomination was approved in 1905.12

In 1907 Judge Landis gained national attention as a trust-buster. He delivered a $29,240,000 fine against the Standard Oil Company. Writing in Appleton’s Magazine, John T. McCutcheon said, “[Z]ealous patriots hastened to mention him for President and a ‘Landis’ cigar is only a matter of time.” Although an appellate court overturned his ruling and severely chastised Landis, his reputation as a people’s judge remained intact.13 “The rebuke never caught up with the original glory. To the end of his days, Landis was known as the judge who had slapped a $29 million fine on the Standard Oil Company.”14

What a fabulous personality was Judge Landis. “Vivid in appearance, his shaggy white hair a trademark as inescapable as the snow on the top of Mount Everest, he had everything it takes to catch the public eye and keep it,” a magazine profile said of him.15 Not since Abraham Lincoln had a person in public life possessed features so memorably, so indisputably honest — a picture of rigid dignity. He wore old, oversize clothes, a battered black hat, and a standup collar.

Unpredictable on the bench, Landis could blow hot and cold, even within 24 hours. He was sympathetic with the underdog and the little person. He was very hard on radical labor.16

Several years before he became the commissioner of baseball, Organized Baseball took notice of Landis. In 1915, Organized Baseball and the Federal League were in the second year of their war. On January 5, 1915, the Federal League, fighting for recognition as a third major league, filed “for relief from National and American League domination” to the court where Kenesaw Landis presided, alleging that Organized Baseball had violated the Clayton Anti-Trust Act.17 Landis was known for being impartial with respect to the baseball franchises located in Chicago. When he attended a Cubs, White Sox, or Chifeds game in 1914, he paid for his ticket.18

Spring training of 1915 came and went without a decision in the case. The hometown Chicago Whales won the Federal League championship, and the mayor of Chicago demanded that the team be included in the World Series, but the three members of the National Commission turned a deaf ear to the appeal. The Red Sox and Phillies played in the 1915 World Series.

Landis did not make a decision on the Federal League case during 1915. In December, with the World War coming closer to the U.S. shores and influential Brookfed owner Robert B. Ward having died, the Federal League reached a peace treaty with Organized Baseball on December 23, 1915. The Federal League withdrew the antitrust lawsuit pending before Judge Landis in Chicago on February 3, 1916.19 After dismissing the suit, Landis indicated that he had no intention of ruling in favor of the Federal League. He declared, “The court’s expert knowledge of baseball obtained by more than thirty years of observance of the game as a spectator convinced me that if an order had been entered it would have been, if not destructive, at least injurious to the game of baseball.”20 This gave Landis the reputation of saving baseball in 1915.

From 1903 to 1920, a three-person committee, the National Commission, oversaw baseball. The members of the commission were August Herrmann (chairman), 1903 to 1920; Ban Johnson (AL), 1903 to 1920; Harry Pulliam (NL), 1903 to 1909; John Heydler (NL), 1909 and 1918 to 1920; Thomas Lynch (NL), 1910 to 1913; and John K. Tener (NL), 1913 to 1918. Ban Johnson was the real czar of baseball, but Garry Herrmann, the Cincinnati Reds owner, was the nominal head of the National Commission.

Beginning in early 1919 and continuing through early 1920, months before Landis was named commissioner, Organized Baseball struggled with who should serve on the National Commission. Should Garry Herrmann, Ban Johnson, and John Heydler be replaced, or did baseball need a single commissioner? “The tumult surrounding the National Commission, both owners and sportswriters warned, prevented an examination of what they considered the game’s most troublesome ailment: gambling.”21

Despite the commonly held belief that the Black Sox Scandal triggered the breakup of the National Commission, Herrmann was out as the head of the commission early in January 1920, but Landis had been mentioned as the dictator baseball needed as early as September 1919.22 “Early in 1920, he announced that he was not a candidate for the chairmanship of the National Commission; if this was a calculated decision to await a more propitious moment, it was astute.”23

The 13½ months before Landis was named commissioner, October 1, 1919 (the first game of the World Series), to November 12, 1920 (when Landis was elected commissioner), was one of the stormiest periods ever recorded in the history of major-league baseball. And during most of this time, there was no actual head of Organized Baseball. Controversies were settled by the two league heads, Heydler and Johnson.

The popularity of baseball had soared in 1919 after a shortened 1918 season due to World War I. The Series was scheduled as a best-of-nine affair, the first of a three-year experiment. “Landis was a spectator during the 1919 Series, just an ordinary fan. But he would soon emerge as the most influential and powerful force in baseball at precisely the time that the game needed decisive leadership and an image of integrity.”24

“Fixing” baseball games was associated with baseball as early as early as 1865.25 A ballgame “afforded a pleasant, even exciting afternoon in the sunlight, an event to which a gentleman could take his lady — and bet.”26 Baseball historian Lee Allen said: “The situation was especially bad in Brooklyn where the Atlantic club fostered so much betting that one section of the grounds was known as the Gold Board, with activity that rivaled that of the stock exchange.”27

Baseball pioneers Henry Chadwick and Ban Johnson tried to move the game beyond corruption, but these efforts were futile. Fred Lieb writes that just before the 1903 World Series “bettors with fistfuls of folding money camped in the lobby of the Vendome Hotel in Boston prior to the first game played on the Pilgrims’ old Huntington Avenue Grounds, on October 1.”28 Gambling scandals were common during the first two decades of the twentieth century.

So it was in an era when professional gamblers were increasingly making inroads into baseball that the 1919 World Series was played. The Chicago White Sox were heavily favored to win the Series but lost, five games to three, to the Cincinnati Reds. Rumors of a gambling fix quickly arose. Charles Comiskey, American League President Ban Johnson, and other baseball officials spent the 1919-20 offseason investigating the matter. Gene Carney wrote, “It looks very much like the investigating Comiskey did … was carried on to ensure that any hard evidence found would remain hidden from public view.”29

On September 28, 1920, the Cleveland Indians led the American League with the White Sox one game behind them. The White Sox needed to win all three of their remaining games and then hope for Cleveland to stumble, as the Indians had more games left to play than the White Sox. On this same day, Eddie Cicotte confessed to a grand jury his participation in the scheme. Despite the season being on the line, Comiskey indefinitely suspended Cicotte, Jackson, Williams, Felsch, Risberg, Weaver, and McMullen that day. “Comiskey received a kind-hearted gesture from Jacob C. Ruppert and T. L’H. Huston of New York, who offered him any of their Yankees players, including Babe Ruth, to allow him to finish the season with quality replacements.”30 “Comiskey appreciated the offer, but believed the rules of the league prevented him from taking them up on it and used his own backup players.”31 There was talk of calling off the Brooklyn-Cleveland World Series of 1920, but the Series went on.

On October 29, 1920, “[T]he Chicago grand jury voted indictments against eight of the leading players of the White Sox, and several gamblers, for conspiring to throw the 1919 World Series.”32

It was now clear that baseball needed to restore confidence in the game and prevent the recurrence of a gambling scandal. But the battle of team owners over how to reorganize the major leagues, restructure the National Commission, or develop a position of a commissioner was fierce. Under one plan, a new 12-club major league was proposed. Also, three American League teams (Chicago, Boston, and New York) threatened to jump to the National League. In the final analysis, the two leagues remained intact and the concept of a commissioner of baseball won the day.33

There were other candidates for commissioner. They included former Milwaukee and Boston stockholder Henry Killilea; two New York City attorneys, Big Bill Edwards and John Conway Toole; New York state Senator James J. Walker (the father of Sunday baseball in New York); Chicago Tribune sports editor Harvey Woodruff; former President William Howard Taft; General John J. Pershing; US Senator Hiram Johnson (R-California); General Leonard Wood, a presidential contender; and former Treasury Secretary William Gibbs McAdoo.34

On November 12, 1920, baseball owners unanimously elected Landis as the first commissioner of baseball. When the owners traveled to Chicago to meet with Landis, he “laid down terms that were hard. The owners of ball clubs must yield all their rights — even the right to think.”35 The baseball magnates were stricken with panic that the public would desert them (or their turnstiles) and were willing to agree to anything and everything. They offered Landis a seven-year contract with a salary of $50,000, which was much more than the top players made.36

When Landis signed his agreement with the 16 major-league clubs and formally took charge of baseball, he insisted that his salary of $7,500 on the federal bench be deducted from what Organized Baseball would pay him. Landis was less altruistic than it appeared because he required a $7,500 annual expense account, on which he would pay no income tax.37

Will Rogers, the quaint Oklahoma philosopher, summarized it this way: “Baseball needed a touch of class and distinction. So, somebody said: ‘Get that old boy who sits behind first base all the time. He’s out there every day anyhow.’ So, they offered him a season’s pass and he jumped at it.”38

Writer H.K. Middleton, depicted the diminutive Landis: “A huge shock of gray hair, allowed to grow to tragedian lengths. Features finely chiseled, upon which rest almost continuously a threateningly serious express. A high standing collar with a tiny black string tie. An astonishingly heavy cane with a great number of rubber bands wound around the head.”39

When Landis was officially installed on January 12, 1921, he sent a wake-up call to the indicted players: “If the [the Black Sox players] are found not guilty by a jury or judge, they will not necessarily be allowed to return to Organized Baseball.”40 The next day Landis called major team owners to his office, telling them to suppress gambling in their ballparks.41

In his first decision as commissioner, on February 22, 1921, Landis ruled against Branch Rickey, then vice president and manager of the St. Louis Cardinals. Both the Cardinals and the St. Louis Browns claimed a young first baseman, Phil Todt.42

Early in 1921, Landis drew a bead on the New York Giants. Manager John McGraw and team owner Charles Stoneham had purchased Havana’s Oriental Park racetrack and the Cuban American Jockey Club. Landis ordered McGraw and Stoneham to sell their Havana holdings. (They bowed to the demands of Landis.)43 Soon thereafter, Landis again challenged Stoneham, who had entertained New York gambling kingpin Arnold Rothstein in his box at the Polo Grounds. Stoneham promised that it would not happen again.44

The October 29, 1920, Black Sox indictments were dismissed on March 17, 192145 for strategic and technical reasons, and then the players and gamblers were re-indicted on March 26.46 “With the 1921 baseball season on the horizon, the prosecution sought an indefinite postponement of the proceedings.”47 Landis decided to place the seven indicted players on the ineligible list pending the disposition of the case.48

Even though the White Sox players were cleared in court of the second indictments on August 2, 1921, Landis ignored the jury’s not-guilty verdict and the next morning, on August 3,49 he banned the eight White Sox players for life and irrevocably altered their lives. He declared, “Regardless of the verdict of juries, no player who throws a ball game, no player who undertakes or promises to throw a ball game, no player who sits in a conference with a bunch of crooked players and gamblers, where the ways and means of throwing ball games are planned and discussed and does not promptly tell his club about it, will ever play professional baseball.”50

As the commissioner, Landis had the power to fine ballplayers any sum he wished, suspend them for as long as he wished, “even cast them forever into the painful oblivion of having to work for a living. There was no appeal from any of his actions. He was the court of last resort.”51

Baseball survived the 1919 gambling scandal. While gambling did not cease with the 1919 World Series, the penalties levied on players betting on a game or consorting with gamblers was now crystal-clear. In spite of the Black Sox Scandal, baseball attendance remained strong through the 1920-30 decade. Contributing factors included Landis’s decisive action in banishing the Black Sox, the growing popularity of Babe Ruth, and simply the fans’ love of the game.

Babe Ruth hit an astounding 59 home runs in 1921 and considered himself the number-one man in baseball. The Babe loved to spend money and he loved making money. This love was soon tested: “Baseball owners had no hesitation in scheduling exhibit games during the regular seasons. Their players received no extra cash for these game on days when they could have gotten some well-deserved rest.”52 But baseball rules banned players of the two contending World Series teams from participating in any exhibition games after the series.”53

Before the 1921 season ended, Ruth signed an agreement to play in a series of barnstorming games from October 16 through November 1. Landis stopped by the Yankees clubhouse on the last day of the season to congratulate them on winning the pennant. Ruth asked him, “Judge, what’s all this talk about our being forbidden to barnstorm after the Series?” Landis repeated the rule and said it would be strictly enforced. “Well,” Ruth responded, “I’m notifying you that I am going to violate the rule and I don’t care what you do about it.” Landis knew he must respond to such a direct challenge.54

Landis doled out penalties to the barnstorming participants on October 16, 1921. He initially withheld the World Series share of three Yankees, Ruth, Meusel, and Bill Piercy, and suspended them until May 20, 1922. (He did allow the players to participate in the 1922 spring-training games.) Landis later paid the disciplined players their World Series shares. (In August 1922 baseball changed its barnstorming rules to allow Series participants to barnstorm through the end of October — later extended through November 10 — based on petitioning Landis for approval.)

For 1919, 1920, and 1921, the World Series featured a best-of-nine-game format. The major leagues reverted to the seven-game format, which has been used to this day, on December 20, 1921, when Commissioner Landis cast a tiebreaking vote at the major-league winter meetings.

On February 18, 1922, Landis announced that he had tendered his resignation as a member of the federal judiciary, effective on March 1. “Some legislators and reporters [had] questioned Landis’s decision to retain his federal judgeship.”55 Representative Benjamin Welty of Ohio pressed for the impeachment of Landis. Landis announced: “There are not enough hours in the day for all my activities, therefore I have forwarded my resignation, effective March 1.”56 After the resignation, his baseball salary was increased to $50,000 annually, the amount originally agreed upon.

The 1922 World Series drew Landis into a very public controversy. In Game Two, after 10 innings, there was a 3-3 tie. Umpire George Hildebrand called the contest on account of darkness at 4:46 P.M. with perhaps 45 minutes of daylight remaining. A fellow umpire had suggested that it might not be able to complete another full inning before it was dark. Hildebrand consulted with the ever-present Landis and he approved. The crowd noticed the conversation with Landis and blamed him for stopping the game, believing the call was made to add a game to the World Series and make more money for team owners.57 Landis was “roundly booed — many flipped him ‘the bird’ –as he left the park.”58 The next day, he turned over the game’s gate receipts of $120,554 to charity.

In 1925, F.C. Lane, the editor of Baseball Magazine, reviewed Landis’s first four years as commissioner. He emphasized that confidence in baseball had been restored, Landis had faithfully fought gambling, and baseball had prospered. He noted that it was unclear how much of the credit for the prosperity was to the credit of Landis and how much it related to the recovery after World War I and the high popularity of Babe Ruth and other sluggers. In some respects, Lane was critical of Landis: “The Judge has a cold, self-centered merciless strength of purpose entirely lacking in loyalty, gratitude or the more human elements. … The Judge has a truly colossal egotism and a personal vanity quite as astonishing. We understand that these characteristics are the usual accompaniment of genius. Napoleon had them. But unfortunately, they are not the proof of genius. Many very small men have inflated notions of their own importance in the general scheme of things.”59

In the autumn of the 1922 season, Jimmy O’Connell was attracting attention in the Pacific Coast League with the San Francisco Seals. The Giants outbid the Yankees for O’Connell by sending a blank check to Charles Graham, owner of the Seals. Graham filled in the check with the amount of $75,000 — it was the highest price ever paid for a minor-league player. O’Connell played for the Giants during parts of the 1923 and 1924 seasons.

John “Heinie” Sand had also come up through the Pacific Coast League before joining the Phillies in 1923 and was an acquaintance of O’Connell. Late in 1923, O’Connell asked Sand what he thought about the pennant race. Sand said he hoped the Phillies would win the final two games against the Giants and the Braves would beat Brooklyn, forcing a tie for the pennant. O’Connell asked Sand if $500 would change his mind. Sand expressed no interest. The Giants won the game and the pennant.

Sand told his manager, Art Fletcher, of the $500 offer from O’Connell. Fletcher reported it to John Heydler, National League president, who in turn called Landis. Landis immediately met with Sand and then with O’Connell, who admitted he made the offer. However, O’Connell said Cozy Dolan, a coach, had put him up to it and Dolan said the entire Giants team would chip in to make up the $500.

Landis immediately banned O’Connell and Dolan from Organized Baseball. Ban Johnson, intent on curbing Landis’s power, was incensed that Landis had failed to notify him of the events surrounding the matter. Both Dolan and O’Connell would periodically appeal to Landis to return to baseball, but their pleas went unheard.

Baseball players were developing a healthy fear of Landis, but it did not stop the whispers of pre-Landis scandals. The next scandal Landis would face involved two of the all-time baseball greats who were in the twilight of their careers. Ty Cobb, age 39, was the player-manager of the Detroit Tigers and Tris Speaker, 38, was the player-manager of the Cleveland Indians. There was also a subplot involving Ban Johnson, Landis’s rival. The players survived the episode, but Johnson did not.

In 1926 the Tigers finished in sixth place and there were signs that Cobb might have finished his 22-year career with Detroit. Owner Frank Navin indicated that Cobb would not be retained for the 1927 season as player or manager. Cobb “handed in his resignation on November 4, briefly stating that he was ‘bone tired.’”60 He also said that Navin did not understand how to build a winning team.

In Cleveland, Tris Speaker, a fan favorite, had just led the Indians to a second-place finish, only three games behind the Yankees. Speaker suddenly resigned on November 29 to enter the trucking business.

Then, just before Christmas, Landis shared some stunning information. He confirmed “as true the rumor that Cobb and Speaker had been permitted by him to resign in the face of accusations made against them of fixing and betting on a game played between Detroit and Cleveland”61 years earlier.

After a game played on September 24, 1919, Cobb and Speaker met under the stands at Navin Field with Indians right-hander Smoky Joe Wood and Detroit pitcher Hubert “Dutch” Leonard. According to Leonard, Cobb bet $2,000, Speaker $1,500, and Wood and Leonard $1,000 each on the Tigers to win the next day’s game. It was not illegal for players to bet on games at that time.62

Cobb had written a letter to Leonard, providing some evidence of a gambling conspiracy. Wood had also written a letter to Leonard, confirming the conspiracy. Leonard’s relationship with Cobb and Speaker soured and he kept the two letters to possibly use against them.63

In June 1926 Leonard gave the two letters to Ban Johnson and was paid $20,000 for them. Johnson called a secret session of the American League board of directors and on September 9, the board decided it was best to quietly ease Cobb and Speaker out of the league.64 They assumed that when they informed Landis of the matter, he would rubber-stamp their action. They were wrong.

Landis opened his own investigation. On December 20 Landis released Leonard’s correspondence and transcripts of the players’ testimony. This touched off a lurid sport scandal. Landis then conducted an inquiry session on January 5, 1927, with 40 witnesses. On January 27 Landis exonerated Cobb and Speaker, finding them not guilty of fixing a ballgame. The matter was a major embarrassment to Ban Johnson because he had prejudged Cobb. Johnson was forced by the AL owners to take a leave of absence and later to resign as American League president.

While the Cobb-Speaker issue was swirling, another crisis appeared on Landis’s desk. Chick Gandil, former Black Sox first baseman, made new accusations against his former teammates. Swede Risberg, former Black Sox infielder, was quoted in the Chicago Tribune as saying: “I can give baseball’s bosses information that will implicate 20 big leaguers who never before have been mentioned in connection with crookedness. …”65 Landis called Risberg’s bluff, asking him to produce the facts. While Landis publicly treated the 1917 story as new information, rumors of a 1917 fix had floated around baseball for years.

After privately interrogating Risberg on January 1, 1927, Landis opened hearings a few days later. On January 12 Landis released his verdict, exonerating every player Risberg had accused.66

To protect the dignity of the game, on January 27, 1930, Landis forbade Cub outfield Hack Wilson and White Sox first baseman Art “The Great” Shires from pursuing careers in professional boxing.67

Rogers Hornsby was perhaps the greatest right-handed hitter the game has ever seen. “He, however, was also the greatest right-handed horse player baseball had ever seen — not a trait to endear him to Landis.”68 Now with the Chicago Cubs in 1932, Hornsby was borrowing huge sums from his teammates to cover his gambling debts. While Landis did not issue an official finding, he released 36 pages of transcripts from his review.69

In Game Four of the 1933 Giants-Senators World Series, umpire Charlie Moran ejected Senators left fielder Heinie Manush from the game after he and other Senators questioned his call at first base. Before the next game, Landis spoke to the entire umpiring crew. He said the fans had paid top dollar to see the top stars of the game and from then on, no player would be thrown out of a World Series game without his approval. He formalized that decision in December, and the rule remained in effect until his passing.70

Supported by New York World Telegram sportswriter Joe Williams and Greenville, South Carolina, Mayor John M. Mauldin, Shoeless Joe Jackson appealed to Landis early in 1934 to have his lifetime ban dropped. After reviewing the appeal, Landis concluded, “This application must be denied.”71

Landis was never a fan of the farm teams owned by major-league teams. Branch Rickey had pioneered the modern farm system in the early 1920s, but Landis was committed to try to tear down the system. In April 1930 St. Louis Browns owner Phil Ball attempted to send Fred Bennett to the Milwaukee Brewers, a minor-league team under the Browns’ control. It was the third season Bennett would play for a Browns-controlled team, violating baseball’s rules. After Ball threatened legal action, Landis relented. Then Bennett petitioned Landis for free agency and Landis granted it.

The Browns subsequently sued to restrain Landis from interfering with the assignment of Bennett or any other assignments made by the team. In April 1931 the court voided what Judge Walter C. Lindley called the “secret absolute control” of players by baseball clubs, but the court upheld the farm system.72 In June 1931 Ball appealed the court’s decision and did not withdraw it until December 28, 1931, when American League owners pressured him to do so. In December 1932 the major leagues adopted “a new rule on options that effectively voided” the actions of Landis in the Bennett case.73

Landis continued fighting major-league control of the minor leagues — freeing minor leaguers on a case-by-case basis, either individually or by the carload. In 1938 he freed 73 St. Louis Cardinals farmhands. In 1939 he freed 90 players in the Detroit Tigers farm system.

With Japan’s surprise attack in December 1941, a question arose as to whether professional baseball should continue during the war. At the major-league meetings on December 11, 1941, Landis took the position that baseball would continue, assuming the federal government applied no restrictions. Landis wrote President Franklin D. Roosevelt on January 14, 1942: “If you believe we ought to close down for the duration of the war, we are ready to do so immediately. If you feel we ought to continue, we would be delighted to do so. We await your order.”74

Roosevelt had no intention of taking the blame for even the temporary demise of the national pastime. In the famous “Green Light” letter, dated January 15, 1942, Roosevelt wrote, “I honestly feel that it would be best for the country to keep baseball going. There will be fewer people unemployed and everybody will work longer hours and harder than ever before. And that means that they ought to have a chance for recreation and for taking their minds off their work even more than before.”75

On May 28, 1942, Satchel Paige and the Kansas City Monarchs beat the Dizzy Dean All-Stars, a group of major leaguers, by 3-1 before 29,000 at Wrigley Field. On May 30 the two teams drew 22,000 at Griffith Stadium. The Monarchs won again by 13-3. On June 5 at Pittsburgh, Paige (now on loan to the Homestead Grays), beat Dean’s All-Stars by 8-1 before 22,000, the largest Forbes Field crowd of the season. Landis proceeded to ban a scheduled July 4 contest. “His stated reason: The first two games had outdrawn major-league contests.”76

In January 1943 Landis went to Washington to confer about restricting the travel of baseball teams for spring training. It was agreed that clubs would not train south of the Potomac and Ohio Rivers, and, with the exception of the St. Louis clubs, west of the Mississippi. He did not go to Washington at any other time to present baseball’s problems caused by the war to the federal government.77

In Landis’s last significant case, on November 23, 1943, he banned Philadelphia Phillies owner William Cox for betting on his own team.78 After Jerry Nugent lost control of the Phillies in 1943, Cox headed a 30-man group to purchase the team. During the 1943 season, Cox fired manager Bucky Harris. Harris then reported that Cox was betting on the Phillies. Cox denied the charges, saying that a lumber-company business associate was placing the bets. Finally, Cox admitted betting on the Phillies. Cox was pushed out of baseball by Landis, and within a few days, Robert R.M. “Ruly” Carpenter Jr., a scion of the duPont family, purchased the team.

Landis’s 24-year tenure as commissioner of baseball coincided with vital decisions and historic events in the sport. It was a time when the course of the game was shaped to a large extent by the character of one man — Judge Landis. He had two violent passions — a love of baseball (he played on semipro teams in his youth) and a hatred of gambling. It was reported that Landis vetoed Bing Crosby’s bid to buy the Boston Braves because the actor owned a racing stable. Some said that Landis maintained an elaborate espionage system to make certain that players did not gamble.79

How much did Landis detest gambling? One needs to look no further than his letter to Connie Mack, the president and manager of the Philadelphia Athletics. “There is only one thing we can do (and that much we must) with these rats (referring to gamblers operating in the gamblers section of the park, Section 3 in the right-field stands at Shibe Park), and that is to everlastingly keep after them, throwing them out of the park on their heads every time they come inside the park.”80

In mid-1942, four years before Branch Rickey signed Jackie Robinson to a Montreal Royals contract, Dodgers manager Leo Durocher was reported to have told a representative of the Daily Worker that he knew of several capable Negro players that he would be willing to sign if Negroes were permitted to play in the major leagues. Durocher was called before Landis when the Dodgers were in Chicago and Durocher denied to him that he had made such a statement. “I told Durocher that he could hire one Negro ball player, or 25 Negro ball players, just the same as whites,” Landis was quoted as saying in the New York Herald Tribune.81 ‘“Negroes are not barred from Organized Baseball by the Commissioner and never have been in the 21 years I have served,’ Landis reminded anyone who might want to believe that racism was already so ingrained into American life that a formal rule prohibiting black ballplayers from competing in Organized Baseball would have been redundant.”82

The question of what responsibility Landis should share for baseball’s Jim Crow status has been debated across the years. Undoubtedly, he should bear some responsibility for baseball’s segregation. But he was certainly not alone in the attitudes and actions of the baseball establishment. It was a confluence of people and attitudes.

“When Landis was gone and baseball was integrated, Landis served as a convenient scapegoat for the actions and attitudes of most of baseball,” wrote one historian.83 After Landis died, nobody rushed to sign black players with his supposed ban gone. “Club owners didn’t fall all over themselves outbidding each other for the biggest Negro League stars. A whole year passed before Branch Rickey signed Jackie Robinson to a Montreal contract,” noted another historian.84

Years after Jackie Robinson broke the major-league color barrier in 1947, no one can contend that from his grave Landis prevented the Philadelphia Athletics from featuring Bob Trice until 1953, the Chicago Cubs from featuring Ernie Banks until 1953, the Pittsburgh Pirates from featuring Curt Roberts until 1954, the St. Louis Cardinals from featuring Tom Alston until 1954, the Cincinnati Reds from featuring Nino Escalera and Chuck Harmon until the same day in 1954, the Washington Senators from featuring Carlos Paula until 1954, the New York Yankees from featuring Elston Howard until 1955, the Philadelphia Phillies from featuring John Kennedy until 1957, the Detroit Tigers from featuring Ozzie Virgil Sr. until 1958, and the Boston Red Sox from featuring Pumpsie Green until 1959. That responsibility squarely rested with each of the respective team owners.

Landis died of coronary thrombosis on November 25, 1944 at the age of 78. While he was hospitalized, baseball owners, in a symbolic gesture, recommended that he be re-elected commissioner for a seven-year term when his term expired on January 12, 1946.85

Two weeks after his death, Judge Kenesaw Mountain Landis was elected to the Baseball Hall of Fame. He was the fifth Hall of Famer from among nonplaying ranks — the others were Morgan Bulkeley, first head of the National League; Ban Johnson, organizer of the American League; Henry Chadwick, writer; and Alexander Cartwright, the civil engineer who organized the Knickerbockers of New York and set the distance between bases at 90 feet.

His plaque at the National Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown reads: “Baseball’s First Commissioner, Elected, 1920 — Died in Office, 1944. His Integrity and Leadership Established Baseball in the Respect, Esteem and Affection of the American People.”

This biography appears in “Whales, Terriers, and Terrapins: The Federal League 1914-15” (SABR, 2020), edited by Steve West and Bill Nowlin.

Notes

1 Robert C. Cottrell, Blackball, the Black Sox, and the Babe: Baseball’s Crucial 1920 Season (Jefferson, North Carolina: McFarland, 2002), 251.

2 David Pietrusza in Judge and Jury: The Life and Times of Judge Kenesaw Mountain Landis (South Bend, Indiana: Diamond Communications, 1998), 3, suggests that Dr. Landis may have been reflecting on that battle of Kennesaw Mountain when he and his wife, named their new child Kenesaw. The modern spelling of the battle and the location is with two “n’s” — Kennesaw. However, in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, Kenesaw was acceptable with one “n.”

3 During Sherman’s March to the Sea, Dr. Landis set up his military surgical headquarters in the shade of the Kennesaw Mountain in northwestern Georgia on June 17, 1864. A Confederate cannonball ricocheted off a nearby tree and struck the surgeon on the leg. Kenesaw recalled, “A 12-pound cannon ball, apparently spent, was bounding slowly toward the group. Nobody paid any attention to it. But it struck my father’s left leg, just below the knee, and shattered it horribly. A medical man himself, he had to keep his fellow surgeons off with a gun, in order to keep them from amputating it. And when I was 6 years old, eight years after that battle, I remember distinctly how he was still going through special exercises, trying to regain more use of the injured leg.” (Edward G. Brands, “Judge Landis Receives Title to Plot, Near Spot Where Father Was Wounded, “The Sporting News, December 12, 1940, 14.

4 Logansport, population 15,000 at the time, is on the Wabash River at the mouth of the Eel River.

5 Pietrusza, 9.

6 Pietrusza, 11.

7 Pietrusza, 12.

8 Alan Nevins, “Grover Cleveland,” Chicago Evening Post, January 5, 1907: 632.

9 Pietrusza, 29.

10 New York Times, March 26, 1905: 4.

11 Pietrusza, 35.

12 Pietrusza, 37-40.

13 Cottrell, 15.

14 Ed Fitzgerald, “Sport Special from Yesterday,” Sport, June 1950: 53.

15 Fitzgerald: 49.

16 In 1918 Landis sentenced several radical labor leaders, including Victor Berger and other Socialists in the ill-fated Industrial Workers of the World (IWW), to prison for sedition. See Pietrusza, 139, 141-42, 143,144, 145, 146, 148-50, 152.

17 David Pietrusza, Major Leagues: The Formation, Sometimes Absorption and Mostly Inevitable Demise of 18 Professional Organizations, 1871 to Present (Jefferson, North Carolina: McFarland, 1991), 209-35.

18 Spalding’s Official Base Ball Record for 1921, 61.

19 Robert Peyton Wiggins, The Federal League of Base Ball Clubs: The History of an Outlaw Major League, 1914-15 (Jefferson, North Carolina: McFarland, 2009), 288.

20 The Sporting News, February 10, 1916, 1.

21 Cottrell, 126.

22 Pietrusza, Judge and Jury, 161.

23 David George Surdam and Michael J. Haupert, The Age of Ruth and Landis: The Economics of Baseball during the Roaring Twenties (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2018), 27.

24 Gene Carney, Burying the Black Sox (Lincoln: Potomac Press, 2007), 211.

25 Daniel E. Ginsburg, The Fix Is In: A History of Baseball Gambling and Game Fixing Scandals (Jefferson, North Carolina: McFarland, 1995), 5.

26 Asinof, Eight Men Out, 10.

27 Ginsburg, 17.

28 Frederick G. Lieb, The Story of the World Series (New York: G.P. Putnam’s Sons, 1949), 26.

29 Carney, 56.

30 Chicago Tribune, September 29, 1929: 2.

31 Tim Hornbaker, Turning the Black Sox White, The Misunderstood Legacy of Charles A. Comiskey (New York: Sports Publishing, 2014), 304.

32 As reported in the Chicago Herald Examiner and Chicago Tribune, October 30, 1920, and elsewhere.

33 Pietrusza, Judge and Jury, 166.

34 Chicago Evening Post, January 7, 1920.

35 Earl Obenshain, Collyer’s Eye & Baseball World, October 29, 1932: 5.

36 “Club Owners Vote for New League and Baseball War,” New York Times, November 9, 1920: 1.

37 Chicago Herald & Examiner, November 13, 1920.

38 J.G. Taylor Spink, Judge Landis and Twenty-Five Years of Baseball (New York: Thomas Y. Crowell Co., 1947), 76.

39 “First American Dictator,” American Review of Reviews: 95.

40 As reported in the Chicago Tribune, January 12, 1921.

41 William F. Lamb, Black Sox in the Courtroom: The Grand Jury, Criminal Trial and Civil Litigation (Jefferson, North Carolina: McFarland, 2013), 85.

42 Pietrusza, Judge and Jury, 176.

43 Pietrusza, Judge and Jury, 184-85.

44 Frank Graham, McGraw of the Giants (New York: G.P. Putnam’s Sons, 1952), 131.

45 Mark Allen Baker, The Fighting Times of Abe Attell (Jefferson, North Carolina: McFarland, 2017), 203.

46 Hornbaker, 306.

47 Bill Lamb, Gene Paulette, SABR BioProject: https://sabr.org/bioproj/person/147b2f14.

48 In the Paulette biography, Bill Lamb notes, “Although the banishment of the seven players was only temporary at this juncture, Landis signaled his long-term intentions by publicly observing that ‘baseball is not powerless to protect itself. All of these players … must vindicate themselves before they can be readmitted to baseball,’ as per the Chicago Tribune, March 12, 1921. Chick Gandil was not among those placed on the temporarily ineligible list by Landis. Following a contract dispute with the White Sox, Gandil had been suspended by club owner Charles Comiskey and had not played during the 1920 season. Codefendant Hal Chase, quietly released by the New York Giants in February 1920 and now persona non grata, had not played major-league ball during the 1920 season either.”

49 New York Times, August 4, 1921: 1.

50 New York Evening World, August 3, 1921: 1.

51 New York Evening World, August 3, 1921: 49.

52 Surdam and Haupert, The Age of Ruth and Landis, 209.

53 Pietrusza, Judge and Jury, 230.

54 Pietrusza, Judge and Jury, 230.

55 Surdam and Haupert, The Age of Ruth and Landis, 31.

56 Saturday Blade (Toledo), February 25, 1922.

57 Pietrusza, Judge and Jury, 329-30.

58 Larry Moffi, The Conscience of the Game: Baseball’s Commissioners from Landis to Selig (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2006), 120.

59 F.C. Lane, “Has Judge Landis Made Good,” Baseball Monthly, February 1925, 293-95: 418.

60 Al Stump, Cobb: The Life and Times of the Meanest Man Who Ever Played Baseball (Chapel Hill, North Carolina: Algonquin Books, 1994), 370.

61 Stump, 370.

62 The Sporting News, January 20, 1927: 5.

63 Eugene Murdock, Ban Johnson: Czar of Baseball (Westport, Connecticut: Greenwood Press, 1982), 215.

64 Murdock, 215-16.

65 New York Times, December 30, 1926, 16.

66 The Sporting News, January 20, 1917, 5.

67 Pietrusza, Judge and Jury, 386.

68 Pietrusza, Judge and Jury, 316.

69 Pietrusza, Judge and Jury, 318.

70 James M. Kahn, The Umpire Story (New York: G.P. Putnam’s Sons, 1953), 126-128.

71 St. Louis Post-Dispatch, January 19, 1934: 22.

72 Pietrusza, Judge and Jury, 350.

73 Pietrusza, Judge and Jury, 352.

74 Pietrusza, Judge and Jury, 432.

75 Pietrusza, Judge and Jury, 433.

76 Pittsburgh Courier, May 30, 1942: 16, Pittsburgh Courier, June 6, 1942: 16; Mark Ribowsky, Don’t Look Back: Satchel Paige in the Shadows of Baseball (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1994), 207-8; Jim Charlton, The Baseball Chronology: The Complete History of the Most Important Events in the Game of Baseball (New York: Macmillan, 1991), 230.

77 Pietrusza, Judge and Jury, 434.

78 Untitled decision regarding William D. Cox, November 23, 1943, KML Papers, National Baseball Library; New York Times, December 5, 1943: Section III, 3.

79 Look, April 28, 1943: 84.

80 Letter from Kenesaw M. Landis to Connie Mack, April 27, 1940.

81 The Sporting News, July 23, 1942.

82 Moffi, 42.

83 Moffi, 42.

84 Norman L. Macht, “Does Baseball Deserve This Black Eye? A Dissent from the Universal Casting of Shame and Blame on Kenesaw Mountain Landis for Baseball’s Failure to Sign Black Players Before 1946,” SABR Baseball Research Journal, Vol. 38, No. 1, Summer 2009: 30.

85 New York Herald Tribune, November 25, 1945.

For Selig, who began his voyage with the childlike attitude that he’d someday accomplish something meaningful in life, having major-league baseball in Milwaukee was a driving force. True to his courage and vision, his mission was rooted in that conviction, which cemented his lasting legacy, not only in his hometown but throughout the industry. Selig’s passion for sports, particularly baseball, was inspired by his mother and it became quite evident from the outset. He didn’t envision himself as a celebrated athlete as most youngsters romanticized, but rather as a prolific owner, one who could influence the game itself. History documented his course in the sport as a leader and inspiration, and as one who modernized the game for generations to come.

Born on July 30, 1934, at Milwaukee’s Mount Sinai Hospital, Selig grew up in the predominantly Jewish neighborhood on 52nd Street. His parents immigrated to the United States shortly after the turn of the century as youngsters from Eastern Europe. His father, Benjamin, was from Romania, and his mother, Marie (Huber) Selig, was born in the Ukraine. They married in 1929 and raised two sons, Jerome and Allan.

Ben was a car salesman for the Mertz-Knippel Co., owned by Otto Mertz and Ray Knippel, before partnering with Ray to form Knippel-Selig Ford. Marie taught third and fourth grades at Lee Street School (later renamed Sherman School), which her sons attended. She was an avid baseball fan and took Allan, whom she called Bud, to watch the local minor-league Brewers at nearby Borchert Field or to Chicago to watch White Sox games, especially when the New York Yankees were in town. Joe DiMaggio was Bud’s boyhood idol. After attending Steuben Junior High School and Washington High School on Milwaukee’s West Side, Selig attended the University of Wisconsin/Madison.

With aspirations of becoming a college professor, Selig went on to earn a degree in history before serving a brief stint in the Army and going on to postgraduate school for an accounting degree. Instead of pursuing a career in academia, Selig worked for his father, whose business expanded and became known as the largest Ford dealership in Wisconsin.

“My father said to me at the time, “Give me a year,” Selig shared. “I was very close to both my parents, and when your father asks you to give him a year, you give it. And I did it with some trepidation. But in all honesty, he did me a great favor; though I often wondered how different my life would have been had I stayed in Madison as a history professor.”

Braves move to Milwaukee

While Selig was in college, the Boston Braves, under the ownership of Lou Perini, moved to Milwaukee where a new stadium, built to attract a major-league franchise, awaited its arrival in 1953.

As a college sophomore, Selig made a point of attending the very first Braves National League game at County Stadium, driving the 80 miles to Milwaukee from Madison. He was thrilled that his hometown had finally landed a major-league team — some 50 years after the last big-league franchise left the city for St. Louis following just one season as a charter member of the original American League.

Like many fans in Milwaukee, Selig understood what the Braves meant to the community. In 13 years in the city, the team never had a losing season, winning back-to-back National League championships in 1957 and 1958, and narrowly missing pennants in 1956 and 1959. At County Stadium the Braves were the first National League franchise to top 2 million in attendance, surpassing that number four straight seasons in the 1950s. The night the Braves clinched the National League pennant in 1957, Selig was there. He watched as Henry Aaron hit a walk-off ninth-inning home run to defeat pitcher Billy Muffett and the St. Louis Cardinals. He watched with tears in his eyes as Aaron was carried off the field on the shoulders of his teammates in celebration.

In 1963 rumors of a move became fact when the Braves announced plans to shift the franchise to the greener pastures of Atlanta. By then, Selig had become the largest public shareholder, and, together with other local business and political influences, they tried to block the move. To no avail: They couldn’t control the fate of the Braves, who opened the 1966 season in Atlanta.

“I remember the last night the Braves played in Milwaukee,” Selig said. “They played the Los Angeles Dodgers at County Stadium. I was sitting (in the stands) with Ed Fitzgerald, one of my partners who was the president of Cutler Hammer, and a woman came up to us with tears streaming down her face. She said, ‘Don’t fail. You’re all we have.’ With that she walked away. I never forgot that.”

In the mid-’60s, Selig took over as owner of the dealership when his father retired, and in 1971 changed the company name to Selig Ford. He eventually switched to the Chevrolet brand while adding an automobile-leasing company.

With the Braves’ departure, Selig stood in the forefront of a seemingly improbable crusade to keep Milwaukee relevant in the eyes of major-league baseball. At the age of 30, he embarked on a new mission, organizing a group of local businessmen known as Teams, Inc. in an effort to convince the major leagues that Milwaukee was still interested in a big-league franchise. It wasn’t easy. Over a grueling five-year period, he attended every baseball function, pleaded with every executive willing to listen and debated Milwaukee’s worthiness as a potential future expansion or relocation city; his efforts resulted in nothing more than disappointment and frustration.

When expansion was finally brokered in 1968, Milwaukee’s proposal was rejected twice. Instead, Kansas City, Seattle, San Diego, and Montreal were given franchises. Refusing to accept abandonment of his dream, Selig continued to pursue other options, even the possibility of taking on an existing franchise on the brink of insolvency. That attempt was quashed, too, despite Selig and Milwaukee bailing out the Chicago White Sox organization. Teams, Inc. granted the White Sox an opportunity to play a series of games at County Stadium. Those games boosted Chicago’s overall attendance figures and helped its bottom line. Selig believed he had forged an agreement with White Sox owner Arthur Allyn to buy the struggling franchise. But Commissioner Bowie Kuhn refused to allow the deal, instead accepting a last-minute offer from Allyn’s brother, John, to purchase the franchise.

Big league again

At the same time, after only one season the expansion Seattle Pilots were in financial trouble. Rumors had it that baseball was looking to move the franchise. Selig and his group focused its efforts on acquiring the team, admitting that this bid would be the last gasp for the Milwaukee group. It was a long negotiating winter. Finally, at the eleventh hour, his mission, his dream, was fulfilled.

It was punctuated by a resolution of the gavel. At 10:20 P.M. on Tuesday, March 31, 1970, Sidney Vohnn, a federal bankruptcy court referee in Seattle, ruled that Teams Inc.’s offer of $10.8 million for the Pilots “should be and is approved.”

The decision cleared the way for the new Milwaukee Brewers, a name adopted to honor the American Association team that thrived for 50 years in the community. Assuming the Pilots’ schedule and position in the American League West, the Brewers were slated to open the 1970 season on Tuesday, April 7, 1970, at 1:30 P.M. against the California Angels at County Stadium. The night before the bankruptcy ruling, moving trucks had started a trek from the Pilots’ spring training site in Tempe, Arizona, to Seattle. When the news became official, the trucks set a new course for Milwaukee. With less than a week to prepare for a major-league opener, and no time to order new uniforms and equipment, the name Pilots was stripped from every jersey and replaced with Brewers, and the “S” on every cap was replaced with an “M.” On Opening Day, sunshine and cold temperatures greeted 36,107 fans. For the first time in 1,647 days, a team came strutting out of the dugout sporting a Milwaukee uniform. Behind a complete-game effort by pitcher Andy Messersmith and a 14-hit attack, the Angels blanked the Brewers, 12-0, spoiling the debut but not the enthusiasm.

“It was the only game the Brewers ever played that I didn’t care who won,” Selig said. “That changed by the next day.”

Winning would be a tough road to navigate. In the early years, Selig realized he needed patience and guidance. Dealing with losing and trying to maintain the viability of baseball in a small market was difficult.

“My mentor in baseball was a man named John Fetzer, who was the owner of the Detroit Tigers for many years. He was a great man, a visionary,” Selig said. “He took me under his wing in 1970. He taught me the basic lesson that so many in baseball and sports never learn: that sport transcends all of us. The only way you should ever decide anything is on what’s in the best interest of baseball.”

The early years were quite lean. Even with well-known players like Ken Sanders, Dave May, and George Scott, who was the Brewers’ first $100,000 player, the best the team could do was a 76-86 finish in 1974. The following year, Selig added a legend from the Braves’ glory years.

“Through thick and thin, we had the most loyal fan base,” Selig said. “We brought back Henry Aaron to finish out his illustrious career where it started — in Milwaukee.”

While Aaron was in the twilight of his career, the Brewers introduced an 18-year-old shortstop by the name of Robin Yount, who would go on to become the longest-tenured player in franchise history and the first inducted into the Hall of Fame. After the 1977 campaign, Selig made one of the boldest moves he had ever made. In the media, it was called the “Saturday Night Massacre.” In a front-office housecleaning, Selig fired manager Alex Grammas and player development director Al Widmar and accepted the resignation of general manager Jim Baumer. Selig then hired general manager Harry Dalton who in turn hired new manager George Bamberger. In just the first season together, what was termed the “Dalton Gang” turned the franchise from a 95-game loser into a 93-game winner that finished a strong third in the American League East.

“I remember in 1978, our first winning season, and how the fans soaked it all in with George Bamberger and the whole cast of players, who earned the nickname Bambi’s Bombers.” Selig said.

Looking to improve the Brewers’ chances at a pennant, Dalton pulled off what may be considered the greatest trade in franchise history. During the 1980 Winter Meetings in Dallas, Dalton acquired Pete Vuckovich, Rollie Fingers, and Ted Simmons. The next season, 1981, the Brewers qualified for the playoffs, though it came during a strike-shortened season.

Brewers win a pennant

Winning had become contagious, and expected, and in 1982 the Brewers reached the pinnacle of success led by hometown hero Harvey Kuenn, who took the managerial reins in June, after the team struggled out of the gate, and guided it to the American League pennant and birth in their first and only World Series appearance. Known as ‘Harvey’s Wallbangers,’ the Brewers won a major-league-best 95 games.

But the Brewers had to survive a shaky final month of the season. Entering September, they had a seemingly comfortable six-game lead in the East. But Selig knew all too well that that could quickly evaporate, especially after Rollie Fingers, the best closer in baseball, was lost for the rest of the season with a forearm injury. On top of that, Milwaukee had to play New York, Boston, and Baltimore exclusively down the stretch.

“That was a tough month,” Selig said. “We played Baltimore at County Stadium before going on that last road trip to end the season. They took two of three games and crept to within two games. The team headed to Boston but I stayed home and watched the games on television.”

One of those games from Fenway Park featured a dramatic performance by the Brewers’ backup catcher.

“In a pivotal game at Fenway, Harvey sent Ned Yost to pinch-hit in the ninth inning with the score tied and he hit the only home run he had all year,” Selig said [Yost actually entered the game in the bottom of the eighth as catcher]. “He won the game. And to this day, I remember it as if it happened yesterday. Little did Ned realize at the time that it would be a big part of Brewers lore.”

Heading into a four-game series at Baltimore’s Memorial Stadium, the Brewers needed to win just once to clinch the AL East flag. Anyone who knew Selig in those days realized that he could never sit still, pacing constantly as he chain-smoked Tiparillo cigars. History will show that the Sunday showdown was a classic. No fewer than 10 future Hall of Famers played in the game, including Don Sutton and Jim Palmer (who went toe-to-toe), Robin Yount and Paul Molitor for the Brewers and Cal Ripken and Eddie Murray for the O’s. In addition, Earl Weaver and Fingers were in their respective dugouts and Ford Frick Award winners Chuck Thompson and Bob Uecker handled the broadcast for their respective teams. Once at the ballpark, Selig felt compelled to visit his players in the clubhouse.

“It was the only time I spoke to the team before a ballgame,” Selig said. “I simply told them how much I loved them and admired them. We had been through a lot. That was it. Very short visit.”

But for Selig, it gave him a chance to look into their eyes. There was no fear. No signs of feeling the pressure of the magnitude of the contest. Instead, he sensed his team was as loose as one could expect before a defining moment. Selig watched the game from the owner’s box on the first-base side near the visiting dugout.

“And even though we never trailed in the game, I was nervous,” Selig said. “I’d get up and start walking in the concourse. The tension was unbelievable.”

But the Brewers prevailed, claiming the pennant by a convincing 10-2 score. And it was off to Anaheim to open the ALCS against the California Angels — the same team that had rudely welcomed the Brewers to the American League 12 years earlier. Perhaps because of a letdown after the grueling series in Baltimore, the Brewers dropped the first two games in Anaheim before returning to County Stadium, one loss away from elimination in the best-of-five series.

To Milwaukee fans, it didn’t matter. They were ready to support their team, period.

“I drove to the ballpark on that Friday and you would’ve thought we were up two games,” Selig said. “Fans were filling the parking lot, waving and having a good time. I guess that carried over to the game because we won behind Don Sutton.”

It came down to another Sunday. Another showdown. Could it be déjà vu? The stakes were high as the winner would go on to the World Series — the first for either team.

“Here we go again,” Selig said. “This time we had our crowd behind us. I think it may have been the most emotional crowd I had ever seen. From the fifth inning on you couldn’t hear yourself think. Everything you had ever hoped for was about to unfold. The Angels are very good. Don Baylor. Reggie Jackson. Brian Downing. Tommy John. So, we battle. Back and forth. In the seventh inning, Cecil (Cooper) gets the big hit to put us ahead. The place is rocking. I can still see Charlie Moore and Jim Gantner sliding across the plate. We’re up one. We get through the eighth. My heart is pounding out of my chest. I think I had three cigars lit at one time. I don’t think I knew what I was doing.”

The Angels were down to their last batter in the game. Selig felt destiny was on the Brewers’ side until the announced batter strolled to the plate.

“To this day,” Selig said, “I remember thinking to myself, ‘Why does it have to be Rod Carew?’ After all these years of dreaming for this moment, why does it have to be the greatest hitter in baseball? Why couldn’t it be some stiff who can’t hit?‘”

Carew hit a sharp one-hop grounder right at short. Selig thought just two or three feet either side of the fielder and the game would’ve been tied. Instead, Yount handled it cleanly, threw across the diamond to Cooper at first base and the game was over.

“What a feeling,” Selig added. “Oh my God.”

The players were mobbed by fans who rushed the field. Selig stood on the overhang in front of the press box with his fist held high as he cheered his team’s triumph.

“Here we are champions of the American League,” Selig said. “After celebrating in the clubhouse, I drive home drained and exhausted. I sit in the den with a little black radio tuned to CBS News, and the announcement is broadcasted, ‘The 79th World Series will be between the St. Louis Cardinals and the Milwaukee Brewers.’ I began to cry.”

It was the first fall classic for the Brewers — the first for Milwaukee in 25 years. The Brewers opened on the road with a convincing 10-0 win before dropping Game Two, 5-4.

Back in Milwaukee, the Brewers won two of the three games to forge ahead 3 games to 2. The team needed one more victory to clinch the championship but had to do it in St. Louis. However, there was no magic. The Cardinals won a rain-soaked Game Six, and rallied from a 3-1 deficit in the seventh inning of Game Seven to win the championship. Clearly, the plane ride back to Milwaukee was quite somber. Brewers’ Vice President Dick Hackett received a telephone call from the Chamber of Commerce during the flight. He approached Selig with a request from city leaders to stage a parade through the streets of downtown.

“We pulled out and it was unbelievable,” Selig said. “We crawled along Wisconsin Avenue. People walked up to every car to shake hands with everyone. It took us forever to get to County Stadium. And once we got there it was if there was a ballgame going on. People filled the lower grandstands. It was a very emotional day. That’s when it hit me. It said a lot about Milwaukee and what the Brewers meant to the fans.”

Players’ Lockout

Selig learned a long time ago that the strife and skepticism that triggered work stoppages in the past did more harm than good to the national pastime. In 1990 something extraordinary happened when two envoys from opposite sides of the negotiating table came together to foster peace. After the seventh stoppage in 18 years, the ownership group turned to Selig to foster an accord for the good of the game. As the owner of the Brewers for 20 years, Selig gained firsthand knowledge of what he would eventually endure when he became commissioner of baseball.

Paul Molitor, the Brewers veteran third baseman who was the team’s Players Association representative, was the American League player representative at the negotiations. Weeks earlier, owner and player were able to amicably collaborate on a new contract for the future Hall of Famer to stay in one of the smallest markets in baseball. Molitor’s contract was reportedly worth $9.1 million over three years, similar to the one agreed upon months earlier by another future Hall of Famer, Robin Yount. It may have seemed odd at the time, but Selig and Molitor were back at it representing more than their own interests. Molitor sat across from Selig during the negotiations.

“To begin with, I had a great relationship with Paul,” Selig said. “The Union knew that. We were trying to find a solution to our problems.”

With both sides far apart, the lockout which began in February and lasted 32 days, wiping out virtually all of spring training. Opening Day had to be moved back a week to April 9, and because of that, the season had to be extended three additional days to accommodate a full 162-game schedule. At issue was the five-year Basic Agreement between the players and owners, which had expired entering 1990. During the buildup to the lockout, both sides spent months trying to iron out long-standing disagreements over free agency and arbitration. Player salaries had already surpassed the $3 million-a-year level as evident by the Brewers superstar players’ salaries. Understanding the seriousness of the matter, Selig and Molitor met several times privately to resolve the differences. These were thoughtful discussions behind the scenes. Afterward, many in the industry believed their deliberations were instrumental in ending the discord.

A new Basic Agreement was reached on March 19. The minimum major-league salary was raised from $68,000 to $100,000. (As of 2019 the minimum had climbed to $555,000.) The new deal wasn’t permanent but it bridged the gap for a while. Four years later, in 1994, the players went on strike. That one devastated the game. Small-market teams like the Brewers were drowning in debt with little hope of competing on a yearly basis. Yet, the union refused to budge on a salary cap.

Taking the reins

September 9, 1992, would become a momentous day in Selig’s career.

The Brewers’ Robin Yount was on the threshold of becoming only the 17th major leaguer to reach the magical 3,000-hit plateau. He needed one hit and had only one chance to accomplish the feat at home before heading on a long road trip. Some 375 miles to the south, another significant announcement was about to be made. Baseball owners had gathered in St. Louis to appoint a head to their newly formed Executive Council following the dismissal of Commissioner Fay Vincent just days earlier.

Smack-dab in the middle of both developments was Selig. The face of his franchise was on the brink of making history and he was about to become the most powerful authority in the sport.

“I’m hearing from other owners, ‘Bud, you’ve got to take over,’” Selig said. “I had no intention of becoming commissioner. I was part of a group that was trying to help us move on.”

Selig and his daughter, Wendy Selig-Prieb, the team’s general counsel, attended the meeting, hoping to wrap things up early so that they could fly back to Milwaukee to be on hand for Yount’s triumph.

“At the meeting, everyone agreed, whether or not I did, that I should become chairman of the Executive Council,” Selig said. “That was it. A vote was taken and it was unanimous. (Cardinals owner) Gussie Busch had a big party planned for everyone that evening but I told him that I had to get back to Milwaukee.”

Selig made arrangements for a private jet to whisk him away at a moment’s notice. Accompanying Selig and his daughter on the flight were American League President Bobby Brown and Tom Werner, managing partner of the San Diego Padres, who eventually became an owner of the Boston Red Sox and Liverpool FC of Britain’s Premier Soccer League. Just before departing St. Louis, Selig picked up another hitchhiker.

“Well, I couldn’t say no when he asked me, ‘Can I come with you to see Yount get his hit tonight,’” said Selig of Texas Rangers owner George W. Bush, who in less than three years would be governor of Texas and eventually the 43rd president of the United States. “He loved those special moments in the game.”

As Selig’s unmarked white van pulled up to County Stadium, home-plate umpire Rocky Roe yelled play ball. Selig and his entourage were escorted from the service level to the owner’s box adjacent to the press box on the loge level just as the Brewers came to bat in the home half of the first inning. In the seventh inning the inevitable happened — Yount lined a single to right-center field off Indians pitcher Jose Mesa. And with that, Yount’s mission was completed and Selig’s was about to begin.

“What a day,” Selig said. “It was quite an historic day.”

World Series canceled

By the summer of 1994, baseball had hit rock bottom. The players strike, which began on August 12, stopped play for 232 days — the longest ever — and it forced the cancellation of the remainder of the season. Even the fall classic was lost, the first time that had happened since 1904 when John T. Brush, president of the National League champion New York Giants, refused to allow his team to compete against the Boston Americans, the representative of the American League. Selig felt the pain of his decision on September 14 to cancel the World Series. But the strike also affected the start of the 1995 season.

“That was part of my history,” Selig acknowledged. “The way I look at it is that in my career in baseball we had had eight work stoppages, and this one was the worst. I was getting slaughtered. The owners and players were getting slaughtered. Everyone.”

At the heart of the matter was the rampant increase in salaries, which jeopardized the future of many small-market franchises. The stalemate lasted right into the winter. On January 13, 1995, baseball’s Executive Council approved the use of replacement players in an attempt to salvage the 1995 season. But in March, the US District Court and the National Labor Relations Board interceded. Judge Sonia Sotomayor forced both sides to find an agreement. On March 28 the players voted to return, and three days later, Judge Sotomayor issued a preliminary injunction blocking the owners from using replacement players. According to the terms of the injunction, both sides were bound to the expired collective-bargaining agreement until a new one could be reached. The season began on April 26, and the schedule was revamped to include 144 games instead of the scheduled 162.

As a sacrificial lamb, Selig was thrown to the wolves twice, first during the 1990 lockout and then with the 1994 strike. He acknowledged it for what it did to the game and vowed to never let it happen again under his watch. And true to his word, it didn’t.

“As tough as it was and it truly did break my heart, I believe history will show that we had to go through something like that to get to where the game is today,” Selig said. “The heartbreaking pain of ’94 produced two-plus decades of labor peace which led to the greatest resurgence and growth in major-league baseball history.”

Groundbreaking decision

As a ramification of the gap between large- and small-market economics, franchises labeled as “fragile” had to look to the future with creative strategies in hopes of finding other revenue streams if they wanted to survive. Their options were simple: build modern ballparks that offered amenities or move to new markets. Selig was not about to move his team. For years, he lobbied for a new ballpark. County Stadium had outlived its usefulness and renovating it was not viable.

“It was such a difficult political process,” Selig said. “It was painful at times. We fought to bring a team back to Milwaukee against insurmountable odds but nothing compared to getting the new ballpark built. I don’t think people to this day understand it.”

Selig had to convince the populace and politicians alike that survival in modern major-league baseball depended on the amenities of a new stadium that would generate additional revenue streams necessary for the franchise to stay viable and competitive. By 1989, after countless discussions about where to build a new facility — with many politicians weighing in on a downtown location — a task force of the Greater Milwaukee Committee concluded that the best site remained in the Menomonee Valley, where County Stadium was situated.

“The fact of the matter is, and let the record show, there never was a downtown site,” Selig said. “That was all demagogy. But I must say, I was resolute. We were not going to fail. We got a team. We kept a team. And we were going to get a new ballpark.”

In 1992, the first true obstacles surfaced. A 400-million-year-old rock formation was discovered on the former Soldiers Home property owned by the US Department of Veterans Affairs. To compound matters, a wildflower on the state’s endangered-species list was detected in clumps near the site. Resolution took nearly two years. Finally, in 1995 the Brewers made a presentation to the Milwaukee Stadium Commission, in which they committed $90 million to help build the new ballpark. That same year the Brewers, together with Wisconsin Governor Tommy Thompson, Milwaukee County Executive Tom Ament, and Milwaukee Mayor John Norquist formally presented an agreement that included a 30-year lease commitment.

That moved the process to Madison, where on September 28, 1995, the State Assembly voted 52 to 47 to accept the new stadium plan. In essence, the plan called for a five-county sales tax of 0.1% or roughly one penny for every $10 to help pay for the new ballpark. The five counties were Milwaukee, Racine, Ozaukee, Washington, and Waukesha. The tax would begin in 1996. It was on to the State Senate, where the deliberation bogged down. Rumors began circulating that if the Brewers couldn’t win the necessary vote, the franchise would move. Nothing was further from the truth, though it angered many politicians who thought the Brewers were trying to hold the state hostage. Despite Selig and an entourage that included Hall of Famers Henry Aaron and Robin Yount, lobbying efforts at the State Capitol twice failed to secure the necessary support in the Senate chambers. In the wee hours of the morning of October 7, a new amendment to the referendum was added and a new vote was called for. This time, with the backing of Racine Senator George Petak, who cast the deciding vote, the Senate approved the new ballpark package by a 16-to-15 count.

“Every day was a battle,” Selig said. “We finally won at 5 o’clock in the morning after an all-night session. A lot of criticism of the Brewers and its leadership was unfair. As opposed to so many other places, here was a team and an ownership desperately trying to stay.”

A week later, Governor Thompson signed legislation providing financing to help build a new ballpark and safeguard the Brewers’ future in Wisconsin.

In March of 1996, Miller Brewing Company jumped on board with a 20-year, $41.2 million pact for the naming rights. However, in June the project hit another snag when the Stadium District Board rejected the proposed financing plan. Local business leaders were upset and disappointed, fearing the Brewers would now be forced to go elsewhere. On the night of June 14, before a Brewers game against the Oakland A’s, Selig in an emotional press conference at County Stadium blamed “a polluted political environment” for creating the impasse. Truly upset with the stalemate, Selig believed it marked a significant turning point in the dialogue. In essence, it woke a sleeping giant.

“That was the day, politically, it turned around,” Selig said. “We staged the press conference in front of the ballpark. After dealing with the media following the press conference, I finally got up to my box to watch the game. The next thing I know something’s going on. I couldn’t figure it out. The crowd slowly rose and cheered but the action on the field had stopped. I finally realized, they stood and cheered me on. It must have lasted eight or nine minutes.”

Before the homestand ended, an estimated gathering of 10,000 fans attended a “We Love Ya, Bud” pep rally in the stadium parking lot. The rally called for action on construction as fans waved signs that read: “Build It Now.” The chants followed fans into County Stadium.

“It was amazing,” Selig said. “I went through the stands shaking hands and talking to fans. It took me most of the game to do so. I believe the fans helped turn things around.”

Soon after, a new financing plan was drafted and approved unanimously by the Stadium District Board, paving the way for shovels to meet dirt. Nearly 20,000 supporters looked on as Aaron and Yount joined a number of dignitaries in the official Miller Park groundbreaking ceremony on November 9, 1996. The future of major-league baseball in Milwaukee was back on schedule for a 2000 opener.

Miller Park was the largest construction project ever undertaken in Wisconsin. The initial cost to build the ballpark was nearly $400 million, with $290 million generated by the five-county sales tax. Over the next three years, construction on the new retractable-roof ballpark went seamlessly according to the timetable until tragedy struck on the sunny but windy afternoon of July 14, 1999.

It was the worst possible news. Three ironworkers were killed in a freak crane accident. The Lampson Trans-lift crane, known as “Big Blue,” collapsed attempting to position a 400-ton right-field roof panel into place. The workmen, observing and directing the “pick” from a nearby hoist bucket, were struck by the crumpled winch.

“My heart sank,” Selig said. “As quickly as I could, I drove out to the site. I didn’t know it at the time, but after spending hours at the scene, a county sheriff followed me home because he noticed how distraught I was over the death of those workers.”

The catastrophe and cleanup of the site lasted a full year. With no further incidents, the ballpark finally opened on April 6, 2001. The Brewers honored the three fallen men. A plaque and statue dedicated to them and all the workers was erected on the main plaza. And Miller Park became a jewel in Milwaukee’s economic landscape.

Selig and President George W. Bush participated in the pregame ceremony, each tossing out a first ball. The Brewers went on to earn a 5-4 victory over the Cincinnati Reds in front of 42,024 fans — the first of 17 sellouts that inaugural season. During the campaign, the Brewers drew 2,811,041 fans, an average of 34,704 per game.

With Miller Park, the Brewers have been able to surpass attendance goals never deemed possible — topping 3 million in three different seasons, and averaging nearly 2.8 million per season since its opening.

Ninth Commissioner of Baseball

As Miller Park was being built, Selig made a historic announcement involving the Brewers. As part of Phase One of Major League Baseball’s realignment plan, on November 9, 1997, the Brewers became the first team in over a century to switch leagues. The dramatic shift was part of MLB’s expansion which involved the Arizona Diamondbacks. The Brewers joined the revamped 16-team National League, slotting into the Central Division, along with new rivals in the Chicago Cubs, Cincinnati Reds, Houston Astros, Pittsburgh Pirates, and St. Louis Cardinals.

“The Milwaukee Brewers, mindful of the city’s National League heritage, volunteered to make the switch,” Selig said. “In the end, it was so right and so logical that history will record it and ensure a brighter future.”

As the acting commissioner, Selig’s vision modernized and diversified the game. Baseball prospered. And because of that, and after a six-year search for a permanent commissioner, the owners unanimously named Selig as the ninth commissioner on July 9, 1998. He was the first owner ever elected to the post. While serving, Selig was allowed to maintain a satellite office in downtown Milwaukee at the U.S. Bank Building. He occasionally traveled to the main office on Park Avenue in New York but carried out most of his duties right at home. A month after his appointment, Wendy Selig-Prieb was officially named the Brewers new president and chief executive officer. She had previously served as the team’s vice president and general counsel. Selig’s interest in the team was placed in trust, ending his 33-year reign as president, which began with Teams, Inc.

Under Selig, the major leagues went through a number of advancements, including the introduction of interleague play, three-division leagues and the wild-card format, which added a divisional round to the playoffs. These changes spiked attendance and revenue throughout the major leagues.

In 2003 Selig changed the All-Star Game format by expanding rosters after an embarrassing conclusion to the 2002 midsummer classic, which took place, in all places, Miller Park. That game ended in a 7-7 tie because both managers, Bob Brenly and Joe Torre, had exhausted their rosters, forcing Selig to call the game after 11 innings. Not only did Selig expand future rosters, he added an incentive by which home-field advantage in the World Series would be awarded to the league that won the All-Star Game. It was a novel idea that lasted until 2017.

In his first term as commissioner, Selig guided baseball through two major expansions and spearheaded a renaissance that included several new ballparks. In addition, he prioritized the need to give baseball a more global presence, and in 2006 introduced the World Baseball Classic, in which teams from every corner of the world compete during the spring.

“It’s one of the game’s priorities to internationalize baseball,” Selig said. “We’re doing everything we can to move the sport in an international direction. I think it’s absolutely spectacular.”

By 2005 Selig had to endure another dark period in the game’s history. Anabolic steroids had polluted all sports with grave consequences. Many players in many sports were accused of using, affecting the integrity and long-standing legitimacy of the games’ records. Selig commissioned US Senator George Mitchell to conduct a 20-month investigation into the use of anabolic steroids and human growth hormones (HGH). On December 13, 2007, the 409-page Mitchell Report outlined the abuse of performance enhancing drugs by players, which outed several well-known stars.

“People say we were slow to react,” Selig said. “No we weren’t. This is a subject collectively bargained with the union. Even through the cocaine era of the 1980s, and the Pittsburgh trials, the union never agreed to testing. In 2001 we were able to put testing in the minor leagues because I could unilaterally do so and it worked. Now baseball has the toughest testing program, not only in American sports but WADA (World Anti-Doping Agency) is one of the toughest anti-doping agencies ever. I’m proud of what we did. We are a social institution. Yes, I felt badly about it, but steroids wasn’t a baseball problem, it was a societal problem. But who could have ever believed that we would wind up with this kind of drug-testing program?”

The Mitchell Report provided baseball with the tools to better understand and deal with enforcing regulations on banned substances.

Despite all the trials and tribulations, Selig’s resolve to improve baseball’s bottom line was unprecedented. He inherited a $1.2 billion industry and took it to a $9 billion business. Selig was able to transform America’s pastime from its grass-roots traditions into a contemporary and energized sport of the future. His accomplishments over his 23-year tenure were many, putting his stamp on the following initiatives:

• Interleague play.
• Three divisions in the American and National Leagues.
• The institution of divisional play, first with one wild-card entrant, then later a second for each league.
• Team realignment in phases, first moving Milwaukee to the National League in 1998, followed by Houston switching to the American League in 2013, creating 15-team leagues.
• Consolidating the umpires into the commissioner’s office.
• Launching MLB.com and the MLB Network.
• The opening of 22 new ballparks.
• Revenue-sharing among teams and a competitive-balance tax.
• The expansion of All-Star Game rosters and the incentive of home-field advantage for the World Series to the league that won the game.
• Instant replay.
• An unprecedented and comprehensive drug-testing program.
• Record attendance in both leagues.
• A global attraction with the introduction of the World Baseball Classic and season openers played in Mexico, Japan, Puerto Rico, and Australia.
• Championing diversity and inclusion in all phases of the sport.
• Servicing as an outreach to major charities.
• And perhaps his greatest accomplishment, nearly a generation-long uninterrupted labor peace.

Retirement and beyond

For all that he accomplished as commissioner over a two-decade reign, Selig was most proud that the game he loved thrived in his hometown. In 2010 the Brewers showed their appreciation by dedicating a statue of Selig’s likeness on the Miller Park Plaza alongside bronze sculptures of Henry Aaron and Robin Yount that had stood like sentries since the ballpark opened.

The statue was not the first or last recognition Selig received for his lifetime in baseball. In 2002 his name was added to a plaque on the Miller Park Walk of Fame. In 2014, he joined 57 other former players, coaches, and executives of the Brewers to be enshrined on the Miller Park Wall of Honor.

After serving four terms as commissioner, Selig retired on January 25, 2015. He had served for 23 years –second longest only to Judge Kenesaw Mountain Landis, the first commissioner (1920-1944). In essence, Selig had spent 51 of his 80 years in the game. Baseball rewarded Selig by naming him the first commissioner emeritus.

“When I made the decision in October of 2013, I said, ‘You’re going to be 80’ — I never dreamed that I’d work until 80 — I wanted to have a good normal transition,” Selig said. “I wanted to do what was best for baseball. And quite frankly, I was ready.”

In 2015 the Brewers invited Selig back to Miller Park to officially retire uniform number 1 in his honor. He joined the likes of Henry Aaron, Rollie Fingers, Robin Yount, Paul Molitor, Bob Uecker, and Jackie Robinson on the Miller Park Ring of Honor. Later that season, the Brewers unveiled Selig Experience, an exhibit at Miller Park that highlighted his career in baseball.

“It means a great deal to me,” Selig said. “It’s where I started and how I started. I never believed something like this would happen. I’m a history buff, and to share this history with all our fans, so that they can understand how this all happened, I can’t tell you how much it means to me.”

Not to be outdone, baseball had one more honor to bestow upon Selig. In 2017 a special 16-member panel of the Today’s Game Era Committee (formerly the Veterans Committee) of the National Baseball Hall of Fame voted to induct Selig and former Kansas City and Atlanta general manager John Schuerholz into the Hall of Fame. Selig was the fifth former commissioner to be voted into the Hall of Fame — the first since Happy Chandler in 1982 to actually participate in the ceremony. Other commissioners honored over the years were Kenesaw Mountain Landis, Ford C. Frick, and Bowie Kuhn.

“(It) was a high honor, to say the least,” Selig said. “I’ve looked forward to this day for a long time and I’m really honored. I consider myself to be very fortunate to have had a career in a sport that I love.”

Selig moved into a downtown Milwaukee office, decorated in memorabilia collected over a lifetime as one of the most influential figures in the history of sport. He began to fill his days doing what he initially wanted to do — teach. Selig accepted an adjunct faculty position at Marquette University Law School as a distinguished lecturer in sports law and policy. His emphasis was on the history of collective bargaining and free agency, underscoring revenue-sharing and antitrust exemptions. At the University of Wisconsin at Madison, Selig endowed the Allan H. Selig Chair in the History of Sport and Society, and lectured in a course called Baseball and American Society since World War II. Besides having a home in Milwaukee, Selig and his wife, Sue, acquired a residence in the Phoenix area. As a way to maximize his time there, he added a third academic position to his itinerary, joining the Sandra Day O’Connor College of Law on the campus of Arizona State University.

Selig also started work on his memoirs. “It’s true, I’m working on a book,” Selig said. “I’m going to replay this by the year. It’ll be a great history of baseball over the last 50 years. So, I guess I’m going to stay busy for a while.”

With the help of longtime baseball writer Phil Rogers, Selig’s book entitled, For the Good of the Game was released in July 2019. The foreword was written by renowned historian Doris Kearns Goodwin.

Selig shaped his own retirement with dignity and grace — just as he nurtured his Brewers and guided the industry to new heights.

“You know, this all started in 1964,” he said. “As I look back I never could have dreamed my career would take me to the places I went to. I was fortunate and I’m truly grateful. It has been the highest privilege to lead our national pastime, a sport that links generations, buffers the passage of time and continues to reflect the spirit of our great country. I’ve often said this is one of those rare times in this incredible journey that I’ve been on, that a little boy’s dreams did come true. Oh, I still hear from a lot of people — players and owners alike — who just want to know how I am. I tell them, ‘I’m fine.’”

MARIO ZIINO is the director of sports publications at Delzer Lithograph Co., Waukesha, Wisconsin. He spent 25 years with the Milwaukee Brewers as the director of publications and assistant director of public relations, and has written about the Brewers for over 40 years.

Last revised: October 1, 2019

Sources

All quotes and personal background material contained in this biography were collected by the author during interviews with Selig from 1979 to 2017.

As of 2023, the Baseball Hall of Fame includes most former commissioners. Of those not inducted, William Eckert presided over the sea change that saw the player’s union begin a successful fight for free agency, stripping owners of the all-out power they enjoyed for nearly a century. Bart Giamatti died just months into a term tangled in the drama surrounding Pete Rose’s gambling ban. Fay Vincent clashed with owners over the powers of his office and resigned under fire, unable to complete his term. The longest-tenured of the four outside the Hall was Peter Ueberroth, who came to the job in 1984 with arguably the best reputation of any American at the time. He saved the Olympic games by pulling off a profitable Los Angeles event. He had just been named Time’s Man of the Year. However, he was also known as a “miser with a Midas touch.”2 The perception that Ueberroth spent more time trying to turn the Olympics into exclusively a business, taking its soul, marred his success. The reputation followed him into baseball.

On September 2, 1937, Pierre de Coubertin, the founder of the International Olympic Committee and known as the father of the modern Olympic Games, died while on a walk in Geneva, Switzerland. On the same day, over 4,300 miles away in Evanston, Illinois, the man who “saved” and “revolutionized” the Olympics was born.3 Peter Victor Ueberroth was the only son (and second child) of Victor Ueberroth and Laura (Larson) Ueberroth.

Victor, of German and Austrian descent, was an aluminum siding salesman who dropped out of school after the eighth grade. He always had an encyclopedia with him to expand his knowledge and satiate his “curious mind.” Ueberroth credited his dad with being the biggest influence in his life. “My father never graduated from grammar school, but he was a brilliant individual, very well-read,” Ueberroth said. “A student of world trade who had street smarts.”4 Laura, who came from Irish and Swedish bloodlines, was sick from nearly the moment Peter was born and died when her son was four years old. Within a year of Laura’s death, Victor married an accountant named Nancy. As Ueberroth’s stepmother worked to clear Victor’s debts, Peter struggled to gain her approval. Before settling in Northern California, the family moved between four states, including stops in Iowa and Wisconsin, throughout Peter’s youth. In 1948, Victor and Nancy welcomed another boy, John, whom Peter felt was favored. The experience instilled in him a drive to achieve.5

Ueberroth was a sports-obsessed kid who, by age 15, held several jobs – including at gas stations, shopping centers, and Christmas tree lots – and paid his own bills. He got his first taste of the juncture of the elite business world and sports when he caddied for professionals and businessmen at Sunset Ridge Country Club in Northfield, Illinois.6 “My dad would get settled somewhere, and we’d have to move. I could apply to a country club, and I had experience,” Ueberroth recalled. “You are meeting people, and it paid well. I liked the work.”7 Ueberroth liked being in control. A childhood friend recalled, “Ueberroth always knew where the parties were, where to get a car. And he would usually set up the dates.” “If the gang was unable to pick a movie,” said another friend, “Pete would quickly make the choice.”8

He attended Burlingame High School in the San Francisco Bay Area until his sophomore year, when he moved to Fremont High School in Sunnyvale, California. At Fremont, Ueberroth starred in baseball, football, and swimming. As reported in Ueberroth’s Time magazine profile in 1984, “Two years before finishing high school, he moved into Twelveacres, an orphanage for kids from broken homes.” He became the recreation director, collecting a salary of $125 per month, and received the nickname “Daddy Pete” from the other kids. After graduation in 1955, he received a small athletic grant from San Jose State to play water polo. He worked tirelessly to make the 1956 United States Olympic water polo team but was left off the final squad. In 1959, Ueberroth married his college sweetheart, Virginia “Ginny” Nicolaus.

After graduating with a business degree, Ueberroth went on a job hunt that led him to Trans International Airlines. This service, in which Ueberroth worked as the Operations Manager, brought passengers between California and Hawaii. So successful was Ueberroth in the role that the owner, entrepreneur Kirk Kerkorian, promoted him to run the whole business. Before accepting his new role, Ueberroth demanded a 3% stake in the company. Soon after, he set up an air shuttle between Los Angeles and Seattle (for 1962’s World’s Fair), but market changes caused him to go into severe debt. He changed course, starting a reservation service called Transportation Consultants to help small hotels and airlines manage reservations. The company was a huge success, going public in the early 1970s, buying up hotels, and employing 1,500 people. By the time Ueberroth was 28 years old, the Young Presidents’ Organization for successful executives invited him to join.9

Ueberroth’s first brush with sports management came in 1973. It didn’t end well. Interested in buying a franchise in the startup International Volleyball Association, Ueberroth was turned off by the business practices of mostly showbiz-related team owners, including movie producer and league president David Wolper. Wolper recalled Ueberroth saying, “I’m not going to buy a franchise in this league. You guys don’t know what the hell you’re doing.” “He said all us ‘Hollywood types’ were spending too much money and ought to cut things down.”10 But the connection helped change the course of Ueberroth’s life.

Five years later, Wolper sat on the mayor’s committee to find someone to run the 1984 Los Angeles Olympics. The list of six finalists had little name recognition, but Wolper noticed one. “Peter Ueberroth!” Wolper announced. “He’s the guy who tried to tell us how to run our damn volleyball league. And he was right. We went broke. That’s the guy we need. If anyone can run a Spartan Olympics, the cheap son-of-a-bitch can!”11 Given that the role meant a 70% pay cut, Ueberroth initially declined but, after some thought, said, “I was between the ages of 40 and 55. I did live in the Los Angeles area. I loved sports. I was chairman of a company with revenues of more than $100 million. I was fiscally conservative. I had international experience, had traveled widely, and met with heads of state.” He thought the role was sort of like him. His wife said, “No…it was him.”12 He accepted the challenge.

The Olympics were in the midst of a decade of turmoil when Ueberroth inherited them. The 1972 Olympics were marred by a terrorist attack in Munich, the 1976 Games sank Montreal into massive debt,13 and President Jimmy Carter ordered an American boycott of the Moscow event in 1980. Ueberroth tackled the job, intent on making it profitable and inviting. He relied heavily on media rights and corporate sponsorship, often playing one company against another in bidding wars. “Without Peter Ueberroth, without the ’84 Games being as successful as they were, I believe it’s very likely that the Games could have sputtered and, like a match, gone out,” said Olympic swimmer John Naber.14

Ueberroth’s approach was not without critics who felt his relentless focus on keeping the Games financially successful took a portion of the original intent out of the Olympics. Maureen A. Kindel was president of the Los Angeles Public Works Commission and head of an LAOOC committee that planned the Games’ cultural events. She was a “friendly critic” of Ueberroth’s cold approach. She said before the event, “I worry about the soul of the Olympics, worry that the citizens of Los Angeles will really feel a great commitment to the Olympic Games and that they will enjoy the magic of them. I worry that all we hear about is the positive balance on our ledger sheet. Are we failing to make some humanistic decisions now because of the desire for a large profit just for profit’s sake?”15

Ultimately, the Games were a success in all the ways Ueberroth hoped. None of the boycotts made an impact, and Ueberroth didn’t encounter debt but turned a $225 million profit. Having become a well-known personality across America, Ueberroth was even celebrated at the White House with President Reagan. He was named Time Magazine’s Man of the Year in 1984. When asked if Ueberroth saved the Olympics, nine-time gold medalist Mark Spitz said, “I think that’s a true statement…He created a financial model they’re desperately trying to emulate.”16

With the Olympic Games, Ueberroth developed the kind of thick skin that prepared him for his next endeavor as the commissioner of Major League Baseball. “For five years [with LAOOC], we got nothing but criticism,” Ueberroth said. “I said to everybody, and I believed it: ‘We will be remembered by how well our event does…and by almost nothing else.”17

For 16 months, Milwaukee Brewers owner Bud Selig led a committee of owners through an exhaustive search to replace outgoing commissioner Bowie Kuhn. Ueberroth’s friend Bob Lurie, then the San Francisco Giants owner, nominated him for the role.18 If elected, Ueberroth insisted on changes to the sport’s bylaws, including strengthening the commissioner’s power by bestowing the title of chief executive officer and increasing the amount he could fine clubs from $5,000 to $25,000. On March 3, 1984, the owners met in Tampa and unanimously elected Ueberroth. “I flew here not knowing if they would agree to my suggestions,” Ueberroth said. With the Olympic Games imminent, he wouldn’t take over until October 1. “In the next 22 weeks, the eyes of the world, even world politics, will focus on Los Angeles and the Olympic Games. So, I don’t think it proper for me even to comment on baseball matters.”19

Ueberroth’s first challenge came two days into his tenure. On October 3, the Umpires’ Union went on strike, leaving college umpires to call the beginning of the playoffs. Both sides agreed to have Ueberroth arbitrate the deal, allowing the umpires to return to work in a matter of days. In a “stunning initial impression,” Ueberroth had earned credibility from owners, players, and umps. “Peter Ueberroth is a man I can trust,” said Richie Phillips, the head of the Umpires’ Union.20

When Ueberroth took the commissioner’s position, 21 out of 26 teams were losing money. He went to work trying to pry open the owner’s books to see their actual revenue numbers. “I’ll get ’em open,” Ueberroth assured. An owner reportedly called him a “Gorilla [who gets anything he wants].” Ueberroth responded, “I don’t think that’s very descriptive, and I’m not very pleased by it, but I can’t do anything about it.”21

In March 1985, Ueberroth reinstated Willie Mays and Mickey Mantle, who had each been banned from working in baseball by Kuhn (in 1979 and 1983, respectively) because of their roles as goodwill ambassadors for Atlantic City casinos. “The world changes,” Ueberroth said. “We are going to look at the situation for very strong, broad guidelines to keep baseball and gambling apart.”22 Given the strife among players, owners, and fans, the move may have been a peace offering by the commissioner to get two nostalgic idols back to the front of the game. “I didn’t think that was fair to these two gentlemen,” Ueberroth said. “It’s also spring training, and I wanted them back in baseball.”23

Ueberroth’s next order of business was to clear up what he perceived as a rampant and detrimental drug problem among the players. As a grand jury in Pittsburgh investigated drug use in the game, Ueberroth decreed, “We’ve got to stop drugs in baseball. We flat out have to do it.”24 By May 1985, he had the owners’ support for mandatory drug testing for all baseball personnel, and some players were coming aboard. “They should test everybody,” Pirates catcher Tony Peña said. “I love baseball, and I don’t want anything to happen to it.” Others, like Don Baylor, stated he didn’t “have anything to hide” but declared, “the privacy aspect bothers me.” As the head of the player’s union, Marvin Miller’s successor, Donald Fehr, agreed, “Everyone involved in baseball is opposed in a general sense to the use of drugs.” However, he believed the system in place was working and confirmed: “testing remained an item of serious contention.”25

In the summer of 1985, a potential work stoppage lay on the horizon. A 1983 TV deal worth $1 billion had quadrupled MLB’s revenue, yet owners were still losing money. Before the deal, player pensions received one-third of television revenue but got only 18% from the new deal. Owners wanted to install an arbitration cap. According to the New York Times, “The owners had proposed an average payroll plan that would have served as a salary cap, as well as proposing the arbitration cap.”26 Neither happened. Instead, the owners took an additional hit by raising the league minimum from $40,000 to $60,000. The players went on strike for just two days, August 6 and 7, before a deal was reached. As of 2023, it remained the shortest work stoppage in MLB history.

However, many owners did not care for Ueberroth’s approach. About the commissioner, one anonymous owner said, “He’s a no-good s.o.b… We could have gotten the whole thing, but Ueberroth forced the settlement for his personal benefit. All he cares about is making a big reputation himself.”27 For his part in the negotiations, Ueberroth was uncharacteristically coy, saying, “My role was no role.”28 The owners’ insistence on pushing for a salary cap came to fruition during the work stoppage in 1994, which resulted in the cancellation of the season and, ultimately, no cap instituted.

Some applauded Ueberroth’s swift resolution of the fifth work stoppage in 15 years. Sportswriter Maury Allen compared Ueberroth to the first commissioner of MLB, Judge Kenesaw Mountain Landis, and even suggested he might have a higher calling. “He is another Judge Landis. He acts first and fast,” Allen wrote. “Baseball will be lucky to hold him past 1988. That’s when a California governor, a senator, and a new President of the United States will be elected.”29 Once asked about running for higher office, Ueberroth quipped, “I want to run things. In politics, you don’t run anything.”30

Following a 1985 season in which he hit .287 with 29 home runs, Detroit’s Kirk Gibson was expected to be one of the most sought-after free agents on the market. However, despite initial interest from the Royals, Gibson didn’t receive a single offer from any team but Detroit. The same story happened for most other available players. During the winter meetings that same offseason, Ueberroth reportedly told the owners, “Let’s say I sat each of you down in front of a red button and a black button…Push the red button, and you’d win the World Series but lose $10 million. Push the black button, and you would make $4 million and finish somewhere in the middle…the problem is, most of you would push the red one.” He reportedly capped his point by remarking, “You are so damned dumb.”31

Owners also committed to reducing the roster sizes from 25 to 24. Ueberroth stayed mum about collusion, but “baseball players and agents [swore] they [saw] the tracks of Peter Ueberroth in the free agent non-policy.”32 In February, after numerous stars, including future Hall of Famer Carlton Fisk, were not offered contracts, the MLBPA filed a grievance against the owners.

Focused beyond salary disputes, Ueberroth announced drug-related punishment for over 20 MLB players before the 1986 season. Players included former MVPs Keith Hernandez (for his admitted cocaine use from July 1980 to June 1983), Dave Parker (for confessing to use of cocaine and amphetamines), and Tim Raines (who entered a drug treatment program after admitting to cocaine use in 1982).33 Ueberroth expressed that his focus was not only on drugs in baseball but in America. “Call it an anger, a deep, burning anger, and you’ll be closest to my true feelings,” he said.34 Later in 1986, recent top NBA draft pick, Len Bias, became a poster child for drug abuse in sports when he died of an overdose. In September, First Lady Nancy Reagan, whose husband invited Ueberroth to the White House to praise his Olympics success, launched her “Just Say No” campaign against drug use.

After the 1986 season, free agents again faced stonewalling from the owners. The average free agent salary dropped 16 percent, and for the first time since free agency started a decade earlier, the overall salary of major-league players declined. Ueberroth said he “made inquiries” during the winter meetings to assure there was no evidence of conspiracy not to sign players. “I wanted to know if there were negotiations ongoing,” Ueberroth said. “There seems to be, and I hope they are fruitful.”35 Three-quarters of the free agents signed one-year deals. Star Andre Dawson took over a 30-percent pay cut to move from the Montreal Expos to the Chicago Cubs.36 On February 20, 1987, the MLBPA filed a second grievance against the owners.

In April, Dodgers Vice President Al Campanis was asked on ABC’s Nightline about the lack of Black managers, owners, and general managers and replied, “I truly believe they may not have some of the necessities to be, let’s say, a field manager or perhaps a general manager.” He likened the disparity to Blacks not being quarterbacks, or pitchers, or very good swimmers.37 Campanis’ comments sparked outrage about the lack of diversity in front office across the game, prompted Ueberroth to act. He met with Reverend Joseph Lowery of the Southern Christian Leadership group to discuss his efforts to bring more minorities into the game. Lowery was encouraged by baseball’s efforts, stating that “the commissioner is sensitive to the situation.”38 “I don’t have a reputation for lip service,” Ueberroth said, but the commissioner was called out for hypocrisy by some media outlets. The New York Post’s acerbic columnist Dick Young asked, “Ubie, how many Black employees do you have in your office? Zero.”39

By the end of his third year as commissioner in 1987, his popularity was so low that it was clear to Ueberroth he would not get a second term. “No chance…” Ueberroth said of his odds of re-election. “I have no chance to get double digit votes. I’d need a bunch.” He was characteristically “sure of himself.”40 “I can say that the owners are in pretty damned good financial shape today,” Ueberroth said. “As long as I’m living and breathing, they will be in good financial shape.” Ueberroth explained why his efforts didn’t help his reputation with the owners: “My attitude – as the owners have seen very clearly – is that I don’t report to them.”41 Despite rumors he might leave his post early for an executive role at a major corporation or run for elected office, Ueberroth planned to stick out his time.

Ueberroth negotiated two TV deals that reverberated for several decades. In December 1988, he signed a four-year pact with CBS worth $1.1 billion. The deal offered CBS the rights to the World Series, both Championship Series, the All-Star Game, and 12 regular-season games. It moved baseball off NBC for the first time since 1947. The following year, Ueberroth brokered a four-year national cable deal with ESPN worth $400 million, giving the network 175 regular-season games, including Sunday Night Baseball, which remained a staple as of 2023. Much as he did for the Olympics, Ueberroth’s focus on big media deals transformed how Americans consumed the sport.

Like his approach to the Olympics, Ueberroth’s approach to baseball as a business first was widely criticized. “Baseball, through these new contracts,” Curt Smith wrote in Voices of the Game, “becomes the first sports to voluntarily reduce the number of networks televising its games.” Ueberroth’s TV deals came under fire as prioritizing the short-term profits of the owners, while leaving many fans without a place to watch games. “Nearly fifty percent of America depends solely on network TV for baseball and these people will go from 40 games a season to 12.”42 Ueberroth responded by saying at least the Championship Series would still be free. “We were not confident that we could achieve the revenues we felt necessary without having to take the league championships to cable. In fact, I had predicted that might happen,” the commissioner said.43 Ueberroth’s focus on large network and cable packages presaged the direction every sport went, as the NFL, the NBA, and the NHL all have signed large exclusive TV deals that, as of 2023, include streaming rights.

In September 1987, the first collusion grievance came before arbitrator Thomas Roberts, who ruled that owners violated the Collective Bargaining Agreement by conspiring to hamper player movement and higher salaries. Nonetheless, the owners continued their efforts that offseason, by creating an “information bank” that internally shared information about what offers were out to players. As a response, the MLBPA filed a third grievance in as many years against the owners. On August 29, 1989, Roberts ordered owners to pay $10.5 million to players affected by 1985’s collusion. Seven former free agents, including Kirk Gibson, were put back on the market to look for better offers. The second and third grievances were also ruled in favor of the players, causing the owners to pay $38 million and $64.5 million, respectively, in damages. The final settlement for all three years of collusion came in December 1990, with the owners agreeing to pay the MLBPA $280 million and allowing the union to distribute the money as it saw fit.

By the end of the 1988 season, every team was breaking even or profitable. In the year prior, Major League Baseball had its most profitable year since 1973, with a net profit of $21.3 million.44 However, Ueberroth’s approach to focusing on baseball wholly as a business attracted critics as well. As Marc Normandin wrote in 2018, “These initial instances of collusion in Major League Baseball taught ownership and MLB’s commissioners valuable lessons about effectively and legally hoarding profits.”45

Despite their poor relationship just a year earlier, the owners asked Ueberroth to stay on as commissioner for another term. He turned the owners down. Twins owner Carl Pohlad said, “I’m just devastated… there was no one in the room who didn’t want him back.”46 Ueberroth’s final day in office was March 31, 1989. His successor was Bart Giamatti. “The institution [baseball]…was a disaster in all ways when I arrived,” Ueberroth said. “It was a scandal-ridden, drug-ridden thing…Every labor negotiation had a labor stoppage…now we’ve gone on and there have been three [labor situations] with no meaningful interruptions.” He felt, “The economics and moral fiber of the game are getting up to date.” And of his legacy, he believed, “That’s what will be judged or not judged.”47

Ueberroth didn’t stay away from the game for long. He headed groups in the mid-’90s that attempted to purchase the California Angels and the Los Angeles Dodgers. Both bids were unsuccessful. In 1986, Ueberroth joined the Coca-Cola Company’s Board of Directors (Fay Vincent happened to be a senior executive with Coke at the time). He was named to many other corporate boards, such as those of Hilton Hotels and The Contrarian Group. In 1999, Ueberroth joined Clint Eastwood and Arnold Palmer in purchasing the famed Pebble Beach golf course. Coming full circle, 19 years later, the Western Golf Association inducted him into the Caddie Hall of Fame for his work as a teenager at Sunset Ridge. “I’ve gotten some important global honors for things I’ve done in my life, but I didn’t think I’d be eligible [for the Caddie Hall of Fame],” Ueberroth said. “It completely stunned me.”48 In 2010, Ueberroth was inducted into the USA Water Polo Hall of Fame. The following year, UCLA gave him the John Wooden Global Leadership Award, and he was inducted into the San Jose Sports Hall of Fame. He was the chairman of the U.S. Olympic committee from 2004-2008, helping to pull off the games in Athens and Torino. In 2022, Ueberroth was given a plaque right next to one for Pierre de Coubertin in the Court of Honor at the Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum.

Since the early 1970s, Peter and Ginny have made their main home in Laguna Beach, California. They have four children: Vicky, Heidi, Keri, and Joseph. Even in the height of his intense business work. Ueberroth made a rule of never working on weekends and prioritizing his family, even taking phone calls from his wife during important meetings.49 “He didn’t have much of family life growing up,” a friend said, “and he is eager to extend his relationship to his children.”50

Last revised: September 26, 2023

Acknowledgments

This biography was reviewed by Rory Costello and Jan Finkel and fact-checked by Larry DeFillipo.

Photo credit: National Baseball Hall of Fame Library.

Additional reading

Peter Ueberroth with Richard Levin and Amy Quinn, Made in America: His Own Story, New York: William Morrow (1985).

Notes

1 Ray Kennedy, “Miser with a Midas Touch,” Sports Illustrated, November 22, 1982.

2 Kennedy, “Miser with a Midas Touch.”

3 Helene Elliot, “How Peter Ueberroth saved the Olympics and revolutionized the Games,” Los Angeles Times, October 3, 2022, https://www.latimes.com/sports/olympics/story/2022-10-03/la84-peter-ueberroth-coliseum-100 (last accessed September 1, 2023).

4 Kennedy, “Miser with a Midas Touch.”

5 Robert Ajemian, “Master of the Games,” Time Magazine, January 7, 1985.

6 Jon J. Kerr, “Evanston native, former MLB commissioner Peter Ueberroth Joins Caddie Hall of Fame, Chicago Tribune, August 2, 2018, https://www.chicagotribune.com/suburbs/winnetka/sports/ct-evr-peter-ueberroth-wga-caddie-hall-of-fame-tl-0809-story.html (last accessed September 1, 2023).

7 Kerr, “Evanston native, former MLB commissioner Peter Ueberroth Joins Caddie Hall of Fame.”

8 Ajemian, “Master of the Games.”

9 Ajemian, “Master of the Games.”

10 Kennedy, “Miser with a Midas Touch.”

11 Kennedy, “Miser with a Midas Touch.”

12 Kennedy, “Miser with a Midas Touch.”

13 See SABR’s history of Olympic Stadium (Montreal).

14 Elliot, “How Peter Ueberroth saved the Olympics and revolutionized the Games.”

15 Kennedy, “Miser with a Midas Touch.”

16 Elliot, “How Peter Ueberroth saved the Olympics and revolutionized the Games.”

17 Dave Nightingale, “Ueberroth a 1-term commissioner,” The Sporting News, December 21, 1987; 44.

18 Mark Heisler, “After eight months as baseball commissioner, Peter Ueberroth has gained a reputation as a problem solver,” Los Angeles Times, June 3, 1985, https://www.latimes.com/archives/la-xpm-1985-06-03-sp-5685-story.html (last accessed September 1, 2023).

19 Joseph Durso, “Baseball Names Ueberroth to Replace Kuhn Oct. 1,” The New York Times, March 4, 1984: S1.

20 Jim Kaplan, “A Promising Entry into a Tough New Arena,” Sports Illustrated, October 22, 1984.

21 “Ueberroth doesn’t monkey around,” The San Bernadino County Sun, March 12, 1985: 36.

22 Hal Bock, “Mantle, Mays back in baseball,” The Gettysburg Times, March 19, 1985: 6.

23 Bock, “Mantle, Mays back in baseball.”

24 “Grand jury’s findings could be damaging,” Santa Cruz Sentinel, May 9, 1985: 13.

25 “Major-league players clash on drug testing issue.”

26 Murray Chass, “Baseball Strike Is Settled; Games to Resume Today,” New York Times, August 8, 1985; 1.

27 Erick Fernandez, “The Shortest Labor Stoppage in U.S. Sports History,” Vice, August 7, 2015, https://www.vice.com/en/article/wn3v5n/the-shortest-labor-stoppage-in-us-sports-history (last accessed July 3, 2023).

28 Maury Allen, “Kenesaw would have loved Ubie,” New York Post, August 9, 1985: 101.

29 Allen, “Kenesaw would have loved Ubie.”

30 Pat Calabria, “The Ueberroth Years,” Newsday (Long Island, NY), October 16, 1988: 29.

31 John Helyar, Lords of the Realm (e-book edition), New York: Ballantine Books (1995): 365.

32 George Vecsey, “Owners cash in on baseball’s hard times,” The Salina Journal (Kansas), April 7, 1986: 9.

33 “Baseball Commissioner Peter Ueberroth Friday punished 21 players,” UPI, February 28, 1986.

34 Bill Dwyre, “Ueberroth’s National Passion: In War on Drugs, Commissioner Moves Beyond Baseball,” Los Angeles Times, May 19, 1986.

35 “Chiles says collusion complaint by players ‘a bunch of garbage’,” New Braunfels (Texas) Herald-Zeitung, February 27, 1987: 10.

36 Dawson offered the Cubs a “blank check,” to sign for any amount they offered. They agreed to a contract worth $500,000 plus bonuses. Less than the $1,047,000 he received from the Expos the year prior.

37 Murray Chass, “Campanis is Out; Racial Remarks Cited by Dodgers,” The New York Times, April 9, 1987.

38 “Ueberroth ‘sensitive’ to minorities,” USA Today, April 22, 1987; B13.

39 Dick Young, “’Commissioner’ Ubie leaves Blacks out of cleanup spots,” New York Post, April 10, 1987: 118.

40 Nightingale, “Ueberroth a 1-term commissioner.”

41 Nightingale, “Ueberroth a 1-term commissioner.”

42 Phil Mushnick, “Ueberroth makes dollars, no sense,” New York Post, January 11, 1989: 57.

43 Richard Justice, “Baseball Signs with CBS for $1 Billion Over Four Years,” The Washington Post, December 15, 1988.

44 “Peter Victor Ueberroth,” MLB.com, https://www.mlb.com/official-information/about-mlb/commissioners/peter-ueberroth (last accessed July 5, 2023).

45 Marc Normandin, “The past, present, and future of MLB collusion, SB Nation, January 10, 2018, https://www.sbnation.com/mlb/2018/1/10/16863052/mlb-collusion-history-bud-selig-free-agency (last accessed July 5, 2023).

46 Calabria, “Goodbye, Commissioner”: 25.

47 Nightingale, “Ueberroth a 1-term commissioner.”

48 Kerr, “Evanston native, former MLB commissioner Peter Ueberroth Joins Caddie Hall of Fame.”

49 Ajemian, “Master of the Games.”

50 Robert McG. Thomas Jr, “The Man at the Center of it All,” The New York Times, July 22, 1984; S9.

“A man of deep moral conviction.” — Guy McElwaine, motion picture executive2

Francis T. Vincent Jr. was the eighth Commissioner of Major League Baseball. After serving as Deputy Commissioner under his dear friend Bart Giamatti, he assumed the top position on September 13, 1989, shortly after Giamatti’s sudden death at the age of 51.

Vincent was Commissioner for just short of three years, resigning under fire on September 7, 1992. He gave way to baseball’s Executive Council, composed of a group of franchise owners then headed by Bud Selig of the Milwaukee Brewers, who became “Acting Commissioner” until being named to the post officially in July 1998.

Vincent’s brief and turbulent tenure was marked by a variety of thorny issues, starting with the interruption of the 1989 World Series by the Loma Prieta earthquake that struck the San Francisco Bay area. He also contended with labor relations (the lockout of 1990), expansion, TV superstations, National League realignment, and the banishment from baseball of Yankees owner George Steinbrenner and pitcher Steve Howe.3 Ultimately, though, his stance on the Commissioner’s role differed fundamentally from those of too many club owners for him to keep his job.

As Vincent expressed in his letter of resignation, “I accepted the position believing the Commissioner has a higher duty and that sometimes decisions have to be made that are not in the best interests of some owners. Unique power was granted to the Commissioner of Baseball for sound reasons – to maintain the integrity of the game and to temper owner decisions predicated solely on self-interest. The Office should be maintained as a strong institution. My views on this have not changed.”

Vincent added, “I remind all that ownership of a baseball team is more than ownership of an ordinary business. Owners have a duty to take into consideration that they own a part of America’s national pastime – in trust. This trust sometimes requires putting self-interest second.”4

These principles led George Vecsey of the New York Times to dub Vincent “The Last Commissioner” – which Vincent later took as the title of his memoir.5

*****

Francis Thomas Vincent Jr. was born on May 29, 1938, in Waterbury, Connecticut. His father, Francis Sr. (1906-1984), who was also known as Fay (a nickname of Irish origin), came from the northwestern Connecticut town of Torrington. The elder Vincent was a 1931 graduate of Yale University. He was captain of the baseball team, which was then coached by Smoky Joe Wood, who had won fame as a Boston Red Sox pitcher. Fay Sr. also played football and captained that squad for Yale.6

Upon graduating from Yale, Fay Sr. took a job digging holes for light poles with Connecticut Light & Power. It was the Great Depression, and physical work was not beneath him; also, utility work was relatively safe from layoffs. Eventually he moved into an office job. In 1941, he found a new employer, the New England Telephone Company in New Haven. While still in Waterbury, he continued to play baseball in the City Amateur League, which boasted of talent like future Yankees pitcher Spec Shea. After he stopped playing sports, “Big Fay” became an official in the National Football League and the All-America Football Conference, as well as a baseball umpire.7

Vincent Sr.’s wife, Alice (née Lynch, 1905-1966), came from Waterbury. She was “a kindergarten teacher and grammarian of the first order.”8 There were two other children in the family, sisters Joanna and Barbara, who arrived after Fay Jr. Alice’s son honored her commitment to education by funding scholarships in her name at Central Connecticut State University and Fairfield University. He did likewise for his father at Yale.9

The Vincents were a devout Irish-Catholic family, and Fay Jr. maintained his deep faith throughout his life. He established The Fay Vincent, Jr. ’60 Catholic Faith and Culture Lecture Series at his alma mater, Williams College.10 At Yale, where he studied law, he established a Fellowship in Catholic Faith & Culture.11

Vincent père was a fan of the Philadelphia Athletics, and together he and young Fay would listen to their games on the radio. However, the boy became a New York Yankees fan thanks to father-son trips to Yankee Stadium (always when the A’s were visiting).12 The Yankees’ primary star then was Joe DiMaggio; reminiscing in 2014, Vincent called him “the finest baseball player I ever saw play our delicate little game.” He added, “Much later, when I got to know Joe well, I never failed to feel as if I were in the presence of a deity.”13

After attending Putnam Grammar School in Hamden (which adjoins New Haven to the north), Fay Jr. went to Hotchkiss, a prep school in Lakeville, Connecticut, which his father had gone to previously. He made friends there with William “Bucky” Bush, younger brother of George H.W. Bush, who became 41st President of the United States. Bucky was a hulking 6-foot-5 and 270 pounds, but Fay wasn’t much smaller at 6-foot-3 and 240. After their senior year, the two big youths went to Texas to work as roughnecks in the oil fields.14

Vincent then went to Williams, a small liberal arts college in Williamstown, Massachusetts. He was recruited to play football and was captain of the freshman team.15

On the afternoon of December 10, 1956, the 18-year-old suffered a life-changing accident. He’s told the story often over the years, but one especially detailed account came nearly 60 years later in a wide-ranging interview with Erik Malinowski of Just a Bit Outside (a short-lived baseball affinity website run by Fox Sports). Vincent was having a nap, and his suitemates locked him in his room as a prank. He needed to use the men’s room, but rather than use his garbage can, Vincent decided to step out of his fourth-floor window and regain access to the suite through an adjacent window. The ledge was slippery with ice, and he fell. As it happened, about halfway down he hit a steel railing, which he believed prevented death.16

Vincent was temporarily paralyzed and had to undergo a year of therapy. The regimen included grueling exercise under the direction of Yale swimming coach Bob Kiphuth.17 He made a remarkable recovery, aided by his positive attitude, which was reinforced by his mother. Alice stressed that even though he could no longer take part in sports, his mental powers still formed the basis of a bright future.18

According to a September 1989 account, Vincent also credited baseball for helping him survive the ordeal. “My entire day was geared around waiting for that Yankee game,” he said. “When there was no game it was very sad.”19 The next month, he added, “I remember vividly when Gil McDougald hit Herb Score with that line drive [May 7, 1957]. I saw the games on Channel 11 in New Haven. Mel Allen and Red Barber. Ballantine blasts and White Owl cigars.”20

As a 1990 story by Ross Newhan of the Los Angeles Times also recounted, he’d intended to become a priest, but “Jesuits in the Boston area, believing he was not strong enough to cope with their training regimen, [rejected] his application. ‘I was fortunate,’ Vincent said, looking back. ‘I had to learn to walk again. If I hadn’t been 18 and in good shape, I might not have been able to recover.’”21

Vincent regained about 50% of the function in his legs22 and relied on a cane. Later in life he developed painful arthritis.

While in college, Vincent stayed connected to the Williams football team by covering it as a reporter for a local paper, the Berkshire Eagle. He benefited from the tutelage of Eagle sports editor Roger O’Gara, later writing, “[O’Gara] taught me to consider carefully the importance of each word. . .I am grateful to Roger for taking the time to counsel a young man who wanted to learn to write well.”23

Vincent graduated in 1960 – as scheduled despite his injury rehab – cum laude and Phi Beta Kappa. He then went to Yale Law School, earning an LL.D. in 1963. His first job out of law school was with the firm of Whitman and Ransom in New York City. He was an associate there from 1963 through 1968. On July 3, 1965, he married Valerie McMahon. They had three children: Anne was followed by twins William and Edward.

In 1968, Vincent moved to Washington, D.C., where he took a job with the firm of Caplin & Drysdale. He made partner, specializing in corporate, banking, and securities law. In 1978, he joined the Securities and Exchange Commission in Washington as associate director of the Division of Corporate Finance. “Although not at the SEC long, he valued the experience. In fact, because of his work at the commission, he urges young lawyers to seek some government service.”24

Roughly six months after starting at the SEC, Vincent received a call from his friend Herbert Allen Jr., Williams Class of 1962. Allen was president of his family business, the investment bank Allen & Company. In 1973, that firm had purchased a controlling interest in Columbia Pictures, and Allen was an influential member of the movie studio’s board of directors. Columbia was going through a management shakeup that was unusual even by Hollywood standards. Allen thought it necessary to bring in an outsider. By one account, “‘Nobody knows him,’ Allen told his lawyer that day. ‘Nobody can lay a glove on him. We need a healer in this situation.’” And, in an oddly prophetic remark, Allen said, “We need a Judge Landis,” referring to the first Commissioner of Baseball.25

Thus, Vincent became President and Chief Executive Officer of Columbia. Although he was completely new to the industry, “he knew who to ask” about learning.26 For him, though, the job wasn’t about moviemaking per se. “I never read a script. Running a movie company is very much an exercise in risk management.”27

Columbia put out some major hits in the next several years, including Kramer vs. Kramer (1979), Gandhi (1982), and Tootsie (also 1982). As Vincent noted in a self-deprecating way, though, the record also included the notorious flop Ishtar (1987).28

The Coca-Cola Company purchased Columbia in 1982. Vincent served as an executive vice president of the beverage giant until July 1988. He resigned after “he was taken out of the entertainment division and put into Coke International. ‘I couldn’t get motivated about selling Sprite in Thailand,’ he said.”29 He then returned to Caplin & Drysdale, in its New York office.

Soon, however, A. Bartlett Giamatti called. Giamatti and Vincent had become friends after meeting at a party given by a mutual friend named Peter Knipe.30 Even though their rooting interests were opposite – Giamatti was a devoted Red Sox fan – they had much in common, including a love of literature. They also shared ties to Yale, where Giamatti had been president from 1978 to 1986.

Giamatti became president of the National League in 1986 and was elected to succeed Peter Ueberroth as Commissioner of Baseball in September 1988. He began in that position in April 1989. Knowing that he needed help on the business side, he created the role of Deputy Commissioner expressly for Vincent.31

The most notable event of Giamatti’s time as Commissioner was the lifetime ban from baseball of Pete Rose. With his legal training, Vincent played a major role in these proceedings, working with Special Counsel John Dowd. Vincent wondered why Rose didn’t make a clean breast of his gambling on baseball but later conjectured that Rose followed “the code among criminals. . . admit to nothing.” He added, “I think Rose’s ultimate failing as a person was the thing that made him great as a player: his arrogance.”32

Just five months after Giamatti took over for Ueberroth – and eight days after Rose’s ban took effect – fate took a turn. A year later, Ronald Blum of the Washington Post captured the events neatly:

“Friday, Sept. 1, 1989. The start of a long, lazy Labor Day weekend.

Fay Vincent was sitting on the sundeck of his Cape Cod summer home when the phone rang about 3 p.m. Bobby Brown, the American League president, was on the line with word that Bart Giamatti had had a heart attack.

Within an hour Vincent would learn – by radio – that his friend and boss, the baseball commissioner, was dead.”33

As it happened, Giamatti was stricken at his summer home on the island of Martha’s Vineyard, off Cape Cod. In fact, both weekends before Giamatti died, he and Vincent had shared charter flights to the Vineyard, with Vincent catching another plane to Harwich after they said goodbye.34

The next day, the Executive Council – then headed by Brown and National League President Bill White – named Vincent Acting Commissioner.35 On Tuesday, September 12, the Council unanimously recommended that Vincent fill the remainder of Giamatti’s five-year term.36 MLB’s owners – who then numbered 26 – held a special joint meeting before the regularly scheduled American and National League meetings on Wednesday, September 13. They voted unanimously to accept the Council’s recommendation. Ross Newhan wrote that there were no other candidates, according to Bobby Brown, and no call for a search committee. He also provided glowing quotes about Vincent from Dodgers owner Peter O’Malley.37

Vincent had spoken with Giamatti’s widow, Toni (and others), about whether to step into her late husband’s role. He wrestled with the decision but said, “I was advised . . . I ought to take it. I think it’s something Bart would have wanted. We’ll never know for sure, but that’s what I would have believed.”38

As Milwaukee sportswriter Tom Haudricourt observed in 2014, however, the “honeymoon would be short. . .Vincent was forced to hit the ground running.”39 Just over a month after he became Commissioner, the biggest natural disaster ever to strike a U.S. sporting event occurred. On October 17, 1989, an earthquake measuring 6.9 on the Richter scale hit the San Francisco Bay area. Game Three of the 1989 World Series between the San Francisco Giants and Oakland A’s was just about to begin at San Francisco’s Candlestick Park. Vincent was seated in his field-level box waiting for Giants legend Willie Mays to throw out the first pitch. Erik Malinowski’s 2014 story presented a vivid, in-depth account of the subsequent events and Vincent’s response to the crisis. He had to grapple with the decision of whether to continue the Series and if so, where.

“I was proud of what happened,” he told Malinowski, “partly because I wasn’t sure whether I was making a good set of decisions. You never know.” He likened the circumstances to those in London during the Blitz and viewed Winston Churchill as a role model, noting, “You have to recognize that, in a crisis, there are some institutions that have to survive.”40

However, Vincent often credited the presence and action of San Francisco Police Department Commander Isiah Nelson during the crisis. As the Commissioner later recounted, Nelson said, “We have decisions to make and we have to make them fast. You are in charge here.” Vincent’s response: “No, Commander. You are in charge. Whatever you advise me to do, we will do.”41

Some months later, labor strife reached another flashpoint. A full examination of the 32-day spring training lockout that ended on March 19, 1990, is beyond the scope of this biography (one may refer to The Imperfect Diamond: A History of Baseball’s Labor Wars by Lee Lowenfish). Suffice it to say that Vincent was instrumental in ending the lockout with his efforts to hammer out a compromise in forging a new Basic Agreement between players and owners. As an entry in the book Principles and Practice of Sport Management put it, though, “Many people cite. . .Vincent’s intervention in the lockout – which he did because of his belief that it was in the best interest of baseball and the best interest of the fans – as the beginning of the end of his term.”

Vincent’s rapport with the owners had roots in the conspiracy among major-league teams against free agents after the 1985 season, which continued through 1987. As Vincent later summarized it, “I told the owners, ‘The single biggest reality you guys have to face is collusion. You stole $280 million from the players, and the players are unified to a man around that issue and many of you are still involved.” In Vincent’s view, the subsequent expansion was a way of “getting new owners to pay for the old owners’ sins.”42

As the 1990 season progressed, George Steinbrenner came to occupy Vincent’s attention. “The Boss” of the Yankees – also a Williams alum – had previously chided Vincent that he “looked like a bum” for being unshaven and tieless in a TV appearance following the Loma Prieta quake.43 Soon, however, Steinbrenner found himself in hot water because it had come to light that he’d hired Howie Spira to dig up dirt on Dave Winfield. On July 30, Vincent – acting on input from John Dowd, again serving as Special Counsel – banned Steinbrenner for life from taking part in club operations, though he was allowed to retain his principal ownership. Oddly enough, Vincent wanted it to be just a two-year suspension, “but Steinbrenner opted for life instead.”44

Almost two years later, Vincent rescinded the ban, effective March 1, 1993 – by which time he was no longer Commissioner.45 Previously, the $22 million lawsuit that Yankees executive Leonard Kleinman had filed against Vincent and Dowd – alleging that their investigation was unfair and biased – had been dropped.

In early 1991, a new issue cropped up: the plan for the NL to expand into Colorado and Florida, and how the $190 million in entry fees would be divided between the NL (to which both of the franchises had been allocated) and the AL. Vincent said that the expansion could not be blocked and that if the dispute could not be resolved through negotiations, he would make a binding ruling before the expansion process began.46 As it turned out, he awarded the AL $42 million and decreed that the “junior circuit” would supply half (36 out of 72) of the players to be drafted.47 Under the previous rules, the NL would have kept all of the money but supplied all of the players. In an acerbic seven-page opinion, Vincent revisited his core belief. “The squabbling with baseball, the finger-pointing, the tendency to see economic issues as moral ones . . . all of these are contributing to our joint fall from grace,” he said. “If we in baseball seek the respect and loyalty of the fans who are the true owners of the game, we must be deserving in our actions. I suggest we start now.”48

In June 1992, Vincent expressed his view that “superstations deprive fans of a wide range of options. We wish to provide fans exposure to all baseball teams.” He sought an act of Congress to repeal a relevant section of copyright law. However, he was opposed by consumer advocates, the National Association of Broadcasters, and the cable industry – not to mention the owners of two superstations that also were club owners: WTBS (the Atlanta Braves under Ted Turner) and WGN (the Chicago Cubs under Tribune Co.).49 This could well have been a factor in why those franchises were not among those who backed Vincent when the resolution requesting his resignation came up for a vote several weeks later.

That same month, the disciplinary situation with talented – but drug- and alcohol-plagued – pitcher Steve Howe came to a head. The previous December, Howe had been arrested in Montana on a misdemeanor charge of trying to buy a gram of cocaine. It was his seventh incident related to drugs or alcohol, and Vincent suspended Howe on June 8 following Howe’s guilty plea in U.S. District Court. Later that month. Howe informed Vincent that he did not wish to meet with him to discuss the plea. Vincent responded with a permanent ban, finding that Howe had “finally extinguished his opportunity to play major league baseball.” As it developed, an arbitrator overturned the ban that November, after Vincent had been forced out of his job.50 Howe returned to the majors from 1993 through June 1996.

Yet another contentious issue reached a boiling point that summer: realignment of the National League. In March 1992, before the season began, the NL owners voted 10-2 in favor of moving the Chicago Cubs and the St. Louis Cardinals into the NL West, with the Cincinnati Reds and Atlanta Braves swapping into the NL East. But the Cubs were one of the two dissenting votes (along with the Mets). Their opposition was rooted in a concern that WGN ratings and revenues would suffer; and, under the NL constitution, they had veto power because they were one of the clubs affected by the proposed change. However, Vincent was asked to intervene, and in early July, he invoked his “best interests of the game” powers to order the realignment.51

The Cubs’ owner, Tribune Co., sued and sought a temporary injunction, which was granted by U.S. District Court Judge Suzanne B. Conlon on July 23. Judge Conlon wrote that Vincent “probably exceeded his authority.”52 Vincent filed for an appeal, which was to be heard on September 30. In the interim, though, he quit – and in late September, the Executive Council stopped fighting the injunction, effectively bringing the matter to a close.53 As it turned out, realignment was not far off anyway – in September 1993, the owners approved the three-division format, which went into effect in 1994.

As the summer of 1992 wore on, pressure on Vincent from the owners mounted. Chief among their critiques was “leadership style,” which one may read as not fully representing the owners’ position. As of August 20, he was pushing back actively, addressing his legal position in a letter to the owners. He had also hired top-notch attorney Brendan Sullivan, who’d represented Oliver North in the Iran-Contra Senate committee hearings.54

On September 3, a special meeting of the 28 owners was held in Chicago to vote on a resolution calling for Vincent’s resignation. The Commissioner himself did not attend. The vote was 18-9 in favor, with one abstention (Marge Schott of Cincinnati left the meeting early).

By at least one account, the teams backing Vincent included Montreal, Houston, the New York Mets, Boston, Oakland, and Florida (one of the new expansion clubs). In particular, he received support from Baltimore, whose owner then, Eli Jacobs, was a Yale Law contemporary, and Texas, then controlled by George W. Bush, part of the family that had long enjoyed friendship with Vincent. The future 43rd U.S. President said, “It doesn’t matter what the vote is. We are dealing with a man. . .of principle and integrity. He’s not going to leave, because he believes it is not what’s right for him, but what’s right for baseball.”55

Indeed, Vincent’s initial response was that he would not yield. Upon reflection, however, he gave way. To cite another passage from his resignation letter, “Litigation does nothing to address the serious problems of baseball. I cannot govern as Commissioner without the consent of owners to be governed. I do not believe that consent is now available to me. Simply put, I’ve concluded resignation – not litigation – should be my final act as Commissioner ‘in the best interests’ of Baseball.”56

Erik Malinowski’s article also contains Vincent’s frank look back at and assessment of his time as Commissioner. He stated, “The tragedy of my life – and there are a lot of them – but one of them in baseball is that I was a failure. . .They [the owners] were trying to roll back 20 years of disastrous negotiations with the union. Marvin Miller had taken their jock strap, and they wanted to do it all at once. And my great failure – and I’m sorry about it – was that I was right, you can’t do it, but they had to try. And I wish I could’ve talked them out of it.”

“I made a lot of mistakes,” he added. “One mistake I made was to think that if I got the issues right and made good decisions, everything else would take care of itself. That’s not true. I made some decisions that were absolutely correct, in my world, by my standards, but they were politically difficult.”57

Shortly after leaving office, Vincent underwent surgery to relieve pressure on spinal nerves, a consequence of his accident in college.58 He also spent four months in England, where he “read a lot of books and sorted out a lot of things.” He then accepted a senior advisory role at Peter J. Solomon & Co., a small investment banking house in New York City. As fortune would have it, the firm’s office was at 350 Park Avenue – the same address as Major League Baseball.59

Vincent continued to occupy himself with business and educational interests. He became a director of various corporations, including Time-Warner. He served as a trustee of Williams College for 18 years and of Carleton College for six years and was chairman of the board at Hotchkiss. He views that work as a major aspect of his legacy.60 His bequest to Fairfield University, a Jesuit school, reflected his respect for Jesuit education’s emphasis on quality academic programs, social responsibility, and leadership.61 “The “nobility of education” is another of his core beliefs.62

Vincent was back in the news in early 1994 as he submitted a proposal for a memoir to be titled “And the Horse They Rode in On: My Tumultuous Years as Baseball Commissioner.” Jerry Reinsdorf and Bud Selig came in for sharp criticism.63 As Ross Newhan expressed it, the 40-page proposal “displayed the extent of [Vincent’s] bitterness at being forced from office.”64 Selig was branded “a smalltown schlepper” and “the emblem of baseball’s decline.”65

Also in 1994, Vincent and Valerie were divorced. He subsequently married Christina Watkins in 1998. They spent their summers in New Canaan, Connecticut, and wintered in Vero Beach, Florida.

Meanwhile, in November 1994, Vincent withdrew “And the Horse They Rode in On” from his publisher, returning a $150,000 advance. “His associates had argued against the project, saying anything he wrote would appear to be sour grapes.” Vincent himself remarked, “I guess I decided I’d been very quiet about baseball and all that was going on, and I decided to keep it that way.”66

Meanwhile, his collaborator, David Kaplan of Newsweek, sought to publish the nearly complete book under his own name and sued Vincent.67 However, the book (also known as Baseball Breaks Your Heart) never surfaced.

Controversy about that project lingered. Among other things, the book proposal also portrayed Peter O’Malley as a “nitwit” and “bigot.” In another Ross Newhan article for the Los Angeles Times, from August 1998, Vincent disclaimed that description, saying that those words were Kaplan’s choice.68 Kaplan later took issue with that statement in a letter to the Times.69 Another notable aspect of the Newhan story, however, was its discussion of Bud Selig’s effort to mend fences with Vincent and their exchange of compliments.

Vincent returned to being a baseball executive in late 1997 as president and chairman of the board of the New England Collegiate Baseball League, a wood-bat summer circuit. In 1999, the NECBL named its championship trophy the Fay Vincent, Sr. Cup. Fay Jr. retired from this role in 2004.

A different memoir, The Last Commissioner (which was shaped with the help of Sports Illustrated writer Michael Bamberger) came out in 2002. Its subtitle was A Baseball Valentine, a proclamation of Vincent’s love for the game. He credited a friend from the film business, super-agent Irving “Swifty” Lazar, for that phrase.70

This devotion also bore more fruit. Inspired by Lawrence Ritter’s The Glory of Their Times, Vincent embarked on his Baseball Oral History Project, in which he interviewed an array of stars from a period spanning six decades. There were three volumes, each with a subtitle on the theme of players – as well as umpire Bruce Froemming and labor leader Marvin Miller – talking about the game they loved.

• The Only Game in Town (2006): Focus – the 1930s and 1940s
• We Would Have Played for Nothing (2009): Focus – the 1950s and 1960s
• It’s What’s Inside the Lines That Counts (2010): Focus – the 1970s and 1980s

Around the early 1990s, Vincent had listened to the audiotapes of Ritter’s interviews and formed the notion to emulate the effort. He mentioned the idea to old friend Herb Allen, who encouraged him. The pair set up and funded a foundation, working in concert with the National Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown. Vincent’s interviews were all videotaped.71 The books cover 31 subjects in total, but there were others too, including several Negro Leaguers and broadcaster Harry Kalas.

Over the years, Vincent granted many lengthy, candid interviews. For around 40 years, he wrote op-ed columns, with many in the Wall Street Journal and others in the New York Times and Washington Post.

To cite just one of his many public remarks about baseball, in 2013 he called Warren Spahn “the most intelligent player I ever talked to about the game.”72 However, he did not refrain from offering views on baseball’s greatest controversies, such as performance-enhancing drugs and gambling.

Decades after Pete Rose’s ban was issued, the Hit King’s name remained in the news, and Vincent weighed in with his position. In 2015, he remained emphatic that Rose should not be allowed into the Hall of Fame. He expressed it this way: “I’ve always thought it’s not whether he deserves mercy, it’s about the deterrent. . .Gambling in major league baseball does not exist because the deterrent is so draconian.”73 In 2023, he continued to express concern about betting and baseball.74

Vincent also remained unwavering in his view of baseball’s place in society. In an April 2021 op-ed for the Wall Street Journal, he stated, “American people view baseball as a public trust.”75 This echoed his observation in ending the introduction to his memoir: “Baseball is in the public domain. The game is ours.”

Postscript

Fay Vincent died at a hospital in Vero Beach of complications from bladder cancer on February 1, 2025. He was 86.

Acknowledgments

Special thanks to fellow SABR members and Williams College alumni Fay Vincent and Vincent Cannato for their input. Mr. Vincent sent information via e-mail on July 24 and 27, 2023.

Thanks also to Cassidy Lent at the National Baseball Hall of Fame and Library for providing the remarkably voluminous Vincent clippings file.

This biography was reviewed by Gregory H. Wolf and Jan Finkel and fact-checked by Paul Proia.

Additional Sources

About Us | New England Collegiate Baseball League (necbl.com)

For further reading and viewing

Vincent’s career – in the movie industry as well as baseball – is well covered in John Helyar, The Lords of the Realm, New York: Ballantine Books (1994).

John McMurray, chair of SABR’s Oral History Committee, “McMurray: An interview with Fay Vincent on baseball oral history – Society for American Baseball Research”

Library of Congress catalog listing for the Fay Vincent Oral History Project Collection

Notes

1 Ross Newhan, “Vincent Is Unanimous Selection as Giamatti’s Replacement,” Los Angeles Times, September 14, 1989.

2 John Helyar, The Lords of the Realm, New York: Ballantine Books (1994).

3 Dave Sell, “Baseball’s Vincent Resigns,” Washington Post, September 8, 1992.

4 Various newspapers quoted excerpts from this letter, but the entire text was printed in the New York Times and USA Today on September 8, 1992.

5 George Vecsey, “Baseball: Fay Vincent Speaks from Exile,” New York Times, June 25, 1993. Vincent gave credit in his introduction. See Fay Vincent, The Last Commissioner, New York: Simon & Schuster (2002): xi.

6 Vincent, The Last Commissioner: 39.

7 Vincent, The Last Commissioner: 37, 43.

8 Owen Canfield, “Fay Vincent’s Story Goes Far Beyond Baseball,” Hartford Courant, September 6, 2015.

9 “Fay Vincent gives Fairfield University $2 million for scholarships,” Fairfield University press release, December 1, 1996 (https://www.fairfield.edu/news/press-releases//1996/december/fay-vincent-gives-fairfield-university-2-million-for-scholarships.html).

10 “Peter Kreeft, Inaugural Fay Vincent, Jr. ’60 Catholic Faith and Culture Lecturer,” Williams College news release, March 28, 2002 (https://communications.williams.edu/news-releases/peter-kreeft-inaugural-fay-vincent-jr-60catholic-faith-and-culture-lecturer/).

11 “St. Thomas More Fellowships, Yale University website (https://stm.yale.edu/fellowships).

12 Vincent, The Last Commissioner: 39.

13 Fay Vincent, “Fay Vincent: Yankees great DiMaggio remains baseball’s measuring stick,” Treasure Coast News, November 24, 2014.

14 Paul Hendrickson, “Up to Bat for Baseball,” Washington Post, July 10, 1990.

15 Michael Schulder, “The Fay Vincent Sessions,” Medium.com, October 20, 2015 (https://medium.com/@schuldermichael/fay-vincent-s-cane-c179b0dcffea).

16 Erik Malinowski, “Fay Vincent Gets the Last Word,” Fox Sports – Just a Bit Outside (JABO), October 2014 – precise date presently unavailable (https://www.foxsports.com/stories/other/fay-vincent-gets-the-last-word).

17 Fay Vincent, “A Catastrophic Accident, Then the Gift of Learning How to Live,” New York Times, December 7, 2019.

18 Vincent, The Last Commissioner: 55-56.

19 Richard Justice, “It’s Unanimous,” Washington Post, September 14, 1989.

20 Steve Wulf, “A Man in Command,” Sports Illustrated, October 30, 1989.

21 Newhan, “Vincent Is Unanimous Selection as Giamatti’s Replacement.”

22 Hendrickson, “Up to Bat for Baseball.”

23 Fay Vincent, “What Happened to the Great Sports Writer?”, Fox News, Agust 6, 2011 (https://www.foxnews.com/opinion/what-happened-to-the-great-sports-writer).

24 George Harvey Cain, Turning Points: New Paths & Second Careers for Lawyers, Volume 2, Chicago, Illinoi: ABA Publishing (2009): 7.

25 Richard Justice, “From Business to Baseball, Vincent Thrives,” Washington Post, September 15, 1989.

26 Justice, “From Business to Baseball, Vincent Thrives.”

27 Hendrickson, “Up to Bat for Baseball.”

28 Wulf, “A Man in Command.”

29 Hendrickson, “Up to Bat for Baseball.”

30 Vincent, The Last Commissioner: 70. Another guest was author Peter Benchley, and by some accounts, it was Benchley’s party.

31 Wulf, “A Man in Command.”

32 Vincent, The Last Commissioner: 127.

33 Ronald Blum, “Commissioner Has a Way of Working Out of Trouble,” Washington Post, September 1, 1990.

34 Hendrickson, “Up to Bat for Baseball.”

35 Mike Tully, “Vincent named acting commissioner by Executive Council,” United Press International, September 2, 1989.

36 “Vincent Is on the Verge of Assuming Top Spot,” Deseret News, September 13, 1989.

37 Newhan, “Vincent Is Unanimous Selection as Giamatti’s Replacement.”

38 Justice, “It’s Unanimous.”

39 Tom Haudricourt, “Bud Selig’s tenure as commissioner included major issues,” Milwaukee Journal Sentinel, December 25, 2014.

40 Malinoswki, “Fay Vincent Gets the Last Word.”

41 Vincent, The Last Commissioner: 155.

42 Vincent, The Last Commissioner: 280.

43 Vincent, The Last Commissioner: 159.

44 Murray Chass, “Baseball: Faced with Suspension, Steinbrenner Sought an Alternative,” New York Times, August 1, 1990.

45 Murray Chass, “Baseball: Vincent Grants March 1 Return to Steinbrenner,” New York Times, July 25, 1992.

46 Steve Berkowitz, “Vincent Says Haggling Can’t Halt NL Expansion,” Washington Post, February 12, 1991.

47 Ross Newhan, “Vincent Gives AL Part of NL Expansion Fees,” Los Angeles Times, June 7, 1991.

48 “Vincent Gives AL a Slice of NL Expansion Pie,” Deseret News, June 7, 1991.

49 “Vincent Wants Congress to Get Rid of Superstations,” Deseret News, June 8, 1992.

50 “Arbitrator Reinstates Howe from Lifetime Ban,” Washington Post, November 13, 1992. “Baseball: Howe Won’t Meet Vincent,” New York Times, June 20, 1992. Murray Chass, “Baseball: Permanent Ban Imposed on Howe by Commissioner,” New York Times, June 25, 1992.

51 Mark Maske, “Cubs, Cards Change with Braves, Reds,” Washington Post, July 7, 1992.

52 Michael Abramowitz, “Judge Blocks Vincent’s Move of Cubs,” Washington Post, July 24, 1992.

53 Dave Sell, “NL Realignment Halted,” Washington Post, September 25, 1992.

54 “Baseball owners ask Vincent to resign,” United Press International, September 4, 1992.

55 Dave Sell, “18 Owners tell Vincent to Quit,” Washington Post, September 4, 1992.

56 “Baseball: Resigning ‘in the Best Interests of Baseball,’” New York Times, September 8, 1992.

57 Malinoswki, “Fay Vincent Gets the Last Word.”

58 “Fay Vincent Has Spinal Surgery,” Los Angeles Times, October 23, 1992.

59 Gerri Willis, “Vincent is pitching deal-making advice,” Crain’s New York Business, September 27, 1993.

60 E-mail from Fay Vincent to Rory Costello, July 27, 2023.

61 “Fay Vincent gives Fairfield University $2 million for scholarships.”

62 As expressed in Vincent’s June 2011 foreword to “Ephs in the Major Leagues,” Rory Costello’s compilation of SABR BioProject stories about men from Williams College.

63 “Vincent Rips Reinsdorf, Selig in Book Proposal, Chicago Tribune, March 4, 1994.

64 Ross Newhan, “Dunston Might Be Ready to Reclaim Spot,” Los Angeles Times, March 16, 1994.

65 “Former Baseball Official Won’t Be Pitching a Book,” Deseret News, November 24, 1994.

66 “Baseball,” Washington Post, November 24, 1994.

67 Dean Chadwin, “Writer Cries Balk, Sues to Publish The Secret Story of Fay Vincent,” New York Observer, October 13, 1997. According to this story, Vincent had another reason to withdraw the book. He was a member of the board of Time Warner Inc., the parent corporation of the publisher (Little, Brown) and reportedly sought to head the board’s compensation committee, However, Gerald Levin, then Time Warner’s CEO, told Vincent that his contract with Little, Brown presented a conflict of interest.

68 Ross Newhan, “Talkin’ Baseball with Fay Vincent,” Los Angeles Times, August 11, 1998.

69 “Writer Is Throwing Book at Vincent,” Los Angeles Times, December 19, 1998.

70 Vincent, The Last Commissioner: xi-xii.

71 Fay Vincent, The Only Game in Town, New York: Simon & Schuster (2007): 1-2.

72 Fay Vincent, “Fay Vincent: Warren Spahn was – and still is – the real deal,” Treasure Coast News, July 16, 2013.

73 Dom Amore, “Fay Vincent Remains Emphatic: Don’t Let Pete Rose in Hall of Fame,” Hartford Courant, October 8, 2015.

74 Don Laible, “Former Commissioner Concerned with Baseball and Betting,” Bradenton (Florida) Times, February 12, 2023.

75 Fay Vincent, Rob Manfred’s All-Star Error,” Wall Street Journal, April 6, 2021.