Born on April 15, 1877, in Latrobe, Pennsylvania, Edward James Abbaticchio was the sixth of nine children of Italian immigrants Archangelo Rafaelle Abbaticchio and Maria Filomena Sorrentino.1 The son of a grocer,2 Archangelo, who claimed that his place of birth was Lecca (probably a misspelling for Lecce),3 was a barber who married Maria, a native of Castellammare (currently Castellammare di Stabia), in 1868 and had five children by her before leaving Italy.4 But when he left Italy is another matter. In a letter published in the December 19, 1952, issue of the Latrobe Bulletin, Archangelo’s daughter Pauline wrote that her father immigrated to the United States in 1873 and then sent for Maria and four of their children in 1875,5 and this is the commonly accepted story.6 However, on a passport application in 1910, Archangelo had typed, or had someone type for him, that he had departed from Italy on July 16, 1875. And even though the month and day are obviously wrong because there is newspaper evidence proving that he was already living in the United States by February 17, 1875, the year is supported by data found in both the 1900 and 1910 Federal Census records.7 As for Maria and the four children, the passenger list for the ship Olympia shows them arriving in New York City on December 23, 1875.8

Once in the States, Archangelo traveled to Latrobe, Pennsylvania, where he was subsequently joined by his wife and children and where the Benedictine monks of the Saint Vincent Archabbey assisted him in establishing a barbershop.9 This business enterprise would serve as a launching pad for a series of such shops that he would eventually open in three southwestern Pennsylvania counties.10 But Archangelo did not limit himself to cutting hair. At least as early as 1882, he began purchasing a number of residential and commercial buildings, including a hotel in Latrobe, of which he became the proprietor on April 1, 1889.11

In addition, in Latrobe Archangelo had four more children by Maria, the first of whom was Ed. Not much information can be found about Ed’s childhood, but it is known that he attended Saint Vincent College during the 1891-1892, 1892-1893, and 1895-1896 academic years, taking classical courses, and that in 1895, he earned a Master of Accounts degree from St. Mary’s College (now Belmont Abbey College) in North Carolina.12

When and why Ed became interested in sports is anyone’s guess. However, by 1894, he was in the lineup of the Latrobe baseball town team.13 Then, beginning in 1895 and continuing through the 1900 season, he could be found playing football for the Latrobe YMCA, later referred to as the Latrobe Athletic Club, which in 1897 fielded an all openly professional team.14 And although he would be best remembered for his exploits on the diamond, he thrived on the gridiron. As a fullback, placekicker, punter, and kickoff and punt returner, Abbaticchio developed into one of the stars for the Latrobers and helped his club to achieve 40 victories and compile a .723 winning percentage.15 Some of his personal highlights were

• scoring all his team’s points in Latrobe’s victories over West Virginia University in 1896, the Duquesne Country & Athletic Club in 1900, and archrival Greensburg also in 1900;
• rushing for two touchdowns, being the key blocker on a teammate’s 60-yard run for a touchdown, and kicking seven extra points and a field goal in a defeat of the Pittsburgh Athletic Club in 1897;
• and booting the decisive extra point for a close win over Greensburg in 1898.16

In fact, he performed so well in 1897 that when a Pittsburgh sports expert selected a western Pennsylvania all-star team from the amateur, college, and professional players in the area, he chose Abbaticchio as his fullback.17

Abbaticchio’s prowess with the pigskin, however, led to the first controversy surrounding his name. According to sportswriter and notable college football historian Allison Danzig, “[Fielding] Yost[, the renowned college football coach,] was quoted as saying that the first person he ever saw kick a spiral punt was Eddie Abbaticcho [sic], a professional player, at Latrobe, Pennsylvania, in 1906.”18 But unfortunately for Yost, his words have gotten distorted over the years to say that he credited Abbaticchio with being the first person to kick a spiral punt, something that he never claimed.19 Furthermore, it is generally believed by college football historians that Princeton star Alexander Moffat was the real inventor of the spiral punt during the first half of the 1880s, though it is possible that sometime later Abbaticchio discovered for himself the technique of lofting such a punt. As for the date that Yost observed Abbaticchio’s punting skills, it is more likely that he witnessed them on November 13 and/or 14, 1896, when West Virginia University, where Yost was a student and a member of the football team, played back-to-back games against Latrobe in Latrobe, than in 1906.20 West Virginia and Latrobe clashed another time when Yost and Abbaticchio would have been on opposite sides of the line of scrimmage, but that game was not held in Latrobe.21

Without giving up his football career, Abbaticchio became a member of the Greensburg Athletic Association’s baseball club in either 1896 or 1897.22 This, in turn, led to his being signed to a contract by the Philadelphia Phillies on September 2 of the latter year and making his big-league debut with them as a second baseman against the Cleveland Spiders on September 4.23 But two days thereafter, he broke a bone in his right hand when he crashed into Cleveland catcher Chief Zimmer while attempting to score and was sidelined for the rest of the season.24 Yet, Abbaticchio’s brief stint in a Phillies uniform opens the door to two more controversies surrounding his name: Was he the first Italian American major leaguer? And was he the first professional two-sport athlete? Because of a lack of conclusive evidence, neither controversy can be unequivocally resolved, though from the information available, it is possible to determine with a reasonable degree of accuracy answers to these questions.

Regarding the former matter, the extensive research of Lawrence Baldassaro, supplemented by that of Charlie Bevis, Angelo Louisa, and others, shows that the definitions of “Italian American” and “major leaguer” are critical. If a person needs to have just one parent of Italian descent to be considered an Italian American, and if a major leaguer is anyone associated with major-league baseball, then, in all likelihood, Nicholas Taylor Apollonio, not Edward James Abbaticchio, was the first Italian American major leaguer. Apollonio, the son of an Italian American father and an English-born mother, served as the president of the Boston club of the National Association in 1874 and 1875, and again in 1876, when it became part of the National League (NL).25 But if a person needs to have both parents of Italian descent to be considered an Italian American, and/or if a major leaguer refers to only a player, Apollonio would be disqualified and Abbaticchio would probably take his place. Of course, as Baldassaro has written, “[s]ince so many Italian immigrants changed their names . . . to be less ‘different,’ it is impossible to identify with absolute certainty [the initial major leaguer with an Italian heritage].”26 The search is further complicated by the difficulty of finding the ancestry of the mothers of former major leaguers.

As for the second matter, the key word is “professional.” There were other dual-sport athletes, not to mention those who went beyond participating in two sports, who were living in countries outside of the United States before and/or at the same time that Abbaticchio was playing, but it appears that they were not getting paid for more than one sport, if they were getting paid at all. Nor does it appear that there were any American athletes prior to September 4, 1897, who were receiving money to play more than one sport.27 Thus, unless a better candidate is found in the future, Abbaticchio is arguably the first professional two-sport athlete. In fact, he added a third sport to his repertoire when he became a member of the Greensburg basketball club in December of 1898, though Louisa has not discovered if the club was amateur, semiprofessional, or professional.28

Also in 1898, Abbaticchio saw action in 25 games with the Phillies before embarking on a four-year career in the minor leagues after Philadelphia loaned him to the Minneapolis Millers of the Western League in 1899.29 During this odyssey, “Abby” (“Abbey,” “Abbie”) or “Batty” (“Battie”), as Abbaticchio became nicknamed, played for Minneapolis in 1899, for Minneapolis and the Milwaukee Brewers, both of the American League (the former Western League), in 1900, and for Nashville, which had no official moniker at that time, of the Southern Association in 1901 and 1902.30 While with the Millers in ’99, he scored 81 runs, stole 32 bases, and led the league’s second basemen in putouts, total chances, chances accepted, total chances per game, and range factor per game.31 While with the Brewers, he was managed by Connie Mack, who thought enough of Abbaticchio’s skills to twice attempt to purchase him from Nashville for the Philadelphia Athletics in 1902.32 But it was with the Nashvilles—as the club was sometimes unofficially labeled—that he had his finest seasons.

Batting .363 with 39 stolen bases and a league-leading 127 runs scored in 1901 and hitting .353 with 96 runs scored and a league-leading 18 triples the following season, Abbaticchio was one of the stars who propelled the Tennessee franchise to back-to-back pennants.33 And though largely forgotten today, his performances on the field were so good that even as late as 1948 “[s]ome old timers [sic] [said that he was] the best all-round keystoner ever to operate in the Southern Association.”34

Off the field, Abbaticchio was equally successful in Nashville, meeting saleslady Anne Connor, the daughter of an iron moulder, and eventually marrying her on October 28, 1903. The marriage led to the couple having three boys and four girls. Of those seven, one daughter died of intestinal poisoning at the age of three and another was stillborn, but from the remaining five offspring came two nurses, a physician who taught at Yale University, a federal government employee, and a Benedictine priest.35

In addition, during his stay in Nashville Abbaticchio provided the answer to a question that has perplexed readers who did not know him: How did he pronounce his last name? The standard Italian way would be Ab-ba-TEE-kee-o, but that is not how Abbaticchio pronounced it. Nor did he pronounce it Ab-ba-TEESH-i-o. As he told a sportswriter, “The correct way is Ab-bat-ti-ko, with the accent on the second syllable.”36 Of course, printing his name in newspaper box scores presented another challenge, so “Abbaticchio” appears contracted as “A’chio,” “Ab’io,” “Ab’t’o,” and “Abb’o,” among other abbreviated versions.

Despite enjoying his time in the Athens of the South, Abbaticchio’s days there were numbered. His baseball accomplishments in ’01 and ’02 did not go unnoticed by major-league clubs besides the Philadelphia Athletics. In particular, they caught the eye of the National League’s Boston Beaneaters, who bought the second sacker with the strange name for $1,500, the equivalent of $306,000 in 2018,37 in September 1902.

Abbaticchio was delighted to return to the big show, though his happiness was diminished by having to adjust to major-league pitching, as evidenced by his hitting .227 in 1903 when the entire NL averaged .269. But he was a quick learner, and the next season, he batted .256, seven points higher than the league’s mark of .249, and finished ninth in hits. These statistics Abbaticchio topped in 1905, his best offensive season with the Beaneaters, when he raised his batting average to .279, 24 points greater than the league’s .255, and ended up in the NL’s top 10 in hits, singles, doubles, extra-base hits, total bases, and stolen bases. Applying the Offensive Wins Above Replacement (oWAR) formula to those numbers shows Abbaticchio to be ranked ninth among batters in the senior circuit.

Defensively, Boston’s new second baseman committed 45 errors in 116 games in 1903, but he covered a lot of ground and handled a number of chances cleanly. And possibly because of the last two factors, Beaneaters manager Al Buckenberger moved him from second base to shortstop in 1904, and Fred Tenney, Buckenberger’s successor as Boston’s manager in 1905, kept him there for that season. The results were predictable: for both years, Abbaticchio led National League shortstops in errors as well as finishing in the top three for his position in putouts, assists, total chances, chances accepted, total chances per game, and range factor per nine innings for ’04 and putouts, total chances, and total chances per game for ’05.

By the fall of 1905, Batty, as Abbaticchio preferred to be called, was 28 years old and had established himself as a major leaguer. Though no superstar, he was a team player, able to win and keep a starting spot on a club at the highest level of Organized Baseball, even if it was a club that had been stuck in the second division since he had joined it. True, he made a lot of fielding errors, but he was getting to balls that the majority of middle infielders were not, and no one doubted that he could contribute to the success of any team with his bat. So, many people were surprised when it became publicly known in January of 1906 that the successful Italian American was retiring from Organized Baseball to become the proprietor of his father’s hotel, the Latrobe House. The exact reason for this decision is unclear. “Close friends of the [Abbaticchio] family” claimed that Archangelo, who had been desiring to leave the hotel business, had “offered . . . [his] fine hotel” to Ed as an inducement to get his son to stop playing professional baseball, something that Archangelo was against.38 Another possibility is that the financially shrewd Ed—remember that he had earned a Master of Accounts degree and had an entrepreneurial father as a role model—engineered the entire scenario himself to escape from playing for a losing ballclub and to be traded to one of the National League powers. Or perhaps Ed was trying to find out how much his baseball skills were worth.

Whatever the reason, Ed became Archangelo’s successor as the owner of the Latrobe House, and by doing so, he either inadvertently or purposely started a bidding war among several senior circuit clubs which attempted to lure him back to the diamond. The Beaneaters initially made him two offers—$3,000 and $3,200—to maintain his services, while the New York Giants, Pittsburgh Pirates, Chicago Cubs, and Cincinnati Reds all showed an interest in acquiring him, with the Giants and Pirates receiving permission from Boston to negotiate with him.39

Abbaticchio’s reaction to the attention he was receiving was to play hard to get. At first, he told anyone who approached him that he was through with professional baseball, though he was quick to show the Pirates and Cubs players assembled for a series at Exposition Park in early May a piece of correspondence that he had received from Giants manager John McGraw. In it, the Little Napoleon had written in part, “I . . . would be pleased to meet with you in regard to signing a contract with New York,” something that Abbaticchio said he would consider.40 But around the same time, Abbaticchio informed Pirates owner Barney Dreyfuss that if he were to return to the majors, it would be with the Bucs because Pittsburgh was close enough to Latrobe to allow him to rejoin Organized Baseball and still run his hotel.41

Then, in late June, late July, and early December, more intrigue was added to the story. On June 26, the St. Louis Post-Dispatch reported that Abbaticchio had been sent “a mysterious letter” which his close friends said came from the Giants, Pirates, or Cubs and which motivated him to start playing baseball again for the Latrobe town team.42 This development was followed by John McGraw and Giants owner John Brush visiting Latrobe on July 22 and presenting Abbaticchio with a two-year contract for a total of $12,000, an offer that Abbaticchio rejected.43 And finally, on December 1, the Pittsburgh Press published a statement about Abbaticchio made by George Dovey, the head of a syndicate that had purchased Boston’s National League franchise three days earlier. Like McGraw and Brush, Dovey had gone to Latrobe to talk with the unsigned infielder, and he came away saying, “[Abbaticchio has] been so successful in business that . . . I doubt very much indeed if he will ever return to the game.”44

Yet, only 10 days later, Boston traded Abbaticchio to Pittsburgh for second baseman Claude Ritchey, pitcher Patsy Flaherty, and a player to be named later, who turned out to be center fielder Ginger Beaumont. Ritchey and Beaumont were popular Pirates who had helped their club win three pennants and come in second twice within a seven-year period. Flaherty had spent the 1906 season with the Columbus Senators of the American Association but had had a career year with the Bucs in 1904. Thus, Pirates fans in general were not enamored with the trade, and some people wondered why Dreyfuss would give up so much to acquire Abbaticchio. There was even a rumor that the Pirates owner purposely overdid it to help George Dovey, who was one of his close friends.

Be that as it may, the primary motivation for Dreyfuss’ decision appears to have been two-fold: the perception of Abbaticchio by knowledgeable baseball personages at the time and Dreyfuss’ hatred for John McGraw. For example, when William Conant, one of the two magnates running the Boston franchise before the sale to Dovey et al., realized that Abbaticchio was not returning to the Beaneaters, he lamented, “[W]ith him[,] we could cut a big figure in the championship race. . . . He is a mighty good man and the club that secures him will get a star player.”45 Or after the trade had been made, future National Baseball Hall of Famer Hugh Duffy proclaimed, “The acquisition of ‘Batty’ certainly puts the Pirates in the running for the championship. He is a fine player and I am satisfied that his one year’s lay-off [sic] will prove beneficial.”46 Nor were these men alone in their praise of the Latrobe hotel owner. Abbaticchio was a hot commodity in baseball circles in 1906, as evidenced by the relatively large amount of money Brush and McGraw were prepared to give him.

And it was Brush and McGraw’s interest in Abbaticchio that heightened Dreyfuss’ desire to have him. The Giants had displaced the Pirates as the senior circuit’s top dog in 1904 and 1905, and even though both clubs finished behind an outstanding Cubs team in 1906, New York came in second, 3 1/2 games ahead of Pittsburgh. But beyond wins and losses and league standings, Dreyfuss loathed McGraw, an enmity that had begun when the Giants manager had publicly harassed and embarrassed the Pirates owner on May 20, 1905. So, if he could hurt McGraw by hurting the Giants while helping his own club at the same time, Dreyfuss was willing to trade three players he believed had seen better days for a highly touted second baseman-shortstop.

As for Abbaticchio, the transaction left him ecstatic, believing that he had the best of both worlds: he could keep his hotel and resume playing professional baseball. His bubble would burst in 1908, but for the moment he was enjoying life, and this enjoyment carried over to his on-the-field performance for the 1907 season.

Playing the keystone position and usually batting in the fifth slot, Abbaticchio finished in the National League’s top 10 in walks, hit batsmen, stolen bases, and runs batted in; according to oWAR, he was the 10th best offensive player in the NL. Defensively, he was not as effective, leading second sackers in errors, though to his credit, he came in fourth at his position in putouts, assists, total chances, and total chances accepted.         

In part because of Abbaticchio’s positive contributions, Pittsburgh moved up to second place in 1907 as the Cubs repeated as pennant winners. But both Abbaticchio and the other Pirates were appalled to learn during spring training of the following year that a Westmoreland County judge had ruled that he would not renew the Latrobe House’s liquor license unless the Bucs second baseman quit playing Organized Baseball.47 Abbaticchio, however, quickly remedied the situation by transferring the ownership of his hotel back to his father,48 raising the question of whether Archangelo was ever against his son being involved with professional baseball.

The 1908 season was one of the most exciting in National League history with Pittsburgh, New York, and Chicago battling it out for the pennant. The Cubs would eventually triumph but not before winning a crucial game against the Pirates that led to Abbaticchio being the center of a modern piece of folklore.

Just a half-game ahead of Chicago and 1 1/2 games ahead of New York, the Pirates faced off against the Cubs at West Side Grounds on October 4. This was Pittsburgh’s last regular-season contest, while Chicago still had a possible replay game with New York—the infamous “Merkle tie”—and the Giants had three games remaining with the lowly Boston Doves, the former Beaneaters, plus the possible replay game with Chicago. Thus, if the Pirates had defeated the Cubs that day, they would have eliminated Chicago from pennant contention and pressured New York to sweep Boston and then knock off Chicago to force a playoff. But such was not to be. Behind the pitching of Three Finger Brown and a strong hitting attack and aided by two errors by Honus Wagner, the Cubs beat the Pirates, 5-2. This result left the Bucs and their fans having to hope that the Giants would lose at least one game to the Doves and, after that, vanquish the Cubs to create a three-way tie for first place. In reality, New York swept Boston and lost to Chicago, allowing the Cubs to clinch their third pennant in a row.

As for Abbaticchio, he mainly played well for the first eight innings of the October 4 contest, fielding flawlessly and driving in one of Pittsburgh’s two runs. Then, in the top of the ninth, with the Pirates down by three, Wagner led off with a single to center. Abbaticchio followed him to the plate and launched a shot into the overflow of fans standing in an area of right field that consisted of both fair and foul territory. The Bucs argued that the ball was fair and, hence, the hit was a double according to the rules in use that day; the umpires—Hank O’Day, who made the initial call, and Cy Rigler, who agreed with him—declared that it was foul; and, of course, the umpires’ decision was final. So, Wagner returned to first base and Abbaticchio went back to the plate, where he proceeded to strike out. Two force outs later, the game was over, and that should have been the end of the story, but it was not. Instead, Abbaticchio’s name and his hitting of the controversial foul ball became confused with or was purposely combined with an incident that happened in 1911, causing a new story to emerge, which was exaggerated as the years went on. Here are the details:

• On January 5, 1912, Sam Weller of the Chicago Tribune reported that the previous day Ruby Florsheim had filed a suit against the Chicago Cubs for $10,000 because she claimed that she “was hit on the head . . . and severely injured” by a foul ball that went into the grandstand at West Side Grounds during a game between Chicago and the Cincinnati Reds on September 10, 1911.49 Charles Williams, the Cubs treasurer at that time, countered the allegation when he told Weller, “As I remember, Miss Florsheim came to me after the game and said she had been hit on the leg by a foul ball and that it had caused a black and blue spot. I didn’t think it was anything serious and joked with her about it.” 50
• Versions of Weller’s article appeared in at least eight other newspapers, six of them outside of Illinois.
• On September 14, 1913, more than 20 months after Weller’s piece saw the light of day, sportswriter James Jerpe’s column in Pittsburgh’s Gazette Times contained a section which in part read: “Mrs. Ruby Florsheim, a Chicago woman some time ago sued the Chicago baseball club for $10,000 damages for injuries sustained on Sunday, October 4, 1908, when she was hit on the knee by a batted ball, said ball being batted by Edward Abbaticchio, then a member of the Pittsburgh baseball club.”51 The section went on to describe the action in the top half of the ninth of that game, but it contains several additional mistakes, including that there were runners on first and second when Abbaticchio was batting.52 Thus, it appears that Jerpe mixed up the details of the Florsheim case with Abbaticchio’s at-bat or decided to be creative and produced a fictionalized account of what had happened, but either way, a myth was born.53
• This myth was later distorted by other sportswriters who provided their own degree of drama to it. For example, in his May 3, 1952, column, Al Grady, the sports editor of the Iowa City Press-Citizen, penned a retelling so chock-full of errors as to be hilarious:

  . . . when the Cubs and Pirates met on the last day of the season in Pittsburgh, a victory would have given the Pirates the pennant.

  True to the Frank Merriwell kind of finish, the Pirates trailed in the last half of the ninth, but loaded the bases and a strong young kid by the name of Ed Abbaticchio strode up to the plate.

  After some delay, Abbaticchio teed off on one and hit it a mile into the left field stands right at the foul line as the Pirate fans went crazy.54

  And concerning Ruby Florsheim and her complaint:

  A female Pittsburgh fan brought suit for damages against the Pirate ball club. . . .

  . . . [after which,] some Pirate official took [her] ticket stubs . . . and went out to the ball park [sic] to see where [she] had been sitting.

  Much to his dismay, he found her seat was the first one INSIDE [Grady’s emphasis] the foul pole.55

• In 1965, the creator and former editor-in-chief of Baseball Digest, sportswriter Herbert Simons, and the Baseball Digest staff investigated the tale and found nothing to support it. As Simons wrote:

  A thorough, tedious search of all official records of all state and county courts in Chicago for two years following the game (after which the statute of limitations would preclude such a suit) failed to reveal any such lawsuit filed against the Cubs (in fact, no lawsuit against the Cubs by any fan). A day-by-day search of the Chicago newspapers from the morning after the game until well into 1911 failed to disclose any mention of any such legal action. [Because the researchers did not look at Chicago newspapers from 1912, they did not find Sam Weller’s article.]

  [Whereas] 1908 legal records of both [the] Chicago and Pittsburgh clubs have been lost in antiquity, no official of either club could recall ever having heard any mention of any such suit.56

  Yet, even as late as 2015, a reputable reference work on the Pirates contained a version of the tale, proving that myths die hard.57

Leaving aside the frustration of the October 4 game, Abbaticchio could look back on the 1908 season with satisfaction. He finished in the top 10 among National League hitters in walks and runs batted in, and he became a much less erratic fielder, leading the senior circuit’s second basemen in fielding percentage, in addition to coming in second in assists, tied for third in double plays, and fourth in putouts.

The next season, however, proved to be bittersweet for the veteran infielder. On the one hand, he lost his starting job to 22-year-old Dots Miller and was relegated to being a utility man who saw action in only 37 games.58 On the other hand, he got to be a member of a great Pirates team that won 110 regular-season games and the World Series championship, and he did an excellent job of subbing for Honus Wagner at shortstop. He even made an appearance as a pinch-hitter for pitcher Deacon Phillippe in the ninth inning of Game Six of the Fall Classic, though here, too, his experience was bittersweet as he struck out with two men on base and the Bucs trailing by one run.

With Miller firmly established at second base and another young man, Bill McKechnie, joining the Pirates as a new utility infielder in 1910, Abbaticchio became expendable and was released by Pittsburgh on June 20 of that year.59 Shortly thereafter, he was claimed by his former Boston club, for whom he participated in 52 games prior to his being released again, this time on September 17.60

The months that Abbaticchio spent with the Doves were his last hurrah in Organized Baseball. In 1911, he signed a contract with Louisville of the American Association but reneged after buying a hotel near Forbes Field, something that he had told the Louisville management he might do when he accepted the offer.61

In 1914, Abbaticchio sold his Pittsburgh hotel, and by September 12, 1918, he was working as a manager for his father, presumably at the Latrobe House.62 This was followed by his regaining the ownership of his father’s hotel on November 13, 1920, when Archangelo stepped down in advance of his moving to Washington, D.C.63

During the 1930s, Abbaticchio retired to Florida, where he died from cancer on January 6, 1957.64 His body was then sent back to Pennsylvania and buried in St. Mary’s Cemetery in Latrobe four days later.65 However, less than five years before his death, the elderly former Pirate started a myth about himself when he told Dick Meyer, the sports editor of the Fort Lauderdale Daily News, that he had a higher salary than Honus Wagner in 1907: $5,000 to the Flying Dutchman’s $4,000.66 And despite the fact that the claim sounds unbelievable, it was accepted at face value and repeated in various secondary writings.67 But the truth of the matter is that though Angelo Louisa has not been able to confirm the amount of money that Abbaticchio was being paid in 1907,68 several baseball historians have discovered that Wagner earned $5,000, not $4,000, that year.69 So at best, Abbaticchio received the same salary as Wagner, which is impressive enough, provided, of course, that the 75-year-old’s memory was correctly recalling what Barney Dreyfuss gave him.

A man whose life was filled with controversies, Edward James Abbaticchio was a versatile athlete, a well-educated hotel owner, and an Italian American trailblazer. His baseball credentials are not strong enough to get him inducted into the National Baseball Hall of Fame. Nor is it likely that he will ever be enshrined in the Pro Football Hall of Fame. But in the words of Lawrence Baldassaro, “[he] deserves to be remembered as more than a historical footnote.”70    

Acknowledgments

This biography was reviewed by Jan Finkel and verified for accuracy by the BioProject fact-checking team.

Notes

1 Most sources agree that Archangelo and Maria had nine children, of which Ed was the sixth, with the birth order being: Nicholas (1869-1955), Albert (1870-1958), Pauline (1871-1957), Arthur (1872-1875), Horace (1874-1970), Edward (1877-1957), Caroline (1878-1962), William (1880-1979), and Raymond (1882-1959). However, on Ancestry.com, there are family trees for Archangelo or Maria that mistakenly allege that the couple had an illegitimate daughter named Mary, who was born in 1864 and died sometime after the 1880 United States Federal Census was taken. And the origin of this error appears to be the 1880 Federal Census itself, which lists a 16-year-old girl named Mary as part of the Abbaticchio household and does not provide her with a different last name but states that her relationship to the head of the household was that of a servant. This confusion is an obvious misreading because the Abbaticchio children are listed by age in descending order with a straight line to the left of the child’s first name to indicate that his or her last name was the same as that of the head of the household. Conversely, Mary, who was older than all the children, is listed last and does not have a straight line near her name. See 1880 United States Federal Census. Also on Ancestry.com, there are family trees that maintain Archangelo’s first name was Damian and that his middle name was Archangelo, but Angelo Louisa could not find any evidence to support this claim.

2 John Newton Boucher, History of Westmoreland County, Pennsylvania, Vol. 2 (New York: The Lewis Publishing Company, 1906), 272.

3 Depending on the source, Archangelo was born in Betonto (probably a misspelling of Bitonto), Castellammare, or Lecca (probably a misspelling of Lecce), but on a passport application that he signed in 1910, he swore that his place of birth was Lecca. See “U.S. Passport Applications, 1795-1925,” https://www.ancestry.com (accessed on April 28, 2018). In all likelihood, Archangelo used the Italian pronunciations of “i,” which sounds like the English “e” in “tea” or “i” in “machine,” and “e,” which sounds like the English “e” in “bet” or the “a” in chaos. But when these sounds were transcribed by someone who may not have been familiar with the Italian language, they were written incorrectly. Hence, “Bitonto” becomes “Betonto” and “Lecce” becomes “Lecca.”

4 Boucher, 272, and “Genealogical Chart of Abbaticchio-Sorrentino and Descendents,” Abbaticchio Family File, Latrobe Area Historical Society, Latrobe, Pennsylvania.

5 “Plucky Mother Played Part in Bringing Abbaticchios to USA,” Latrobe Bulletin (Latrobe, Pennsylvania), December 19, 1952. Pauline’s dates are supported by the family tree that her brother William compiled. See “Genealogical Chart of Abbaticchio-Sorrentino and Descendents,” Abbaticchio Family File, Latrobe Area Historical Society, Latrobe, Pennsylvania. Arthur had died earlier that year, so the four children who came with Maria were Nicholas, Albert, Pauline, and Horace.

6 For examples of secondary works that use Pauline’s dates, see Lawrence Baldassaro, “Ed Abbaticchio: Italian Baseball Pioneer,” NINE: A Journal of Baseball History and Social Policy Perspectives 8, no. 1 (Fall 1999): 19; Lawrence Baldassaro, Beyond DiMaggio: Italian Americans in Baseball (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2011), 4; and “Ed Abbaticchio: Italian-American Sports Pioneer,” The Latrobe Historical Gazette (Spring 2013): 1.

7 The immigration year for Archangelo given in the 1920 Federal Census is 1873, but by 1920, Archangelo and Maria were in their late 70s and may not have been as lucid as they were in 1900 and 1910. Cf. “U.S. Passport Applications, 1795-1925”; “McBride & Abbaticchio’s Fancy Hair Dressing, Curling and Shaving Saloon, Ligonier Street, Latrobe, Pa.,” Latrobe Advance (Latrobe, Pennsylvania), February 17, 1875; 1900 United States Federal Census; 1910 United States Federal Census; and 1920 United States Federal Census.

8 “New York, Passenger and Crew Lists (Including Castle Garden and Ellis Island), 1820-1957,” https://www.ancestry.com (accessed on April 29, 2018). In addition, it is interesting to note that the 1920 Federal Census again muddies the water by stating that Maria emigrated in 1874, which supports the possibility that Archangelo’s and Maria’s memories were failing when they talked with the census taker. See 1920 United States Federal Census.

9 Archangelo initially shared a salon with H. J. McBride before starting his own place of business. “Plucky Mother Played Part in Bringing Abbaticchios to USA”; “McBride & Abbaticchio’s Fancy Hair Dressing, Curling and Shaving Saloon, Ligonier Street, Latrobe, Pa.”; and Untitled article, Latrobe Advance, February 24, 1875. There are conflicting stories as to why Archangelo journeyed to Latrobe. Cf. Boucher, 272, and “Plucky Mother Played Part in Bringing Abbaticchios to USA.”

10 Boucher, 272.

11 Boucher, 272-273, and “A Business Change,” Latrobe Advance, December 12, 1888. For several examples of what else Archangelo owned, see Untitled article, Latrobe Advance, December 13, 1882; “Minor,” Latrobe Advance, November 28, 1883; “Minor,” Latrobe Advance, January 30, 1884; and “Latrobe Hotel Man Has Abolished the Back Room,” Latrobe Bulletin, April 2, 1906.

12 “Father Damian’s Family Tie to Baseball Pioneer,” https://www.saintvincentarchabbey.org/2001/03/16/father-damians-family-tie-to-baseball-pioneer (accessed on April 29, 2018), and Edward J. Abbaticchio, Diploma, Master of Accounts, St. Mary’s College, found in Ed Abbaticchio, Player File, National Baseball Hall of Fame Library, Cooperstown, New York.

13 “All Suffered Defeat,” Indiana Progress (Indiana, Pennsylvania), August 1, 1894.

14 The football club has also been referred to as the Latrobe Athletic Association, but that name was not used until after the 1900 season.

15 Robert B. Van Atta, “Latrobe, Pa.: Cradle of Pro Football,” The Coffin Corner 2 (1980): 20.

16 “Great Is Latrobe,” Pittsburgh Post, November 14, 1896; “Kicks a Goal from the Field,” Pittsburgh Post, November 11, 1900; “Abbaticchio Again the Hero,” Pittsburgh Post, November 18, 1900; “No Less Than an Avalanche,” Pittsburgh Post, November 7, 1897; and “One Kick Saved Latrobe,” Pittsburgh Press, November 6, 1898.

17 Van Atta, 8.

18 Allison Danzig, The History of American Football: Its Great Teams, Players, and Coaches (Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey: Prentice-Hall, Inc., 1956), 116.

19 Baldassaro, Beyond DiMaggio: Italian Americans in Baseball, 6.

20 “Great Is Latrobe,” and “Another Close One at Latrobe,” Pittsburgh Post, November 15, 1896.

21 “Morgantown Wins from Latrobe,” Pittsburgh Post, October 20, 1895.

22 There was an Abbaticchio who played at least several games for the Greensburg Athletic Association in 1896, but it is not clear if it was Ed. It may have been his brother Horace. See “Derry Team Swiped,” Greensburg Daily Tribune (Greensburg, Pennsylvania), June 18, 1896; “Kensington a Little Light,” Pittsburgh Commercial Gazette, August 20, 1896; and “Jeannette Must Feel Tired,” Pittsburgh Post, August 30, 1896. However, Ed definitely played for Greensburg in 1897. See “Base Ball Notes,” Evening Star (Washington, D.C.), September 3, 1897, and “Favors the Change,” Pittsburgh Commercial Gazette, January 22, 1898.

23 “Favors the Change”; “Phillies’ New Infielder,” Chicago Tribune, September 3, 1897; “Sporting Tidings,” Harrisburg Telegraph (Harrisburg, Pennsylvania), September 3, 1897; and “Ed Abbaticchio,” https://www.baseball-reference.com/players/a/abbated01.shtml (accessed on March 13, 2019). Although Abbaticchio’s first major-league game was on September 4, 1897, the first time that he played competitively as a Phillie was in an exhibition game against the Media, Pennsylvania, team on September 3, 1897. “Sparks a Bright Light,” Philadelphia Inquirer, September 4, 1897.

24 “Sporting Notes,” Pittsburgh Commercial Gazette, September 8, 1897.

25 Although Baldassaro and Bevis agree that Apollonio had Italian American genes, Baldassaro writes that Apollonio was the grandson of an Italian immigrant, while Bevis states that Apollonio’s father emigrated from Italy. Supporting Baldassaro are the 1880 United States Federal Census, the 1900 United States Federal Census, and Apollonio’s death certificate, which show Connecticut as the place of birth of Apollonio’s father. As for Apollonio’s mother, the 1880 census reports that she was born in New York, but both the 1900 census and Apollonio’s death certificate indicate that she was born in England. Cf. Baldassaro, Beyond DiMaggio: Italian Americans in Baseball, 15-16; Charlie Bevis, “Nicholas Apollonio,” https://sabr.org/node/43174 (accessed on May 31, 2018); 1880 United States Federal Census; 1900 United States Federal Census; and “Massachusetts, Death Records, 1841-1915, Nicholas Taylor Apollonio,” www.ancestry.com (accessed on March 14, 2019).

26 Baldassaro, Beyond DiMaggio: Italian Americans in Baseball, 4.

27 For the names of many athletes who played more than one sport, see “List of Multi-Sport [sic] Athletes,” https://www.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_multi-sport_athletes (accessed on June 24, 2018). For the names of major-league baseball players who played professional football, basketball, or hockey, see Stan Grosshandler, “Two-Sport Stars,” in Total Baseball, 3rd ed., eds. John Thorn and Pete Palmer with Michael Gershman (New York: HarperCollins Publishers, Inc., 1993), 237-243.

28 “New Basketball Players,” Pittsburgh Press, December 16, 1898. Also, Louisa has yet to come across anyone asking if Abbaticchio was the first Italian American professional football player. But even if the question has been asked, the problems of defining “Italian American” and “professional” and discerning which names are truly Italian in origin apply here as well.

29 “Base Ball Notes,” Wilkes-Barre Daily News (Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania), August 17, 1899.

30 “Name That Team,” https://www.262downright.com/2013/10/01/486 (accessed on July 15, 2018).

31 “Record of the Western,” Chicago Tribune, October 16, 1899.

32 Connie Mack to Ed Abbaticchio, telegram, June 11, 1902, found in Ed Abbaticchio, Player File, National Baseball Hall of Fame Library, Cooperstown, New York, and Connie Mack to Newt Fisher, telegram, July 2, 1902, found in Ed Abbaticchio, Player File, National Baseball Hall of Fame Library, Cooperstown, New York.

33 Statistics for runs scored and stolen bases were taken from Francis C. Richter, ed., Reach’s Official American League Base Ball Guide for 1902 (Philadelphia: A. J. Reach Co., 1902), 184; Henry Chadwick, ed., Spalding’s Official Base Ball Guide, 1902 (New York: American Sports Publishing Co., 1902), 159; Francis C. Richter, ed., Reach’s Official American League Base Ball Guide for 1903 (Philadelphia: A. J. Reach Co., 1903), 201; and Henry Chadwick, ed., Spalding’s Official Base Ball Guide, 1903 (New York: American Sports Publishing Co., 1903), 206. Statistics for batting averages and triples were taken from “Ed Abbaticchio,” https://www.baseball-reference.com/register/player.fcgi?id=abbati001edw (accessed on March 13, 2019); “Ed Abbaticchio,” www.statscrew.com/minorbaseball/stats/p-e51cc3d1 (accessed on July 22, 2018); and “1902 Southern League Leaders,” www.statscrew.com/minorbaseball/leaders/l-SOUA/y-1902 (accessed on July 22, 2018). However, for Abbaticchio’s 1902 batting average, the Stats Crew did not round up from .3525. Some other sources have different batting averages, but their numbers are the results of mathematical or typographical errors or the repetition of such previously recorded errors.

34 Fred Russell, “Sidelines,” Nashville Banner, March 9, 1948.

35 In chronological order, Abbaticchio’s children were Edward (1904-1972), Rose (1906-1910), Catherine (1908-1975), Infant (1911), Howard (1913-1958), Martha (1915-1984), and Albert (1917-2006). Catherine and Martha became nurses; Edward, who changed his last name to Abbey, became a medical doctor; Howard became a federal government employee; and Albert, who joined the Order of Saint Benedict and took the name of Damian, became a priest. Some sources erroneously state that the stillborn daughter’s name was Anne, but the name on her death certificate is Infant Abbaticchio. See Infant Abbaticchio, Pennsylvania, Death Certificates, 1906-1966, https://ancestry.com (accessed on November 23, 2018).

36 “Back to the Bosky Dell with ‘Abby’; ‘Batty’ Is the Name to Conjure With,” an undated article from an unknown newspaper found in Ed Abbaticchio, Player File, National Baseball Hall of Fame Library, Cooperstown, New York.

37 “Abbattichio [sic] a Beaneater,” Pittsburgh Press, September 10, 1902. The 2018 value is based on Gross Domestic Product per capita found at https://www.measuringworth.com/calculators/uscompare/relativevalue.php (accessed on March 13, 2019).

38 “A. Abbaticchio Is to Retire,” Latrobe Bulletin, January 2, 1906, and “Batty Quits Baseball?” Pittsburgh Post, January 4, 1906.

39 “A Big Offer for Abbaticchio,” an undated article from an unknown newspaper found in Ed Abbaticchio, Player File, National Baseball Hall of Fame Library, Cooperstown, New York; “Want ‘Batty’ Badly,” Latrobe Bulletin, March 28, 1906; “Breakfast Food for Fans Served Up Hot,” Altoona Times (Altoona, Pennsylvania), April 14, 1906; “Reds Are After ‘Abby,’” Pittsburgh Press, May 18, 1906; “Base Hits,” Harrisburg Telegraph, June 15, 1906; and “Batty Back Into Game,” St. Louis Post-Dispatch, June 26, 1906.

40 “Abby May Return to Game,” Burlington Daily Free Press (Burlington, Vermont), May 8, 1906, and “Giants After Abbaticchio,” Sun (Baltimore), May 9, 1906.

41 “Giants After Abbaticchio.”

42 “Batty Back Into Game.”

43 “Abbaticchio Gets Offer,” Pittsburgh Post, July 24, 1906, and “Batty Lost to Beanies,” Pittsburgh Press, December 1, 1906.

44 “Batty Lost to Beanies.”

45 “‘Batty’ Likely to Be a Pirate,” Pittsburgh Press, May 16, 1906.

46 “Base Ball Notes,” Evening Star, December 22, 1906.

47 “May Lose Another Player,” Washington Post, March 31, 1908.

48 “Abbaticchio Gets His License,” Gazette Times (Pittsburgh), April 12, 1908.

49 Sam Weller, “$10,000 Ball at Cubs’ Park,” Chicago Tribune, January 5, 1912.

50 Ibid.

51 James Jerpe, “On and Off the Field,” Gazette Times, September 14, 1913.

52 Ibid.

53 Could someone else have created the home run myth before Jerpe did? Perhaps. But after examining a countless number of newspapers, Angelo Louisa has not discovered any evidence of the myth existing prior to Jerpe’s column of September 14, 1913.

54 Al Grady, “Sports of All Sorts,” Iowa City Press-Citizen, May 3, 1952.

55 Ibid. For a comparison of four other versions of the story, see Herbert Simons, “The Line Drive That Was Fair, Foul and Phony,” Baseball Digest 24, no. 8 (September 1965): 13.

56 Simons, 13.

57 David Finoli and Bill Ranier, The Pittsburgh Pirates Encyclopedia, 2nd ed. (New York: Sports Publishing, 2015), 20.

58 Even though the “Batting Record” for Ed Abbaticchio at www.retrosheet.org says that Abbaticchio participated in 36 games, “The 1909 Pit N Regular Season Batting Log for Ed Abbaticchio,” also at www.retrosheet.org, shows box scores where he took part in 37 games, including one as a pinch-hitter and two as a pinch-runner, and Baseball-Reference.com states that he appeared in 37 games. Cf. “Batting Record, www.retrosheet.org/boxesetc/A/Pabbae101.htm (accessed on April 20, 2019) ; “The 1909 Pit N Regular Season Batting Log for Ed Abbaticchio,” https://www.retrosheet.org/boxesetc/1909/Iabbae1010081909.htm (accessed on April 20, 2019); and “Appearances,” https://www.baseball-reference.com/players/a/abbated01.shtml (accessed on April 20, 2019).

59 “Abby Is Released by the Champions,” Pittsburgh Press, June 21, 1910.

60 “Wants Abbaticchio,” Washington Times (Washington, D.C.), June 21, 1910, and “‘Batty’ Is Released,” Boston Globe, September 17, 1910.

61 “Player Buys Hostelry,” Indianapolis Star, February 14, 1911.

62 “License Court Transfer Cases Nearing Close,” Pittsburgh Press, November 9, 1914, and Edward James Abbaticchio, U.S., World War I Draft Registration Cards, 1917-1918, https://www.ancestry.com (accessed on November 23, 2018). In addition, the 1920 United States Federal Census shows Abbaticchio to have been the general manager of the Latrobe House as of January 2, 1920. 1920 United States Federal Census.

63 “A. Abbaticchio Sells His Hotel,” Latrobe Bulletin, November 15, 1920.

64 “Ed Abbaticchio,” The Sporting News, January 16, 1957, 24. As with so many other facets of Abbaticchio’s life, his moving to Florida is not without its share of controversy. The 1937 Miami city directory lists the retiree as living there by then, but when did he arrive? Lawrence Baldassaro wrote that it was 1932, which is not correct because there is an article in the July 6, 1934, issue of the Latrobe Bulletin that shows him residing in Latrobe at that time. The Bulletin’s obituary for Abbaticchio implies that he had been dwelling in Florida since 1942, something that an article in the December 28, 1952, issue of the Nashville Tennessean contradicts by saying that he relocated to the Sunshine State in 1934. Thus, by putting the pieces together, it appears that Abbaticchio arrived in Florida sometime between July 6 and December 31 of 1934. Cf. Polk’s Greater Miami City Directory, 1937 (Jacksonville, Florida: R. L. Polk & Co., Publishers, 1937), 37; Baldassaro, “Ed Abbaticchio: Italian Baseball Pioneer,” 24; Lawrence Baldassaro, “Before Joe D: Early Italian Americans in the Major Leagues,” in The American Game: Baseball and Ethnicity, eds. Lawrence Baldassaro and Richard A. Johnson (Carbondale, Illinois: Southern Illinois University Press, 2002), 96; Baldassaro, Beyond DiMaggio: Italian Americans in Baseball, 10; “Locals,” Latrobe Bulletin, July 6, 1934; “Ex-Football and Diamond Star Dies,” Latrobe Bulletin, January 7, 1957; and Raymond Johnson, “One Man’s Opinion,” Nashville Tennessean, December 28, 1952.

65 “Ex-Football and Diamond Star Dies.”

66 Dick Meyer, “Ed Abbaticchio Recalls Bad Call That Cost Flag,” Fort Lauderdale Daily News, May 13, 1952.

67 For several examples of this repetition, see Chester L. Smith, “The Village Smithy,” Pittsburgh Press, May 22, 1952; Vince Quatrini, “Sports Prints,” Latrobe Bulletin, November 5, 1952; Baldassaro, “Before Joe D: Early Italian Americans in the Major Leagues,” 95; and Lawrence Katz, “Who Was the First Italian American Baseball Player?” F&L Primo 9, no. 2 (April-May 2008): 55. Baldassaro later wrote that Abbaticchio received $800 more than Wagner. See Baldassaro, Beyond DiMaggio: Italian Americans in Baseball, 9.

68 Baseball-Reference.com lists Abbaticchio’s salary as $5,000, but whoever recorded this information may have taken it from Dick Meyer’s article or from one of the articles or books that used what Abbaticchio had told Meyer. “1907 MLB Player Value,” https://www.baseball-reference.com/leagues/MLB/1907-value-batting.shtml (accessed on March 12, 2019). Also, an article in the March 31, 1908, issue of the Washington Post reported that Abbaticchio had “a $3,000 job” going into the 1908 season, which obviously was $2,000 less than what Abbaticchio claimed he had earned in 1907. Thus, if the Post was correct, this disclosure implies either Pittsburgh’s second sacker had received a reduction in pay from his 1907 salary or he had not made $5,000 during the previous season. “May Lose Another Player.”

69 Bill Burgess, “Historical Salaries,” https://www.baseball-fever.com/forum/general-baseball/history-of-the-game/55494-historical-salaries (accessed on October 1, 2018); Dennis DeValeria and Jeanne Burke DeValeria, Honus Wagner: A Biography (New York: Henry Holt and Company, Inc., 1995), 136; William Hageman, Honus: The Life and Times of a Baseball Hero (Champaign, Illinois: Sagamore Publishing, 1996), 88; and Arthur D. Hittner, Honus Wagner: The Life of Baseball’s “Flying Dutchman” (Jefferson, North Carolina: McFarland & Company, Inc., Publishers, 1996), 166.

70 Baldassaro, “Ed Abbaticchio: Italian Baseball Pioneer,” 29, and Baldassaro, Beyond DiMaggio: Italian Americans in Baseball, 15. The quotation varies slightly between the sources, with Baldassaro, “Ed Abbaticchio: Italian Baseball Pioneer,” using an “an” before “historical” and Baldassaro, Beyond DiMaggio: Italian Americans in Baseball, using an “a” before “historical.”

Aristotle George (Harry) Agganis was born on April 20, 1929, in Lynn to George Agganis and the former Georgia Papalimberis. The couple met in Lynn after each had emigrated from Greece, and married in October 1906. Aristotle (Harry was a derivation of his family nickname, Ari)1 was the last of their seven children. The family lived on Waterhill Street in West Lynn, in a largely Greek neighborhood. Harry spoke mainly Greek at home, and attended a Greek Orthodox Church.2

Harry quickly became renowned as a great athlete in his neighborhood and city. Having already earned the nickname the Golden Greek, Agganis was a three-sport star at Lynn Classical High School, about 10 miles north of Boston. As a teenager, he played baseball at Lynn’s venerable Fraser Field and in 1946 he traveled to Chicago for the Esquire All-American Boy game at Wrigley Field. By then, the Red Sox had established a Class B New England League farm team in Lynn. Dick O’Connell, who eventually became general manager of the Red Sox, served as Lynn’s business manager. O’Connell had been able to watch Agganis closely, and reportedly persuaded the Red Sox to hire Harry’s high-school football and baseball coach, Bill Joyce, as president of the Lynn Red Sox. Harry worked out with the team on occasion, in addition to working odd jobs for the club.3

In 1947, Harry hit .352 to lead Lynn Classical to the Massachusetts state baseball championship.4 He was named the state’s player of the year, and was chosen to play in the Hearst All-Star game at the Polo Grounds in New York. After graduating from high school, Agganis spent the summer of 1948 playing for the Augusta Millionaires in Maine, where he starred with future Red Sox teammate Ted Lepcio.5

As good as he was on the high-school diamond and basketball court (where he was a star ball-handling center), Agganis earned even more fame on the gridiron, attracting crowds of more than 20,000 to Lynn’s Manning Bowl.6 As a left-handed quarterback, defensive back, kicker, and punter, he led his team to a 21-1-1 record over two seasons. Following an undefeated junior year in 1946, he and his teammates traveled to Miami, Florida, where they defeated Granby High of Norfolk, Virginia (whose roster included future Red Sox pitcher Chuck Stobbs), in the Orange Bowl on Christmas Day to win the mythical national high-school football championship.7 “That young man could step into any college backfield right now,” raved Tennessee football coach General Bob Neyland.8 Agganis and his teammates declined an invitation to a similar game following his senior year when they were told they could not bring their two African-American players.9 Over his three-year high-school football career, the All-American Agganis completed 65 percent of his passes (326 for 502) for 4,149 yards and 48 touchdowns. He also rushed for 24 more touchdowns, kicked 39 extra points, and averaged more than 40 yards per punt.10

Agganis received scholarship offers from no fewer than 75 colleges, including such programs of national renown as Notre Dame and the University of Tennessee. Fighting Irish head coach Frank Leahy had dubbed Harry “the finest prospect I’ve ever seen.” 11 Agganis, whose father, George, had died in 1946, surprised many football observers when he decided to attend Boston University to remain close to his widowed mother.

Red Sox fans did not have to travel far to catch Agganis in action on the gridiron, as the BU Terriers played their home games at Fenway Park. As he had in high school, Harry wore jersey No. 33 to honor his hero, standout Washington Redskins quarterback Sammy Baugh. Playing for the freshman squad, Agganis was 29-for-52 for 492 passing yards and five touchdowns in four games. He averaged 4.7 yards per carry rushing and scored four touchdowns on the ground.12

As a sophomore in 1949, Agganis set a school record with 15 touchdown passes while completing 55 of 108 tosses for 762 yards. He also rushed for 5.4 yards per carry, scored two touchdowns on the ground13, intercepted 15 passes on defense14, and led the nation in punting with a 46.5 yard average.15 Harry was named a second-team All-American, finishing behind future NFL and AFL star quarterback Babe Parilli of the University of Kentucky.16

Agganis’s college career was next interrupted by the Korean War. He had enlisted in the United States Marines’ 2nd Infantry Organized Reserve Battalion while in high school, and was called to active duty in the spring of 1950. Though he never went overseas, Harry served a 15-month hitch at Camp Lejeune, North Carolina, where he played for the football and baseball teams. In the summer of 1950, Agganis hit .362 to lead his team to a 72-17 record against clubs stocked with former major-league pitchers.17 His squad reached the National Baseball Congress tournament in Wichita, Kansas, and Harry was named Most Valuable Player.18

Agganis later requested a dependency discharge to help support his mother, and returned to school in September 1951.19 He arrived home just two days before the Terriers’ football opener at William & Mary and got in an hour of practice before throwing a pair of touchdown passes.20 As a junior that fall, Harry threw for 14 touchdowns and a school record 1,402 yards, completing 104 of 185 passes, and earned the Bulger Lowe Award as the best collegiate football player in New England.21 In the spring of 1952, Agganis hit .322 for the Terriers in his return to the baseball diamond.22 Twice appearing on the cover of the prestigious Sport magazine, in the spring of 1952, Agganis was selected with the 12th overall pick in the first round of the National Football League draft by Paul Brown, coach of the Cleveland Browns, who wanted Agganis to succeed legendary quarterback Otto Graham.23 Instead, Agganis chose to return to Boston University for his senior season.

Nowhere was Agganis’s fame greater than in his hometown of Lynn. When members of Lynn’s Greek community held a benefit dinner in Harry’s honor, he refused to keep any of the money raised. Instead, he sent it to the small village in Greece near Sparta, from which his parents had emigrated, to purchase sports equipment for its children. No one who knew Harry Agganis was surprised.24

The football team struggled in 1952. Attracted by the promise of large gate receipts from the huge crowds flocking to watch Agganis, larger schools with far more powerful teams pined for slots on the Terriers’ schedule. Many of Harry’s teammates were still fulfilling their military commitments as the Korean War dragged on, leaving BU with a largely inexperienced and undersized lineup. For the most part, Harry was up to the challenge and was able to keep his team competitive against larger and faster opponents. On October 10, the University of Miami came to Fenway Park as a three-touchdown favorite, but Agganis intercepted two passes, made 14 tackles and punted for 58, 65, and 67 yards. His final kick resulted in a safety for the decisive points in a 9-7 upset win.25

Three weeks later, on November 1, a crowd of 32,568 fans packed Fenway to watch the Terriers take on the University of Maryland, which had entered the season as the second-ranked team in the nation.26 The game was broadcast nationally by Vin Scully, who called the action from Fenway’s rooftop in his first-ever assignment with the CBS Radio Network.27 Maryland had played BU in 1949, and the Terriers had given the Terps more than they could handle before losing a 14-13 squeaker. In the rematch, according to contemporary accounts, the Terrapins focused on beating BU’s overmatched offensive line and getting physical with Agganis. Several gang tackles by Maryland defenders bruised his ribs so badly that he had to be helped off the field in a 34-7 loss. Though X-rays were negative, Harry continued to have difficulty breathing and missed the next two games.28

Despite the missed time, Agganis completed 67 of 125 tosses for 766 yards and five touchdowns in seven games that year. He finished his Terriers football career with 15 school records. Although most have been surpassed by athletes who played four years, Harry set his marks in just three varsity seasons — racking up 2,930 passing yards, and 34 touchdowns while completing 226 of 418 passes, or 54 percent. 29 His records extended to defense and special teams, as he amassed 27 career interceptions and a 39.5-yard punting average.30

After his final football game, on November 28, 1952, Harry signed with the hometown Red Sox for $50,000 — far less than the reported $100,000 bonus offered by the Cleveland Browns. A report quoted Agganis:

“I’ve been torn between baseball and football for a long time, but have finally made up my mind to concentrate on baseball. I’ve already proved myself in football. I don’t know if I can make it in baseball, but I have the confidence that I can. I expect to be farmed out to a minor league club for a year, regardless of how I do in the South [spring training]. I’ve always wanted to be a baseball player, but I never wanted to say it until my football days were over.”31

If Agganis’s decision seemed rushed, there was a good reason: His signing came one week before the major leagues’ “Bonus Baby” rule went into effect, which required any players signed with a bonus larger than $4,000 to remain with the major-league club for two full seasons. Because he beat the deadline, Harry was able to get a higher bonus and still benefit from some minor-league seasoning.

The Red Sox granted Agganis special permission to play one final college game — the all-star Senior Bowl in Mobile, Alabama, in January 1953. Harry played all but one minute of the game and earned Most Valuable Player honors, throwing two touchdowns, rushing for another, and hauling in a pair of interceptions as the North beat the South, 28-13.32 After that game, football legend Red Grange proclaimed Agganis the best player he had seen all year.33

In 1953 Agganis, a left-handed-hitting and throwing first baseman, went to Sarasota to train with the Red Sox, but was soon optioned to Louisville. He had a fine year in the American Association, with 23 home runs and 108 RBIs, finishing second (to Don Zimmer of St. Paul) in the voting for league Rookie of the Year award. In 1954 he came to camp to battle Dick Gernert for the first-base job.34 Conventional wisdom held that this would be a tall task for a left-handed hitter at Fenway due to the 380-foot distance from home plate to the right-field bullpen fence. Gernert, a righty who evoked images of Jimmie Foxx, had clubbed 21 homers in 1953. Yet as spring training wore on, Roger Birtwell of the Boston Globe reported35 that Agganis seemed to be winning the battle:

“Judging from the form the two players have shown in Spring training, however, it would not be surprising if Agganis eventually eases Gernert out of the picture. For Agganis, a promotion seems richly deserved. He has outhit Gernert down here by a hundred points. Agganis has consistently outplayed Gernert in the field.”

Meanwhile, Paul Brown was still trying to recruit Agganis for his Cleveland Browns. Billy Consolo, who roomed with Harry that spring, recalled Brown phoning every day in an attempt to persuade him to give up baseball, but without success.

Agganis would indeed open 1954 in the starting lineup, making his presence felt immediately. Wearing jersey number 6, he made his big-league debut against the Philadelphia Athletics on April 13, 1954, pinch-hitting in the eighth inning. On April 15 at Fenway Park, Agganis started at first base and went 2-for-3, crushing a deep drive to right field off Washington’s Bob Porterfield for an RBI triple. 36 Observers noted that he would have had an inside-the-park home run if not for having the sloth-like George Kell on base ahead of him.37 Three days later, in the nightcap of an April 18 doubleheader, Harry hit his first major-league home run, a three-run shot, at Fenway off the A’s Arnie Portocarrero to carry the Red Sox to a 4-3 win. A day after that, Agganis singled for the lone hit off Yankees pitcher Jim McDonald in the second game of the Patriots Day twin bill at Fenway Park.38

“I hope he can make the grade,” said Red Sox general manager Joe Cronin. “He’s colorful. He’s a good competitor. And being a local boy, he can be a great drawing card.” This was no trivial matter — the Red Sox’ attendance had peaked in 1949 at nearly 1.6 million, but 1954 would mark their fifth consecutive decline, down to 930,000. The club organized a campaign to “Fill Fenway” for the home opener, getting support from the mayor’s office, but drew only 17,000 fans. Agganis had seen bigger crowds in high school and college than he saw in the major leagues.

Other highlights of his first season with the Sox included a four-RBI game with a homer and a double against the A’s on May 31, and a grand slam at Yankee Stadium on August 15.39 His best day was on June 6: He homered to help the Red Sox beat the Tigers 7-4, and then headed to Boston University for commencement exercises, where he was awarded his bachelor’s degree in education.40 Gernert, originally slated to platoon at first with Agganis, contracted hepatitis shortly after the season began and played just 14 games. Agganis hit .251 with 11 homers (including seven at Fenway), 54 runs, and 57 RBIs, in 132 games.41

After the 1954 season, Mike Higgins, Harry’s manager at Louisville, replaced Lou Boudreau at the Red Sox helm. The biggest position battle the next spring involved Agganis, who was now challenged at first base by rookie Norm Zauchin. A big right-handed hitter, Zauchin had fared well for Higgins in Louisville in 1954, while Agganis had slumped in the second half of his rookie campaign. Zauchin outhit Agganis in spring training and earned the position to start the season. After Zauchin went hitless in the season’s first three games, Agganis started the next three. By May 4, Zauchin was hitting .189 and Agganis got the job. With Ted Williams temporarily “retired” (he returned in May after a divorce settlement), Agganis began hitting in Ted’s customary third slot in the batting order. Over the next month, Agganis hiked his batting average above .300. On May 15, in a home doubleheader against the Detroit Tigers, Agganis went 5-for-10 with two doubles and a triple, boosting his average to .307, tenth in the league.42 For the many local observers accustomed to Agganis’s extraordinary athletic achievements, he was on his expected path to greatness.

After the twin bill, the Red Sox were in fifth place, 7½ games out of first with a record of 14-18. Players were looking forward to their offday, but Agganis arrived at Fenway seeking trainer Jack Fadden. Harry was experiencing heavy coughing spells and severe pain in his right side. After Fadden detected a fever, Agganis was admitted to Sancta Maria Hospital in nearby Cambridge. The team physician, Dr. Timothy Lamphier, diagnosed pneumonia in the right lung, and Harry remained hospitalized for 10 days.43

Agganis rejoined the team on May 27 for a series with the Washington Senators, but did not play. He appeared weak and pale, his cough persisted, and he was perspiring heavily. Harry sat that day as Zauchin notched three home runs and 10 RBIs in a 16-0 rout, apparently reclaiming the starting job at first. Agganis finally got a start five games later in Chicago. The next day, June 2, against Virgil Trucks and the White Sox, Harry again made the start at first. With Williams back in the lineup, Agganis batted fourth behind his star teammate. Harry went 2-for-4, including a shot to the gap for a double. It appeared to be deep enough for a triple, but after reaching second base Agganis stopped and sat down atop the base, exhausted. Later, with two on and two out and the Sox behind 4-2, Harry hit a short fly to right fielder Jim Rivera, who made a circus catch, then doubled off Williams as first base to end the inning.44 It proved to be the final plate appearance of Harry Agganis’s life. He had hit .313 for his season with 10 doubles, a triple, and no home runs.

The team boarded a train to Kansas City that evening while Harry’s cough persisted. After trainer Fadden examined him the next morning, Agganis was put on a plane back to Boston, where Joe Cronin picked him up and drove him back to Sancta Maria Hospital. A trio of new physicians diagnosed Harry with pneumonia in his left lung and phlebitis in his right leg. Agganis told the doctors that he had noticed a lump on his calf in April, which turned out to be a swollen venal wall. The medical staff kept his leg wrapped in ice to fend off blood clotting, and Harry remained weakened by his coughing spells. The doctors then announced that Agganis would be sidelined for two months, with Dr. Eugene O’Neill stating:

“Harry was a lot sicker than he realized when he entered the hospital. His case is a very complicated and serious one. If his condition warrants, he could be idle all season.”45

Harry’s condition did not improve, and the team placed him on the voluntary retired list on June 16.46 On June 25, after a visit from Ted Williams (who brought him a Davy Crockett magazine), Harry’s brother discovered him coughing up blood. On the morning of Monday, June 27, the physicians had him sit upright in a chair for the first time. As the doctors and nurses lifted Agganis from his bed, he clutched his chest and complained of pain. A blood clot had broken free from the vein in his calf and reached his lung, causing a pulmonary embolism. Twenty minutes later, the great Harry Agganis, idol of a region, was dead at the age of 26.47

He was survived by his mother, four brothers and two sisters.48 Before he died, Agganis allegedly whispered to a nurse, “Take care of my mother … be sure she is alright.”49

News of Agganis’s death cast a pall over Boston and Lynn and the surrounding region, and people who lived through the period can still tell you where they were when they first heard the news. “Everyone connected with the Red Sox is grieved and shocked,” a stunned Cronin said. “Harry was a great athlete, a grand boy, and a credit to sports.”50 Manager Mike Higgins was equally stunned: “He had it made. We thought he’d be our first baseman for ten years to come.”51

Harry’s Red Sox teammates, who had just finished a successful 11-3 homestand, were in Pittsburgh for an exhibition game when they got the word from traveling secretary Tom Dowd. The Red Sox played the game, losing 8-2, and then traveled by train to Washington for a series with the Senators.52 Seemingly inspired, they swept a doubleheader on the 28th, 4-0 and 8-2, and won again the next day, 7-5.53

His body lay in a bier at St. George Greek Orthodox Church in Lynn for a day and a half. More than 10,000 mourners filed past the coffin at his wake the evening of June 29.54 Harry was dressed in his favorite blue suit, a wreath of apple blossoms atop his head, and a gold wedding band placed around his left ring finger in accordance with Greek custom, symbolic of his eternal marriage to God.55 Hundreds of uniformed Little Leaguers stood outside the church, where the wake was held to accommodate the throng.56

The funeral was held the next day at 2 P.M. The Red Sox sent pitcher Frank Sullivan to represent the players, since the team was scheduled to play the final game of the Senators series in Washington that same afternoon, with a portion of gate receipts to benefit the American Red Cross. Cronin had hoped the entire team would be able to attend Harry’s service, but he was unable to persuade Senators owner Calvin Griffith to cancel or postpone the game. Because of the charitable connection, Cronin relented, though he was able to get the start time moved back an hour, to 3 P.M.57

Turnout for the Thursday game in Washington was sparse, and some accounts claimed that actual attendance was far less than the official figure of 8,563.58 A pair of Greek Orthodox priests conducted a service at home plate before the game, as the teams and umpires stood along the baselines at Griffith Stadium with heads bowed. A Marine color guard dipped the American flag in a traditional show of respect for the deceased serviceman.59

Sammy White delivered a stirring eulogy of his teammate and friend:

“The task that confronts me today is indeed a most difficult one, difficult because it is quite impossible to find the right words to completely express the deep sorrow we all feel for the loss of our teammate. How to tell his mother, his sisters and his brothers just how deep is our sympathy for them presents another difficulty. To tell all you people what Harry Agganis meant to me and his teammates really has me groping for appropriate words. Harry was not only a talented athlete with the strength of a Hercules, the competitive spirit and courage of a lion, and the possessor of an almost ferocious desire to win — he was a leader and, at the same time, a follower of all that was good.”60

Red Sox radio announcer Curt Gowdy then took the microphone to address those in attendance and said, with a shaky voice, “His athletic feats were golden and shining, and so was Harry personally.” Gowdy teared up again during the radio broadcast of the game. Ted Williams, the only player who had been allowed to visit Harry in the hospital,61 was unable to contain his emotions and wept on the field.62 The Red Sox wore black armbands for the next 30 days.63

Meanwhile in Lynn, 1,000 people packed into the church while thousands more filled an adjacent hall or stood outside in stifling summer heat. Many cried as they listened to the services on loudspeakers and transistor radios — first in Greek, then in English. Frank Sullivan later said it was one of the saddest things he had ever seen. Joining him from the Red Sox organization were Higgins, Cronin, O’Connell, scout Neil Mahoney, secretary Mary Trank, and several others from the front office. Sox owner Tom Yawkey was so uncomfortable with funerals that he remained at his plantation in South Carolina. He later made a $25,000 contribution to the Agganis Foundation.64

Twenty thousand people lined the one-mile funeral route from the church to Harry’s hillside grave in Pine Grove Cemetery, overlooking the Manning Bowl, where many of his sports heroics had played out. Nine vehicles carried the hundreds of floral arrangements sent by teammates, classmates, and opponents past and present, friends, family, fellow soldiers, and total strangers. 65

Questions persist about how such a strong, vibrant athlete could die surrounded by numerous doctors and nurses. The tiny Cambridge hospital where Harry was being treated and died was the Red Sox’ team hospital, and was thought by many to have lacked the staff or technology of Boston’s large and famous hospitals such as Massachusetts General. Many people, including Red Sox assistant GM Dick O’Connell, believed Harry’s illness stemmed from the injuries he received in the 1949 football game with Maryland. “I always felt the beating he took that day contributed to his death. I’m no doctor but I suspect blood clots sometimes don’t show up for a while,” said O’Connell later.66

Harry’s friend Dick Lynch long claimed that Dr. Lamphier had proposed surgery to strip the blood veins in his legs to mitigate any clot hazards, but that the procedure would have limited his agility, a prospect Harry flatly refused to consider, according to Lynch.67 Jack Kelley, another classmate of Harry’s, backed up these assertions: “I heard they told him they wanted to tie off some leg veins because clots were a possibility. But they told him he’d have no speed after that so he wanted to see if he could get better without that treatment. He thought he was getting better and would take his chances.”68

That scenario certainly adds to the mystery surrounding the removal of Dr. Lamphier from Harry’s case. Having seen the swelling in Harry’s calf, he allegedly tried to warn the team of the dangers a blood clot might pose but was met with ignorance and ultimately replaced as Harry’s attending physician. While one might see plausibility in that claim, Lamphier’s personal and professional credibility took a hit when he later moved to Florida and lost his medical license following the deaths of several patients.69

According to some Agganis researchers, including a present-day spokesman for the family, prior to his death Harry had already decided to return to football. If true, he would have played quarterback that fall for the Baltimore Colts, who had acquired his rights from the Browns.70

Harry Agganis’s legend remains strong and visible in the Boston area. His football number 33 was retired at both Lynn Classical and Boston University soon after he graduated from each school. In 1953, Harry was inducted into the new Boston University Hall of Fame.71 He declined gifts of a car and $4,000 from his classmates and instead asked that the cash equivalent be put toward establishing a Boston University scholarship for Greek-American students with financial need.72 In May 1955, Cleo Sophios of Medford High School was the first recipient. Agganis was inducted into the College Football Hall of Fame in 1974.73

In 1995, Gaffney Street in Boston was renamed Harry Agganis Way in his honor.74 It is located near Nickerson Field, which sits atop the former site of Braves Field, and was home to the Boston University football team. (The university has since dropped football.) In 2004, Agganis Arena, a 7,200-seat sports and entertainment facility, was dedicated in Harry’s honor on the Boston University campus.75 The arena is home to the Terriers’ ice hockey and basketball teams. A life-size bronze statue of Agganis, sculpted by artist Armand LaMontagne and depicting Harry about to throw a football, stands outside the arena’s main entrance.76 A wooden statue by LaMontagne, depicting Agganis in a pose similar to his work in bronze, can be seen at the New England Sports Museum at Boston’s T.D. Bank Garden.77

The Agganis Foundation was established in 1956 by the Boston Red Sox, the (Lynn) Daily Item newspaper and Harold O. Zimman, who was a mentor of Harry. Elmo Benedetto, the athletic director for the Lynn public schools, also joined the board of directors. It was a continuation of the scholarship foundation Harry himself started just prior to his death. From its inception through 2007, the Agganis Foundation has awarded $1,187,525 in scholarships to 780 student-athletes from throughout Eastern Massachusetts. Each year, 15 new four-year, $4,000 scholarships are presented. Through the additional generosity of the Yawkey Foundation, there are four scholarships earmarked to students in Boston schools each year. The foundation also sponsors the Agganis All-Star Classics, a series of high-school all-star games. The football classic, first organized by Benedetto, has been played annually since 1956 with the exception of 1960-64, and the 50th Anniversary Classic was to be played in the summer of 2010. Other Classics have since been added for baseball (1995), men’s and women’s soccer (1996), softball (1997), and men’s and women’s basketball (2005).78

Agganis’s legend goes far beyond his feats on the playing fields. He was revered as a person at every stage of his life. In high school he not only dominated athletically, he also starred in school plays, performing with his girlfriend Jean Allaire, who went on to play Miss Jean in Romper Room, a local children’s television show. “The thing about Harry,” recalled Dick Lynch, a friend and teammate in both high school and college, “was that he was such a classy guy. He handled everything about his fame so beautifully. He was an idol — the Greek god image was an understatement — but he never let any of it go to his head.” Mary Trank, who worked in the Red Sox offices at the time, was one of the awestruck: “When he walked into a room it was like an aura,” she said.79

“Almost everybody on the North Shore knew him all right,” wrote Jeremiah Murphy in the Boston Globe. “I’ll tell you right off: I never heard anybody put the knock on Harry Agganis. There was no question about that. Harry was as charismatic off the field as he was when he was throwing beautiful 60-yard touchdown passes in Manning Bowl. You couldn’t take your eyes off him if he walked into a room. It was a real privilege to have seen him play and to have been in his presence.”80 George Smyrnios, who played against Agganis at Peabody High felt privileged for the chance: “We became immortalized with him. He was a champion above champions, a super player. He was the best of the best and an unbeatable player and an unbeatable person.”81 Bob Whalen, another college teammate, said, “He had that unique knack of making you feel you were the most important person in the world to him. He’d walk into a room and the room would just light up.”82

Decades later, there were still people in the Boston area who would talk about the time they saw, or met, Harry Agganis, how much he meant to them, how much his loss was still felt. What he would have accomplished in his baseball career is not known. Nonetheless, in his 26 years he managed to affect the lives of tens of thousands, who will never forget him.

Sources

Much of this biography was reworked from Mark Brown’s story on Agganis found at the Sons of Sam Horn wiki page. (http://sonsofsamhorn.net/wiki/index.php/Harry_Agganis).

Notes

Before his call to the ministry in 1955, Armstrong was a rising star in professional baseball administration. After a brief minor-league career as a pitcher/infielder (1947), he became business manager of the Portsmouth (Ohio) A’s of the Ohio-Indiana League in 1948. He then became the first public relations director for the Philadelphia Athletics, working for and with the legendary Connie Mack from the end of 1949 through the end of the 1952 major-league season.

After taking a year to work for an advertising agency, Armstrong answered the call of his hometown Baltimore Orioles, new to the American League in 1954, by becoming their first public relations director. Besides helping establish major-league baseball in the Baltimore market, Armstrong displayed vision with many of the innovations he introduced at the major-league level. This included the first comprehensive in-stadium fan survey ever done in the major leagues, the results of which gained national attention and had lasting influence in the way major-league clubs viewed their fan bases.

By 1955, Armstrong’s growing reputation among major-league executives indicated a long, successful baseball front-office career ahead. However, the time with the Orioles would not be the last calling that he would fulfill.

Even though this biography focuses on Armstrong’s baseball career, the entirety of his life story cannot be ignored. He started a song ad service for the W.W. Orr Advertising Agency, adding to their already unique offering to clients. Late in life, he expressed his hope that his voluminous store of unpublished poetry will eventually be made public. Indeed, if his story were to have a title, it could be “The Poet of the Press Box and the Pulpit.”

Richard Stoll “Dick” Armstrong was born in Baltimore, Maryland on March 29, 1924, the son of Herbert Eustace Armstrong and Elsie Davis Stoll Armstrong.1 Calling his childhood “an idyllic life,”2 Dick attended the McDonogh School in Baltimore for 11 years. He credited this private, semi-military academy for the development of his values later in life. Dick’s lifelong passion for sports began at McDonogh under his father Herb, who was head of the math department and athletic department, also serving as head coach of the varsity football, hockey, and basketball teams. A gifted athlete, Herb had been a three-year All-American for the Tufts College baseball team. The shortstop went on to play professionally from 1917 through 1925, rising as high as the International League, while also pursuing a teaching career.3

At McDonogh, Dick excelled in baseball, basketball, and football while winning awards for excellence in studies.4 He led his class 10 out of 11 years, he received the Childs’ Cup for the highest three-year scholarship average in the upper school, he served as secretary of his class, was editor of the yearbook, captain of the baseball team and co-captain of the basketball team as well as the starting left end on McDonogh’s football team. Armstrong’s academic success and prowess on the pitching mound earned him the Maryland Regional Scholarship to Princeton University in 1942.

The United States was already fighting the Axis powers in World War II when Armstrong entered Princeton as a freshman in the spring of 1942. He began as a member of Princeton’s ROTC unit and then decided to enlist in the U.S. Navy on December 20, 1942. He was assigned to the Navy V-12 unit at Princeton, so he was able to continue his studies, now as a Navy plebe, in preparation for Midshipmen Officers’ Candidacy School. He immediately excelled in athletics, spending one season on the varsity basketball team while winning the Underclassman Cup for baseball in 1943.5 He lettered in varsity baseball in 1944.

From the outset of the war, colleges and universities in America experienced a decline in enrollment. Men were either being drafted into the military or enlisting voluntarily. The U.S. Navy also had a critical need for commissioned officers. To address both areas, on July 1, 1943, “The Navy V-12 program was created to generate a large number of officers as well as to offset the dropping number of enrollees at colleges.”6 Armstrong qualified for Harvard University’s Midshipmen School, earning a commission as an ensign after four months. He then spent the next eight months in the Naval Supply Corps School at the Harvard Graduate School of Business Administration. After completing training at Harvard in the spring of 1945, Armstrong was assigned as the disbursing officer on the U.S.S. Chandeleur (AV 10) in the Pacific theater. He was later promoted to supply officer and remained on sea duty until his honorable discharge on August 31, 1946.7

Armstrong noted fondly that he pitched for Princeton both before and after the war. He returned to college determined to spend his senior year “as a regular student.”8 Besides earning his undergraduate degree in economics, he was a starting outfielder and pitcher on the varsity baseball team during the 1947 season. In 1990, Armstrong was awarded the Robert L. Peters. Jr. ’42 Award, by the Friends of Princeton Baseball, honoring “an alumnus…for significant contributions to the athletic community and later-life accomplishments.”9

As he contemplated graduation, Armstrong wanted to play professional baseball. A fellow Baltimorean, Arthur Ehlers, was farm director of the Philadelphia A’s. Traveling to Shibe Park in Philadelphia after graduating, Armstrong introduced himself to Ehlers. An astute executive with an eye for talent, Ehlers became one of the most important acquaintances in Armstrong’s baseball life. Beyond Armstrong’s on-field talent, Ehlers spotted a business sense and leadership qualities in the young man. He offered Armstrong a job with the A’s, first as a pitcher and utility infielder in their minor-league system in 1947.

After a short stay at Martinsville (Virginia) in the Carolina League, Armstrong was sent to the Lancaster (Pennsylvania) Red Roses of the Interstate League. As an infielder, Dick found himself backing up future Hall of Famer Nellie Fox. “I didn’t get to play much,” Armstrong told the Germantown Courier in April 1962.10 Late in the season, he was given a start on the mound against Wilmington. He was relieved after six innings with the score tied at 3 to 3. He was also scheduled to pitch the final home game of the season, but it was rained out. Armstrong recalled what happened next. “The A’s were just starting a farm system, and at the end of my first season he (Ehlers) called me into his office and said, ‘Look, you’re getting married soon, and you’ll have a family to support. How long do you want to bang around in the minor leagues wondering if you’ll make it to the majors?’ He suggested that I should consider the front office, which I thought was the best news I’d ever heard. I was thrilled!”11 Ehlers then offered Armstrong a position in the A’s minor-league business operation, and he jumped at the chance.

In autumn 1947, Ehlers sent his young protégé to a business manager’s conference in Columbus, Ohio. He then named Armstrong as the first business manager of the Class-D Portsmouth A’s. Armstrong had to build the new club’s operations from scratch on a low budget. According to J.G. Taylor Spink, “Armstrong had to do everything except sell peanuts. He put in lights, erected a new scoreboard, dressed up the park, made contacts here and there, built a new diamond.”12 Spink also referenced special events created by Armstrong.

As business manager, Armstrong was responsible for 29 different financial accounts. Figuring that total attendance of 75,000 was needed to break even, he developed a detailed marketing and promotional strategy, which included printed pocket schedules, newspaper ads, media relations, signage, and community goodwill. His plan, in a harbinger of things to come, also included a detailed, 37-question survey that shed light on the wants and needs of the Portsmouth fan base. Armstrong reached out to numerous community groups, including youth, business, and fraternal organizations. He organized special nightly promotions. One such promotion was a “Sweetheart of the A’s” contest that the local newspaper quickly dubbed as the “Pretty Girls in Bathing Suits Night.”13 According to Armstrong, the A’s players were commissioned to judge the winning contestants on the field. However, they came to him the morning of the event with other plans. They intended to award the “sweetheart” prize to Mrs. Margie Armstrong, a favorite of theirs. “You can’t do that!” Dick told them, and the players reverted to the original plans.14 Armstrong and Margaret Frances Childs of Princeton met while Dick attended the Harvard Business School during the war and Margie attended nearby Wellesley. They married in January 1948, and she assisted Dick very ably as a goodwill ambassador in Portsmouth during those early days.

Total paid attendance for the 1948 Portsmouth A’s was 73,533, which led the Ohio-Indiana League. Armstrong described his business manager duties as “entertainment, exhibition and sport all at once.” His stated objective of “reviving interest in professional baseball and getting people in the habit of coming out to the park” worked thanks to his vision and goodwill. Portsmouth’s Central Labor Council, in The Labor Review, said, “He came here as a total stranger. Because of his fine personality, his recent adherence to his duties, his fine cooperation with the fans and genuineness and straight forwardness, he won the respect of all.”15

Armstrong returned to Portsmouth in 1949 and organized a “Connie Mack Day” in July, giving residents a chance to glimpse of the “Grand Old Man of Baseball” who brought the game back to Portsmouth. The event drew a sellout crowd to the ballpark that evening. Despite a serious bus accident that injured 11 players, the 1949 A’s won the Ohio-Indiana League championship and were a success both on the field and at the box office.16 Art Ehlers sensed he had a rising front-office star on his hands.

The major leagues evolved into a big business after the down years of the Great Depression and World War II. By the late 1940s, public relations became increasingly important — clubs realized that it took more than a good team on the field to put people in the seats. They formed agreements with outside advertising and PR firms to assist in their promotional efforts. Mack’s A’s were at the end of a two-year contract with the Adelphia Associates and sought proposals for a new contract for the 1950 season and beyond.17 Industry heavyweights like Robert G. Wilder and Co., the John LaCerda Agency, Gray and Rodgers Advertising, and W. Wallace Orr, Inc. all bid for the A’s business. Ehlers, thinking that the 25-year old Armstrong was more than up to the task of running publicity for the A’s, suggested that Dick submit a proposal of his own. In October 1949, Armstrong submitted his “Suggested Public Relations and Publicity Program for the American Baseball Club of Philadelphia,” focusing on an elaborate, year-long celebration of Connie Mack’s 50th anniversary as manager of the A’s. He also submitted a separate “Source of Attendance” study.18 His was the only proposal that focused on Mack’s Golden Jubilee; only one other bidder even mentioned it.19

Liking what they saw and seeing an opportunity to move the function in-house at a fraction of the cost, Connie Mack and his sons Roy and Earle brought Armstrong into the A’s front office to run public relations, with the part-time assistance of Eddie Hogan, who worked publicity for the Philadelphia Eagles of the National Football League.

Armstrong wasted no time in getting right to work before the beginning of the 1950 season. Calling Dick “a young man with ideas,” J.G. Taylor Spink of The Sporting News took notice of what Armstrong was doing and described it thus:

“He set out to discover what the public and the press thought about the Athletics. He toured the city for three months without disclosing his identity, asking questions of taxi drivers, salesmen, bankers, businessmen…inviting complaints, accepting the good points. He jotted down his findings and explorations in a 30-page report for future reference. Hoping that the A’s would have a good club in 1950, he went to work and his anniversary campaign for Mr. Mack’s fiftieth year…was tremendously well-handled.20

The plans for Mack included the establishment of the Golden Jubilee Committee of Philadelphia, consisting of prominent business and community leaders as well as luminaries from throughout the major leagues. Many radio and television appearances for Mack, national magazine and newspaper publicity, and celebrations at all American League stadiums were scheduled, as well as a gala dinner in Philadelphia in April 1950. Armstrong collaborated with Ed Hogan and local Philadelphia newspapermen in publishing the “50th Anniversary Golden Jubilee” Philadelphia A’s yearbook. For the jubilee, Armstrong composed “The Connie Mack Swing,” a musical score featured in the yearbook and performed by the Philadelphia Police and Fireman’s Band at Mack’s Shibe Park celebration in 1950.21 Armstrong also wrote “The A’s Song,” the score of which appeared in the 1951 team yearbook.

Besides his musical compositions, Armstrong also worked his passion for poetry into his public relations toolkit. In 1949, the A’s set a still-standing major-league record by turning 217 double plays. They went on to accumulate a three-year total of 629 DPs, a record that stands even today with the longer playing seasons. Most of these involved their keystone combination of shortstop Eddie Joost and second baseman Pete Suder, along with first baseman Ferris Fain. Armstrong quickly took notice. Using the meter of Franklin Pierce Adams’ famous “Tinker to Evers to Chance,” he composed a tribute to the A’s record-setters, which was published as a press release after the 1951 season. Armstrong also posted “Joost to Suder to Fain” on his blog in 2012.

If only the 1950 A’s could have cooperated on the field. Instead, the club finished last at 52-102, six games behind the seventh-place St. Louis Browns and a full 46 games behind the pennant-winning New York Yankees. To rub salt in the wound, the Philadelphia Phillies “Whiz Kids,” who shared Shibe Park with the A’s, made an unexpected run to the NL pennant, further diverting attention from the A’s. Attendance fell and Connie Mack’s health began to fail, causing him to miss some late-season games. He retired as manager at the end of that season.

Despite the disappointment from Mack’s decline and the team’s performance, Armstrong had already taken steps to modernize the fan experience both in and outside of Shibe Park. His energetic plan caught the attention of veteran observers. Calling Armstrong “a young man with ideas,” J.G. Taylor Spink summarized the innovations that October:

“The results of his suggestions, energy and experience are already evident in: 1) The establishment of a Connie Mack Shrine at Shibe Park, a room which will house all the trophies, souvenirs and mementos presented to Mr. Mack — starting from the original glove used by the famed manager, 2) The formation of an Athletic Club patterned after Larry MacPhail’s Stadium Club at the Yankee Stadium and limited to holders of season ticket plans — with space for refreshments and meals, 3) The setting up of a bureau of information which will work hand-in-hand with the manager and general manager so that news is given out according to plan, 4) The organization of a department which will plan added entertainment to games, 5) The formation of a policy of courtesy education for all club employees in their dealing with the public, and 6) The establishment of a sound ticket sale plan.”22

Fan publications became a staple of Armstrong’s publicity efforts. He and Eddie Hogan had early on established The Elephant Trail, a monthly newsletter highlighting player profiles as well as current and future events. In 1951, Armstrong established a relationship with Jay Jackson, producing an A’s yearbook that served as a model for all major-league clubs. Jackson’s firm, Jay Publishing Company, through its subsidiary Big League Books, quickly received the contract to produce all major league yearbooks. It did so, along with photo packs and other publications, through the mid-1960s.23

By 1952, the Mack family was engaged in an internal fight for ownership of the club as it struggled to stay solvent. Rent collected from the Eagles and the Phillies, who shared Shibe Park, kept the club afloat.24 Undeterred, Armstrong continued his quest to bring fans to the ballpark by holding creative promotions and unusual events. One involved pitcher Bobby Shantz, the little lefthander whose 24-7 record for the A’s earned him the American League MVP award in 1952. Shantz always was the subject of good-natured controversy about his slight stature and weight, with many trying to guess just how much below 5 feet 10 inches he stood. Armstrong saw an opportunity to end the debate, and with Shantz’s cooperation, staged a ballyhooed “weigh-in” at Shibe Park. On July 18, 1952, representatives from the Philadelphia Bureau of Weights and Measures, Shantz, and A’s manager Jimmy Dykes gathered at home plate. Shantz stepped up to the scale, and his “tale of the tape” officially came in at 5 feet 6 ¼ inches tall with a weight of 139 ¾ pounds. Shantz’s size obviously had no effect on his pitching, but the coverage of the event in the Philadelphia Inquirer was a publicity coup for Armstrong and the club.25

Powered by the stellar pitching of Shantz and the offense of Ferris Fain, the A’s rebounded to fourth place in 1952, finishing 79-75. Attendance rose to 627,100. It was the last time A’s attendance in Philadelphia broke 600,000, and after dismal 1953 and 1954 seasons, the club was sold and moved to Kansas City in 1955.

By 1952, Dick and Margie had two small children. Being a baseball executive was a grueling job requiring long hours away from home. Armstrong was unsure if he wanted to spend the coming years away from his family for those many hours while the kids were growing up. He also felt that he would enjoy the creative challenges of branching out into the advertising field. At the end of the 1952 season, the W. Wallace Orr Agency offered Armstrong an irrefusable opportunity to become their copy and plans director. Eager to explore new opportunities and to settle down to more regular hours, he left the A’s. Upon the announcement of his departure, a writer from the Baltimore Sun stated, “The rise of young Dick Armstrong…in the public relations forces of the Philadelphia Athletics, was as rapid as his tenure was short…(he) gives off evidence of being headed into quite a career. He even made the A’s sound really good”26

Even though Armstrong technically left the game, he never strayed far from it or the sports world. The Orr Agency entered into an agreement with the A’s to provide designs for promotional and advertising materials, with Armstrong as the account executive. Also, the Milwaukee Braves, freshly moved from Boston during spring training in 1953, urgently needed marketing materials and turned to the Orr Agency for help. Edward D. Barker, Orr’s Vice-President, described Armstrong’s contribution to the project. “(Teaming with Art Director, Dick Andrews) a major project for the Andrews-Armstrong team was the preparation of a two-color ticket brochure, which was designed, written, proofed, printed, and en route to Milwaukee in a span of five days…Considering the immense amount of creative material that had to be turned out…this was indeed a remarkable promotional job…it was a little short of amazing.”27

Dedicated sports telecasting was in its infancy in 1953, and Wallace Orr was at the forefront with its subsidiary Tel Ra Productions, which produced unique and original sports magazine-type programming and possessed one of the largest collections of sports filmography in the world.28 Tel Ra’s “TeleSports Digest,” a weekly show, was an original forerunner of ESPN’s “SportsCenter” format. Armstrong settled in to the TV end, producing plans and proposals for sports programming for Tel Ra’s “A Salute to Baseball” and “Major League Preview” as well as the first “Eagles’ Nest” television program for the Philadelphia Eagles.29 Once again, Armstrong easily acclimated to the business end of the new sports broadcasting production field. Thus, a long career beckoned, especially as an industry pioneer.

Then came the announcements from St. Louis and Baltimore of the second major-league franchise shift in as many years.

The Browns had long played “second fiddle” to the Cardinals in the Gateway City, struggling both on the field and financially. After the Anheuser-Busch brewing company purchased the Cardinals, their hold on the city was solidified, making the Browns expendable. In 1953, Browns owner Bill Veeck reached an agreement with a Maryland group led by attorney Clarence W. Miles to sell the franchise. Miles then purchased the Baltimore Orioles of the International League from Jack Dunn III. Under Dunn and business manager Herb Armstrong — Dick’s father — the O’s were one of the most successful minor-league operations. Strong attendance in Baltimore caught the attention of the major leagues. Baltimore was awarded a franchise in the American League and Richmond, Virginia, won an IL franchise. With Dunn III and Herb Armstrong each assuming roles in Miles’ new front office, the club continued its tradition. It kept the Baltimore Orioles name and began play in 1954. The O’s brought in Jimmy Dykes and Art Ehlers from the Philadelphia A’s as manager and general manager respectively. In a forerunner of the expansion era, it fell to Dykes and Ehlers to take the patchwork roster and make it major league in all respects, which included selling it to the Baltimore community. Ehlers immediately knew who he wanted to lead the public relations effort.

Upon reading the announcements out of Baltimore, Armstrong immediately sensed what would happen next. Before ever receiving a call from Ehlers, he and Margie discussed the possibility of joining the Orioles’ front office. They were torn because the Orr Agency was providing exciting work with a more relaxed schedule. They decided to keep an open mind, since an opportunity to be on the ground floor of building major-league baseball in Armstrong’s hometown was certainly appealing. Ehlers called the very next day, informing Armstrong that he had already recommending him to the owners as the Orioles’ first PR director. Armstrong said he was interested, as long as the salary met his and Margie’s expectations.30 He had one other reservation about the job, a personal one. He was concerned that some would perceive nepotism because his father was in the front office, even though it was Ehlers’ idea. After talking it over with his dad, they both agreed that it would become common knowledge that the two Armstrong men came to the Orioles under separate circumstances.31 Clarence Miles agreed to Dick’s salary request, paving the way for his return to the majors.

There was much work to be done in very little time. Promotional materials, advertising strategies, and ticket plans had to be created. Media outlets had to be prepared to carry the new club’s message to the region’s residents. Excitement gripped Baltimore, and on April 15, 1954, led by Vice President Richard Nixon, hundreds of thousands lined the city’s streets in a mammoth welcoming parade. Lavish floats and marching bands were joined by baseball dignitaries and Orioles players in what was described as the largest parade in Baltimore’s history.32 Later that afternoon, more than 46,000 fans jammed the still unfinished Memorial Stadium to see the O’s defeat the Chicago White Sox, 3 to 1. Even with this auspicious start, Armstrong knew that he had to understand the pulse of the Baltimore fan base to assure long-term success at the box office. He set out to conduct the largest comprehensive, in-stadium fan survey ever attempted by a major-league baseball team.

Armstrong was no stranger to public opinion polling and survey methods. He’d worked for the Gallup organization during the 1948 presidential election campaign.33 He’d also taken smaller fan samplings during his time with both Portsmouth and Philadelphia. Armstrong sought to gather useful information with “a cross-section of opinion about various phases of (the club’s) operation…(and) hoped to obtain some vital information about the people who attend games.”34

The survey was taken inside Memorial Stadium during 20 games in July and August 1954. Approximately 100 to 150 questionnaires were handed out at the beginning of each game, and all were collected by the end of the third inning so that the game score wouldn’t influence responses. Fans participated eagerly, with 97% of the surveys completed and returned. Information was sought on seat pricing and ticket sales as well as game starting times. Fan experience, the average cost of attending a game, stadium appearance, and between-inning music tastes were queried. Opinions on transportation, parking, and radio and television coverage were also sought. In all, the fan survey was designed to draw conclusions about the “average Baltimore fan” of 1954.35

After Armstrong and his staff meticulously tabulated the results during the off-season, a comprehensive report was submitted to the club ownership and the press. The concept of a baseball club polling the needs and wants of its fan base drew national attention. Baseball press and management, from the commissioner on down, took notice. The Sporting News, in its January 19, 1955 editorial, opined as follows:

“Baltimore is a relative newcomer to modern major league baseball, but the Orioles front office has already made a lasting impression on the men who run the game…Latest evidence of the Orioles’ wide-awake approach is the poll conducted by publicist Dick Armstrong and printed in these pages last week. The young tom-tom beater is by no means the first to sample fan opinion, but the comprehensive nature of his questionnaire and the useful information produced by it seldom have been matched by similar endeavors…Both majors and minors profitably can emulate the Baltimore survey…There is no sounder way to good public relations, no surer method of attracting more fans to the ticket windows.”36

A United Press article from May 17, 1955 stated, “Commissioner Ford Frick announced today his office has employed Steven Fitzgerald and Co. of New York, an independent research organization, to make a study of all the problems facing baseball.” Bernie Lit, in his “Baltimore Nite-Life” column, wrote to his readers, “Dick Armstrong, the fabulous pubbie great for our beloved Baltimore Orioles, rated a mention in most of the dailies around the country on how Baltimore fans are so sports-minded. And just like the fans and our Birds, Dick Armstrong, YOU, too, are Big League.”37

Armstrong further demonstrated his creativity by introducing “Mr. Oriole,” the first on-field, in-costume mascot in the major leagues. Early in 1954, he ran a contest for local artists to submit Oriole caricatures as a logo and symbol of the team. Armstrong remembered, “I was looking for a jaunty but likeable bird, one with plenty of personality…one stood out above all the rest…submitted by Jim Hartzell, a cartoonist for the Baltimore Sun. We named our new mascot ‘Mr. Oriole’ and his perky bird face was quickly popularized.”38

Armstrong had an additional idea for Mr. Oriole that ultimately led to the prevalence of future mascots. He wondered “if it would be possible to create a costume that would replicate the expression and appearance of Mr. Oriole so that a three-dimensional version of the bird could cavort on the field and in the stands during the games.”39 Armstrong’s long-time friend and high school teammate, Johnny Myers, knew a costume designer who happened to be related to Hall of Famer Joe Tinker. Using the cartoon Mr. Oriole as a model, (the designer) Tinker produced an excellent costume likeness of the bird. Myers was an accomplished trumpeter and a natural performer. Armstrong convinced him to dress in the suit and take his act to the ballpark. “When the strikingly colorful bird made his first public appearance at Memorial Stadium following a proper introduction over the public address system, the fans went wild,” explained Armstrong, “but the pièce de resistance was when he whipped out from beneath one of his feathered wings a trumpet, which he could play through his beak…the effect was sensational! We had the only trumpet-playing bird in captivity!”40

Although the 1954 Orioles finished seventh at 54-100 record, the team drew more than 1 million fans, a testament to the awareness created by Armstrong’s PR office, as well as baseball’s appeal to the people of Baltimore. Paul Richards was brought in as both manager and general manager, ushering in an era of player development that would lead to a strong contender by 1960.

Meanwhile, the Armstrong family had received a stunning blow in the late spring of 1954. Their three-year-old son Ricky was diagnosed with leukemia, which then had no known cure. Dick and Margie dedicated themselves to fighting Ricky’s disease with all available treatments. When Armstrong originally took the Orioles job, he agreed to a two-year contract because he was still unsure whether he wanted baseball to be his life’s work. This changed after long conversations with Margie and with friends and co-workers Jack Dunn III and Orioles broadcaster Ernie Harwell. Armstrong decided that his best future path was in baseball, including the goal of eventually becoming a general manager.41 He approached the 1955 season with increased resolve and purpose. As he and his family arrived in Daytona Beach, Florida for spring training, their baseball future appeared to be well defined.

Non-baseball people have the romantic notion of spring training as being a relaxing time spent in the sun and away from the cold winters up north. For baseball front office personnel and the press, the exact opposite is true. For Dick Armstrong, spring training in 1955 presented some challenges. The first was adjusting to the working style of Paul Richards to assure that the official press announcements from Armstrong’s office mirrored what Richards was informally conveying to the writers. Second, Richards had already reshaped the Orioles roster in the off-season, which included a record 17-player trade with the New York Yankees in November 1954. Biographical information of all the new players had to be written and, most importantly, publicized to the fan base through the baseball writers.

Armstrong’s days started early and ran late. He could spend time with his two older children, Ellen and Ricky, only in the early mornings (the famiily also included a small boy named Andy by then). Dinner with Margie was normally accompanied by associates of the club or members of the press. Private moments were few and far between, but Armstrong enjoyed the pace and the challenges of the job.

One evening, he and Margie decided to dine by themselves to catch up on family chatter. They were driving back from the restaurant after an enjoyable evening when an event occurred that altered their lives forever. Armstrong explained it this way:

“Margie and I were calmly chatting, when — without warning — something strange and wonderful happened. I was suddenly seized by an overpowering feeling that God was speaking to me! So irresistible was the sensation that I immediately pulled over on the wide shoulder of the road and stopped the car. I sat there tensely gripping the wheel, with what must have been a stunned expression on my face, staring at nothing. Margie was startled. She was afraid I was having a heart attack. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked, worriedly…I turned toward her and said in a tone that reflected my bewilderment, ‘I have the strangest feeling that God is telling me that I must become a minister!’”42

Armstrong was a self-professed “biblically illiterate Episcopalian.”43 Though he believed in God, he did not read the Bible, never went to Sunday School, and attended church only once in a while. Yet, convinced that what he felt in the car was genuine, he spent the night discussing it with Margie. They both agreed that he had to pursue this calling.

Armstrong later came to call this moment his “Damascus Road” experience, drawing from the Book of Acts (Chapter 22, verses 10-11 in the Revised Standard Version). “And I said, ‘What shall I do, Lord?’ And the Lord said to me, ‘Rise, and go into Damascus, and there you will be told all that is appointed for you to do.’ And when I could not see because of the brightness of that light, I was led by the hand by those who were with me, and came into Damascus.”

He decided not to share it with the Orioles front office right away. He first consulted with a local church pastor in Daytona Beach, who assured him that what he felt was indeed possible and a work of God.

Armstrong did not know how to pursue being a minister, and he could not disrupt his duties with the Orioles until he better understood the plan he needed to put in place. He had a lot of work to do, both in the press box and on the road to the pulpit. At times he questioned what happened to him that evening in Daytona Beach, because it was such a radical departure. “Throughout my years in baseball and advertising I had toyed with many interesting ideas, but never had I had the slightest inkling about being a minister, nor had anyone ever suggested the ministry to me. It was not a matter of ruling out the possibility; the thought had never occurred to me,” he recalled years later.44

After spring training, Armstrong shuttled between his front office duties and various appointments with family to discuss what his next moves would be. He received strong guidance from his cousin Maurice Armstrong, a Presbyterian minister in Philadelphia. Maurice suggested meeting with Dr. John Mackay, president of Princeton Theological Seminary and a noted Presbyterian. When Dick later mentioned this to Margie, she excitedly reported attending high school in Princeton with the Mackay children and that her parents had developed a deep friendship with the Mackays during those years. Margie’s parents supported their plans and made the call, setting up an appointment for Dick to visit with Dr. Mackay.

Not all of the feedback that Armstrong received from family and others was completely supportive and understanding of the abrupt career change that he planned. First, there was the immense responsibility of having the means to support Ricky’s ongoing treatments; a move to seminary would certainly cause financial struggle. The Pastor of the First Presbyterian Church in Princeton, Dr. John Bodo, felt that Dick’s calling might be better served in the lay community, given the high visibility of his position in baseball. Inevitably, there was also a suggestion that perhaps Armstrong’s decision was solely a reaction to Ricky’s illness. He strongly denied that, recalling, “Had I for one moment suspected that my desire to become a minister was the result of Ricky’s illness, either as an attempt to bargain with God for Ricky’s life or to atone for whatever I may have done to cause God’s disfavor, I would still be in baseball, because I would have suspected my motives.”45 In his heart, Armstrong believed that God wanted him to become a minister. The road then became more defined.

At his meeting with Dr. Mackay, Armstrong related his Damascus Road experience and his belief that God wanted him to serve a congregation, hence his desire to enter seminary. He also told Dr. Mackay that he “knew very little about these things” because he was, after all, “a public relations man, not a theologian.”46 What might have been a throw-away line turned into one of the most important things that Dick could have said to Mackay. “Oh Boys! Oh Boys! This is providential!” he (Mackay) exclaimed with great enthusiasm. “The trustees have just authorized me to hire a public relations person for the seminary and now God has sent one into my office! If you would be interested in working for us part-time while going to seminary, I think we could work something out.”47 Providential indeed — Armstrong got not only a boost for his seminary application but also an opportunity to earn income while studying. His acceptance letter arrived shortly thereafter.

In the summer of 1955, Armstrong redoubled his work for the Orioles, wanting to leave the public relations office in good shape for his successor. After notifying the Orioles in May of his decision to leave at the end of the season, he immediately set out to compile and write a comprehensive report, entitled “Public Relations Report for the Baltimore Baseball Club, Inc.” It was a “how to” manual for any public relations department and director as well as a program specific to the Orioles’ unique operation.48 It was a hectic summer because he and Margie not only handled work with the Orioles but also relocated the family to Princeton while dealing with Ricky’s illness. Ricky’s periods of remission were becoming shorter, and Armstrong recalled, “In between his temporary recovery would be days of terrible suffering, usually involving hospitalization, blood transfusions and painful treatments.”49

The baseball season was winding down, and the new seminary semester was approaching. Armstrong was traveling frequently between Baltimore and Princeton. September 16 was “Firemen’s Oriole Appreciation Night” between games of a doubleheader with the Washington Senators. The event was sponsored by the firefighters of metropolitan Baltimore. In a tribute, the firemen renamed the night “Dick Armstrong Night,” during which he received gifts and was able to say goodbye to the fans at Memorial Stadium.50 On September 26, Clarence Miles hosted a dinner in Baltimore for the club owners, key fans, the press, and other dignitaries. He asked Dick and Margie to attend as guests of honor in one last tribute. Ricky had taken a turn for the worse, so Margie decided to stay behind. As Armstrong set out for the train to Baltimore, God once again signaled, telling him to return home because he was needed there for Margie and Ricky. Ricky died in Dick’s arms at 4 o’clock the next morning.51

Armstrong spent the next three years as a Masters of Divinity student at Princeton Seminary. He brought the same zeal to his studies for the ministry as he did to his baseball front office duties, winning the Grier Prize for Speech and Homiletics, serving as an assistant to the vice president for public relations, and becoming seminary student body president.52 Another son, William (“Woody”) was born in 1956. Upon Armstrong’s graduation in 1958, he, Margie, Ellen, and sons Andy (then five) and Woody (two) awaited the next stop in their journey.

Leaving baseball did create a particular void for Armstrong. “Whatever sadness I felt about leaving baseball had to do not with its material benefits but with the severing of ties with the game I had loved all my life and the friends I had made along the way,” he remembered. “Anyone who loves sports can understand that feeling.”53 However, he still remained connected to the sports community. In May 1955, he had received an unexpected phone call from Don McClanen, former basketball coach at Eastern Oklahoma A&M. McClanen was starting an organization called the Fellowship of Christian Athletes. As Armstrong recalled, “Along came something relating sports to Christ.”54 The FCA, which involves athletes young and old, of all races and Christian denominations, both men and women, became a big part of his life.

Armstrong joined a group of sports luminaries in the original organization of the FCA. They included baseball executive Branch Rickey, former member of the Phillies “Whiz Kids” and future Hall of Famer Robin Roberts, Cleveland Browns quarterback Otto Graham, Cleveland Indians Hall of Famer Bob Feller, and Brooklyn Dodgers pitcher Carl Erskine, among many others. Don McClanen recalled, “He (Armstrong) became a vital partner and indispensable colleague in shaping and enabling the mission of the Fellowship of Christian Athletes. In the early days…he served as a most needed interpreter of the unfolding vital relationship being forged between religion and sports.”55 Besides founding local FCA chapters in Baltimore, Philadelphia, and Princeton among other cities, Armstrong served for many years on the Fellowship’s National Board of Trustees. He was the first recipient of the FCA’s Distinguished Service Award in 1965, received the Branch Rickey Memorial Award in 1974 and was elected Life Trustee in 1979.

The accomplishments of Dick Armstrong’s ministerial career are almost too numerous to list. After ordination to the Presbyterian ministry in 1958, he served for ten years as Pastor of the Oak Lane Presbyterian Church, an urban church in Philadelphia. His highly successful program, “Operation Black and White,” which focused on evangelism in the neighborhood, revitalized a parish whose membership was in decline.56

After Oak Lane, Armstrong returned to Princeton Seminary, becoming director and then vice president of development from 1968 to 1974. He then accepted the call as Pastor of the Second Presbyterian Church in Indianapolis, Indiana. He served there from 1974 to 1980, establishing a “Church in Community” ministry, stressing leadership and volunteerism in the larger community. Armstrong became a vital presence in Indianapolis, which included being chosen as a voting board member of the Indianapolis Indians Triple-A baseball club. He also received, among many other recognitions, the Distinguished Service Award of the National Conference of Christians and Jews (Indiana Region).

In 1979, Armstrong was elected as an Alumni Trustee at Princeton Seminary. In 1980, he returned to the seminary as the first Ashenfelter Professor of Ministry and Evangelism. He retired with Professor Emeritus status in 1990, but continued his activity in various ministries throughout the world. He served in South Africa as a member of the advisory committee for the Centre for Contextual Ministry, University of Pretoria. There he was deeply involved in a program providing educational opportunities at various levels, primarily for black ministers whose education had been stunted by the apartheid system57

Armstrong also served as vice president and then president of the Academy for Evangelism and Theological Education (1987-1991), as well as editor of the academy’s journal (1991-1997). He was the first recipient of the Charles Grandison Finney Award for Excellence in the Teaching of Evangelism.

Love of writing, music, poetry and humor was an ongoing theme in Armstrong’s life, and he was prolific in each area. His many book credits include The Oak Lane Story (1971), Service Evangelism (1979), The Pastor as Evangelist (1984), The Pastor-Evangelist in Worship (1986), The Pastor Evangelist in the Parish (1990), Are You Really Free? Reflections on Christian Freedom (2002), Help! I’m a Pastor (2005), and A Sense of Being Called (2011).

In 1946, while a performing member of the Princeton (University) Nassoons, Armstrong wrote the music, words and arrangement for “The Tigertown Blues,” a song whose tradition continues to this day. The original arrangement appeared in the University’s centennial songbook, Carmina Princetonia, in 1986. A portion of it can be heard being performed by the Nassoons in the 2013 movie Admission.58 Armstrong’s other musical credits, besides the aforementioned “Connie Mack Swing” and “The A’s Song” include “Princeton! Princeton! Princeton!” which he wrote in connection with the University’s 250th anniversary celebration and the 50th reunion of the Class of 1946. The hymn “For Christian Homes, O Lord, We Pray,” to which he contributed verses 1 and 3-5, appears in the Armed Forces Hymnal.

Armstrong authored volumes of both published and unpublished poetry. Humor is often sprinkled into his verse, as evidenced by Enough Already! And Other Church Rhymes (1993). He also wrote two poetic reflections on faith and life: Now That’s a Miracle (1996) and If I Do Say So Myself (1997). Awaiting publication are approximately 3,000 pages of his poetic reflections on books of the Bible.59

“If you live long enough, you soon become the last person to talk about it.”60 That is, nearing the end of his 95th year, Armstrong fondly noted that his longevity made him a surviving witness to particular moments in baseball history. He was, indeed, the last living person from both the front offices of Connie Mack’s Philadelphia A’s as well as the 1954 Baltimore Orioles, and he enjoys circling back to his baseball years by attending events that commemorate this era.

On September 14-15, 2012, the town of East Brookfield, Massachusetts held a 150th birthday celebration of its most famous native son, Connie Mack. It was attended by Mack biographer Norman Macht and Dick Rosen, chair of the Philadelphia A’s Historical Society (both SABR members). Dick Armstrong shared his many memories of Connie Mack, recited “Joost to Suder to Fain,” and played “The Connie Mack Swing” on piano. (A video of this event is available on YouTube.)61

Armstrong’s beloved Orioles commemorated their 60th anniversary with a gala ceremony at Camden Yards on August 8, 2014. As the last survivor of the 1954 club’s front office, he received the distinction of throwing out the first pitch before the game against the St. Louis Cardinals. “After being anxious not to embarrass myself by throwing an errant pitch, I somehow managed to get the ball over the plate,” he recalled.62 He then enjoyed the game with family, friends and ex-Oriole players.

Armstrong continued to live in Princeton. His family included sons Woody and Andy and daughter Elsie, along with seven grandchildren and six great-grandchildren. His wife Margie died in 2013 and daughter Ellen died on Thanksgiving Day in 2018.

The Giamatti Research Center at the National Baseball Hall of Fame houses Armstrong’s baseball-related papers, which are available to researchers, historians and writers. Jim Gates, the Head Librarian at the Hall, said of Armstrong, “I had the chance to spend many hours in conversation with Dick and learned so much about baseball from his stories. I think we could have gone on for weeks, as his tales were both educational and entertaining.”63

Quite fittingly, Armstrong’s younger daughter, the Reverend Elsie Armstrong Rhodes, followed her father into the Presbyterian ministry. She became the Pastor of the First Presbyterian Church of Cooperstown, within sight of the Baseball Hall of Fame. When asked to sum up her father in a nutshell, the Rev. Rhodes responded this way:

“I can’t think of a person I admire more than my father: for his integrity; his perspicacity and wisdom; for his gifts as a pastor, professor, preacher, prophet, parent — and yes, pitcher, as well; for his creativity, compassion, conscientiousness; and his commitment to social justice and his faithful witness to the ways of Christ.”64

Well said, Pastor Rhodes. No doubt the Poet of the Press Box and the Pulpit is fond of his daughter’s use of alliteration in describing her Dad!

Postscript

Dick Armstrong passed away on March 11, 2019. He would have turned 95 on March 29. Somewhere up above, the Lord’s baseball team now has a PR Director and a chaplain to lead Sunday services.

Last revised: March 13, 2019

Acknowledgments

This biography was reviewed by Rory Costello and fact-checked by Warren Corbett. Photo credit: CentralJersey.com.

Sources

Armstrong Collection. National Baseball Hall Library, Cooperstown, New York. BA MSS 110.

Armstrong, Richard Stoll. A Sense of Being Called. Eugene. Oregon: Cascade Books, 2011.

Armstrong, Richard Stoll. Minding What Matters (blog). https://rsarm.blogspot.com/p/sports.html.

Baseball Reference.com. “Art Ehlers.” Accessed November 12, 2018. https://www.baseball-reference.com/bullpen/art_ehlers.

Corbett, Warren. “Connie Mack’s Less Than Graceful Exit.” The Hardball Times. Accessed November 27, 2018. https://www.fangraphs.com/tht/connie-macks-less-than-graceful-exit.

Hobart and William Smith College Archives, Geneva, New York. Accessed October 25, 2018. https://hwsarchives.omeka.net/exhibits/show/navy-v-12/wwii-and-the-navy-v-12-program

Princeton University Office of Athletic Communications, press release. “Peters Award Presented to Richard Armstrong ’46 Award Presented at Annual Princeton Baseball Banquet.” May 17, 1990.

Princeton Windrows web page. “Princeton Resident Richard Armstrong’s Song Performed in Hit Movie.” Accessed December 26, 2018. http://www.princetonwindrows.com/news/princeton-resident-richard-armstrongs-song-performed-in-hit-movie.

Photos courtesy of Bob Golon.

Notes

1 Marquis Who’s Who. “Profile Detail — Richard Stoll Armstrong.” Accessed November 5, 2018, via Ocean County (NJ) Library online resources at www.theoceancountylibrary.org.

2 Richard Stoll Armstrong, interviewed by Bob Golon. Princeton, NJ. March — June 2016. (Unpublished oral history interview recorded at the Princeton Theological Seminary)

3 J.G. Taylor Spink, “He’s Giving Young Ideas to Athletics,” The Sporting News, October 1950, article accessed from the Armstrong Collection, National Baseball Hall of Fame Library, Cooperstown, New York. BA MSS 110, October 1, 2018.

4 Ibid.

5 Princeton Office of Athletic Communications. “Peters Award Presented to Richard Armstrong ’46 Award Presented at Annual Princeton Baseball Banquet.” May 17, 1990.

6 “WW II and the Navy V-12 Program.” Hobart and William Smith College Archives, online exhibits at https://hwsarchives.omeka.net. Accessed October 25, 2018.

7 Spink, “He’s Giving Young Ideas to Athletics.”

8 Dick Armstrong, interviewed by Bob Golon, 2016.

9 “Peters Award Presented to Richard Armstrong ’46 …” May 17, 1990.

10 Armstrong Collection, National Baseball Hall of Fame Library, Cooperstown, NY. BA MSS 110. Box 4 Folder 10.

11 Paul Lukas, “From Connie Mack to Mr. Oriole: A Conversation with Dick Armstrong,” Uni-Watch.com, accessed at https://uni-watch.com/2019/01/15/from-connie-mack-to-mr-oriole-a-conversation-with-dick-armstrong/ on January 18, 2019.

12 Spink, “He’s Giving Young Ideas to Athletics.”

13 Armstrong Collection, National Baseball Hall of Fame Library, Cooperstown, NY. BA MSS 110. Box 1 Folders 1-6.

14 Dick Armstrong, conversation with Bob Golon, October 5, 2018.

15 Armstrong Collection, National Baseball Hall of Fame Library, Cooperstown, NY. BA MSS 110. Box 1 Folders 7-8.

16 Richard Stoll Armstrong, A Sense of Being Called, Eugene, Oregon: Cascade Books, 2011, 39-40.

17 Spink, “He’s Giving Young Ideas to Athletics.”

18 Armstrong Collection, National Baseball Hall of Fame Library, Cooperstown, NY. BA MSS 110. Box 2 Folders 2-4.

19 Dick Armstrong, conversation with Bob Golon, November 16, 2018.

20 Spink, “He’s Giving Young Ideas to Athletics.”

21 Richard Stoll Armstrong, “Meeting of Philadelphia SABR Chapter,” Minding What Matters (blog). ca. January 2013. http://rsarm.blogspot.com.

22 Spink, “He’s Giving Young Ideas to Athletics.”

23 Dick Armstrong, conversation with Bob Golon, November 16, 2018.

24 Warren Corbett, “Connie Mack’s Less Than Graceful Exit,” The Hardball Times, February 20, 2014. Article accessed at https://www.fangraphs.com/tht/connie-macks-less-than-graceful-exit on November 27, 2018.

25 Photo caption, author unknown. Philadelphia Inquirer. July 19, 1952, p. 14.

26 Armstrong Collection, National Baseball Hall of Fame Library, Cooperstown, NY. BA MSS 110. Box 3 Folder 9.

27 Letter from Edward D. Barker, Vice-President, W. Wallace Orr, Inc. Advertising, April 3, 1953.

28 Richard Stoll Armstrong, interviewed by Bob Golon. Princeton, NJ. March — June 2016.

29 Armstrong Collection, National Baseball Hall of Fame Library, Cooperstown, NY. BA MSS 110. Box 2 Folder 13.

30 Armstrong, A Sense of Being Called, pp. 8-9.

31 Ibid., 10-11.

32 Ibid., 13.

33 Herb Heft, “Orioles’ Out-of-Town Fans Spent $5,500,000,” The Sporting News, January 12, 1955. (Article accessed from the Armstrong Collection, National Baseball Hall of Fame Library, Cooperstown, NY. BA MSS 110, October 1, 2018.)

34Dick Armstrong, Baltimore Baseball Club Survey, 1954. Accessed from the Armstrong Collection, National Baseball Hall of Fame Library, Cooperstown, NY. BA MSS 110, October 1, 2018.)

35 Ibid., 10-23.

36 “Game’s $ Value to Community Shown,” The Sporting News, January 19, 1955.

37 Armstrong Collection, National Baseball Hall of Fame Library, Cooperstown, NY. BA MSS 110. Box 4 Folder 4.

38 Richard Stoll Armstrong, Minding What Matters blog, “Mr. Met Was Not the First M.L. Mascot!” May 4, 2012. Accessed at http://rsarm.blogspot.com.

39 Ibid.

40 Ibid.

41 Armstrong, A Sense of Being Called, pp. 16-17.

42 Ibid., 19.

43 Ibid., 26.

44 Ibid., 20.

45 Ibid., 69-70.

46 Ibid., 49.

47 Ibid., 50.

48 Armstrong Collection, National Baseball Hall of Fame Library, Cooperstown, NY. BA MSS 110. Box 4 Folder 6.

49 Armstrong, A Sense of Being Called, p. 75.

50 Ibid., 83-87.

51 Ibid., 108.

52 Armstrong Collection, National Baseball Hall of Fame Library, Cooperstown, NY. BA MSS 110. Box 3 Folder 10.

53 Armstrong, A Sense of Being Called, p. 77.

54 Richard Stoll Armstrong, interviewed by Bob Golon. Princeton, NJ. March — June 2016.

55 Armstrong, A Sense of Being Called. (book jacket endorsement)

56 Richard Stoll Armstrong, interviewed by Bob Golon. Princeton, NJ. March — June 2016.

57 Ibid.

58 “Princeton Resident Richard Armstrong’s song performed in hit movie.” From the Princeton Windrows web page accessed at http://www.princetonwindrows.com/news/princeton-resident-richard-armstrongs-song-performed-in-hit-movie/ on December 26, 2018.

59 Richard Stoll Armstrong, interviewed by Bob Golon. Princeton, NJ. March — June 2016.

60 Ibid.

61 Ibid.

62 Richard Stoll Armstrong, Minding What Matters blog, “My First and Last Pitch,” August 12, 2014. Accessed at http://rsarm.blogspot.com.

63 Gates, Jim. ‘Dick Armstrong.’ Email. November 13, 2018.

64 Rev. Elsie Armstrong Rhodes, interviewed by Bob Golon. Cooperstown, New York, October 1, 2018.

Gene Autry was the kind of man who paid the bills for old friends in their old age, rode in the front seat beside his chauffeur, and showed up in the bar of his resort hotel to lead guests in a sing-along. During his heyday as a singing cowboy, his fans ranged from the obvious ­— Johnny Cash and Willie Nelson — to the improbable ­— Franklin D. Roosevelt and Ringo Starr. Thirty years after he quit performing, his theme song, “Back in the Saddle Again,” returned to the pop charts on the movie soundtrack for Sleepless in Seattle.

He once described himself as “a frustrated ballplayer,” and delighted in his second career as a baseball owner.1 The Angels were his passion for the last four decades of his life. A portly, perpetually smiling man decked out in a western suit and a big Stetson — white, of course — Autry often traveled with his team and spent lavishly on free agents in futile pursuit of a championship. The Angels retired number 26 in honor of their 26th man.

Autry never was a cowboy, but he played one on TV and radio and in movies. “I was the first of the singing cowboys,” he said. “I’m not sure I was the best. But when you’re first it doesn’t matter. No one can ever be first again.”2

He introduced two of the most popular Christmas songs, and invested his Hollywood earnings to build a fortune that landed him on Forbes magazine’s list of the 400 richest Americans for 10 years. His television sidekick, Pat Buttram, said, “Gene Autry used to ride off into the sunset. Now he owns it.”3

Orvon Grover Autry was born in Tioga, Texas, on September 29, 1907, the first child of Delbert Autry and the former Elnora Ozment. He seldom spoke of his childhood because he wanted to forget most of it. His father was generally worthless, absent more often than present, and his mother and her four children had to depend on the charity of relatives in Texas and Oklahoma. Orvon dropped out of high school to help support the family as a railroad telegrapher.4

When he was 12, he had saved $8 from farm chores to buy a guitar out of the Sears Roebuck catalog. He liked to tell of the night that the world’s most famous Oklahoma native, Will Rogers, walked into a railroad depot, heard him picking and singing, and encouraged his dream of a music career. The tale may be a press agent’s invention; its first documented appearance didn’t come until after Rogers’ death.

At 20, Orvon traveled to New York in search of a recording contract, but was turned away. He came home with a new name, Gene Autry, probably borrowed from a popular crooner, Gene Austin, whom he met on the trip.

In his first radio gig, at KVOO in Tulsa, he was billed as Oklahoma’s Yodeling Cowboy and imitated country star Jimmie Rodgers. His first hit record, “That Silver-Haired Daddy of Mine,” propelled him to the big time on Chicago’s WLS Barn Dance, the model for Nashville’s enduring Grand Ole Opry.

During a trip home to Oklahoma, Autry met Ina Mae Spivey and married her four months later, on April 1, 1932. The wedding was so sudden that some friends thought it was an April Fool’s prank, but the marriage lasted 48 years. After Gene’s mother died that spring, his two sisters and brother moved in with the newlyweds. Ina, just 21, became their surrogate mother. The Autrys never had children.

On July 4, 1934, he, Ina, and his comic sidekick, Smiley Burnette, left Chicago for Hollywood in Gene’s Buick. He thought movies would help sell his records. His debut was a singing cameo in In Old Santa Fe, starring a leading cowboy actor, Ken Maynard. The greenhorn appeared stiff and awkward on screen. Embarrassed, he decided to go back to radio. But Maynard was supportive and gave him a small part in a serial, Mystery Mountain. Autry was more singer than cowboy; a stunt man had to step in when he couldn’t handle a galloping horse.

Autry’s big break came when Maynard was fired for his drunken tantrums. The newcomer took over the lead role in a bizarre 12-part serial, The Phantom Empire, where he played a singing cowboy battling robots and mad scientists. (Years later, when Maynard was living in a trailer park, Autry sent him monthly checks. He made donations to several other early benefactors who were needy in their declining years.)

Three years after Autry arrived in Hollywood, a trade publication named him the #1 star of action melodramas in 1937. His movies for Republic Pictures followed a simple formula for wholesome, if bland, family entertainment: Good guy defeats bad guy, but never shoots first and never kills anybody. Hero gets girl, but never kisses her. Kissing was allowed in the early films, but the clinches disappeared when the studio realized that Autry’s core audience was pre-teen boys, who didn’t go for that mushy stuff. They preferred to see him with his horse, Champion.

While Autry made action movies, they were unconventional westerns. Before signing him to his first contract, a studio executive had complained that he lacked “virility.”5 At 5-feet-9, he was not tall, muscular, or imposing. New York Times critic Bosley Crowther described him as a “medium-height, sandy-haired, pink-cheeked, blue-eyed, baby-faced fellow.”6 Nor was he an acrobatic horseman like Maynard and the king of silent-screen cowboys, Tom Mix. Songs took on a larger role in Autry films than gunplay or fistfights.

By 1937 he was making $6,000 per picture, equivalent to around $100,000 in 2017, but was still ridiculously underpaid given his popularity.7 He went on strike.

During his holdout, Republic brass created a replacement singing “cowboy” they named Roy Rogers. Born Leonard Slye in Cincinnati, he had had bit parts in several Autry films.8 The two became rivals, but friendly ones.

From his earliest days, Autry used every avenue to turn his fame into money. The Sears catalog sold Gene Autry Roundup guitars, and he was said to be the first Hollywood star to put his name on comic books, school lunchboxes, jeans, and more than 100 other products, though he refused to endorse cigarettes.9 With records, songbooks, and personal appearances, his outside income exceeded his film earnings.

Autry took his stage show to England and Ireland in 1939. It was a triumph; his biographer, Holly George-Warren, likened it to the Beatles’ first American tour.10 A reported 250,000 people jammed the streets of Dublin for a look at the cowboy. In the crowd was another American tourist, P.K. Wrigley, the owner of the chewing-gum company. When Wrigley returned home, he ordered his ad agency to sign Autry for a weekly CBS radio show sponsored by Doublemint gum. That added a new profit center to Autry’s empire, giving him a foothold in all entertainment media.

His career reached its pinnacle when theater owners voted him the #4 male box-office attraction of 1940, behind Mickey Rooney, Clark Gable, and Spencer Tracy. It was a stunning achievement for a B-movie actor whose greatest appeal was in small towns rather than big-city film palaces. His income in 1941 approached half a million dollars.

Autry’s reign as the #1 western star ended while he was serving in the Army Air Corps during World War II. When he sued Republic trying to get out of his contract, the studio retaliated by promoting Roy Rogers, who was found unfit for military service because of a bad back. In 1943 Rogers climbed to #1, a pedestal Autry never regained. Life magazine headlined a cover story on Rogers, “King of the Cowboys.”11

Seeing harsh evidence that stardom was temporary, Autry turned his energy toward business after the war. He bought radio and television stations and hotels, and invested in oil wells and real estate. When the California Supreme Court finally freed him from his Republic contract, he formed his own production company to make movies in partnership with Columbia, one of the major studios. The arrangement gave him control of his work as well as a tax shelter.

He also resumed his radio show and personal appearance tours, and enjoyed six top-10 records in 1947. In the fall he released “Here Comes Santa Claus,” a song he co-wrote after he heard a child’s exuberant shout at a Christmas parade.12 It became a holiday standard, but nothing compared to his next Christmas song.

“Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” carried Autry to the top of Billboard’s country and pop charts for the first time and sold two million copies in 1949, with millions more to follow. It is often said to be the second best-selling Christmas record in history, after Bing Crosby’s “White Christmas,” but the Guinness Book of World Records lists it in third place behind another Crosby hit, “Silent Night.”

In 1950 Autry was the first major movie star to jump into television. William Boyd, whom he dismissed as a third-rate actor, had become a TV cowboy sensation by recycling cut-down versions of his old Hopalong Cassidy movies, igniting a children’s craze for “Hoppy” merchandise.

Autry began starring in weekly original half-hour films on CBS-TV. His company produced three more western series for the network. One was Annie Oakley, the first TV western with a female star, his sometime girlfriend Gail Davis.

But Autry’s career was sliding downhill, and so was he. His new records weren’t selling. Television killed many of the small-town theaters that had showcased his movies. So-called adult westerns, such as High Noon and TV’s Gunsmoke, made the singing cowboys seem campy. He released his last feature film in 1953.

His heavy drinking, which began during the war, was interfering with his work. After he missed a number of shows, his longtime sponsor, Wrigley, canceled his radio and TV series in 1956. His live performances became unreliable. Although his loyal staff tried to cover for him, fans saw him fall off his horse and appear too drunk to mount up.

As Autry’s entertainment career fizzled out, his business portfolio continued to expand. One of his biggest money-makers was Los Angeles radio station KMPC. The station aired Dodgers games after the team moved west in 1958, but its signal was too weak to reach club owner Walter O’Malley’s home at Lake Arrowhead. O’Malley moved the broadcasts to a more powerful outlet, one he could hear.

KMPC, billed as Southern California’s sports station, needed a new anchor for its summer schedule. Autry thought he had found one when Hank Greenberg came calling in November 1960. The home run slugger turned baseball executive had secretly won the American League’s blessing to put an expansion team in Los Angeles in 1961. Autry was negotiating for broadcast rights when Greenberg’s plans blew up.

O’Malley didn’t want to share the LA market. He leaned on Commissioner Ford Frick, and the commissioner decreed that O’Malley deserved compensation for allowing a competing team into “his” territory. Hearing that, Greenberg walked away, throwing the AL expansion blueprint into “frightful chaos,” as the writer Frank Finch put it.13 With a franchise already awarded to Washington, the league had to have a tenth club to balance the schedule, and time was slipping away.

The familiar story is that Autry went to the AL meeting hoping to secure radio rights for the new franchise, and wound up owning the team. In fact, published reports identified him as a bidder for the team before the meeting, and he said he became interested as soon as Greenberg dropped out: “I thought it was all Greenberg. When it appeared it wasn’t, the thought occurred to me that I’d like that franchise.”14 When he went to the league meeting, Autry brought along his choice for general manager: Fred Haney, an LA resident who had managed the Milwaukee Braves to two pennants.

AL owners were facing ridicule over their bungled expansion when they met in St. Louis on December 5. Just as in the movies, the hero in the white hat came riding to the rescue. The league welcomed him as a savior, and why not? He was a famous, popular — and rich ­— man who wanted to own a ball club.

But O’Malley exacted a stiff price. The new team would have to pay him $350,000 for a ticket of admission to enter Los Angeles. Instead of sharing the 90,000-seat LA Coliseum with the Dodgers, the American League club would play its first season in the city’s minor-league ballpark, Wrigley Field, with room for about 22,000. That ensured that the team would lose money. Beginning in 1962, it would be O’Malley’s tenant in his new park, under construction at Chavez Ravine, paying a minimum $200,000 in rent, or 7.5 percent of gate receipts. O’Malley would keep all parking revenue and some of the take from concessions.

In addition, O’Malley didn’t want competition from television. He televised only 11 Dodger games ­— those in San Francisco against the archrival Giants ­— and the new club was limited to the same number.

All told, Autry estimated the deal was worth $750,000 a year to the Dodgers. After a meeting with O’Malley that lasted nearly all night, he agreed to pay. It was the price of doing business.15

“For me, it’s the realization of a lifetime dream,” Autry said.16 He had played semipro ball in his youth and claimed to have been invited to a Cardinals tryout camp. While filming his movies, he had organized pickup games during breaks, and had once owned a share of the Pacific Coast League’s Hollywood Stars.

The new team adopted the name of LA’s other PCL entry, the Angels. Casey Stengel, recently fired by the Yankees, turned down an offer to be the manager. Haney talked to Leo Durocher, but Durocher’s price was apparently too high. The club hired Bill Rigney, who had succeeded Durocher as manager of the Giants.

Because of the delay in awarding the franchise, Haney had only a week to prepare for the player draft that would stock the Angels’ roster. Stengel gave him a rundown on the available players, who were mostly benchwarmers and over-age veterans. AL teams were permitted to keep their front-line talent and top prospects.

Haney went for well-known names in the draft, hoping to convince LA fans that the castoffs were a real big league team. But Ted Kluszewski, Eddie Yost, Ned Garver, and Bob Cerv had to look backward to see their 34th birthdays. Haney did grab a pair of young minor leaguers who became franchise cornerstones, shortstop Jim Fregosi and catcher Buck Rodgers. After the draft he acquired pitching prospect Dean Chance.

During spring training Autry put the players up at his hotel in Palm Springs, California, and mounted a bicycle to lead them in a parade to the ballpark. The Angels opened their inaugural season with eight games on the road. They lost seven of them. The home opener produced defeat number 8 before an embarrassing turnout of just 11,931. The club rallied to a 70-91 record, still the most victories by a first-year expansion team, finishing eighth in the standings but ninth in attendance, drawing barely 600,000.

In their second season, the Angels startled the league by charging into the pennant race. They held first place on the Fourth of July and finished third, with 86 victories. Attendance nearly doubled in their first year in O’Malley’s new ballpark. Its formal name was Dodger Stadium, but the Angels called it Chavez Ravine.

Autry soon began looking for a way to climb out of the ravine. He vented his complaints in uncharacteristically blunt language: “Chavez Ravine is an expensive stadium to operate, Walter O’Malley is a difficult landlord, the Angels are treated as a stepchild by the Dodgers, … we are playing in the shadow of the Dodgers and we must build our own fan following elsewhere.”17 On August 31, 1964, he broke ground for a new stadium in Anaheim, 30 miles south, to be paid for by the city.

Renamed the California Angels, the team moved into its new home in 1966. But attendance continued to lag far behind the Dodgers, who were setting records and piling up giant profits. The Angels were Southern California’s stepchild team. They settled into mediocrity, usually in the bottom half of the standings.

Autry yearned for a championship, but he was a hands-off owner. “I’ve tried hard not to interfere with the men on the firing line,” he said. “I have wondered often why a manager did this or that, but I have tried to restrain my second-guessing.”18 Some critics thought that was why the Angels didn’t win: The owner didn’t demand it. “Gene is a fan,” a former general manager, Dick Walsh, said. “The team is a plaything, a fun thing.”19

Instead of getting tough during losing seasons, Autry treated players and managers as friends. “He knew every player and knew everything about his players … their kids’ names, their wives’ names,” pitcher Clyde Wright said. Autry went along on many road trips and made the rounds in the clubhouse before home games asking, “Anything you need?”20

Fireballer Nolan Ryan was one of the team’s few stars in the 1970s. He set the single-season strikeout record and pitched four of his seven no-hitters for the Angels. Ryan was as big a Gene Autry fan as any 9-year-old boy: “I can honestly say he is among the greatest men I have ever had the pleasure to know.”21

When free agency arrived after the 1976 season, Autry saw a chance to lift his club out of mediocrity. All it took was money, and he and his minority partner, Signal Companies, had plenty. The Angels signed three of the top-ranked free agents ­— outfielders Joe Rudi and Don Baylor and second baseman Bobby Grich — to long-term contracts totaling $5.25 million, equivalent to $22 million in 2017.

That doesn’t sound like much in the context of 21st century salaries, but in 1976 it was an unprecedented splurge that outraged many of Autry’s fellow owners. “I still don’t think all this is good for baseball,” he said. “But this is the way it is now, and there are certain facts of life we’re going to have to live with.”22

While he was counting on the pricey players to win games, Autry was also counting on an axiom of the entertainment business: Stars sell tickets. Attendance more than doubled in the next three years. After adding seven-time batting champion Rod Carew to their collection of free agents, the Angels won their first American League West title in 1979, then won again in 1982 and 1986. Each time they lost the league championship series.

Ina Autry died of cancer in 1980. Although they were outwardly devoted, her husband had spent large chunks of their 48-year marriage on the road or on location for his films, and had affairs with several of his leading ladies and uncounted groupies. Friends said Ina shut her eyes to all that. Most important, she had nurtured him through periods of uncontrolled drinking and unsuccessful attempts to quit.

Autry’s family life was always a pain. He supported his ex-convict father and his father’s second family for decades. His brother, Dudley, was an unfortunate chip off the old block, a wastrel and an alcoholic who tried and failed to ride the family name to a singing career and often ended up on Gene’s payroll. Dudley’s ex-wife, a trick-rope artist, also exploited the Autry name to help her career.

Eighteen months after Ina’s death, the 73-year-old Autry married Jacqueline Ellam, who was 34 years younger. A former bank executive, Jackie took over management of his businesses as he aged.

In his last years, Autry became a leading philanthropist in Southern California. He spent about $100 million to establish the Autry Museum of the American West, now known as the Autry National Center. (He had lost his first collection of western artifacts in a house fire in 1941.) He gave $5 million to build a wing of the Eisenhower Medical Center in Palm Springs, where he and Jackie had a home.

Autry spent more years of his life as a baseball owner than as a singing cowboy, but the World Series eluded him. “For sure, baseball has been the most exciting and frustrating experience of my life,” he said. “In the movies, I never lost a fight. In baseball I hardly ever won one.”23

He turned over control of the Angels to his wife in 1990. In May 1995 Autry announced an agreement in principle to sell operating control of the team to the Walt Disney Company. Soon afterward the Angels climbed into first place and adopted the rallying cry “Win one for the cowboy,” but they blew an 11-game lead and lost the Western Division title to Seattle in a one-game playoff.

The Disney deal closed in early 1996, ending Autry’s active involvement. The company acquired 25 percent of the franchise with an option to buy the rest after his death. Autry continued to attend Angels games when he was able. He contracted lymphoma and died at 91 on October 2, 1998. He was mourned as a good man, an American success story, and, for many, a reminder of happy childhood.

Autry called himself a personality, not a singer or actor. “When I started, they said I couldn’t act,” he once recalled. “Other people said I couldn’t sing, but I sure as hell could count.”24

Four years after Autry’s death, the Angels won the 2002 pennant and defeated the Giants in the World Series to claim their first championship. In the joyful clubhouse after Game Seven, manager Mike Scioscia hoisted a bottle of champagne to toast the cowboy.

An earlier version of this biography appeared in “From Spring Training to Screen Test: Baseball Players Turned Actors” (SABR, 2018), edited by Rob Edelman and Bill Nowlin.

Acknowledgments

This biography was reviewed by Jan Finkel and fact-checked by Stephen Glotfelty.

Notes

1 Myrna Oliver, “Gene Autry Dies,” Los Angeles Times, October 3, 1998: 24.

2 Al Martinez, “2 Old-Time Cowboy Stars Reflect a Heroic Age,” Los Angeles Times, February 27, 1977: II-6.

3 Bruce Fessier, “Autry was sunshine in lots of lives,” Desert Sun (Palm Springs, California), October 3, 1998: 3.

4 If not otherwise credited, information about Autry’s personal life and Hollywood career comes from Holly George-Warren, Public Cowboy no. 1: The Life and Times of Gene Autry (New York: Oxford University Press, 2007).

5 George-Warren, 138.

6 Bosley Crowther, “A Cowboy Without a Lament,” New York Times, August 6, 1939: X3.

7 Inflation calculator at https://data.bls.gov/cgi-bin/cpicalc.pl.

8 The apartment building where Slye was born stood on the future site of Riverfront Stadium, home of the Big Red Machine. He liked to say he was born on second base. Laurence Zewisohn, “Happy Trails: The Life of Roy Rogers,” http://www.royrogers.com/roy_rogers_bio.html, accessed May 19, 2017.

9 Some Gene Autry cowboy suits were made of flammable fabric. Two children died from fires and others were hurt. Autry was the target of several lawsuits over the product.

10 George-Warren, 182.

11 Life, July 12, 1943.

12 Autry is credited as co-writer on more than 300 songs, but many of those are “star credits.” Singing stars often took writing credit on songs they popularized, and some songwriters didn’t mind because the famous name made the song more salable.

13 Frank Finch, “Rumors have AL expanding,” Los Angeles Times, December 4, 1960: H5.

14 Jeanne Hoffman, “Autry Set to Build Angels in 120 Days,” Los Angeles Times, December 13, 1960: IV-5. The first mention of Autry as one of the bidders was before the AL meetings of November 22 and December 5: Paul Zimmerman, “Greenberg Out, L.A. Team Up for Bids” Los Angeles Times, November 18, 1960: II-1.

15 Finch, “It’s Official! Angels to Play in 1961,” Los Angeles Times, December 8, 1960: IV-1; Andy McCue, Mover and Shaker: Walter O’Malley, the Dodgers, & Baseball’s Westward Expansion (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2014), 292-293.

16 Hoffman.

17 Al Carr, “When and Will Angels Move?” Los Angeles Times, February 9, 1964: 14

18 Ross Newhan, “No. 26 on the Wall, No. 1 in their Hearts,” Los Angeles Times, October 3, 1998: C6.

19 Ron Rapaport, “Angels Haven’t Had a Sweet 16,” Los Angeles Times, October 12, 1976: III-1.

20 Tom Singer, “Tribute precedes Autry’s induction to Hall,” mlb.com, July 19, 2011, http://m.mlb.com/news/article/21960212/, accessed May 22, 2017.

21 Ibid.

22 Dick Miller, “Rudi, Baylor Give Angels Case of Flag Fever,” The Sporting News, December 4, 1976: 65.

23 Oliver.

24 Richard Simon and Susan King, “Friends and fans recall an American icon,” Los Angeles Times, October 3, 1998: 25.

Born December 1, 1902, Morris Hiram Badgro began life on a family farm in Orillia, Washington. The redhead was the second of three sons born to Walter and Cora Mabel (Strong) Badgro.1 Morris was primarily of English ancestry, although his surname is of French origin; variants include Badgrow, Badgero, Badgerow, Badgereau, and Bagereau. Family members referred to him as “Badge” — indicating the pronunciation (Badge-row rather than Bad-grow).2

Orillia, just south of Seattle, was founded in 1887; it no longer appears on the map after it was annexed by neighboring cities Kent and Renton in the 1950s.3 At the Orillia grammar school, Badgro’s teacher told him, “Morris, you’ll never amount to a thing in the world. When you are not fighting you are wasting your time playing baseball or some other silly game. How do you expect to equip yourself to face the world?”4 Badgro played baseball, football, and basketball at Kent High School and received a basketball scholarship from USC.5

On October 10, 1925, as a member of the Trojans football team, Badgro “did some of the prettiest receiving ever seen here” in a 28-2 victory over Utah at the Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum.6 The next season he was “the most feared pass receiver on the Coast,” able to “take passes in any position and . . . drive hard through broken field once he gets them.”7 And, in that era when footballers played both ways, he was “as clever on defense as in receiving passes.”8 One of his teammates was Marion “Duke” Morrison, who would become known as John Wayne, the movie actor.

In his senior year, Badgro led the USC basketball team with 12 points per game and led the baseball team with a .352 batting average.9 He learned the fine points of hitting from USC baseball coach Sam Crawford, the Hall of Famer who played alongside Ty Cobb in Detroit. In the fall of 1927, Badgro played in the National Football League as an end on Red Grange’s New York Yankees.

On the recommendation of Jimmy Austin, Badgro was signed by the St. Louis Browns.10 He went to spring training with the team in 1928. At 6’0” and 190 pounds, he “looks like a football player, but he can run like a deer, and a big deer,” said sportswriter J. Roy Stockton.11 Badgro batted left-handed and threw right-handed. In an exhibition game on March 27, he went 5-for-5 at the plate, but he “looked like a prize busher” on defense as he misplayed five balls in left field.12

The Browns assigned Badgro to the Muskogee (Oklahoma) Chiefs of the Class C Western Association. On May 4, he hit two singles and two triples, and drove in four runs, in the Chiefs’ 9-6 triumph over Springfield, Missouri.13 He batted .394 for Muskogee, earning a promotion in June to the Tulsa Oilers of the Class A Western League. At Tulsa on June 25, he belted a game-winning home run against Omaha.14

In the spring of 1929, the Browns sent Badgro to the Milwaukee Brewers of the Double-A American Association. On April 30, he “stole the show” in the Brewers’ 16-10 road victory over the Columbus (Ohio) Senators.15 He hit for the cycle and his home run was a grand slam. He also drew two walks and scored four runs, and his play in center field was sensational. In the eighth inning, the Senators’ Fred Nicolai “drilled a singing smash to right center,” and Badgro “raced across the meadow and with a daring dive pulled in the ball.”16

Badgro made his major-league debut on June 20, 1929, in St. Louis; he pinch-hit in the eighth inning and was hit by a pitch from Ed Walsh of the Chicago White Sox. Two days later Badgro started in right field and got his first two major-league hits off Ted Lyons, the White Sox ace. Facing Cleveland’s Jimmy Zinn in the first game of a doubleheader on June 25, Badgro slugged his first major-league home run, a drive that landed atop the right field pavilion at Sportsman’s Park in St. Louis.17 As a rookie on the 1929 Browns, Badgro batted .351 in his first 19 games but only .216 after that, which suggests that major-league pitchers discovered his weaknesses as a hitter.

In the offseason Badgro played basketball in a Seattle industrial league, on a team called the Telephone Company Helloes.18 In February 1930, he married Dorothea L. Taylor in Kent. They would have no children.

As a reserve outfielder on the 1930 Browns, Badgro hit .239, well below the .288 league average in a year notorious for inflated offense. He was also subpar defensively. The lone bright spot was his pinch-hitting; he batted .348 (8-for-23) with four doubles as a pinch-hitter.19 After the season, sportswriter Sid Keener called him “excess baggage.”20 The Browns sold the struggling outfielder to Wichita Falls in the Class A Texas League. Badgro would never again play major-league baseball.

But Badgro found his calling in professional football. He returned to the NFL in the fall of 1930 and earned $150 per game playing for the New York Giants. Against the Green Bay Packers on November 23, at the Polo Grounds in New York, he caught a 22-yard touchdown pass from quarterback Benny Friedman. Badgro’s performance in that game “was far beyond any end I have seen this season,” said sportswriter Grantland Rice. “He was a human whirlwind, on top of every job that came his way.”21

Badgro was a fierce tackler as a defensive end. On December 7, against the football Brooklyn Dodgers at Ebbets Field, he “tore down the field and dove for [punt returner Stumpy] Thomason just as Stumpy was taking the ball from the air. Shoulder-high he was, and Thomason, swept backward by an arm around his neck, was laid low with a blood-curdling moan.”22

Over the next two years, Badgro batted .294 in the Texas League, and each fall played for the Giants. At the conclusion of the 1931 NFL season, he was selected as first-team All-Pro at right end.23

In 1933 Badgro appeared in 33 games, often as a pinch-hitter, for his hometown team, the Seattle Indians of the Double-A Pacific Coast League. And that fall he again earned first-team All-Pro honors as a member of the Giants.24 On December 17, against the Chicago Bears at Wrigley Field, he received a pass and scored the first touchdown in the first NFL championship game; the Bears defeated the Giants, 23-21, in that historic contest.

Badgro played semipro baseball for the next two seasons, on a Renton team in 1934 and a Spokane squad the following year.25 In the NFL in 1934, he was again selected as first-team All-Pro.26 Sidelined by injury, he played in only five games in 1935, his final season with the Giants. He began the 1936 season as player-coach of the Syracuse Braves in the newly formed American Football League, but resigned after the Braves lost their first three games.27 He finished the year in the NFL on the Brooklyn Dodgers and broke his arm in the last game of the season, the final game of his playing career.28

Years later, the great Red Grange called Badgro “one of the best half-dozen ends I ever saw.” Steve Owen, Badgro’s coach on the Giants, said Badgro “could block, tackle and catch passes equally well, and he could do each with the best of them.”29

Badgro was an assistant football coach at Columbia University 1939-42 and at the University of Washington 1946-53. He worked for the Washington State Department of Agriculture from 1954 until his retirement in 1969.30 He was inducted into the Washington State Sports Hall of Fame in 1967 and into the Pro Football Hall of Fame in 1981.

Badgro lived in Kent in his retirement years, along with Dorothea, until she died in 1993 after 63 years of marriage.31 On July 13, 1998, he died there at the age of 95. He had been hospitalized after suffering a fall.32 Red Badgro was interred at the Hillcrest Burial Park in Kent.

Acknowledgments

This biography was reviewed by Rory Costello and Norman Macht and fact-checked by Kevin Larkin.

Sources

Ancestry.com, Findagrave.com, and Pro-Football-Reference.com (accessed October 2019).

Red Badgro’s file at the National Baseball Hall of Fame.

Photo credits: baseball photo, Conlon Collection/Trading Cards Database; football photo, Pro Football Hall of Fame.

Notes

1 1910 US Census.

2 Scott Hanson, “Meet Red Badgro, the best Northwest athlete you’ve never heard of,” Seattle Times, July 20, 2018. Glenn Drosendahl, “Badgro, Morris (1902-1998),” History Link, August 31, 2018 (https://www.historylink.org/File/20627)

3 “Orillia, WA 1887-1980,” https://stevenschwarz.wordpress.com/pnw/orillia/.

4 Harry T. Brundidge, “Badgro, Brownie Rookie, Played Professional Football with ‘Red’ Grange,” St. Louis Star, July 11, 1929: 3.

5 Brundidge

6 Braven Dyer, “Trojans Thump Tough Utah Gridders, 28 to 2,” Los Angeles Times, October 11, 1925: I-a-1,4.

7 William Leiser, “Bears Ready for Trojans Today,” San Francisco Examiner, October 23, 1926: 27.

8 William Leiser, “70,000 to See Trojan-U.C. Game,” San Francisco Examiner, October 22, 1926: 32.

9 “Badgro Tops Trojan Scores,” South Bend (Indiana) Tribune, February 20, 1927: Sports, 3; “Badgro Leads S.C. Batsmen,” Southern California Daily Trojan, April 28, 1927: 3.

10 “Browns Obtain College Outfielder,” St. Louis Post-Dispatch, February 5, 1928: 18.

11 J. Roy Stockton, “Condition of Manush Worries Manager Howley,” St. Louis Post-Dispatch, March 19, 1928: 20.

12 Martin J. Haley, “Browns Smash Way to Long-Score Victory over Birmingham, 18-7,” St. Louis Globe-Democrat, March 28, 1928: 10; John E. Wray, “Pitcher Rip Collins Has First Workout at Brownie Camp,” St. Louis Post-Dispatch, March 2, 1929: 8.

13 “Chiefs Beat Midgets in First Game of Series, 9-6,” Springfield (Missouri) Leader, May 5, 1928: 5.

14 “Tulsa Bumps Omaha,” Nebraska State Journal (Lincoln), June 26, 1928: 6.

15 Manning Vaughan, “Badgro Batting Star as Lels Win, 16-10,” Milwaukee Journal, May 1, 1929: II-8.

16 Ibid.

17 “Play-by-Play of Browns’ First Game,” St. Louis Post-Dispatch, June 25, 1929: 16.

18 “Union Pacific Five Whips Helloes to Win Third Time,” Seattle Times, December 17, 1929: 24.

19 Henry P. Edwards, “American League Pinch Batters for 1930,” Cincinnati Enquirer, November 2, 1930: 31.

20 “Sid Keener’s Column,” St. Louis Star, December 13, 1930: 4.

21 Grantland Rice, “The Sportlight,” Bergen Evening Record (Hackensack, New Jersey), November 25, 1930: 19.

22 Harold F. Parrott, “Cagle Finding What the Pros Give and Take,” Brooklyn Daily Eagle, December 8, 1930: 22.

23 “Four Green Bay Players Chosen on All-American,” Green Bay Press-Gazette, December 19, 1931: 13.

24 “Hubbard Is Named on All-Star ‘Pro’ Football Eleven,” Green Bay Press-Gazette, December 22, 1933: 13.

25 “Gibsons Climb into N.W. Lead, Beating Yakima,” Seattle Times, June 4, 1934: 16; “Bohemians Add Badgro to List,” Spokane (Washington) Spokesman-Review, May 3, 1936: B-3.

26 Lou Niss, “Clark’s All-Around Ability Stamps Him Cream of All-Pro League Backs,” Brooklyn Times Union, December 11, 1934: 2A.

27 “Badgro Out as Syracuse Braves’ Shakeup Stars,” Binghamton (New York) Press, October 7, 1936: 23.

28 Frank Finch, “Paul Schissler Ousted as Coach of Brooklyn Dodger Team,” Los Angeles Times, December 17, 1936: II-11, 14.

29 Frank Litsky, “Morris Badgro: Rugged NFL End and Oldest Living Member of Pro Football Hall of Fame,” Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, July 19, 1998: C-6.

30 “NFL ‘Greats’ of Today Don’t Impress Badgro,” Hartford (Connecticut) Courant, December 30, 1979: 7C.

31 Hanson, “Meet Red Badgro, the best Northwest athlete you’ve never heard of.”

32 Frank Litsky, “Red Badgro, 95, Football Hall of Famer, Dies,” New York Times, July 15, 1998: B8.

An ambitious, impressively-educated man, Alex Bannwart’s improbable sojourn in baseball was merely prelude to a random, often frenetic life that thereafter saw him dabble in high-end real estate; launch quixotic campaigns for elective office; get arrested for maintaining an unlicensed dance salon-rendezvous spot; work as a Depression Era custodian and as a golf and tennis pro; tour the South Pacific as a World War II USO entertainer; and advocate for utopian world governance organizations. At the time of his death in 1959, Bannwart was the owner-operator of an urban parking lot and a local political activist. But what preserves his modest hold on present-day memory is a singular event occurring on the eve of American entry into World War I in early April 1917. While a member of a Boston-area pacifist delegation sent to Washington in opposition to the war authorization call of President Wilson, Bannwart got into a highly publicized Capitol Hill fistfight with a prominent war supporter who was perhaps the most powerful man in the United States Congress: Massachusetts Senator Henry Cabot Lodge.

The eventful life of Alexander William Bannwart1 began in Basel, Switzerland, on Christmas Day 1880. He was the youngest of three children born to shoemaker Franz Bannwart and his native-German wife Theresa (née Metzger).2 While Alex was still a toddler, the family emigrated to the United States and settled in Boston. His father died while he was still a teenager, and his mother eked out a living as a cook and rooming house proprietress. Nonetheless, Bannwart managed — magically — to enroll in Phillips Academy, an exclusive prep school for boarding high school students located 35 miles away in Andover, Massachusetts.3 He flourished there, acting as secretary of the literary society and participating in debate competitions.

Upon prep school graduation in 1902, Alex was admitted to Princeton University, among the most prestigious (and expensive) educational institutions in the country — where his experience at Phillips appears to have repeated itself. Again without any visible financial means, he nonetheless spent four years on the Princeton campus and took an active part in university life, including intramural athletics. Sturdily built at 5-feet-7 and 160 pounds, Bannwart was a member of his class baseball team and its undersized heavyweight match wrestler. He graduated in 1906 with an undergraduate degree in law, but not without attracting the thinly veiled disdain of classmates for the self-assured, smooth-talking way in which he had evidently conducted himself while at school. A pseudo-humorous prophecy published in the 1906 Princeton yearbook envisioned the future “A.W. Bannwart, President of the Habitual Nerve and Assurance Company” as standing “accused of extracting one nickel and three pennies from a child’s bank.” It would not be the last time that our protagonist was the subject of unfavorable comment.

With Princeton diploma in hand, Alex returned to Massachusetts and promptly enrolled in Harvard Law School. While awaiting the start of classes in September, another apparently inexplicable event occurred. Despite the absence of any significant playing experience, he gained a spot on the roster of the Lowell Tigers, the talent-starved cellar-dwellers of the Class B New England League. Finding Alexander Bannwart too much of a mouthful, Lowell manager Fred Lake immediately dubbed his new recruit Al Winn. “We haven’t won a game for ten days, so I’m going to call you Al Winn. Then maybe we can beat somebody,” Lake reportedly said.4 The alias would stick with Bannwart for the duration of his time in the circuit.

Al Winn saw only sparing game action for the Tigers. Yet when given the opportunity, his performances were — surprisingly — borderline adequate. In five starts at second base from July 7 to 13, he went 3-for-16 (all singles), at the plate and handled 18-of-22 fielding chances successfully.5 By now, however, Winn/Bannwart had his sights set on more than just additional playing time. A budding entrepreneur, he envisioned taking over control of the financially troubled ball club. And on July 20, 1906, the Lowell franchise was awarded to second baseman Winn when local businessmen failed to match the $500 that he had posted for the right to be awarded club stewardship.6 In mid-August, Winn released manager Lake and assumed on-field command of the team as well.7 The change had little immediate effect on club fortunes. The Tigers continued losing and staggered home a dismal 28-86 (.246), a full 45 games behind the league champion Worcester Busters.8 But at least the franchise had survived the season.

As soon as the 1906 campaign was completed, club owner-manager Winn began making moves to revitalize the Lowell club, including assaying its removal to a new, more centrally located ballpark in the city. “Lowell is all right as a baseball city. All it wants is a winning ball club and that I propose to have for next season,” the 25-year-old informed the press. “If nothing happens I will have a conveniently situated ball ground and will equip it in first rate style. I am on the track of some promising young ball tossers and propose to land a pennant winner next season if hard work will get it.”9 As would almost invariably prove the case, how Winn (Bannwart), a law school student who had no apparent source of income, would finance such plans was left unsaid. But somehow — Winn obviously had silent backers — he pulled it off.10 The Tigers would begin the 1907 season in Washington Park, a newly constructed, 3,500-seat state-of-the-art ballpark located near a downtown Lowell train station. Construction costs were estimated at $10,400.11

A complimentary offseason mention in the Boston Herald described Winn as “young, energetic and a hustler, and possesses in a huge degree the abilities that bring success.”12 Even Midwestern newspapers were taking notice of “Alex Winn,” the “youngest baseball manager in the country.”13 The progressive political instincts that would guide the club boss’s later life manifested themselves in early 1907.14 He opened still-uncompleted Washington Park by matching his Lowell Tigers against a fast pre-Negro League nine, the Philadelphia Giants. A 4-0 setback to the black pros left him undaunted. “Confidence has been magnate Winn’s watchword, and it is hoped that his efforts will be appreciated,” said local sportswriter Herb E. Webster in his report of the contest.15

Under field leader Winn, Lowell showed a modest improvement in 1907. A 48-60 (.444) log elevated the Tigers to sixth place in New England League standings, but still left the club 26 games behind repeat-champion Worcester. As the previous season, Winn himself appeared in only a handful of Lowell games and did not figure as a player in future club plans. Indeed, the owner’s interest in his ball club seems to have waned by 1908. Although officially listed as Lowell manager, Winn apparently left day-to-day supervision of the Tigers to one-time New York Giants pitcher Jack Sharrott.16 Winn also discontinued his legal studies, leaving Harvard Law School sometime during the year without completing his degree requirements. Ensuing efforts to divest himself of the Lowell ball club, however, were complicated by an injunction obtained by former Lowell Tigers outfielder (and erstwhile Harvard Law classmate) Alex O’Brien, who had filed a reserve clause-based lawsuit against Winn.17 This legal restraint, plus a $1,000 difference in negotiations, subsequently frustrated the anticipated sale of the club to former major league outfielder and manager Patsy Donovan.18 The Lowell Tigers remained under Winn’s auspices till late June 1909, when new ownership finally took control.19 With that, Al Winn reverted to being Alexander Bannwart.

Bannwart returned to Boston, where he commenced a fitful career as a real estate speculator. In March 1912, however, his name was back on newspaper sports pages as the secretary of a budding Boston-area semipro baseball league.20 The venture never got off the ground. But three years later, Bannwart assumed a prominent role in the activities of a baseball circuit of far more import: the 1915 Colonial League.

Organized in 1914, the Class C Colonial League was a tightly knit, financially circumspect six-team Massachusetts-Rhode Island circuit that pooled team revenues and kept traveling expenses to a minimum. Ostensibly a member of Organized Baseball, the Colonial League was quietly subsidized by Robert B. Ward, the wealthy principal owner of the Brooklyn Tip-Tops of the outlaw major Federal League.21 Over the winter, the pretense was dropped and the Colonial League openly affiliated with the Feds.22 The split was made official the day after the 1915 season started, with the Colonial League publicly withdrawing from the National Association of Professional Baseball Clubs, Organized Baseball’s overseer of minor league operations.23

The newly independent Colonial League was an eight-club loop, with expansion fueled by the affiliation of existing ballclubs in Hartford, New Haven, and Springfield, all formerly members of the Class B Eastern Association. Less populous Woonsocket (Rhode Island) was dropped.24 The league was nominally headed by holdover president Charles B. Coppen, the respected sports editor of the Providence Journal. To safeguard Federal League interests, Robert Ward installed his ne’er-do-well nephew Walter G. Ward in league headquarters as CL treasurer. But the real force in Colonial League operations was none other than the slimly credentialed but irrepressible Alexander Bannwart, elected league vice-president and secretary.25 Among other responsibilities, Bannwart crafted the Colonial League’s 130-game schedule for the 1915 season; oversaw Federal League reimbursements for farmed-out major league players whose contract salaries exceeded the $1,200 Colonial League player salary limit;26 exercised administrative control of league affairs; and generally served as the public face of the league office.

Given the financial plight of its parent organization — the Federal League was struggling to stay solvent — the fiscal distress quickly encountered by its Colonial League farm clubs came as little surprise to many observers. And by early-July, the collapse of the league seemed imminent.27 Widely perceived as being the “whole works, [including] president, and bouncer of the Colonial League,”28 Bannwart became a lightning rod for the criticism by disaffected sportswriters, particularly those in places like Hartford and Springfield where the hometown club had forsaken the familiar Eastern Association to join the Colonials.29 Among other things, demerits were assigned Bannwart for failure to enforce player salary limits; for intrusion upon the management of individual Colonial League clubs; and for his role in the conversion of an independent minor league to one subservient to the renegade and financially failing Federal League.30

Retrenchment — weakling franchises in Fall River and Taunton were jettisoned on July 10 — permitted the league to continue the season. But it did nothing to stifle the swelling chorus of disapproval of Bannwart’s stewardship of the circuit. Finally and under pressure from within, a “heart-broken” Alexander Bannwart resigned his league offices on August 10.31 A league correspondent was unmoved, attributing the impending doom of the Colonial League to the “capers of Al Bannwart.”32 League treasurer Walter Ward’s reply to Bannwart’s resignation letter reportedly closed with the cutting putdown “hope that he will be more of a success in his next job.”33

As the Colonial League headed for oblivion at the close of the 1915 season,34 Bannwart remained visible. A good natural athlete, he began entering local tennis tournaments. He also had to dodge creditors. But most of Bannwart’s energy was soon devoted to progressive political causes. He was a longtime admirer of US President Woodrow Wilson, having entered Princeton the same year that Wilson assumed the post of university president. Bannwart campaigned locally for Democrat Wilson’s reelection in 1916, primarily because Wilson had kept America out of the war raging in Europe. But in early April 1917, Bannwart was stunned by the President’s publicly-stated intention to ask Congress for a declaration of war against Germany and its allies. Bannwart thereupon joined a congregation of Boston-area pacifists headed for Washington, DC to protest the call to arms.

Upon arrival in the Capitol, the group headed toward the offices of Massachusetts Senator Henry Cabot Lodge, ordinarily the leader of Republican Party opposition to Wilson policies but an enthusiastic proponent of American entry into the Great War. After a short back-and-forth in which Lodge affirmed his support for a war declaration, insults were traded by the Senator and Bannwart (although who called whom a “coward” and a “liar” was later disputed). A scuffle thereupon ensued, started by a punch from the bantamweight 67-year-old Lodge to the nose of the brawnier, much younger Bannwart.35 Senate aides quickly descended upon the fray and administered a sound pummeling to Bannwart, who was then taken into custody and charged with assault. Within hours, Bannwart was released, his $2,000 bond posted by a fellow pacifist protester. In the meantime, Lodge, basking in the glow of near universal admiration of his feistiness, announced that he would not prosecute the assault charge.36 Bannwart thereupon provided the capstone to this farce. Reportedly persuaded by the logic of Wilson’s Congressional message, he changed positions, and urged his colleagues to support the war effort — only to be hooted down at a pacifist gathering and drummed out of the peace movement.37 Shortly thereafter, Bannwart announced that he would be enlisting in the US Army Reserve38 — but never did. Rather, he sued Lodge for defamation, claiming that his reputation had been damaged to the tune of $20,000 by the allegation that he had initiated the fracas with the slightly-built, elderly Lodge.39 In time, the suit was settled out of court by Lodge’s formal acknowledgment that he, not Bannwart, had thrown the first punch. No money changed hands.40

As he neared age 40, Alexander Bannwart receded into obscurity. But over the ensuing decades his name would periodically surface in local newspapers, most often as a hapless candidate for Massachusetts elective office.41 In between longshot political campaigns, Bannwart took graduate courses at Harvard, oversaw a garage for Sinclair Oil, and headed a newly organized association of Boston taxi cab owner-operators. But the Bannwart venture that captured most media attention focused on a three-story brownstone mansion in Boston’s ritzy Back Bay that he had somehow managed to acquire. At first, the premises, complete with lavish furnishings and butler/maid service, were offered for rent (by the day or hour) to “Millionaires for a Day.”42 When that scheme failed to generate income, Bannwart converted the mansion into an unlicensed dance hall-social spot, which soon got him arrested by the Boston Police. Following conviction in local court and an unsuccessful appeal, Bannwart grudgingly paid a $25 fine.43

The arrival of the Great Depression saw Bannwart’s fortunes spiral downward. He eked out a living as a custodian in Weston, Massachusetts, and then as a tennis and golf pro in greater New York City, before finding employment with the United States Merchant Marine Academy. During World War II, he toured the South Pacific for the USO, entertaining the troops with table tennis exhibitions. After hostilities ceased, he advocated for American entry into utopian one-world governance organizations.44 He also spent time in a Boston courtroom vainly trying to secure a share of the considerable estate left by his estranged sister Emilie, a successful Boston realtor.45 Interestingly, settlement of the case revealed a likely source of financial support for various Bannwart endeavors. A clause of Emilie’s will declared: “I have left no provision in this will for my brother Alexander W. Bannwart as I have given him substantial sums of money during my life.”46

In old age, the now-bewhiskered Bannwart settled in Jersey City, where he — curiously as always — managed to acquire an income-producing downtown parking lot and campaigned for progressive candidates for local political office.47 On February 21, 1959, the long and eventful life of Alexander William Bannwart came to its end at Jersey City Medical Center.48 He was 78. Never married, the deceased was survived by his older brother Carl and nephew Carl T. Bannwart. His remains were cremated at the Garden State Crematory in nearby North Bergen, New Jersey.

Acknowledgments

This bio was originally published in the Spring 2020 issue of Beating the Bushes, the newsletter of SABR’s Minor Leagues Research Committee. This version was reviewed by Rory Costello and Joel Barnhart and fact-checked by Chris Rainey.

Sources

The sources for this bio are identified in the endnotes below.

Photo credit: Boston Globe, April 3, 1917.

Notes

1 Baseball-Reference lists our subject’s birth name as Alexander Winn Bannwart, adopting the New England League alias that Bannwart played under as his middle name. Scholastic and alumni records published by Phillips Academy and Princeton University, however, give his name as Alexander William Bannwart, as does a retrospective on his encounter with Senator Lodge recently published by the Massachusetts Historical Society. See “Object of the Month: President of the Massachusetts Historical Society in a Fistfight — War Declared,” posted April 2017.

2 The older Bannwart children were brother Carl (born 1872) and sister Emilie (1873).

3 It has been reported that Bannwart came from a wealthy family. See e.g., Chaz Scroggins, “Minor League Owner Had Major Ideas,” Lowell (Massachusetts) Sun, published on-line February 12, 2006. This is incorrect. The Bannwarts were an immigrant, working-class family.

4 Per Scoggins, above.

5 As reflected in the Lowell box scores published in the Boston Herald, July 8 to 14, 1906. Although unmentioned in newspaper reportage reviewed by the writer, Winn was presumably a right-handed batter and thrower.

6 As reported in “Winn Buys Lowell,” Boston Herald, July 21, 1906: 12, and “Winn Purchases the Lowell Team,” Boston Journal, July 21, 1906: 5.

7 As per “Players Were Scrappy,” Boston Herald, August 21, 1906: 12; “Lake Released,” Pawtucket (Rhode Island) Times, August 21, 1906: 12: and “Lowell to Miss Game,” Pawtucket Times, August 23, 1906: 12.

8 New manager Winn continued his predecessor’s practice of using second baseman Winn sparingly. A likely incomplete survey of published Lowell box scores yields the following season-ending stats for Winn: a .238 BA/.857 FA in seven games played.

9 As quoted in the Boston Herald, September 6, 1906: 14.

10 When Winn unloaded the Lowell franchise in June 1909, the club’s Sporting News correspondent lit into him for short-sighted spending, failing his unidentified financial backers, and leaving the new club owners with a near-bankrupt operation that had lost the lease to Washington Park. As a result, the Tigers had been forced to return to their former grounds at unsatisfactory Spalding Park. See Herb E. Webster, “Hard Luck for Winn,” The Sporting News, July 8, 1909: 1.

11 Per Dick H., “Clemente Park: A History,” Lowell History and Politics, Richard Howe.com, posted April 29, 2016, and “Washington Park,” www.projectballpark.org/ne/washington/html. Washington Park continued in service until razed in 1929. The grounds are now the site of a community playground named for Roberto Clemente.

12 See “Lack of Harmony in Big Ball Leagues,” Boston Herald, November 18, 1906: 32.

13 See “Sporting Shop Talk,” Kalamazoo (Michigan) Gazette, February 26, 1907: 6.

14 Winn “is an idealist, and ideals hardly fit in baseball. If he could develop his grand idea, he’d have Andrew Carnegie beaten a mile as a philanthropist,” maintained the Lowell Sun. “He intends to take the money that comes in from the game and invest it in a new ballpark that will make Lowell famous throughout the baseball world. If fortune continues to favor him, he intends to establish public playgrounds and every morning have one of his players assigned to each of these playgrounds to coach the children in baseball.” Per Scoggins, above.

15 Herb E. Webster, “Even Break for Lowell,” The Sporting News, April 27, 1907: 7.

16 According to Lowell correspondent Webster in The Sporting News, April 29, 1909: 1. Modern baseball reference works list Arthur Daly as part-season manager of the 1908 Lowell Tigers.

17 See “To Test Reserve Rule,” Cleveland Plain Dealer, December 11, 1908: 8.

18 See “Donovan To Get Lowell Club,” Baltimore Sun, January 25, 1909: 10. Regarding the proposed purchase price, Winn/Bannwart reportedly demanded $11,000 for the franchise, while Donovan only offered $10,000.

19 See again, Herb E. Webster, “Hard Luck for Winn,” The Sporting News, July 8, 1909: 1. See also, “Winn Gets Permission To Sell the Lowell Club,” Boston Journal, June 12, 1909: 5.

20 See “In Greater Boston,” Sporting Life, March 9, 1912: 8. The eight-club circuit was to field teams in Lynn, Dorchester, Cambridge, Somerville, Malden-Medford, Waltham-Newton, Chelsea-Everett, and South Boston.

21 According to at least one press report, Bannwart had served as distributor of the Ward funds allocated to Colonial League clubs in 1914. See “New Englanders Welcome Visits,” Springfield (Massachusetts) Union, January 14, 1915: 19.

22 See e.g., “Arrangements for Federal League Farm Complete,” Norwich (Connecticut) Morning Bulletin, May 14, 1915: 4. For a succinct overview of events, see “Minor League History: Colonial League,” posted on the Dutch Baseball Hangout website January 17, 2016.

23 As reported in “Throws O.B. Over,” Springfield (Massachusetts) Republican, May 21, 1915: 14; “Withdraws from Organized Ranks,” Springfield Union, May 21, 1915: 27, and elsewhere.

24 The Colonial League clubs held over from 1914 were located in Fall River, New Bedford, and Taunton, Massachusetts, and Pawtucket, Rhode Island.

25 As reported in “W.G. Ward Officer in Colonial League,” Boston Herald, April 23, 1915: 10; “Colonials Lined Up,” Springfield Republican, April 23, 1915: 12, and elsewhere.

26 The Colonial League had established a $1,200 player salary maximum for the 1915 season. Federal League clubs who farmed a player out to their CL affiliate were supposed to make up the difference for any such player whose stipend exceeded the Colonial League maximum. See “The Colonial League,” Sporting Life, April 3, 1915: 14.

27 See e.g., “Colonial League Almost Ready To Throw Up Sponge,” Norwich Morning Bulletin, July 9, 1915: 4; “Colonial League To Finish Season Declares Mr. Ward,” Wilkes-Barre (Pennsylvania) Times, July 9, 1915: 17.

28 As described in “League Will Stick,” Springfield Union, July 7, 1915: 11. A month later, the newspaper declared “Mr. Bannwart is technically secretary of the league [but] Bannwart is really president and general director and answerable not to [league president] Coppen at all, but only to Robert B. Ward, the man with the wad.” See “He May Be Years Ahead of Time,” Springfield Union, August 6, 1915: 18.

29 Particularly pointed criticism of Bannwart was published in the Hartford Courant, Springfield Republican, and Springfield Union, July 7-9, 1915.

30 See e.g., “He May Be Years Ahead of Time,” Springfield Union, August 6, 1915; 18.

31 As reported in the Bridgeport (Connecticut) Evening Farmer, Pawtucket Times, Springfield Republican, and elsewhere, August 12, 1915.

32 “Connecticut Prospects,” Sporting Life, August 28, 1915: 5.

33 Per “Bannwart Loses Job,” Springfield Republican, August 12, 1915: 10.

34 Like its sponsor the Federal League, the Colonials went out of business during the winter of 1915-1916. Decades later, the name Colonial League was revived by a Class B circuit that played in New York, New Jersey, and Connecticut from 1947-1950.

35 At the time, Lodge maintained that Bannwart had thrown the first punch. See e.g., “Pacifist Attacks Senator,” Middletown (New York) Daily News, April 2, 1917: 1, and “The Attack on Mr. Lodge,” Boston Herald, April 3, 1917: 14. A century later, it is now generally conceded that Lodge, not Bannwart, started the fisticuffs. See e.g., Nik DaCosta-Klipa, “100 Years Ago, the US Entered WWI — and a Senator from Massachusetts Punched a Protester in the Face Over It,” www.boston.com/news/history, posted April 6, 2017.

36 See e.g., “Lodge Called Coward, Fells His Accuser,” Boston Journal, April 3, 1917: 1; “Repentance Frees Lodge Assailant,” New York Times, April 4, 1917: 10; “Congratulations for Lodge,” Washington Post, April 4, 1917: 2.

37 See “Assailant of Lodge Turns War Supporter,” Boston Herald, April 4, 1917: 4; “Pacifists Claim Promise of Votes,” New York Times, April 5, 1917: 4; “Bannwart for World Nation,” Springfield Daily News, April 5, 1917: 3.

38 See “Bannwart Enrolls as Plattsburg ‘Rookie,'” Boston Herald, May 8, 1917: 14; “Lodge Assailant Joins Reserves,” New York Times, May 8, 1917: 5; “Man Lodge Felled Enlists,” Washington Post, May 8, 1917: 1.

39 As reported in “Pacifist Sues Lodge,” Washington Post, May 10, 1918: 5, and elsewhere.

40 Per “$20,000 Suit Against Senator Lodge Settled,” New York Tribune, April 14, 1919: 4; “Lodge and Pacifist ‘Kiss and Make Up,'” Washington Times, April 15, 1919: 7. For a cogent retrospective on the Lodge-Bannwart incident, see the April 2017 post of the Massachusetts Historical Society cited in endnote 1, above.

41 See e.g., “Bannwart Also Ran,” Boston Herald, September 8, 1920: 7. His “amusing candidacy” placed dead-last in both the Democratic and Republican Party primaries for a Massachusetts legislative seat.

42 The daily rate for use of the mansion was $50, according to Albert Apple, “The Referee,” The (Danville, Virginia) Bee, June 6, 1924.

43 As reported in “Dance Mansion Quartet Guilty,” Boston Herald, December 24, 1924: 16; “Bannwart Fined $25 for Unlicensed Dance,” Boston Herald, March 26, 1925: 17. See also, Fitchburg (Massachusetts) Sentinel, March 26, 1925.

44 See “Federal Union Planned,” (Uniontown, Pennsylvania) Morning Herald, March 15, 1948: 1.

45 See “100,000 Will Fight Case to Wait Depositions,” Boston Herald, March 6, 1951: 7; “Spinster’s Broker Had ‘Best Friend,'” Boston Herald, April 5, 1951: 39.

46 See “$19,500 to Hanlon, Compromise Settles Bannwart Will Contest,” Boston Herald, November 24, 1951: 3.

47 See e.g., “Citizen Group Formed for Better Government,” (Jersey City) Jersey Journal, February 16, 1953: 2.

48 Per “Parking Lot Owner: Alexander Bannwart, 78; Goatee Was a Familiar Sight,” Jersey Journal, February 23, 1959: 10.

“Berardino is one of those intense fellows who believe the greatest shame in the world is not doing your best every time. He hustles until the last out of every game, and he doesn’t sit around crying about his hard luck.”

Known to generations of television viewers as Dr. Steve Hardy on General Hospital (1963-1996), John Beradino, actor, had, during his early adult life, been Johnny Berardino, baseball player. And his first acting roles came before television was invented.

John Berardino was born in Los Angeles on May 1, 1917. He was the third child born to Ignazio and Anna Musacco Berardino, both natives of Canneto, Rieti, Lazio, Italy, a town on the Adriatic Sea. Ignazio came to the United States in 1905. His mother immigrated in 1911. Ignazio was the foreman at a wholesale meat-packing company. John’s older brother, Joseph, was born in 1914 and his sister, Mary, in 1916. His father died in 1965, and his mother died at 100, on April 5, 1989.

Berardino’s movie career predated his first trip to the Los Angeles playgrounds to play baseball. At the age of 6, he appeared as an extra in three early Hal Roach “Our Gang” films, before sound came to film. His pay amounted to “box lunches that they handed out on the set.” His mother felt he would be the next great child star and persuaded his dad to invest $10,000 in a movie starring the 10-year-old child. But the film was never finished.2 “My dad gave me a bat and said, “Go make like “Push-em-up Tony,” (Tony Lazzeri, like Berardino, an Italian from California, was his hero).’”3 Young Johnny was off to the local playgrounds with a ball and bat. He attended Castelar Grade School and went on to Belmont High School, where he starred in football as well as baseball.

Berardino entered the University of Southern California in the fall of 1935, and served on the Sophomore Class Council during the 1936-37 school year. He was a member of Phi Kappa Tau fraternity. Fred Mosebach of the San Antonio Express, who spoke with Berardino during his minor-league days, wrote that Johnny’s ambition was to become a sportswriter, but the youngster would find his career elsewhere. 4 He had also, during his time at USC, done some acting, but when asked about his acting during a 1939 interview, he was calm and modest, saying, “Just tell ’em I was a tree in the forest scene.”5 By then, his focus was on baseball.

In the spring of his sophomore year, Berardino made the varsity baseball squad as a second baseman, but when he suffered a broken finger fielding a ball, his coach temporarily switched him to the outfield to get him playing time without undue hazard to his finger. Despite the injury, Berardino led the Pacific Coast Collegiate League with a .424 batting average. He was scouted by Willie Butler and signed after that season by Jack Fournier of the St. Louis Browns, a signing protested by USC coach Justin M. “Sam” Barry.6 The Browns sent Berardino to the Johnstown (Pennsylvania) Johnnies of the Class-C Middle Atlantic League. He so impressed the organization that Browns business manager Bill Dewitt said, “He’s been hitting around .325, is exceptionally fast, has a strong arm, and is a good fielder. All our scouts agree that he’s a sure major-league prospect. He’ll probably serve with San Antonio next year.”7 At Johnstown Berardino batted .334 with 38 extra-base hits, 12 of which were home runs.

In spring training with the San Antonio Missions in 1938, Berardino went 5-for-5 with three homers on March 20 as the Missions defeated the Laredo Stars, 13-3.8 During the season he batted .309 as the Missions finished second in the Class-A1 Texas League. He had 41 doubles, two triples, 13 home runs, and 20 stolen bases. Before the season Browns scout Ray Cahill had said, “The lad can’t miss.”9

In May of that season Berardino showed an ability to play while in pain. He played through a game with an injured finger. With his finger taped up, he fielded eight balls at second base and was involved in three double plays. The next day it was determined that the finger was broken.10 When he was injured he was batting over .400. He missed 20 games, but still led the league in chances handled (810) and participated in a league-leading 107 double plays.

After excelling at San Antonio 1938, Berardino was praised by new Browns manager Fred Haney.11 In spring training at San Antonio, Berardino and Sig Gryska, who had set a record for converting double plays the prior season at Mission Field, were pairing up to take their act to the major-league level. Berardino was also showing off his basestealing skills, having stolen three bass in the early spring games.12 Berardino and Gryska got more playing time in the spring as the regular Browns tandem of Don Heffner and Red Kress were holding out.13 Heffner’s holdout continued into April and Berardino took full advantage, getting the nod to start on Opening Day.14

On Opening Day, April 22, 1939, Berardino hit seventh in the batting order and went 1-for-4 against the White Sox at Comiskey Park. In the fourth inning, with the Browns leading 2-1 and runners on second and third, Berardino got his first major-league hit, a single off future Hall of Famer Ted Lyons, driving in the two runners. He hit safely in his first nine major-league games. As April ended, he was batting .333. However, a May slump shot Berardino’s average down to .243. Nevertheless, his manager stuck with him and he was back on top in June, going 31-for-89 (.348) with eight extra-base hits, including his first big-league homer. The third-inning two-run blast on June 29 came off Thornton Lee and helped the Browns thump the White Sox, 9-3. However, Berardino’s efforts were on most days lost in another year of frustration for the Browns. The team finished the season with a 43-111 record, worst in the major leagues. Berardino had a late-season slump and finished his first season with a .256 batting average. He hit five homers and drove in 58 runs in 126 games.

Hopes were high in St. Louis as the 1940 season begun, as their turn to youth was producing some early positive results, not the least of which was Berardino. The optimism was premature. Three games into the season, the record was above .500 (2-1). It was downhill from there. St. Louis quickly fell to eighth place. But from June 4 through July 2, the Browns went 19-12 and were in fifth place, four games below .500. On June 5, Berardino went 4-for-7 and scored the winning run as the Browns defeated the Red Sox 4-3 in 14 innings at Fenway Park. Four days later, at Philadelphia, Berardino homered in each game of a doubleheader, as the Browns swept the pair. The team, however, would revert to its losing ways and lose 14 in a row in July. Berardino had a role in stopping that streak with a game-winning homer on July 19. The team would up with a sixth-place finish (67-87), an improvement over the prior season’s eighth-place result. Berardino improved on his 1939 numbers, raising his average to .258 with career highs in doubles (31) and homers (16). The Browns moved Berardino to shortstop during the season and the results were favorable. Dick Farrington remarked in The Sporting News that “some observers who have watched Berardino freely predict that he will be the best shortstop in the league in another year. He possesses what is known as ‘ball sense’ in tracking down grounders, has ample speed and a fine throwing arm.”15

In the offseason between 1940 and 1941 Berardino was back performing as an actor, working at the Pasadena Playhouse in a performance of A Slight Case of Murder. In 1941, despite some injuries, Berardino played some of his best ball so far. As late as June 5, he was batting above .300, and for the season he would post his best average of his career, .271. Although the Browns (70-84) finished sixth, there was hope that improvement was on the horizon. When Berardino’s name came up in trade rumors, the Browns were quick to stop such speculation. With only five home runs, he managed a career-high 89 RBIs, second best on the team.

And then things changed.

In January 1942, shortly after the United States entered World War II, Berardino enlisted in the US Army Air Corps and went off to Higley Field in Chandler, Arizona, for flight training. Unable to qualify as a flier he was given a discharge and rejoined the Browns. He appeared in 29 games with the team in 1942, but had no set position. He registered only 74 at-bats and had an average of .284. Shortly after the season, he joined the Navy,16 and was stationed at the Naval Air Station at Lambert Field, Missouri.17 He moved on to the Physical Instructors’ School at Bainbridge, Maryland, and then to the Naval Air Station in San Pedro, California, where he managed the facility’s baseball team.18 When the Browns won the 1944 pennant, Brown was stationed at Pearl Harbor. During his time there, he injured his back falling from a jeep.

Berardino returned from the Navy for the 1946 season and had a great start. At the time of the All-Star Game, he was batting over .300 and the Browns were miffed that he wasn’t selected for the All-Star team. He fashioned a career-high 21-game hitting streak from May 30 through June 20. By season’s end, his average had dropped to .265, but he had 39 extra-base hits and 68 RBIs. The Browns, after being as high as third place in early May, slipped back to their customary spot in the second division, finishing in seventh place, 38 games out of first. During the offseason, Berardino resumed acting, performing, and learning at the Pasadena Playhouse.

In 1947 with the Browns, Berardino got off to a terrible start at the plate, and on April 27 he had the dubious distinction of hitting into a triple play against the White Sox. He withstood persistent back pain from his Navy days, but was limited to 90 games by two serious injuries. The more severe injury was a broken arm on June 17 that caused him to miss 35 games. He sustained the injury when hit by a fastball thrown by Dave Ferriss of the Red Sox. At the time of his injury, he was batting only .180. After he returned, his hitting improved, but he was sent to the bench again on August 8 when he was hit on the hand by a pitch thrown by Cleveland’s Allen Gettel. He missed all but one of his team’s next 25 games, but returned to bat .362 in 24 September starts. For the season, he batted .261. His 22 doubles gave him more than 20 doubles in each of his first five full seasons in the major leagues. The Browns, however, were still the Browns, finishing again in last place.

After the 1947 season, the Browns sought to trade Berardino and worked out a trade with the Washington Senators for Jerry Priddy. Berardino saw no advantage in moving from an eighth-place team to a seventh-place team and announced his retirement to seek a full-time film career. His first role was as a horse trainer in the film The Winner’s Circle, featuring jockey Johnny Longden. In announcing his retirement, Berardino said, “I’m getting a seven-year contract from Polimer Studios and it’s a better deal than I could get in baseball. They like my future in the movies and so do I. Anyway, when they start moving you around like cattle without your consent, it’s time to quit baseball. I was never approached on the trade and knew nothing about it until I read it in the papers.”19

However, by the time the film was released on June 8, 1948, Berardino was back on the ball field, this time with a contender. After the deal between St. Louis and Washington fell through, Bill Veeck of the Cleveland Indians wanted to shore up his infield and to strike a pre-emptive blow against the Detroit Tigers, who were looking to acquire Berardino.20 On December 9, 1947, he paid a handsome sum ($65,000) to the Browns for the handsome ballplayer and quickly, at the insistence of Berardino’s film producer, insured John’s face in the event the player suffered a baseball-related injury. Reports differ on the amount of the coverage. Contemporary reports had it at $100,000,21 but more recent accounts showed the amount as $1 million.22 Berardino also had an attendance clause written into his contract. For each 100,000 the Indians drew at home over 2 million spectators, the player would receive $1,000. To owner Veeck, the contract was little more than a publicity gag as the team had never drawn more than 1.6 million, its all-time high having been 1,521,978 in 1947.

Originally, George Metkovich was sent from Cleveland to St. Louis as part of the trade, but the Browns returned Metkovich to Cleveland, when it was determined that he had a broken finger, with the Browns getting $15,000 on top of the initial $50,000 for Berardino. Veeck’s reasoning for the high price tag was, “He’ll be worth the price and then some if one of our regulars goes into a slump or is injured. The way the Red Sox have loaded up for next year’s pennant race, anyone who hopes to catch them will have to be as strong in reserves as on the front line.”23

With Cleveland, Berardino backed up Joe Gordon at second base. He was used sparingly, appearing in 66 games and batting only .190. However, the average is deceiving. He started games at each of the four infield positions and, in spots, Berardino shined. He played in 10 straight games, mostly at second base, from May 25 through June 4, when Gordon was injured. During this time, he batted .344, as the Indians won six of the games. On 18 occasions, including 14 starts between June 27 and July 25, Berardino platooned with Eddie Robinson at first base and played errorless ball.

When shortstop-manager Lou Boudreau was injured in early August, Berardino stepped in for six starts. On August 8 he contributed to both wins in a doubleheader sweep of New York. In the 8-6 first-game win, in front of 73,484 at Cleveland Stadium, he homered off Spec Shea during a five-run sixth inning. He walked and scored ahead of Eddie Robinson’s game-winning two-run homer in the eighth inning. In the nightcap, his seventh-inning sacrifice advanced the winning run to second base.

As September began, it was a three-team race in the American League for the pennant. The Athletics had fallen from contention. The Red Sox were in the lead, but the Yankees and Indians were in close pursuit. Unfortunately for Berardino, his bat went cold in the heat of the pennant race. From August 10 through September 18, he went 0-for-30 and saw his batting average plummet. As September turned into October, the Indians took the league lead and had a chance to clinch the pennant on the final day of the season. However, although Berardino broke his hitless streak with a pinch-hit single, the Indians lost to the Tigers and fell into a tie with the Red Sox. They defeated Boston in a one-game playoff to advance to the World Series, where they defeated the Boston Braves in six games. Berardino did not play in the World Series.

Berardino’s foresight in insisting on the attendance clause in his contract paid off. The Indians drew a record 2,620,627 fans in 1948, and Berardino got a $6,000 bonus. That attendance record stood until 1995.

Berardino was still with the Indians in 1949 and used the season to play with the Indians and do a movie, The Kid From Cleveland, along with his teammates. In the film, starring George Brent, Berardino played a gangster character called Mac. Russ Tamblyn played a troubled youth who was helped by the members of the team. The film’s premiere took place in Cleveland on September 2, 1949.24

Berardino spent his second season with the Tribe once again on the bench, getting into only 50 games. His .198 batting average once again did not show his value to the team. His voice was often heard from the bench by the opposing players and he became highly regarded as a bench jockey. Early Wynn told Berardino, “You got me so mad when I was with Washington (in 1948), that when you got on first base, I tried to throw the ball right at you.” Al Simmons added, “That guy (Berardino) is a dandy. He used to get our (Athletics) players so bothered they’d come back to the bench cussing. Oh, is he rough!”25

During his time with Cleveland, Berardino was noted for his Captain Bligh speech, in which he imitated Charles Laughton’s performance in Mutiny on the Bounty. In a reminiscence in 1998, teammate Bob Lemon said that Berardino was “one of the comrades on the team. He did it all,” Al Rosen added, “He was a thespian. He would jump on a table in the clubhouse and sprinkle water on everybody while giving his Captain Bligh speech.”26

In 1950, Berardino played in only four games with the Indians before being sent to their San Diego affiliate in the Pacific Coast League in May. In June, he was transferred to Sacramento in the same league, and on August 9, he was released by the Indians. He signed with the Pirates and was with them for the balance of 1950, playing in 40 games and batting .206.

After the season, the Pirates released Berardino and he signed with the Browns. A stellar performance during spring training earned him the nod at third base and he played in the first dozen games of 1951, batting .311. He played regularly through May, but his playing time diminished thereafter. His last game of the season was on July 4. When Bill Veeck took over the team on July 5, many players were shown the gate, and Berardino became a coach.27 He was relieved of his coaching duties after the season.

Berardino returned to Cleveland at the beginning of the 1952 season, but not before making a return to movies, appearing as ballplayer Bill Sherdel in The Winning Team, which starred Ronald Reagan as Grover Cleveland Alexander. Prompting the invite to spring training from Cleveland general manager Hank Greenberg was the anticipated loss of players to the military draft during the Korean War. Berardino was clearly underperforming in 35 games with the Indians, going only 3-for-32 before being traded to the Pirates on August 18. He finished his major-league career with the Pirates in September 1952. He went 8-for-56 with four doubles in 19 games with the Pirates, as the Bucs finished in the cellar with a 42-112 record, not much different from his first team, the 1939 Browns.

For his career, Berardino batted .249 with 167 doubles, 23 triples, and 36 home runs. He had 387 RBIs.

Berardino, who was an actor before, during, and after his baseball life, became a full-time actor after the 1952 season. He appeared in more than 25 movies, often in minor uncredited roles (including sitting at a bar in Marty and playing a police sergeant in North by Northwest), but his greatest success came in over 100 roles on the small screen. His early TV credits included I Led Three Lives, in which he appeared as Special Agent Steve Daniels. He appeared on Superman, in The Cisco Kid, and on The Lone Ranger, where he did four episodes (separate outlaw characters) in 1956.

Berardino turned to writing and co-authored scripts with Charissa Hughes for the television series Shotgun Slade, which aired from 1959 through 1961.

In 1960, Berardino returned to the big screen, appearing in Seven Thieves, which starred Edward G. Robinson and involved a caper that took Robinson and his comrades to a heist in Monte Carlo. This time Berardino was on the side of the law, playing a detective. The film received good reviews.

Still in detective garb, he joined the cast of The New Breed on television in 1961 as Sergeant Vince Cavelli, starring alongside Leslie Neilsen. The show was well received by critics but lasted only one season.

Berardino’s big break came in 1963 when he took on the role of Dr. Steve Hardy on television’s General Hospital. The program was the first foray into soap opera for ABC and John Beradino was with the show for 33 years, appearing for the final time one month before his death. In 1973, thinking that daytime performers were undervalued, he championed the cause of the Daytime Emmy Awards.28 The first awards were presented on May 28, 1974. Although he was nominated for an Emmy in each of the first three years, he was not selected for the award.

In 1981, Beradino appeared in the made-for-television movie, Don’t Look Back, the story of 1948 Cleveland Indians teammate Satchel Paige. In 1993, 45 years after receiving his World Series ring and 30 years after the debut of General Hospital, Berardino was awarded a place on Hollywood’s Walk of Fame.

John married 18-year-old Jeanette Nadine Barritt on November 23, 1941, and they had two children, daughters Antoinette, born in 1942, and Celeste Ruth, born in 1945. They were divorced in March 1955.29 Jeanette died in 1970. On January 20, 1961, he married actress Charissa Hughes, 17 years his junior, with whom he had collaborated as a writer. She died on June 14, 1963. He was married for the third time, to Marjorie Binder, on April 30, 1971. They had a daughter, Katherine (1973-2017), and a son, John Anthony (1974-). Berardino died from pancreatic cancer on May 19, 1996. Berardino’s brother, Joseph, had died in 2002 and his sister, Mary, in 2011.

Actress Rachel Ames, who played Berardino’s wife on General Hospital, talked lovingly of her co-star: “John was like a father confessor to everybody in the cast. He always had a cheery word and liked to tell funny stories. He was a great dancer and loved to ride horses. On breaks between acting, he would play catch.”

This biography originally appeared in “From Spring Training to Screen Test: Baseball Players Turned Actors“ (SABR, 2018), edited by Rob Edelman and Bill Nowlin.

Photo Caption

Big leaguer John Berardino (on the ballfield) or Beradino (in movies and on TV) enjoyed a healthy big-and-small screen career; he is best-recalled as Dr. Steve Hardy on General Hospital.

Sources

In addition to the sources cited in the Notes, the author used Baseball-Reference.com, Ancestry.com, the Johnny Berardino player file at the National Baseball Hall of Fame, and the following:

Drohan, John. “It’s Short Step From Field to Footlights,” The Sporting News, April 4, 1956: 13-14.

Grimes, William. “John Beradino, 79, An Enduring Soap Opera Star,” New York Times, May 22, 1996.

The following articles, although included in the notes, are singled out as being particularly helpful.

Dolgan, Bob. “Two Series Star: After Helping the Indians to the 1948 Title, Berardino Found Fame as Soap Opera Actor,” Cleveland Plain Dealer, August 23, 1998: 1-C.

Farrington, Dick. “Dark and Handsome Berardino Started in Films — at Six,” The Sporting News, July 13, 1939: 3.

Notes

1 Gordon Cobbledick, “Veeck Applies Psychology in Reshuffling Roommates,” The Sporting News, March 10, 1948: 4.

2 Eirik Knudsen, “Beradino, on ‘Hospital’ for 25 years, Operated in the Infield for ’48 Tribe,” Cleveland Plain Dealer, June 5, 1988: TV Week-2.

3 Jeanie Chung, “Player-Turned-Actor Is Just What Doctor Ordered,” Baseball Weekly, May 23, 1991.

4 Fred Mosebach, “John Berardino of San Antonio Missions,” The Sporting News, October 27, 1938: 10.

5 Dick Farrington, “Dark and Handsome Berardino Started in Films at Six: But with Eye on Lazzeri, Brown Rookie Landed on Diamond,” The Sporting News, July 13, 1939: 3.

6 “Browns Signing of Collegian Brings Kick From Coast Coach,” The Sporting News, June 17, 1937: 2.

7 Carl Felker, “Long Rookie String Lined Up by Browns,” The Sporting News, September 9, 1937: 2.

8 “Missions Win Over Laredo Stars,” Dallas Morning News, March 21, 1938: II-2.

9 “New Brownies Recruit: John Berardino,” The Sporting News, January 19, 1939: 1.

10 Ibid.

11 “Mixing Old With New to Paint Brown Picture in Brighter Hue,” The Sporting News, April 6, 1939: 1.

12 Brown Byrd, “Browns Taking on Rose-Colored Tint: Gryska, Berardino Develop into Nifty Keystone Combination,” The Sporting News, March 30, 1939: 12.

13 Farrington, “Brownies May Fit Kids Into Keystone,” The Sporting News, March 9, 1939: 2.

14 Byrd, “Berardino Scheduled to Open at Second Base for Brownies,” The Sporting News, April 6, 1939: 2.

15 Farrington, “Berardino Browns’ Tall Man at Short,” The Sporting News, September 5, 1940: 2.

16 St. Louis Post-Dispatch, September 29, 1942: 4B.

17 The Sporting News, June 3, 1943: 11.

18 “In the Service,” The Sporting News, May 11, 1944: 14.

19 Shirley Povich, “Swap for Berardino Turns Into Movie Shocker for Nats,” The Sporting News, December 3, 1947: 10.

20 Bill Veeck (with Ed Linn), Veeck as in Wreck (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2001), 148.

21 Associated Press, “Berardino Gets Face Insured,” Sandusky (Ohio) Register, January 5, 1948: 5.

22 Veeck, 134.

23 Ed McAuley, “Movie Actor Berardino Gets Into Cleveland Picture,” The Sporting News, December 17, 1947: 11.

24 McAuley, “Indians’ Reel Roles Marked by Realism: New Film Is Well Received at Cleveland Premiere; Diamond Sequences Good; Veeck in Prominent Part,” The Sporting News, September 14, 1949: 19.

25 Hal Lebovitz, “Active-Sub Berardino Rates High as Jockey,” The Sporting News, May 10, 1950: 16.

26 Bob Dolgan, “Two Series Star: After Helping Indians to the 1948 Title, Berardino Found Fame as a Soap Opera Actor,” Cleveland Plain Dealer, August 23, 1998: 1C.

27 Ray Gillespie, “One Team Playing, One Coming, One Going,” The Sporting News, August 8, 1951: 4.

28 Jerry Buck, Associated Press, “Daytime Opera Performers Want to Compete for Awards,” Cleveland Plain Dealer, February 11, 1973: 22E.

29 Associated Press. “Berardino Is Sued for Divorce Third Time,” Sacramento (California) Bee, March 2, 1955: 28.

Moe Berg was destined to be not a slayer of dragons but a maverick who went beyond the borders of ordinary life. Berg had a nervous vitality about his person. His movements were animal-like. He appeared to be a person out of sync and out of sympathy with his environment. Moe Berg was in a world by himself, passionately interested in knowledge for its own sake. He was also quick to share this knowledge to anyone who cared to listen to him. In essence he was a free spirit. John Kieran, a former sports columnist for the New York Times, called Moe “The most scholarly athlete I ever knew.”

What was the real mystery of Moe Berg? Was he really a spy? Was he a complex human being? No revelations can touch his innermost secrets. A complex yet simple man, he was said to have asked minutes before he died, “How did the Mets do today?”

Morris Berg, allegedly master of 12 languages, was born in a cold-water tenement on East 121st Street in Manhattan on March 2, 1902, to Russian-Jewish immigrant parents, Bernard Berg, a druggist, and Rose Tashker. Bernard Berg arrived in New York from the Ukraine in 1894 and found work ironing in a laundry. Rose arrived two years later when Bernard had saved enough money. Bernard had also set aside enough money to open his own laundry on the Lower East Side. He had higher ambitions, though, and attended night school at the Columbia College of Pharmacy. By the time Moe was born, joining older siblings Samuel and Ethel, Bernard was a pharmacist.

At nine months of age Moe moved with his family to the Roseville section of Newark, New Jersey, where Bernard Berg opened his own pharmacy. It was for the Roseville Methodist Episcopal Church that Moe played his first organized ball. As he was Jewish, he invented a new name for himself, Runt Wolfe. His father worked for thirty years so that his children would have a college education. Samuel became a medical doctor, Ethel a schoolteacher. The family felt that Moe should become a lawyer. And so he did.

Moe attended Barringer High School and was an all-city third baseman with a rifle arm. Berg graduated from Barringer at the tender age of sixteen and a year later went to New York University. One year later he transferred to Princeton University. Most of the students attending Princeton were Protestants from wealthy families. Moe, Jewish and not affluent, hovered around the periphery of that closed society. He was a loner and perhaps this contributed to his mysterious ways many years later. At Princeton Berg studied classical and Romance languages: Greek, Latin, French, Spanish, and Italian. He also studied German and even Sanskrit.

Because he was Jewish, Moe ran into some awkward moments at Princeton. One such incident came about when one of his teammates was nominated for membership in one of the prestigious dining clubs so essential to social life at Princeton. The teammate accepted on the condition that Moe Berg would also become a member. The club acceded to those wishes on the condition that Berg not attempt to bring any more Jews into the club. Moe Berg said no thanks to this requirement. His teammate also declined to join. Moe, feeling responsible for his teammate’s refusal to join, talked him into becoming a member. Left with a bitter taste in his mouth about Princeton, Berg never returned for any class reunions.

Baseball gained Berg something like acceptance, as he started for the Princeton nine for three years. During his last year he was captain and a star shortstop. That team was the best Princeton ever had, winning 18 straight games and handing Holy Cross star pitcher Ownie Carroll one of his two losses as a college pitcher. Moe graduated with honors in 1923, 24th in a class of 211.

After graduation, Moe Berg signed with Brooklyn of the National League. He also entered Columbia Law School, eventually receiving his law degree in 1930. At this point in life he encountered Dutch Carter, an eminent lawyer who advised him to keep playing professional baseball. Carter had wanted a baseball career himself, but his family had persuaded him to follow the law, and he still regretted it. He told Berg that he would have plenty of time to practice law after his baseball career was over. Berg followed his advice, also turning down a position at Princeton to teach Romance languages.

Moe Berg started his baseball career in 1923 with Brooklyn of the National League as a shortstop and batted a puny .186. In 1924 he was with Minneapolis and Toledo in the American Association playing third base and shortstop with a combined average of .264. In 1925 he was with Reading of the International League as a shortstop, batting .311. Finally making it back to the majors in 1926, he played in 41 games for the White Sox, batting .221. It was in 1927 with the White Sox that he inadvertently became a catcher. Ray Schalk, manager of the Sox and a reserve catcher, was out with a broken thumb. Buck Crouse was also injured. Then in a game in Boston Harry McCurdy had his hand slashed accidentally by a Boston batter.

Schalk was in a panic. Looking up and down the bench, he said, “Can any of you fellows catch?” Moe said he used to think he could. Schalk asked who said Moe couldn’t. Moe’s answer: “My high school coach.” Schalk assured Berg that he’d be obliged if Moe could prove his high school coach wrong.

Moe strapped on the so-called tools of ignorance and proved that indeed he could catch. Schalk was so delighted with Berg after the game he hugged and kissed him. There was no turning back. The brightest man in baseball was now wedded to the tools of ignorance. Berg was an excellent defensive catcher. Possessing a strong arm, he could gun down the swiftest baserunners. His hitting left something to be desired. Berg batted only .243 with six home runs lifetime. But his baseball acumen in calling games and his knowledge of the hitters put him in great demand around the league. Moe went on to play for Cleveland, Washington and Boston in the American League until his retirement after the 1939 season. In all he spent fifteen seasons in the majors mainly because of his defensive skills and his knowledge of baseball.

When Ted Williams was in his second year with Red Sox, he sought out Moe Berg for advice. Williams wanted to know about what made great hitters like Lou Gehrig and Babe Ruth. Berg replied, “Gehrig would wait and wait and wait until he hit the pitch almost out of the catcher’s glove. As to Ruth he had no weaknesses, he had a good eye and laid off pitches out of the strike zone. Ted,” Moe said, “you most resemble a hitter like Shoeless Joe Jackson. But you are better than all of them. When it comes to wrists you have the best.” Whether at this early stage of Williams’ career Moe was being honest or just trying to pump up Ted’s confidence is debatable; what Williams went on to do is not.

In 1934 Berg’s career took the turn that made him the stuff of legend. Now a member of the team of Americans that took baseball to Japan, he presumably walked the streets of Tokyo dressed in a long black kimono. He entered St. Luke’s Hospital carrying a bouquet of flowers intended for Ambassador Joseph Grew’s daughter (Mrs. Cecil Burton), who had recently given birth to a daughter. He introduced himself as a friend of Mrs. Burton but instead of going to her room went up to the roof and using a motion picture camera shot the skyline and other important parts of Tokyo. He never visited Mrs. Burton. In 1942, General Jimmy Doolittle’s pilots viewed Berg’s photos before their famous raid on Tokyo in April 1942. However, the pictures were too old to be useful to the pilots.

In August 1943, Moe Berg was recruited into the Office of Strategic Services (OSS), later to become the CIA, by General William (Wild Bill) Donovan, former commander of the Fighting Sixty-Ninth Regiment in World War I. Berg had just finished his tour of South American countries to secure cooperation between them and the United States in the war against the Axis.

One of Berg’s first assignments was to parachute into Yugoslavia to inquire into the relative strengths of the Chetniks loyal to King Peter who were led by Draza Mihajlovic and the Communist partisans led by Josip Broz (Tito) in their fight against the Germans. Talking to both men and analyzing their relative strengths, Berg felt that the partisans under Tito were superior and had the backing of the Yugoslav people. Thus the greater aid went to Tito.

On another mission Berg posed as a German businessman in Switzerland. His job order from the OSS was to carry a shoulder-holstered pistol and assassinate Werner Heisenberg, the top scientist suspected of working on an atomic bomb (if indeed the Germans were moving ahead on the A-Bomb). Heisenberg divulged nothing. Berg, who was to shoot him on the spot and then take cyanide to avoid capture, concluded that the Germans were nowhere close to an atomic bomb. Heisenberg and Berg were to live another day.

Generally serious, Berg had a lighter side. With the Washington Senators his roomie was a fellow named Dave Harris, a slow-moving Southerner who once was deputized as a sheriff to track down some men who had stolen a mule. One day Harris was feeling a bit sickly and told his roomate Moe that he was “doin’ poorly.” Moe said, “Stick out your tongue.” Harris complied and Moe told him, “Dave, you are suffering from a bit of intestinal fortitude.” The next day Harris informed reporters that he had shaken off that little bit of intestinal fortitude. But Harris had the last laugh: “Moe, I can drive in more runs in a month than you smart guys can think across the plate all season.”

One day in Philadelphia the temperature reached about one hundred degrees. Moe dutifully put on the equipment and stoically went out to catch, the perspiration coming out his body profusely. Berg was catching Earl Whitehill, a fast but wild lefty, that day. In the seventh inning Doc Cramer came to bat and got into a battle with Whitehill over who was going to outstare the other. Meanwhile, Berg was crouching down every time he gave a signal and getting up while the two were staring at each other. This went on for quite some time with Moe going up and down like a yo-yo. In disgust Berg peeled off his chest protector, shin guards, and mask and laid them neatly on home plate. He then turned to Bill McGowan, the home-plate umpire, and said, “I’ll return when those two guys decide to play baseball. Right now I’m going to take a shower.”

One of Berg’s many eccentricities involved the newspaper. He would not let anyone touch his newspapers until he had read them. If anyone did touch them, Berg considered them dead and would go out and buy the papers again. Even in a snowstorm Berg would go out to buy papers if someone had touched them before he did.

Moe was a proud man. When he was asked to write his biography, he angrily refused when his co-author mistakenly thought he was Moe of the Three Stooges. Berg also supposedly refused the Medal of Merit when he was told he could not explain to friends why he earned it. His sister accepted it after his death.

Notwithstanding living in a cold-water flat, the entire Berg family was intelligent and sought learning. The genes must have been there in Moe for intelligence and learning. So what made Moe seek a life of baseball and spying? Why did he never marry? Why did he have the knack of suddenly appearing and then disappearing at a moment’s notice? We know that when he attended Princeton he was on the fringe of that society of wealthy Protestant students and was never fully accepted into their world. Did his experience at Princeton have anything to do with his being on the fringe of society in his everyday life? If his experience at Princeton had been one of acceptance, would it have changed his makeup and the extent of his participation in the broader society? Loners are often thought of as dangerous people. But Moe was charming and interesting. He was a loner yet sought after as company. How do we explain this paradox? By now we have mostly only questions and only mere suppositions about Berg.

Marriage seems to have been out of the question. The closest Berg came to marriage was his involvement with Estella Huni, whose father owned the New Haven School of Music. Tall, beautiful, and sophisticated, she was an intellectual match for Moe. They had much in common-opera, art, books and witty conversation. Early in 1944 Moe was sent to Europe, and his correspondence with Estella was sparse. She braved it out for a while, but then his letters stopped altogether, and she gave up the dream of marrying him. She eventually married a naval officer.

Berg’s uncanny knack for appearing and suddenly vanishing came from his days at Princeton and from his personality that demanded utter secrecy where his inner life was concerned. He wanted to be mysterious, to make himself the intriguing figure his psyche demanded.

Moe Berg’s whole family, especially his brother Sam and his sister Ethel, was somewhat enigmatic. Dr. Sam, as he liked to be called, never married and could be cruel. Ethel aspired to be an actress but settled upon being a schoolteacher and also never married. Ethel became an excellent kindergarten teacher and was given the responsibility of instructing other kindergarten teachers. She was noted for roller-skating down the corridors of the school. Dr. Sam and Ethel detested each other and did not speak for 30 years.

His father Bernard chose not to live in a Jewish section of Newark. He preferred to live among a more Gentile population. Accordingly, Moe lived on the fringe of society at a young age and continued doing so at Princeton. The Bergs also felt they were superior to their other relatives and looked down upon them. At family gatherings they would stand apart from other members, living on the fringe of their own extended family. Did this come into play for Moe? It would seem so.

Bernard Berg didn’t approve of Moe’s baseball career. Despite Moe’s pleadings he never attended a baseball game, let alone one in which Moe was playing. He was vehemently opposed to sports because he felt they were distractions in one’s life. Moe’s father tried but failed to discourage his son’s athletic leanings. Asked if he felt he had wasted his life, Moe always replied, “I’d rather be a ballplayer than a Supreme Court justice.”

Rose, on the other hand, exulted in the fame it brought her son. When Moe was playing baseball at Princeton, he and his father exchanged acrimonious letters over his athletic activities. Meanwhile, Dr. Sam always felt that he was the neglected one in the family and was jealous of the attention that came Moe’s way. Ethel, caught in the middle of all this, was probably the one most neglected.

Moe would appear from nowhere and just as suddenly disappear. It was his nature. He wanted to be free of obligations such as deep relationships with other people. Granted, he was charming and witty, but he always shrouded himself. He was the perfect man to be a spy because he revealed little about himself. His innermost feelings were as thoroughly classified as his spy activities.

Some people considered him a leech who invited himself to affairs that others paid for. Some sought him out passionately for his wide-ranging knowledge and ability to relate facts and figures to all that cared to listen. But did he ever reveal himself? Did he ever divulge his innermost feelings and thoughts to someone? He was like the spy who came in from the cold. Staying on the fringe of society, free to roam wherever he wanted, from time to time he still needed the warmth of human society to bolster him.

His brother Samuel, with whom he lived for a while, said that after the war Moe became a bit moody and snappish. Moe seemed a lost soul. He appeared directionless, living only for his books. He would show up at Mets games, usually sitting alone in the right field stands, wearing his customary black suit and carrying a Neville Chamberlain black umbrella. After almost 17 years of having Moe live with him and with papers and books piling up to the point that it was driving him insane, Sam finally asked Moe to leave. Moe did not budge. Dr. Sam had lawyers draw up eviction papers to get Moe out of the house.

Moe wound up living out his life in Ethel’s home in Belleville, New Jersey. Things were not always good there, either. One time when a relative came to visit Moe, he offered to take her to see writer Anita Loos. Ethel upon hearing this rushed out of the house and began tearing up weeds out of the garden. She said, “That son of a gun never asks me to go with him to meet Anita Loos and now he asks you.”

Whenever anyone would ask any question that Moe felt uneasy about, he would put a finger to his lips and utter “Shhh.” Was this shushing a shield against not only his spy activities but also his innermost feelings? Or was it part of a vivid fantasy life?

Adding to all this was a business loss that Moe suffered from a company in which he had invested $4,000. The company, which manufactured stationery, had done well, and Moe was reported to have made profits of about $250,000. However, the profits were plowed back into the business when it expanded. Unfortunately, the expansion did not work out. The company went bankrupt, and Moe never realized his profits. Moe, it seemed, never complained to anyone over this financial loss; he seemed to worry more about all the people that lost their jobs when the firm went under. There were debts to be paid, and Moe with the help of friends paid them. His reaction was to plunge more deeply into his world of books and study.

Moe Berg was not of his time. Perhaps he saw himself as a throwback to more chivalrous centuries, where loyalty, honesty and courtesy were valued. Maybe he was the knight-errant who bravely fought on when he knew he was doomed or the lone cowboy who would ride into town, root out the bad guys, and ride off into the sunset. The townsfolk would be grateful but would never make him sheriff. In any case, he lived out his life without having a solid relationship with anyone.

Little about Moe Berg adds up. How did he last so long in the majors, continuously from 1926 to 1939, when he was no better than a mediocre player? He may have been a fine catcher, but he was a weak hitter in an era of heavy hitters, when weak hitters didn’t last long. His more or less exact contemporaries in the American League alone include Gehrig, Gehringer, Grove, Lyons, Cochrane, Dickey, and other players of similar caliber. Was he kept on major league rosters at the behest of the government for his undercover abilities? Maybe, but the Tokyo episode, in which he supposedly passed himself off as Japanese, has the implausibility of a bad spy novel or movie. Perhaps he did everything claimed for him, but perhaps he had an overly romanticized fantasy life and was a master con; the finger pressed to the lips is a masterful touch. He was intelligent, to be sure, but it’s also possible he was just plain unbalanced or wanted to make himself appear more important than he was.

Moe Berg died on May 29, 1972, in Belleville, New Jersey, after a fall at his sister’s home. His brother and sister survived him.

Sources

BaseballLibrary.com.

Dawidoff, Nicholas. The Catcher Was a Spy: The Mysterious Life of Moe Berg. New York: Pantheon Books, 1994.

Horvitz, Peter S., and Joachim Horvitz. The Big Book of Jewish Baseball: An Encyclopedia and Anecdotal History. New York: S.P.I Books, 2001.

James, Bill. The New Bill James Historical Baseball Abstract. New York: The Free Press, 2001.

Kaufman, Louis, Barbara Fitzgerald, and Tom Sewell. Moe Berg: Athlete, Scholar, Spy. Boston: Little, Brown, 1974.

Morris Berg files at the National Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum in Cooperstown, New York.

New York Times. Obituary. June 1, 1972.

Seidel, Michael. Ted Williams: A Baseball Life. Chicago: Contemporary Books, 1991.

Shatzkin, Mike ed. The Ballplayers. New York: William Morrow and Company, 1990.

The Berry family story in America starts with Thomas Berry, Charlie’s grandfather, who was born in Ireland about 1820. Thomas married and emigrated to the United States sometime before 1855, working as a laborer, teamster, and lineman. He and his wife, Catherine, settled in Camden County, New Jersey, before moving to Elizabeth, New Jersey, where they raised five children.1

The third child, Charles Joseph Berry, was born in 1860. He grew up to be a machinist. He and his wife, Ada “Addie” (née Bartch), lived for a time in Pennsylvania before moving to Phillipsburg, New Jersey.2 As a young man, Charles played baseball well enough to play one professional season, 1884, for three teams in the Union Association. Playing second base for Altoona and Pittsburgh and second base and outfield for Kansas City, he batted .224 in 43 games. In the field he was less than stellar, committing 27 errors.

Berry and his wife had three children, Addie C., Lucy E., and Charles Francis. Charles F. was born on October 18, 1902, in Phillipsburg. His father put a baseball glove on his son’s hand “when I could just about hold one,” he said.3

Charlie inherited his father’s love for sports and his athletic skills. At Phillipsburg High School he made the varsity team in football, basketball, and baseball. He received 11 varsity letters in his four years there. As a sophomore, Berry helped lead the football team to the New Jersey championship. When he was a senior, he was elected captain of the football, basketball, and baseball teams.4 A local newspaper article declared Berry “the greatest athlete that ever wore a Garnet and Grey uniform.”5 In the summers he worked at a local foundry, and after hours played catcher and outfield for the company baseball team in the Ingersoll-Rand League, an industrial league.6

Berry was courted by several Eastern colleges. and ultimately entered Lafayette College in Easton, Pennsylvania, after high school.7 As a freshman he was the starting left end on the football team and proved to be an excellent receiver. He also played defensive end. The 1921 team was undefeated, outscoring its eight opponents 239-26, and won a consensus national championship.8 In the spring of 1922, Berry joined the baseball team, earning the starting catcher job and helping the team to a 14-8 record.

The 1922 football team went 7-2. In the spring of 1923 the baseball team went 17-6. Berry hit over.300 and had a game-winning three-run homer against the University of Pennsylvania.9

In his senior year, Berry was elected class president and named captain of both the football and baseball teams. In January 1925 Walter Camp named Berry to his 1924 All-American football team as first-string left end.10

After graduating in June 1925 with a degree in economics, Berry signed a contract with Philadelphia A’s scout Mike Drennan.11 He reported immediately to Connie Mack’s Athletics, his major-league debut coming against the Cleveland Indians on June 15, 1925. Berry entered the game in the top of the sixth inning at catcher with the A’s losing, 12-2. He had an inauspicious beginning as he made an error with an errant throw that allowed Freddy Spurgeon, who had stolen second, to continue to third. In the seventh inning Berry got his first hit, singling off Indians pitcher Jake Miller. Down 15-4 in the eighth, the A’s scored 13 runs to win the game. During the rally Berry got his second hit of the day and his first RBI, and scored his first run. At the end of his first major-league game, he was batting 1.000.

Berry played in only 10 games for the Athletics in 1925, but was soon to find glory with the Pottsville (Pennsylvania) Maroons of the fledgling National Football League.12 The Maroons were a collection of all-stars. Berry, despite never having played a down of professional football and being the youngest member of the squad, was named the team captain.13 He more than proved himself as a leader and a player. Against the Green Bay Packers Berry scored three touchdowns and four extra points, and kicked a field goal. He led the NFL in scoring. Pottstown won the 1925 league championship, but the NFL stripped the Maroons of the title for playing an unauthorized game against the University of Notre Dame featuring the Four Horsemen.

In February 1926 the Athletics optioned Berry to the Portland (Oregon) Beavers of the Pacific Coast League. Two momentous events happened that summer. On June 30 in Portland Charlie married his high-school sweetheart, Helen S. Smith. During the season he suffered the first serious injury of his fledgling career, a broken wrist. He recovered before the end of the season, in all playing in 99 games.

After the season Berry resumed his football career with the Maroons, who won 10 games, lost 2, and had 2 ties, finishing in third place in the NFL. It was Berry’s last stint as a professional football player.

Apparently the Athletics had doubts about Berry’s wrist, for in the spring of 1927 they sent him outright to the Dallas Steers of the Texas League.14 There he was the number-one catcher, and hit.330.15

When the baseball season ended, Berry took a job as head football coach at Grove City College in western Pennsylvania. He returned to the Wolverines each year through the 1931 season, compiling a five-year record of 27 wins, 7 losses, and 8 ties. The Wolverines won the Tri-Conference title in three of those years.16

After the 1927 football season, Berry was sold to the Boston Red Sox. The 1928 Red Sox (53-96) were a last-place team. Berry played in 80 games as a catcher and a pinch-hitter, batting.260 and recording his first major-league home run, off Jack Ogden of the St. Louis Browns. He showed a bit of temper, as he received his first two of three ejections as a player, one for arguing balls and strikes and the other for arguing a close play at the plate.

Over the next two seasons, the Red Sox remained mired in last place. Berry’s batting average dipped in 1929, but bounced back in 1930 when he hit .289 in 88 games. He was proving himself to be a dependable man behind the plate.

Berry enjoyed a banner year in 1931. He appeared in the most games (111), batted .283, and had the most at-bats (357), most hits (101), and most runs scored (41) of his career. The season was memorable for a play involving Berry on April 22. When Babe Ruth tried to score after a fly out to center field, catcher Berry, the former football player, put a shoulder into the Yankees star and threw him skyward. Ruth came down in a heap safe at home plate.”17 Ruth took his position in left field in the bottom of the inning, but his left leg gave way and he collapsed. Ruth was carried from the field by his teammates and was taken to a hospital where he was diagnosed with a severe Charley horse in his left thigh.18 Ruth, unable to return to action for two weeks, did not blame Berry, saying, “It’s all part of the game and that was what he was paid to do. I’d have done the same thing in his place. Baseball isn’t ladies ping-pong. It’s a game played by men who want to win.”19

In 1932 Berry got off to a dismal start. In the first month he played in only 10 games and batted a paltry .188. On April 29 the Red Sox traded him to the Chicago White Sox. The trade apparently motivated Berry, as for the rest of the year he batted .305. His slugging percentage for the White Sox was the highest of his career at .478 (.453 when combined with Boston for the season).

On Memorial Day, May 30, Berry was involved in a bizarre incident. The White Sox were in Cleveland for a doubleheader. The first game, which the Indians won, 12-6, was contentious, with near fisticuffs between opposing players and between the White Sox and umpire George Moriarty.

The tension poured over into the second game, and bickering between the White Sox and Moriarty intensified as the game went along.

After the game, which the Indians won, 12-11, the White Sox accused Moriarty of challenging the entire team to a fight. Berry said Moriarty challenged him in the players’ tunnel. No matter the reason, the fracas started, with Moriarty punching pitcher Milt Gaston. Berry, Lew Fonseca, and catcher Frank Grube (Berry’s friend from Lafayette College days) all jumped on Moriarty and gave him a good pummeling. Indians players and coaches arrived and rescued Moriarty, who went to the hospital to be treated for bruises, spike wounds, and a broken right hand. American League President Will Harridge issued fines and suspensions to the White Sox who had participated. Berry got off relatively easily with a $250 fine. Moriarty was only reprimanded.20

Berry continued with the White Sox in 1933, then was traded back to the Athletics after the season. Installed as the first-string catcher, he got off to an unfortunate start when on Opening Day, April 17, he was hit by a foul ball; the injury to the little finger on his throwing hand kept him out for two weeks.21 Berry played in 99 games, batting .268. On July 21 in Detroit, his line drive to first base resulted in a triple play.

After the season Connie Mack invited Berry to join a barnstorming team for a trip to Japan.22 However, Berry missed the trip as he was stricken by appendicitis in Valley City, North Dakota, and was hospitalized.23

In 1935 Berry played in 62 games and hit the last of his 23 major-league home runs. On May 22 he was involved in a bizarre incident involving an umpire. In the first inning of a game against Detroit, the A’s Bob Johnson attempted to steal but was called out by umpire Charles Donnelly. Berry was one of several A’s who left the bench to protest to the umpire. Berry returned to the bench, where he remained until he pinch-hit in the ninth inning. After Tigers pitcher Elden Auker threw a pitch to Berry, Donnelly came forward to say he had ejected Berry during the first-inning argument. Berry said he did not remember being ejected and his manager, Connie Mack, said he had never been informed. Even Donnelly’s partner umpires did not know Berry had been banished. In the end, Berry was removed from the game. League President William Harridge investigated and determined that Donnelly was at fault and declined to reprimand Berry.24

On June 9, 1936, Berry was released by the Athletics as a player and hired as a coach. He remained in that position through the first half of the 1940 season. Berry not only helped the catchers, but he also instructed the pitchers. During spring training he would hold regular classes with the pitching staff.25 Berry had one last hurrah as a player. On September 8, 1938, he replaced Hal Wagner at catcher and made two plate appearances, going 0-for-2. In 1939 Berry was ejected from games twice, his only ejections as a coach. On July 15, Bill Summers tossed Berry for arguing a call at third base and on August 6, Harry Geisel gave him the thumb for protesting a home-run call.

At the midpoint of the 1940 season, Connie Mack asked Berry to take over as manager of an A’s farm team, the Wilmington (Delaware) Blue Rocks of the Interstate League. Berry took over a 28-29 team and piloted it to an overall 68-52 record, good enough for second place in the league.

Berry had continued to be involved with football, first as a scout and then as an official. He spent several years refereeing high-school and college games. In January 1941 he was hired by the National Football League as a head linesman for the coming season.26 At about the same time, Berry resigned as manager at Wilmington and became an umpire in the Eastern League.27 He had worked only a few spring-training games when the International League president, Frank Shaughnessy, saw Berry’s work and purchased his contract.28 Explaining his switch to officiating, Berry quipped, “I found out that the umpires win every argument so I decided to go over to their side.”29

Berry’s rise through the ranks was meteoric. In football, he was the head linesman for the 1942 NFL championship game in only his second season on the field. He was the head linesman in 11 more NFL championship games before his career was over.

In baseball, Berry spent less than two seasons in the International League before being hired to umpire in the American League. He made his major-league umpiring debut on September 10, 1942, in Chicago in a doubleheader between the Senators and White Sox. Working in a three-man crew with Bill Summers and Art Passarella, Berry covered third base, then moved to first base in the nightcap. Although he umpired in only seven games that September, he had proven himself. For the next 20 years, he was a full-time umpire.

In his second full year as a major-league umpire, Berry umpired in the 1944 All-Star Game. He worked the bases starting at first base and moving to second in the fifth inning. It was the first of five All-Star Games Berry umpired. (The others were in 1948, 1952, 1956, and the second All-Star Game of 1959.)

In 1945 Berry joined the US Army special services and made a goodwill trip to Greenland and Iceland to entertain the troops stationed there and to give clinics on officiating.30 After the war he continued to make trips at the behest of the US military. In the 1950s and early 1960s, he made four trips to Germany and three trips to Japan.31

Berry umpired four no-hitters and was at a different base for each one. He was at first base for Bo Belinsky’s no-hitter in 1962, second base for Allie Reynolds’ second no-hitter in 1951, third base for Jack Kralick’s gem in 1962, and home plate for Bob Feller’s third and last no-hitter in 1951. Berry was almost part of a perfect game. On July 27, 1958, Billy Pierce of the White Sox had one going with two outs in the ninth inning before the Senators’ Ed Fitz Gerald lined a ball down the first-base line. Berry, umpiring at first, called it fair and the perfect game was gone.

Berry took time off from umpiring to serve as head linesman at the 1949 College All-Star Game, at Chicago’s Soldier Field, which featured the best college football players against the previous year’s NFL champion. That left a three-man umpiring crew for the White Sox-Indians game and when Cleveland lost on a disputed play, Bill Veeck, owner of the Indians, protested the game on the grounds that Berry should have been at the game. AL President Will Harridge disallowed the protest.32 Berry also worked the 1951 College All-Star Game, after working both games of a doubleheader between Cleveland and Chicago.

During his 21 years as a major-league umpire, Berry ejected 55 players.33 His ejections ranged from eight in 1956 to none in 1945 and 1959. Berry sent four future Hall of Famers packing: Casey Stengel, Lou Boudreau (three times), Minnie Miñoso, his old White Sox batterymate Ted Lyons, and Al Lopez. (Lopez was Berry’s last career ejection.) Manager Paul Richards was thumbed by Berry the most times, four. The most men Berry ejected during one game was three and he did that twice, in 1952 and 1962.

Berry umpired in five World Series: 1946, 1950, 1954, 1958, and 1962. In 1958 Berry was the head linesman for the NFL title game, becoming the only man to officiate both major championships in the same year.

The 1962 World Series was Berry’s swan song. In December 1962, after 21 years of wearing the blue suit, he called it quits. He had appeared in 3,079 regular-season games, 29 World Series games, and five All-Star Games as well as countless spring-training and exhibition games. He retired as one of the most respected umpires in the game. In 1960 and 1961 The Sporting News conducted a poll of writers, managers, and coaches to evaluate the major-league umpires. In both polls, Berry was named the number-one American League umpire.34

Berry went to work for the American League as an assistant to the supervisor of umpires. He did some scouting of umpires and inspected field conditions at major-league ballparks. He also worked for the National Football League observing and evaluating officials. Twice he traveled to Mexico to give clinics on umpiring at the behest of major-league baseball. He also gave officiating clinics in the Pennsylvania area. Berry also kept busy on the banquet circuit. His gift of gab and storytelling ability made him a much sought-after guest speaker. He also participated as an umpire in a few Old-Timer’s games. Berry kept his hand in umpiring by twice calling the plays at the NCAA College World Series.

In the fall of 1970, just before the League Championship Series, major-league umpires went on strike, demanding more pay for postseason assignments. For the American League Championship Series between the Orioles and Twins, the league office put together a replacement umpiring crew consisting of two minor-league umpires and two retired umpires, John Stevens and Berry. On October 3 Berry traveled to Minnesota and, in his last major-league umpiring assignment, took his position at third base. At the age of 67 years and 350 days, he was the second oldest umpire ever to appear in a box score. (The record lasted until 2007 when Bruce Froemming moved into the second spot and Berry moved to third oldest.) The strike ended the next day and Berry returned to his retired life.

Through the years, Berry received many honors. He received one vote in 1955 and three votes in 1958 for induction to the National Baseball Hall of Fame. In 1966, the Eastern Pennsylvania Chapter of the Pennsylvania Intercollegiate Athletic Association recognized him for his contribution to football officiating. Also in 1966, he was inducted into the Pennsylvania Sports Hall of Fame. His alma mater honored him in 1977, inducting him into the Lafayette College Maroon Club Athletic Hall of Fame and in 2000 named him as one of Lafayette College’s 15 Greatest Athletes of the 20th Century. In 1980 Berry was inducted into the College Football Hall of Fame.

In interviews Berry would often explain what makes a good official and the keys to his success on the field. Berry wrote, “With me, studying and reading the rules is a daily routine. I would feel I wasn’t doing my job if I didn’t look at the rulebook every day. Once you get the wording you get the feeling you’re never in doubt. I feel that an umpire should know the rules so well that he could recite every rule in the whole book word for word.”35 Talking about on-the-field necessities he explained, “The main things to remember are these: you must know the rules; you must know where you should be on the field, and you must be there to call the play.”36 He added, “One qualification for a good sports official is that he does not call plays too quickly. Instead of anticipating the play, let it happen, follow it intently to its completion and THEN make the call quickly. I think that’s a rule which can be followed in all ways of life.”37

Summarizing his career, Berry said, “I got just as much kick out of officiating as I did out of playing. It was never an effort, never a burden.”38 He also said, “I think I am a lucky guy. I like my jobs. The pay is good. I wouldn’t change places with any man.”39

In June 1972, Berry suffered a stroke at his home in Phillipsburg. In late July he was transferred to a hospital in Evanston, Illinois to be nearer his oldest daughter. After an operation, and subsequent physical therapy, Berry suffered a massive heart attack and died on September 6, 1972. He was buried in Belvidere Cemetery, Belvidere, New Jersey. He was survived by his wife, Helen, and his three daughters, Helen, Charlé, and Lynn.40

On December 28, 1958, the New York Giants and the Baltimore Colts met in the NFL championship game. It has been called the “Greatest Game Ever Played.” Late in the fourth quarter, the Giants had the ball. If they could get a first down, they could run out the clock and win the game. They gave the ball to Frank Gifford who charged into the line. After the play, Berry, the head linesman, spotted the ball short of the first down and the Giants had to turn the ball over. The Colts ended up tying the game and went on to win in overtime. Berry’s call drew protests from the Giants and was second-guessed for years afterward. In 2008, on the 50th anniversary of that momentous game, the ESPN television network produced a two-hour documentary about it. They examined the disputed play and through forensic analysis of photographs and film determined that Berry’s decision was, indeed, correct. But of course Charlie knew that the moment he made the call.

This biography is included in “The SABR Book on Umpires and Umpiring” (SABR, 2017), edited by Larry Gerlach and Bill Nowlin.

Last revised: September 20, 2022 (zp)

Notes

Robert Howard Cobb was born in Moberly, Missouri, on February 8, 1899. His parents were Charles Ackley Cobb and Martha (née Wilhight), known as “Mattie.” He had one sibling: a sister named Shellie.1 Young Bob was raised in Billings, Montana, where his family moved when he was one year old. Charles Cobb became a cattle rancher.2 Bob learned the fundamentals of hospitality at his mother’s boarding house. Throughout his youth, he was “as much at home on the back of a horse flinging a lariat as he was wielding a spatula.”3 Thus Cobb developed the versatility – and love of cowboys – that would later serve him well in Hollywood.

A devastating fire at Montana Sash and Door Company in 1916 left Cobb without a job. At the age of 17, he set off for the City of Angels to find work and a new beginning. He was drawn less to the glamour of Hollywood but more to the large city population that offered a higher chance of landing employment.4 Cobb was not picky. He quickly found work as a messenger. He sold tickets to glass-bottom boat tours on Catalina Island. After gaining the trust of his employers, he developed his financial prowess as a bookkeeper.

In 1920, Cobb landed a job as a checker in the dining room of Lankershim Hotel, where he studied his customers’ likes and dislikes. He picked up additional income cooking burgers at a popular stand, which caught the attention of Hollywood restaurateur Herb Somborn in 1925. This meeting changed the trajectory of his career.

Somborn was a multimillionaire following a successful career as a shoe manufacturer, real estate investor, movie producer, and one of the industry’s first film distributors. A friend had once told him, “If you know anything about food, you can sell it out of a hat.”5 Somborn took this advice literally and hired an architect to design a building in the shape of a hat. Inside he opened a diner called the Brown Derby. The menu consisted of five items. A neon sign that hung outside encouraged Angelenos walking down Wilshire Boulevard to “Eat in the Hat.”

Impressed with Cobb’s skills as a grill cook, Somborn hired him as a utility player in the restaurant: head waiter, bookkeeper, and buyer. Cobb’s ambition drove him to open his own restaurant just before the Great Depression. After “Nickabob” quickly went under, he was hired back at the Brown Derby as a dishwasher. With the restaurant failing, Cobb was promoted to general manager to turn things around, which he did. He became vice president of the Brown Derby Corporation and opened another restaurant in Hollywood.6

The new location was the opposite of the gimmicky hat-shaped eatery. It was a fine dining experience that quickly attracted entertainment executives and actors like Charlie Chaplin and the Marx Brothers. The biggest stars of Hollywood’s Golden Age were regular patrons of a restaurant that emphasized quality and class. Serving the city’s elite laid the foundation of Cobb’s hospitality. Later on, as a team owner, he showed fans at the ballpark the same level of respect as he did celebrities. No matter who you were, you deserved a world-class experience.

His creativity in the kitchen led to the invention of the famous Cobb Salad in 1937. The ingredients are laid out on a plate in neat rows: chopped romaine lettuce, tomato, bacon, chicken breast, a hard-boiled egg, avocado, chives, blue cheese, and red wine vinaigrette. Assembled impromptu late one night, it became a sensation among his restaurant’s guests, demonstrating Cobb’s knack for knowing what customers wanted before they did. Movie mogul Jack Warner regularly dispatched his chauffeur to pick up cartons of the salad.

Baseball had always been Cobb’s passion. In 1939, he leveraged his connections through both the Brown Derby and his marriage to actress Gail Patrick to achieve a lifelong dream of owning a baseball team. On December 16, 1936, he and Patrick had eloped in Tijuana, Mexico.7 They were regulars at red carpet premieres and horse races. A Los Angeles newspaper columnist labeled them “Hollywood’s Ideal Couple.”8

Among their friends were Bing Crosby, Clark Gable, and Henry Fonda, who would attend backyard swim parties and the Cobbs’ annual Christmas celebration. When the Hollywood Brown Derby added a private banquet room to the restaurant, they hosted a lavish debut party with dozens of famous guests – many of whom would later become Stars co-owners.

At this party, Cobb began to rally Hollywood’s aristocrats to purchase the struggling Hollywood Stars of the Pacific Coast League. The team had become a laughingstock, so poor they once forfeited a game because someone forgot to load uniforms onto the team train.9 But where others saw failure, Cobb saw a chance to leave his mark on the game he loved.

With co-owner Victor Ford Collins, he transformed baseball ownership by forming the Hollywood Baseball Association, selling small stakes to entertainment industry figures, and creating what might be considered baseball’s first community-owned franchise. As part of this effort, Cobb spent an entire day on the phone with his movie star friends, asking them to join him in buying a baseball team. He lined up 18 of the 20 investors in one afternoon.

“No one was permitted to invest any big money,” wrote the Los Angeles Times, which described the Hollywood Stars as “a civic thing … plainly and simply, a Chamber of Commerce activity on the part of a group of people who want their little corner of the world to be better than all other corners.”10

Cobb understood that baseball could be both sport and entertainment. Long before modern innovators like Jesse Cole of the Savannah Bananas, Cobb recognized that fans came to the ballpark for more than just the game. Gilmore Field opened on May 2, 1939,11 with Gail “Ma” Patrick throwing out the first pitch.12 Comedian Joe E. Brown caught Gail Patrick’s first pitch as actress Jane Withers tried to hit it.13  At the ballpark, Cobb created an experience that merged Hollywood glamour with America’s pastime. The ballpark featured ladies’ lounges rivaling the finest theater powder rooms, a VIP lounge offering pregame entertainment and cocktails, and ushers dressed in gold-buttoned blazers who were trained in customer service like fine restaurant staff.14

His innovations made a lasting impact on baseball operations. The Stars pioneered various things that fans and players today take for granted:

• Television broadcasts (1939) – becoming the first team outside of New York City to televise games and the first minor-league team to do so,
• Batting helmets (1949),
• Lightweight uniforms (1950) – most notably played in short pants, and
• Between-innings infield grooming.15

Night baseball was new to the minor leagues at this time. Stadium lights had only been introduced in major league baseball in 1935. Cobb and the Stars other owners were determined to have a majority of Hollywood games played at night. General Electric provided reflective lights that enhanced the illumination of the field. Eight towers were installed at Gilmore Field that featured over 200 lights.

Cobb hired the food service company Jacobs Brothers to oversee the concessions and souvenir sales at Gilmore Field. Danny Goodman was assigned to handle the operation. Goodman went on to become a legendary stadium entertainment executive for the Los Angeles Dodgers. But at the time, he was instructed to take advantage of buying large quantities of hot dogs and other traditional menu items at low, bulk prices. This did not sit well with Cobb, who prided himself on top-quality food and service for his customers.

Cobb was infuriated to see what he called “Chinese peanuts and sleazy hot dogs on papier-mâché buns.” He insisted on premium concessions, battling with Goodman to serve high-quality hot dogs cooked on charcoal heaters and served on fresh milk buns. He kept prices low, selling the classed-up frankfurters for just a dime. The peanuts at Gilmore Field were piping hot and sold in jumbo containers.16

The coffee operation was particularly efficient. After brewing, it was served in large thermos containers that kept the drink hot for fans. They were offered real cream and sugar with their purchase. To ensure consistent quality, checkers were instructed to call back the coffee vendors every 20 minutes to replace their product with a freshly brewed batch.17 Cobb also expected exceptional hospitality from his staff. He stressed cleanliness and uniformity. There were strict appearance rules around employee hair and clothing.18

He advocated strongly for televising home games, understanding that broadcast exposure would build fan interest rather than hurt attendance. As early as 1953, Cobb envisioned an ultramodern ballpark featuring cabanas, restaurants, and private clubs – amenities that would become standard in modern stadiums decades later. Today’s Dodger Stadium Premium offerings, including the Stadium Club, Dugout Club, Champions Lounge, and the Tommy Lasorda-themed speakeasy, reflect Cobb’s prescient vision of baseball as upscale entertainment.

Bob Cobb, center, enjoys a game at Gilmore Field with California governor Earl Warren, left. Actor Bill Frawley is seated behind them. (Courtesy of the Cobb family)

Cobb’s acumen as a baseball executive was perhaps best exemplified in his complex relationship with Branch Rickey, the Hall of Fame president of multiple franchises who created the modern farm system. Initially skeptical of Rickey, whom he called “slick” in view of past player dealings when Rickey led the St. Louis Cardinals and Brooklyn Dodgers, Cobb nonetheless recognized the value in Rickey’s innovations. Inspired by Rickey’s farm system concept, Cobb helped establish the California League as a developmental circuit for the Pacific Coast League.

Their business relationship evolved in 194819 when Cobb negotiated with Rickey and his son, Branch Jr., a 20-year working agreement for the Stars to be a minor-league affiliate of the Dodgers. The partnership proved so successful that when Rickey became a shareholder in the Stars, he arranged for the team to become a Pittsburgh Pirates affiliate from 1951-52 and again from 1954-57. Rickey was the Pirates’ GM from 1950 to 1955.

What began as a cautious business relationship developed into a close friendship. The two men often traveled together on duck hunting expeditions to remote areas of Montana, where Cobb had spent his youth. In 1957, Rickey (after parting ways with the Pirates) became chairman of the board of the Stars.20 Rickey credited Cobb with getting him a job in 1962 as a senior consultant with the St. Louis Cardinals – via Cobb’s relationship with Cardinals president August Busch Jr.21

Cobb took on the role of Stars president and GM in March 1953. Beyond his role with the Stars, Cobb was a significant voice in Pacific Coast League politics during a pivotal era. As the American population shifted south and west in the late 1940s, the PCL saw an opportunity to establish itself as a third major league – in addition to the MLB’s National and American Leagues. The league had legitimate credentials – 57 players on 1948 major-league rosters had come from PCL teams, and the league was attracting high-caliber managers, including several former big-league skippers.

In a 1948 interview with H.G. Salsinger of the Detroit News, Cobb framed the difference between major and minor leagues simply as “size of parks, attendance, prices of admission and players’ salaries. That’s about all.” However, he also pointed out the PCL’s unique position, noting, “We are classed with [the American Association and International League], but we outdraw both. What is more, we pay higher salaries than either.”22

When PCL president Pants Rowland proposed making the PCL a “Pacific Major League”23 that would rank above Triple-A but below the majors, Cobb expressed skepticism about the plan. He notably stated, “There is no way we can build up to major league caliber if the majors are permitted to come out here each year and take the cream of the players we develop.” This quote encapsulated the fundamental challenge facing the PCL in its quest for major-league status.24

When the Dodgers announced their move to Los Angeles for the 1958 season, Cobb demonstrated his characteristic grace and civic mindedness. It’s notable that in 1955 Cobb advocated that Gilmore Field be located in Chavez Ravine. Rebuffed by the voters of Los Angeles,25 he later pitched the site to Walter O’Malley – owner of the then-Brooklyn Dodgers – who fell in love with the idea. When O’Malley came to Los Angeles in 1957 on a fact-finding mission, he insisted on meeting with Cobb before he met with the politicians.

Cobb negotiated with the Pacific Coast League about where the Stars could move, with Long Beach as serious contender and the only California locality that bid for the Stars.26 In the end, Cobb sold the team to investors from Salt Lake City for a price he felt was far too low. Rather than be bitter over the Stars’ forced relocation, he became an enthusiastic Dodger supporter, working to secure passage of Proposition B that enabled Dodger Stadium’s construction. The Brown Derby even sponsored a congratulatory advertisement in the Los Angeles Times when the franchise won its first championship in Los Angeles in 1959.

According to Cobb’s obituary in The Sporting News, he also helped attract the Los Angeles Angels expansion franchise and served on that club’s advisory board.27 Only the second part of that statement is accurate. Cobb was, however, close friends with the Angels original owner, Gene Autry. In addition to his advisory board role, he was also an Angels box seat holder until his passing.

Cobb’s impact on baseball extended far beyond Los Angeles. The California League has since sent more than 2,700 players to the major leagues, including 14 Hall of Famers. In a gesture connecting his past to baseball’s future, he founded the Billings Mustangs, bringing professional baseball to his childhood home in Montana. The Mustangs’ home ballpark from 1947 to 2007 was named Cobb Field.28

Beyond his business acumen, Cobb was known for his genuine warmth and sincerity. Despite ranking third in a newspaper poll of best-dressed men in Los Angeles, he remained approachable and authentic. He remembered details about regular customers, celebrated their special occasions, and treated everyone – from movie stars to casual fans – with equal respect.

Cobb passed away from cancer on March 21, 1970. He was 71. He is buried at Forest Lawn Memorial Park in Glendale.29 Survivors included his second wife, Sally Wright, whom he married in 1945. Sally’s obituary in 1998 noted that the former model held what was believed to be the first fashion show on a baseball diamond as the Stars conducted a benefit for the Assistance League of Southern California.30

Cobb and Gail Patrick had separated in 1940; their divorce became final in November 1941.31 Patrick testified that Cobb was “moody and morose…frequently told her he didn’t wish to stay married, and that the marriage couldn’t possibly last.”32 When he remarried, Bob became stepfather to Sally’s daughter Peggy; they had a very warm relationship.33

At the time of his death, Cobb was about to receive a special civic award from the Los Angeles-Anaheim chapter of the Baseball Writers’ Association34. It would have been a fitting tribute to a man who had done so much to elevate both dining and baseball in Los Angeles. Though the Brown Derby’s emblematic hat-shaped building and Gilmore Field are now just memories, Cobb’s vision of baseball as sophisticated entertainment continues to shape the fan experience today.

Every major league park now offers the kind of upscale amenities and entertainment options that Cobb pioneered at Gilmore Field. The sophisticated concessions, luxury seating areas, and focus on fan experience that characterize modern baseball all trace their lineage to Cobb’s innovations with the Hollywood Stars.

Acknowledgments

This biography was reviewed by Rory Costello and Bill Lamb, and fact-checked by Larry DeFillipo.

Sources

As is evident from the Notes, Dan Taylor’s book – Lights, Camera, Fastball: How the Hollywood Stars Changed Baseball (Lanham, Maryland: Rowman & Littlefield, 2021) – formed the foundation of this biography.

Along with the other works cited in the Notes, the authors also relied on the following.

Online

www.geni.com

www.findagrave.com

Articles

Stephen M. Daniels, “The Hollywood Stars,” Baseball Research Journal, Society for American Baseball Research, 1980.

Notes

1 Dan Taylor, Lights, Camera, Fastball: How the Hollywood Stars Changed Baseball  (Lanham, Maryland: Rowman & Littlefield, 2021), 2.

2 J.G. Taylor Spink, “Caterer Cobb Garnishes the Game with New Ideas,” The Sporting News, December 28, 1939: 4.

3 Taylor, Lights, Camera, Fastball, 2.

4 Taylor, Lights, Camera, Fastball, 2-3.

5 Taylor, Lights, Camera, Fastball, 4.

6 Taylor, Lights, Camera, Fastball, 15.

7 “Gail Patrick to Ask Divorce,” Cumberland (Maryland) Evening Times, October 29, 1940: 1.

8 Taylor, Lights, Camera, Fastball, 20.

9 Taylor, Lights, Camera, Fastball, 35.

10 Stephen M. Daniels, “The Hollywood Stars,” Baseball Research Journal, Society for American Baseball Research, 1980. Original citation not presently available.

11 On the same day that Gilmore Field opened, Lou Gehrig’s streak of 2,130 consecutive games played ended.

12 Maryann Hudson, “It Was More Than a Minor Pastime,” Los Angeles Times, October 19, 1990: 199.

13 Read Kendall, “Movie Celebrities Attend Opening of Gilmore Field,” Los Angeles Times, May 3, 1939: 42.

14“Hollywood Stars in Their Own New Home.” The Sporting News, May 11, 1939: 14.

15 Taylor, Lights, Camera, Fastball, 224.

16 Taylor, Lights, Camera, Fastball, 61.

17 Taylor, Lights, Camera, Fastball, 61.

18 Taylor, Lights, Camera, Fastball, 63.

19 Al Wolf, “Dodgers Sign Working Agreement with Stars,” Los Angeles Times, November 30, 1948: 49.

20 Taylor, Lights, Camera, Fastball, 325.

21 “Rickey Set for New Job,” Monrovia (California) News-Post, December 20, 1962: 8.

22 Paul J. Zingg and Mark D. Medeiros, Runs, Hits, and an Era: The Pacific Coast League, 1903-58 (Urbana, Illinois: University of Illinois Press, 1994), 127.

23 “Prexy Pants Rowland Says PCL May Tack a ‘Major’ to its Name,” Chico (California) Enterprise-Record, January 7, 1948: 9.

24 Steven P. Gietschier, Baseball: The Turbulent Midcentury Years (Lincoln, Nebraska: University of Nebraska Press, 2023), 413.

25 “Between the Lines,” Sacramento Bee, August 23, 1955: 26.

26 Daniels, “The Hollywood Stars,” above.

27 “Obituaries,” The Sporting News, April 4, 1970: 32.

28 Sarah R. Ingber, Davy Andrews, and Roger Cormier, “Too Far From Town: Billings Mustangs,” Baseball Prospectus, April 28, 2020 (www.baseballprospectus.com/news/article/58523/too-far-from-town-billings-mustangs/).

29 “Robert H. Cobb (1899-1970) – Find a Grave…” Findagrave.com, 2020, www.findagrave.com/memorial/8583/robert_h-cobb. Accessed 3 Apr. 2025.

30 Myrna Oliver, “Sally Cobb; Co-Wrote Book on Brown Derby,” Los Angeles Times, September 24, 1998: B6.

31 “Gail Patrick Granted Final Divorce Decree,” McAllen (Texas) Daily Press, November 24, 1941: 4.

32 “Movie Actress Awarded Divorce,” Clovis (New Mexico) News-Journal, November 14, 1940: 8.

33 Peggy Cobb Walsh obituary, Los Angeles Times, March 20, 2003: 36.

34 “Baseball Awards to Fregosi,” Palm Springs (California) Desert Sun, April 3, 1970: 15.