Ivers W. Adams was a clerk at John H. Pray, Sons & Company in Boston, “part of the emerging white-collar middle class that filled the void between the rich and poor social classes.”1 He was building up his wealth, and would not need to work beyond the age of 44, retiring in 1882.2 He had seen George Wright and his brother Harry of the Cincinnati Red Stockings come to town with their gleaming red uniforms and sparkling play in the field. Adams would pass Boston Common, where local amateur clubs like the Lowell team played, as he caught the train for home. He may have seen the Red Stockings playing Lowell on June 10, 1869. The Red Stockings, baseball’s first openly professional team, toured coast-to-coast, going undefeated against every team they faced from 1869 through the middle of June 1870. The best local talent in the Boston area, on the best amateur teams the city could produce, was simply no match. Adams, though, had plans. What if these fantastic Wright brothers would come east? Boston could certainly support a professional squad; the crowds that turned out for these Red Stockings proved it, and Adams knew several people of means who would put the money down to make a Boston team a reality.

The Red Stockings eventually lost, and their backers in Cincinnati decided a team that lost now and then was not worth the investment. This was now Adams’s chance. He convinced the Wrights that Boston would welcome them with open arms and wallets. While baseball in Boston dated to at least 1854 with amateur games played on the Common,3 several factors had made the city the only major urban area in the Northeast without a serious baseball team. For one, it took time for the “New England Game” version of baseball (which included a smaller diamond and distance from home plate to the pitcher’s box, more players on the field, and outs being recorded by “soaking,” or plunking a runner with the ball) to give way to the more prevalent “New York Game.”4 Another factor was the lack of an adequate playing field, which was solved when the Union Grounds were built in 1869 in Boston’s South End. (The ballpark was later called the South End Grounds.) And besides these, people with big pockets were needed to fund a professional team, and Adams was the one with connections to do so.

Harry Wright already knew how to assemble a new team. He brought his brother George, Charlie Gould, and Cal McVey from Cincinnati, Dave Birdsall from the Union Club of Morrisania, Harry Schafer from the Philadelphia Athletics, and Al Spalding, Ross Barnes, and Fred Cone from the Rockford, Illinois, team. Harry found the players, Adams found the bucks.

The Massachusetts Legislature incorporated the team with $15,000 capital, made possible by several prominent businessmen.5 Adams met these fellow Boston-area entrepreneurs at Boston’s Parker House, on January 20, 1871. Adams emphasized to them that these Wright brothers “were the only two men possessing the knowledge and the ability to manage and discipline a nine … and whose honesty and integrity I could place implicit confidence.”6 Two hundred tickets of membership sold to interested people, granting them free admission to games all season long as well as use of the clubhouse.7 Evidently, these tickets of membership were not stock in the corporation, but more like season tickets along with membership in a somewhat exclusive fan club. According to newspaper accounts two years later, the team had 25 shareholders who’d agreed to pay the $100 face value of the 150 shares of stock. However, the purchase price was more of a pledge than an actual payment. When necessary, the stockholders could be called on to pay further assessments on their pledge up to the face value of the stock.8

“Boston can now boast of possessing a first-class professional Base Ball Club,” declared the Boston Journal, “as all the efforts tending to establish an institution of this kind here culminated yesterday.”9

The next step involved joining a league of professional teams, a move that had been on the horizon as amateur and professional baseball teams were parting ways. The 1870 fall meeting of the National Association of Base Ball Players had been “a fiery affair marked by hot words between the two camps, and it ended with the amateurs staging a walkout.”10 It was clear that baseball would be expanding from the world of fun and recreation to fun, recreation, and business. Possessing the vision of a new professional league but little time to properly organize and hammer out specifics, these new pioneers quickly created a new league, and on March 17, 1871, “‘The National Association of Professional Base Ball Players’ thereby sprang into existence.”11

The 1871 season saw Boston (20-10) finish a close third in the National Association’s inaugural season as Barnes, McVey, and George Wright batted over .400, although an injury to Wright early in the season cost the Red Stockings some wins that would have decided the pennant.

At a meeting on December 7, 1871, the Boston Base Ball Association was officially incorporated. A treasurer’s report was given, but sadly the details are lost to history. “We have not allowed the sale of intoxicating drinks upon our grounds, and that other attendant evil, betting, has been strictly prohibited,” Adams told the meeting. “These provisions, we believe, have assisted in drawing the better class of our people to witness the many exciting contests which have taken place from time to time.”12

“If we have been instrumental in elevating the standard of our national pastime,” Adams continued, “to the accomplishment of which object we have turned our special attention, then we have cause for satisfaction. … We look forward to the coming season with confidence.”13 Adams was unanimously re-elected, but declined, a second term as president. John A. Conkey was elected in his place. Conkey was a clerk for Tuckerman-Townsend, noted tea merchants. He later became a customs broker, forwarder, estate trustee, and bank notary.14

The 1872 season saw Boston win its first pennant, as Spalding went 38-8 with a 1.85 ERA and Barnes batted .430. While they dominated on the field, however, the Red Stockings were failing financially, so much so that there was doubt whether the pennant-winning team would continue in 1873. As the Herald reported, “The close of the base ball season of 1872 finds the Boston club in a crippled financial condition,” with debt in the area of $4,000-$5,000.15 While reports of the amount of debt differed, there was a general consensus that the team was losing money. The New York Clipper blamed “an error in the management of its affairs during the closing part of the season,” when the team scheduled a poorly conceived tournament that drew small crowds, and “sundry exhibition contests” that failed to profit the team much of anything.16 There were unpaid salaries to some players. There was the Great Fire that swept through Boston in November 1872. Some players lost homes and possessions, By December, Spalding himself was owed $800 and got an offseason job at the New York Graphic.17

But Harry Wright was determined that the team would continue.18 Covering the club’s annual meeting on December 4, 1872, at the Parker House, the local papers reported slightly different income numbers, which makes it hard to clarify the exact situation.19 The Globe said the 1871 debt alone was $7,000 and for 1872 was $716. The Herald said the current debt was $4,000. The Journal reported that the season of 1872 brought in $18,700 income, but this was $4,000 less than the club’s costs, which arose from the leasing of the Union Grounds and “about $3,000 of unpaid assessments on the capital stock.”

None of these numbers looked good. The 25 stockholders had “subscribed in the fond belief that at the worse no more than fifty per cent of the amount would ever be called for.” However, the stockholders had been called upon in 1871 to meet the $7,000 deficit and were being tapped again for the 1872 deficit, so “some of the stockholders refuse to pay their assessments and signify their willingness to throw up their stock. The cause for this unpleasant state of things was thought to be mainly due to the large salaries paid.” Players, they said, “must entertain more moderate notions of compensation … and it is probable that $1,800 salaries will be less frequent than heretofore.”

In addition to soliciting existing stockholders and cutting salaries, those at the meeting decided to seek additional investors. More broadly, “a committee of five was chosen to report at a future meeting a plan or plans for assisting in paying off the debt … and also for raising a (guaranty) for carrying on the club next season.”20

Charles H. Porter was elected president, succeeding Conkey. Porter was a Civil War veteran who later became the first mayor of Quincy, Massachusetts. He had organized the Quincy Actives Base Ball Team and served as Quincy park commissioner. He also served terms on the city school board and fire department, and formed the Quincy Water Company.21

A week later, at Boston’s Brackett’s Hall, a meeting was held to hear the report of the five-man committee. A brand-new organization called the Boston Base Ball Club was formed and would inherit the debt of the Boston Base Ball Association, now reported as $2,700, as well as a majority of its stock. The Club would serve as a “booster club” and infuse money into the association.22 “A year’s lease of its buildings and grounds and its charter, as well as the purchase of the majority of stock would, by the proposed plan, “give to the new club control of the affairs of the (Boston Base Ball Association), without involving the members of the new (Boston Baseball Club) in the debts of the association,” wrote the Globe.23 The report was accepted, and over 40 new members were reported. All members paid a $15 initiation and $10 yearly dues, which gave them a season ticket to the games and a say in the control of stock. Players who were owed money would be repaid in installments, and a recommendation was made that “the players be handsomely remembered in case a surplus of funds existed.”24 The new constitution was adopted on December 14.25 Another meeting, on January 2, 1873, in which the pennant was hung on the wall, saw the number of new members rise to 100.26

The 1873 season was another success on the field, as Boston won a second straight pennant. Spalding went 41-14 and six starters batted .325 or better. Financially, the team was on more solid footing as well. At the annual meeting in December at Boston’s Hampshire Hall, the membership was listed at 108, and $2,730 was collected from membership fees. Numbers vary, but the Boston Traveler listed profits around $4,245.63, while the Daily Advertiser listed profits (actually probably income) near $27,832 and expenses at $27,200. Whatever the exact numbers, the team was able to pay off the debts from previous years and still have $767.93 in the bank.27 Nicholas T. Apollonio was elected president for the coming year. The son of an Italian immigrant (perhaps the first such associated with professional baseball), Apollonio was an accountant and clerk who directed operations for the Great Falls Manufacturing Co. for 35 years. He later became involved with the Winchester Savings Bank.28

The 1874 season included a losing endeavor to make money on a trip to bring baseball to England. With 74 renewals of membership the team raised $739 from current members and $845 from 34 new members.29 The Frederick E. Long Papers at the Baseball Hall of Fame list Boston’s total revenue at $31,699.10 and expenses of $30,865.97. The trip overseas cost $2,318.13 and brought in $1,660.69.30 Still, Boston won another pennant, and was in the black financially. It was reported C.C. Adams became president over Apollonio, but Apollonio was still mentioned being president throughout the year, so it is uncertain who exactly was president in 1875, or if both served.

The 1875 season was Boston’s most dominating season (71-8), as it won its fourth pennant in a row, but it proved the final season of the National Association of Professional Base Ball Players. Spalding, Barnes, McVey, and Deacon White left for Chicago, whose owner, William Hulbert, opened his wallet, the only way the Red Stockings could be defeated. Income for the year was reported as $37,787.06 and expenses $34,525.99.31 While it would be an oft-repeated business move to sign players from other teams, this was the first such outright defection in baseball history. There was talk at the winter convention in March 1876 of expelling the defecting Boston players from the league.32 But before there was a chance that this could happen, Hulbert and Spalding drafted the constitution for a new National League of Professional Base Ball Clubs. The structure of professional baseball was changing. The National Association’s five-year run was a player-driven endeavor; now, power would be in the hands of the owners. Harry Wright, sensing Hulbert’s business sense, went along with the new league, as did other clubs. The National League was born, and a new chapter in baseball history had begun. Because of the loss of its stars, Boston limped into fourth place in 1876 and revenue dropped 17 percent. Only cutting expenses kept the team afloat.33

Arthur Soden, 1877-1906

The 1877 season “proved one of the most significant seasons in franchise and league history because of the influential new owners who purchased the Red Stockings.”34 The major player in the new ownership was Arthur H. Soden, who would run the franchise for the next 30 years.

A year or two before, Soden had purchased three shares of stock for $45 and he continued to build his stock holdings.35 The Boston “Booster” Club was dissolved after the 1876 season, and its shares were absorbed by the Association. A total of 78 shares were now divided among the Association’s membership.36 A December 6, 1876, meeting ended in dispute over a quorum being present, then a later meeting saw disagreements, perhaps between those who owned stock in the Club versus those of the Association. “The affairs of the association are mixed up considerably, some claiming that a part of the stock is dead, and others that is not,” the Transcript reported. The ownership “has got into a serious family quarrel over the respective rights of the club and association stockholders,” the Springfield Republican reported. “Some members left the meeting in disgust.” The meeting was adjourned until December 27, when “upon this decision being made the books and property of the old club were turned over to the Association,” wrote the Globe. Once the dust settled, Porter had resigned and Soden was elected club president, a post in which he would remain for three decades.37

Soden, a Civil War veteran, had formed Chapman and Soden Company, a roofing and supply business in downtown Boston.38 In baseball ownership, he was joined by two other executives, James B. Billings, a shoe factory owner, and William Conant, a manufacturer of hoop skirts and rubber goods. They became known as the “Triumvirs,” in reference to the Ancient Roman triumvirate of Caesar, Pompey, and Crassus. “Boston’s threesome wielded fully as much power in the National League as their predecessors wielded in the Roman league, and they survived to live considerably longer and happier lives,” wrote Boston sportwriter Harold Kaese.39 These Triumvirs were known for their New England frugality: Complimentary tickets were unheard of during their reign, and the budget for hotels and road trips was slashed. The Triumvirs themselves would be seen selling and collecting tickets at the gate.40

The Red Stockings (known as Red Caps or just Reds at this point, although fans still called them Red Stockings) won back-to-back pennants in 1877-1878. There was a large financial dropoff happening, however, after 1877, which saw nearly $31,000 in revenue. For 1878 it fell to $25,000 and for 1879 to just under $20,000.41 Historian David Quentin Voigt noted Boston’s net losses from 1876 to 1880:42

• 1876: ($777.22)
• 1877: ($2,230.85)
• 1878: ($1,433.31)
• 1879: ($3,346.90)
• 1880: ($3,315.90)

“Although managerial austerity, salary cuts, and new stock issues lightened the burden somewhat,” Voight wrote, “it was a discouraging picture.”43

On the field the 1879 season saw a big change, with George Wright and Jim O’Rourke leaving Boston for the Providence Grays, Wright becoming manager. The two teams’ rivalry became more intense. With the additional departures of Jack Manning, Andy Leonard, and Harry Schafer, only manager Harry Wright remained in Boston from the National Association days. Harry’s Boston team finished second in 1879 to George’s pennant-winning Providence squad. The club fell to sixth-place finishes in 1880 and 1881; receipts for 1881 totaled $21,647.42 with a balance-on-hand of $75.08. A new grandstand ($1,400) was mentioned among the expenses.44

Soden was among other club officials who met in Buffalo on September 29, 1879, with NL President William Hulbert. The results of the meeting ushered in a new era in baseball history, as teams now had the right to designate five players in a Reserve Clause that prevented them from signing with another team. This kept struggling teams from losing star players to the highest-bidding teams, and while the clause originally was limited to five players, over time it was expanded to the entire roster. (The clause went unchecked for nearly a century until the Messersmith/McNally decision in 1975.) While Soden has often been pictured as the mastermind of the Reserve Clause, his role was probably more in collaboration with other executives.45

Boston improved to third in 1882 (45-39) and revenue increased by $13,000, to $62,224.43.46 The manager that year was John Morrill, who succeeded Harry Wright after 11 years. Sportswriters also began referring to the Boston team as the Beaneaters, and the name would last through the 1890s.

In 1883, the pitching of Jim Whitney (37-21, 2.24) and Charlie Buffinton (25-14, 3.03) and the hitting of Jack Burdock (.330) and John Morrill (.319) powered Boston to a surprise pennant. At the annual meeting, 63 shares of stock were represented and amendments were made to the bylaws including one that “empower[ed] the board of directors to dispose of stock on certain conditions, and direct[ed] that hereinafter the treasurer shall submit his report to the directors instead of to the stockholders.”47 Clearly, the Triumvirs were consolidating their control. Due to illness, no expense report was given.48 Soden raised season-ticket prices from $20 to $30, which led to a petition by 33 stockholders and season-ticket purchasers.49 He also withheld dividends.50

Boston fell to second in 1884, fighting not only Providence but also another Boston team, which played in the new Union Association and was managed by George Wright. The annual meeting in December had 67 shares represented and for the first time the Triumvirs were mentioned as the first three officers, with Soden president, Billings treasurer (as A.J. Chase retired), and Conant general manager. The stockholders voted to purchase the South End Grounds, which the club had leased since 1871, for $100,000, financed mostly by a mortgage.51

The 1885 club finished fifth. At the annual meeting in December, stockholder George Lloyd demanded that a committee be appointed to investigate a number of issues: first, stock being sold to “sundry individuals” and returned for nonpayment; second, the fact that the membership had not received a treasurer’s report for 1883 or 1884; third, what were the reasons for the purchase of the South End Grounds and what were its terms and conditions; fourth, the changes in the bylaws; fifth, whether the directors have voted themselves salaries and how much; and sixth, a full financial audit. Lloyd was also disturbed because “a large majority of the shares of stock are held by three or four gentlemen.” (The Triumvirs owned 60 of the 78 shares of stock.) Lloyd’s motion failed to pass.52 By the 1886 meeting, however, tensions had eased.53 The team finished fifth again in 1886.

Despite a reputation for frugality, there were moments the Triumvirs flexed their wallets when a goal was in mind. On February 14, 1887, they made an announcement that the Herald said “will not only carry a thrill of joy to the heart of every admirer of the national game in Boston, but will create a sensation throughout the entire base ball world.” Boston paid Chicago $10,000 for “the best all-around player to be found on the diamond,” Michael “King” Kelly.54 The Babe Ruth of his day, Kelly had tremendous skill (his .388 batting average led the league), but his performance was dimmed by his rowdy character, and trouble often followed him. Kelly’s salary was $5,000. Still, Boston finished fifth.

Late in the 1887 season, the Triumvirs announced plans to replace the “old, time-worn, rickety structure which has served as a grand stand on the Boston league base ball grounds for many years,” reported the Herald, “and a new, elegant and commodious one erected in its place in time for next season’s sport.”55 The park would be built on the same Walpole Street site. The cost was initially estimated at $35,000, but wound up close to $70,000. The Herald reported that the team had made $100,000 in 1886, so the new stadium was considered a high-cost risk. The Triumvirs decided to take the higher-cost project rather than settle for a less expensive structure.56 The “elaborate two-tiered, curving grandstand, complete with a series of towers featuring conical ‘witches caps,’ was compared to a medieval castle. Designed by Philadelphia architect John Jerome Deery, the new ballpark had a seating capacity of 6,800.

The annual meeting in December again brought minority stockholders into focus. They questioned the expenses of the organization and the lack of dividends. They questioned the Kelly purchase, considering that “the impossibility of winning the prize [pennant] next year will not make the public come in greater numbers.” Soden claimed he had not seen the financial books, but was sure they showed a profit.57

Soden still was spending money, acquiring star pitcher John Clarkson from Chicago for the now-familiar price of $10,000. “News that Boston had at last secured Clarkson got out upon the street last night,” reported the Herald, “and hearty congratulations were heard on every hand. Most complimentary allusions were made to Messrs. Soden, Conant, and Billings for the liberality they had displayed and the determination they had evinced, and successfully carried out, to meet the desires of the Boston base ball public.”58

The new ballpark opened on May 26, 1888, to great fanfare and a crowd of 15,000, well above the maximum. “There was scarcely foothold on the cars bound to the south end, drawn by jaded and wearied animals,” the Herald wrote. The season itself was a disappointment in the standings, as Boston finished fourth, but an estimated 300,000 came to visit the new palace.59 Newspapers didn’t report an annual meeting that year, possibly because Lloyd, the last minority stockholder, had sold out.60 At the end of the season the triumvirate were in a spending mood again, sending $30,000 to the Detroit Wolverines for Charlie Bennett, Dan Brouthers, Charlie Ganzel, Hardy Richardson, and a returning Deacon White. Brouthers led the league in hitting (.373) and had 118 RBIs. Clarkson went 49-19 and Old Hoss Radbourn won 20. Boston finished second, a mere game behind Chicago; the pennant was decided on the last game of the season. Still, attendance was 295,000 at the South End Grounds and a $100,000 profit was reported.61

In 1890 there was a mass exodus of players not only from Boston but other NL teams to join the new Players League. Boston finished fifth (76-57), a disappointment to new manager Frank Selee. Attendance was only 147,539, no doubt affected by the Players League rivals in Boston. Fearful of losing more talent, the Triumvirs signed players to multiyear deals, and while the rival league didn’t last beyond 1890, the club was stocked with talent for a three-year pennant dynasty. First baseman Tommy Tucker, shortstop Herman Long, and young pitcher Kid Nichols brought championships and revenue to Boston. The 1891 club finished 87-51 with Nichols and Clarkson winning more than 30 games each to compensate for the team’s weak hitting. Attendance rose to 184,472.

The 1892 club won 102 games (102-48) and captured a postseason series against Cleveland. Both Nichols and Jack Stivetts won 35 games, but attendance dropped to 146,421. The 1893 club finished 86-43 as Boston’s new faces, dubbed the Heavenly Twins, outfielders Tommy McCarthy and Hugh Duffy, batted .346 and .363 respectively. Nichols was again the ace, with 34 wins. The attendance rose to 193,300, who celebrated another pennant for Selee’s crew. “The record the Triumvirs liked best,” wrote Kaese, “was made at the gate. The club made money, as well as base hits, and the Triumvirs rejoiced, as well they might after several lean years during which they practically carried the whole National League on their dollar-padded shoulders. Time after time, Nick Young, president of the National League, called on Soden to rescue a sinking club during these years, and always Soden threw out a life preserver filled with ten thousand or more bills.”62

Boston was expected to repeat as champion again in 1894, but tragedy struck on the field and off. Catcher Charlie Bennett’s career ended in a horrible train accident in the offseason. Then the South End Grounds burned down on May 15. “The fire destroyed the bleachers, the $75,000 grandstand … and some 170 buildings covering twelve acres around the park,” wrote Kaese. “The total damage was estimated at one million dollars.”63 The fire, later dubbed the Great Roxbury Fire, burned 12 acres, destroyed 200 buildings, and left 1,900 homeless.64 A city-installed hydrant at the ballpark reportedly could have contained much of the fire, but the Triumvirs had not paid the $15 city water tax, so it was shut off.65 There is altogether too much of the ‘penny wise and pound foolish’ method in the management of their club business,” wrote Sporting Life.66 Many of Boston’s games were held at the nearby Congress Street Grounds while the third version of the South End Grounds was being built. The team returned on July 20 to a much smaller ballpark, since insurance did not cover the cost of a full rebuild.

After two mediocre seasons, Boston was again pennant-bound in 1897 with a 93-39 record and attendance that jumped from 240,000 to 334,800, upsetting the three-year reign of the Baltimore Orioles. Seven starters on the team batted over .300 and Kid Nichols won 31 games. The season was legendary for the emergence of the Royal Rooters fan club led by local saloon owner Michael “Nuf Ced” McGreevey. The Rooters traveled with the club on road trips, bringing horns and rattles.67 The Beaneaters lost the meaningless (in standings and profit) Temple Cup series to Baltimore, the last such series. The club reportedly made $120,000 profit.68

The team repeated as the pennant winner in 1898 with a 102-48 record, tied for most wins in franchise history until surpassed by the Atlanta Braves’ 104 wins in 1993. Despite the dominance on the field, attendance dropped to 229,275 and the club’s profits dropped to $90,000.69 “Was it the [Spanish-American] war,” wrote Kaese, “or were Boston fans growing a little tired of the success of the Beaneaters?”70 They had won five pennants in eight years, but this was the climax of the Triumvirs’ reign and the 1899 team fell to second. “Attendances were not good,” wrote Kaese, referring to the drop to 200,384 patrons in 1899. “The Triumvirs were more unpopular than ever. There was dissension among the players. … The great Beaneaters were no more. The minor flaws of 1899 became major fissures in 1900.”71 It was the worst Boston club since 1886, finishing 66-72. And it wasn’t going to get any easier as the twentieth century began.

Soden, who had fought off rival leagues in his three decades with the club, had little left to fight off the new American League. He looked like “a weary Roman emperor facing a new horde of barbarians,” wrote Kaese. Determined to make the AL a success, Connie Mack signed a lease for a plot of land on Huntington Avenue. Boston was going to have a new team in 1901. Star players Jimmy Collins and Hugh Duffy were among the defecting Beaneaters. At this point, the Triumvirs looked old and out-of-touch, being “too complacent, too confident,” wrote Kaese. “They understood the strength of Ban Johnson’s new league. They were going to brush that fly off their noses when they got around to it, but they were too slow getting around to it. The fly turned out to be a hornet, and the Triumvirs got stung. … The Triumvirs had become symbols of stinginess. In saloons and on street corners they were ridiculed by fans who took their cue from the newspaper writers.”72 While the Boston Americans stayed in their pennant fight to the end of the season, the Beaneaters finished 69-69 in fifth. Their attendance of 146,502 paled in comparison to their in-town rivals, who drew 289,448 in their inaugural season. Kid Nichols finished his 14th and final season in Boston, and Selee managed his last game in Boston after 12 seasons and five pennants.

The pattern continued: poor performance, poor attendance and a fan base switching to the American League rivals. By 1904, even the Triumvirs succumbed as Billings resigned, selling his stock to Soden and Conant. Fred Tenney was hired as the new manager and given stock, being told by Soden, “We don’t care where you finish, so long as you don’t lose money with the team.”73 One way Tenney saved the team money and earned favor with Soden and Conant was by racing into the stands to retrieve foul balls.74

By the time the 1906 season began, Soden and Conant were looking for a buyer for their team, which was devoid of talent, was surpassed in popularity by the Americans, and who played in a ballpark greatly in need of repair.75 The era of the Triumvirs was approaching an end.

George B. Dovey & John S. Dovey, 1907-1910

The Dovey Brothers, George B. and John S.C., paid $75,000 and assumed the $200,000 mortgage on the South End Grounds to buy the Beaneaters in October of 1906. Tenney closed the sale on behalf of Soden and Conant.76 He retained his 40 percent of stock.77 The Doveys had begun with large interests in the coal industry in Kentucky. But after flood damage, they switched to railroads. Behind the Doveys’ money was financial support from Barney Dreyfuss of the Pittsburgh team and John Harris, a Pittsburgh theater man. Their involvement remained unknown to the public. “We will do everything in our power to give the club the prestige it once had,” George Dovey said later, “and if we do not succeed it will not be from lack of effort.”78

One of the first decisions Dovey made was to change the team uniforms, eliminating the red stockings that had been prominent since the team was founded in 1871. This came on the advice of Tenney, “who fears that the dye in any colored stocking is apt to give blood poisoning when a player is cut … sliding or on being spiked on a play or a bruise from a shinnied ball or a pitched ball.”79 The home uniforms would be white and the road uniforms blue. These colors have essentially been the Braves’ colors ever since, while the red stockings look was taken by the other Boston major-league team, who became known as the Red Sox in 1908.

Another move was to have “the prettiest score card ever published in this city, to see that it will be a souvenir every visitor to the grounds will desire to carry away with him.”80 Upon touring the South End Grounds, Dovey discussed improvements with John Haggerty, the superintendent of the grounds. The visitors’ clubhouse, which had always been in the basement on the left-field side in the middle of the grandstand, would need installations of showers and heat, lockers, and a couch.81 Plans were also made for a new press box on the roof of the grandstand, extending the length of the middle section. “A box directly back of the catcher will be assigned to the telegraphers and on either side of this reservation will be four boxes, one for each paper,” wrote the Herald. “Each press box will seat five persons. A stairway will lead to the press boxes from the rear of the grand stand, and no one will have access to it except the scribes and their invited guests. This is a needed reform and will shut out intruders who have hitherto usurped privileges to which they were in no way entitled.”82 Dovey’s brother, John S.C. Dovey, resigned from his St. Louis car-company position to be the team’s business manager.83

The Boston baseball world was shocked at two tragedies in as many days during spring training in 1907. On March 28, Boston Americans manager Chick Stahl committed suicide at the age of 34. The very next day, Dovey lost one of his very own players: outfielder Cozy Dolan died of typhoid fever, also at the age of 34. “This has been a peculiar trip,” Dovey said. “Yesterday afternoon, you brought us news of Stahl’s death, and now we are leaving on account of one of our own men. I don’t know how to express myself on the loss of Dolan, which I feel as keenly as any man who has been shoulder to shoulder with him on the diamond. … The team suffers a distinct loss.”84

The team was also dubbed the Doves during this time, although Beaneaters was also still used in newspapers. Sometimes both names appeared in the same article. No matter the team name, they finished seventh at 58-90, but attendance did rise to 203,221, an increase of almost 42 percent. Tenney was replaced by Joe Kelley. Tenney unsuccessfully tried to sell his $10,000 worth of stock to George Dovey for $12,500, but Dovey refused. Tenney held onto his shares until he was bought out by William Russell in the summer of 1910.

The seating capacity of the South End Grounds was increased to 11,000 for 1908 with the addition of 4,000 bleacher seats. The bleachers would extend from right field to left field with an entrance at the end of Columbus Avenue and at Cunard Street. About 500 more seats were added to the third-base bleachers.85 There was also discussion of building an awning “to protect the fans from the hot cinders and the clinkers of the trains” over the third-base bleachers.86 Some adjustments had to be made once the season started. On Opening Day “a horde of boys came over the back fence into the outfield bleachers,” the Herald noticed.87 The team itself barely improved in 1908, finishing sixth at 63-91, but the added seats helped raise attendance to 253,750.

On June 19, 1909, while scouting players in Ohio, George Dovey died of a hemorrhage. John assumed the presidency of the club. With all the changes, one thing remained constant: the failure of the Doves on the field. The team finished a dreadful 45-108 with a .223 team batting average and a league-high 340 errors. At the annual meeting, John P. Harris emerged as a stockholder wanting to take a more active role with the team. One plan Harris introduced was a portable stage so that vaudeville performances could be held at the South End Grounds in the summer.88 Harris, a future Pennsylvania state senator, “is credited with introducing the world to the motion picture theater,” according to his biography on the Pennsylvania State Senate website. Harris and his father “produced vaudeville shows and introduced Pittsburgh to its first motion picture presentation in 1897. The brief 30-second to five-minute reels showed while customers of an amusement center were entering or exiting from a live Vaudeville act.” The father-son team realized people might enjoy and, more importantly, pay to see an entire show on film. In 1905 the younger Harris created a “Nickelodeon” theater, and saw huge crowds pack it.89 The biography briefly mentions his financial involvement in the Pittsburgh National League team, but not about Boston, which was a very brief period compared to his success in the motion-picture industry.

William Hepburn Russell, 1911

“A squirrel on a treadmill couldn’t have produced more action with less progress than the Boston Nationals of 1911,” wrote Harold Kaese.90 On November 12, 1910, John S.C. Dovey sold his interest in the team to Harris, who stated, “I have confidence in its future, notwithstanding [its] lowly position, and believe that the team can be restored to its former strength.”91 Harris then sold his stock to William Hepburn Russell, Louis C. Page, George A. Page, and Frederic J. Murphy. Russell, a New York lawyer, was born in Hannibal, Missouri, and was a boyhood friend of Mark Twain. The Page brothers were in the publishing business in Boston, while Murphy was a Boston insurance executive. They paid $100,000 for the 765 shares of stock owned by Harris. Russell became club president.92 The new owners also purchased other shares bringing their total to 980 of the 1,000 shares available.93

Fred Tenney was brought back to manage for the 1911 season. The team was now known as the Rustlers. There was dissension among the Page brothers and Russell over trades Russell was making and over who had a say in team affairs. Meanwhile, Ned Hanlon, of 1890s Baltimore Orioles fame, was putting together an offer to buy the club outright from Russell, who was offering it for $250,000. Hanlon wished to move the club to Baltimore.94

On July 24, Russell bought out L.C. Page’s stock and “became to all practical purposes the chief owner of the Boston National Club,” wrote the Herald. Russell gave Page a certified check for $28,650, and that settled the squabbles. “I plan to sell between 200 and 300 shares of my entire holdings,” Russell remarked, “but this will leave me more than 600 shares myself. And now that I have Mr. Page’s stock, I shall make a statement I never have made before, and this is that the control of the Boston club is not for sale.”95 The team in 1911 was in last place at 44-107, the franchise’s worst mark until 1935. The team ERA was the worst in all of baseball at 5.08, far higher than the league average of 3.39. The attendance plummeted again, to 116,000.

Tragedy struck the Boston front office yet again. Russell died of a heart attack on November 21, 1911, the second club president in two years to die unexpectedly. The team had to be put up for sale yet again, this time by Russell’s estate.

James E. Gaffney, 1912-1915

James E. Gaffney was a millionaire New York lawyer and politician with strong Tammany Hall connections. He had a background in construction, having built Penn Station and Grand Central Terminal in New York City. He named John Montgomery Ward team president.96 Ward, a one-time baseball star and then a New York lawyer, desired to run a ballclub. Gaffney, with his political and financial connections, was recommended to Ward by New York friend John Carroll. The price the trio paid was around $180,000 for the team97 and assumption of a $210,000 mortgage on the ballpark.98 Gaffney had immediate plans to upgrade the South End Grounds, and depended greatly on the baseball advice of Ward.

“All were of the impression,” wrote John J. Hallahan of the Herald as Gaffney, Ward, and company explored the grounds in January of 1912, “that the changing of the home plate towards the third base bleachers and placing home plate and second base on a line where the right field fence joins the centre field bleachers would do away with having two short fields.” The grandstand would now have two new sections and the third-base bleachers were built higher and deeper. The left-field bleachers were taken out altogether. A high screen was built above the fence in right field “so it will not be an easy matter to knock the ball over.” Left field was to be increased from 250 feet to 350 feet, although other records indicate that the true distance became 275 feet. The other new item was the players’ uniforms. Once again they would wear red stockings and “it is very likely that a profile of an Indian’s head, denoting a brave, will be placed on the pocket of the shirt,” wrote Hallahan.99 Ward “is satisfied that the title ‘Braves’ will cling to his team next season,” wrote player turned sportswriter Tim Murnane in the Globe.100 The Braves nickname and the logo of an Indian head with full headdress were taken directly from Tammany Hall.101 So the team became the Braves, and as they say, the rest is history.

A new name and logo didn’t matter, as on the field the Braves of 1912 lost another 100 games (52-101), while the Red Sox won the World Series. Ward resigned as team president on July 31, selling all his holdings to Gaffney, and Gaffney became president.102 Johnny Kling’s one-year managerial career was a disaster, and George Stallings became the manager. The 1912 attendance was barely higher than the year before at a league-worst 121,000. “I’ve been stuck with terrible teams in my time,” Stallings said upon accepting the offer to manage, “but this one beats ’em all.”103

Things started to turn around in 1913, as the Braves moved “all the way” to fifth, finishing 69-82, and attendance grew by nearly 100,000, to 208,000. Gaffney bought more property to build a new grandstand, purchasing adjoining land and demolishing the properties there.104 But the work was suspended as Gaffney contemplated other ideas.105 He leased a tract of land in Somerville, outside Boston, that seemed suitable for a ballpark.106 The lack of seating capacity at South End was a major factor.

Things would not be the same in 1914, as the team dubbed the Miracle Braves won the World Series after being in last place 15 games behind on July 4. The club rallied by finishing 18-10 in July, 19-6 in August, and 26-5 in September, then swept the heavily favored Philadelphia Athletics in the World Series. The Braves saw record attendance of 382,913, bettering every other NL team. Stallings would be known thereafter as “The Miracle Man” and his crew of memorable stars became legends in Boston. There was Joe Connolly and his .306 batting average in the outfield, the double-play combination of Johnny Evers at second and Rabbit Maranville at shortstop, with two 26-game winners on the mound, Dick Rudolph and Bill James. Still, Kaese called the Braves “weak, lucky, and game.”107 But Gaffney and Stallings are forever remembered for their roles in putting together the “miracle” team, an accomplishment when one considers that in the previous 10 seasons the club finished eighth five times, seventh three times, and fifth and sixth once each.

When the Braves returned from a road trip on Labor Day to play a doubleheader against the New York Giants, the games were moved to Fenway Park. Close to 75,000 turned out to see the two teams battle for first place. Joe Lannin, a one-time stockholder in the Braves and now the Red Sox owner, gave Gaffney free use of Fenway Park for the remainder of the Braves’ home games. August 11 was the last official major-league game at the South End Grounds.

A crowd heads toward Braves Field. The ticket and administration building (shown at left) still stands and today serves as the headquarters for the Boston University police. Note the trolley tracks in the foreground, indicating the path of transit vehicles exiting from within the ballpark itself. (NATIONAL BASEBALL HALL OF FAME LIBRARY)

When the 1915 season began, the Braves continued to play home games at Fenway Park. Gaffney had purchased a plot of land on Boston’s Commonwealth Avenue that would become Braves Field for $600,000.108 It was the site of the former Allston Golf Club, bordered by the railroad once again with “belching smoke and cinders.”109 Ground was broken in March 1915 and the team could use Fenway Park until the new ballpark, dubbed Braves Field, was completed. It was a dramatic change of venue when the new ballpark opened on August 28.

“Players who moved from the chummy South End Grounds to new Braves Field complained of loneliness. It was like moving from a modern three-room apartment into a nineteenth-century mansion,” wrote Kaese, referring to the new 40,000-seat facility, the largest such at the time.110 Kaese noted that the cagey Gaffney had built the ballpark on the back of the lot so he “was able to sell the frontage at a handsome profit and also do the cleaners and launderers a good turn by putting his customers within easy range of smoke from the railroad yards when the wind was easterly.”111 The Braves fell to second place in 1915, Gaffney’s last as team president. In his short time he had been a part of a miracle championship and built a ballpark that would be used as long as the franchise was in Boston.112 But Gaffney sold the team in January of 1915. Gaffney, Kaese noted, “was essentially a businessman, not a sportsman. He admitted selling the Braves for a lot more than the $187,000 he had paid for the team four years earlier.”113 The deal didn’t include Braves Field, on which Gaffney continued to collect rent.

Percy D. Haughton, 1916-1918

Gaffney sold the Braves on January 8, 1916, to a syndicate including the bankers Millett, Roe, and Hagen, who had financed the construction of Braves Field. Percy D. Haughton, the hard-nosed football coach at Harvard, was elected team president, while former Massachusetts Governor David I. Walsh was named vice president. Arthur C. Wise became the treasurer. Wise was an investment banker who later became treasurer and director of the Boston Garden Corporation.114 The reported $400,000 price for the Braves did not include Braves Field, which Gaffney retained. Gaffney had not even publicly announced that the Braves were for sale. “But when I discovered that I could secure a price upon the stock that would net me a substantial profit I could not, as a business man, turn down the proposition,” he said.115

Haughton was said to be “as happy as Henry Ford with a new idea,” in the words of N.J. Flatley in the Herald. Haughton said, “I want to make it clear to the tens of thousands of baseball fans in this city and vicinity that in devoting my time to the club and its interests in the future I shall strive to give the patrons of the game exactly as high and, if possible, even a higher standard of baseball at Braves Field than they have been accustomed to witness in the past.”116

Haughton gave a good impression of a college football coach’s speech when he addressed the team at spring training 1916. “We are not going to sit down and wait for the fans to come to us. We are going right out and get them. Today I sold 13 season box tickets myself. When I went into this baseball business I was informed that it was soft. I was d—fool enough to think it was. But it isn’t. … [I]t’s hard work all the time. But hard work is what I like and what I live for. We intend to keep the Braves fighting. We don’t like rowdyism, but we’re strong for clean, hard, aggressive winning ball.”117 The new boss also unveiled an insurance plan for the players, with a “preventative” health system in which “the best of doctors will always be at the beck and call of our ballplayers, and we will have a healthy team anyhow, whether we win or not.”118

Haughton took out a $500,000 insurance policy to cover the Braves so that in the event of “the wiping out of the whole ball club in an earthquake, tidal wave or any other huge calamity, the entire $500,000 would have to be paid over, and there may be times this summer when P.D. Haughton will be tempted to shoot the 30 men and spend the money.”119

Some changes were made to Braves Field prior to Opening Day. “A swell lunch room has been installed in the back of the grand stand,” beamed R.E. McMillon of the Journal, “and the first tier of boxes has been lowered to permit an (uninterrupted) view for those who sit in the second tier. … Concrete had to be split apart by hand drills and the entire grandstand front lowered by excavation. As it now stands there isn’t a bad seat in the grandstand.”120 Hot-air balloons were launched on Opening Day and an energetic crowd of 8,000 filed it.121 The 1916 team, despite a lower attendance (313,495, down 62,788), was near first place throughout the season.

The 1917 and 1918 clubs were nothing in comparison, finishing under .500 both years (72-81, 53-71), and attendance nosedived (174,253 and 84,938) as World War I outshadowed baseball. The 1918 regular season ended on September 2 as baseball was not considered essential employment in wartime. Haughton resigned as president in July after the US Army Department of Chemical Warfare with the rank of major.122 Haughton would not return to the Braves, and the team would be sold early in 1919.

George Washington Grant, 1919-1922

George Washington Grant, whom Harold Kaese described as a “somewhat mysterious … derby-wearing … cane-carrying”123 friend of John McGraw, purchased the Braves on January 30, 1919, from Miller, Roe & Hagen. Grant had spent the previous 10 years “being the pioneer American moving picture house man in England,” owning cinemas and selling them for a huge profit in 1917.124 He returned to the United States “where he has since been casting about for an opportunity in some enterprise that looked attractive,” wrote the Globe.125 He had sold newspapers growing up in Cincinnati and developed a love for baseball. He became a messenger boy and delivered copy to the desk of Ban Johnson, the sporting editor of the Cincinnati Commercial and later American League president.

The price for the club was reported as $400,000, which Grant paid in cash, and the deal included only the team, since Gaffney still owned Braves Field. His goal, according to the Globe, was to “endeavor to build up a championship team and improve the value of his investment … and not as a speculation.” Grant also had plans to make Braves Field a multipurpose stadium, saying, “I do not like the idea of the large amount of money invested in that plant working only about 70 days in the year.”126

Grant assumed the position of president, with Arthur Wise remaining as a director. “There is no better baseball city than Boston,” Grant said, “and that is one reason why the Braves appeal to me as a business proposition at this time. The fans here are loyal. But what they want, and what is the corner stone of success in the game, is a winning team. I want to succeed with the Braves, and to do so I must have a winner, although I realize one cannot be secured in a minute.” Grant had wanted to buy the Braves years before, when Russell owned the team, but Gaffney and Ward beat him to it. “My interests on the other side kept me away for a good many years,” he said, “but I always followed the big league games by the scores in the American papers.”127

Three weeks into his term, Grant announced that all grandstand seats, except box seats, would be available to any fan for 75 cents (plus the war tax) except on holidays. To that point, 3,000 to 4,000 grandstand seats would usually be reserved at an “advanced price” of $1.50. The first row of box seats would remain priced at $1.50, but the second and third rows were lowered from $1.50 to $1.00. “I cannot see the sense of having many of these seats vacant and compelling the patrons of the game to watch the game from further back,” Grant said. “I believe in giving the baseball public all I can give it for its money.”128

It was hard to get around Boston in 1919. Strikes among the streetcar workers raised fares, so Boston’s attendance was last in the league, although the total of 167,401 was an improvement over 1918. But the Braves finished sixth (57-82), so that may have had something to do with it, too. Grant, looking for quality outfielders, acquired the legendary athlete Jim Thorpe, who had excelled as an Olympian and star football player. Thorpe played in 60 games and batted .327, his best season of the six in his baseball career, but it would also be his last.129 Grant was also willing to trade away proven veterans, like pitcher Art Nehf and second baseman Buck Herzog. The return was, most importantly, cash (the Nehf deal itself was reportedly $55,000 along with four players). “All I ask,” Grant said, “is for the Boston baseball public to defer judgment until these things work out. I am the one who is paying the bills of the Boston club.”130 A report in the Herald estimated that Grant lost $40,000 on the team that season, while the pennant-winning White Sox made $400,000.131

One less loss kept the Braves (62-90) from falling into last place in 1920, but attendance (162,483) was on the bottom again. Stallings, the “miracle” manager, had seen enough, and resigned in November. Stallings’ eight-year stint ranks behind only Frank Selee and Bobby Cox for longest tenure of Braves managers. “The club was a contender for a couple of years thereafter [the World Series in 1914],” quipped O’Leary in the Globe, “and then chiefly because the owners could not see their way clear to strengthen the team by the purchase of new talent, it began to deteriorate and lose class despite all Stallings or any other manager that happened to be in charge of it could do.” Stallings was making $15,000, which according to the Globe’s O’Leary, “was more than a second division club could afford to pay.”132

The man Stallings once referred to as “my right eye,” Fred Mitchell, who helped Stallings with his pitching staff in the 1914 season, became the new Braves manager.133Mitchell was a fan favorite, and the team improved in attendance (318,627) and the standings (fourth place at 79-74). Grant estimated however, that the Braves easily lost $100,000 because of poor weather early in the season, prompting cancellations of three Saturday games.134 Still, 1921 was profitable for Grant.

Grant traded the popular Rabbit Maranville to Pittsburgh for $15,000 and three players, including Billy Southworth, who batted .308, and Walter Barbare, who hit .302. “I deeply appreciate the indulgence of Boston fans and their patience while we have been trying to rebuild the team. I realized that the fans would rally to the team as soon as we began to win,” Grant said.135

“I would give $50,000 for a pitcher or an infielder of known ability that was certain to fill the bill,” Grant said in early 1922. “But where am I to get such a player? The Boston Club could not afford to give any such sum for a minor leaguer and take a chance of his making good; that would be something of a gamble.”136

Despite success in 1921, neither Grant nor Mitchell would see such again. The 1922 season was a disaster when the Braves fell to 53-100. Rising star pitcher Hugh McQuillan was sold to the Giants so the Braves could mainly get $100,000 cash to make up for the losses of the team last in the league and at the gate (167,195). “My club must be reconstructed,” Grant said. “It takes money to pay running expenses and to buy ball players, and it hasn’t been coming in at Braves Field. The amount of money received in this deal will enable me to purchase promising young players, and I have done what I consider is for the best interests of the Boston club.”137

But Grant’s interest in the Braves had already soured. He was looking for a buyer, and the team was sold in January of 1923. Grant was always remembered as a cordial, friendly man who loved baseball. “Grant leaves the game with the best wishes and the high esteem of those with whom he came in contact here,” wrote Whitman of the Herald. “He was a game loser, yet a determined fighter for the best there was for his team and his manager. He goes to private life and expects to take a long vacation from business worries, along with Mrs. Grant.”138

“I am leaving my interests in Boston with much regret,” Grant said, “as I always have been received cordially here and will leave behind many friends. I have always been a fan 100 percent and I don’t believe that I will ever change.”139

Judge Emil Fuchs, 1923-1935

“Without any preliminary blare of trumpets, without signs, tokens or portents, the announcement of the sale of the club came like a bolt out of the blue sky,” wrote James C. O’Leary in the Globe.140 The new era began with a dinner party at the Lambs Club in New York City, according to Harold Kaese.141 John McGraw, New York Giants manager, had invited actor and songwriter George M. Cohan, noted commissary operator Harry M. Stevens, and Judge Emil Fuchs, a prominent attorney in New York City who had also been a city magistrate and deputy attorney general. Fuchs had defended such prominent clients as major leaguer Benny Kauff and Gov. Charles S. Whitman. McGraw excitedly pointed out to them the current owner of the Braves.

“Why, there’s George Washington Grant. Did you know you can buy his ball club for half a million dollars?” None of the three guests knew the Braves were for sale, and gave expressions of interest and curiosity. McGraw directly asked Cohan, who said he wasn’t interested.

The purchase of the Braves took place on February 20, 1923, although it was the legendary pitcher Christy Mathewson who garnered the headlines. George Washington Grant, after four years of ownership, sold the Braves to Mathewson, Judge Fuchs, and James Macdonough, vice president of Columbia Bank. Twenty-five percent of the club’s stock “has been and is still owned by Bostonians,” the Herald reported. “It is the idea of the new owners to interest Boston capital.”142 Both manager Fred Mitchell and business manager Eddie Riley were retained. Mathewson became the club president and treasurer and Fuchs the vice president. The price was listed as more than $500,000.

“The matter has been under consideration less than three weeks,” O’Leary wrote of the hush-hush deal, “and the interested parties kept it so closely to themselves that there was no inkling of the sale known outside until late yesterday afternoon.”143 O’Leary also reported that this new ownership group was the only one he had ever disclosed a price for, and “were the only ones that had ever seriously asked him to do so.”144

While Mathewson had the baseball know-how and the popular name, it was Fuchs & Co. who took on the financial burden. “I told (Mathewson) not to assume any financial burden,” Fuchs said years later in his memoirs. “The opportunity would always be there at the original price if the club were successful. I was always glad I did not permit him to assume that additional worry.”145

Mathewson had been gassed in World War I and had suffered from tuberculosis for the previous few years. He had been recuperating in the fresh air of Saranac Lake in upstate New York, and his physician warned that he might live only a couple of years if he attempted to return to baseball. But Mathewson accepted Fuchs’ offer, declaring, “I would rather spend another two or three years in the only occupation and vocation I know than to linger many years up in Saranac Lake.”146

“We will try to give Boston the best,” Fuchs said. “We have enough money. You must have patience. It is a fact in baseball history that the best loved teams have been those developed in the city where they have won championships. The process of building up such a team requires time.”147

Fuchs and Mathewson were the stars of Boston in the first month after the purchase as they stirred up interest in the Braves. “They are taking the city by storm,” wrote Burt Whitman in the Herald. “They chat affably and intelligently with the chamber of commerce, the City Club, the Engineers, the newsboys or the Press Club. They have a message of better baseball at Braves Field, believe in that message, and talk manfully and cleanly of what they plan and hope to do.”148 These good vibes also extended to the players when it was announced that every Braves player would receive a raise for the 1923 season, as Fuchs announced Mathewson’s desire “to have satisfied and contented players on the team.”149

Fuchs admired Mathewson not just for his baseball wisdom but also his temperament. Known as “The Christian Gentleman,” Mathewson served as a moral model Fuchs wanted the Braves to be known for, whether they were a winning club or not. “He wants his team to win,” wrote O’Leary, “but he wants it to win without resorting to tactics that will injure players, that take an unfair advantage of opponents, or that offend the high ideals of patrons. … The new Braves will stand for only that which is clean and aboveboard. Fuchs wants the Braves to be a family.”150

Fuchs and Mathewson not only had dreams of improving the team on the field, but also using the field in other capacities to generate needed income. On May 1 the Herald displayed a picture of Fuchs and Mathewson signing contracts with Marcus Loew, motion-picture entrepreneur and vaudeville magnate. The caption read that Loew was to “stage night motion pictures, band concerts, fireworks and vaudeville at Braves Field this summer.”151 Anticipation built over the highly publicized “Loew’s Opening Night,” on June 25, and a crowd of 8,000 came to enjoy the dancing, the stars of stage and screen, the movie Trifling with Honor shown on two large screens facing the grandstand with projectors mounted on the dugouts, and the fireworks. Two immense dance floors had been constructed between the grandstand and the baselines running from home plate, and Alex Hyde led a 40-piece orchestra on a stand erected under the netting behind the plate. Soft orange lights dominated the field with ever-changing colors from the spotlights. Deemed a success, “the huge stunt is booked for all clear evenings throughout the summer,” wrote the Herald.152 Loew created the Braves Field Exhibition Company as a corporation,153 but the costs were too high to continue.154

Another idea was ladies’ day, started in July. Women could enter the ballpark free of charge.155 This would become a regular feature at both Braves Field and Fenway Park.

The Braves finished the 1923 season 54-100, “good” enough for seventh place, four games better than the last-place Philadelphia Phillies. Fred Mitchell resigned as manager on November 12, but would remain with the Braves as a scout and business manager until retirement in 1938.156 The new manager would come from the New York Giants. In a major trade that Whitman of the Herald called “the biggest in which the Braves have figured in years,” the club acquired shortstop Dave Bancroft, who would become the team’s player-manager. Boston acquired in the deal outfielders Casey Stengel and Bill Cunningham, while sending to New York outfielder Billy Southworth, pitcher Joe Oeschger, and cash. Bancroft, wrote Whitman, “will be shortstop, captain and manager of a team that needs a lot of upbuilding.”157 At age 31, Bancroft was the National League’s youngest manager.

There was an unproved but widely believed rumor that the Braves were simply a farm club of the New York Giants and were under their influence. This idea harkened back even to the days of Gaffney and the Tammany Hall crowd. This trade did nothing to silence those whispers. The facts that Fuchs and MacDonough were from New York and were friendly with Charles Stoneham, the Giants owner; and that Mathewson was a disciple of McGraw, brought scrutiny to every transaction made. Whitman even wrote a piece to stop the “sputtering at New York control.” The biggest shareholder of the Braves, he wrote, was Albert H. Powell, a millionaire coal dealer in New Haven, Connecticut, who was “the owner of the biggest office building in Connecticut.” Powell had been buying up the remaining available stock in the club.158

Apparently this was enough to convince Whitman that there was no conniving, despite the fact that New Haven is closer to New York City than Boston. Nevertheless, this fact made it “fit and proper for the baseball muck-rackers to forget their jeering innuendo directed against the New York ownership of the Braves or the ‘pipe-line’ which leads … direct into the New York Giants office.” Powell also owned the Worcester Panthers club in the Eastern League, and his stock in Braves was listed at $250,000.159

Despite the optimism and the offseason trades, the Braves were in the cellar in 1924. They also finished last in league attendance, at just 177,478. One way to increase attendance and revenue would be playing on Sundays, which the Massachusetts legislature was discussing. The Herald reported that Fuchs said he was solicited by a lobbyist for $100,000 to add to a slush fund for bribing the legislators. “I will say that I was much astonished when the proposition was made,” the Herald quoted Fuchs as saying, “but the interview was a very short one, for I told the man … that the owners of the Braves would not pay a red cent for legislation of any character.”160 The next day Fuchs said he was misquoted and he denied getting the bribe offer.161

There were two historically significant games at Braves Field in the early part of 1925. Opening Day on April 14 included the first radio broadcast from Braves Field. WBZ had a microphone set up, and an announcer (whose name was not mentioned) called the action. The Springfield Republican said it was believed to be the first time a game other than a World Series contest had been broadcast.162 On May 9, the Braves hosted the Chicago Cubs in the first Jubilee Game, celebrating 50 years of the National League. Among the honored guests were old-time Braves player George Wright and former Triumvir William Conant.163

On May 20, the report came that the Braves were officially purchasing the Worcester club, making Powell and Fuchs the co-owners. “Their intent,” wrote the Herald, “will be to give Worcester a winning team in the Eastern League, put in a high-class manager, and incidentally develop a lot of young talent.”164 The very next day came the report of the new “high-class manager,” who was beginning a legendary managerial career. Casey Stengel, a veteran outfielder, saw his playing career end that very month. One of the World Series heroes for the New York Giants in 1923, Stengel was now a 34-year-old reserve outfielder on the Braves batting a meager .077. He was released by the Braves, and was then hired to be the team president and player-manager of the Panthers. “The team will be run without doubt in close co-operation with the Braves,” wrote the Herald, but neither Powell nor Fuchs would be an officer of the club itself. The move was approved by the Eastern League in June.165

“This was not wholly altruism on Fuchs’ part, not just a gesture of kindness toward an aging warrior,” wrote Stengel’s biographer, Robert W. Creamer. “In those days a minor-league team would be a good investment. Casey could still hit well enough to shine in the minors, and he was a headline name, certain to draw crowds in Worcester.”166 Stengel’s flamboyance entertained the crowds for the 1925 season, and the team finished a satisfying third.

Fuchs was in Pittsburgh to see Game One of the World Series on October 7. Later that night he was interrupted during his bridge game and told that Mathewson had died. The flag was lowered to half-staff for Game Two, and both the Senators and Pirates wore black armbands.167 The Braves board of directors on October 21 named Fuchs as club president. Powell was elected vice president and would continue as treasurer.168

On November 20, Fuchs and Powell moved the Panthers from Worcester to Providence, Rhode Island.169 Stengel requested and was denied a raise for 1926. Stengel instead became manager of the Toledo club. To make this happen, Stengel the manager released Stengel the player, and then Stengel the president fired Stengel the manager. Stengel the president then resigned.170 Albert M. Lyon, a Boston-area lawyer, became a member of the Braves board of directors in January 1926.171

On August 31, 1926, Fuchs bought out the 33⅓ percent stock holdings of Powell, who would remain in office until the end of the year. “This transaction makes Judge Fuchs one of the big powers in the National League,” proclaimed the Herald. Powell had recently acquired a coal mine in Pennsylvania to add to his real estate and wholesale and retail business ventures, and was devoting his time to these. “The Boston Braves franchise is now considered to be worth a million dollars,” the Herald reported.172 Powell remained in control of the Providence Grays, who were no longer associated with the Braves.173

The Powell shares didn’t stay in Fuchs’ hands very long. On May 15, 1927, they were purchased by Charles F. Adams, V.C. Bruce Wetmore, and Charles F. Farnsworth, with Adams being the major shareholder. Adams was well known in the Boston area as president of the Boston Bruins hockey club. He would now become vice president of the Braves, and was praised by Fuchs as “a true sportsman, a successful business man and a lover of baseball.”174 Wetmore, president of an electrical supply company, and Farnsworth were business associates of Adams.

“It is with great personal gratification,” said Fuchs, “that I am able to announce my success in inducing Mr. Charles F. Adams of Boston and Framingham, a true sportsman, a successful business executive and a lover of baseball, to purchase the holdings of Mr. Albert H. Powell from me, and join me in continuing our effort to give Boston an improved baseball club worthy of its approval and support.”175

Before the season ended, the Braves reacquired the Providence minor-league club, reportedly for $18,000.176

Manager Dave Bancroft was released at the 1927 season.177 Despite the optimism when he arrived in 1924, Bancroft’s tenure as manager saw the Braves finish eighth, fifth, and seventh (twice), with a record 249-363. Jack Slattery was named the new manager in early November.178 Slattery was a Boston-area native who had been coaching baseball at Boston College. Despite Fuchs’ word that Slattery was “a man of unquestioned character and loyalty, who we are absolutely satisfied, will give his all to his city and his club,”179 the outcome was a disaster.

Another move by Fuchs in the offseason was moving in the fences of Braves Field to provide more home runs for Braves’ hitters. The proposal was approved at the December meeting of the National League owners. “It seems that practically every other team in the league, as far as its players and managers were concerned, disliked to come to Braves Field and play on a field where the outfielders needed motorcycles to retrieve drives between the outfielders,” Fuchs said.180 The Braves had finished last and next to last in home runs the past two seasons. “I feel that the shortening of Braves Field will have the sure tendency to make the Braves of 1928 a more confident, fighting, aggressive ballclub,” said Slattery. “It surely was a liability to the Braves to play on that rifle range.”181 While dimensions varied in the accounts of the time, the left field fence was moved in from 402 to 320 feet, left-center from 402 to 330, center field from 550 to 387, and right field from 365 to 310.182

On January 10, 1928, the Braves made front-page headlines with a trade Whitman of the Herald called “the most important in which a Boston club has participated in many years.”183 The Braves acquired future Hall of Famer and .400 hitter Rogers Hornsby. His salary was $40,000 and included being “field captain” of the Braves, so the owners would need to “dig down deeply as a result of the trade,” Whitman wrote.

In spring training, Fuchs gave Hornsby a new contract “as a reward for the remarkable spirit he has demonstrated in coming to the preseason training in advance of the date on which he was ordered to report, and the industrious manner in which he had gone about the tedious work of preparing himself physically for the campaign.” The three-year contract was for $40,600 a year, with $600 being the expenses in being the “field captain.” It was the second highest salary in the major leagues, trailing only that of Babe Ruth.184

The new-look Braves Field brought a startling realization to fans immediately. After an 8-3 Opening Day loss to the Giants, Whitman remarked, “there was quick evidence that the new outfield bleachers will mean a tremendous number of homers at Braves Field.” Already, it was the opposing team hitting the majority of them. “It hurts to switch around your yard to help your rivals and so handicap yourself.”185 Fuchs made a quick solution in a matter of days. “We will put up a 10- or 15-foot wire netting,” he said. “If that is not enough to preserve the decent standards of the game, we’ll move back the stands, but not this year.”186 The Herald even joked that the new slogan of Braves Field should be “Buy a 75-cent left field bleacher seat and get a baseball free.”187 Finally in June, a 30-foot canvas was erected above the left-field fence. “We have received a large number of protests,” Fuchs said, “and all that I can say is that I agree with them all and will endeavor to remedy the situation as speedily as possible.”188

That trend of opposing team home runs continued all season, however, and the Braves home runs allowed rose from 43 in 1927 to 100 in 1928, while the Braves themselves hit 52, up from 37 in 1927.

With the Braves in seventh place in May, Slattery suddenly resigned, and Hornsby was “persuaded” to become manager.189 The Hornsby experiment ended on November 7 when he was traded to the Chicago Cubs for five pitchers and $200,000 of needed cash. Fuchs announced that he himself would manage the team in 1929, with Johnny Evers as his assistant and “right eye.” “These are the ingredients of the most sensational and most unusual baseball story which has broken in Boston in many and many a year,” Whitman wrote in the Herald.190 Now with money to spend, Fuchs seemed to be comfortable acquiring veteran players around him, and in addition to Evers, brought shortstop Rabbit Maranville and catcher Hank Gowdy, all three members of the Braves 1914 championship team. “If I don’t make good,” Fuchs reportedly said, “no one will realize it quicker than I, and it will be perfectly simple for me to remove myself as manager.”191

Boston voters in November 1928 passed a Sunday sports referendum bill allowing events to be played on Sunday. Fuchs was a major supporter of the measure, so much so that he was fined $1,000 for attempting to influence the vote. Fuchs spent $200,000 out of his own pocket, Kaese noted, which allowed him to print a million booklets and 4 million sample ballots. Placards were even placed in streetcars.192 Some Boston legislators tried to delay or stop the referendum from becoming law, but in late December the Boston City Council agreed to implement it.193

Fuchs looked like a genius becoming manager, as the Braves started strong and were 9-4 and in first place on May 7. But they finished last (56-98). Attendance did grow to 372,351. In October, Fuchs resigned and Bill McKechnie was given a four-year contract to manage the club.194

McKechnie was able to see improved play in 1930, as the Braves moved up to sixth with a 70-84 record and attendance jumped to 464, 835. The biggest sensation of the season, however, was rookie slugger Wally Berger and his 38 home runs. After this season, the outfield fences were gradually moved back. Philip Lowry determined that left field, 340 feet in 1930, was moved back to 359 feet in 1933, in to 353 feet in 1934, and to its longest distance of 368 feet in 1936. Center field changed every year or two as well, moving back from 359 feet in 1928 to 365 feet in 1942. Right field evolved from 297 feet in 1929 to 378 feet in 1938.195 “Braves Field never looks the same in any two photographs from this period,” wrote baseball historian Ray Miller.196

The 1931 team took a step backward, however, falling to 64-90, 37 games behind first-place St. Louis. Despite the losses, attendance rose in Boston to 515,005 while baseball as a whole fell just over 1.6 million as the Great Depression began to take hold. “There’s absolutely nothing to indicate that anything approaching panic times will hit big league baseball in 1932,” Fuchs confidently declared. “[T]here are many people who turn to baseball, comparatively cheap, inexpensive and not too great a thief of time, when their money and their time must be considered.”197 Fuchs hosted a “Jobless Carnival” at Braves Field on June 29, 1932, to raise money for the unemployed.198 On the field, the 1932 Braves finished .500 (77-77), their first .500 or better season since 1921. Boston fans continued to buck national trends, and the 507,606 attendance was third in the league, while across baseball attendance was down almost 1.5 million.

Fuchs increased the number of lowest priced seats at Braves Field, extending the 1,500-seat 50-cent “Jury Box” section in right field to 5,200 seats extending to the left-field line. Both Fuchs and Red Sox President Bob Quinn moved the ladies day games” from Fridays to Saturdays.199 Fuchs changed the times of Saturday games to 2:15 P.M. “out of consideration of women employed in offices and department stores, and who have a week-end half-holiday.”200 Fuchs also announced it was necessary to cut player salaries “under the present circumstances.” “Baseball, like every other business is affected by the depression, and the players should realize this fact as well as the club owners,” he said.201

On July 7, it was announced that Fuchs no longer had majority control of the Braves. Desperate for cash, he had borrowed money from Adams and Wetmore, and put some of his stock up as security. Adams and Wetmore had the controlling interest in the club. Later that month, Fuchs began the process of buying out the shares owned by Adams and Wetmore in an effort to regain control of the Braves. It was reported that the first payment was $100,000. “I have just made the first payment under an agreement with Charles F. Adams which will enable me to pay off my financial obligation to Mr. Adams and to purchase the stock of the Boston National League Baseball Club, which is now held by both Mr. Adams and V.C. Bruce Wetmore, providing I meet the terms and payments specified in that agreement,” Fuchs said. “Mr. Adams has personally loaned me money and took over a loan that I had in New York stating that he desired to have all the Boston baseball stock in Boston. His investment, through his purchase of stock and his loan to me, is very large and substantial. He has drawn neither salary nor expenses.”202

The 1933 season saw the Braves win more games (83) than they had since 1916 and be in the pennant race only six games behind New York on August 31. Attendance increased to 517,803 while league attendance still continued to drop (down 885,535). For the fourth year in a row, the Braves outdrew the Red Sox, who saw only 268,715 at Fenway Park. Wally Berger hit 27 home runs but the Braves’ pitching was the biggest feature with a 2.96 team ERA (third best in the NL). “The flame of baseball interest in Boston burned brightly in 1933,” wrote Kaese. McKechnie was rewarded with a new five-year contract.203 It would, however, be another 13 years before the Braves won as many games as they did in 1933.

The Braves of 1934 were at least competitive, finishing in fourth at 78-73, but the team ERA rose to 4.11 and their batting average was next to last at .272. There was a huge drop in attendance, which at 303,205 was a 214,598 loss. This was at a time when baseball as a whole seemed to be recovering from the Depression, as attendance in the entire league rose 1,084,431, and even closer to home, fans deserted Braves Field for Fenway Park. The attendance at Fenway grew to 610,640, an increase of 341,925. But fans had motivation to enter the turnstiles at Fenway. New Red Sox owner Tom Yawkey was spending loads of money: modernizing Fenway Park and bringing in fresh faces like pitching ace Lefty Grove. Kaese wrote, “[A]bout this time in their history, more attention was being paid to Braves owners than to Braves players. It wasn’t so much a question where the Braves would finish, but if they would finish.”204

According to Fuchs, the Braves had made money between 1929 and 1933, to the tune of $500,000, but most of the money had been put right back into the club. But by the end of the 1934 season there were financial problems and Fuchs felt desperate.205 Fuchs saw an opportunity to raise revenue for the Braves by having greyhound racing at Braves Field in the evenings after baseball games. The plan was to construct a portable race track. “It would not interfere with baseball at all,” Fuchs said. “I have implicit faith in what engineers can do.”206 Although no horse-racing track could come within a 15-mile radius of the Boston city limits, entrepreneurs were seeking out greyhound-racing permits.

The Braves board of directors, including Fuchs, Adams, Wetmore, Charles H. Innis, and Leopold M. Goulson, were in favor of the petition to be given to the newly organized Massachusetts State Racing Commission.207 Fuchs received a favorable response from the commission but now “found himself the center of what may develop into quite a verbal tempest before it’s all over,” the Associated Press reported.208 The next step was to get the other National League owners to approve the measure, which was already making waves as Fuchs arrived in New York City for the Winter Meetings.

“Absolutely preposterous,” NL President-elect Ford C. Frick said of the proposal.209 “It is entirely at variance with the principles for which baseball has battled so strenuously. … Organized Baseball has outlawed players for gambling and it is ridiculous to conceive that baseball now could permit a sport founded on gambling to move into the same premises with it.”210 The AP reported that sentiments from major-league baseball owners as well as Commissioner Kenesaw M. Landis were mostly negative.211 A National League rule stipulated that a club would lose its membership in the league if it allowed “open gambling or betting pools on its grounds or any of the buildings that are the property of that club.”212

“It looks as though I’ve already talked too much,” Fuchs said. “I am not combating anybody. In Boston we have a proposition that looks very good to us and one that will in no way cast any reflections on baseball. … But I am still confident that when other owners have heard my complete story they will take another view of the situation.”213 The issue never was voted on at the Winter Meetings as other business, mainly the hotly contested issue of night baseball, took center stage. There were undoubtedly plenty of conversations behind closed doors and at the water fountains. The sentiments against the greyhound proposal were strong, and on December 12 Fuchs issued the following statement to the owners: “Nothing will be done by me which will embarrass baseball or the National League. Under the constitution of the National League, betting, legal or otherwise, is prohibited in its ballparks, where baseball is played. I have and always will abide by the constitution of the National League. This statement is simply a reiteration of the only statement for publication ever issued affecting this subject or authorized by me as published by the Associated Press.”214

The racing issue would not go away. In January of 1935, the Boston Kennel Club submitted an application for a license to run the dog races at Braves Field irrespective of what the National League ruled.215 The Commonwealth Realty Trust, the holding company of the Gaffney Estate and the current landlord of Braves Field, even told Frick that he had no authority in such matters and that it believed dog racing “is a better investment in the way of a lease than baseball.”216 The realty group revealed that the Braves had already violated their lease through late rental payments. “We no longer consider the Braves as our tenant,” said Arthur C. Wise, treasurer of Commonwealth Realty Trust. “They have not lived up to the terms of their lease and we have declared it broken. We are now negotiating with the Boston Kennel Club, Inc., and a lease is in the process of being written.”217

The possibility of the Braves using Fenway Park for home games was also not a reality, as Yawkey wanted no such agreement.218 The Braves suddenly found themselves homeless, and rumors came that Baltimore and Montreal were both interested in a major-league club if the Braves had to leave Boston, a situation called “very unlikely.”219 Frick called an emergency meeting of National League club owners.220 The National League had taken over the 11-year lease on Braves Field from the Gaffney Estate. This gave the Braves exclusive rights to the field and dog racing was disallowed. Frick even disclosed that the estate had never officially signed a lease with the kennel club.221

Meanwhile, Frick was seeking new owners for the Braves. Fuchs was generally cooperative with the league in recognizing that new ownership was needed, and said he was more concerned about the welfare of the stockholders: “I am willing to sacrifice my equity in the Boston club if by so doing I can save the other stockholders from any loss through their investment in the club since I have been connected with it.”222 Fuchs still had large financial obligations that were due February 5, and Massachusetts Governor James Michael Curley promised “to use his influence with Boston bankers on behalf of the judge to get an extension of the notes that fall due next week.”223 “It is generally recognized,” wrote the Herald, “that the morale of the players is at a low ebb, and that former patrons of the Braves have turned to the popular Red Sox for their baseball entertainment.”224

Fuchs and Adams met at the State House with Governor Curley, Boston Mayor Frederick Mansfield, and Massachusetts Attorney General Paul A. Dever to discuss financial options for the club. One was the encouragement of fans to buy booklets of five tickets each for $5, good for any games. “Wide-spread patronage of this method would provide sufficient capital to permit the Braves to finance their approaching spring training trip,” reported the Herald.225 The plan was an immediate success, with $30,000 raised by February 1 for Opening Day and five-game block tickets.226

National League owners on February 5 ruled that Fuchs could remain as owner. The owners were convinced by Fuchs’ report that $43,400 had been raised in ticket sales to that point, as well as $10,000 in cash, enough money to keep the team afloat. It was now up to Fuchs, who had an idea of someone who could save the Braves.

The Boston Globe headline on February 27 stirred more talk in baseball about the Braves than there had been for years: “Boston Fans Hail Ruth’s Return: Babe Is Coming to Braves for Three Years as Player and Official.”227 It was reported that Ruth carried three titles as player, assistant manager, and second vice president.228 “The obtaining of Ruth undoubtedly will have a wonderful effect on the interest in the National pastime by all lovers of baseball in New England,” O’Leary wrote in the Globe. “It looks like a masterful stroke of business for the Boston club.”229 It was reported Ruth’s salary was $25,000 as a player with $5,000 more as second vice president.230 “The landing of Babe Ruth by the Braves was one of the master strokes of Boston’s baseball history,” said the “Sportsman” column in the Globe.231

Correspondence from Fuchs to Ruth contained the ambiguous idea of Ruth managing the club in 1936. “If it was determined,” Fuchs wrote, “after your affiliation with the ball club in 1935, that it was for the mutual interest of the club for you to take up the active management on the field, there would be absolutely no handicap in having you so appointed.”232 Wires were crossed, however, as Ruth publicly stated, “It’s been definitely decided that I will take charge of the Braves on the field next year.”233 To Adams, 1935 was a probationary year for Ruth that would show whether he had the skills to guide the Braves ship in 1936. “There can be but one boss,” Adams said, “and no one can ever be fit to give orders until he has learned how to take orders.”234 In any event, Ruth was quite at home that night as he devoured broiled scrod, baked beans, and brown bread covered in relish. “We’re on our way to become real Bostonians once again,” he bellowed.235 McKechnie, while saying Ruth at the plate would help any team, still made it clear who the manager was. “There never has been a ball club that could stand two managers and there never will be,” he said. “I’m manager until such a time as the club sees fit to ask me to step down or I think it right to step down myself.”236

By May 13, Fuchs owed the first payment to Adams, and the second and larger payment was due by August 1. Time was running out. The Braves did draw well early in the season, but damp and rainy weather caused postponements and also led to Ruth catching a cold he couldn’t shake off for several days.237 By the time Fuchs gave the Braves a “fight talk” on May 14,238 threatening major changes unless play improved, the team was already 6-14 and Ruth was hitting .171 with two home runs. Ruth had already been telling friends he should retire from active playing, but felt obligated to try to help Fuchs and the team, as his presence in the lineup could still draw fans.

The Ruth/Braves era ended on June 2. Ruth asked permission of Fuchs to represent baseball at a social function in New York City, which Fuchs denied. “I do not have to put up with this sort of treatment,” Ruth declared to the newspapermen pressing around him just as they had three months earlier upon his arrival. “I will not return to the Braves so long as Fuchs remains in control of the club.”239 Ruth apparently had not been given the notice that he had already been released. Fuchs also acknowledged that he did not have the capital needed to acquire quality ballplayers or even keep the top talent the club currently had. “So far as I am concerned,” confessed the judge, “I am unable to provide such capital, as I have exhausted every personal financial means. My heart and soul is for Boston and New England. They deserve the best, and it occurred to me that it may be my situation, just described, that is handicapping the course. I am willing to sacrifice the large equity I have in the Braves.”240

Fuchs had until August 1 to repay Adams, and was busy until that time in unsuccessful bids to sell the Braves. He failed, and resigned on that date, turning over full control of the club to Adams, who was busily involved as president of the Boston Bruins hockey team and a major force in the Suffolk Downs racetrack. Fuchs’ equity in the club was listed at $400,000.241 Kaese reported that Adams already held 65 percent of the shares, so this implies a franchise value around $1.2 million. “I expect that (Adams) will make an effort to sell the club as soon as possible,” Ford Frick said. “I believe his chances of selling are considerably increased now that there is a single ownership.”242

Charles F. Adams, 1935

Ironically, control of the Boston Braves was now in the hands, temporarily, of Charles F. Adams, who was directly involved in horse racing and the culture of betting that the National League denounced when Fuchs sought permission for greyhounds races less than a year before.

It was not a long ownership period.

Adams assumed the presidency of the Braves from Judge Fuchs out of necessity: Fuchs owed him money. Adams, president of the Boston Bruins and one of the key movers and shakers of the Suffolk Downs racetrack, had no desire to be heavily involved in the Braves, not even considering himself a “baseball man.” His other business ventures kept him busy enough, so his energies were engaged in finding a buyer for the Braves. George Preston Marshall, who owned a chain of laundries in Washington, D.C., as well as the Boston Redskins football club, had a plan to buy the Braves,243 as did other groups.

In September Adams made a public plea to all Braves stockholders to contribute a loan of $15,000 ($1 per share) to keep the team afloat through the end of the year. Adams’s goal for reorganizing the team would cost an estimated $500,000. “It is so serious,” Adams said, “that unless the club finds some immediate financial support there is danger of the loss of its franchise and player assets. Briefly stated, the club now owes $200,000 on demand notes and approximately $50,000 of known current liabilities. … The club has practically no liquid assets with which to meet these obligations.” The financial statement said administrative costs for the team, reaching $152,541 in 1929, had been cut to $74,504 in 1934, but that player salaries had not been cut.244 A stockholder meeting later in September gave Adams the go-ahead for financial reorganization of the club.245 There would need to be major reorganizing, as the Braves finished with one of the worst records in baseball history: 38-115, a .248 winning percentage, 61½ games behind the first-place Cubs.

In early November, $175,000 of the announced $350,000 needed to put the Braves on a sound financial basis had already been pledged, with the other half to be raised by November 15. “It was agreed that for every five shares of stock now held, we would take one of the shares of new common stock,” Adams said. “For instance, if a man held 5,000 shares at present, he would turn that in for 1,000 shares of new stock.”246 Stockholders hoped they could reorganize the Braves on their own, and one of the largest stockholders was Major Francis P. Murphy, a future New Hampshire governor.247

However, the plan failed, because the cash was not raised. On November 26, at a meeting in New York of National League club owners, action was taken to dissolve the stockholder group, and the National League now owned the Boston Braves. NL President Ford Frick curiously described the change as a “friendly forfeiture” of the team.248 The league would now receive proposals from potential buyers for the club. “The club is not bankrupt,” Adams declared. “It ought to be able to pay dollar for dollar and clear off all its debts. In fact, I myself am no small creditor.”249 Adams, however, was not willing to step aside until the Braves creditors were repaid in full. The estimate of debt the Braves owed Adams was $110,000.250

Bob Quinn was a recognized name in the Boston area; he had served as president of the Red Sox from 1923 to 1933. He was now general manager of the Brooklyn Dodgers, and his name alone carried with it respect and local Boston credibility. Quinn estimated the value of the Braves franchise at $325,000.251

“Twin earthquakes changed the Boston big league map,” wrote Whitman, describing the first day of the baseball Winter Meetings.252 The Red Sox acquired slugger Jimmie Foxx and pitcher Johnny Marcum from the Philadelphia Athletics. This was a huge move that would definitely get droves of fans to Fenway Park. Two hours later, Frick announced that the Braves franchise had been awarded to Quinn, “who will have the credit of C.F. Adams behind him. … [H]is proposition was the only one received by the league which would enable the payment of debts and the protection of creditors for 100 cents on the dollar.”253 Meanwhile, the acquisition of Foxx and Marcum, boasted a hopeful Whitman, “make(s) the Sox loom as sure pennant contenders for 1936.”254

Quinn was the first person in baseball history to be president of both American and National League clubs. Adams would no longer have any stock in the Braves or hold any official position. “Adams has voluntarily taken this position because of the ruling of the commissioner of baseball concerning any tie-up between racing and baseball,” the official statement read, calling it “a stand on the part of the commissioner for which Adams has every respect.”255

On December 31, majority and minority stockholders held a “snappy” meeting (in O’Leary’s words), and voted to sell all assets of the Braves to Quinn. But it didn’t happen without a squabble. At Boston’s Copley Plaza hotel, a last-minute offer of $250,000 (including Murphy’s cash offer of $100,000) to purchase the Braves was declined. Fuchs was present at the meeting and stated that his losses in the Braves amounted to $700,000. “I paid $450,000 cash for the ball club, and … I borrowed money subsequently to purchase other shares in order to add to my holdings, and that there were several lean years during the period 1922 to 1928 inclusive, before the advent of Sunday baseball, in which financial losses were incurred.”256 The Adams-V.C. Wetmore stock interests totaled 11,184 shares out of the 15,000 total.257 Despite the newspaper stories, Quinn did not actually take ownership of the club, which remained with Adams and his associates.

“Thus,” wrote O’Leary, “the Boston National League Baseball Company bows itself into retirement.”258

Bob Quinn, 1936-1944

Bob Quinn had many challenges in taking over as president of the Braves, a nearly bankrupt franchise losing its fan base to the crosstown rival Red Sox. For whatever reason, Quinn saw his first act of business changing the team’s nickname, which had been Braves since 1912. As the old Braves organizational structure was being replaced, so was the club name. Boston National Sports Inc. was the new corporate name of the team, established at the law office of Goodwin, Proctor & Hoar at 84 State Street in Boston. Quinn wanted the fans to vote on the new team name, with six finalists to be selected. The fan with the chosen team name would win two season passes.259

Fans submitted 1,327 names, 15 of them with the winning selection of Bees. The winning fan was Arthur J. Rockwood of East Weymouth, Massachusetts, who wrote, “As a new name for your club, I submit ‘The Boston Bees.’ The ‘B’ is significant of many things, Boston, beans, baseball, etc., and not too hard to learn, being similar to ‘Braves.’ And if your club develops the bees’ characteristics, you should have honey this Fall.”260 The team’s corporate name was changed to “The National League Baseball Club of Boston,” and the ballpark would be renamed National League Park, although it was expected that fans would call it the Beehive.261

While there was a buzz over the new name, this did not produce success on the field. But the fourth annual All-Star Game was held on July 7 at the Beehive, which had the lowest attendance in All-Star Game history (25,534). A newspaper reported incorrectly that the game was already sold out, contributing to the Braves’ latest debacle.262 As far as the Bees on the field were concerned, a sixth-place finish at 71-83 was considered a success considering all that had happened with the club’s uncertainty. Attendance rose to 340,585, a sign of improvement. The 1937 Braves were a winning club, finishing in fifth place at 79-73. They were again last in major offensive categories but were stellar on the mound with two 20-game winners in Lou Fette and Jim Turner, and the lowest ERA in the NL. Attendance rose slightly, to 385,339.

After eight seasons as manager, Bill McKechnie resigned to become manager of the last-place Cincinnati Reds.263 In an unlikely modern-day scenario, McKechnie actually received The Sporting News manager of the year award for guiding the mediocre Bees to fifth place.264 Quinn chose Casey Stengel, who was manager in Brooklyn from 1934 to 1936 (including the time when Quinn was the GM), as the new manager. Stengel already had a reputation that would make him one of the beloved characters in baseball history. “I know he’s got a reputation for being a clown,” Quinn said, “but actually he’s one of the most serious-minded baseball men I’ve ever had work for me. He’s a hustler from the word go, is not afraid to try things with his ballclub and above all is unflinchingly loyal.”265 Stengel approached the job as a wait-and-see endeavor with talent: “All the players we now have, and any that we may acquire later, will be given a chance to show what they can do, and it will be a case of the survival of those who in our opinion are the most fit.”266

The Boston baseball landscape changed drastically in 1937. The Red Sox signed “a string-bean 19-year-old outfielder from San Diego in the Pacific Coast League,” wrote Hy Hurwitz of the Globe.267 Ted Williams would spend a year in the minors, and then burst on the scene in 1939, becoming arguably the greatest hitter who ever lived and an American sports icon.

The 1938 Bees finished 77-75 in fifth place, and were last in batting average, and on-base percentage. Pitching was a strength with a second-best 3.40 team ERA. “They had courage,” Stengel said of the ’38 team. “All you had to do was tape ’em together.”268 Vince DiMaggio didn’t remind anyone of his brother Joe of the Yankees, especially when he struck out 134 times. Attendance fell slightly, to 341,149.

The Bees ended the 1930s disastrously, finishing seventh at 63-88 in 1939. Offensively, the team finished near the bottom in most categories, and the pitching was mediocre. Even acquiring an aging star in Al Simmons proved to be meaningless, and he was traded late in the season to Bill McKechnie’s pennant-winning Reds. Attendance dropped again, to 285,994, while the Red Sox drew 573,070.

The 1940 season was no better as the Bees finished seventh again (65-87) with attendance dropping to 241,616. Prior to the season, the left-field wall was moved in from 368 feet to 350 feet from home plate, and right field was reduced from 373 feet to the same 350 feet. A 24- foot wire screen was erected atop the 4-foot-high wall from left to right, with the farthest distance being 400 feet. “The building inspectors have ordered the club, as a matter of public safety, to rebuild the center-field bleachers or to remove those there at present, and so it was decided to remove them altogether,” O’Leary reported in the Globe.269

Prior to the 1941 season, Adams’s majority 73 percent stock in the Bees was purchased by a group headed by Quinn himself, and including Stengel, Louis Perini, and 12 other men, mostly based in the Boston area.270 Quinn remained in his position as team president, and the syndicate voted to drop the Bees nickname and become the Braves again.271 The name change did not produce changes on the field, however.

By early 1944, after two more dismal seasons, Jerry Nason of the Globe reported on the financial difficulties of the Braves. “The club has faltered financially during the past season,” Nason wrote, “with attendance sloping off — due to both an inadequate team and the war. Quinn has several times enabled the club to show a profit by his genius for cutting down overhead expenses. The point has been reached where it is impossible to reduce salaries or sell prominent players without permanent injury to the team and the value of the franchise.”272

Before the 1944 season a new ownership group emerged and took control of the Braves. A trio of stockholders, Louis Perini, Guido Rugo, and C. Joseph Maney, bought out the shares of other stockholders, giving them the majority. Perini had started in his father’s construction company and never looked back, becoming president of the company he ran with his brothers. The construction company went international, and as of 2016 existed as Tutor Perini. He and fellow contractors Rugo and Maney, once they bought out the other stockholders, each pitched in an additional $250,000 to pay off creditors and provide some needed cash to run the team.273 Called “the Steam Shovels” by Harold Kaese, the trio were all contractors “who had made fortunes building ammunition dumps, wharves, piers, roads, tunnels, and airports during the war.”274 Stengel, who had commented that they should stick to their cement mixers and let him run the team, resigned as manager.275 Bob Coleman, one of his coaches, succeeded him. The new contractor-owners already had an eye on making changes to Braves Field, and they put in a 10-foot warning track in front of the outfield wall, moved the right-field wall in to 320 feet, and moved the Braves bullpen to center field.276 The Braves struggled to another sixth-place finish at 65-89. The 1944 attendance of 208,691 was the smallest in both leagues, and the smallest Braves attendance since 1924.

Quinn resigned as team president on his 75th birthday on February 14, 1945, to head up the Braves farm system. The man who had come to the rescue of the bankrupt Braves in 1936 was now going to work with the future of the team. Quinn’s son John became general manager of the Braves.277

Lou Perini, 1945-1958

Louis Perini had baseball and management in his blood from an early age, raising money in the community of Ashland, Massachusetts, for his youth baseball team.278 He was now taking over a team that had been through a lot financially and emotionally in the past several years. The Braves had survived near-bankruptcy during the Great Depression, before Quinn brought stability in the late 1930s. Yet, the team still failed to finish higher than fifth from 1935 to 1944. The Braves were consistently outdrawn by the Red Sox. Also, the Braves were hit hard, as all teams were, by the demands of World War II. Military service took 31 players, including two young pitchers, Warren Spahn and Johnny Sain, who appeared in 1942 but did not return until 1946.279

Perini and business partners Rugo and Maney had made their fortunes in the construction business, which Perini saw as an advantage. “Lack of baseball background is an advantage,” he said. “We take a sound business approach to the game. As contractors we are planners, and we know that good organization will accomplish wonders. Baseball is a side line with us, but it is also a business challenge that we want to meet.”280

The 1945 season was another lost cause for the Braves and a difficult beginning for Perini as president. The Braves finished sixth (67-85), although attendance (374,178) was the highest since 1938. An improved offense was led by Tommy Holmes, who led the NL in hits (224), total bases (367), and home runs (28), had a 37-game hitting streak, and missed the batting title by three points (.352). With travel restrictions in place, the All-Star Game was canceled, and both Boston teams decided to play a game for the benefit of the War Fund. The Red Sox beat the Braves 8-1 and $70,000 was raised by the crowd of 22,809.281

For 1946, former Braves outfielder Billy Southworth, who had managed the Cardinals to two pennants and one World Series title in the previous four years, was named manager in November.282 Perini offered a multiyear deal and $100,000 in salary and bonuses.283 He was one of several former Cardinals that Perini and company sought, and sportswriters nicknamed the club the Cape Cod Cardinals.284

The 1946 season was a turning point for the Braves and baseball in general. Attendance was up everywhere as the postwar boom began. The Braves’ attendance rose 39 percent to 969,673, the highest in franchise history, helped by night games, the first of which was on May 11 when 37,407 saw that “Braves Field looked like a Christmas tree,” in the words of the Globe’s Jerry Nason.285 The home opener against Brooklyn was a “colorful” affair as damp weather prevented the newly painted green grandstands from drying. “Hundreds of fans, well-decorated with green in the region of the rumble seat, filed in steady procession up the stairs to the front offices after the game, to leave their names and addresses,” wrote Nason.286 The trio was stuck with a bill around $6,000 to cover dry-cleaning costs, and needed lawyers to sort out true claims from the false (such as those from California, Nebraska, and Florida). The owners concluded that it had not been smart business, but the publicity and good will made it worthwhile.287 Perini also lured Boston College and its football schedule away from Fenway Park.288

The 1947 team built on the success of 1946 and for the first time in club history passed a million in attendance (1,277,361). A crowd of 36,006 came in August for Appreciation Day, with one fan winning a brand-new Packard automobile and another a Ford via a 95-cent raffle ticket. Neither man owned an automobile.289 Times were definitely good at Braves Field. A third-place finish, their first since 1916, and a record of 86-68 (their highest win total since the 1914 world championship year), brought baseball alive at Braves Field in a way few had ever seen. Spahn and Sain each won 21 games and the Braves had the best batting average in the league at .275, powered by the ferocious hitting of Bob Elliott, whose .317 average, 22 home runs, and 113 RBIs made him the National League MVP, the first Brave so honored since Johnny Evers in 1914.

The stage was now set for the remarkable Braves season of 1948, “the most exciting Boston had ever known,” wrote Kaese.290 Only a Red Sox one-game playoff loss prevented baseball’s first all-Boston World Series. The Braves won their first pennant in 34 years, as Holmes led the team in hitting (.325), Elliott in home runs and RBIs (23, 100), and shortstop Alvin Dark was the NL Rookie of the Year. Sain was 24-15 and the Braves had the league’s best ERA. They finished 91-62 and saw 1,455,439 come to Braves Field. “The Steam Shovels have built roads, docks, airports, tunnels and piers,” wrote Nason, “but the real monument to their ability to build is the Boston Braves of 1948.” The cost was estimated at over $2 million.291 The Braves lost the World Series to the Cleveland Indians and would never look so good in Boston again.

In fact, trouble started brewing during 1948 itself, when Perini paid a $52,000 bonus to Johnny Antonelli, a left-handed pitcher who had just graduated from high school. Veteran players were understandably upset, and friction between players and management began. Players even refused to vote for a World Series share for Antonelli, and Commissioner Happy Chandler had to intercede. A player revolt was led by Spahn and Sain, and salary increases were demanded. Players lost confidence in Southworth, whom they saw as weak.292

Two off-the-field events made the 1948 season historic. The popular radio game show Truth or Consequences was airing part of a live episode from Boston Children’s Hospital. Host Ralph Edwards asked questions of young Einar Gustafson, who was given the name “Jimmy” to protect his identity. Gustafson, a 12-year-old patient of Dr. Sydney Farber, was being treated for Burkitt’s non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma. Gustafson mentioned that his favorite baseball team was the Braves, which prompted Braves publicity director (and future Boston/New England Patriots owner Billy Sullivan) to arrange for Braves players to visit Jimmy at his bedside while the program was airing, bringing autographed bats and balls. Southworth brought a uniform for the young fan and invited him to Braves Field for the doubleheader on May 23. Edwards told his listeners that if they could raise $20,000, a new television set would be given to Jimmy so he could watch Braves games. In the weeks to come, donations flooded in from all over the country, many of the envelopes marked “Jimmy — Boston, Mass.” The Braves won both games of the doubleheader for Jimmy,293 and by the end of the summer, $231,485.51 had been raised for what became known as the Jimmy Fund. Perini organized cookouts, clinics, and other events for Braves players to raise money for cancer research, and his family continued that support over the decades. After the Braves left Boston, the Red Sox adopted the Jimmy Fund as their official charity. In 1998, Jimmy was reunited with Edwards at Fenway Park to celebrate the 50th Anniversary of the Jimmy Fund.294

The other event was the first televised baseball game in Boston, which took place on June 15. WBZ-TV, which had just debuted on June 9, broadcast the game with play-by-play announcer Jim Britt.295 Perini, undoubtedly anxious about this new endeavor, addressed the crowd in pregame festivities and said, “On this hysterical occasion,” then caught himself, “I mean historical — you know I was hysterical when the Braves came home (from their road trip).”296

Perini purchased Braves Field, which the Braves had been leasing for years, in January of 1949,297 with a goal of expanding the seating capacity to 50,000.298 Meanwhile, the team was falling apart. Faced with rumors that his players were threatening mutiny, Southworth requested a meeting for them to take a vote of confidence in him, which he didn’t receive.299 “We don’t want you to ruin your career for just a few weeks,” Perini told Southworth in August. “Why don’t you go home for the rest of the season and come back next spring good as ever?”300 Southworth took a paid leave of absence. The Braves dropped to fourth place (75-79) and attendance dropped slightly.

Southworth returned in 1950 and along with him came Boston’s first African-American professional baseball player, Sam Jethroe. The trio of owners became a duo when Rugo sold his stock to Perini and Maney in January of 1951.301 In June the Globe reported that attendance was down 24 percent after a lackluster crowd of 1,577 on June 4. At that rate, the writer quipped, Perini was not going to get a beautiful new stadium because “it does not look as though they would even be able to buy a new gas oven.”302 Attendance for the year was 487,475, an almost 50 percent drop from 1950. The Braves again finished fourth (76-78). Southworth finally left for good and Tommy Holmes became manager.

The 1952 season was the final season in Boston for the team that had begun as the Red Stockings in 1871. Holmes didn’t last until June and was replaced by Charley Grimm. Perini denied rumors that he was going to move the club.303 Yet by the end of September, the situation was grim, and there were estimates that the Braves had lost $600,000, more than any team in a given season in baseball history. “We are picking up the greatest check in baseball history this season,” Perini admitted.304 While the estimated losses were high, Perini’s description stands. According to a congressional investigation, the Braves showed a 1952 loss of $459,009. That made the total loss for the Perini years at least $257,995 and probably close to double that.305 The fans didn’t know it at the time, but the game on September 21 was the last Braves game ever at Braves Field.

Perini, with his brothers Joseph and Charles, bought up all remaining stock of the minority stockholders, mostly held by Maney.306 On March 14, Perini made the announcement. “I have a difficult announcement to make. We are moving the Braves to Milwaukee. I shall make an application to the commissioner.” The club was in Florida for spring training, with less than a month before the regular season began. The Braves owned a farm team in Milwaukee, and reports circulated in the spring of 1953 that the city wanted Perini to give up his territorial rights so Bill Veeck could move the St. Louis Browns there.307 The deal was confirmed by National League owners on March 18. The Browns moved to Baltimore for the 1954 season.

The club that began at Boston’s Parker House on January 20, 1871, was now moving to Milwaukee, where their story would continue.

BOB LeMOINE lives in New Hampshire, where he works as a high school librarian and adjunct professor. Especially fascinated with Boston and 19th-century baseball history, Bob has contributed to several SABR book projects. In 2016, he was a co-editor with Bill Nowlin on “Boston’s First Nine: The 1871–75 Boston Red Stockings.” Inspired by Ned Martin on his black-and-white TV, Bob wanted to be a Red Sox announcer when he grew up. Instead, he settled for Martin being the subject of his first SABR biography.

Sources

In addition to sources listed in the text, the author was also assisted by the following:

Bishop, Bill. “Casey Stengel.” SABR Baseball Biography Project. http://sabr.org/bioproj/person/bd6a83d8.

Frierson, Eddie. “Christy Mathewson.” SABR Baseball Biography Project. http://sabr.org/bioproj/person/f13c56ed, accessed October 8, 2015.

Richard Hershberger.

Notes

Competing against the firmly entrenched Boston ballclub in the National League, the Boston Brotherhood/Reds club won consecutive championships, in the Players’ League in 1890 and in the American Association in 1891. The club disbanded when it was bought out in the NL-AA merger, which was consummated in December of 1891.

Under the corporate name of the Boston Ball Club, the Brotherhood/Reds club was a stock company organized on November 29, 1889, to compete in the newly established Players’ League for the 1890 season. The club raised $20,000 in capital, through the sale of 200 shares of stock priced at $100 each, and received a corporate charter from the Commonwealth of Massachusetts on December 14, 1889.1 A diversified group of 26 stockholders initially financed the club, with the largest individual holding a 15 percent ownership interest.2

During the 1890 season, the Boston Ball Club was known in Boston as the Brotherhood club, based on the league’s organizer, the Brotherhood of Professional Base Ball Players, which mandated that players constitute at least half of a club’s board of directors.

At the first corporate meeting, the stockholders elected Charles H. Porter as president, Frederick E. Long as treasurer, and Julian B. Hart as secretary; on the board of directors were four stockholders (Porter, Hart, Charles A. Prince, and an unidentified fourth man) and four ballplayers (Dan Brouthers and Mike Kelly, initially; later joined by Arthur Irwin and Hardie Richardson).3

Porter, the titular head of the organization, gave the new ballclub credibility since in 1873 he had been president of the Boston club in the National League.4 Long had been the treasurer of Boston NL club from its formative years through 1880. Hart, a local businessman, was the day-to-day executive and public face of the club. Prince was general counsel of the New York & New England Railroad.

Unlike the financing of other clubs in the Players’ League, the investors in the Boston Ball Club were baseball fans first, not primarily capitalists looking to turn a quick profit. Among the officers and directors, Hart held the largest stake with 28 shares, followed by Long with 10, Prince with 5, and Porter with 2.5 The other 22 stockholders included super-fan Arthur Dixwell (35 shares, the largest stake in the club); businessmen Frank Foss (10) and John Haynes (9); sporting-goods merchants George Wright (5) and John Morrill (5); and ballplayers Irwin (12), Brouthers (10), Richardson (10), Kelly (5), and Bill Nash (5).6

Most of the nonplayer investors in the Boston Brotherhood club had been regular spectators during the 1889 season of the Boston NL club. Several were also disgruntled former minority stockholders of the Boston NL club, which made them highly motivated to achieve success with the Brotherhood club. The minority stockholders had filed a lawsuit in 1888 seeking to force the controlling-interest triumvirate of stockholders to provide an accounting of the club’s finances, but they lost in court and had to sell their shares at below-fair-value prices to the majority group.7

Many of the ballplayers signed by the Boston Brotherhood club jumped their contracts with the Boston NL team, led by the highly popular Kelly. This exodus created a superior product to attract baseball fans to the Brotherhood games played at the Congress Street Grounds, in comparison to the diluted product fielded by the Boston NL team. The Congress Street Grounds was a new double-decked ballpark designed to seat 14,000 people, located a short walk from Boston’s central business district.8

The Boston Brotherhood club outdrew its crosstown NL rival during the 1890 season, if reported attendance can be believed. Both Boston clubs fudged their attendance figures, either by rampant distribution of complimentary tickets or by exuberant inflation of turnstile counts. The accepted season attendance numbers show that about 50,000 more people attended the Brotherhood games in Boston (197,000) than the NL games (147,000). The Boston Brotherhood team cruised to the pennant in the first and only year of the Players’ League.

As the epicenter of professional baseball in Boston during the first half of the 1890 season, the Brotherhood club was able to raise an additional $10,000 in capital in August of 1890 through a supplemental offering of 100 shares of stock.9 W.H. Keyes, the contractor who built the Congress Street Grounds, was the largest new stockholder, buying 25 shares, while Prince added 20 shares to his initial 5-share stake to now hold 25 shares.10 Prince and Keyes were now the third largest stockholders. Neither Dixwell (with 35 shares) nor Hart (with 28 shares) purchased any shares in the supplemental offering, so the ownership interest of these two largest stockholders declined to 12 and 9 percent, respectively, with 300 total shares now outstanding.

At the October annual corporate meeting of Boston Brotherhood club, Prince was elected president, Hart re-elected secretary, and Irwin was named treasurer to replace Long; the stockholder directors were Prince, Dixwell, Haynes, and Timothy Daly and the ballplayer directors were the existing slate except that Nash replaced Irwin (now an officer).11 The four stockholder directors held a combined 87 shares, or 29 percent of the 300 shares.12

The Boston Brotherhood club was reportedly the only Players’ League club to make a profit in 1890. Prince announced at the annual meeting that “the report of the treasurer showed the club to be in an excellent financial condition.”13 The actual tabulated profit turned out to be a scant $138, on a cash accounting basis, after expensing the $41,486 in construction costs to build the Congress Street Grounds.14

Prince now headed an organization that seemed capable of toppling the venerable Boston NL club. “Had the Boston Players’ League club only been competing against the local National League club, it may have forced it out of business,” this author noted in his book Red Sox vs. Braves in Boston: The Battle for Fans’ Hearts. “However, the PL club was competing against the cartel of National League owners, who were bound and determined to destroy the Players’ League and do whatever was necessary to save the National League.”15 Unfortunately, profit-maximizing capitalists controlled most of the Players’ League clubs (Boston being the notable exception), which made them easy targets for a buyout by the NL or ascension into NL ownership. From the ballplayers’ perspective, the capitalists betrayed the worker ideals of the Players’ League.

To fight against the National League, Prince, who considered himself a budding magnate and not a mere lawyer, became president of the Players’ League in November of 1890.16 One month later, in December, when prospects faded to keep the Players’ League alive, Prince arranged for the transfer of the Boston Brotherhood club to the American Association, a major league that was on its last legs.

While Prince negotiated with a joint conference committee of and AA officials, he and Dixwell bought out the shares of many smaller investors in the Brotherhood club. In November the Boston Globe reported that Dixwell and Prince were the largest stockholders in the Brotherhood club, with Dixwell having “$10,000 sunk in this scheme,” which would represent 100 shares.17 By early January of 1891 the Globe noted that “Dixwell has disposed of his stock in the local P.L. club to President Charles A. Prince.”18 At this juncture, Prince owned at least a plurality of the stock and may have held more than 50 percent of the stock for a majority ownership position. Dixwell returned to being the best-known baseball fan in Boston. In 1901 he assisted the Boston club in the new American League to successfully unseat the monopoly of the Boston NL club.19

In mid-January of 1891, as part of the deal for Prince to abandon his demand for an expensive buyout of the Boston Brotherhood club, the Boston NL club agreed to accommodate its transfer to the American Association, under four conditions: (1) all former ballplayers of the Boston NL club had to be returned to the control of the NL club, (2) admission to the Boston AA games had to be 50 cents (the same as for NL games), (3) the Boston NL club exclusively had the home games on the Decoration Day holiday (the AA club had the less lucrative Independence Day games), and (4) the Boston AA team could not bill itself as “Boston,” but rather “must have a distinct name, like the Blues.”20

Prince agreed to abide by all the stipulations made by the rival Boston NL club. The name “Reds” was chosen to identify the Boston AA club, which Prince hoped would rekindle fond memories of the old Boston Red Stockings club of the 1870s. As it turned out, the Boston NL club was most interested in retaining the services of Kelly (although he balked at returning), so several players on the Brotherhood team returned to play for the Boston Reds in 1891.

Both contemporary and modern-day research supports the proposition that the Boston Reds in the American Association were a continuation of the Brotherhood club in the Players’ League. “The Boston people said that it was folly to refuse to allow the Association club a berth in Boston,” the New York Times reported in January of 1891. “The Players’ League team of that city was immediately elected a member of the Association.”21 Economic historians James Quirk and Rodney Fort report that the genesis of the Boston club in the Association was that the team “moves into AA from PL in PL-AA-NL agreement.”22

Prince was the acknowledged singular owner of the Boston Reds during the 1891 season, apparently having a controlling interest in the club’s stock, as newspapers rarely reported the existence of other officers or directors. By August Prince did have “considerably more than a controlling interest” in the Boston Reds, when he resigned as president and was succeeded by Hart to administer Prince’s interest for the remainder of the season.23

Despite the original agreement not to undercut NL admission prices, Prince implemented a 25-cent admission policy at the Congress Street Grounds for the game on July 18, since he believed “it pays to cater to the masses.”24 In August the “popular prices” were instituted for the team’s remaining home games. The Reds won the championship of the American Association and attracted 170,000 spectators in 1891, just a few thousand customers short of outdrawing the rival NL club (184,000 in attendance).

Hart became vice president of the American Association after the season was over, as he tried to salvage that organization as a viable major league. When his efforts failed, he left baseball to focus on his business interests. Hart died on September 17, 1939, in New York City and is buried near Boston.25

With the impending demise of the American Association, Prince negotiated hard to salvage some value from his stock investment in the Boston Reds, as he sought a $50,000 buyout of the Boston ballclub.26 In early December he gave up the fight. “I am sick of the sport,” Prince wrote in a letter to his AA comrades. “I have not the time or inclination to continue this war, knowing the disasters that must follow. A change must come, and the sooner the better for those with money invested, as well as for the future prosperity of the national pastime

On December 17, 1891, an agreement was reached for the AA to merge into the NL, with four AA clubs to transfer into the NL and the Boston, Chicago, and Philadelphia clubs to be absorbed by the NL clubs in those cities.28 Prince accepted a financial settlement of $37,500 for the Boston Reds, to be paid from a fund raised from all the NL club owners, not solely by the Boston NL club.29 “Prince was one of the wise ones who saw what was coming and decided to sell out,” the Boston Daily Advertiser reported, “which he did at an extremely low price.”30 The settlement included the grandstand at the Congress Street Grounds and the existing lease for the underlying land, owned by the Boston Wharf Company.

Before the Boston Reds stockholders could be paid, though, Prince had to round up the stock certificates of all 300 shares to transfer them to the NL fund. On January 9, 1892, when only 267 shares could be collected, the NL fund paid Prince “$30,000 in long-term notes, holding back $7,500 until all the stock is turned in,” according to a Boson Globe report, which noted, “of this money, Mr. Prince will take out what the club owes him personally, said to be close to $30,000.”31

Prince’s speculative stock investments included not just the Boston Brotherhood/Reds ballclub but also railroad stocks. With his delusions of grandeur, Prince embezzled an estimated $1 million from friends and family in an attempt to profit on the merger of his employer, the New York & New England Railroad, with the competing Boston & Maine Railroad before those merger prospects collapsed in May of 1893.32 Prince left the United States in disgrace and lived the rest of his life in exile on the island of Noirmoutier, off the coast of France, until his death in 1942.33

CHARLIE BEVIS is the author of seven books on baseball history, most recently “Red Sox vs. Braves in Boston: The Battle for Fans’ Hearts, 1901–1952” (McFarland, 2017). A member of SABR since 1984, he has contributed more than five dozen biographies to the SABR BioProject as well as several to SABR books. He is an adjunct professor of English at Rivier University in Nashua, New Hampshire.

Notes

1 Abstract of the Certificates of Corporations Organized Under the General Laws of Massachusetts During the Year 1889 (Boston: Wright & Potter, 1890), 6.

2 Robert B. Ross, author of The Great Baseball Revolt: The Rise and Fall of the 1890 Players League, has graciously shared a complete list of stock ownership (beyond the details in his book) from his notes taken of the records in the Frederick Long Papers at the National Baseball Hall of Fame Library in Cooperstown.

3 “Players Organized; Boston’s New Club Elects Officers,” Boston Globe, November 30, 1889; “Director Hart Returns Unsuccessful,” Boston Globe, February 11, 1890; “Off the Diamond,” Boston Globe, April 21, 1890. The fourth nonplayer director likely was Dixwell, who had the largest stock holding.

4 “Our New Nine,” Boston Daily Advertiser, December 2, 1889.

5 Robert B. Ross, The Great Baseball Revolt: The Rise and Fall of the 1890 Players League (University of Nebraska Press, 2016), 98; stock holding of Prince is from the stock list in the Frederick Long Papers.

6 Stock list in the Frederick Long Papers.

7 “Against the Triumvirs,” Boston Globe, December 22, 1887; John C. Haynes et al vs. Boston Base Ball Association, “Court Calendar: Supreme Judicial Court — Oct. 6,” Boston Daily Advertiser, October 8, 1888.

8 “New Grounds of Players’ League Club,” Boston Globe, December 11, 1889.

9 Ross, The Great Baseball Revolt, 100.

10 Stock list in the Frederick Long Papers. Mysteriously, Long’s list accounts for only 85 of the 100 new shares purchased.

11 “Directors Were Pleased,” Boston Globe, October 21, 1890.

12 Stock holdings of the four directors (initial + supplemental = total): Prince (5+20=25), Dixwell (35+0=35), Haynes (9+10=19), and Daly (5+3=8).

13 “Boston P.L. Club Meets,” Boston Daily Advertiser, October 21, 1890.

14 Frederick Long Papers, quoted in Ross, The Great Baseball Revolt, 184.

15 Charlie Bevis, Red Sox vs. Braves in Boston: The Battle for Fans’ Hearts, 1901-1952 (Jefferson, North Carolina: McFarland, 2017), 37.

16 “Charles A. Prince Elected President of the Players’ Organization,” Boston Globe, November 12, 1890.

17 “The Three Bell Wethers,” Boston Globe, evening edition, November 13, 1890.

18 “Base Ball Notes,” Boston Globe, January 11, 1891.

19 Bevis, Red Sox vs. Braves in Boston, 57-58.

20 “Two Clubs Here; Papers Are Signed and Boston Is in the Association,” Boston Globe, January 17, 1891.

21 “End of the Baseball War; The Players’ League Practically Dead, and the Association at Last Secure[s] the Desired Franchise in Boston,” New York Times, January 17, 1891.

22 James Quirk and Rodney Fort, Pay Dirt: The Business of Professional Sports (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1992), 383.

23 “New Head for Association,” Boston Globe, August 6, 1891.

24 “Reduced the Price; Twenty-Five Cents Each for the Next Two Games,” Boston Globe, July 18, 1891.

25 Death notice, New York Times, September 18, 1939; “Live Tips and Topics,” Boston Globe, September 20, 1939; records of Mount Auburn Cemetery in Cambridge, Massachusetts (Glen Avenue, Lot 5759).

26 “Baseball Magnates Struggling with the Peace Problem,” Boston Globe, December 17, 1891.

27 “Plot and Counterplot; Prince Sick of Fighting the National League,” Boston Globe, December 14, 1891.

28 “Baseball Consolidation: A Single National League with Twelve Clubs to Be Formed,” New York Times, December 17, 1891.

29 “Champions Sold; Boston Reds Disposed of for $37,500,” Boston Globe, December 18, 1891.

30 “New Baseball League,” Boston Daily Advertiser, December 31, 1891.

31 “Mr. Prince Receives the First Payment,” Boston Globe, January 10, 1892. Since it is unknown what he paid Dixwell and the smaller investors for their stock positions, it is unclear if Prince made or lost money on his investment in the ballclub.

32 “Mr. C.A. Prince: His Absence Likely to Be a Long One,” Boston Daily Advertiser, June 3, 1893; “Prince Exiled: The Ex-Magnate Will Never Come Back to America,” Sporting Life, July 22, 1893.

33 Alumni file of Prince in the Harvard University Archives.

The Union Athletic Exhibition Company (UAEC) owned the ballclub, which was admitted to the Union Association on March 17, 1884.1 The UAEC was formed a week later, on March 26, with Frank Winslow as president, Frank Mullen as secretary, and treasurer, and Daniel Knowlton and George Wright joining them as directors.2 The UAEC was a stock company, which sought to raise $25,000 by selling shares at $100 each.3

The baseball club was a secondary interest of the UAEC, whose primary business was staging a wide variety of athletic events at the Dartmouth Street Grounds, a grandstand and bleachers built on an odd-shaped lot leased by the UAEC.4 Bicycle racing was the company’s primary interest, with ancillary interests in running competitions (some at night under artificial lighting), wrestling matches, and anything that would attract paying customers to the grounds.5 Winslow created the UAEC to supplement his wintertime business, an indoor roller-skating rink, with an outdoor sporting venue that would provide year-round entertainment for Boston residents.

Winslow, as president of the UAEC, is sometimes listed in modern-day baseball encyclopedias as the owner or president of the Boston Unions.6 However, this designation overstates his role in the operation of the ballclub, which was largely attending a few league meetings.7

Wright, a former player who operated the Wright & Ditson sporting-goods company, was the primary force behind the baseball operation. He should be considered the de facto president or owner of the Boston Unions rather than Winslow. Wright represented the formative ballclub at early Union Association meetings and was the club’s sole representative at the March 1884 meeting when Boston was admitted to the league.

Wright’s position as head of the Boston Unions is supported by nineteenth-century reporting as well as modern-day analysis. “George Wright will have the supervision of all matters relating to the [Boston] nine,” the New York Clipper reported in April 1884.8 A few years later, George Tuohey wrote that the Boston Unions were “under the management and control of George Wright, T.H. Murnane and Frank Winslow,” presumably listed in order of importance.9 In their 1992 book, economists James Quirk and Rodney Fort described the ownership of the Boston Unions as being a “syndicate headed by George Wright.”10

Wright’s motivation to establish the Boston Unions was not to expand the mission of the UAEC but more personal, to expand his sporting-goods business. Because the Boston club was the eighth one admitted to the Union Association (which the league desperately needed to balance out its schedule), Wright reportedly bargained to operate a ballclub in Boston in exchange for a contract for Wright & Ditson to provide the official baseball of the league.11 Wright was executing a common branding strategy of the era, “acquiring the rights to supply a top league with the ‘official’ ball.”12

Wright’s company also published the official guide for the Union Association. The Wright & Ditson’s Base Ball Guide provides another apt description of the ownership structure of the Boston Unions (as distinguished from that of the UAEC). In the “Officers and Players” section, the Guide has a blank space following the positions of president and secretary of the Boston club and lists the club’s only representative as being Tim Murnane, the field manager.13

The primary business strategy of the Boston Unions was to charge 25 cents for admission, half the fare charged by the rival National League team in Boston. However, this lower admission price failed to attract many customers. Home attendance for the Boston Unions was a skimpy 28,000 people for the entire 109-game 1884 season, one-fifth of the 146,000 people who attended games at the National League ballpark that season.

While there were no financial results published, the baseball club within the UAEC no doubt lost money. The most definitive piece of evidence is Winslow’s obituary, which stated that the Boston Unions ballclub “was not a financial success.”14 Economic historians believe no Union Association club made a profit and that the average loss for a club in the league was $15,000.15 The Boston Unions dissolved in the late fall of 1884, when the ballclub was evicted from the Union Association after it did not attend the mid-December league meeting to plan for an 1885 season.16

The deceased 10-month-old ballclub proved useful, though, in propelling forward the successful sports-oriented business careers of both Wright and Winslow. Wright & Ditson prospered as a sporting-goods company well into the 1890s.17 For Winslow, the UAEC served to complete a year-round amusement business into 1888, while Winslow’s roller-skating rink remained open until 1892.18

CHARLIE BEVIS is the author of seven books on baseball history, most recently “Red Sox vs. Braves in Boston: The Battle for Fans’ Hearts, 1901-1952” (Jefferson, North Carolina: McFarland, 2017). A member of SABR since 1984, he has contributed more than five dozen biographies to the SABR BioProject as well as several to SABR books. He is an adjunct professor of English at Rivier University in Nashua, New Hampshire.

Notes

1 “The Union Base Ball Club of This City Admitted to the Union Association,” Boston Globe, March 18, 1884.

2 “Organization of the Union Athletic Exhibition Company,” Boston Globe, March 27, 1884; “Boston Gossip,” New York Clipper, April 5, 1884.

3 “Progress and Prospects for the Union League Team,” Boston Globe, March 23, 1884.

4 “The Union Grounds: Plans for the New Athletic Park Completed,” Boston Globe, April 3, 1884.

5 The primacy of bicycle racing is seen by the grandstand being located closer to the bicycle track than to the baseball diamond, with the track bifurcating left field. Additionally, initial stock subscribers included the bicycle manufacturers Pope and Cunningham (“A New Club in Boston,” New York Clipper, March 29, 1884). Winslow was in the process of organizing the UAEC, and had secured the lease for the grounds, when Wright approached him about putting the Boston Unions under the UAEC umbrella (“Boston’s New Nine,” Boston Globe, March 9, 1884).

6 “Owner and Executive Roster,” Total Baseball: The Official Encyclopedia of Major League Baseball, 7th edition (Kingston, New York: Total Sports Publishing, 2001), 2460.

7 “Base Ball Business,” Boston Globe, July 2, 1884; “A Special Meeting,” New York Clipper, September 27, 1884.

8 “Boston Gossip,” New York Clipper, April 5, 1884.

9 George Tuohey, A History of the Boston Base Ball Club (Boston: M.F. Quinn, 1897), 83.

10 James Quirk and Rodney Fort, Pay Dirt: The Business of Professional Sports (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1992), 387.

11 Jerry Jaye Wright, “What’s in a Name? George Wright’s Influence, Favors and Deals During the Organization of the Boston Unions of 1884,” North American Society for Sport History, 1990; “The Union Association,” New York Clipper, March 22, 1884.

12 Stephen Hardy, “‘Adopted by All the Leading Clubs’: Sporting Goods and the Shaping of Leisure, 1800-1900,” in Richard Butsch, ed., For Fun and Profit: The Transformation of Leisure into Consumption (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1990), 83.

13 Wright & Ditson’s Base Ball Guide; Containing the Officers, Constitution, Playing Rules, and Players of the Union Association of Base Ball Clubs (Boston: Wright & Ditson, 1884), 48.

14 “Frank H. [sic] Winslow Is Dead,” Boston Globe, June 13, 1905.

15 Quirk and Fort, Pay Dirt, 305.

16 “Four Clubs Apply,” Boston Globe, December 19, 1884. The Union Association went out of business in January 1885 when its best team, the St. Louis Maroons, joined the National League.

17 Hardy, “‘Adopted by All the Leading Clubs,’” 87.

18 “Frank H. [sic] Winslow Is Dead.” Boston Globe, June 13, 1905.

Shortly before Christmas of 1889, about 20 men gathered at New York City’s luxurious Fifth Avenue Hotel. Although all were well dressed, there were two distinct groups. One group was youthful and in prime physical condition; the other was more mature and perhaps not so physically robust. Both were, however, there for the same purpose, a purpose more revolutionary than the venue and their affluence suggested. Their goal was to replace the existing structure of major-league baseball with a new order, one much fairer to the players who were, after all, the ones the fans paid to see. Just as the meeting was about to get underway, however, those in charge realized one of the eight clubs was not properly “organized.” While the others waited more or less impatiently, the leaders of the Brooklyn entry in this new baseball league adjourned to Parlor F and elected Wendell Goodwin president, Edward Linton vice president, John Wallace secretary, and George Chauncey treasurer. With that done, the meeting began with the Brooklyn club ready to take part in what is known to history as the Players’ League.1

Considering everything that had happened over the previous six months, it was understandable the new Brooklyn baseball owners were still completing the details of their new club. After all, it had been only on July 14 that the Brotherhood of Professional Baseball Players, also meeting at the Fifth Avenue Hotel, voted to form a new league to compete against the baseball establishment that had treated them so shabbily for so long.2 While the players had the talent to provide the best baseball possible, they lacked the financial wherewithal to build new ballparks and pay for everything else necessary to create a new league. The most likely source of those funds, beginning with $20,000 ($400,000 today) per club, was investors who, no matter how much they supported the players’ cause, were businessmen who “expected to earn a profit.”3

Further complicating the local situation was a sea change in the baseball landscape in Brooklyn, then an independent city. On November 11, Charles Byrne announced that his 1889 American Association championship club was leaving that circuit to join the National League.4 As a result, the stage was set for three teams to compete for the attention and money of Brooklyn baseball fans – the Dodgers5 plus new teams in both the American Association and the Players’ League. If there were any doubts that Charles Byrne intended to vigorously defend his market position, they were dispelled when Byrne quickly showed his “energy and grit” by signing what the Brooklyn Daily Eagle called the “cream of its champion team.”6

Apparently not intimidated, the Brooklyn Players’ League officers bought all of the required $20,000 of capital stock (10 percent down), leaving out others who supposedly wanted to invest. Prudently limiting their risk, the incorporators sold off some of their stock and some 25 shareholders wound up owning stock in the new club.8 In keeping with the new league’s philosophy, John Montgomery Ward, who would also captain the team and play shortstop, was included with the officers as a part-owner Ward, however, would have to concentrate on the on-the-field product, not to mention his role as union president. As a result, the remaining ownership responsibilities were left to the so-called “money men,” primarily Wendell Goodwin, George Chauncey and Edwin Linton.10 Like most other Players’ League owners, the Brooklyn officers were wealthy, well known in their communities and with business interests “which would directly benefit from the presence of a major league baseball team.” Other investors in the Brooklyn Players’ League team included Austin Corbin, Henry F. Robinson and George Wirth, who would become the club’s secretary. Besides Ward, one other player, Ed Andrews, purchased stock in the team.11

Ownership’s most pressing challenge was one of every baseball owner’s primary responsibilities, providing an attractive and accessible venue. Goodwin, Linton, and Chauncey’s approach to this issue speaks volumes about their motivation for investing in baseball and the probable outcome. Leading the way, although nominally only second in command, was Edward F. Linton, described as a “bundle of energy packed into a small frame” who “offended people daily,” “but was admired in spite of that, because he was so effective.”12 Born in Baltimore in 1843, Linton grew up in Massachusetts, served in the Union Army in the Civil War, and by 1877 was the owner of the immodestly named Unexcelled Fire-works Company of New York City. In 1880 he was severely burned in a fire at the company’s factory in the New Lots section of Brooklyn; that incident led to a career change with implications for the site of the Players’ League park. New Lots was originally settled in the eighteenth century by Dutch farmers. Beginning about 1855, their descendants began selling off the farmland to developers. Linton bought a farm near the last trolley stop and turned the tract into 600 housing lots. By 1890 Linton “literally owned” half of what in 1886 had become East New York, Brooklyn’s 26th Ward.13 If it wasn’t already obvious where Linton wanted the team to play its home games, Joseph Donnelly, writing in Sporting Life, removed any doubt, claiming that Linton’s “one idea is to develop the new section of the city, where his property interests lie.”14

The problem with East New York as a home for the new team was its distance from Brooklyn’s population center. Access therefore depended upon mass transit, which explained Wendell Goodwin’s interest in the new venture. Born in New Hampshire, Goodwin was a Harvard graduate who had held executive positions in ship brokerage and telegraph companies before joining the Kings County Elevated Railroad as vice president.15 Founded in 1878, the steam railroad had multiple problems before finally opening its first five miles of track in April of 1888.16 About 18 months later, on November 18, 1889, just as the Players’ League was being born, service reached East New York.17 The need to increase passenger traffic drove Goodwin’s priorities for where the new team would play. Contemporary descriptions of Goodwin suggest a charismatic, friendly person, a far better public face for the organization than the intense Linton.18

Unlike his two partners, George Chauncey at least had some baseball experience as a player with Brooklyn’s old Excelsior Club. Like Goodwin, Chauncey was very personable and “a never-failing booster of Brooklyn.”19 Chauncey also had something in common with Linton – the real estate profession, although in Chauncey’s case, it dated back to prior generations through the family owned D&M Real Estate firm, founded in 1843.20 While Chauncey’s interests were much broader than Linton’s focus on the 26th Ward, his primary motivation was real estate, not baseball. Joseph Donnelly, who didn’t seem enamored with the new club’s ownership group, conceded that Chauncey was “a good fellow” but worried that he “has so much on his hands with his real estate business.”21

The Brooklyn Players’ League club had an ownership group of clearly competent men, but their more than a little mixed motivation made their priorities a real concern. While he obviously had his own agenda, it’s no wonder Dodgers owner Charles Byrne sarcastically labeled his new competition “a purely philanthropic enterprise.”22

Ready or not, however, Goodwin, Linton, and Chauncey, along with Ward were baseball owners with all of the related responsibilities. With only about four months until Opening Day, they needed to build a ballpark, put together a roster and participate in league governance, including schedule making. At the time, finding the right site for a new ballpark was probably more difficult than actually building it because the sole advantage of the era’s wooden ballparks was the relatively short construction period. In this case, however, choosing a location wasn’t complicated because of Goodwin and Linton’s shared agenda. It’s no surprise, therefore, that the site was announced in mid-November before the ownership group was even made public.

According to the Eagle, the Ridgewood Land and Improvement Company purchased land in East New York for $88,000 which was to be leased to the Brooklyn Players’ League Club. Charles Byrne may have inadvertently brought the property to the attention of his soon-to-be rivals by previously considering the site as a home for his team. The Dodgers owner reportedly abandoned the idea because of the risk that the City of Brooklyn might put two streets through the site, a concern clearly not shared by the new owners. George Chauncey further benefited from the transaction by acting as the real estate agent on the purchase.23 Having chosen the location for their own interests, not those of their prospective fans, the new owners had an answer for any concerns about accessibility. Articles in the Brooklyn Citizen and the Eagle claimed the new park, bounded by Eastern Parkway, Vesta Street, Sutter Avenue, and Powell Street, was quite convenient by mass transit especially by – to no one’s surprise – the Kings County Elevated Railroad.24 Even with mass transit, however, the reality was that the park was “on the outer fringes of Brooklyn,” a statement equally true today.25

Having chosen the location for their new ballpark, Brooklyn Players’ League owners seemed in no particular hurry to build it. By mid-February, the architectural plans were not complete.26 At least one decision had apparently been made, however: The field would be called Atlantic Park in honor of the great Brooklyn team of baseball’s pioneer period.27 By early March, the site, according to Joseph Donnelly, was still little more than “a plain of meadow land, stretching off to the east with here and there a house to break the monotony.”28 Finally, on March 11 the Brooklyn Daily Times reported that a building permit had been issued and reports of construction that would supposedly cost $45,000 ($900,000 today) began appearing in the newspapers.29 Such reports, however, quickly got ahead of reality. Donnelly, after reading stories that the bleachers were up and the grandstand almost complete, made a personal visit only to find that “a spade had not been put in the ground.”30 Brooklyn’s experience was not unique as the Eagle reported that only three of the new Players’ League parks were “advancing towards completion” while Brooklyn and three others had “yet to be begun.”31

An exhibition game was scheduled for early April, but only a few seats were ready and the field itself was so much “slush,” that the Eagle said the game would “have to be played in mud” that was “ankle deep.”32 In spite of this dire prediction, not only was the game played, some 2,500 fans attended in what was standing room only, but not for the usual reasons. In what was intended as a positive note, the Eagle reporter mentioned that the park was less than 35 minutes from the Brooklyn Bridge with no need to change trains, so the new team should “obtain an equal share of the baseball patronage.”33 Amid the construction delays came news that the new grounds would not be called Atlantic Park after all, because too many saloonkeepers had co-opted the name. Instead, the new field would be called Eastern Park.34 Only two days before the April 25 opener, the grandstand was still not finished, but at least the chairs had been installed a day earlier in a facility now reported to have cost $150,000 ($3 million today).35 Rain washed out the home opener, but on April 28 Eastern Park opened with a 3-1 Brooklyn victory over Philadelphia.36 While it hadn’t happened in a timely manner, the Brooklyn owners had met their responsibility of providing a venue, albeit one whose accessibility was questionable. Attendance, however, would also depend on the schedule and the quality of the team.

While the Players’ League ballparks were not built quickly, signing players to play in them was another matter. On December 17, 1889, the New York Sun reported that almost 100 players had signed with the new league, at least 10 per team with Brooklyn inking 11.37 Since the players’ main grievances were against the National League, those clubs’ rosters were the new league’s primary target. In the end, former National League players outnumbered American Association alumni 3 to 1, but interestingly, on the Brooklyn club it was more like 50-50.38 Nor did Ward limit himself to major leaguers, signing minor leaguer Bill Joyce on the recommendation of Charles Comiskey. Joyce played third base for Brooklyn in 1890 and went on to have a solid major-league career.39 All told, Ward put together a strong lineup for the team that would be known as Ward’s Wonders. Ward’s very presence in Brooklyn was no small accomplishment. Legal action was necessary to release him from any obligation to the New York Giants even when he was supposedly headed to the Players’ League New York counterpart before being shifted to Brooklyn, perhaps to help attract investors.40

Among those signed by Brooklyn were pitchers Gus Weyhing, a 30-game winner with a 2.95 ERA, Lou Bierbauer, a .300-hitting second baseman, and first baseman Dave Orr, a .300 hitter in Brooklyn in 1888 who would perform even better in his return engagement. Perhaps the most creative signing was that of George Van Haltren, who pitched for Chicago in 1887 and 1888 before hitting .322 as an outfielder in 1889. The versatile player would fill both roles for the Brooklyn team in 1890. Although players would not receive their new, and presumably higher, salaries until spring, by February Sporting Life estimated that Brooklyn had paid $4,000 to $5,000 in advances. The source was the owners’ payment of the balance due on the initial capitalization of $20,000, all of which had reportedly been paid.41 Ward and the team could not hold on to Jerry Denny and Jack Glasscock, two solid players who decided to remain in the National League.42

Of all the decisions the new league had to make, none was arguably more important than the schedule. The Players’ League had already made a fateful decision in that regard by placing seven of its eight teams in direct competition with National League clubs, destroying not only the established leagues’ territorial monopoly, but also denying themselves a similar advantage.43 It’s difficult today to appreciate the importance of the schedule at a time when ticket sales were by far the primary source of revenue. This was magnified even further in Brooklyn and the rest of the Sabbath-observing East where baseball was prohibited on Sunday, the one day most people were off from work. Competition for holiday games and other prime dates was so fierce that debate on the 1888 National League schedule lasted 12 hours, until 3:00 A.M.44

While the process in the two established leagues had been substantially improved thanks to the Dodgers’ Charles Byrne and Charles Ebbets, the addition of a new league added the further complication of head-to-head competition.45 Initially the National League was hampered by its 10-club makeup and its original schedule averaged 40 head-to-head conflicts with Players’ League teams.46 When, however, the senior league bought out two franchises, it revamped its schedule to follow the same strategy it used to defeat the Union Association in 1884 – as much direct competition as possible.47 The result was 58 direct conflicts in Brooklyn with only Boston (60) and New York (63) having more.48 As John Ward told the Eagle, the National League “seems to have declared war to the knife.”49 The new Brooklyn team in the American Association wanted no part of head-to-head matchups with either league and had only 25 conflicts out of 70 scheduled home games.50

In response the new league called a special meeting to consider whether to change its schedule, but decided not to (Brooklyn concurring). The players preferred direct competition and both owners and players appreciated that any changes would simply be met by similar National League adjustments.51 It was a significant decision, especially given the nature of contemporary schedules. Because traveling was so time-consuming, teams alternated long homestands with equally long road trips. Had the two leagues chosen the continuous baseball approach used today, each league would have had a captive market when the other team was away. Instead there would be long periods of head-to-head competition, followed by gaps without any major-league baseball. It was a decision Linton, Chauncey, and Goodwin would have reason to regret.

By mid-April the schedule was in place, ready to serve as a measuring stick for the owners’ decisions about the ballpark and the roster. Considering how the workers scrambled to finish Eastern Park, it was a good thing Brooklyn opened the season with a five-game series in Boston. After losing three of the five, Ward’s team opened Eastern Park on April 28, defeating Philadelphia 3-1 before a crowd of between 2,500 (The Sun) and 4,750 (Brooklyn Citizen).52 Although the Wonders were only 4-4 on April 30, they got going in May, compiling a 17-9 record that left them only one game behind first-place Boston. June, however, was not as kind to Brooklyn and a 10-15 record dropped them five games off the pace.

Ward’s team got hot in July, and the Wonders stayed in the thick of the race through August while never quite catching front-running Boston. Brooklyn fans who hoped for an exciting stretch drive were doomed to disappointment, however. Only 1½ games back on August 31, the Wonders fell off the pace during the first 10 days of September, finally finishing 6½ games behind Boston. While Brooklyn didn’t win the Players’ League flag, the team gave its fans plenty of winning baseball, going 46-19 at home.

No matter how many games the team won, however, its long-term viability depended on how many people paid to watch. After some encouraging numbers for the first six games, attendance quickly dropped. According to figures published in the Eagle, Sun, and Citizen, only four of the next 19 home games attracted crowds of 1,000 or more. After the June 9 game, the team stopped releasing attendance figures, but the Sun vowed to publish its own estimates.53 At least some of the Players’ League magnates were having second thoughts about going head to head with the National League. At an owners meeting on May 30-31, prompted by the Pittsburgh club, the subject was reconsidered, but there was a 6-to-2 vote against making a change. While the individual votes were not released, it appears Brooklyn was with the majority.54

If the schedule wasn’t going to change, the next alternative to attract fans was to cut ticket prices, but both the Dodgers’ and Wonders’ owners denied reports that this would happen.55 No longer on the scene was the new Brooklyn American Association team, which disbanded on August 25.56 Both the contemporary media and historians agree that the official attendance figures were, in historian Charles Alexander’s words, “shamelessly exaggerated.”57 While the Brooklyn Players’ League figures will never be known, a compilation of media estimates and team-announced figures put Eastern Park attendance at about 80,000, some 40,000 less than that of the pennant-winning Dodgers. It was, however, a pyrrhic victory for Charles Byrne, whose club had drawn over 353,000 fans just a year earlier.58

Just before the home opener, a reporter had asked Ward if 1,500 paying customers per game would cover expenses. While the Brooklyn captain claimed not to have done the math, he said the club had total expenses of $75,000 ($1.5 million today). On that basis, the reporter calculated the club would lose $10,000 ($200,000), so obviously average attendance of just over 1,200, if accurate, meant even worse financial results.59 Any doubts about the seriousness of the club’s financial situation were eliminated by reports of liens of about $16,000 ($320,000 today) filed against the Ridgewood Land Company for unpaid construction bills.60 Clearly some of the debts were due to the failure of the club to pay the $7,500 ($150,000) rent.61

Had this sea of red ink been limited to Brooklyn, the overall Players’ League might have been salvageable, but unfortunately for the players and their cause, league secretary Frank Brunell estimated that only one of the eight clubs (Boston) made money. Total losses were estimated at $125,000 ($2.5 million). Brooklyn supposedly lost $19,000 ($380,000). The highest losses, $20,000 ($400,000), were posted by Buffalo, Pittsburgh, and Philadelphia. Nor were the deficits limited to the new league. Brunell put total National League losses at an even greater $231,000 ($4,620,000), including a $25,000 ($500,000) deficit at Brooklyn’s Washington Park.62 No owner could have been satisfied with the situation, but the most shocked were likely the financial backers of the Players’ League who, according to James Hardy, had made the “incredible assumption that professional baseball was el dorado” when “it was just the opposite.”63 The reality was that late nineteenth century baseball was a highly competitive business, in which it was hard to make money. This was even more true for owners like the Brooklyn group, who made baseball decisions based largely on their nonbaseball interests.

Since few, if any, of the owners in the new league had unlimited wealth, it’s no surprise that the Players’ League owners were readily available when National League owners offered to discuss the situation at a “peace meeting” on October 9, 1890.64 While there may have been multiple options, the Dodgers’ Charles Byrne had already launched a preemptive strike, claiming in the Sun that the only solution was one team per city.65 Although the players, especially John Ward, wanted a place at the table, it soon became clear that National League owners could and would prevent this. With that resolved, the only question was how to restore peace to the baseball world. Charles Byrne argued that the best approach was direct negotiations between competing clubs instead of leaguewide discussions.66 That, as Byrne doubtless intended, put the future of major-league baseball in Brooklyn in the hands of those with the most to gain or lose.

Writing many years later, historian Harold Seymour claimed that Wendell Goodwin’s presence at the October 9 meeting signaled that he was “primarily interested in salvaging” things for himself and his associates.67 Much closer to the event, Frank Brunell, doubtless with more than a little bitterness, said the Brooklyn and New York owners caved in for “selfish reasons.”68 And, to remove any doubt, Goodwin in early December acknowledged that it was his “business to look out for that road [Kings County Elevated Railroad]” and he would “look out for [it] in making a settlement.”69 It wasn’t as if there were a lot of options, as Dodgers co-owner Ferdinand Abell told the New York Clipper. One party could buy the other one out or they could consolidate into one club.70 The possibility of the Players’ League group buying out Byrne, Abell, and company was more than a little alarming to Joseph Donnelly, who feared that the dominance of real estate and railroad interests made it unlikely that major-league baseball in Brooklyn would “prosper” under their leadership.71 The scribe needn’t have worried: The combination of losses already incurred and a purchase price of $125,000 ($2.5 million today) basically eliminated that possibility.72

Byrne and his partners, doubtless sensing the Players’ League’s weak negotiating position, likely saw no benefit in buying out their rivals. Instead they proposed a consolidation where the Players’ League group would get a minority position in a Dodgers team that would continue to play at Washington Park.73 Considering, as the Eagle reminded its readers, that Goodwin and company got involved only to further their interests in the 26th Ward, playing at Washington Park quickly became “the only difficulty” preventing a settlement.74 A Dodgers move to East New York, however, found few supporters, with the Sun warning that if the club made the move, “about all it will draw will be the cold sea breeze in the spring and fall.”75 Adding to the chorus of those opposed to the possibility were fans, sending “letters by the score daily” urging the club to remain at Washington Park.76 To this day, why Byrne and his partners even considered the possibility is hard to understand, especially since the Players’ League group in debt and without a league had an extremely weak negotiating position. In spite of the strength of the Dodgers’ position, however, the Eagle claimed that if the Players’ League owners paid the “full cost of the change” to Eastern Park, the consolidation could take place.77 After proposing $50,000 ($1 million) as the “full cost,” Byrne compromised on $40,000 ($800,000) with $30,000 in 30 days and an additional $10,000 in the spring. The transaction took the form of a new corporation with $250,000 in capital stock. The Dodgers owners held $126,000 and the Players’ League group owned a minority position of $124,000.79 As Byrne explained it to the Eagle, the new corporation then made a separate agreement with Goodwin and his partners to move the team to Eastern Park for $40,000.80

The proposed terms were agreed on by early January of 1891, but anyone who thought the deal was done hadn’t reckoned with “the grumbler among the East New Yorkers,” one Edward Linton.81 After Goodwin presented the proposal at a shareholders meeting on January 5, Linton was reportedly on his feet, calling the arrangement “outrageous and foolish,” one that would not benefit from his money. Unlike almost everyone else in baseball, the disgruntled director claimed the Players’ League was not dead and would likely form a new league with the American Association.82 Arguments to the contrary probably carried little weight with Linton, who earlier argued that a “league” of just four teams, two each in Brooklyn and New York, “would have the greatest season” in baseball history.83 Linton even said that rather than accept the proposed consolidation, he was willing to assume all of the risks and use his own money to move forward.84 There was, however, more than a little fine print in Linton’s proposal. It depended upon “a nominal rent” for Eastern Park and “a moderate subsidy” from the Kings County Elevated Railroad.85 Linton, however, was not all talk; he stopped the proposed deal by getting a temporary injunction.86 It was also suggested that George Chauncey, who was not named in the injunction, also opposed the deal.87

Goodwin and Byrne, however, were not impressed with Linton’s antics. According to Goodwin, the majority of the board believed Linton just wanted to be bought out while Byrne asserted that it was “hard to treat seriously anything [Linton] says or does in the matter.” Byrne added that he had previously met with Linton, who demanded to be bought out for $3,500 ($70,000) or he would make trouble.88 Obviously, the best solution was to be rid of Linton and that’s what happened when he was paid about $8,300 ($166,000 today) for his stock, advances, and stock held by his friends. If the claim was correct – that Linton received full value for a friend’s stock that Linton had purchased at half-price – the value of his friendship was more than a little questionable.89 Some even speculated that Linton waited until Goodwin got a deal that benefited Linton’s real estate interests before forcing the buyout.90 While there were rumors that Chauncey would also try to force a buyout, in the end he, as well as Goodwin and some of the others, became Dodgers stockholders until Charles Ebbets bought them out in late 1897.91 Finally on February 7, 1891, the Players’ League Club board approved the agreement, ending the Brooklyn chapter of the 1890 baseball war. Obviously, it had not been a good year for major-league baseball in Brooklyn and the prospects for the future were far from certain. Most of the city’s baseball fans, however, probably cared more about an Eagle headline that read: “Get Ready for Baseball.”92

JOHN G. ZINN is the chairman of the board of the New Jersey Historical Society. He is a two-time winner of SABR’s Ron Gabriel Award in 2019 for his book “Charles Ebbets: The Man Behind the Dodgers and Brooklyn’s Beloved Ballpark” and in 2014 for “Ebbets Field: Essays and Memories of Brooklyn’s Historic Ballpark, 1913-1960,” co-authored with Paul Zinn. He was also honored in 2020 with the SABR Russell Gabay Award, which honors entities or persons who have demonstrated an ongoing commitment to baseball in New Jersey.

Notes

1 “The Fifth Avenue Hotel,” boweryboyshistory.com/2012/1/fifth-avenue-hotel-opulence-atop.html; Evening World, Third Edition, December 16, 1889: 1.

2 Charles Alexander, Turbulent Seasons: Baseball in 1890-1891, (Dallas: Southern Methodist University Press, 2011), 14.

3 Robert B. Ross, The Great Baseball Revolt: The Rise and Fall of the 1890 Players League, (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2016), 89-90. Alexander, 25, assumes a 20-to-1 relationship.

4 Alexander, 16.

5 This team name is used because it is the enduring nickname of the franchise. There were a number of team nicknames over the years, all assigned by newspapers until the Brooklyn National League Baseball Club formally adopted Dodgers in 1932.

6 Brooklyn Daily Eagle, November 10, 1889: 1.

7 Brooklyn Daily Eagle, December 6, 1889: 6; December 11, 1889: 1.

8 Sporting Life, January 10, 1891: 3.

9 Brooklyn Daily Eagle, December 11, 1889: 1.

10 Alexander, 28-29.

11 Ross, 90, 106-107.

12 brownstoner.com/history/walkabout-the-landord-of-east-new-york-part-4/.

13 brownstoner.com/history/walkabout-the-landlord-of-east-new-york-part-1/.

14 Sporting Life, December 18, 1889: 2.

15 Boston Journal, second edition, March 3, 1898: 10; Brooklyn Daily Eagle, March 5, 1898, 5.

16 Brooklyn Daily Eagle, April 21, 1888: 6; April 24, 1888: 6.

17 Brooklyn Daily Eagle, November 19, 1889: 1.

18 Standard Union, March 4, 1898: 1; New York Times, March 6, 1898: 15.

19 Brooklyn Daily Eagle, April 16, 1926: 1.

20 Brooklyn Daily Eagle, October 11, 1891: 11.

21 Sporting Life, December 18, 1889: 2.

22 Brooklyn Daily Eagle, December 12, 1889: 6.

23 Brooklyn Daily Eagle, November 19, 1889: 1; Brooklyn Citizen, February 14, 1891: 3. The extent of joint ownership in the team and the real estate company isn’t clear, but Chauncey was its president. Other investors in what was described as a syndicate were Edward McAlpin and Edward Talcott, who were also owners of the New York entry in the Players’ League.

24 Brooklyn Citizen, November 19, 1889: 6, Brooklyn Daily Eagle, December 11, 1889: 1.

25 Ross, 129.

26 Brooklyn Daily Eagle, February 16, 1890: 11.

27 Sporting Life, February 19, 1890: 5.

28 Sporting Life, March 5, 1890: 2.

29 Brooklyn Daily Times, March 11, 1890: 1, Brooklyn Citizen, March 11, 1890: 1

30 Sporting Life, March 19, 1890: 4.

31 Brooklyn Daily Eagle, March 13, 1890: 1.

32 Brooklyn Daily Eagle, April 10, 1890: 2.

33 Brooklyn Daily Eagle, April 11, 1890: 1.

34 Brooklyn Daily Eagle, April 12, 1890: 1.

35 Brooklyn Daily Eagle, April 23, 1890: 2.

36 Brooklyn Daily Eagle, April 27, 1890: 20.

37 The Sun, December 17, 1889: 4.

38 Alexander, 35, 46.

39 sabr.org/bioproj/person/26fc29e0.

40 Ross, xiii-xvi, 108.

41 Sporting Life, February 12, 1890: 5.

42 Ross, 118-119.

43 Ross, 160.

44 Brooklyn Daily Eagle, March 4, 1888: 16.

45 John G. Zinn, Charles Ebbets: The Man Behind the Dodgers and Brooklyn’s Beloved Ballpark, (Jefferson, North Carolina: McFarland & Co, 2019), 21-22.

46 Sporting Life, March 12, 1890: 1; March 19, 1890: 1.

47 Zinn, 25.

48 Alexander, 48.

49 Brooklyn Daily Eagle, March 23, 1890: 2.

50 Brooklyn Daily Eagle, March 14, 1890: 6; March 17, 1890, 1.

51 Sporting Life, April 5, 1890: 8.

52 The Sun, April 29, 1890: 4; Brooklyn Citizen, April 29, 1890: 3.

53 The Sun, June 10, 1890: 4.

54 The Sun, June 1, 1890: 5.

55 Brooklyn Daily Eagle, July 21, 1890: 2; August 7, 1890: 2.

56 David Nemec, The Beer and Whiskey League: The Illustrated History of the American Association – Baseball’s Renegade Major League (Guilford, Connecticut: Lyons Press, 2004), 188-89, 197.

57 Alexander, 60; Brooklyn Daily Eagle, September 8, 1890: 1.

58 Brooklyn Daily Eagle, September 16, 1890: 2; John Thorn, Pete Palmer, Michael Gershman, and David Pietrusza, eds., Total Baseball: The Official Encyclopedia of Major League Baseball, Sixth Edition (New York: Total Sports, 1999), 105.

59 The Sun, April 27, 1890: 5.

60 Brooklyn Daily Eagle, September 8, 1890: 1; The Sun, September 10, 1890: 4.

61 Brooklyn Daily Eagle, February 12, 1891: 6.

62 Ross, 184; Sporting Life, November 22, 1890: 6.

63 James D. Hardy, The New York Giants Baseball Club: The Growth of a Team and a Sport, 1870-1900 (Jefferson, North Carolina: McFarland & Company, 1996), 133.

64 Ross, 183.

65 The Sun, October 8, 1890: 4.

66 Ross, 188, 190-192.

67 Harold Seymour, Baseball: The Early Years, (New York: Oxford University Press, 1960), 240.

68 Hardy, 130.

69 The Sun, December 4, 1890: 4.

70 New York Clipper, October 25, 1890: 521.

71 Sporting Life, November 15, 1890: 5.

72 The Sun, January 8, 1891: 6.

73 The Sun, January 8, 1891: 6; Brooklyn Daily Eagle, November 13, 1890: 6.

74 Brooklyn Daily Eagle, December 7, 1890: 8.

75 The Sun, December 9, 1890: 4.

76 Sporting Life, January 3, 1891: 7.

77 Brooklyn Daily Eagle, December 7, 1890: 8.

78 The Sun, January 8, 1891: 8; Brooklyn Daily Eagle, January 7, 1891: 6. In the end, Byrne and his partners received only $22,000 of the $40,000, making the deal look even worse in retrospect. Zinn, 31.

79 The Sun, January 8, 1891, 6.

80 Brooklyn Daily Eagle, January 8, 1891, 6.

81 Sporting Life, January 10, 1891: 9.

82 The Sun, January 6, 1891: 4.

83 The Sun, December 3, 1890: 4.

84 Brooklyn Daily Eagle, January 7, 1891: 6.

85 New York Herald, January 8, 1891: 8.

86 Brooklyn Daily Eagle, January 7, 1891: 6.

87 The Sun, January 7, 1891: 4.

88 Brooklyn Daily Eagle, January 8, 1891: 6.

89 The Sun, January 28, 1891: 4.

90 The Sun, January 24, 1891: 4; January 28, 1891: 4.

91 Zinn, 34.

92 Brooklyn Daily Eagle, February 8, 1891: 8.

1882 Buffalo Bisons team portrait. Players are: outside, clockwise from top: Hardy Richardson, second baseman, Davy Force, shortstop, Pud Galvin, pitcher, Deacon White, third baseman, Purcell, left fielder, Tom Dolan, catcher, Jack Rowe, catcher, Foley, right fielder. Inside, clockwise from top: O’Rourke, manager, Dan Brouthers, first baseman, One Arm Daily, pitcher. (Courtesy of the Boston Public Library, Michael T. “Nuf Ced” McGreevy Collection)

Competing in the National League from 1879 to 1885, the Buffalo, New York, ballclub was relatively successful on the playing field, posting a winning record five times during its seven-year tenure. The club, though, consistently struggled to achieve financial success, earning a decent operating profit in just one of those seven years. The lasting legacy of this defunct Buffalo ballclub was its leadership in scheduling holiday doubleheaders and the use of discounted-ticket practices to attract women and children to the ballpark. 

The origin of the 1879 Buffalo NL club was the Buffalo Base Ball Association (BBBA), organized in July 1877, which operated an independent professional team and turned a small $490 operating profit for the 1877 season. The BBBA was a stock company, with “the capital stock of the club mainly invested in its ball grounds and improvements, costing between $4,000 and $5,000.” This ballpark, built in 1878, was located two miles north of downtown Buffalo on leased land along Rhode Island Street, between Fargo Avenue and West Avenue. This facility was known as the Buffalo Base Ball Grounds for its first four years of existence.1

The financial goal of the BBBA in 1877 and 1878 was to break even, not necessarily to turn a profit, a common practice in the pre-professional days of the city’s vaunted Niagara amateur ballclub, where club members stood ready to backstop any shortfall in baseball operations if necessary. This break-even philosophy carried over to the BBBA in 1879, where the club directors were more sportsman than businessman and the stockholders were the financial safety net.

For the 1878 baseball season, the BBBA placed a Buffalo team in the International Association and finished the season as league champion. Financially, though, the BBBA posted a $200 operating loss in 1878 as $16,795 of disbursements exceeded the $16,595 of total receipts. (These figures do not include the construction costs of the ballpark or the cash received from stock sales.) Admission to the Buffalo ballpark in 1878 cost just 25 cents, with an additional 15 cents for grandstand seating.2

For the 1879 season, Edward B. Smith was named president of the BBBA, with John B. Sage the vice president, Edward R. Spaulding the treasurer, and Henry S. Sprague the secretary. The seven-man board of directors consisted of Smith, Sage, Spaulding, Sprague, Howard H. Baker, John Van Velsor, and John R. Kenny. Four of the directors – Smith, Sage, Spaulding, and Van Velsor – were former ballplayers on the old Niagara club, steeped in the city’s sportsman attitude toward competitive baseball. Smith’s occupation was insurance agent, while Sage worked as a lithographer.3

In December 1878 the BBBA directors voted to apply for membership in the National League, reasoning that “the only place for a first-class club is the League,” despite the serious financial risk associated with the “increase of the price of [ballpark] admission to fifty cents,” the minimum level permitted by the League. The Buffalo Commercial Advertiser expressed concern that “a great many of those who cheerfully paid 25 or 40 cents to see the games last season will decline to go next season if the prices are 50 and 65 cents.” With Smith and Sage both in attendance, the National League ballclub owners voted at a December 1878 league meeting to accept the Buffalo ballclub for the 1879 season.4

In March 1879 Sage and Smith switched positions, with Sage becoming the president for the remainder of the 1879 season and Smith assuming the role of vice president. In modern histories of the Buffalo ballclub, Smith is often erroneously referred to as the president for the entire 1879 season, likely because the Spalding Guide published the original slate of club officers.5

The BBBA acquiesced to the league-mandated ballpark admission charge of 50 cents in 1879, but lowered the supplemental cost for grandstand seating to 10 cents so that the top cost for the best seats was just 60 cents for the club’s inaugural National League season. Since this was a 50 percent increase from the 1878 cost of 40 cents, many people did balk at paying the higher price to attend one of the 42 home games on the 1879 schedule. In June the BBBA began selling a $4 ticket good for 10 admissions plus a free scorecard each time. This lowered the total cost for one game to 50 cents (40 cents general admission, 10 cents grandstand, free scorecard), which was just 5 cents more than the 45 cents it had cost in 1878 (25 cents general admission, 15 cents grandstand, 5 cents for scorecard).6

Since Sunday ballgames were prohibited by both New York state law and National League policy, there was only one surefire big attendance date on the Buffalo home schedule – the Independence Day holiday, when everyone had the day off from work and could go to the ballpark. At the holiday game on July 4, 1879, the BBBA announced that 3,315 people had filed through the turnstiles at the Buffalo Base Ball Grounds. While this was the largest crowd of the 1879 season, it wasn’t enough to reverse the dour financial outlook facing the BBBA.7

At a special BBBA stockholder meeting in August, Smith estimated “that $3,000 would be required to place the club on a sound financial basis and carry it through in good shape to the commencement of the next season.” The stockholders agreed to a voluntary $20 subscription by each of the 150 or so stockholders, in exchange for free admission to all ballgames in 1880. They also requested that the directors “urge the League” to adopt an admission policy of 25 cents, which they saw as the key to the BBBA’s financial success.8

The Buffalos (as the team was then called by the press before the Bisons nickname became popular) finished in third place in the National League standings at the end of the 1879 season, on the strength of the right arm of pitcher Pud Galvin. While the BBBA’s $3,000 expected deficit was covered by stockholder subscriptions, this approach was not a sustainable fiscal policy for the future. Buffalo, though, was not alone in its financial plight.

Since nearly every National League ballclub lost money in 1879, the club owners met in Buffalo in late September to discuss ways to improve profitability. Sage represented Buffalo at this meeting, where the discussion focused on how to rein in player salaries. The owners adopted several restrictions, the most egregious being the five-man rule, which stipulated that “each club will name five men of their present team who should be inviolate, that is no other club could have a right to approach or sign them without the consent of said club.” This initial vestige of the reserve clause in the future standard player contract negated player leverage in salary negotiations and effectively constrained salaries.9

At the December league meeting, Sage and Smith proposed resolutions to lower the league’s mandated 50-cent admission charge, since the BBBA still viewed this as a revenue impediment. While their proposals were voted down, the other club owners did stipulate that the 50-cent levy applied just to “each adult person,” which gave Buffalo some room to maneuver (especially with its then understood male-only implication). While the BBBA directors considered leaving the National League to return to the lower-status International Association, they decided to remain in the League by accepting the operating principle that “the kind of people whom it is desired to attract are they who are willing to maintain honorable sport by paying a liberal price toward its support.”10

For the 1880 season, the same slate of officers and directors was reelected to operate the BBBA, with Sage in charge of securing players. The five-man rule was of little help, though, as catcher John Clapp and pitcher Galvin both jumped to non-League clubs. Sage did retain Hardy Richardson and Jack Rowe, one-half of the vaunted Big Four of future incarnations of the Buffalo team. Sage eventually had to overpay Galvin to get him to return to the Buffalo team in late spring.11

The 1880 season was dismal: Buffalo finished in seventh place in the league standings and the BBBA incurred a sizable financial loss in the ledger books. In early September, the Buffalo Express reported that “it will take about $1,500 to run the team through the rest of the season.” Stockholders were approached for another round of subscriptions, as the directors hoped to raise $5,000 not only to cover the 1880 deficit but also to provide an economic cushion for 1881.12

On the salary-reduction front, Smith objected to the continuation of the five-man reserve rule at an early October league meeting. “Mr. Smith of Buffalo was opposed to the rule,” the New York Clipper reported. “The Buffalo representative opposed it vigorously and made a desperate fight, but he was outnumbered.” It was a last-ditch effort by sportsman Smith to salvage player rights. However, his stance was in opposition to that of many BBBA stockholders, who believed salary reduction was the easiest way to improve club profitability, since salaries typically equaled half of club expenses. Smith did not remain club vice president for much longer.13

On the same night as the league meeting, the BBBA stockholders demonstrated their lost confidence in Smith and Sage by voting to make sweeping changes in the board of directors for the 1881 season. The stockholders ousted all seven men on the existing board and replaced them with more business-minded men. The board of directors for 1881 consisted of Josiah Jewett, James Moffat, Spencer Clinton, John Bush, Albert Jones, James Mugridge, and Richard Evans Jr. The new board named Jewett as president and Moffat as vice president, with Elihu Spencer the secretary and George Hughson the treasurer.14

Jewett came from a wealthy family that operated a stove manufacturing business as well as the Bank of Buffalo. Moffat operated a local brewery (which bottled Moffat’s Pale Ale) while Hughson was engaged in real estate. Jewett and the other BBBA directors differed from prior management. They were capitalists and operators of midsized commercial enterprises, whereas Smith and Sage were small-business owners and sportsmen actively engaged in archery and riflery clubs as well as the baseball club. Jewett’s group believed the BBBA should be a profit-making operation, not a sporting venture, to generate national recognition and thus enhance opportunity for Buffalo businessmen.15

The new officers of the BBBA relinquished many of the baseball-related functions performed by the previous management (including salary negotiation with the players) and delegated them to a professional manager. They initially hired Frank Bancroft, who had excelled as full-time nonplayer manager of the Worcester ballclub in 1880. However, Bancroft jilted Buffalo and instead took the manager job with the Detroit team. The BBBA then hired Jim O’Rourke to perform the same mission (despite O’Rourke being a player-manager), which resulted in the team being stronger on the field, with the acquisition of Deacon White and Dan Brouthers, the second half of the Big Four, and the BBBA becoming more financially viable.16

One of the first financial matters undertaken by the new management was to increase the BBBA’s capital stock by $2,000 to bring the total outstanding capital stock to $7,000. It’s not clear how many shares of the $50 stock were actually bought, nor what management did with the money.17

A second important financial matter initiated in 1881 was the addition of a second game on the Independence Day holiday, the biggest payday on the Buffalo home schedule. On July 4, 1881, Buffalo played morning and afternoon games against the Troy, New York, ballclub. This twin bill was “the first separate-admission morning-afternoon two-game set on the Independence Day holiday” in major-league history. The combined attendance for both games was reported to be 4,248 people, roughly 15 percent of the club’s total home attendance for the entire season. For the remainder of its existence, whether the BBBA earned a financial profit for the season was highly dependent upon home gate receipts from the Independence Day twin bill.18

Hughson, the BBBA treasurer, released a detailed 1881 financial statement to the Buffalo press. The statement showed total receipts of $28,632 and total disbursements of $25,954, which ostensibly indicated a net profit of $2,678 (the “cash on hand” at end of period). However, contained within the receipts was a line for “stock subscriptions” equaling $4,465, and within disbursements a line for “paid 1880 club for lease and property” equaling $1,842. The net of these two items totals $2,623 – the actual net cash infusion from stockholder subscriptions – and comprises 98 percent of Hughson’s specified $2,678 profit. More realistically, therefore, operating profit totaled just $55, essentially a breakeven year for the BBBA with its third-place Buffalos team.19

1878 Buffalo Bisons, International League champions. Back row: Tom Dolan, Dick Allen, Bill McGunnigle, Pud Galvin. Middle: Bill Crowley, Dave Eggler, Steve Libby, Chick Fulmer, Denny Mack. Front row: Davy Force, Trick McSorley. (Public Domain)

For the 1882 season, Jewett and Moffat retained their respective positions in the BBBA as president and vice president. Spencer was quietly eased out as secretary, with that position now combined with the treasurer. Hughson now held both offices. This three-man officer lineup remained unchanged into the 1885 season.20

The BBBA engaged in two publicity schemes in 1882 to encourage more Buffalo businessmen to leave their office early to attend an afternoon ballgame. The Buffalo Base Ball Grounds was renamed to be Riverside Park, evoking a pastoral image despite the fact that the ballpark was several blocks away from the Niagara River. The Buffalo press was also encouraged to refer to the team as the Bisons, evoking more cachet than the generic Buffalos. While there had been sporadic references to Bisons in previous years, the nickname gained general acceptance in 1882.21

Discounted admission for women and children was a promotional strategy rolled out late in the season, a novel interpretation of the league’s 50-cent admission requirement for “each adult person.” The BBBA promoted Children’s Day with special admission pricing at the Saturday, September 2, ballgame “when all youngsters under 15 years of age will be admitted for ten cents.” The presumption was that happy youngsters would then encourage adult men in their family to attend future games at full price. The Children’s Day promotion continued the following three Saturdays.22

On September 16, ladies day was added to the 10-cent admission policy on Children’s Day, when 600 women and kids reportedly attended the Bisons game. There was a second ladies day the following Saturday, September 23, when women were admitted for 35 cents. The presumption for adult women was that it would be scandalous for them to sit alone in the grandstand, so they would arrange for a male to escort them and buy a full-price ticket. This was a full nine months before the generally accepted popularization of ladies day by the New York Giants in the summer of 1883, when women were admitted free when accompanied by a gentleman paying full-price admission to the grandstand.23

The 1882 season was the first (and only) time that the BBBA earned a significant operating profit, after three years of needing ad hoc stockholder subscriptions to offset net losses or bolster a breakeven status. Citing a brief summary provided by Hughson, the Buffalo Courier reported that “the receipts for the season were $34,166.63 and the disbursements $27,526.11, leaving a net profit of $6,640.52.” Since the receipts likely included the year-end $2,678 cash on hand of the 1881 financial statement noted above, the true operating profit during 1882 was undoubtedly closer to $3,962, still a sizable result.24

The Jewett-Moffat-Hughson regime seemingly was all in with the National League’s reserve rule to depress player salaries and thus lower ballclub expenses, which no doubt assisted in creating this zenith of BBBA profitability (even though no salary expenditure figures were provided by Hughson). While 1882 was a good year financially for the third-place Bisons, this was the last year the BBBA publicly disseminated any specific financial information.

For the 1883 season, the National League admitted two new ballclubs located in New York City and Philadelphia, the nation’s two largest cities. This was good news for the BBBA, as the additions enhanced the League’s national image and could help attract more patrons to Buffalo ballgames. However, to make room for these two new cities, the League jettisoned the Worcester and Troy clubs (having had the lowest home attendance counts in the League). This was not a good sign for Buffalo’s future, as the Bisons had the sixth-best attendance in 1882, barely above that of Worcester or Troy.25

BBBA management was hamstrung from the outset to try to earn a profit in 1883, because the National League schedule did not contain any holiday home dates for Buffalo. The incoming New York and Philadelphia ballclubs got preferential treatment, receiving home dates for holiday twin bills on both Decoration Day and Independence Day. The lack of the usual big holiday gate on Independence Day was a huge burden for Buffalo to overcome. The expansion of the league schedule to 49 home games in 1883 (seven additional games) was small consolation.26

The BBBA introduced special grandstand-seat pricing for women to attend Buffalo ballgames on a regular basis in 1883, rather than continue the ad hoc promotion of ladies day. “Ladies’ coupon tickets, in packages of five, will be sold for $3,” the Buffalo Commercial Advertiser reported, “but with each package sold will be presented a package of five more, so that in reality the price of ladies’ tickets will be but 30 cents each,” 50 percent off the standard cost of 60 cents for grandstand admission that the women’s expected male companion would pay.27

Children’s Day with its 10-cent admission continued to be a regular event in 1883, with the promotion offered at most Saturday home games at Riverside Park.28

While the Bisons finished in fifth place in the 1883 league standings, Buffalo experienced by far the lowest home attendance of any ballclub in the National League. Hughson, the BBBA treasurer, released no specific numbers for the 1883 season, saying the financial situation was “a little more than self-sustaining, but the net profit was quite insignificant.” This aligns with a detailed estimated calculation published by the Buffalo Express that concluded that operating profit was negligible. The Express estimate carried forward the $6,640 cash on hand at year-end 1882 and contained a similar value at year-end 1883, which very likely mirrored Hughson’s actual BBBA financial statement for 1883.29

The Bisons needed a new ballpark for the 1884 season, since the owner of the land beneath Riverside Park declined to renew the lease. Olympic Park was built on leased land at the corner of Richmond Avenue and Summer Street, several blocks east of Riverside Park. The $6,000 capital expenditure for the new ballpark was a death knell for the BBBA, though, since “a large share of the [club’s] earnings will be expended on the new grounds.” The $6,000 cost to erect Olympic Park approximates the BBBA net profit for the 1882 season, as announced by Hughson, as well as the estimated cash on hand at year-end 1883, both as noted above. The BBBA had little money left as a cash cushion for the 1884 season.30

Jewett, president of the BBBA, apparently expected increased patronage at Bisons ballgames in 1884 following his January inauguration as mayor of Buffalo. However, Jewett was defeated by his Democratic opponent in the mayoral election held in November 1883. He then seemed to lose interest in the Bisons, as Hughson began to attend league meetings and became the primary public spokesman. Hughson acted as the de facto head of the BBBA in 1884 and 1885, much more visible than Jewett.31

In March 1884 Hughson gave the Buffalo Evening News a rundown on the team’s ballplayers, the new Olympic Park, and for the first time publicly a list of stockholders. Hughson noted that the BBBA’s capital stock was $7,000, but only $5,000 had been issued, so that $2,000 was still available for sale (40 shares at $50 per share). Apparently, the 1881 increase in capital stock was hugely unsuccessful, or more likely some shares of the initial 1878 stock issue had been returned to the BBBA (to avoid those pesky stock subscription requests to bail out the club’s net losses). On the list of 45 men that Hughson identified as current BBBA stockholders were several of the original investors, including former BBBA officers Edward B. Smith and John B. Sage, the latter now having secured a contract with the National League to print colorized posters and scorecards for its ballclubs.32

Hughson gave an extensive interview to the Buffalo Commercial Advertiser, describing the new ballpark as well as the ticket policy for the 1884 season (with its expanded 56-home-game schedule). Pricing for women’s and children’s tickets was now institutionalized and there were price increases for male patrons. “Ladies’ coupons will be sold the same as last year, five for $3 with five complimentaries,” which now applied to a special Ladies Stand section of the Olympic Park grandstand that contained armchairs for seating rather than a wooden plank. “The general admission fee per game will be 50 cents for adults [same cost] and 25 cents for minors,” as 10-cent Children’s Day was eliminated. “A grandstand seat will cost 15 cents [increase of 5 cents] and a gentleman may enjoy an arm-chair by his lady for 25 cents.”33

There was nothing Hughson could do about the weather in Buffalo, though, as the scheduled Independence Day twin bill between the Bisons and the Boston club was rained out, eliminating an anticipated $2,500 in revenue. For a second consecutive year, the lack of holiday baseball was a huge deterrent to the BBBA’s overall profitability. Hughson’s lukewarm “satisfied with the season financially” likely indicates another breakeven season for the third-place Bisons, which was the conclusion of one observer. Hughson also noted that he thought it good that the new ballpark was paid for out of retained earnings from previous seasons, and quipped that “stockholders were so used to assessments that they probably considered it a good thing to come out of the [1884] season without any.”34

During the four years from 1881 to 1884, the Buffalo Bisons compiled four winning seasons, but the BBBA had only one truly profitable year (1882), with the other three being essentially breakeven. The National League’s minimum admission charge of 50 cents proved unsuccessful in Buffalo, a city where 25-cent admission arguably could have made the BBBA financially viable. This, however, would have clashed with the League’s desired to see middle-class and upper-income businessmen as patrons.

There were early indications of the forthcoming demise of the Buffalo Bisons ballclub. In October 1884 O’Rourke resigned as player-manager, when he signed with the New York Giants. Hughson named Galvin to replace O’Rourke as team captain on the field, but left the manager position vacant. Hughson handled most of those off-field duties (The expanded reserve rule now included up to 11 players, making player re-signings less onerous. O’Rourke, by his contract, was not subject to that rule.) More ominously, in February 1885 the BBBA directors actively discussed alternatives to baseball at Olympic Park. Proposals included a roller-skating rink, bicycle race track, and lawn tennis courts.35

By July 1885 the BBBA was hemorrhaging money. Spencer Clinton, a club director, told the Buffalo correspondent to Sporting Life that there were “slim prospects of getting out [of the red ink], and the club could certainly be no worse off with new men than with the old.” The BBBA directors looked to reduce expenses by jettisoning its highest-paid ballplayers. Galvin was the first to go, as the BBBA received $1,500 to release him to the Pittsburgh club in the American Association. Presumably, that money was used to reduce the BBBA’s deficit in the current season. The directors then tried to auction off several other players, particularly the Big Four of Brouthers, Richardson, Rowe, and White. However, the Big Four “upset all calculations by refusing to become party to any deal.”36

In mid-September, Jewett administered the coup de grace that would extinguish the life of the BBBA and the Bisons team. He struck a deal with Frederick K. Stearns, president of the Detroit ballclub, to receive $7,000 to release the Big Four to Detroit and for Stearns to operate the depleted Buffalo team for the remaining three weeks of the 1885 season. After paying off the rest of the BBBA’s current financial obligations, the residue of the $7,000 payment was placed in the hands of a trustee for the benefit of BBBA stockholders. Jewett anticipated that this trust would return to stockholders their original purchase price plus a 20 percent dividend.37

The new board of directors of the BBBA consisted of six men from Detroit – Stearns, Charles H. Smith, Joseph A. Marsh, James L. Edson, Edgar O. Durfee, and John B. Maloney – and one man from Buffalo, James Campbell. These directors named Smith as president, Stearns as vice president, and George Hughson as secretary-treasurer, the only holdover from the prior ownership.38

The Buffalo Bisons officially exited the National League at the league meeting in December 1885.39

CHARLIE BEVIS is the author of eight books on baseball history. He is a retired adjunct professor of English at Rivier University in Nashua, New Hampshire.

Notes

1 “Base-Ball Match on Saturday,” Buffalo Express, July 27, 1877; “Base Ball,” Buffalo Express, October 22, 1877; “The Stockholders of the Buffalo Base Ball Association in Council,” Buffalo Express, August 13, 1879.

2 “Base Ball,” Buffalo Express, November 14, 1878. The fiscal year of the Buffalo ballclub was November 1 to October 31. For simplicity, references to financial results in this article are labeled to the baseball season included within the fiscal year.

3 “Sporting News,” Buffalo Commercial Advertiser, November 13, 1878; “Base Ball,” Buffalo Express, November 18, 1878; Peter Morris, ed., Base Ball Pioneers, 1850-1870: The Clubs and Players Who Spread the Sport Nationwide (Jefferson, North Carolina: McFarland, 2012), 106, 114; Buffalo City Directory, 1879, 560, 590.

4 “Base-Ball: The Buffalos and the League,” Buffalo Commercial Advertiser, November 26, 1878; “The Regular Meeting,” New York Clipper, December 14, 1878.

5 “Base-Ball,” Buffalo Commercial Advertiser, March 8, 1879; Buffalo City Directory, 1879, 53; Spalding’s Official Base Ball Guide, 1879, 111. The Spalding Guide did note that the information was as of February 24, 1879, two weeks before Smith and Sage switched roles. The Buffalo City Directory had the correct information since it was published at a later date.

6 “Base Ball,” Buffalo Commercial Advertiser, June 17, 1879.

7 “Sporting News,” Buffalo Commercial Advertiser, July 5, 1879.

8 “Next Year’s Nine,” Buffalo Express, August 13, 1879.

9 “The League Meeting,” New York Clipper, October 11, 1879; “The Base-Ball Interest,” Buffalo Express, October 2, 1879.

10 “The League Convention,” New York Clipper, December 13, 1879; “The League and Its Fifty-Cent Tariff Discussed,” Buffalo Commercial Advertiser, December 23, 1879.

11 “Stockholders’ Meeting,” Buffalo Courier, October 1, 1879; Buffalo City Directory, 1880, 52; Brian Martin, Pud Galvin: Baseball’s First 300-Game Winner (Jefferson, North Carolina: McFarland, 2016), 88-89.

12 “Stockholders’ Meeting,” Buffalo Express, September 15, 1880; “Sporting News,” Buffalo Commercial Advertiser, October 5, 1880.

13 “The Rochester Meeting,” New York Clipper, October 16, 1880.

14 “Sporting News,” Buffalo Commercial Advertiser, October 5, 1880; Buffalo City Directory, 1881, 50.

15 Buffalo City Directory, 1883, 449, 457, 562.

16 “Sporting News,” Buffalo Commercial Advertiser, October 5, 1880; Mike Roer, Orator O’Rourke: The Life of a Baseball Radical (Jefferson, North Carolina: McFarland, 2005), 90-93.

17 “The National Game,” Buffalo Express, January 5, 1881.

18 Charlie Bevis, Doubleheaders: A Major League History (Jefferson, North Carolina: McFarland, 2011), 19-20, 205; “Twice Beaten,” Buffalo Express, July 5, 1881. Detroit shares this baseball first, as it also conducted a twin bill on the same date.

19 “Financial Statement of the Buffalo Base Ball Association,” Buffalo Commercial Advertiser, December 2, 1881.

20 “Preparing for Base Ball Season,” Buffalo Evening News, March 6, 1882; Buffalo City Directory, 1882, 48; Buffalo City Directory, 1883, 43; Buffalo City Directory, 1884, 73; Buffalo City Directory, 1885, 60.

21 “Sporting,” Buffalo Commercial Advertiser, April 29, 1882; “A Brilliant Game,” Buffalo Express, May 4, 1882; “Base Ball Matters,” Buffalo Express, May 18, 1882.

22 “Sporting Notes,” Buffalo Express, September 2, 1882; “Sporting,” Buffalo Commercial Advertiser, September 16, 1882.

23 “Sporting,” Buffalo Commercial Advertiser, September 16 and 23, 1882; Charlie Bevis, “Ladies’ Day at Boston Red Sox Games: How Discounted Admission for Women Impacted Game Schedules,” NINE: A Journal of Baseball History & Culture, Fall-Spring 2021-22: 114.

24 “Brief Mention,” Buffalo Express, December 20, 1882. Beyond a breakdown of the gate receipts by home and road games, Hughson provided no additional detail.

25 Robert Tiemann, “Major League Attendance,” in Total Baseball: The Official Encyclopedia of Major League Baseball (Kingston, New York: Total Sports Publishing, 2001), 74.

26 Bevis, Doubleheaders, 22.

27 “Sporting News,” Buffalo Commercial Advertiser, March 28, 1883.

28 “Children’s Day Next Saturday,” Buffalo Evening News, May 17, 1883; “Sporting News,” Buffalo Evening News, July 14, 1883.

29 “Notes and Comments,” Sporting Life, February 20, 1884; Tiemann, “Major League Attendance,” 74; “A Statement Furnished for the Benefit of Stockholders in the Buffalo Base Ball Club,” Buffalo Express, October 29, 1883. The figures are very fuzzy and difficult to read in the digital version of the Express article, creating an unreadable final cash-on-hand number.

30 “The Buffalo Club,” Sporting Life, October 15, 1883.

31 “Mayor Scoville,” Buffalo Evening News, November 7, 1883.

32 “The Buffalos for 1884,” Buffalo Evening News, March 3, 1884; John Thorn, “Who Was John B. Sage? A Forgotten Titan of Buffalo Baseball,” Our Game (mlblogs.com).

33 “Olympic Park,” Buffalo Commercial Advertiser, March 8, 1884; “The Buffalo Club,” Sporting Life, October 15, 1883.

34 “From Buffalo,” Sporting Life, November 26, 1884; “The Financial Part of It,” Sporting Life, October 22, 1884; “Buffalos for 1885,” Buffalo Times, February 23, 1885.

35 “A Buffalo View,” Sporting Life, December 17, 1884; “Sporting News,” Buffalo Commercial Advertiser, February 27, 1885.

36 “The Bisons: They Will Stick,” Sporting Life, July 22, 1885. The sale of a player to another ballclub in 1885 was a complicated logistical process, not the simple contract transfer of today. Such transactions then actually happened in reverse of today’s sale process – the player first agreed to terms with the buying club, then the selling club released him after receiving the negotiated payment from the buying club. Otherwise, a released player could sign with any club he wished.

37 “The Franchise Sold: The Buffalo Base Ball Club Bought by the Detroit Managers,” Buffalo Commercial Advertiser, September 17, 1885; “A Stunner: Bisons Sell Out,” Sporting Life, September 23, 1885.

38 “Finale of the Buffalo Baseball Club,” Buffalo Express, September 19, 1885; “A Base Ball Muddle,” Buffalo Sunday Morning News, September 20, 1885.

39 “The League Convention,” New York Clipper, November 28, 1885.

Montreal mayor Jean Drepeau with (from left) John Bateman, Jim “Mudcat” Grant, and Maury Wills on Opening Day in New York, April 8, 1969 (COURTESY OF THE McCORD MUSEUM, MONTREAL)

It somehow seemed inevitable when it all came to an end in 2004. Fate didn’t really smile on the ’Spos (Les Expos de Montreal) in 36 seasons. Shifting ownership doomed the franchise, regardless of whether the owner was Charles Bronfman (1968-91) with his family fortune, Claude Brochu (1991-99) with his executive experience, or Jeffrey Loria (1999-2002) with his flair, or even Major League Baseball itself (2002-04) with its dictate to play about one-fourth of each season’s “home” games in San Juan, Puerto Rico, for two years. And, to be honest, it didn’t help that there was heavy competition for fan attention and dollars in Montreal, which was a hockey town with a baseball problem.

Make no mistake, people played ball in Montreal in the past. The minor Eastern League’s Rochester (New York) Blackbirds moved to Montreal on July 16, 1897. Subsequently renamed the Royals, the club was to become the top farm team of the Brooklyn Dodgers until 1960.1 Players like Jackie Robinson, who broke modern baseball’s racial barrier with Montreal in 1946, Don Drysdale, Duke Snider , and Roy Campanella, among others, played in Delorimier Stadium (Stade de Lorimier).2

Even today, and possibly tomorrow, pro baseball has a home in Montreal. The Toronto Blue Jays have played preseason games in Olympic Stadium since 2013. And a December 14, 2018, story on Canadian television reported that bringing the majors back to the city was financially viable if a new stadium could be built in a central location with access to public transit.3

Despite the history and current climate, though, the area’s joie de vivre never centered on baseball. Ask anyone north of Plattsburgh, New York, and they will testify that hockey’s Montreal Canadiens franchise, one of the most successful in sports, owns the town. Need proof? Then watch about seven minutes of an outpouring of love for Rocket Richard, one of the all-time greats. It’s a homage to a gloried past for the players, the seasons, the Stanley Cups, and a great and magical building.

After watching it, ask yourself, how could Jarry Park (1969-76), Olympic Stadium (1977-2004), and Hiram Bithorn Stadium in San Juan compete? How could Bronfman, Brochu, Loria, and MLB in 36 seasons match the history of the National Hockey League’s Canadiens (founded in 1909)? The answer is obvious: They couldn’t. Which is why in the summers from 1969 to 2004 joggers and hikers on the paths of Mount Royal were probably talking about Guy Lafleur, Yvan Cournoyer, and Ken Dryden more than Bill Stoneman’s no-hitter in 1969, Rusty Staub’s (Le Grand Orange for his hair color) plate heroics, or even other Expos stars such as Gary Carter and Andre Dawson.

Business people going to and from work and shops in the Underground City (La ville souterraine) along the subway lines may have talked about Blue Monday (the October 19, 1981, Game Five loss to the Los Angeles Dodgers in the National League Championship Series), or they may have talked about the collusion charge against Bronfman, the fire sale of players by Brochu, the contraction worries under Loria, or the limbo the team and its fans suffered before the franchise’s fated move to Washington under MLB care in 2004. But it’s much more likely that those same fans cared more about — and talked more about — the 1976-77 Habs team that suffered only eight losses in an 80-game season, or the 28-game unbeaten streak in 1977-78, or any of the Stanley Cups in 1969, ’71, ’73, ’76, ’77, ’78, ’79, ’86, or ’93.

The Expos’ woes didn’t begin and end with a hockey rival for fans’ attention and disposable income. Randy Newman once sang that it’s money that matters. A Canadian team in a US organization would find out just how true that was. Money did matter. A lot. It was one of the reasons the Expos struggled so much.

How to sum up? Well, Harry Caray’s favorite song might lose something in translation, but here’s a go at it anyway:

“Take me out to the ball game,” amène-moi au match de baseball. Some people went to the ballgame, but many more hearts were with the Habs.

“Take me out with the crowd,” amène-moi dans la foule. Capacity for baseball in Olympic Stadium waxed and waned from almost 60,000 in the 1970s and ’80s to less than 44,000 after 1992. To put that in context and have fun with numbers from a fan perspective, the Expos were either third or fourth in the 12-team National League in attendance during the winning seasons from 1979 to 1983, but after the team began losing again attendance never rose above eighth. (All statistics in this essay, whether individual or team, are from baseball-reference.com.)

“Let’s root, root, root for the home team, if they don’t win it’s a shame,” allons, allons, encourageons les gars. S’ils ne gagnent pas, quel dommage! To be honest, they didn’t win all that much and didn’t have a winning record for their first decade in existence (the team’s complete record in Montreal was 2,753 wins, 2,953 losses, and 4 ties). They won only one division title and that was in the strike-shortened 1981 season (they then went on to lose in the NLCS). So add it all together and it caused fans to stay away more often than not.

Jarry Park was the Montreal Expos’ first home from 1969 to 1976. The little ballpark seated just 28,456, the smallest in the major leagues when the Expos began play. (NATIONAL BASEBALL HALL OF FAME LIBRARY)

Charles Bronfman (owner from 1968 to 1991)

The majors went international on May 27, 1968, when National League President Warren Giles announced that Charles Bronfman would bring a franchise home to his native Montreal at a cost of $10 million. (All money is in American dollars unless specified otherwise.)4 But what is ironic is that Bronfman wasn’t originally meant to be the principal owner. Montreal Mayor Jean Drapeau worked hard to get a franchise for his city and at first asked Jean-Louis Levesque to head the ownership group. The original group of investors balked at paying the franchise fee and that’s when Bronfman stepped up (he would own 50 percent of the team) to head an ownership group. At the time Bronfman was the fifth-richest man in Canada5 and could handle the fiscal roller-coaster that went with owning a sports team. But just to make sure there was cash in the vault, so to speak, he also invited some rich friends along for the ride. Among the minority investors were Lorne Webster (Montreal financier), Hugh Hallward (owner of a Montreal construction company), Sidney Maislin (transportation company owner in Canada), and Montreal business leaders the Beaudry brothers, Charlemagne and Paul.6

Bronfman hired John McHale (former general manager of the Detroit Tigers and Milwaukee Braves) as the team’s first president, to run the baseball side of the business. Claude Brochu (who would eventually own the team) took over from McHale in 1986. But it was Bronfman’s money that kept the team afloat through the lean years and his enthusiasm that kept fans hoping for a championship season.

Bronfman was educated at McGill University and helped run the family business, Seagram’s distillery, and its other ventures with his brother, Edgar, and later Edgar’s son, Edgar Jr. Seagram’s eventually expanded into other areas such as broadcasting (Universal) and theme parks before it all went sour in the early 1980s. Because Seagram’s business ventures were failing, its interests had to be sold off.7 In a 2013 interview with the Toronto newspaper The Globe and Mail, Bronfman called the breakup of what was once his family’s company “a disaster, it is a disaster, it will be a disaster. … It was a family tragedy.”8

“Disaster” could have been the Expos’ unofficial name. In what might have been a portent of things to come, the team almost didn’t play in Montreal because as late as August 1968 the expansion authorization was stalled and there was talk of awarding it instead to Buffalo, New York. Why? Because the team didn’t have a ballpark to play in. Finally, Montreal pols and the team settled on Jarry Park (seating capacity of 3,000 for amateur games) in the city’s north end near an expressway exit and a Metro station. Eventually, though, Bronfman would need a new park to keep MLB happy and customers satisfied. So the plan hatched by the city and baseball bigwigs was that Jarry Park would be expanded and serve as a stopgap until a permanent home was built. Jarry underwent a $3 million (Canadian) upgrade to add better lights, other facilities, and to increase capacity to almost 30,000 — technically 28,456 — in order to be set for the 1969 season. (The team was supposed to play in Jarry until 1971, but the Expos stayed in the so-called temporary ballpark through the 1976 season.)

Boston’s Fenway Park might be the definition of a neat little bandbox of a ballpark, but Parc Jarry in its minimalist, make-do way had its own quaint charm. As Montreal sportswriter Ian MacDonald put it, “Everybody had fun.”9 There was the “Fiddler on the Dugout Roof,” an organist whom even the visiting team appreciated, and the novelty of signs in French and English (e.g., le frappeur for batter and le lanceur for pitcher).

“Baseball is an intimate game. At Jarry you were pretty damn close. We went through the joy of having a team in Montreal to not so much fun the last few years. But it was great fun for the first few years,” Bronfman said. 10

As he noted, fans enjoyed the late spring and early summer days when almost everyone is optimistic before losing streaks happen and reality hits. It also helped that things started out smoothly for the Expos:

• Gene Mauch was the first manager and on April 8, 1969, the team beat the New York Mets, 11-10, in its first game at Shea Stadium.
• On April 14, 1969, the Expos played the first home game in Jarry Park — and also the first regular-season game outside the United States — and beat the St. Louis Cardinals, 8-7. The announced crowd was 29,184.
• On April 17, 1969, Bill Stoneman pitched the team’s first no-hitter, a 7-0 win against the Philadelphia Phillies.

So April wasn’t the cruelest month, but it was a counterpoint to the first decade. The Expos’ first winning season came in 1979 (95-64) when the team wound up one game back of the eventual World Series champion Pittsburgh Pirates. What helped was that the Expos’ farm system was finally producing quality players.

There was realistic hope that ’79 could be a prelude to better things. Then, in 1981, a players strike divided the season into halves. The Expos won the division in the second half and went on to beat the Philadelphia Phillies, three games to two, to advance to the NL Championship Series against the Los Angeles Dodgers. Montreal and the Dodgers split the first two games in LA, and games three and four in Montreal.

Apologies to Grantland Rice, but the deciding fifth game, postponed to Monday, October 19, because of rain on Sunday, wasn’t outlined against a blue-gray October sky. And, as far as Expos fans were concerned, one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse rode again to kill their dreams. Rick Monday was his alias and although the Dodgers weren’t a cyclone that swept the Expos into the St. Lawrence River, they did enough so that 36,491 fans in Stade Olympique endured one of the low points in team history. With the score tied, 1-1, going into the ninth inning, Expos manager Jim Fanning put in right-handed pitcher Steve Rogers (12-8, 3.41 ERA during the season but 2-0 with a 0.51 ERA in the playoffs). Rogers retired the first two batters before left-handed outfielder Monday (who would bat .333 in the NLCS) came to the plate. His solo homer to center off a sinking fastball gave the Dodgers the lead and they would win, 2-1. The day was dubbed “Blue Monday” by the media and disappointed Expos fans.

It was perhaps an indication of things to come that the rescheduled Monday game hadn’t been close to a sellout, although the Friday (54,372) and Saturday (54,499) games had drawn close to the stadium’s 58,838 listed capacity.

The soul-stealing defeat led to a gradual disenchantment that spread to include Bronfman: Some of the best players were traded away (due to money issues), or they signed better contracts elsewhere. It’s an accepted fact that the front office makes the deals, but it’s the owner who tells them how much money can be spent.

Future Hall of Famers Gary Carter and Tim Raines, and All-Stars like Andre Dawson left the team. Even a splashy free-agent signing like that of Pete Rose didn’t last the season. In some cases, the Expos received decent players in return, but not always.

Bitter feelings toward owners and senior management after losing players over money issues was not just a Bronfman thing. Claude Brochu would also field the same issues and feel resentment from the fans and media. As a team history put it: “Several of their best players, including Larry Walker (who was earning $4 million American by 1994), entered free agency or were traded after the bitterness of the 1994 season. (The Expos were in first place with a 74-40 record before a players strike in mid-August ended the season and the postseason.) While still a formidable squad, the Expos’ future pennant hunts were frustrated by the … owners, who were reluctant to provide them with the necessary resources for taking on additional salaries.”11

And all of the Expos owners had stadium problems as well. For Bronfman, though, it was tied to politics. In 1976 he threatened to move his home and his business interests out of Quebec if the separatist Parti Quebecois won a majority of seats in the provincial election. The PQ won in a landslide and the Expos briefly broke off lease negotiations for Stade Olympique, which had been the main venue of the 1976 Olympics. Even after negotiations resumed, they dragged on for so long through the offseason that the team started to sell tickets for the 1977 season at Parc Jarry. But an agreement was eventually reached and the Expos opened the ’77 season on April 15. (Unfortunately for the 57,592 fans in attendance, it was a 7-2 loss to the Phillies.)

Olympic Stadium was plagued by structural and financial difficulties from the moment the Montreal Expos began play there in 1977. (NATIONAL BASEBALL HALL OF FAME LIBRARY)

“The Big O,” one of the nicknames for the much more formal le Stade du Parc Olympique de Montreal, wasn’t built to be a baseball park. Olympic Stadium wasn’t exactly a gulag, but Olympic Stadium wasn’t loved either. It also was mostly out of the way as one urban design critic noted:

Fans who lived in the western suburbs lost interest in schlepping all the way to the stadium. People from other parts of the city didn’t want to cross bridges or tunnels. The large business community downtown was geographically closer, but — with no fun restaurants, bars, or ancillary activities of any kind nearby — the Big O wasn’t appealing to them either.12

Inconveniences went beyond location. Things seemed to break a lot. The retractable roof (which wasn’t installed until 1987) was cranky and apparently didn’t know what “retractable” meant in French or English. Eventually the team recognized the inevitable and just kept it closed. Players complained about the artificial turf and other conditions. Add it all up and the excitement of a rising team with promising stars from 1979-83 helped the Expos draw more than 2 million fans each year (except for the strike year of 1981). But after that, as players left and the closed roof kept ballgames indoors, attendance fell. And it was expensive to keep Olympic Stadium in good condition; eventually the nickname “The Big O” morphed into “The Big Owe.” (One reason why was that in June 1991 the roof — again! — was damaged in a windstorm and the powers-that-be decided to keep it closed for the ’92 season. The roof was removed in May 1998 for a while until later that year when a $26 million nonretractable roof was installed. But eight months later, that roof collapsed. The designer and installer sued each other. That suit was settled in 2010 in favor of the construction company that installed it. Along a parallel line, in the 1990s when the organization was trying to get support for a new ballpark, the seemingly constant structural tribulations led to trash talk that reached such a pitch that the fans received the message and stopped showing up.13)  

By 1978, near the end of his team’s second season in Olympic Stadium, Bronfman had already soured on the place: “There’s no sun, there’s so much concrete, the building overpowers the game, if there’s a big crowd the stadium seems empty. Baseball is a summer leisure activity. This is not a summer leisure stadium.”14

Maybe so. But part of Bronfman’s displeasure was in knowing that at small Jarry Park, fans would have to buy tickets in advance to see the visiting stars. Olympic Stadium, which could fit twice as many fans, changed people’s buying habits. Or, as Bronfman put it: “You know you can always get a seat in Olympic Stadium. You didn’t know that at Jarry.” And people who don’t buy tickets in advance are “subject to all the reasons for not going.”15

Years later, after he no longer owned the team and the Expos had moved to Washington, Bronfman sounded like a person wistful for what he had and lost, “In Olympic Stadium the fun [when compared to Jarry Park] dissipated pretty damn fast.”16

The Expos’ finances also were limited by American League expansion into Toronto. When the Expos were Canada’s only major-league baseball team, their games could be broadcast far and wide. But once the Blue Jays arrived in 1977, the broadcast rights were not so clear. Indeed, by the time the Jays were successful, the team asked MLB to restrict the Expos’ broadcast to Quebec and points east while the Jays would have exclusive rights to Toronto and parts of southern Ontario. Author Jonah Keri said MLB allowed the Expos to broadcast 15 games into Toronto territory and could buy airtime for others.17

By the mid-1980s Bronfman had sold or was selling off his Seagram’s business, which he called a personal disaster. At the same, time he was also growing disillusioned with being a big-league owner and all its cascading problems. (For instance, he felt that escalating player salaries would strike at the heart of MLB’s long-term viability.18) It also didn’t help that Montreal’s economy was suffering and the purchasing power of the fan base was slowly shrinking:

[There] were decades of underperformance in which the city never fulfilled its promise. The head office operations of the Bank of Montreal and the Royal Bank gradually shifted to Toronto to take advantage of that city’s impressive growth as a financial centre. Political tensions over language and the issue of Quebec sovereignty hurt private investment and drove some of the wealthiest and best educated people out of the province. Sun Life left in a huff in 1978 after the Parti Québécois took power for the first time.

The Canadian Stock Exchange closed its doors in 1974, while the Montreal Exchange lost increasing trading volume to its Toronto rival before switching its vocation to financial derivatives. The fancy new airport built in Mirabel didn’t take off as promised, with Toronto becoming the hub for Canadian air travel. At the same time, the city’s aging industrial base felt the first effects of globalization as imports from Asia began to hurt the textile and clothing industry.

But as the new millennium began, more negative trends had crept in: offshoring, outsourcing, contracting out. Companies had found new ways to cut costs by sending work to places like China, India, and Mexico at a fraction of local wage rates. More industrial plants began to shut their doors.19

Bronfman wanted out of the restless baseball world. He couldn’t get a new ballpark, costs were escalating, and he felt the economics were flirting with disaster. The Expos’ total revenue was less than what the New York Yankees earned just from broadcast rights.20 But the trouble was that he and club President Claude Brochu couldn’t find a buyer who would keep the club in Montreal. (Offers had come in from investors in Miami and Arizona; and there was an uneasy story that Bronfman would sell the team to potential buyers in Buffalo for $130 million.21) So Brochu went to work scrounging up the $100 million (Canadian) to help buy the Expos from Bronfman. He put up $2 million of his own money to become the managing general partner and persuaded the City of Montreal ($18 million) and Province of Quebec ($15 million) to kick in about one-third of the remaining amount; and then added 11 Canadian business backers (e.g., among others, Bell Canada, the publisher McClelland Stewart, Coca-Cola, Canadian Pacific, and Loblaw Companies, a food retailer).22 It was even reported that Bronfman loaned him some money so that Brochu could buy the team and keep it in Montreal.23

Brochu said he put his heart and soul into the team for a 7.5 percent stake in the operation. The trouble was that many of those other 11 partners had the money but not the patience or the soul. He said their message was “We’re giving you $5 million each, don’t come back for more.”24

But to end the Bronfman era on a bright note: He was inducted as an inaugural member of the Expos’ Hall of Fame on August 14, 1993, as the franchise’s Founder/Fondateur.

Claude Brochu (1991-99)

Like Bronfman, Brochu was a Canadian and native of Quebec (born in Quebec City in 1944). He worked for Seagram’s from 1978 to 1985, including a stint as executive VP from 1982 to 1985. Brochu was also the second president of the Expos, taking over from John McHale in 1986.

Although 1991 was not a successful season when measured by wins and losses (71-90, last in the NL East), or by attendance (under 1 million), the team was going through a Dickensian season with the best and worst of luck. The good times started on July 28 at Dodger Stadium in Los Angeles when right-handed pitcher Dennis Martinez threw the major leagues’ 13th perfect game, a 2-0 win over the Dodgers.

But on September 8 the worst of times happened when a concrete pillar tumbled into an exterior walkway in The Big O. No one was injured, but the Expos had to play the final 26 games of the season on the road. Brochu said the ’92 season was at risk unless the ballpark was certified safe, which didn’t happen until early November when engineers inspected it and declared it structurally sound. 

If the physical building was falling apart, at least the team was building its roster with the 1990 acquisition of outfielder Moises Alou. Alou, along with right fielder Larry Walker and center fielder Marquis Grissom, helped the Expos climb to strong second-place finishes in 1992 and 1993. Then came 1994. On August 11 the Expos had the best record in the majors (74-40, .649). Then the players voted to walk out. The Expos’ likely advance to the postseason walked with it.

After a US federal court ruling the next March, owners and the Players Association returned to the bargaining table and the 1995 season began with only a few games lost. What the Expos lost was the profits and excitement of a postseason run. It also did nothing to solve their underlying financial problems.

The Expos received almost all their income in Canadian dollars, but player salaries and travel expenses were paid in US dollars. Currency fluctuations can cut deep and make planning difficult. In a 2015 critique of “Brochunomics,” Financial Post writer Peter Kuttenbrouwer noted how that works against Canadian teams in international leagues:

When Claude Brochu took over the Expos in 1986, the Canadian dollar was worth about U.S. 69 cents. The dollar rose to U.S. 90 cents by 1991, helping the team. But in the 1990s the loonie [the Canadian dollar coin] took a precipitous slide, fuelled by budget deficits, low interest rates and weak commodity prices. By the time Mr. Brochu was out of the Expos, the dollar was worth U.S. 63 cents.

“It was always a little bit difficult,” recalls Mr. Brochu, 70. “If you are up to your neck from a salary perspective, you are in trouble.”25

Although the Expos got some US dollars from American broadcast rights and MLB, it wasn’t enough to overcome the fiscal woes of the Canadian dollar. Despite the success of 1994, the situation was untenable, Brochu wrote. He said the ’94 team payroll was $18.8 million. Montreal made $1 million (Canadian) in profits in 1992 and ’93 (which translated then to roughly $600,000 in US currency). In 1994 it was projected that the team would lose $6 million because of the strike and the consequential loss of television revenue.26 (Teams also had to keep paying operating expenses — salaries for scouts and employees as well as minor-league players.)27

“Our exposure to currency fluctuations was U.S. $4 million or U.S. $5 million,” Brochu said.

“You don’t need a degree in economics to understand that paying players in U.S. dollars, while a team’s revenues are in Canadian dollars, can be nothing but ruinously expensive,” Roger Landry, former publisher of the Montreal newspaper La Presse, wrote in an introduction to Mr. Brochu’s 2003 memoir, My Turn at Bat. 28

Despite its impact on the future of his team, Brochu was a firm supporter of the owners’ plan for revenue-sharing and a salary cap, the issues that had precipitated the 1994 strike. As it was, Brochu would write in 2003, the team had the second-lowest payroll in 1994. (Pittsburgh had the lowest at $13.5 million.) With the raises expected after a strong season, Brochu said, the team would have lost $25 million in 1995:

Revenue sharing and the cap are inseparable; that’s what we decided. … We need to reduce the spread between team payrolls. The overriding issue is an element of cost control. The cap is a question of survival.29

It turned out that revenue-sharing and a salary cap were not inseparable. The federal court ruling sent owners and the union back to the bargaining table but it took nearly two years to reach a deal. That new collective-bargaining agreement brought limited revenue-sharing, but there was no salary cap. The Expos’ problems were ameliorated, but not solved.

In addition, as 1994 shuddered to an end, Brochu wasn’t happy with the contract for the Big Owe. The Province of Quebec owned the ballpark and the team got nothing in parking or skybox revenue. Brochu called it “the second worst deal in baseball,” adding, “We try to get a better deal, but  [provincial officials are] not giving us a break.”30

As an immediate consequence of the strike, Brochu and the other Expos owners were facing a bleak bottom line. General manager Kevin Malone was forced to bid adieu to four star players –native Canadian Larry Walker, Ken Hill, John Wetteland, and Marquis Grissom — between April 5 and 8, 1995. The trades were made just before the deadline for salary arbitration, which meant Montreal got virtually nothing in return because there was little bargaining room. The player moves meant Montreal’s player payroll at the start of 1995 would be $15 million, which would be $3.6 million less than the stingy ’94 season when the Expos had the second-lowest payroll in the game.31 In following seasons, as players like Alou, Mel Rojas, and Pedro Martinez approached free agency, they were also lost.

As president, it fell to Brochu to defend the player moves at the time:

“The reaction from our fans is broken down into two categories. There are those who have to balance their checkbooks and who understand what we’re doing. Then there are those I call roll-the-dicers, people who prefer we just re-sign all those players and gamble on a one-shot deal. Even if we took a chance, unless there were 50,000 at every game, and all the [TV and sponsorship] contracts were signed, we’d run out of cash in June. That’s not even a credible alternative.”32

Brochu would later contend that if his partners had been more interested in fielding a championship team than making money in the short term, the “fire sale” of players would not have had to happen, according to author Jonah Keri. But the partners didn’t — or wouldn’t, or couldn’t — come up with the cash.

As Keri noted in a 2014 book, “Expos fans couldn’t help but wonder … if Brochu convinced the team’s cheapskate owners to spend a few damn dollars, or taken a leap of faith that short-term financial pain would lead to long-term success[,]”33 then things might have worked out quite differently.

Malone also tried to reassure the fan base when he noted that the farm system would supply good (and cheaper) players: “Our graduation rates are the best in the business.”34

Regardless of Brochu’s intentions or the viability of the farm system, the actions were immediate and dramatic. The Expos fell to 66-78 in 1995, last in the NL East. Attendance also fell. In ’95 the Expos drew 1.3 million fans, down from the 1.6 million of the previous two complete seasons (1992 and ’93).

But sometimes miracles do happen, and the Expos slowly improved in 1996 when the team climbed to second place in the division with an 88-74 record and was in the running for a wild-card playoff spot until almost the end of the season. It was the same hard luck and little cash Expos story after the season, though, when Alou and Rojas left. The press criticized management, equating the team to a Triple-A club with players coming and then leaving just as they started to develop their skills.

Attendance never averaged more than 20,000 per game again, evidence that fans shared the reporters’ frustration. In fact, the Expos were last in attendance (16th out of 16 NL teams) for the remaining years in Montreal. Only once did attendance top the 1 million mark (1,025,639 to be precise) and that was in the 2003 season. Baseball should abhor asterisks, yet there should probably be one next to the ’03 attendance figures for two reasons:

First, the team was competitive with stars like 27-year-old right fielder Vladimir Guerrero, and it would again finish at 83-79 (but this time in fourth place in the NL East).

Second, because MLB owned the team at the time and thought it could make $7 million to $10 million by playing 22 of its 81 “home” games in Hiram Bithorn Stadium in San Juan, Puerto Rico. The reasoning went that attracting new fans would doubtless boost attendance if a team was in contention.35 In 2003 the Expos played more than 100 road games and traveled 40,951 miles.36

In the 22 games in San Juan, the Expos went 13-9 before 301,082 fans (an average of 13,685 per game). The Expos total attendance that season was 1,025,639, which means the Expos’ average attendance when playing in Montreal was 12,280. So, given the expenses involved, the “homestand” in San Juan wasn’t the money-maker it could have been.

Attendance issues would bedevil owners Brochu, Jeffrey Loria and MLB. By 1998 attendance was down to an average 11,295, which convinced Brochu that the fix to the Expos’ problems was a new ballpark serviced by public transit.

A proposed 35,000-seat, retro-style downtown ballpark (think Baltimore’s Camden Yards) was proposed in 1997 at a projected cost of $250 million (Canadian). The land would be donated by the federal government and the ballpark would be paid for through selling the naming rights to Labatt Brewing Company (it would have been called Labatt Park), selling personal seat licenses, and with $150 million (Canadian) from the Province of Quebec. The hoped-for opening date would be in spring 2001.37

But the plan ran into obstacles from the start. Brochu’s partners weren’t interested in spending more money on the franchise and Quebec Premier Lucien Bouchard said the government wouldn’t spend money to build a new stadium while they were forced to close hospitals.38 In fact, the government was still paying off the debt on the Big Owe and so, when combined with frequent repairs, the total cost of Olympic Stadium was approaching $1 billion.39 Although the Montreal Gazette would opine that a new stadium was logical, it simply wasn’t going to happen given the finances. And that doomed Brochu in the short term and major-league baseball in Montreal in the long term. Despite all the hundred visions and revisions and the subsequent decisions and alterations that Brochu and his partners made, the project was doomed. In the end Brochu blamed Bouchard for the failures at getting money to build a new stadium and, as it turned out, the team’s subsequent move.40

All the acrimony and doubts among the ownership group that went on behind closed doors spilled out into the open and, tired of it all just as Bronfman had been, Brochu looked for a way out. He also wasn’t necessarily looking for buyers in Montreal. According to various press reports, he was negotiating with potential buyers in Portland, Oregon, Las Vegas, Charlotte, and Northern Virginia. Negotiations with telecommunications exec William L. Collins III from Northern Virginia seemed the most promising.41 But the commissioner’s office wasn’t ready to abandon Quebec without first trying to adjust the sport’s economics.

“I felt the team should have been moved and I told the commissioner that,” a 2004 Washington Post article quoted Brochu as saying. “I always heard, ‘Well, he’s [Bud Selig] thinking it over, he’ll review it, he’ll know in two more months or six more months.’ There was really no decision.”42

In the end Brochu sold his 24 percent share to American art dealer Jeffrey Loria on December 9, 1999, for $12 million, making the New York City resident the new managing general partner.43 Loria persuaded additional partners from Montreal to come in with him as minority investors, including Charles Bronfman’s son, Stephen,44 as well as Mark Routtenberg of Guess Jeans and Jean Coutu, who owned a chain of drugstores.45 (Eventually Loria’s share of the franchise would grow to 94 percent as the costs of running the team went higher and the other owners decided not to contribute.)46

Olympic Stadium was home of the Montreal Expos from 1977 to 2004. It was built to host the 1976 Summer Games and for many years has also played host to the Montreal Alouettes of the Canadian Football League. (NATIONAL BASEBALL HALL OF FAME LIBRARY)

Jeffery Loria (1999-2002)

Loria, who was 58 when he got the franchise, hired David Samson, the son of his ex-wife, as the team’s executive vice president (later president). Loria would be the absentee owner in New York and Samson (then 31) would run the team. Samson was a former private wealth manager at Morgan Stanley with no baseball experience.47

Loria and Samson faced most of the problems that their predecessors did, but also one they didn’t: contraction, which was a cloud over the team at the end of Loria’s tenure.

Let’s set contraction aside for the moment and concentrate on what helped Loria get approval from MLB to buy the Expos. The irony is a few paragraphs away yet, but what sold MLB on Loria was his ownership experience. In 1989 he and New York Yankees great Bobby Murcer bought the Oklahoma City 89ers, then the Triple-A farm team of the Texas Rangers. The team won the American Association championship in 1992. Loria sold his interests in the team in 1993. By 1994 he was looking to own a major-league franchise and so he bid on the Baltimore Orioles but lost out to Peter Angelos. When the opportunity to buy into the Expos’ ownership circle came up in ’99, the other major-league owners OK’d the deal.

Loria inherited two big problems (before he made some of his own): What to do about the stadium, and how to deal with the payroll?

First, the stadium. And a bit of good news. Loria had the clubhouse renovated with art deco lighting and new carpets and had three large screen TVs installed.48 Now the bad news: Despite the investment in new paint, rugs, and TVs, Loria warned Montreal that the Expos couldn’t survive if the team had to play in Olympic Stadium much longer. So a Montreal design firm fiddled with Brochu’s idea. Their redesign called for a new ballpark made more of metal than brick, shedding some of the fancier design elements, and generally reconfiguring things to reduce costs from $250 million (Canadian) to $200 million.49 Although Loria said the team would kick in $38.8 million,50 he also wanted the city to increase its funding. When the politicians heard that, the interest of the various municipal, provincial, and federal governments ended.51

Now the payroll. At first, Loria said the checkbook was open to sign new players and bring respectability back to the club. In the 1999 season the Expos had the lowest payroll in the National League at $17.9 million. By 2000, Montreal’s payroll was $32.9 million, third lowest in the NL.

What Loria initially did with player moves was even more appreciated: “I want to strengthen this team in as many areas as I can. … As the new owner here, I feel I have an obligation to move things forward. No more business as usual,” Loria told the New York Times’ Murray Chass, “I’m not afraid to acquire or trade players as long as it improves the club. … What I’m about is quality players and quality people, whether it’s in the art world or the baseball world.”52

Things started to sour in 2001. Although Loria was paying more in player salaries, the rebuild wasn’t going fast enough (in 2000 the Expos won 67 games, in ’01 they won 68 games) and Loria wasn’t patient enough to build through his farm system. Free-agent signings and trades weren’t working out.

Elite players not only were wary of the Expos’ reputation for frustration, Olympic Stadium also had a bad reputation. Players didn’t like the turf. Fans were upset that no money was forthcoming to build a new ballpark and became even more upset when Loria let the lease expire on the downtown land for the proposed Labatt Park.53

Samson said the Expos could not compete without help, and he pointed to the recent contract shortstop Alex Rodriguez (10 years, $252 million) signed with the Texas Rangers. Samson said such contracts were ridiculous and called on the commissioner to do something to help poor clubs compete with the rich clubs.

“Baseball is in dire jeopardy of failing as an industry. The recent signings are horrendous for the future of the game,” Samson said.54

As if that wasn’t enough, there was the botched renegotiation of the Expos’ broadcasting rights. To try to get more cash, Loria wanted to renegotiate the broadcasting contract for the 2000 season. Toronto already had a sizable share of the Ontario market and Loria tried to increase the Expos’ niche with English-speaking broadcast outlets in Quebec and parts of Ontario. He didn’t get to first base. The Sporting Network offered him a fraction of what it paid the Blue Jays. From a purely business standpoint it made sense because the Blue Jays were the better deal: They were an American League team in a bigger market and had won back-to-back World Series titles in 1992-93. More than that, in 1999 the franchise had 2.1 million fans see home games in the SkyDome; Montreal that same season drew 773,277 fans.

Loria wanted the Canadian stations to pay something akin to what the US clubs got in broadcast fees. In response, Quebec broadcasters said the club should try to rebuild its fan base since ratings didn’t justify the price.55 

So, without a money-making deal, Loria pulled the team off TV entirely and also off English-speaking radio.56 Games were still broadcast on French-speaking Telemedia Radio Inc., which would carry 158 games of the 162-game season.57 Meanwhile, English-speaking fans had to search for audio on the internet.

The situation slightly improved in 2001when the Expos signed a one-year deal with the French-language television station Reseau des Sports (RDS), which would broadcast 45 games and its Toronto affiliate would carry 12 games in English (nine of them original and not simulcast on RDS). Montreal’s La Presse newspaper said the contract was for about $3 million (Canadian), which was still far less than the $9 million Loria wanted.58

That improvement was balanced by the loss sponsorship from Labatt. The brewery announced in January that it was ending its 15-year business relationship with the team and would no longer be a sponsor. Labatt’s had contributed about $2 million per year to the beleaguered team’s coffers.

“It being impossible to obtain assurances from the Expos with regard to certain major clauses, such as construction of a new downtown stadium as well as the conventional television contracts, the current contract is obviously no longer pertinent,” said a statement from Labatt’s Quebec President Louis Morin.59

The broadcast situation never righted itself. In 2002 once again there was no English-language TV and only a handful of games broadcast on French-language TV, for which the team got $536,000.60

The word “contraction” began to be used more and more at the end of the ’01 season. On November 6, major-league owners voted in favor of contraction, which meant the Expos and Minnesota Twins would play their last seasons. Since the Expos had finished last in the NL East in ’01 (with a record of 68-94), and since they had been last in attendance for several seasons, and since their broadcast income was abysmal, it seemed natural that Montreal would be one of the two teams disbanded.

The Twins were the other likely cut even though things were looking up for the team. Attendance at the Hubert H. Humphrey Metrodome had jumped 68 percent between 2000 and 2001. The Twins weren’t that bad on the field either, finishing with an 85-77 record.

But the difference was that Twins fans and Minnesota Gov. Jesse Ventura threatened to fight contraction and keep the team in the Metrodome based on a lease that would not expire until after the 2002 season. The players union also sued to help its members who might be in danger of losing their jobs with two fewer teams to play for.

Ventura saved the Expos and the Twins when the State of Minnesota sued baseball and the courts ruled for the Twins, so contraction was put on indefinite hold. Contraction was taken off the table when MLB and the Players Association signed a new contract agreement in 2002.

Loria, though, began looking for a way out of Montreal. Enter Commissioner Bud Selig, who helped arrange a byzantine three-way deal. In late December of 2001, Florida Marlins owner John Henry was the leader of a group of investors that bought the Boston Red Sox for $700 million. Since Henry couldn’t own two MLB teams, Selig helped arrange a deal in which Loria sold the Expos to a group representing MLB for $120 million and MLB would also lend Loria (interest-free) $38.5 million. That deal was finalized on February 15, 2002. Then Henry sold the Marlins to Loria for $158.5 million.61 Loria took the entire Expos front office, computers, scouting reports, injury reports, kitchen sinks, and a Grinch-bag full of assorted stuff with him to Miami.62

For the fans, the sale just proved what they had come to believe about Loria: that he had always intended to desert Montreal. As an article in the Globe and Mail in June 2000 put it: “Now that he’s been vilified by Montreal’s media and scorned by its fans, the question facing those who want to see baseball stay in the city is how New York art dealer Jeffrey Loria can possibly make the Montreal Expos work in a poisonous environment.”63

The answer was obvious: Neither he nor Samson could make it work and they continually denied reports that they were trying to move the team to the United States. In the summer of 2000 Montreal’s La Presse newspaper said some partners felt the team would move within a few years based on the economics of the situation.64 Fans were so irate that Loria felt the need for security guards to be with him during games in the Big O.65

If fighting mad was the mood du jour, then 14 minority investors metaphorically punched back against Loria, Samson, Selig, and Bob DuPuy, MLB’s chief operating officer. They filed a lawsuit in federal court in Miami in mid-July of 2002. They claimed that they once owned 76 percent of the team but saw their investment cut to 6 percent. The suit sought $100 million in damages and an injunction prohibiting MLB from moving the Expos or disbanding the team through contraction. It contended that Loria, Selig, and others “conspired to eliminate baseball in Montreal as well as reduce their holdings in the team.”66 Since they said there was a conspiracy involved, their lawyers felt it was a violation of the Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations Act of 1970 (in other words, a RICO lawsuit).

Jeffrey Kessler, a New York City lawyer hired by the 14 Canadian companies, said that Loria, through a series of cash calls on the partners, misrepresented his intentions to them. Kessler also charged that Loria and Samson had always planned on moving the team to the United States and that Selig and DuPuy were involved in the plan.67 Part of the 45-page document said the proof was that Loria let the land deal for the proposed Labatt Stadium fall through, that he demanded higher broadcast fees (meaning the team was without TV and English-language broadcasts in 2000), and that he initiated the cash calls to reduce the holdings of the minority partners.

A cash call happens when a partnership that is short of capital calls on partners for additional money. From February 9 to August 27, 2001, Loria, as managing partner, made a series of cash calls. The partners refused to contribute so Loria used his own money, meaning his percentage of the money invested in the team increased.68 The lawsuit alleged that those cash calls were part of Loria’s secret plan “for the purpose of diluting the ownership interests” and that Selig helped by concealing things and also helped Loria get another MLB team.69 After one cash call on March 17, 2000, the partners said they instead offered Loria his $12 million back if he would step down. Loria refused and instead put up his own money to meet the call.70

Loria responded that the calls were necessary given baseball economics: “Since I became involved in 1999, I personally invested approximately $30 million in the partnership and took on greater responsibility for future operating losses, while the limited partners, who had multiple opportunities to contribute, chose to stay on the sidelines and contribute nothing to build a better ball club in Montreal,” he said.71

Kessler disagreed: “All [the 14 partners] knew was that this was a destroyed team [run] by a general manager who they thought was totally out of control.”72

The 14 partners said they were unwilling associates in Loria’s subsequent deal to buy the Marlins and didn’t want to be part of the February 2002 purchase of the Florida Marlins. Among the 14 were Esarbee Investments Ltd. (run by Stephen Bronfman, Charles’s son), Fairmont Hotel and Resorts Inc., BCE Inc. (which was Canada’s largest telephone company), Loblaws Inc. (a grocery chain), and a labor investments firm.73

An arbitration panel ruled against the partners in November 2004 and they decided not to go forward with the suit.

MLB (2002-04)

Baseball’s first act was to appoint people to run the team. Working as Baseball Expos LP, the league named Tony Tavares, a former Anaheim Angels executive, as president and put him in charge of business operations. Omar Minaya, New York Mets assistant general manager, was selected as vice president and general manager in charge of operating the team. Frank Robinson got the job as the team’s manager.

All of them had 72 hours before the team reported to spring training and were starting completely from scratch since just about everyone in the front office and in the bushes had skedaddled with Loria. There were only four baseball people left to work with Tavares, Minaya and Robinson: trainer Ron McClain, Triple-A manager Tim Leiper (Ottawa of the International League), Triple-A pitching coach Randy St. Claire (also Ottawa) and assistant farm director Adam Wogan.74

In spite of it all (including the now almost-constant threat of an impending move), the Expos actually flirted with success in ’02. They were in first place from April 20 to May 2 and finished the season second in the NL East at 83-79.

Because the Expos were owned by their competitors, there was no help coming during the wild-card run in ’02. Yet because of that run, the prospects for 2003 were a little brighter. That’s the year that the team drew more than a million fans (although 22 games were designated as home games played in Puerto Rico). The team again finished with an 83-79 record but, unlike ’02, the Expos came in fourth in the NL East. Selig announced that the Expos would not call up any players from the minors after the traditional September 1 roster expansions due to the costs involved.75 The team, which still had a shot at a wild-card berth, went 12-12 in September.

By 2004 it was a foregone conclusion that the Expos would soon be gone. The only question was where as suitors and promoters from Washington, Norfolk, Virginia, Portland, Oregon, Las Vegas, Monterrey, Mexico, and San Juan, Puerto Rico, made their case. Given the problems with Jarry Park and Olympic Stadium (as well as the proposed Labatt Park), the one thing MLB insisted on was that a major-league ballpark, or funding for one, be firmly in place.

San Juan had the advantage of already hosting the Expos for 22 games in 2003 and was on deck to host 21 in 2004. But there were doubts about Hiram Bithorn Stadium, which had a maximum capacity of 22,000. Nevertheless, promoter Antonio Munoz said the ballpark could be expanded in time for the 2005 season.

“The primary goal in doing this [playing some of the Expos home game in San Juan] is to bring a major-league team to Puerto Rico in the future. We can show that Puerto Rico is an adequate site, and that we can compete with any city in the United States,” Munoz said.76

Yet John McHale Jr., MLB’s executive vice president for administration, was cautious even given the incumbency of the San Juan experiment: “Across baseball there is still some unfamiliarity with the demographics of the San Juan market.”77

The Expos would go 7-14 in Puerto Rico, drawing 217,005 fans (an average of 10,333). So if it was an audition for San Juan, it didn’t go well, especially since Munoz guaranteed MLB $10 million.78 In light of that, Selig announced on September 29, just a few hours before their final home game (a 9-1 loss to the Marlins before 31,395 of the faithful), that the Expos would move to Washington for the 2005 season and temporarily play in RFK Stadium until a new ballpark was built. The only serious opposition came from Baltimore Orioles owner Peter Angelos, who didn’t want competition just 35 miles from Camden Yards. His was the sole no vote (28 to 1) on December 3 to formally approve the move of the franchise to Washington.

Washington had been without a club since 1971 when the second Senators franchise moved to Arlington, Texas, and became the Rangers. The franchise shift was the first in the National League since the Braves left Milwaukee for Atlanta in 1965.79

Selig was celebratory in the announcement as it meant that soon the owners could look for someone to buy the team and usher in more stability (or so it was hoped). As he said of the Washington bidders (who would not necessarily be the owners): “They were very aggressive. They were very tenacious. This was a very impressive bid. It shows their commitment, their dedication. I would say that from a Washington standpoint, this was their finest hour.”80

That’s the corporate viewpoint, McHale put it in another perspective: “I would not presume to try and buffer this for the Montreal fans. I can’t believe that this is going to be anything but a day of great sadness and wistfulness for them. I was there with my father when this franchise was started. This has been a tremendously bittersweet process for me personally. I can only imagine what the fans are going through, watching their club and knowing inevitably that this day would come. Now it’s here.”81

Postscript

MLB announced the new owners in July 2006. Lerner Enterprises group, led by billionaire real-estate developer Theodore N. Lerner, beat out three other bidders. Lerner’s group paid $450 million. It all became official on July 24, 2006. In late September 2006, Comcast announced that it would broadcast Washington Nationals games.

One of Lerner’s first moves was to hire Stan Kasten as team president. Many credit Kasten as being the brains behind the Atlanta Braves’ successful 14 division titles. Unlike Montreal’s approach, Kasten’s long-range plan included lots of money to build up the farm system and use the draft to stock the teams.

So, then, after all the hullabaloo, whose fault is it that the Expos left? The fans? The owners? The city itself? It depends on who is asked.

Montreal has a metro population of about 4 million people, according to a 2013-14 TV marketing guide.82 Yet, attendance rarely matched expectations. Mitch Melnick, who was once the sports director of the Expos’ English-language station, agrees: “The fan base was destroyed as the product was destroyed. I guess this is Major League Baseball’s way of wishing the problems would go away: Blame the customer.”83 

The fans would argue otherwise. Who else to blame? MLB? The owners thought so.

When salaries and costs went up and revenues went down in Montreal, Brochu’s front office had a fire sale of players and that soured fans, or so the thinking went: “Montreal, basically, after the strike in ’94, abandoned baseball,” said Robert A. DuPuy, baseball’s president and chief operating officer. “They turned their back on baseball.”84

If MLB shrugged its shoulders and pointed fingers elsewhere, who else was to blame? The owners? Brochu blamed fellow owners and a lack of revenue support from all of them, especially considering the lopsided exchange rate of converting dollars to loonies: “There’s an air of contempt that small markets are mismanaged, that we’re not marketing as we should, and we should move,” Brochu said. “We have to be allowed to compete, and to do it for more than a snapshot of time.”85

Regardless, the only thing that can be said with certainty is the era is over.

Summed up Michael Farber in Sports Illustrated: “In the full seasons from 1979 through ’83 the Expos averaged 2.24 million fans annually in a stadium so frigid in April and late September that not even 5 for 5 qualified as hot. Fans sang Valderi, Valdera, an oompah band played in the beer garden at the entrance, and each time an opposing pitcher threw to first base, a chicken was flashed on the scoreboard. There was no happier place in baseball, including Wrigley Field. The loss of capital when Charles Bronfman sold the team in ’90, the fire-sale departures of stars like Larry Walker, Moises Alou, and Pedro Martinez in the mid-’90s, the badmouthing of Olympic Stadium by former Expos general partner Claude Brochu in his futile effort to secure a downtown ballpark, and the dissipation of goodwill by Loria after he bought the team in ’99 all figured in the demise.”86  

C’est fini.

JOE MARREN is a professor in the Communication Department at SUNY Buffalo State. He can be reached at marrenjj@buffalostate.edu

Sources

Charles Bronfman photo: Courtesy of the McCord Museum, Montreal.

Felipe Alou photo: Courtesy of the Trading Card Database.

Frank Robinson photo: Courtesy of The Topps Company.

Notes                                                                                        

1 The Dodgers’ move to Los Angeles for the 1958 season made travel between LA and Montreal tenuous at best. So in 1961 the Dodgers named the Omaha Dodgers of the Triple-A American Association as the top farm team.

2 Lloyd Johnson and Miles Wolff, eds., The Encyclopedia of Minor League Baseball, 2nd edition (Durham, North Carolina: Baseball America Inc., 1997); Lance Rinker, “Lost in Translation: Montreal Expos” at blitzweekly.com/lost-in-translation-montreal-expos, July 15, 2014.  Retrieved May 25, 2019.

3 According to a December 13, 2018, World Atlas (worldatlas.com/articles/largest-cities-in-north-america.html) article, Montreal is the 19th-largest city in North America, with a population of just over 4 million. (Toronto is the largest Canadian city at 6.1 million.) Mexico City is the largest North American city, with a population of 20 million.

4 Other new franchises that would begin play in 1969 were the Seattle Pilots (today’s Milwaukee Brewers) and Kansas City Royals in the American League, and San Diego Padres in the National League.

5 Farid Rushdi, “How Jeffrey Loria Destroyed the Montreal Expos/Washington Nationals.” bleacherreport.com/articles/275561-how-jeffrey-loria-destroyed-the-montreal-expos/washington-nationals/, October 20, 2009. Retrieved May 25, 2019.

6 “Charles Bronfman” at baseball-reference.com/bullpen/Charles_Bronfman.  Retrieved May 25, 2019.

7 Despite the fiscal stress, Bronfman was still able to buy the defunct Montreal Alouettes of the Canadian Football League in 1982 and reconstitute what was left of that franchise into the Montreal Concordes. That team eventually folded and Montreal was without a CFL franchise from 1987 to 1996; Bronfman owned the team from 1982 to 1987.

8 Joanna Slater, “Charles Bronfman opens up about Seagram’s demise: ‘It is a disaster,'” The Globe and Mail, April 5, 2013. Retrieved February 18, 2019.

9 Rory Costello, “Jarry Park (Montreal).” sabr.org/bioproj/park/be7dd3d0. Retrieved November 12, 2018.

10 Ibid.

11 William Humber, “Montreal Expos.” thecanadianencyclopedia.ca/en/article/montreal-exposs. Retrieved November 1, 2018.

12 Mark Byrnes, “The Baseball Stadium Montreal Never Built,” Citylab, April 9, 2015. Quoting Jonah Keri’s book Up, Up, And Away. citylab.com. Retrieved May 25, 2019.

13 exposnation.com/en/real-reason-why-expos-fans-stopped-showing-up/.  Retrieved May 25, 2019.

14 Costello.

15 Costello.

16 Costello.

17 Richard Sandomir, “A First-Place Team Looking for Handout,” New York Times, August 15, 1994; Jonah Keri, Up, Up, and Away (Toronto: Random House Canada, 2014).

18 baseball-reference.com/bullpen/Charles_Bronfman.

19 Peter Hadekel, “Stagnation City: Exploring Montreal’s economic decline,” Montreal Gazette. montrealgazette.com/news/local-news/montreals-economic-stagnation, February 2, 2015. Retrieved July 23, 2019.

20 Rushdi.

21 United Press International, upi.com/archives/1991/06/14/expos-sale-to-brochu-official/228967682000. Retrieved May 25, 2019.

22 Ibid.

23 “Claude Brochu,” baseball-reference.com/bullpen/claude_brochu.  Retrieved May 25, 2019.

24 Sandomir.

25 Peter Kuttenbrouwer, “Claude Brochu Explains the Trouble with the Loonie and Canada’s Pro Sports Teams,” Financial Post, February 13, 2015.

26 Sandomir.

27 Brian Borawski, “National Attention: The Expos’ 35-Year Journey to Washington D.C. (Part 1),” tht.fangraphs.com/national-attention-the-expos-35-year-journey-to-washington-dc-part-1/, December 10, 2004. Retrieved May 25, 2019.

28 Kuttenbrouwer.

29 Sandomir.

30 Ibid.

31 Michael Farber, Michael, “Stars Are Out as Four Expos Learned, There’s No Room for Top-Dollar Players in the Montreal Budget,” Sports Illustrated, April 17, 1995.

32 Ibid.

33 Keri; en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Claude_Brochu. Both retrieved October 31, 2018.

34 Keri.

35 Michael Farber, “The Team Without a Country Will Play in Canada and Puerto Rico. And Pray for Help,” Sports Illustrated. si.com/vault/2003/03/31/340618/5-montreal-expos-the-team-without-a-country-will-play-in-canada-and-puerto-rico-and-pray-for-help, March 31, 2003. Retrieved April 30, 2019.

36 Steve Fainaru, “Expos for Sale: Team Becomes Pawn of Selig,” Washington Post, June 28, 2004.

37 Byrnes.

38 Humber.

39 sportsecyclopedia.com/nl/,tlexpos/expos.html. Retrieved Oct. 31, 2018.

40 Byrnes.

41 Michael Farber, “Last Swing in Montreal: The Majors’ Orphan Team, the Expos, Is Playing Out the String in Canada Under a Puppet Regime and Facing an Uncertain Future,” Sports Illustrated, March 18, 2003; Alan Snel, “Expos Can’t Cash In on the Upswing,” South Florida Sun-Sentinel (Fort Lauderdale), September 13, 1998. sun-sentinel.com/fl-xpm-1998-09-13-9809150201-story.html. Retrieved May 25, 2019.

42 Fainaru.

43 Loria had originally tried to buy the team from Bronfman in 1991.  

44 “Claude Brochu.”

45 “Loria Acquires 92 Per Cent of Expos Shares,” CBC Sports, May 23, 2001. cbc.ca/sports/baseball/loria-acquires-92-per-cent-of-expos-shares-1.283747. Retrieved May 25, 2019.

46 Borawski; Rinker.

47 Fainaru.

48 Shawna Richer, “Expos Without TV Deal,” Globe and Mail., April 3, 2000. theglobeandmail.com/sports/expos-without-tv-deal/article18421973. Retrieved May 25, 2019.

49 Byrnes.

50 Fainaru.

51 Rushdi.

52 Murray Chass, “New Montreal Owner Is Swinging With His Checkbook,” New York Times, December 26, 1999.

53 sportsecyclopedia.com/nl/mtlexpos/expos.html. Retrieved October 31, 2018; CBC Sports, cbs.ca/sports/baseball/expos-lose-labatt-sponsorship-1.262020, January 5, 2011. Retrieved May 25, 2019.

54 Bill Beacon, “Expos Back on Television,” CBC Sports. cbc.ca/sports/baseball/expos-back-on-television-1.254456, January 9, 2001. Retrieved May 25, 2019.

55 Associated Press, “Still No TV, English-Language Radio for Expos,” expn.com/mlb/news/2000/0403/461919.html, April 3, 2000. Retrieved May 25, 2019. According to an April 3, 2000, story by Richer in Toronto’s Globe and Mail newspaper, there were only about 5,000 season ticket holders at the start of the 2000 season.

56 CBC Sports, January 5, 2001; Richer.

57 Associated Press, April 3, 2000.

58 Beacon.

59 “Expos Lose Labatt Sponsorship,” CBC Sports, January 5, 2001. cbc.ca/sports/baseball/expos-lose-labatt-sponsorship-1.262020. Retrieved May 25, 2019.

60 Farber (March 18, 2002).

61 Griffin, Richard (Nov. 15, 2011). “Miami Marlins set to be a huge bonanza for Loria” https://www.thestar.com/sports/baseball/2011/11/15/griffin_miami_marlins_set_to_be_a_huge_Bonanza_for_Loria  Retrieved Oct. 31, 2018. And Rinker. And Reid, Jason (March 22, 2002). “Still Hooked,” Los Angeles Times.

62 Farber,” Last Swing in Montreal.”

63 Jeff Blair, “Sale to Loria reported close,” Globe and Mail, June 24, 2000.

64 Ibid.

65 Ibid.

66 Murray Chass, “Baseball; 14 Companies Alleging Anti-Expos Conspiracy,” New York Times, July 16, 2002.

67 Ibid.

68 Ibid.

69 Ibid.

70 Fainaru; theclubdom/com/opeds/ownerreviews/expos_review.html. Retrieved May 25, 2019.

71 Sarah Talalay, “Lawsuit Cites Plot to Wreck Expos,” South Florida Sun-Sentinel, July 17, 2002. sun-sentinel.com/news/fl-xpm-2002-07-0207170093-story.html#. Retrieved May 25, 2019.

72 Fainaru.

73 Talalay.

74 Farber, “Last Swing in Montreal.”  

75 Rushdi.

76 “Expos’ Deal to Play in San Juan Finalized,” espn.com/espn/wire/­_/section/mlb/id/1688599, December 17, 2003. Retrieved May 12, 2019.

77 Ibid.

78 Ibid.

79 Barry M. Bloom, “MLB Selects D.C. for Expos,” September 29, 2004. https://mlb.mlb.com/content/printer_friendly/mlb/y2004/m09/d29/c875100.jsp. Retrieved October 31, 2018.

80 Ibid.

81 Ibid.

82 Rinker.

83 Fainaru.

84 Ibid.

85 Sandomir.

86 Farber, “Last Swing in Montreal.”

New York Giants manager John McGraw, left, and team owner Charles Stoneham in the early 1920s. (NATIONAL BASEBALL HALL OF FAME LIBRARY)

INTRODUCTION

The New York-San Francisco Giants baseball club is among the most storied franchises in the annals of professional sport. To fans, mention of the club’s name promptly evokes images of Willie Mays, Christy Mathewson, Barry Bonds, John McGraw, Mel Ott, Juan Marichal, and other towering figures in the game. Over the decades, the talents of these and other headliners have propelled the Giants to 23 National League pennants, eight world championships, and more game victories than any other team in major league history.1 This essay focuses upon the endeavors of less-celebrated but no-less-vital contributors to franchise success: the club’s owners, presidents, and other front office executives. Largely by means of biographical portrait, we chronicle the founding of the club in Manhattan in early 1883 and recall its management history, financial ups-and-downs, and ballpark problems through the visionary, if locally traumatic, relocation of the franchise to the City by the Bay in 1958. Thereafter, the Giants’ more modern franchise story through its latest World Series title in 2014 is explored. We begin this saga, however, with a man who was neither New Yorker nor San Franciscan, club founder John B. Day.

John B. Day

The New York Giants were the offspring of an earlier baseball venture by John B. Day. Despite New York City’s status as the nation’s largest metropolis, its business and financial center, and a hotbed of 19th century baseball, the city did not host a team in the first professional baseball league, the National Association of 1871-1875. Nor did the city have an entry when the National League was formed in 1876, as the club commonly known as the New York Mutuals made its home in Brooklyn, America’s third-most populous urban center and then a municipality separate and distinct from New York City.2 The man who would bring major league baseball to New York City proper was a Connecticut cigar manufacturer and avid amateur ballplayer recently arrived in Manhattan for business purposes. His name was John Bailey Day.

From an early age, Day had been a baseball enthusiast, fancying himself a pitcher. Once in New York, the 33-year-old tobacco man organized and played on various amateur nines in and around the city. This led to a fateful encounter with Jim Mutrie, an unaccomplished player in assorted New England circuits then at loose ends in Manhattan. Mutrie had energy, a keen eye for baseball talent, and considerable organizational ability. Their partnership led to the first team that could legitimately call New York City home. The team was called the New York Metropolitans, established in early September 1880.

To effectuate his ambitions for the club, Day incorporated the Metropolitan Exhibition Company (MEC). After playing the 1881 and 1882 season as an independent nine and twice capturing the championship of the National League-affiliated Eastern Championship Association, the Metropolitans were more than ready for admission to the major leagues. Indeed, Day had previously turned down invitations to place the Mets in National League or its newly-arrived rival, the American Association. But over the 1882-1883 off-season, the club boss unveiled his expansive master plan.

To some surprise, Day again declined an invitation to place the Metropolitans in the National League, the longer-established and more prestigious of the two major circuits. Rather, the Mets joined the American Association, with Mutrie continuing as field manager. Thereafter, Day boldly announced that an entirely new MEC-owned ball club would be placed in the National League. The nucleus of this team, at first sometimes called the Gothams or simply the New-Yorks, would consist of budding stars like catcher Buck Ewing, first baseman Roger Connor, and pitcher Mickey Welch, plucked from the roster of the recently liquidated NL Troy Trojans. Standout Providence Grays pitcher-infielder John Montgomery Ward would also be wearing a New York uniform. The remainder of the squad would be formed from free agents, cast-offs, and other nonentities. Veteran backstop-manager John Clapp would do the on-field direction, while Day himself would serve as club president.

To accommodate the two major league teams that would be using the Polo Grounds, a second diamond with separate grandstand was laid on the property. As accorded with its preferred status as Day’s team, the NL club – soon to be known as the New York Giants – were given the established field on the southeast corner of the Polo Grounds. The Mets were consigned to a new, landfill-based playing surface situated on the southwest quadrant of the grounds. When the Giants and Mets played home games simultaneously, the two diamonds were separated by only a temporary canvas fence, an awkward arrangement that occasionally required outfielders from one league to chase long hit balls onto the field of a rival circuit.3 Differences in standing between the two MEC teams were reflected in the gate, as well. The carriage trade sought by Day for the Giants was charged 50 cents general admission, while the working classes cultivated by the Mets got in for a quarter. Potent liquid refreshment, however, was available at each venue, Day defying the league-wide ban on alcohol sales at NL games.

The aspirations of the MEC brain trust were confounded in 1883. Behind the stellar pitching of 41-game winner Tim Keefe, a Troy acquisition whom management had deemed unworthy of a Giants roster spot, and the astute generalship of Mutrie, the Mets finished a respectable fourth (54-42-1, .563) in the AA pennant chase. The Giants, meanwhile, could do no better than a disappointing sixth (46-50-2, .479) in NL final standings. Club president Day took mild consolation in the fact that his club had drawn more patrons (75,000) to the Polo Grounds than had the Mets (50,000), but neither club was near the fan attraction of their respective league leaders (NL: Boston Beaneaters, 128,968; AA: Philadelphia Athletics, 305,000).4 Still, the combined attendance of the two New York clubs would have been good for fourth (out of 16 major league teams) in a fan patronage race, and with only one ballpark for the MEC to maintain, financial prospects looked promising.

Events continued to disconcert Day during 1884. The Giants rose no higher than tied-fourth place in NL standings, and the MEC was embarrassed by the late-season need to dismiss new club manager James Price, caught for a second time embezzling funds from Giants coffers.

Events during the off-season manifested John B. Day’s intention to make champions of the Giants. And to achieve that end, the Mets would be crippled. First, manager Mutrie was transferred to the National League team. Thereafter, he assisted Day in some rule-bending chicanery to bring Mets stars Keefe and Dude Esterbrook over to the Giants.5 A gutted and dispirited Mets team played out the season but plummeted to seventh place in AA standings. But that was of little concern to Day and his MEC associates. In December 1885, the Mets were sold for $25,000 to amusement impresario and local railroad magnate Erasmus Wiman who promptly relocated the club to Staten Island.6

Fortified by its new acquisitions (which also included future Hall of Fame outfielder Jim O’Rourke (late of Buffalo), the Gothams posted a dazzling 85-27 (.759) record in 1885. But same was only good for second place in the NL, as the Cap Anson-led Chicago White Stockings had been two games better. In addition to a change in fortunes, the New York team underwent a name change, as well. During the early part of the 1885 season, the New York Gothams acquired the handle Giants, the moniker by which the team would become famous.7 More important to the MEC bottom line, the club had become the league’s leading draw, with 185,000 fans paying their way into the Polo Grounds, and was well on its way to becoming the National League’s vanguard franchise.

As the standing of his team increased in the NL, the stature of club president Day among his fellow magnates rose with it. With dominant team owners A.G. Spalding (Chicago) and John I. Rogers (Philadelphia), Day was chosen to represent the league on the important Joint Rules Committee of Organized Baseball. He was also appointed to the NL Board of Arbitration and became a heeded voice in executive conclaves. Meanwhile, top salaries, first-rate road accommodations, and bonhomie – John B. was on familiar terms with many of his charges – garnered the New York club boss esteem and good will in player ranks.8

In 1888, the Giants players rewarded Day’s amity by bringing home the National League pennant. And a record-setting 305,455 paid admissions to the Polo Grounds swelled MEC coffers. New York then made its triumph complete by downing the AA St. Louis Browns in a post-season match of league champions. Unfortunately, the club did not fare as well against a different adversary: city planners determined to complete the local traffic grid by running a street through the Polo Grounds outfield. From the beginning, Central Park North residents had resented the intrusion of a baseball park into their upper crust neighborhood, and their political emissaries on the city council had finally pushed through a scheme for removing it – the opposition of Tammany Hall notwithstanding.9 Rearguard legal action had forestalled the street improvement project from commencing while the 1888 season was in progress, but by early the following year it had become evident that the Giants would have to find a new playing field.

Manhattan-born Joseph Gordon, a real estate-savvy Tammany politico who joined the MEC in May 1885, informed Day that grounds might be available in far north Manhattan. But Day was unable to reach agreement with James J. Coogan, the estate agent for the site’s owners, the vastly-propertied Gardiner-Lynch family.10 Frustrated, Day then placed an extraordinary advertisement in the New York Times which solicited an angel to come forth and purchase the property, and then lease it to Day for $6,000 per year.11 To no great surprise, the needed intermediary failed to materialize, leaving Day’s ball club without a home field as Opening Day 1889 loomed on the horizon.

In desperation, the Giants began the season in Oakland Park, an undersized facility in Jersey City. After two games there, the club switched to the St. George Grounds on Staten Island, erstwhile home to the now-defunct Mets. But poor weather and an inconvenient locale proved a serious drag on fan attendance. So the search for a suitable ballpark site continued. In time, Day reentered negotiation with Coogan12 regarding the Gardiner-Lynch property, a grassy tract located at 155th Street and 8th Avenue in upper north Manhattan, hard by the Harlem River. Although in sparsely populated territory far removed from mid-town and bordered to the north by a 175-feet high escarpment later dubbed Coogan’s Bluff, the intended playing grounds were flat, vacant, and most important, serviced by a station on the New York & Northern elevated railway. In early June, agreement was reached on a five-year leasehold. But in a decision that he would soon have occasion to regret, Day declined to rent the entire tract. Instead, he leased only as much property as was needed for the construction of a new ballpark. Within a remarkable three weeks thereafter, the small army of workman engaged by Day had erected a usable, if unfinished, ballpark on the property. When completed that winter, this handsome facility would seat more than 14,000 and be named the New Polo Grounds.13

On July 8, 1889, the Giants inaugurated their new home field with a 7-5 victory over Pittsburgh, a harbinger of the second-half surge that would see New York nip the Boston Beaneaters at the wire for the NL pennant. The Giants then successfully defended their world champions title, defeating the AA Brooklyn Bridegrooms behind the hurling of unlikely mound heroes Cannonball Crane and Hank O’Day.14 Ballpark problems had reduced the season’s home attendance to 201,989, but over a five-year span the club had drawn well over 1 million fans.15 EN  Counting modest revenues contributed by the ownership and sale of the Mets franchise, the New York Times calculated that the operation of their ball clubs had netted Day and his junior MEC partners a profit of $750,000 in the less-than-ten years of the corporation’s existence. Although an exaggeration – no MEC club ever reported a single-season profit in excess of $50,000 – operation of its ball clubs had proven a reliable moneymaker for corporation principals. Doubtless, anticipation of continued profits from his now two-time defending world champion club prompted Day to turn down the $200,000 offer for the Giants tendered late in the 1889 season by Polo Grounds landlord Coogan.16 Within months, however, calamitous events would thrust the thriving franchise to the brink of bankruptcy.

The Talcott Group

John B. Day’s enjoyment of the Giants’ second championship campaign was tempered by a sense of foreboding. The 1889 season had been conducted amidst simmering player discontent, longstanding player resentment of the reserve clause having been exacerbated by the imposition of a tight-fisted salary classification scheme, adopted by the National League over Day’s objection. Even as the Giants rallied for the pennant, plans for a new major league, one controlled by the players themselves, were taking shape. Ominously, the chief promoters of this nascent rival, from visionary organizer John Montgomery Ward to lead player recruiters Tim Keefe and Jim O’Rourke, all wore a New York Giants uniform.

On November 4, 1889, the players’ intention to form a new major league was publicly announced.17 As New York was the very font of rebellion, Day’s Giants would be particularly hard hit by player defection. The Giants quickly lost the team’s entire everyday lineup to the Players League, save for aging pitcher Mickey Welch and outfielder Mike Tiernan. To counteract the attrition, the National League formed a War Committee chaired by the hard-nosed Spalding, with Day and Rogers as the other members. The two leagues then began maneuvering. Ward and his comrades, genuinely fond of Day and eager for a defection in NL ownership ranks, attempted to entice Day to their side by offering him a lucrative position in PL executive offices. Ever the NL loyalist, Day refused and was soon busy trying to lure PL enlistees – notably Giants star Buck Ewing and second baseman Danny Richardson – back to the NL fold. But to no avail.18 Thereafter, Day adopted a litigation strategy, instituting reserve clause-based suits against Ward, Keefe, Ewing, and O’Rourke. The courts entertaining such actions, however, were uniformly unsympathetic, declining to grant Day relief in any form.

With his roster depleted and the start of the 1890 season on the horizon, Day took the first of the steps that would hasten his departure from the game: he tendered Indianapolis team owner John T. Brush a $25,000 note in exchange for Jack Glasscock, Jerry Denny, Amos Rusie, and other players under contract to the just-liquidated Hoosiers franchise.19 Long-term implications aside, the move yielded immediate benefits. Day would now be able to put a presentable nine on the field. And he would need to, for the inter-league competition in New York would be cutthroat. In a display of hubris and disdain, War Committee chairman Spalding arranged the National League schedule to place his league’s teams in direct head-to-head completion with the upstart PL whenever possible. This made the atmosphere in New York particularly fraught, as the circuits’ rival clubs would be doing battle in the closest of quarters.

The prime architect of the Players League franchise in New York was Wall Street financier Edward Baker Talcott. Of privileged birth – his lineage descended from 17th century English settler gentry and his father was a wealthy banker and commodities broker – Eddie Talcott (as the sporting press referred to him) was an avid baseball fan and one-time amateur club pitcher.20 By 1883, the former “boy broker of Wall Street” had become a wealthy 35-year-old and a Polo Grounds regular. When Giants slugger Roger Connor hit a tape-measure home run during the 1889 season, “Eddie Talcott, broker and baseball fan, jumped up and started a collection. … [Spectators who] chipped in [included] Col. [Edwin] McAlpin and [Albert] Johnson. They gave Roger a big gold watch.”21 But Talcott, tobacco company tycoon McAlpin, and street car magnate Johnson were up to more than just taking in ball games together. Each was preparing to assume a pivotal role in the oncoming Players League. Johnson would provide crucial seed money for the new circuit. McAlpin would become league president, and Talcott would chart the course of the PL’s cornerstone franchise, the PL New York Giants.

Incorporated in Albany as the New York Base Ball Club Limited, the franchise’s chief financial backers were Talcott, McAlpin, Pittsburgh stockbroker (and reputed McAlpin brother-in-law) Frank B. Robinson, and New York City Postmaster Cornelius C. Van Cott. Executive positions were doled out, with Van Cott assuming the post of club president. But Talcott did most of the lifting, including the securing of playing grounds for the PL operation. Despite his pre-existing relationship with John B. Day, New Polo Grounds landlord Coogan had no compunction about leasing the adjoining property to Talcott. And soon, a brand new 16,000 seat edifice (Brotherhood Park) sat directly alongside the New Polo Grounds, the two ballparks separated by no more than their stadium walls and a ten-foot-wide alley.22

The fan allegiance question was settled on Opening Day when 12,013 attended the debut of the star-laden Ewing Players League Giants, while only 4,644 chose to watch Day’s National League Giants play next door. As the season progressed, both teams drew poorly, but the NL club suffered more, attracting little more than one-third the fans of the PL Giants. With five major league clubs (NL New York Giants, PL New York Giants, NL Brooklyn Bridegrooms, PL Brooklyn Ward Wonders, and AA Brooklyn Gladiators) playing in greater-Gotham, there simply were not enough fans to keep New York professional baseball viable. Awash in cash only a season earlier, the cost of new stadium construction and expensive litigation had taken a significant toll on MEC finances. And when dwindling gate receipts failed to cover operating expenses, the NL Giants quickly sank into the red.23 Summoned to a private meeting convened in Brooklyn in mid-July 1890, NL magnates were stunned by the degree of their New York club’s fiscal distress. Only infusion of $80,000 would avert franchise bankruptcy. To avoid the collapse of the league’s flagship franchise, A.G. Spalding orchestrated a financial bailout on the spot, pledging $25,000 to Day in return for stock in the Giants. Boston boss Arthur H. Soden did the same, while Brooklyn owner Ferdinand Abell and Philadelphia co-owner Al Reach made smaller investments in Giants shares. John T. Brush, meanwhile, agreed to convert Day’s outstanding $25,000 player payment note into a Spalding/Soden-sized stake in the Giants operation.24 When word of the arrangement leaked, the press took to referring to the strapped team owner as John Busted Day. And the process through which Day would lose control of the New York franchise had been set in motion. But in the short term, the financial aid had the desired effect, and the NL Giants managed to stagger to the 1890 season finish line, its 63-68-4 (.481) record good for sixth place.

While the PL Giants had achieved a more competitive third-place (74-57-1, .565) finish and far outdrawn their NL counterparts at the gate (148,876 to 60,667), the Talcott group had also lost buckets of money. And unlike Day (and silent Giants minority shareholders like Spalding and Brush), the PL club backers were not die-hard lovers of the game, in for the long haul. To the contrary, the Talcott group viewed Players League baseball mainly as a business venture, and expected a prompt and reliable return on their investment. This made them receptive to settlement overtures from their next-door rivals. Preempting larger National League-Players League consolidation talks, Day and Talcott swiftly reached an agreement to merge the two New York teams, cutting out John Montgomery Ward and his Players League directory in the process. Day, a one-time friend of the renegade players, had been adamant that player representatives be excluded from NL-PL merger discussions. Said Day, “The players have nothing to say at all. The capitalists on both sides will do the negotiating. The players will have to do what they are told to do.”25 Talcott concurred, brushing off objections by Ward. “I don’t propose to have Mr. Ward or anybody else criticize my business methods,” declared Talcott, testily. “Nor shall I allow Mr. Ward to tell me how my financial interests must be arranged. The fight cannot go on another year, for baseball will become a dead sport. Ward can say what he likes but it cannot alter matters with us a particle.”26 With its New York operation co-opted, the Players League soon passed from the baseball scene, its remaining backers scrambling to reach consolidation or buyout agreements with National League counterparts. By late-November 1890, a triumphant A.G. Spalding could accurately proclaim, “The Players League is as dead as the proverbial doornail.”27

While it may have been dead, the brief existence of the Players League had exacted a fearsome toll on the fortunes of John B. Day. Competitive pressures had drained MEC coffers and prompted Day to tap his personal funds to keep the Giants afloat. And when this proved inadequate to the task, Day had been forced to seek monetary aid from fellow NL club owners, whose combined investment in the New York franchise now exceeded Day’s own. The subsequent issuance of bonds to cover franchise indebtedness reduced Day’s ownership share even further.

On January 24, 1891, the concerned parties met to reorganize the franchise under the laws of New Jersey. The proceedings were dominated by the Talcott group, which now held almost half of the Giants stock. Other NL owners (Spalding, Soden, Brush, et al.) controlled just over one-quarter combined, while the stake of John B. Day and his MEC associates had been reduced to about 15 percent. Former PL organizers Ward, Keefe, O’Rourke, plus a few others held the remaining odd stock lots.28 The new organization was christened the National Exhibition Company (NEC), the corporate handle used for all the ensuing years that the New York Giants would be in existence. The respected Day was bestowed the title of club president, but executive power would be wielded by Vice-President Talcott and his allies.

An early sign of Talcott ascendency was embodied by the selection of the team’s playing site for the 1891 season. Day had built and paid for the New Polo Grounds less than two years earlier and the stadium was a fine baseball venue. But Brotherhood Park was the home base of the Talcott forces, and Talcott himself was responsible for the ten-year lease that the PL Giants had signed with landlord Coogan. With no intention of having an idle ballpark on his books, Talcott had Brotherhood Park renamed the Polo Grounds and designated as the permanent playing field for the New York Giants. Day’s adjoining stadium was re-titled Manhattan Field and relegated to hosting college football, track meets, horseracing, and other secondary sports. Day’s diminished stature in the new Giants operation was also reflected in the treatment of his old friend and collaborator Jim Mutrie. Although continued as Giants manager at Day’s insistence, Mutrie was shorn of effective command, supplanted in authority by Buck Ewing, the former PL Giants field leader. At the conclusion of the 1891 season, Mutrie was unceremoniously severed from franchise employ, with Day powerless to prevent it. John B. continued to hold the title of club president for another season but was now little more than a figurehead.

The next season was a trying one for New York, both on the field and at the gate. The 71-80-2 (.470) Giants of 1892 were mediocre non-contenders, and Polo Grounds attendance (130,566) remained only a fraction of the crowds attracted only four years earlier. Meanwhile, the Talcott group increased its grip on franchise operations by purchasing the bonds that had to be issued to cover club indebtedness.

In February 1893, Day resigned. He was a good man and a lifelong lover of baseball, but deeply-ingrained traits of personal rectitude and institutional loyalty left Day ill-equipped to deal with the fast-changing baseball scene of the early 1890s and the cold-blooded entrepreneurs who had entered the game with it. At a farewell meeting of franchise stockholders, John Montgomery Ward, a small-stake Giants shareholder, offered a motion of thanks to the departing club chief. Although he and Day had had their differences, Ward pronounced himself “deeply aggrieved to see Mr. Day retire from the presidency.” The motion was thereupon seconded by John T. Brush who added “a glowing tribute to Mr. Day as a baseball president, a companion and a gentleman.”   Upon unanimous adoption of the testimonial, Day, “overcome with emotion,” could do no more than reply, “I thank you, gentleman.”29 And with that, the founding era of the New York Giants passed into history.30

Andrew Freedman

Following Day’s departure, Cornelius Van Cott assumed the post of club president. But as before, the franchise course would be steered by Edward B. Talcott, the New York Herald reporting that it was “an open secret that [Van Cott] has but little knowledge of the national game and that Mr. Talcott will be ‘the power behind the throne.’”31 Having reconciled with John Montgomery Ward, now manager of the NL Brooklyn Dodgers, Talcott decided to improve club prospects through securing the accomplished Ward for the Giants. For $10,000 or a share in Giants gate receipts – accounts differ – Ward was acquired as player-manager for the 1893 season.32 Shortly after his installation at the helm, Ward dispatched aging Giants icon Buck Ewing to Cleveland for young infielder George Davis, whose Hall of Fame career blossomed once in a Giants uniform. With fireballer Amos Rusie performing yeoman work on the mound and Ward and Davis anchoring the infield, the Giants began to climb in NL standings. Attendance surged as well, with the 387,000 patrons drawn to the Polo Grounds during the 1894 season setting a major league attendance record. Capping the Giants campaign was a four-game sweep of the NL pennant-winning Baltimore Orioles in the 1894 Temple Cup match.

Notwithstanding the improvement in Giants fortunes, it appears that baseball club ownership had not produced the financial return anticipated by its commerce-minded ownership group, and by late-1894 Talcott in particular wanted out. The timing of events could not have been better for Andrew Freedman, a young Manhattan real estate millionaire who had already begun quietly acquiring shares in the New York club.33 Apart from personality differences – Talcott was polished and personable, Freedman volatile and prickly – the two men had much in common. Both were intelligent and handsome, astute in financial matters, and influential Tammany Hall insiders. In January 1895, Talcott delivered a slim but working majority of New York Giants stock into Freedman’s hands. And at a bargain price, too, variously estimated between $48,000 and $54,000.34 For the next eight seasons, the New York Giants would be controlled by a club boss soon deemed the most-hated man in turn-of-the-century baseball.

Andrew Freedman was born in midtown Manhattan on September 1, 1860, the second of four children born to well-to-do German-Jewish immigrants. His father Joseph was a prosperous businessman, variously described in census reports as a silk importer, dry goods merchant, and realtor.35 By the time that Andrew was born, there were already servants in the Freedman home and he was raised in comfortable circumstances. A precocious but indifferent scholar, young Andrew (he hated the nickname Andy which everyone used, but not to his face) dropped out of City College of New York after his freshman year and began his working life at age 16 as a clerk in a wholesale dry goods house. But he soon gravitated to real estate, the field where he would make his first fortune.36

In 1881, 21-year-old Andrew Freedman made the move that would dictate the course of his adult life: he joined Tammany Hall, the corrupt political machine that controlled the Democratic Party in New York City. There, Freedman became a protégé of Richard Croker, the shrewd, ruthless, and unapologetically avaricious politico who assumed control of Tammany in late 1885. While he may not have invented it, Croker perfected “honest graft,” the protection money that a Tammany-controlled NYPD collected from every saloon, brothel, betting parlor, dance hall, drug den, and other outpost of the Manhattan demimonde. During the Croker reign, Tammany coffers filled to overflowing, with Boss Croker and those close to him becoming very wealthy in the process. This included Andrew Freedman. What first drew the two men together is uncertain, but in time Croker and Freedman became both business associates and close, lifelong friends.37

Frank Graham, Noel Hynd, and other New York Giants historians have portrayed Freedman as an uncouth lout, and his failings – arrogance, a ferocious temper, and mean-spiritedness – are undeniable. But Freedman was also a man of formidable abilities. He was smart, possessed of fierce energy, and had extraordinary business acumen. Indeed, Freedman had an absolute genius for making money. During his lifetime, he would amass fortunes in three separate fields: (1) real estate, (2) municipal bonding, insurance, and finance, and (3) subway construction. In addition, Freedman was a savvy investor in the corporate endeavors of other entrepreneurs (including the Wright brothers).

The first of these fortunes was made in real estate where Freedman’s high-priced services were regularly retained by property owners, construction firms, city contractors, and others requiring the favor of Boss Croker. The Freedman real estate business flourished and by the early 1890s, he had become very wealthy. But Freedman’s revenue sources were not confined to real estate. Tammany-friendly judges often appointed him to lucrative fiduciary positions such as business conservator, bankruptcy trustee, or estate guardian. And in early 1893, Freedman’s appointment as trustee of the financially-failing Manhattan Athletic Club (MAC) led to his introduction to major league baseball.

Freedman was not an athlete himself and never played any sports, as far as is known. But his stewardship of the MAC included oversight of operations at Manhattan Field (nee New Polo Grounds), only recently the home field of the New York Giants, now playing next-door at Polo Grounds III (originally Brotherhood Park). With the premises no longer needed by the Giants, the lease to Manhattan Field had been acquired by the MAC for use by its baseball, football, and track teams, and for rental for other activities. As the lease was a prime asset of the MAC, the operation of Manhattan Field required the attention of trustee Freedman, who frequently visited the stadium to ensure proper administration of the revenue-generating events (harness racing, track meets, college football) conducted there. Freedman would later maintain that his interest in baseball stemmed from dropping in on Giants games played at Polo Grounds III while on his rounds at Manhattan Field.38

Freedman took a quick liking to the game and quietly began gathering stock in the Giants in 1894, often using proxies to disguise his interest in the franchise. Freedman accelerated his stock acquisition after Tammany lost the New York City municipal elections in November and Boss Croker temporarily withdrew to his estates in the British Isles. In January 1895, Freedman publicly acknowledged his intention to assume control of the Giants.39 By month’s end and with Talcott facilitating matters, he had captured working command, acquiring the additional shares needed to take the club over. According to sportswriter O.P. Caylor, the shares previously acquired by Freedman and those obtained from Talcott, E.A. McAlpin, J. Walter Spalding, Frank Robinson, C.C. Van Cott, and John Montgomery Ward combined to give Freedman 1,191 shares of Giants stock, or eight more than needed for an absolute majority.40 At a board of directors meeting conducted days thereafter, Freedman assumed the mantle of club president. The new club commander wanted Talcott to remain on the Giants board, but Talcott declined “for personal reasons.”41 Still, Talcott got his successor off on the right foot, arranging a meeting between Freedman and Polo Grounds landlord Coogan where the two political adversaries “buried the hatchet.”42 Talcott also furnished the incoming regime with a ringing endorsement. “I have no hesitation in saying that the incoming [Giants] Board will be the finest body of men which ever represented a baseball club,” he said. “They are all men whose standing in the commercial world is the very best.”43

Talcott was not the only one singing the praises of the new club boss. Wealthy, politically connected, and a native son, Freedman’s acquisition of the club was generally well-received. The New York Herald predicted that the new owner “will wear well … He is young, with excellent business ideas, liberal in his dealings, pronounced in his ideas of right and wrong, and quick to recognize an advantage.”44 Even future adversaries applauded. A.G Spalding stated that while he did not know Freedman personally, “judging from what he had heard … metropolitan patrons of the game need not worry about the future of the sport in this city,”45 while John Montgomery Ward – whose 30 shares transfer had been crucial to Freedman attaining majority control of Giants stock – approved the new magnate, particularly after Freedman ratified Talcott’s appointment of Ward favorite George Davis as Giants playing manager for the upcoming season.46 Overlooked in the glow of the good feeling was a dubious opening move by Freedman. Despite being a novice owner with limited prior contact and understanding of the game, he eliminated the post of managing director of the club. As club president, Freedman would oversee Giants operations personally.

With the nucleus of the 1894 Temple Cup champions returning (sans the retired John Montgomery Ward), great things were expected from the Giants.47 But the team started the new season sluggishly. Impatient New York scribes were quick to assign blame as did Giants fans, and the new team president was not exempted from their censure. Combative and surprisingly thin-skinned, Freedman reacted badly. He began by firing his managers. Davis, Jack Doyle, and Harvey Watkins would all be relieved of duty by season’s end. Freedman also had troubles with his players, particularly star hurler Amos Rusie who chafed under the owner’s disciplinary measures.48 Nor did Freedman enjoy cordial relations with his fellow magnates, most of whom found Freedman abrasive and impossible to get along with.49 Worse still, Freedman got into fights – at times literally, for he was ill-tempered and quick with his fists – with writers on the Giants beat, at times denying them admittance to the Polo Grounds or refusing to communicate about club matters.50 Led by New York American sportswriter Charles Dryden, the baseball press retaliated by publishing imaginary interviews with Freedman, complete with maladroit quotes designed to make the cosmopolitan Giants owner appear an ignoramus.51 A public relations nightmare, Freedman quickly managed to alienate most of the baseball world. In the meantime, his Giants team staggered home a disappointing ninth-place finisher (out of the 12-team National League).

Whatever his troubles elsewhere, Freedman encountered little opposition at Giants headquarters. Apart from a fractious relationship with board member J. Walter Spalding (A.G. Spalding’s younger brother and business partner), NEC directors supported Freedman policies and practices almost reflexively. Nor did minority Giants shareholders like John T. Brush and Arthur Soden challenge Freedman’s running of the club, notwithstanding their frequent opposition to him in National League executive council meetings. Freedman, for all practical purposes, personified the New York Giants franchise. That franchise, however, was headed for another rocky season in 1896. Crippled by the absence of Rusie, who sat out the entire season rather than capitulate to tight-fisted salary terms, the Giants finished a distant seventh in NL standings, 27 games behind pennant-winning Baltimore. In the off-season, the Freedman/Rusie impasse was finally resolved via the unofficial intervention of fellow NL team owners. Alarmed by the threat posed to the reserve clause system emanating from a federal lawsuit filed on Rusie’s behalf by newly-minted attorney John Montgomery Ward, these owners endorsed a Brush proposal to settle the lawsuit out-of-court for $5,000 – all without Freedman’s knowledge or consent. Indignant when he found out, Freedman refused to contribute to the settlement and fumed at the magnates’ intrusion into his operation of the Giants.

Despite all the headaches he caused, Andrew Freedman was pretty much a dilettante when it came to owning the Giants. Like the collection of French landscape paintings, opera patronage, and yacht racing, guiding a baseball club was essentially a pastime for Freedman, a diversion from the weighty political and business affairs that consumed his life. As a consequence, his stewardship of the franchise was mercurial, with highly publicized battles with his players, fellow club owners, and the baseball press alternating with extended periods of Freedman indifference to Giants’ fortunes. Nowhere is this best exemplified than in 1897. With Rusie back in uniform and George Davis (.355, 10 home runs, a NL-leading 136 RBIs, and 65 stolen bases) playing a superb shortstop, the Giants surged in league standings. But in the midst of an exciting pennant chase, Freedman did what many wealthy New Yorkers did to escape the August heat: he sailed for Europe. Oblivious to baseball, he spent the next six weeks taking the waters and plotting a Tammany comeback in the November elections with Boss Croker. The (83-48-7, .634) third-place finish was easily the Giants’ best during the Freedman years, but paled in significance for the club owner compared to Tammany’s smashing victory at the polls on Election Day. Ever the backstairs operative, Freedman declined office in the administration of in-coming Mayor Van Wyck, but, at Croker’s insistence, he assumed the post of treasurer of the National Democratic Party.

When not attending to political concerns, Freedman busied himself with the formation of the Maryland Fidelity and Guarantee Company, a municipal bonding, insurance, and finance venture that would yield him a second fortune. But a now-rare visit to the Polo Grounds in July 1898 for a game against the Baltimore Orioles precipitated the incident that would cast a pall upon Freedman’s legacy as Giants owner. Full accounts of the Ducky Holmes affair can be found elsewhere.52 For here, suffice it to say that Freedman, enraged by the umpire’s refusal to take action following an anti-Semitic slur loudly uttered by ex-Giant Holmes, ordered his club off the field, triggering a forfeit. The $1,000 game forfeiture fine subsequently imposed on the Giants aggravated Freedman further, while the season-long suspension imposed on Holmes infuriated Baltimore, as well as players throughout the league. The truly pivotal event, however, was the stance publicly adopted by other National League team owners. Deeming Holmes’ suspension illegal (because it had been imposed without first affording Holmes a hearing), the magnates sided with Holmes and urged the lifting of the sanction on him. This development stunned Freedman, who viewed the controversy as a matter of honor and respect. In Freedman’s mind, the magnates’ position and the ensuing official reinstatement of Holmes represented nothing less than league countenance of a gross personal insult. And Freedman would not abide it.

Freedman’s revenge took the form of a punishing financial lesson for NL club owners. Although Freedman adversaries like Cincinnati’s John T. Brush and Baltimore’s Harry Vonderhorst were prosperous businessmen, they lacked the wherewithal to conduct their baseball operations at a loss indefinitely. Andrew Freedman was different. While not in the plutocrat class of a Vanderbilt, Rockefeller, or Carnegie, Freedman was truly wealthy, with a personal fortune that was likely the equal of his fellow magnates put together.53 As Freedman did not need income from the Giants – he drew a $100,000 annual salary from Maryland Fidelity alone – he would suffer no great injury if Giants performance nosedived and the club lost its appeal at the gate.54 But real pain would be felt by other club owners, particularly those in smaller markets (like Cincinnati and Baltimore) who relied greatly upon games against New York to bolster revenues. Immediately after the Holmes imbroglio, Giants fortunes plummeted, with the 1899 squad posting a non-competitive 60-90-3 (.400) record, finishing a full 42 games behind pennant-winning Brooklyn. Repelled by the situation and with no end in sight, fans avoided Giants games in droves. Attendance at the Polo Grounds shrunk from a league-leading 390,340 in 1897 to 121,384 in 1899, and Giants drew only small crowds on the road.

The league’s distress gave Freedman no end of satisfaction. As the Giants’ dismal 1899 season drew to a close, Freedman declared, “Base ball affairs in New York have been going just as I wished and expected them to go. I have given the club little attention and I would not give five cents for the best base ball player in the world to strengthen it.”55 And as even his detractors knew, Freedman meant it.

With their horizons bleak and certain of Freedman’s ruthlessness, NL owners soon entreated for peace. But reconciliation with Freedman would come at a high price. First and foremost was submission to Freedman’s demand for reduction of the NL to an eight-club circuit and the elimination of syndicate team ownership – the twin policy prescriptions that fig-leafed the deeply personal nature of Freedman’s bitterness toward the league. The owners also acceded to his demand that the Giants receive the pick of the players available from the liquidated teams. In addition, the league agreed to reimburse Freedman the $15,000 that the yearly rent of Manhattan Field cost him, lest the grounds become available for some future competitor. Last but an important matter of principle to Freedman, the NL refunded the $1,000 fine imposed upon the Giants for forfeiting the Ducky Holmes game – with six percent interest.56

Another ramification of the mollification process was the emergence of a wholly unexpected alliance between Freedman and longtime nemesis John T. Brush, the league’s most influential magnate and heretofore leader of the Freedman opposition in NL owners ranks. Following a meeting with Brush arranged by Boston owner (and minority Giants shareholder) Arthur Soden, Freedman informed the baseball press: “I have patched up the differences I had with John T. Brush and acknowledge it with pleasure. We will now work on the most friendly terms and will work in harmony for the best interests of the sport.”57

The baseball press and most fellow club owners were mortified by the prospect of Freedman and Brush working in concert, and with good reason. But little immediate benefit from the Freedman/Brush collaboration accrued to their respective franchises, as the Giants and Reds alternated as the league’s cellar dwellers for the 1900 and 1901 seasons. This may have been because both men had larger endeavors on their mind than the immediate pennant races. Freedman, in fact, had taken to almost entirely ignoring the Giants, his energies devoted to the task that would yield his most enduring memorial: construction of the Interborough Rapid Transit line, New York City’s first underground railway system.58 Brush, meanwhile, was busy at work on a longtime pet project, a scheme to convert the independent franchises of the National League into a jointly-held trust.59 As Brush envisioned it, NL assets would be pooled into a holding company managed by a board of regents. Players and managers would be licensed by the board and assigned to various teams consistent with establishing competitive parity. Costs would be controlled by means of stringent salary caps and by the manufacture of baseball equipment by a Trust subsidiary. Apportioned profits to trust shareholders would be meted out at season’s end.60 The trust scheme was scuttled at contentious NL winter meetings held in early 1901, spawning a court battle that trust opponent A.G. Spalding won on the public relations front, but lost in court to the Freedman legal corps.

By now, baseball club ownership had lost its charm for Andrew Freedman, and the trust debacle may have finalized his intention to depart the game.61 But before he took his leave, Freedman assumed a supporting role in a 1902 Brush plot to disassemble the Baltimore franchise in the upstart American League, and thus preclude its imminent relocation to New York. Although this scheme eventually failed, as well, it did yield an incidental but long-lasting benefit: the engagement of disgruntled Orioles manager John McGraw as new field leader of the New York Giants.

In August 1902, Freedman announced that he had appointed John T. Brush managing director of the Giants, and transferred day-to-day control of club operations to him.62 Freedman retained the title of club president, but not for long. Six weeks later, he severed most connection with the club, selling all but a few shares of his majority interest in club stock to Brush for a reported $200,000.63 Still, Freedman remained an actor to be dealt with by major league baseball. Although the fall of Boss Croker following Tammany’s crushing defeat in the 1901 New York City municipal elections had stripped Freedman of much of his political influence, his superintendence of the massive subway project still gave him considerable sway over New York City real estate – a power that he would now exercise. Whether prompted by a sense of obligation to Brush, disdain of American League president Ban Johnson, or sheer malice, Freedman stymied AL entrance into Manhattan for months, condemning for putative subway purposes any possible ballpark site that Johnson had shown interest in. With the start of the 1903 season looming, only the acquisition of a desolate north Manhattan mesa overlooked by Freedman afforded the AL a foothold in New York.64 After that, Freedman withdrew from the New York baseball scene.

In retrospect, the eight years of the Freedman regime can fairly be judged the darkest in New York Giants history. The team had been a contender only once during that span (1897) and had reached bottom (a 44-88-5 last-place finish) by the time Freedman abandoned the game. Chronically impatient with his club’s standings, he inflicted 13 managerial changes on the Giants during his tenure as majority club owner. Worst yet, Freedman’s peevish battles – with his players, NL umpires, fellow owners, league officials, the sporting press – and his ferocious vindictive streak drained vitality from baseball’s flagship enterprise and hurt the game itself in the process.

In the ensuing decade, Freedman continued to prosper, adding to his fortune via various business endeavors. At the time of his death from a stroke in December 1915, he had accumulated an estate estimated at $7 million, almost all of which the life-long bachelor left to charity. By that time, the fortunes of the New York Giants had also rebounded – the legacy of an exceptionally congenial pairing of an astute club owner with a baseball-savant manager.

The Brush-McGraw Years

On the surface, John T. Brush and John McGraw seemed an oddly-matched pair. A generation older than his manager, the new club boss was dour, often inscrutable, and physically frail, his body long-ravaged by the effects of locomotor ataxia, a painful wasting disease. The Giants field leader was the opposite: feisty, often voluble, and near bursting with energy and good health, the very antithesis of John T. Brush. Their differences notwithstanding, the two men, both spawn of a grim, impoverished childhood in upstate New York, had immense regard for one another. And they worked almost perfectly together. The decade of the Brush-McGraw collaboration would see the New York Giants attain the club’s first period of sustained success.

Reams have been written about John McGraw, one of early-20th century baseball’s most celebrated figures. The following will focus on his now nearly-forgotten senior partner. John Tomlinson Brush was born on June 15, 1845 in Clintonville, New York, a remote hamlet situated near the Canadian border. The beginnings of his life were the stuff of Dickensian melodrama. His father, the first John Tomlinson Brush, died a month before his namesake’s birth. Mother Sarah Farrar Brush succumbed in 1850, orphaning five-year-old John and his three older siblings. Taken in by a severe paternal grandfather, young John spent most days tending to the exhausting drudgery of farm work and nights sleeping in an unheated barn.

Brush set off on his own at age 17, taking a brief course of study at Eastman’s Business College in Poughkeepsie before enlisting in the First New York Artillery Regiment in September 1864. By the time he reached 20, he was a battle-tested Civil War veteran. Mustered out unscathed in June 1865, Brush proceeded to Troy where, in time, he was befriended by George Pixley, a principal in a newly-formed retail clothing business. Within ten years, Brush advanced from clothing salesman to store manager to partner in Owen, Pixley & Company. Along the way, he married Margaret Agnes Ayres, a woman about whom little is known except that her marriage to John T. appears to have been a troubled one. Daughter Eleanor Gordon Brush, destined herself to be a somewhat significant figure in New York Giants history, was born in March 1871.65

In 1874, Brush was dispatched to Indianapolis as Owen, Pixley expanded operations westward. After frustrating delays, a company outpost whimsically named the When (as in When will it finally open?) Store opened its doors in March 1875. With consumer interest whetted by Brush’s unlikely flair for advertisement and promotion, the operation was a resounding success, eventually becoming the largest department store between New York and Chicago.66 The store’s boss, meanwhile, immersed himself in the civic affairs of his new hometown, and soon became a leading figure in assorted community and fraternal organizations.

Not an athlete himself (although he once claimed, implausibly, to have been a catcher in his youth), John T. first seized upon baseball as a vehicle for promoting his business. But he quickly became infatuated with the game. In 1882, Brush organized a municipal baseball league, constructing a diamond with grandstand in northwest Indianapolis and hiring future major leaguer John Kerins as player-manager for the When Store team. When the professional game mushroomed to three major leagues in 1884, Indianapolis was granted an American Association franchise. Historical accounts differ on whether or not Brush owned the one-year AA Indianapolis Hoosiers, but it seems more likely that Joseph Schwabacher, “a local liquor dealer beat Brush to the franchise.”67

In the years that followed, Brush’s interest in baseball only intensified. First, he placed an Indianapolis nine in the newly-formed Western League, only to see the circuit collapse around his league-leading Hoosiers. Brush then became the driving force behind local acquisition of the National League St. Louis Maroons and the relocation of that club to Indianapolis. In time, he acquired a controlling interest in the new Indianapolis franchise and assumed the post of club president. In addition to running his own club, Brush promptly threw himself into the administration of NL affairs, sitting on various of the league’s policy-making boards.

The adoption of one Brush initiative, a tight-fisted salary classification plan, was a major cause of the player revolt that led to the debilitating Players League War of 1890. Ironically, Brush himself was one of the conflict’s first casualties, the National League liquidating his non-competitive Indianapolis club (and weakling Washington, as well) as a preemptive wartime measure. Brush, however, had no intention of being forced to the sidelines. He exacted stiff reparations from the league, remained a member of the NL owners council, and obtained the promise of the next available franchise from his fellow magnates. Thereafter, at the clandestine meeting of NL club owners organized by A.G. Spalding to bail out the financially-failing New York Giants, Brush agreed to the conversion of the $25,000 note for Indianapolis players earlier given him by Giants boss John B. Day into stock in the New York franchise. Like Spalding, Boston’s Arthur H. Soden, and other new Giants stakeholders, Brush made no attempt to intrude on Day’s operation of the New York club. But acquisition of the stock fired a new Brush ambition: gaining control of the New York Giants for himself.

Fulfillment of that ambition would be deferred for more than a decade. For the short term, Brush turned his attention to Cincinnati, outmuscling one-time Players League angel Al Johnson for the new National League franchise allotted to the Queen City. Brush was delighted to once again have control of a major league baseball club, but his experience in Cincinnati would prove an unsatisfying one. Brush declined to relocate, maintaining his residence in Indianapolis. Thereafter, when the Reds were generally a non-contender in NL pennant races, the absentee club owner became a favorite target of local press critics, particularly sportswriter-editor Ban Johnson of the Cincinnati Commercial-Gazette.

Brush’s disappointment with the Reds was counterbalanced by new-found joy in his personal life. In 1894, Brush – his long-estranged first wife having died six years previously – married Elsie Boyd Lombard, a stage actress little older than his daughter Eleanor. A year later, the birth of baby Natalie increased the Brush household.68 The vivacious Elsie was a natural hostess, and soon the Brush estate, named Lombardy in her honor, became a regular stopping place for theater stars, literary lions, and other celebrities sojourning in Indianapolis. Meanwhile, Eleanor Brush married an earnest Philadelphian named Harry Hempstead, a union that would soon provide John T. with a trusted business subordinate and two grandchildren. Aside from his underperforming ball club, Brush had only the onset of health problems to contend with.69

When the expiration of the Players League and American Association yielded the bloated 12-team National League of 1892, Brush became the leader of the “Little Seven” (Baltimore, Brooklyn, Cincinnati, Cleveland, Louisville, St. Louis, and Washington) faction of club owners. While he quietly worked at achieving their ends, the public image of John T. Brush took frequent hits. A master of backroom intrigue with fellow owners but guarded and often uncommunicative with the Fourth Estate, Brush was neither loved by players nor admired by sportswriters. “Chicanery is the ozone which keeps his old frame from snapping, and dark-lantern methods the food that vitalizes his bodily issues,” intoned one critic.70 Impervious, Brush did not much care about bad press.

After outsider Andrew Freedman gained control of the New York Giants in early 1895, Brush made heavy-handed overtures toward buying Freedman out. The easily-offended Freedman, whose personal wealth vastly exceeded that of Brush, resented Brush’s presumption, and the two men quickly became antagonists in NL owners ranks. They even reportedly came to blows in the tap room of the hotel where NL winter meetings were held one year.71

While never becoming pals, Brush and Freedman developed a harmonious working relationship and collaborated on various fronts: elimination of syndicate club ownership; reduction of the National League to an eight-club circuit; the gutting of the American League Baltimore Orioles; the National Base Ball Trust scheme; the obstruction of AL efforts to place a team in New York, and lesser ventures.72 Thus, when Freedman’s interest in being a baseball club owner waned and he was ready to get out, Brush was his logical successor as boss of the New York Giants.73

On August 12, 1902, Brush assumed effective command of the New York Giants, appointed managing director of the club by president Freedman. Six weeks later, he was Giants boss in toto, having purchased Freedman’s majority interest in New York Giants stock for $200,000, a sum that Brush raised through sale of his Cincinnati Reds holdings to a consortium of local politicos.74 Shortly thereafter, Brush entrusted operation of his commercial interests in Indianapolis to son-in-law Harry Hempstead, and relocated to New Rochelle in suburban Westchester (New York) County, a short train ride away from the Polo Grounds. He also took up rooms at the Lambs Club, a show business social club situated on Broadway.

At the annual off-season meeting of the National Exhibition Company, Brush was formally installed as New York Giants president. Simultaneously, son-in-law Hempstead and Ashley Lloyd, Brush’s junior partner in the Cincinnati franchise and now a minority Giants shareholder, were elected to the club’s board of directors. With fiery manager John McGraw already in the dugout, a compliant corporate board in place, and an able, experienced chief executive at the helm, the fortunes of the last-place (44-88-5, .333) Giants were ready to skyrocket.

From 1903 through 1912, the New York Giants enjoyed great success: four National League pennants (plus a famous final game loss to the Chicago Cubs in 1908) and a 1905 World Series title amid a decade of first division finishes.75 All the while, John T. Brush, a noted stickler for decorous diamond behavior and previously the author of lampooned and unenforceable player conduct standards, privately reveled in the raucous on-field behavior of manager McGraw and his charges.76 Wisely, he gave McGraw a free hand regarding diamond strategy, player acquisition and salary, and involved him in other operational aspects of club-running. McGraw was also consulted on policy and business-related issues. Not only did the formula produce winning baseball on the field, attendance at the Polo Grounds soared. In 1908, the Polo Grounds gate of 910,000 represented triple the figure of the 1902 season, and set a new National League attendance record that would stand until 1920.

Manager John McGraw leads the New York Giants onto the field at the Polo Grounds in New York, circa 1911. (LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, BAIN NEWS SERVICE)

During the decade of Brush-McGraw collaboration, the only real concern was the club boss’s frailty. Starting in the early 1890s, Brush encountered increasingly serious health problems. More than once during his tenure as Cincinnati Reds president, he was not expected to survive. But John T. always managed to pull through. By the time he assumed command of the Giants, Brush, gaunt and usually grim-faced, looked well past his 57 years of age, and his use of his limbs had become limited. In time, he took to watching home games from the front seat of a chauffer-driven limousine parked deep along the right field foul line. Throughout these years, treatment of Brush’s condition was complicated by his refusal to take palliative but potentially-addictive medications. Often his pain was constant, and when accompanying the Giants on road trips, the intensely-disciplined club boss was given to playing solitaire through sleepless nights.77

As he came to grips with his approaching mortality, Brush had to deal with an unexpected crisis. On April 14, 1911, an early morning fire destroyed large portions of the 20-year-old Polo Grounds (nee Brotherhood Park). Brush wanted to rebuild the ballpark, replacing its charred wooden superstructure with modern construction materials, but had to weigh the costs (likely in excess of $100,000) against the future financial needs of his family. Surging Giants’ revenues made the money available, but Brush would not go forward with rebuilding plans unless wife Elsie approved. Happily for New York baseball, she did. And with New York Highlanders boss Frank Farrell magnanimously offering temporary use of Hilltop Park to the Giants, the 1911 season got off without a hitch. Two months thereafter, the Giants were back home, playing in a new iron-and-steel ballpark, the iconic bathtub-shaped Polo Grounds IV, and heading toward the 1911 National League pennant.

A National League flag in 1912 was John T. Brush’s last hurrah. As an accommodation to the visibly-failing Giants boss, the customary pre-World Series meeting of club representatives, officials, and league dignitaries was held at the Brush residence in New Rochelle where, among other things, Brush reconciled with American League president and longtime adversary Ban Johnson.78 Following a heart-breaking Giants loss to the AL champion Boston Red Sox, Brush presided over a hastily-convened meeting of the NEC board wherein Harry Hempstead was designated board chairman and club president-in-waiting. John T. then embarked upon a health-restorative railway trip to the West Coast. He never made it, dying outside Seeburger, Missouri on November 25, 1912. John T. Brush was 67. Baseball notables flocked to the Brush funeral in Indianapolis, none more grief-stricken than pallbearer John McGraw. “A gamer, braver man never lived,” said McGraw.79

The Hempstead Regency

The beneficiaries of the Brush will were his widow Elsie and daughters Eleanor and Natalie, each of whom was bequeathed a one-third share of the Brush estate. The estate holdings included the clothing business in Indianapolis and real property, but its principal asset was majority ownership of the New York Giants. The year before Brush’s death, Helene Britton had blazed the trail of female stewardship of a major league ball club, inheriting control of the National League St. Louis Cardinals upon the death of her bachelor uncle, Stanley Robison. Thereafter, Mrs. Britton took an active role in the management of Cardinals’ affairs. But the Brush family women had no interest in running the Giants. Nor would a man as tradition-minded as John T. Brush have wanted them to.

The terms of the Brush will entrusted disposition of estate assets, including the Giants, to co-executors Harry Hempstead and Ashley Lloyd. Immediately after the Brush funeral, Hempstead quelled rampant speculation about an imminent sale of the ball club. The New York Giants would remain in the possession of the Brush family, he informed the press.80 Then, as foreordained by his late father-in-law, Hempstead took over superintendence of the Giants, installed as corporation chairman and club president at the January 1913 NEC board meeting. A quiet, honorable man of sound but cautious judgment, Hempstead would administer the franchise capably, but with a constant eye upon what was in the best interest of the Brush heirs. Regrettably, his risk-averse temperament and lack of vision proved costly. In January 1919 and over the dissent of his wife Eleanor, Hempstead relinquished a controlling interest in the New York Giants franchise to a syndicate headed by Manhattan stock trader Charles A. Stoneham. In so doing, Hempstead deprived the family of the financial windfall that attended baseball club ownership during the Roaring Twenties.

Franchise regent Harry Newton Hempstead was born in Philadelphia on June 25, 1868. He was the youngest of six children born to the head of a customs brokerage firm, and grew up in comfortable circumstance. Although Lafayette College-educated to be a chemist, Harry began his working life as an executive in a New York City freight hauling company. Thereafter, he met and began courting Eleanor Gordon Brush, the daughter of [then] Cincinnati Reds owner John T. Brush. The couple married in October 1894, some four months after John T. had taken 24-year-old stage actress Elsie Lombard as his second wife.81 In 1898, the Hempsteads relocated to Meadville, Pennsylvania, where Harry assumed the presidency of the Garfield Chewing Gum Company. Four years later, Hempstead’s acceptance of day-to-day oversight of the When Store operation in Indianapolis freed his father-in-law to remove himself to New York and focus his attentions on the fortunes of the Giants.

Although no stranger to the game – Harry Hempstead had played outfield for prep school and college nines in his younger days82 and was a ten-year member of the New York Giants’ corporate board – the successor of the renowned John T. Brush was a blank to most baseball fans. The Cincinnati Enquirer informed readers that the new Giants boss was “a young man of engaging personality and quiet business temperament … [who had been] a careful and quiet student of the game for many years.”83 The New York faithful were reassured by news that John McGraw would continue as Giants manager, signed to a new $30,000 per year contract.84 And Hempstead would continue the Brush policy of giving McGraw free reign over game strategy and personnel moves. But unlike his predecessor, Hempstead did not seek McGraw’s advice on larger matters, like franchise direction and business outlook. Here, Hempstead relied on the counsel of minority owner/treasurer Ashley Lloyd and club secretary John B. Foster.85

An early order of business for the fledgling administration was reciprocating a kindness extended two seasons before by the American League New York Highlanders. When the junior circuit rival lost their leasehold on Hilltop Park at the close of the 1912 season, Hempstead promptly made the Polo Grounds available. For the next decade, the renamed New York Yankees would call the Polo Grounds home – while depositing $50,000 per annum rent into Brush family coffers. The accommodation also ushered in an era of cordial relations between the two New York clubs that would last the duration of the Hempstead regime.

The new club order began successfully, with the Giants winning a third-consecutive National League pennant in 1913, only to lose a third-consecutive World Series to an American League foe, in this instance, the Philadelphia Athletics. But trouble in the form of the upstart Federal League soon emerged. Although Hempstead would usually be a listener rather than a talker at NL owners’ conclaves, he was prompt to sound the alarm about the outlaw league, the peril posed by the Federals driven home to Hempstead when its backers inadvertently solicited him to invest in their Indianapolis franchise.86 To reduce player receptivity to Federal League inducements, Hempstead persuaded fellow NL magnates to concede certain contract-related demands recently made by the players, a strategy subsequently rewarded by the loyalty of Christy Mathewson and other Giants stalwarts when the FL came calling.

While generally perceived as a genial, mild-mannered man, Hempstead had a cold, clear eye when it came to business – as his fellow club owners and league officials would discover in early 1915. With the financially strapped International League franchise in Jersey City likely to be bankrupted by competition from the FL champion Indianapolis club just relocated to Newark, the leaders of Organized Baseball proposed to save the Jersey City club by moving it to the Bronx for the 1915 season. Such a placement, however, required the permission of the New York Giants, which held territorial rights over the borough. But Harry Hempstead would not grant it. In his view, another professional baseball club playing in New York City was not in the best interests of the Brush family. Notwithstanding pointed criticism by American League president Ban Johnson, International League boss Ed Barrow, and The Sporting News, Hempstead would not yield. The Jersey City club stayed put.87 Months later, the Federal League got a similar dose of Harry Hempstead, the steely businessman. The Federals’ plan to place a team in Manhattan was quietly but neatly thwarted by the Giants boss. In a move reminiscent of Andrew Freedman in his heyday, Hempstead dispatched agents to scoop up the East Side Manhattan building lots that had been designated as the site of the FL club’s ballpark, thereby depriving the would-be interlopers a place to play.88

The rational, business-first side of Hempstead was next put on display after the Federal League expired after the 1915 season. Although Organized Baseball had emerged triumphant in the battle with the Federals, a fearful toll on the game’s wellbeing had been extracted, in Hempstead’s opinion. Citing calculations made by NL officials, Hempstead observed that the minors had contracted from 49 leagues in 1913 to 26 presently, while more than 5,000 former players had lost their place in professional ranks, all of which Hempstead attributed to the havoc caused by the conflict with the outlaw circuit. “The man who thinks wars are good for baseball has never had anything to do with a club in a time of war,” he declared.89 That outlook propelled the “affable and likeable” Giants president to “the center of one group of good souls” who urged reconciliation with Federal League backers during a post-war parley of NL/AL/FL principals.90

One such backer was Harry F. Sinclair, the swashbuckling oil tycoon who had owned the FL Newark Peppers. In the winter of 1915-1916, Sinclair set his sights on acquisition of the New York Giants. Soon, rumors abounded. When queried on the subject, Hempstead – ever the businessman – revealed that “while he had received no definite offer for the club, he would sell [the Giants] if the offer was alluring.” Moreover, “he was open to proposals.”91 But a prospective sale foundered when Sinclair declined to meet the reported Hempstead asking price of $2 million for the New York club, an amount that Sinclair deemed “beyond all reason.”92 For the time being, therefore, the franchise would remain in the hands of the Brush family.

Unlike his predecessor, Hempstead was not fixated on baseball. During his tenure as Giants president, he continued oversight of Brush family business operations in Indianapolis, served as a trustee of his alma mater, Lafayette College, and enjoyed winter sporting activities in Lake Placid.93 But tending to the Giants was never too far from his mind. The 1917 season brought a second National League pennant to the Hempstead administration, but things had not gone agreeably. Manager McGraw had become resentful of his diminished role in franchise operations, and relations between him and Hempstead grew more distant. The Giants roster also contained personality types, particularly contrary second baseman Buck Herzog, not to the club president’s liking. When Herzog refused to accompany the club on a late-season trip to Boston, Hempstead suspended him. Buck was reinstated in time to play in the World Series, but the results were another Giants disappointment: a loss to the Chicago White Sox in six games.   

A more long-term concern of Hempstead was the effect that American entry into World War I was having on baseball. Although the 1917 season had not been seriously affected by the war effort, 1918 would prove a different matter. Player ranks were thinned by the call to military service or to work in defense industries, the regular season abbreviated, and the Fall Classic hurriedly completed by September 11. All the while, attendance at Giants games plummeted. The gate for 1918 home games was only 256,618, barely half that of the previous season and more than 400,000 below the inaugural 1913 campaign of the Hempstead administration. The major leagues as a whole had fared no better in 1918, each circuit losing more than one million patrons from the previous year. Drastic measures were needed to restore the game to good health. To that end, Hempstead and new Boston Red Sox owner Harry Frazee proposed the installation of former US President William Howard Taft as an all-powerful one-man executive-in-charge of the major leagues.94 While respectfully received, the Hempstead-Frazee proposal went nowhere.

Professional baseball was on the verge of a golden era. The game would enjoy immense popularity in the 1920s, with ballpark attendance skyrocketing and club investors reaping the rewards. But Harry Hempstead did not see this. In January 1919, Hempstead saw only hard times ahead, with baseball being no place for the Brush family women and their money. His determination to sell the ball club, however, created a split in family ranks. Elsie Brush trusted Hempstead’s judgment and would do as he advised, while daughter Natalie, although now a young adult, would do what her mother told her. Eleanor Hempstead was another matter. A private woman who shunned the limelight, she had inherited her father’s business acumen and was fiercely protective of his legacy.95 To Harry’s chagrin, Eleanor would not sell her interest in the club. Nor would minority club owner Ashley Lloyd part with his Giants holdings. Still, Hempstead managed to cobble together a block of club stock sufficient to constitute a majority interest in the New York Giants franchise.

On January 14, 1919, Hempstead released a public statement announcing that “with many regrets,” the Brush family had sold the New York Giants. The new club owners were a syndicate headed by Manhattan stock trader Charles A. Stoneham. Giants manager John McGraw and New York City magistrate Francis X. McQuade were small-stake syndicate members and would become club officers, as well. The sale price was generally reported as $1 million.96 Although Eleanor Hempstead and Ashley Lloyd would retain their stakes in the club into the mid-1920s, the guard at the Polo Grounds had changed.97

The Stoneham Syndicate

In the early 1920s, the New York Yankees began the assembly of a professional sports dynasty, with many pundits rating the 1927 Yanks the best ballclub in major leagues history. Yet during the first half of the decade, the New York Giants outdid their local rival. Piloted by John McGraw and with a lineup featuring future Hall of Famers Frankie Frisch, George “High Pockets” Kelly, Dave Bancroft, and Ross Youngs, the Giants captured four consecutive National League pennants (1921-1924) and two World Series crowns, both taken at the expense of the Yankees. Remarkably, these feats were accomplished despite a fractious and oftentimes dysfunctional front office. At the center of the turmoil was one of baseball’s more improbable figures: club president Charles A. Stoneham.

Short, stout, and jowly, Good Time Charlie Stoneham embodied a Jazz Age stereotype – cutthroat businessman by day, boozy bon vivant by night. Even before he took over the Giants in January 1919, Stoneham was a familiar name to the readers of New York City tabloids. Beginning with the well-publicized suicide of a mistress in 1905, Stoneham’s messy personal and business life was periodically in the news.98 Thereafter, the Giants principal owner had to contend with federal indictments, civil lawsuits, hostile fellow magnates, and troubles with booze, gambling, and yet more women. But during his 16-year tenure as club president, the Giants achieved more success than the club had had under any prior regime.

Charles Abraham Stoneham was a man of modest origins. Born in Jersey City on July 5, 1876, he was the older of two sons born to a Civil War veteran-turned-bookkeeper and his Irish immigrant wife. By the mid-1890s, Charlie was employed as a board boy by a mining stock brokerage. Adept with numbers and innately shrewd, he quickly advanced in the profession. By 1903, he was senior partner of his own Manhattan brokerage firm. And by 1908, he was being sued for fraud by firm clients.99 Undaunted by bothersome litigation, Stoneham expanded his stock trading operations, becoming active on the New York Curb Exchange, a frenetic, unregulated open-air marketplace for the purchase and sale of stocks that did not qualify for registration on respectable exchanges. Many curb exchange firms were actually bucket shops, establishments wherein the customer was sold what purported to be a derivative interest in a stock or commodity future, but no transfer or delivery actually accompanied the transaction. Rather, the order went into the “bucket,” with the customer, in effect, betting against the broker on the stock’s rise or fall.100 The potential for fraud here was enormous and many jurisdictions, including New York, made operation of a bucket shop (as opposed to a facially licit, if risky, curb exchange brokerage) a criminal offense. Still, bucket shops flourished

For a compulsive gambler like Charles Stoneham – he was a regular at race tracks, casinos, and other gaming haunts – stock speculation/bucketeering converted his pleasure in endeavors of chance into a livelihood, and he prospered spectacularly. In time, Charles A. Stoneham & Company would expand operations to Boston, Providence, Chicago, Detroit, and elsewhere, in addition to maintaining the home office in New York City’s financial district. By the advent of World War I, Stoneham was rich, so well-off that he could afford to lose $70,000 to Arnold Rothstein’s Partridge Club playing roulette one evening – over the telephone!101 But gambling was hardly Stoneham’s only vice. He was also a heavy drinker and fond of the opposite sex. With second wife Hannah safely stashed in their Jersey City home, Stoneham nightly prowled the Manhattan demimonde, usually with drink in hand and often with a chorus girl mistress on his arm.102

As rumor that the New York Giants were for sale became public during the winter of 1918-1919, candy manufacturer George Loft and Broadway showman George M. Cohan were identified as the most likely club buyers. Surprise therefore greeted Harry Hempstead’s January announcement that a majority interest in the franchise had been sold to a syndicate headed by Charles A. Stoneham, a stranger to Giants fans who did not follow newspaper gossip or the financial pages. Joining the Stoneham syndicate as much-junior partners were Giants manager John McGraw and Manhattan magistrate Frank McQuade, both of whom shared Irish-Catholic ancestry, connection to Tammany Hall, and a love of baseball, horseracing, and midtown night life with Charlie Stoneham.103 At the ensuing meeting of the Giants corporate board, Stoneham, holder of 1,166 syndicate shares, was appointed club president. McGraw and McQuade, holders of 70 shares each (purchased from Stoneham for $50,000), assumed the posts of vice-president and treasurer, respectively.104

Like John T. Brush, Stoneham had total faith in manager McGraw, leaving roster decisions and game strategy entirely to Little Napoleon. Stoneham was also liberal with his checkbook, bankrolling the improvements sought by McGraw. Otherwise, Stoneham withdrew, avoiding locker room contact with Giants personnel and observing game action from a window in his distant Polo Grounds office. From there, Stoneham enjoyed the play of four consecutive NL pennant-winners and the resurgence of the faithful at the ballpark turnstiles. Between 1920 and 1924, the Giants averaged more than 900,000 fans per season for home games, swelling the club treasury. Only the Yankees, Polo Grounds tenants through 1922, drew better.

The New York Giants and Boston Braves gather on the field at the Polo Grounds for Opening Day in 1923. (LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, BAIN NEWS SERVICE)

Through this great run of club success, Stoneham tried to avoid the limelight. But he seemed unable to escape press and public attention. The January 1922 financial collapse of E. D. Dier & Company, a brokerage firm in which Stoneham was a silent principal, generated a bevy of civil lawsuits against him.105 Then, trouble erupted in club management ranks, culminating in a rumored fist fight between Stoneham and McGraw, the latter being given to fisticuffs when intoxicated.106 By October, Stoneham was believed to be entertaining a buy-out offer from erstwhile Giants president Harry Hempstead and one-time New York Highlanders front man Joseph Gordon.107 Believing that they had a first option on Stoneham’s stock in the Giants, McGraw and McQuade raged at such reports and threatened legal action. Evasive non-denials by Stoneham only inflamed the situation, prompting the club president to retreat to Havana until the furor abated.108 In the end, Stoneham held on to his Giants stock, permitting an uneasy truce to descend upon the franchise’s front office.

A problem far graver than difficulty with his baseball junior partners soon confronted Stoneham: the implosion of E. M. Fuller & Company, a notorious Manhattan bucket shop. Summoned to testify before bankruptcy commissioners, Stoneham was unable to provide a plausible explanation for the $147,000 that he had passed to Manhattan Sheriff (and Tammany powerbroker) Thomas F. Foley via Fuller accounts. Stoneham’s claim that the money was a personal loan to Foley subsequently formed the gravamen of a perjury indictment obtained by federal prosecutors.109

Stoneham’s denial of the charge and his resolution to go to trial placed baseball’s governing hierarchy in a bind. Although fellow club owners were clamoring for Stoneham’s ouster as Giants president, National League president John M. Heydler felt powerless to act. “I have neither the inclination nor the right to discuss Mr. Stoneham’s affairs outside of baseball,” Heydler insisted. “As [NL] president, I have only to do with Mr. Stoneham as a club owner and league member,” adding, on that account, that he had found Stoneham to be “a good sportsman, fair and straight in all his league dealings … and reasonable in his official dealings with my office.”110 The silence of Commissioner Kenesaw Mountain Landis bespoke a similar disinclination to institute action against Stoneham, at least for the time being.111

The troubles facing Stoneham expanded exponentially when a superseding federal indictment was unsealed in January 1924. Deeper investigation into Stoneham’s involvement in the Fuller operation had yielded fraud, theft, and related criminal charges against him. Stoneham now faced a lengthy prison sentence, if convicted. Worse yet for Organized Baseball, the new indictment also charged others associated with the New York Giants: brother Horace A. Stoneham and reputed brother-in-law Ross F. Robertson, both members of the Giants’ corporate board, and Stoneham attorney Leo F. Bondy, legal counsel to the Giants.112 After a trial punctuated by acrimonious wrangling between the trial judge and prosecutors, and post-verdict allegations of jury tampering, Stoneham and the others were acquitted.113 Stoneham’s legal problems, however, were far from over. Civil judgments obtained against him by defrauded investors plagued him, while ceaseless attorney’s fees taxed the Stoneham bank account.114 Although the Giants continued to draw well at the gate,115 Stoneham needed money and sought to enhance the revenue derived from his leasehold on the Polo Grounds by renting the ballpark to boxing promoter Tex Rickard, a summer opera company, professional soccer teams, and college football, with mixed financial returns. Whatever his money troubles, Stoneham no longer gave thought to selling the Giants, now intended as a legacy for son Horace, then getting his feet wet in club management.116 But the pressure on the Stoneham treasury meant that manager McGraw would no longer have unfettered access to the club owner’s checkbook.

No sooner had Stoneham finally put his brokerage-related headaches behind him than he was confronted with an ugly internal fracas in the Giants ownership syndicate. The Stoneham-McGraw-McQuade triumvirate had long been a troubled one, and replacement of McQuade as club treasurer during a May 1928 National Exhibition Company meeting precipitated a very public falling out. Shortly thereafter, McQuade filed suit to regain his corporate office, alleging, among other things, that Stoneham had used NEC funds to finance personal ventures. Stoneham admitted making use of the money, but maintained that he had long ago repaid the corporate treasury, with interest. Stoneham then counter-sued, accusing McQuade of padding the Polo Grounds free pass list with a multitude of McQuade cronies, and of threatening Stoneham with physical harm when Stoneham complained. The McQuade-Stoneham suit dragged on for years before a $42,827 judgment obtained at trial by McQuade was vacated by New York’s highest appellate court, and his lawsuit dismissed.117

While the intra-management lawsuit played out, the 30-year tenure of manager John McGraw came to an end. Frustrated by his recent inability to win a pennant and perhaps suffering the early effects of the stomach cancer that would claim his life, McGraw resigned midway through the 1932 season. His successor, star first baseman Bill Terry, quickly succeeded where McGraw had not, leading the Giants to the 1933 NL crown. The Giants then assumed the mantle of baseball champions for the first time in more than a decade, defeating the Washington Senators in a five-game World Series.

The reign of club owner Charles A. Stoneham was also approaching its end, hastened by the onset of Bright’s Disease (kidney failure). As Stoneham’s health declined, son Horace took on a more substantial role in the Giants front office. In late December 1935, Charles journeyed to Hot Springs, Arkansas, but its medicinal waters did not restore his wellbeing. Lapsing into a three-day coma, Stoneham died there on January 6, 1936. He was 59. Following a hasty and very private funeral, the deceased was laid to rest in Holy Name Cemetery in Jersey City. Three days later, the Stoneham will was filed for probate by executor Leo Bondy. According to its terms, the estate would be divided equally among wife Hannah and the two Stoneham children, Mary and Horace.118

Some three months later, the shroud placed over the Stoneham funeral became understandable. Charles Stoneham had had another “wife” and family ensconced in Westchester County. In April 1936, a former showgirl named Margaret Leonard filed a court petition seeking support and maintenance for herself and children Russell Stoneham, age 16, and Jane Stoneham, age 12. Whether the long-suffering Hannah Stoneham or her son Horace were previously aware of Charles’ second family is unknown, but neither ever publicly acknowledged it.119 The existence of the second family, however, was no secret to executor Bondy or Charles’ brother Horace A. Stoneham. Both men served as trustees of a fund that Charles had set up for the benefit of children Russell and Jane.120 Fortunately for baseball, the new Mrs. Stoneham laid no claim upon New York Giants stock, and stewardship of the club passed to son Horace.

In terms of moral character, Charles A. Stoneham – shady stock speculator, ethically-challenged businessman, criminal court defendant, serial philanderer, and quasi-bigamist – was easily the worst person ever associated with Giants ownership. But in purely baseball terms – five NL pennants and three World Series titles in a 16-season span – the Charles Stoneham years were the most successful in New York Giants history.

Horace Stoneham and Relocation of the Franchise to San Francisco

In January 1936, boyish Horace Stoneham inherited stewardship of the New York Giants from his late father. Over the ensuing two decades, Horace would devote himself single-mindedly to the club’s success. Then, confronted with poor financial prospects, a declining fan base, and a decaying ballpark, he decided upon a course once unimaginable – relocation of New York’s most venerable sports team to the West Coast. Gotham sportswriters and legions of local Giants fans never forgave him, and thereafter took delight in Stoneham’s many travails as owner of the San Francisco Giants. Guided by a traditionalist unable or unwilling to adapt to changing times, the club was in serious financial trouble by the time that Horace took his leave of the game in early 1976. Although many in baseball liked the genial Horace Stoneham, few expressed regrets at his departure.

Born in Jersey City on April 27, 1903, Horace Charles Stoneham was the younger son of enterprising stock speculator Charles A. Stoneham and his second wife, the former Johannah McGoldrick.121 Horace never knew his older brother Charles A. Jr., who died as a four-year-old in a tragic drowning accident but had the childhood company of his half-sister Mary and domestic help engaged by the Stonehams. Following his attendance at local parochial schools, Horace was enrolled at Loyola Academy in Manhattan, where he compensated for underperformance in the classroom by excelling on the school’s ice hockey and baseball teams. After further academic grooming in prep schools – he eventually graduated from the Pawling School in upstate New York – Horace matriculated to Fordham University in the Bronx. He lasted four days.122 His father then dispatched Horace to California for a sobering encounter with pick and shovel in the copper mines. The experience, surprisingly, agreed with Stoneham, fostering the ambition to enter engineering school. Sadly, as Horace later recalled, “I wasn’t smart enough,” and the following year he headed to Giants spring camp in Florida, where a long apprenticeship in club operations commenced.123 While learning the ropes, Horace met and began courtship of a young dancer named Valleda Pyke. The couple was married in 1924 and soon had two children, Mary Valleda (born 1925) and Charles Horace, called “Pete” (1927).

Charles A. Stoneham always maintained that he had purchased the Giants in order to pass the club on to his son. But before Horace inherited, he would be thoroughly schooled in all aspects of franchise operation. He worked in the ticket office, assisted the grounds crew, learned the intricacies of handling travel accommodations, and was given responsibility for scheduling non-baseball events at the Polo Grounds. When his father’s health began to fail, Horace assumed more front office responsibilities. Thus, when Charles died in January 1936, Horace was ready to take over and his succession as franchise boss was a smooth one. When he was formally installed in office as New York Giants president, the 32-year-old was reported to be the youngest chief executive in major league history.124 The ballclub whose fortunes the youthful Stoneham now oversaw was a veteran one, studded with future Hall of Famers like Bill Terry, Carl Hubbell, Mel Ott, and Travis Jackson. Emulating his father’s example, Horace gave manager Terry a wide berth, avoiding the club locker room and watching game action from the same distant clubhouse window that Charles Stoneham had used. The immediate results were gratifying – at least until World Series time. The Giants captured the NL pennant in 1936 and 1937, only to lose the Fall Classic each year to the Yankees.

Although Terry hung up his first baseman’s glove after the 1936 season, he remained as manager through the 1941 season. When Ott succeeded him as club skipper, Stoneham assumed a higher profile, becoming, in effect, the Giants general manager, as well as being club president. During the 1940s, the Giants were also-rans in National League standings, as the St. Louis Cardinals and Brooklyn Dodgers vied for the league pennant most seasons. Like many other franchises, however, the Giants benefitted from the post-World War II spike in fan attendance. From 1946 through 1951, more than 1 million patrons passed through Polo Grounds turnstiles each season. The revenues generated by a robust gate were important to Horace Stoneham for, unlike a coming generation of club owners, he was not some multi-millionaire dabbling in baseball. The New York Giants represented Stoneham’s almost exclusive source of income.

A frequent criticism of the Stoneham regime was that it was suffused with nepotism, a practice started by Horace’s father. Although he had left the baseball side of the Giants operation entirely to vice-president/manager John McGraw and his managerial successor Bill Terry, Charles Stoneham found club employment for various family members. He had hired footloose son Horace, first assigning him to menial tasks and then to the Giants front office. Charles also bestowed incomes upon his brother Horace A. Stoneham and reputed brother-in-law Ross F. Robertson via membership on the franchise’s corporate board. As club president, Horace maintained this tradition. His cousin, another Charles A. Stoneham, was appointed a Giants scout and later became farm system director. Nephew Charles Stoneham “Chub” Feeney was recruited for the Giants front office immediately after his law school graduation, while son Pete Stoneham was made a junior club executive while still in his late 20s, just as Horace had been.

Worse yet to some observers, Horace often formed emotional attachments to veteran Giants players, treating them akin to family members and, as a result, was reluctant to part with their services even when their usefulness to the club had waned.125 In mid-season 1948, however, the Stoneham sentimentality was little in evidence. With the (37-38, .493) Giants stuck mid-pack in NL standings, Stoneham abruptly fired 23-year club member Mel Ott as manager, replacing him with stormy Leo Durocher. The move so upset Horace’s daughter Mary Valleda that she “didn’t speak to [Stoneham] for a month.”126 But the team rallied under Durocher’s direction, and the Giants would be a pennant contender for most of Lippy Leo’s eight-season managerial tour.

Belying his later reputation as a hidebound traditionalist, Stoneham pursued innovation, at least for a time. Beginning in the late-1930s, he invested heavily in developing a minor league farm system for the Giants. With Cleveland Indians boss Bill Veeck, Stoneham was in the vanguard of placing spring training in Arizona, removing the Giants from their longtime camp in Florida to Scottsdale in 1947. That same year, Horace was one of the first baseball club owners to embrace television, signing a contract for the telecast of Giants home games with the local NBC station (then called WRCA-TV). Far more important, Stoneham quickly embraced integration – once Brooklyn and Jackie Robinson had breached the color barrier. By 1949, the Giants lineup featured former Negro League standouts Monte Irvin and Hank Thompson, with the incomparable Willie Mays soon to join them.127 Stoneham was also fast to explore the foreign player market, and soon modest talents like Ray Noble (Cuba), Ruben Gomez (Puerto Rico), Ramon Monzant (Venezuela), Ozzie Virgil (Dominican Republic), Valmy Thomas (Virgin Islands), and Andre Rodgers (Bahamas) were accorded spots on the New York Giants roster (with Latin greats like Orlando Cepeda and Juan Marichal, plus the Alou brothers and Jose Pagan to follow after the club arrived in San Francisco). But the event which cemented Horace Stoneham’s place in baseball annals was the relocation of the storied New York franchise.

Although the Giants had experienced some recent success – winning National League pennants in 1951 and 1954, and the World Series in the latter year – the club was now playing a decided third fiddle to the Yankees and Dodgers with New York-area baseball fans. In 1956, only 629,179 patrons attended Giants games at the Polo Grounds, little more than half the number of only two seasons earlier, and a fraction of the Yankees (1,491,784) and Dodgers (1,213,562) gate. The Giants’ 1911 ballpark was falling into disrepair and the north Manhattan neighborhood where the Polo Grounds sat had changed for the worse, much to the discomfort of fans coming in from the Westchester and New Jersey suburbs. Meanwhile, after 50 years of stability, major league franchises were on the move – the Boston Braves to Milwaukee in 1953; the St. Louis Browns to Baltimore in 1954; the Philadelphia Athletics to Kansas City in 1955. And soon rumors of relocation attached to the New York Giants.

In years past, Stoneham had publicly denied any intention of moving the Giants.128 But that changed as the club’s situation worsened in the mid-1950s. Decreased ball park attendance – whether the product of declining talent on the field, the decaying state of the Polo Grounds, parking problems, competition from nightly trotting races at nearby Roosevelt Raceway, and/or television – precipitated problems meeting payroll. Meanwhile, the abandonment by city officials of proposals for the construction of a new sports stadium on Manhattan’s west side may have crushed whatever hope Horace held for a Giants renaissance in New York. Whatever the underlying reasons, he came to the conclusion that New York “could not support three baseball teams.”129 Testifying in July 1957 before a Congressional subcommittee probing the relocation of baseball franchises, Stoneham declared that “if our club doesn’t make an immediate move, it is faced with the problem of diminishing income and may lose the opportunity to move later.”130 Stoneham set his immediate sights on Minneapolis, where the Giants maintained an American Association farm club. But another prospective transfer location thereafter emerged: San Francisco.

Aggressively, albeit discreetly, promoted by Bay Area officials acquainted with Horace, and with a Giants-friendly fan base derived from a decade of Arizona spring training baseball already in place, San Francisco was soon designated the new hometown of the Giants.131 Years later, Stoneham dismissed the widely-held notion that he had served as cats’ paw for Brooklyn boss Walter O’Malley, intent on moving the Dodgers to Los Angeles and needing a relocation partner to saddle with San Francisco, the less-desirable West Coast venue. Said Horace: “If Brooklyn had picked San Francisco first, I would not have gone to Los Angeles. San Francisco was the place I preferred. Believe me when I say, San Francisco first, Los Angeles never.”132

BILL LAMB spent more than 30 years as a state/county prosecutor in New Jersey. He was the editor of “The Inside Game,” the newsletter of SABR’s Deadball Era Committee from 2012 to 2022, and the author of “Black Sox in the Courtroom: The Grand Jury, Criminal Trial and Civil Litigation” (McFarland, 2013).

• Read more: Click here to read Part 2 of this series, on San Francisco Giants ownership history (1958-present)

Notes

1 According to statistics compiled through the completion of the 2023 season by Baseball-Reference.com, the Giants’ win total of 11,461 exceeds that of the second-best Chicago Cubs by 117 victories.

2 For most of the 19th century, the City of New York consisted solely of Manhattan, until expanded by annexation of adjoining parts of the west Bronx in 1874. Brooklyn and the other outer boroughs of the current city were not incorporated into New York until 1898.

3 Counting doubleheaders, the Giants and Mets were simultaneously in action at the Polo Grounds on 12 separate playing dates. For more, see Stew Thornley, Land of the Giants: New York’s Polo Grounds (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 2000), 16-20.

4 Club attendance figures for the 1883 through 1889 seasons have been taken from John Thorn,  Pete Palmer, and Michael Gershman, eds. Total Baseball (Kingston, New York: Total Sports Publishing, Inc., 7th ed., 2001), 74. Beginning with the 1890 season, attendance numbers have been taken from Baseball-Reference.com.

5 For a more detailed account of the affair, see David Nemec, The Beer and Whisky League: The Illustrated History of the American Association – Baseball’s Renegade Major League (New York: Lyons & Burford, 1994), 91-92.

6 “The Metropolitan Club Deal,” New York Clipper, December 12, 1885, and “Mr. Wiman’s Baseball Club,” New York Times, December 5, 1885.

7 Although widely attributed to manager Jim Mutrie, the nickname Giants was likely coined by New York Evening World sportswriter P.J. Donahue. See https://sabr.org/bioproj/person/jim-mutrie/

8 Years later, former Giants outfielder John Henry recalled that “Day travelled with his men on many [road] trips and nothing was too good for the players.” And when he felt “that his players were tired and needed relaxation, [Day] would order champagne and wine for them and do other things for their comfort,” as per an unidentified circa 1923 newspaper article contained in the John B. Day file at the Giamatti Research Center in Cooperstown.

9 Although a Tammany Hall member, Day possessed little political clout. But junior MEC partner Joseph Gordon, elected to the New York state assembly from a Manhattan district in 1888, had considerable muscle. But even a Sachem heavyweight like Gordon proved unable to save the Polo Grounds from demolition.

10 For more on the patrician Gardiner-Lynch clan and its real property agent, see https://sabr.org/bioproj/topic/harriet-and-james-j-coogan/

11 See New York Times, April 9, 1889. An abbreviated version of Day’s ballpark angel prayer was published the following day in the New York Tribune.

12 Irish immigrant James Jay Coogan (1845-1915), originally the co-proprietor of a successful lower Manhattan furniture store, had married into the Gardiner-Lynch family in 1885 (as had his brother Edward the year before). At the time of his dealings with Day, Coogan also served as executor of the estate of his recently-deceased father-in-law William L. Lynch.

13 For a fuller account of the events attending the erection of this new Giants ballpark, see the BioProject entry for Manhattan Field, aka the New Polo Grounds.

14 Crane and O’Day posted all six Giants victories in the best-of-ten games series. Future Hall of Famers Tim Keefe and Mickey Welch went winless for New York.

15 Per Total Baseball, the New York Giants total home attendance during the 1885-1889 seasons was 1,144,389.

16 “An Offer for the Giants,” New York Times, September 6, 1889.

17 “Baseball Brotherhood,” New York Times, November 4, 1889: 2. A verbatim reprint of the players’ declaration of war and an apt summary of the situation is provided in Mike Roer, Orator O’Rourke: The Life and Times of a Baseball Radical (Jefferson, NC: McFarland, 2005), 169-172. For a more expansive treatment of Players League hostilities in New York, see James D. Hardy, Jr., The New York Giants Base Ball Club: The Growth of a Team and a Sport, 1870-1900 (Jefferson, NC: McFarland, 1996), 92-133.

18 The unrequited wooing of Ewing and Richardson received ample press coverage, much to Day’s chagrin. ““Buck” Ewing Weakening,” Chicago Tribune, February 18, 1890; Boston Globe, February 18 and 23, 1890; and Sporting Life, February 26, 1890. The reported vacillation of Ewing, however, would earn him lasting mistrust in the Players League ranks.

19 Over the strenuous protest of Brush, the weakling Indianapolis (and Washington) franchises had been dissolved by the National League as a preemptive early wartime measure. As Brush was the author of the salary classification scheme that precipitated the Players League strife, irony abounded.

20 One press report described Talcott in his youth as “a pitcher of no mean ability.” Charleston Evening Post, February 6, 1899.

21 John Kieran, “The Brave Days of Old in Baseball,” New York Times, January 7, 1931.

22 The extraordinarily close proximity of the two ballparks is illustrated in Stew Thornley, ed., The Polo Grounds: Essays and Memories of New York City’s Historic Ballpark, 1880-1963 (Jefferson, NC: McFarland, 2019), 33.

23 According to one early Giants historian, the club drew the 1,080 spectators needed to meet daily expenses only 12 times during the 1890 season. See Hardy, 122.

24 Harold Seymour and Dorothy Seymour Mills, Baseball: The Early Years (New York: Oxford University Press, 1960), 238.

25 “New York Clubs Will Unite,” Chicago Tribune, October 15, 1890.

26 “Base-Ball in a Tangle,” Chicago Tribune, November 7, 1890, and Sporting Life, November 8, 1890.

27 “Return of President Spalding,” Chicago Tribune, November 22, 1890.

28 Extrapolated from data published in Sporting Life, October 17, 1891. New York sportswriter George H. Dickinson calculated that Day’s individual stake in the New York Giants constituted less than ten percent of the club stock. Fellow MEC members Joseph Gordon and Charles Dillingham retained even smaller holdings, while Walter S. Appleton was no longer counted among franchise shareholders.

29 “Mr. John B. Day Retires,” New York Times, February 10, 1893.

30 Shortly thereafter, Day’s cigar manufacturing business failed, and he spent the remainder of his life in much-reduced circumstances, eking out an existence on the margins of baseball and commerce. His final years were eased by a small pension granted by the National League. John B. Day died in Cliffside Park, New Jersey on January 25, 1925, age 77.

31 New York Herald, February 10, 1893. Also “Brotherhood Men Get the Positions. Former Enemies of the League Will Run the New York Club. Van Cott is President, but Talcott has the Power,” Philadelphia Inquirer, February 10, 1893.

32 Bryan DiSalvatore, A Clever Base-Ballist: The Life and Times of John Montgomery Ward (New York: Pantheon Books, 1999), 348-349.

33 For the past year, Freedman had been attempting to acquire control of the Giants, but had kept his objective concealed, at times accumulating franchise stock through intermediaries like circus impresario James A. Bailey.

34 1895 Reach Official Base Ball Guide ($48,000) and Hardy ($54,000). In his determination to sever his financial connection to the game, Talcott was willing to let his franchise stock go for “50 cents on the dollar,” and persuaded McAlpin, Van Cott, and a reluctant Frank Robinson to do the same, “New York Club Sale,” Baltimore Sun, January 18, 1895; and Chicago Inter-Ocean, January 17, 1895.

35 Bill Lamb, “Andrew Freedman: A Different Take on Turn-of-the-Century Baseball’s Most Hated Team Owner,” The Inside Game, Vol. XIV, No. 3, June 2014, 13.

36 The frequent assertion that Freedman was a lawyer is erroneous. Freedman never studied law. Nor was he a member of the bar. Apart from being a social member of the Manhattan Lawyers Club, Freedman’s only connection to the law was that, as an adult, he was often in need of an attorney.

37 Freedman later introduced Croker to the Tammany sachem’s late-life mistress, Beulah Benton Edmondson, and served as one of three best men when the couple married in November 1914.

38 “Andrew Freedman Dies of Apoplexy,” New York Times, December 5, 1915.

39 “To Control the Giants,” New York Tribune, January 17, 1895. Also, Chicago Inter-Ocean and New York Herald.

40 Caylor calculated the total number of Giants shares extant at 2,380. Club owners Arthur H. Soden (Boston), John T. Brush (Cincinnati), Ferdinand Abell (Brooklyn), and Al Reach (Philadelphia) refused to part with their Giants stock and remained minority stockholders in the New York franchise. “To Control the Giants,” New York Tribune, January 17, 1895.

41 Chicago Inter-Ocean and New York Tribune, January 25, 1895, and elsewhere.

42 New York Herald, January 30, 1895. Coogan, a two-time gadfly candidate for the New York City mayoralty, was then a minor thorn in the side of Freedman’s political patron, Boss Croker. But in relatively short order, Coogan was converted into another Croker vassal, and later rewarded with appointment to the post of Manhattan Borough president in January 1899.

43 New York Herald, January 30, 1895.

44 New York Herald, February 9, 1895.

45 “Baseball Brevities,” New York Times, February 7, 1895. Although A.G. may not have known Freedman, his younger brother J. Walter Spalding was a holdover member of the NY Giants board of directors.

46 David Stevens, Baseball’s Radical for All Seasons: A Biography of John Montgomery Ward (Lanham, Maryland: Scarecrow Press, 1998), 183.

47 The oft-claimed notion that Ward resigned as NY Giants manager to avoid working for new owner Freedman is bogus. An 1885 Columbia Law School graduate, Ward left baseball after the 1894 season to study for the New York bar examination and begin the practice of law. Like most others, Ward approved the sale of the Giants to Freedman.

48 Late in the 1895 season, Freedman imposed a $200 fine on Rusie for being out of condition. Although the sporting press and Giants fans lined up solidly behind the pitcher’s refusal to pay, allegations made by Rusie’s wife during acrimonious 1900 divorce proceedings suggest that the grounds for the fine may not have been as capricious as originally supposed.

49 According to A.G. Spalding – a suspect source when it comes to Freedman – the Giants owner was “so obnoxious to most of those concerned with the game that nobody outside his own following could endure his eccentricities of speech or action. He would apply to other members of the league, in ordinary conversation, terms so coarse and offensive as to be unprintable.” A.G. Spalding, America’s National Game (New York: American Publishing, 1911), 192.

50 On October 12, 1896, Freedman was convicted of assault and given a suspended sentence for punching Edward Hurst, a critical New York Evening World sports columnist, per New York Tribune and Philadelphia Inquirer, October 13, 1896. Freedman, however, did not confine his aggressions to local sportswriters. Bad-tempered and pugnacious, he also had physical altercations with political correspondent Paul Theman, retired umpire Watch Burnham, theatrical agent Bert Dasher, fellow team owners John T. Brush and Harry Vonderhorst, and any number of Tammany Hall adversaries.

51 Whatever his shortcomings, Freedman was an articulate, sophisticated man not given to uttering malapropisms. Unhappily for the Giants owner, a credulous public treated these newspaper satires as factual. Later generations of New York sportswriters did the same, repeating an apocryphal Freedman threat to push Dryden over “the brink of an abscess” and other such nonsense. See e.g., Frank Graham, The New York Giants: An Informal History of a Great Baseball Club (New York: Putnam, 1952), 19.

52 “The Ducky Holmes Game” in Inventing Baseball: The 100 Greatest Games in Nineteenth Century Baseball, Bill Felber, ed. (Phoenix: SABR, 2013), 268-269; Burt Solomon, Where They Ain’t: The Fabled Life and Untimely Death of the Original Baltimore Orioles, the Team That Gave Birth to Modern Baseball (New York: Doubleday, 1999), 129-131.

53 Blanche McGraw with Arthur Mann, The Real McGraw (New York: David McKay Co., 1953), 171. Baseball historian David Quentin Voigt described Freedman as the “wealthiest of baseball magnates.” See David Quentin Voigt, The League That Failed (Lanham, Maryland: Scarecrow Press, 1998), 220.

54 Blanche McGraw and Mann, 171.

55 Sporting Life, September 30, 1899.

56 Seymour and Seymour Mills, 304-306.

57 Sporting Life, October 14, 1899. For more on the Freedman/Brush rapprochement, see William F. Lamb, “A Fearsome Collaboration: The Alliance of Andrew Freedman and John T. Brush,” Base Ball: A Journal of the Early Game, Vol. III, No. 2, Fall 2009, 5-20.

58 Initially, Freedman acted as liaison between John D. McDonald, the subway’s general contractor, and the bankers who financed the project. Thereafter, Freedman was active in every phase – property acquisition, tunnel construction, station designation, railway car manufacturing – necessary to make the subway system operational.

59 Although often ascribed to Freedman, the National Base Ball Trust was almost entirely the brainchild of Brush. Well before Freedman took any interest in the game, Brush had proposed to Chicago club president James Hart that the minor Western League be operated as a trust, as reflected in an unidentified January 30, 1892 newspaper clipping contained in the John T. Brush file at the Giamatti Research Center in Cooperstown.

60 As outlined by Brush in a letter to Freedman, later obtained and published in the New York Press, November 11, 1901. For a comprehensive exposition of the Trust, see Hardy, 171-191.

61 In his 1911 memoir America’s National Game, Spalding portrayed himself as the instrument of Freedman’s departure from baseball, Freedman’s sale of the Giants being Spalding’s price for relinquishment of his claim to the National League presidency. Although accepted by some baseball historians, the assertion is specious. For a more ample treatment of the matter, see again, “Andrew Freedman,” The Inside Game, June 2014, 13-18.

62 Sporting Life, August 12, 1902.

63 For more detail on the sale, see William A. Cook, August “Garry” Herrmann: A Baseball Biography (Jefferson, North Carolina: McFarland, 2007), 38-40. Following the transfer of club ownership, Freedman declined a seat on the Giants board of corporate directors.

64 The site of what would quickly become Hilltop Park was unearthed by former Metropolitan Exhibition Company partner Joseph Gordon, at the time the figurehead club president of the American League New York Highlanders.

65 A second daughter named Adelaide did not survive infancy.

66 David J. Bodenhammer and Robert G. Barrow, eds. The Encyclopedia of Indianapolis (Bloomington, Indiana: Indiana University Press, 1994), 1424-1425.

67 J.G. Taylor Spink, “World Series Started with J.T. Brush Fire,” The Sporting News, October 8, 1939. An informative unpublished profile of Brush by Indianapolis native Guy M. Smith contained in the John T. Brush file at the Giamatti Research Center concurs that Brush’s desire to obtain the AA franchise was frustrated by Schwabacher. But in 1975, an elderly Natalie Brush maintained that her father was indeed the owner of the 1884 Indianapolis AA club. See Rick Johnson, “The Forgotten Indiana Architect of Baseball,” Indianapolis Star Magazine, May 4, 1975.

68 For more on the domestic life of John T. Brush, see the BioProject profile of the Brush Family Women at sabr.org/bioproj/person/the-brush-family-women/

69 As Brush’s health worsened, he required first canes, and then a wheelchair, to get around. The sporting press readily identified the Brush ailment as locomotor ataxia. But its etiology – locomotor ataxia is almost always a manifestation of syphilis – was never mentioned in newsprint during Brush’s lifetime.

70 John Saccoman, John T. Brush profile at sabr.org.bioproj/person/a46ef165.

71 The barroom brawl between Freedman and Indianapolis theatrical agent Bert Dasher, a friend of John T. Brush, is well-documented. Sporting Life, October 17, 1896, and February 23, 1907. But whether Dasher’s pummeling of Freedman was payback for a Freedman assault on the physically frail Brush is less certain.

72 Sporting Life, October 14, 1899.

73 In a superb dual biography of New York Yankees owner Jacob Ruppert and manager Miller Huggins, the authors posit that Ruppert had expressed interest in acquiring the New York Giants from Freedman as early as 1900, and thought that he possessed a right of first refusal if Freedman ever decided to sell the club. Lyle Spatz and Steve Steinberg, The Colonel and Hug (Lincoln, Nebraska: University of Nebraska Press, 2015), 47-48. In a late-life interview, Ruppert maintained that he attempted to purchase the Giants long before he and Tillinghast Huston acquired the Yankees in January 1915. But no contemporaneous reference to a circa 1900 Ruppert interest in buying the Giants has ever been seen by the writer.

74 Some sources put the Giants’ purchase price at $150,000. The new Reds owners were Cincinnati mayor and yeast company magnate Julius Fleischmann, his adventurer brother Max Fleischmann, Cincinnati Republican Party boss George B. Cox, and city water commissioner August “Garry” Herrmann. Any shortfall in the New York Giants purchase price demanded by Freedman was likely covered by Cincinnati pharmacy owner Ashley Lloyd, Brush’s junior partner in ownership of the Cincinnati Reds and a trusted friend.

75 The first modern World Series was played in 1903 and adjudged a triumph by most baseball observers, but not John T. Brush and John McGraw, hardcore antagonists to any reconciliation with Ban Johnson’s American League. When the Giants captured the National League pennant in 1904, Brush and McGraw disdained the post-season challenge of the AL champion Boston Americans, as detailed in Benton Stark, The Year They Called Off the World Series: A True Story (Garden City, New York: Avery Publishing Group, Inc., 1991). Subjected to an avalanche of criticism, the pair reversed course the following post-season, with the Giants besting the Philadelphia A’s in a famous all-shutouts World Series played under rules devised by none other than John T. Brush. With minor modifications, the Brush rules govern World Series play to this day.

76 Adopted by the National League in 1898 and commonly known as the Brush Resolutions, this 21-point code of player conduct was largely ignored and died from non-observance two years later. Brush’s glee was reported by John J. McGraw, My Thirty Years in Baseball (New York: Boni & Liveright, 1923), 176-177.

77 Mike Sowell, July 2, 1903: The Mysterious Death of Hall of Famer Big Ed Delahanty (New York: Macmillan, 1992), 37.

78 Two months later, Johnson was a conspicuous presence at the Brush funeral, informing gathered press that he and Brush had “parted the best friends in the world. I am very glad that we had the opportunity to agree and forget what had been.” Sporting Life, December 7, 1912.

79 “Magnates Pay Tribute to Late J.T. Brush – M’Graw at Funeral,” Indianapolis News, November 27, 1912.

80 “Won’t Sell Giants,” Trenton Evening Times, December 2, 1912,

81 Elsie Lombard Brush, Eleanor Brush Hempstead, and Harry Hempstead were contemporaries, all in their early 40s when John T. Brush died in November 1912.

82 The Cincinnati Post, December 10, 1912, stated that a promising baseball career had been short-circuited when Hempstead suffered an eye injury during his college years.

83 Cincinnati Enquirer, December 12, 1912.

84 Sporting Life, January 11, 1913.

85 Hempstead’s attitude was a bitter disappointment to McGraw, who had long aspired to ascend to a front office position. In his 1923 memoir, McGraw recalled club boss John T. Brush fondly. Harry Hempstead went unmentioned.

86 An investment prospectus was delivered to Hempstead at his Indianapolis business address, prompting the Giants club president to exclaim, “What do you think of that for gall?” New York Times, January 23, 1914.

87 Sporting Life, February 20, 1915. The Jersey City Skeeters toughed out the 1915 season, only to finish last in International League standings and go broke by season’s end.

88 Sporting Life, August 15, 1915.

89 Sporting Life, January 1, 1916.

90 Sporting Life, January 1, 1916.

91 New York Times, December 17, 1915.

92 New York Times, January 13, 1916. See also, The Sporting News, January 20, 1916.

93 At the direction of club president Hempstead, New York Giants players were oft-times dispatched to tutor the Leopards nine. In October 1916, an exhibition game between the Giants and the Lafayette varsity drew a crowd of 1,500 to the Easton, Pennsylvania campus. The Giants won, 9-0.

94 New York Times, November 24, 1918.

95 Some 60 years after-the-fact, half-sister Natalie revealed that Eleanor Brush Hempstead had burned their father’s papers after his death, lest they fall into the hands of an unsympathetic biographer. Johnson, Indianapolis Star, above.

96 Chicago Tribune and New York Times, January 15, 1919. Later, Giants historians raised the franchise purchase price to $1.3 million: Tom Schott and Nick Peters, The Giants Encyclopedia (Champaign, Illinois: Sports Publishing, Inc., 1999), 90.

97 In June 1924, Eleanor Brush Hempstead sold her stock in the Giants to one-time St. Louis Cardinals part-owner Warren “Fuzzy” Anderson, New York Times, June 13, 1924. Her price was in the $200,000 range, Washington (DC) Evening Times, June 12, 1924. Ashley Lloyd was no longer a voice in the running of the club but was still a substantial New York Giants stockholder at the time of his death in January 1925.

98 For more on the Charles Stoneham-Olivia Gray affair, see Bill Lamb, “Suicide at the Imperial Hotel,” The Inside Game, Vol. XIV, No. 1, February 2014, 26-29.

99 “Broker Stoneham Sued by Farmer,” New York Times, January 16, 1908.

100 The United States Supreme Court defined a bucket shop as “an establishment, nominally for the transaction of a stock exchange business … but really [a place] for the registration of bets and wagers, usually for small amounts, on the rise or fall of the prices of stocks, grain, oil, etc., there being no transfer of the stock or commodities nominally dealt in.” Gatewood v. North Carolina, 203 U.S. 531, 536 (1906).

101 David Pietrusza, Rothstein: The Life, Times and Murder of the Criminal Genius Who Fixed the 1919 World Series (New York: Carroll & Graf, 2003), 129.

102 Stoneham had married Johannah (Hannah) McGoldrick, the mother of his sons Charles Jr. and Horace, in 1900. Stoneham’s first wife Alice Rafter Stoneham had died in January 1898, shortly after giving birth to daughter Mary.

103 Ownership of the New York Giants was not the only joint Stoneham-McGraw venture. In October 1919, the two purchased a Havana racetrack, the Cuban-American Jockey Club.

104 The financial arrangements among ownership syndicate members were later set forth in the decision rendered by the New York Court of Appeals in McQuade v. Stoneham, 189 N.E. 234, 263 N.Y. 323 (1934).

105 The allegations of one of these suits, initiated by a Virginia lumber dealer, were published in the New York Times, June 20, 1922.

106 A drunken McGraw had fractured the skull of Broadway actor John C. Slavin in August 1920, an unsavory incident that somehow resulted in McGraw being charged with violating the Volstead Act (rather than atrocious assault). Represented by William J. Fallon, the brilliant but unscrupulous star of the NYC criminal defense bar, McGraw was acquitted at trial. See Charles Alexander, John McGraw (New York: Penguin Books, 1989), 221-224.

107 Gordon had been one of the principals of the Metropolitan Exhibition Company, the original corporate alter ego of the New York Giants. The Hempstead-Gordon overture to Stoneham was first reported in the New York Sun, October 14, 1922, and pursued thereafter by other baseball news outlets. See e.g., New York Times, October 26, 1922, and The Sporting News, November 2, 1922.

108 The Sporting News, November 23, 1922.

109 New York Times, September 1, 1923. Stoneham’s affiliation with Tammany Hall had long insulated him from investigation by local and state authorities, but conferred no immunity from Republican federal prosecutors in New York appointed by the Harding and Coolidge administrations.

110 Same as above. See also, the Boston Herald and New York Times, September 2, 1923, for similar remarks by Heydler and an unnamed NL official who observed that as long as Stoneham maintained his innocence on the charges, the league would take no action against him. Stoneham’s voluntary resignation was the only available resolution of the problem at that point.

111 Landis’s refusal to act upon the Stoneham situation was reported in the Boston Herald, September 5, 1923, and elsewhere. For a cogent overview of baseball’s predicament, see “Stoneham Faces Crisis in Career,” New York Times, September 9, 1923.

112 At the time, news accounts regularly identified business associate Robertson as Charles Stoneham’s brother-in-law. See e.g., the Boston Herald, January 12, 1924, and the New York Times, January 15, 1924. But genealogical inquiry has failed to substantiate any marital connection between the Canadian-born Robertson and the Stoneham family.

113 New York Times and Springfield (Massachusetts) Republican, February 28, 1925, and elsewhere. The charges against Bondy and a Fuller firm cashier had been dismissed mid-trial by the court due to insufficient evidence.

114 These civil judgments (such as $2,095 awarded to Robert Harford, and $4,782 to Dr. John Duncan) rarely exceeded nuisance amounts for a man of Stoneham’s wealth. But the cost of continually having to defend himself in court was not trivial, and press coverage of the litigation did little to restore Stoneham’s reputation.

115 From 1925 through 1932, the New York Giants were the National League’s second-best home draw, with attendance figures topped only by the Chicago Cubs. The major leagues’ biggest draw, however, was the Babe Ruth-led New York Yankees, playing a long fly ball away from the Polo Grounds in newly constructed Yankee Stadium.

116 When Eleanor Brush sold her Giants stock to Fuzzy Anderson in 1924, it was rumored that the stock sale was merely a prelude to acquisition of the Giants by Anderson’s friend, circus master John Ringling, Rockford (Illinois) Register-Gazette, June 24, 1924. Nothing ever came of that or subsequent reports of an impending Stoneham buy-out.

117 McQuade v. Stoneham, above. Also, “Award of $42,827 Is Lost by M’Quade,” New York Times, January 18, 1934.

118 New York Times, January 11, 1936.

119 A check of the 1930 US Census reveals Charles A. Stoneham living in two separate places: in Jersey City with wife Johannah Stoneham, and in Westchester County, New York with wife Margaret Stoneham and children Russell and Jane Stoneham.

120 As revealed when Margaret Leonard/Stoneham filed suit to have Horace A. Stoneham and Bondy removed from their trustee positions, New York Times, April 16, 1936. Also, Robert E. Murphy, After Many a Summer: The Passing of the Giants, the Dodgers and a Golden Age in New York Baseball (New York: Union Square Press, 2006), 32-33.

121 Reference works that cite Newark as Horace’s birthplace are incorrect. At the turn of the century, the Stoneham family resided in Jersey City, and Charles’ children, including Horace, were born there.

122 John Kieran, “A Presidential Party,” New York Times, January 20, 1936.

123 Robert Shaplen, “The Lonely, Loyal Mr. Stoneham,” Sports Illustrated, May 5, 1958, 75.

124 John Drebinger, “Giants Transfer Is Held Unlikely,” New York Times, January 8, 1936, and “Reorganization of the Giants Makes Horace C. Stoneham President of the Club,” New York Times, January 16, 1936. Also, Shaplen, 75.

125 Shaplen, 76. Also, Art Spander, “Game Was Stoneham’s Passion and Blind Spot,” The Sporting News, January 22, 1990; and Robert E. Murphy, “The Real Villain of Baseball,” New York Times, June 24, 2007.

126 Shaplen, 77.

127 The Giants also signed Negro League great and future Hall of Famer Ray Dandridge, but the aging third baseman never got a shot with the Giants. His time in the organization was spent with their Triple A affiliate in Minneapolis.

128 “Talk of Giants Moving to West Coast Idle Gossip, Says Stoneham,” New York Times, November 6, 1954. Stoneham assured fans that “the Giants are not planning to vacate the Polo Grounds.”

129 Joe King, “Now It’s Certain: Giants Will Move After This Year,” The Sporting News, July 24, 1957.

130 Jack Walsh, “Three’s a Crowd in NY, Says Stoneham,” The Sporting News, July 24, 1957.

131 During his Congressional testimony, Stoneham stated that he “would recommend” franchise relocation to the Giants corporate board. See “Baseball Is His Life: Horace Charles Stoneham,” New York Times, July 18, 1957. But given that Horace and his sister Mary Stoneham Aufderher (formerly Feeney) controlled 60 percent of the Giants stock, such a recommendation would be tantamount to a command.

132 The Sporting News, January 22, 1990.

The 1882 New York Metropolitans were a strong independent professional club, winning 101 games against top competition, before joining the upstart American Association as a major-league team in 1883. (SABR-Rucker Archive)

On May 8, 1961, the name of the National League’s newest expansion club was officially announced. The fledgling team was to be called the New York Mets.1 Principal club owner Joan Payson revealed that the Mets nickname was selected from 644 candidates placed in nomination by New York baseball fans and other participants in the naming process.2 Some news reports on the new club’s moniker also mentioned, in passing, that a late nineteenth-century major-league team had been called the New York Metropolitans.3

Semi-furnishing a nickname was not the only trail blazed by the nascent club’s long-ago predecessor. In September 1880 the transfer of its games from Brooklyn to north Manhattan made the Metropolitan Base Ball Club the first professional nine that could legitimately call New York City home. Prior thereto, the National League New York Mutuals and other clubs effecting the New York name had been based in Brooklyn, then a municipality separate and distinct from New York City and the third largest city in the nation.4

In 1883 the New York Mets (as the team was popularly known) attained elite status, entering the major-league American Association. The Mets quickly achieved success on the playing field, capturing the AA pennant in 1884 – the first championship of a major league ever won by a New York team. Yet only three seasons later, the club was disbanded. In the paragraphs below, this essay will endeavor to recall the five-season life of the nineteenth-century Mets through focusing on its ownership history.

The Formation and Independent Years

The founder of the original Mets, and of professional baseball in New York City, was John B. Day, a prosperous cigar manufacturer originally from Connecticut and an amateur baseball enthusiast. In the late 1870s, Day relocated to Manhattan to oversee operation of a newly opened tobacco processing plant on the Lower East Side. Only in his early 30s, Day was still young enough to play ball and devoted much of his leisure time to pitching for local amateur clubs.

The transformation of Day from weekend hurler to professional baseball club owner stems from an encounter with Jim Mutrie during the summer of 1880. Mutrie, a marginally gifted minor-league shortstop but a man with organizational skills and a keen judge of playing ability, was then between engagements and killing time in Manhattan.

Two versions of the Day-Mutrie encounter endure. According to lore, Mutrie introduced himself to Day after watching the cigar magnate’s servings get pounded by opposition batsmen in nearby Orange, New Jersey.5 But according to the venerable Henry Chadwick, the Day-Mutrie meeting was arranged by New York sportswriters.6 Whichever the case, Mutrie had a proposition for Day. If the well-heeled capitalist would finance the venture, Mutrie would recruit, sign, and manage a professional baseball team that would play under Day auspices.

Intrigued, Day agreed, and soon Mutrie was busy stocking the roster of the new side – formally named the Metropolitan Base Ball Club – with first-rate talent, much of it coming from the Unions of Brooklyn and the recently disbanded Rochester Hop-Bitters.

On September 15, 1880, the newly organized Mets made a successful debut, thrashing the depleted Unions 13-0 on the home field of the Brooklyn club.7 At the time, the absence of suitable playing sites in heavily built-up Manhattan dictated that local professional teams, even those adopting the name New York, play their games in Brooklyn or elsewhere. But Day was determined to change that and to have his club play in Manhattan. A probably apocryphal tale has a Midtown bootblack tipping off Day to the availability of a grassy meadowland situated just north of Central Park at Fifth Avenue and 110th Street.8 Occasionally used by the Manhattan Polo Association but mostly vacant, the grounds were flat and dry, featured seating for several thousand spectators, and were already partially enclosed by fencing. Once a lease for use of the premises was obtained from property owner James Gordon Bennett Jr., the socialite-sportsman who published the New York Herald, Day relocated his ballclub to New York City proper.

On September 29 the Mets inaugurated their new home field at the “Polo Grounds” with a 4-2 win over the Nationals of Washington,9 the contest being played before an eye-catching crowd of 2,000 to 3,000 paying customers.10 Years later, club owner Day revealed that the late arrival of the Nationals had been cause for grave concern, the prospect of seeing the Mets play a hastily gathered pickup nine instead of the advertised opposition generating unrest among the crowd until the Nationals finally showed up.11 By the time that its brief first season ended, the Mets had compiled a creditable 16-7-1 log, which included a 12-3 victory over Manhattan College in which Day himself pitched a complete game.12

Smitten by baseball club ownership, Day quickly envisioned bigger things for the Mets. To underwrite his ambitions for the team, Day incorporated the Metropolitan Exhibition Company (MEC), with himself as president and dominant shareholder. Recruited as minority-stake investors were Walter S. Appleton and Charles T. Dillingham, both in the Manhattan bookselling trade and ardent baseball fans.13 Over the winter, additional grandstands were erected behind a home plate placed in the southeast quadrant of the property. Meanwhile, other alterations needed to convert the grounds from polo to baseball use were completed.

The Mets had held their own against National League opponents during their abbreviated late-1880 run, winning a respectable one of every three games played.14 Nevertheless, Day declined overtures to place his ballclub in the NL for the 1881 season.15 Rather, the Mets would play a taxing, self-created 151-game schedule, mixing contests with teams affiliated with the League Alliance and Eastern Championship Association amid those against local independent, semipro, and college nines.16 And again the Mets would have National League opponents on the docket.

Day’s decision to keep the Mets independent rather than join the NL is not as perplexing as it may seem to modern observers. Although an avid baseball buff, Day was also a clear-eyed businessman who expected to make a profit from his investment in the pro game. The National League, bereft of franchises in the nation’s three largest cities (New York, Philadelphia, and Brooklyn), was far from a surefire moneymaker in 1881. And traveling to distant venues like Chicago, Detroit, and Cleveland twice a season was an expensive proposition – with no guarantee of covering costs from game receipts. Indeed, the refusal of the Brooklyn-based New York Mutuals and Philadelphia Athletics to go on money-losing late-season road trips had prompted their expulsion from the NL only five years before.

The Mets’ fall 1880 run had demonstrated that money could be made outside the game’s “major league.” Keeping the Mets independent also allowed Day to craft the club’s playing schedule to his liking; confine travel to road trips likely to be profitable; and avoid payment of the admission fee, league dues, and other assessments attendant to joining the National League. And the independent New York Mets could still play a host of games against NL opposition – on dates and at places mutually agreeable to club boss Day and his NL counterpart. 

Managed by Jim Mutrie and with a lineup that included past or future major leaguers Dude Esterbrook, Steve Brady, Ed Kennedy, and Chief Roseman, the 1881 Mets captured the Eastern Championship Association title handily, finishing 10½ games better than the Athletics of Philadelphia.17 The ECA crown was the first professional baseball championship of any kind garnered by a New York club. The Metropolitans also continued their respectable showings in head-to-head matches against the game’s top-echelon clubs, winning 18 of 59 games played against National League teams during the 1881 season.18

Such performance made the Mets an attractive prospect to those intent on forming a rival major league for the following season. On November 2, 1881, manager Mutrie and Metropolitan Exhibition Company minority stockholder Walter Appleton represented the Mets at the American Association’s organizational meeting in Cincinnati. But acting on Day’s instructions, the pair declined to commit their club to the fledgling circuit.19 Days later, they informed National League President William Hulbert of the decision to keep the Mets out of the AA – at least for the time being.20 But Day also declined another invitation to place the Mets in the National League.21

Entry into the American Association

The Mets remained an independent professional club in 1882, again playing major-league (National League and American Association) competition tough while running roughshod over ECA clubs and other nines on the way to posting an overall 101-58-3 (.635) record and taking another ECA title.22 After the season, MEC boss Day confounded expectations by again declining an invitation to place the Mets in the National League. Instead, the Mets accepted membership in the upstart American Association for the 1883 season. Likely in gratitude, MEC junior partner Appleton, nominally New York Metropolitans club president, was appointed to the American Association board of directors at the circuit’s annual meeting that November. Simultaneously, Mets manager Mutrie was tabbed for the AA schedule committee.23

Later that offseason, John B. Day unveiled his master plan. In addition to putting the Mets in the AA, Day was intent on placement of an entirely different MEC ballclub in the National League. The necessary vacancy in league ranks was promptly created by the jettisoning of the NL’s weakling franchise in Troy (while Worcester was axed to accommodate Philadelphia’s entry into the league). Troy also furnished the player nucleus – Buck Ewing, Roger Connor, Mickey Welch, and Patrick Gillespie – of New York’s new NL club. Lesser lights on the Troy roster were assigned to the Mets.24

That the NL team, soon to be known as the Giants,25 was the MEC’s favored club was reflected not only in the allocation of playing talent, but also by Day’s appointing himself club president. Also signaling the Mets’ second-class status with the MEC brain trust was dispatch of the Mets to the inferior landfill-based diamond with separate grandstand newly constructed on the southwest quadrant of the Polo Grounds. The premier southeast diamond was reserved for the Giants. The customer base targeted for the two clubs was also stratified. The upper-crust clientele desired by the NL Giants would have to pay 50 cents for general admission. The working-class fans of the AA Mets would get to see games for half that price.

Notwithstanding the attitude of management, the roster of the 1883 New York Mets was far from barren. The right-handed pitching tandem of Tim Keefe and Jack Lynch was promising, while major-league veterans Candy Nelson (shortstop), Steve Brady (first base), Bill Holbert (catcher), and John O’Rourke (outfield), plus rookie Dude Esterbrook (third base) provided respectable lineup material. And the retention of Jim Mutrie at the managing helm added stability to the club mix. But preseason exhibition game play between the two MEC teams indicated that the Giants (with Cooperstown-bound John Montgomery Ward having joined future Hall of Famers Ewing, Connor, and Welch) were the stronger nine. The corporation’s National League club topped the Mets in seven of eight intramural contests.26 The Mets also stumbled out of the regular-season gate, committing 13 errors behind Keefe in their major-league debut, an 11-inning, 4-3 loss to Baltimore played before a turn-away crowd of more than 5,000 at Orioles Park.27 A day later, Lynch hurled the Mets into the win column with a 2-1 triumph over the Orioles.

On May 12, the club returned to New York and dropped a sloppily played (10 errors) 11-4 home opener to the Philadelphia Athletics before some 3,000 Polo Grounds spectators.28 Soon thereafter, MEC brass confronted the spatial problems attending simultaneously-played Giants and Mets home games. The inelegant solution: erection of a temporary canvas fence to separate the outfields of the Polo Grounds diamonds. This meant that on long fly balls, outfielders might have to hop the fence, going from one league’s playing ground to that of another. Including Decoration Day (May 30) doubleheaders, the two New York clubs played at the Polo Grounds at the same time on 12 occasions that season.29

The Mets’ performance improved as the season progressed and, behind the pitching of Keefe (41-27) and the batting of Nelson (.305), the club finished the campaign with a 54-42-1 (.562) mark, good for fourth place in final AA standings. Home-game attendance, however, was a disappointment. Only 50,000 patrons paid their way through the southwest Polo Grounds turnstiles to see the Mets play.30 The Polo Grounds attendance of the Giants (75,000 at twice the general admission ticket price) further cemented the NL club as the MEC favorite, even if the Giants’ 46-50-2 (.479) sixth-place finish was unsatisfactory.

During the campaign, Mets club President Appleton denied reports that the club was to be disbanded at season’s end. “The club has been successful, financially, this year,” Appleton declared. “And whether it wins the pennant or not, it will represent New York in the American Association of 1884. The management has not entertained so much as a thought of its discontinuance.”31 In October Appleton and manager Mutrie repeated that assurance, adding that the Mets would be playing on new grounds the next season.32

Unease about MEC ownership of franchises in both major leagues surfaced at the AA winter meeting. League secretary Jimmy Williams was instructed to notify the Metropolitans that they must cut loose from their National League connection or forfeit membership in the American Association.”33 Mets President Appleton was also removed from the AA board of directors.34 Meanwhile, the MEC commenced construction of a new ballpark for the Mets in Upper East Side Manhattan along the Harlem River. Situated between 107th and 109th streets on a site that had previously been a garbage dump, the unoriginally named Metropolitan Park was a conventionally sized ballpark surrounded by 14-foot-high walls, capable of accommodating 10,000 patrons (but would never have occasion to do so).35

Shortly before the 1884 season commenced, “the Metropolitan Exhibition Company announced the disposal of all their right, title, and interest in the Metropolitan baseball club.”36 Ostensibly the new club owner was the Metropolitan Base Ball Company, incorporated by wealthy Manhattan furniture dealer Frank Rhoner, Mets manager Jim Mutrie, and one W.H. Kipp. The organization was capitalized at $25,000,37 with 175 of the 250 shares issued by the new company held by Rhoner. Mutrie and Kipp divided the remainder. Rhoner also assumed the Mets club presidency.38 It was further announced that “the Metropolitan Exhibition Company has no further connection with the Metropolitan Base Ball Club and will push the interests of the New York club” instead.39 Few baseball insiders, however, were taken in. The ownership transfer was dismissed as a sham designed only to pay lip service to the complaints of other AA club owners about the influence of New York Giants boss John B. Day over Mets’ operations. Incoming New York Mets club President Rhoner was viewed as merely another Day factotum.40

The Championship Season

Back on field, the Mets began the 1884 season in grand style. Before an estimated crowd of 4,000 to 4,500 for the home opener at Metropolitan Park, the Mets breezed to a 13-4 victory over the Pittsburgh Alleghenies.41 The win augured Mets dominance at their new ballpark. But everyone – Mets players, sporting press, baseball fans – hated the place. Sitting amid gas works, manufacturing plants, and slum housing, Metropolitan Park was an uninviting destination. Worse yet, the ballpark was often encased in haze and smoke emanating from nearby factory smokestacks. Fans largely avoided “The Dump,” with home game crowds often measured in the hundreds. Those whose attendance was compulsory did so at purported risk to their health. Resident club wit Jack Lynch was said to have observed that infielders at Metropolitan Park “could go down for a grounder and come up with malaria.”42

Despite their disdain of Metropolitan Park, the Mets had won 20 of 26 games played there by the time the team left home for an extended road trip on June 19. While the team was away, the MEC decided to pull the plug on Metropolitan Park. When the Mets returned, their home games were shifted to the Polo Grounds. Metropolitan Park was used only when a Mets home playing date conflicted with a Giants home game.43

Regardless of where they called home, the New York Mets were the class of the American Association that season. Paced by the yeoman hurling of Keefe (37-17) and Lynch (37-15),44 the batting of burly young Dave Orr (a league-leading .354 BA with 112 RBIs) and Dude Esterbrook (.314), and the generalship of manager Jim Mutrie, the Mets posted a sterling 75-32-5 (.701) record and cruised to the American Association championship. In the years to come, the New York Giants, New York Yankees, and twentieth-century New York Mets would win 61 major-league pennants. But the honor of being the very first Gotham club to win such a title belongs to the 1884 New York Metropolitans. The Metropolitans’ bubble was burst, however, when matched against the National League champion Providence Grays in a three-game postseason precursor of the modern World Series. Behind the pitching of 60-game winner Hoss Radbourn, Providence swept the series via lopsided, poorly attended victories, all recorded at the Polo Grounds.45

The Ensuing Decline

Notwithstanding the postseason disappointment, a New York City parade was held in the Mets’ honor. But things were not so cheery back at MEC headquarters. Even with a pennant winner, the Mets drew only 68,000 home fans and posted a $15,000 loss for the season.46 The MEC’s other ballclub presented the reverse situation. The talent-laden Giants had done no better than tied for fourth in National League final standings, but had drawn 105,000 patrons to the Polo Grounds47 and returned a $35,000 profit for the company.48 Corrective action was therefore privately formulated by John B. Day. In the meantime, the appearance of normalcy was retained with figurehead Mets President Rhoner and manager Mutrie attending the winter meeting of the American Association in December.49 But belying the publicly proclaimed divorce of the MEC from operation of the Metropolitans, MEC honcho Day, plus corporate sidekicks Walter Appleton and Charles T. Dillingham, also put in an appearance at the AA conclave.50

The design to bolster the Giants at Mets expense first manifested itself with the offseason reassignment of Mutrie to the helm of the company’s National League club. Some rule-bending chicanery was thereafter deployed to spirit away Tim Keefe and Dude Esterbrook. New contracts were not extended to the Mets stars, making them available for signing by other AA clubs. But during the 10-day contract signing window, Keefe and Esterbrook were incommunicado, reportedly vacationing with Mutrie at John B. Day’s onion farm in Bermuda.51 Other reports had the trio sunning themselves in Cuba.52 Wherever they had gone, by the time Keefe and Esterbrook returned home they were newly-engaged members of the New York Giants.53

When news of the Keefe and Esterbrook defections broke, American Association club owners howled in protest. At a hastily called circuit meeting, Mutrie was expelled from the AA54 (an empty gesture, given that Mutrie was now employed by a National League club). The Association also imposed a $500 fine on the Mets.55 The sanction, in turn, was denounced as “highway robbery” by Mets club President Frank Rhoner,56 but events exposed his irrelevance to operation of the franchise. Only days before the Keefe-Esterbrook move was publicly revealed, Rhoner stated that “he knows no facts of a deal between the New Yorks and the Metropolitans for the transfer of Keefe and Esterbrook.”57 In an embarrassed huff, Rhoner resigned his position as club president. This prompted an unidentified Sporting Life commentator to remark: “Did anyone ever charge or suppose for a moment that Rhoner ever knew anything of these matters? How quickly, though … he washed his hands of the whole thing when he found out what little account he was.”58

Acquiring Rhoner’s paper interest in the franchise was Joseph Gordon, a prosperous Manhattan coal dealer and Tammany Hall insider.59 Gordon, once a standout pitcher as a city schoolboy, would become an important adviser to MEC boss Day and go on to have a long association with major-league baseball in New York.60 For the time being, he immediately assumed the post of New York Metropolitans club president,61 while incoming team manager Jim Gifford took Mutrie’s place on the Mets board of directors.62

Under new skipper Gifford, the wounded and demoralized 1885 Mets club plummeted to seventh place in the AA standings. Although Dave Orr (.342 BA, with 56 extra-base hits and a league-leading .543 slugging average), Candy Nelson, Steve Brady, and Chief Roseman still gave the Mets a decent everyday lineup, there was no replacing pitching ace Keefe. In fact, Jack Lynch’s fall-off 23 wins exceeded the total posted by nonentities Ed Cushman (8-14), Doug Crothers (7-11), Ed Bagley (4-9), and Buck Becannon (2-8), combined. At the same time, the addition of Keefe and former Buffalo star Jim O’Rourke brought the count of future Hall of Famers on the Giants roster to six. Thus fortified, the MEC’s favored club skyrocketed to an exceptional 85-27 (.759) record, only to be edged out in the National League pennant chase by the even-better 87-25-1 (.777) Chicago White Stockings.

Sale and Relocation

The reversal in team fortunes, plus the fact that the Giants had outdrawn the Mets by nearly three to one in Polo Grounds attendance, convinced the MEC to concentrate its holdings.63 To that end, the New York Metropolitans were put up for sale. Enter Erastus Wiman, a Canadian-born millionaire businessman-entrepreneur looking to add to the stable of attractions based in his adopted home of Staten Island.64 In early December 1885, Day and Wiman closed a $25,000 deal that transferred complete ownership of the New York Metropolitans to Wiman.65

Wiman’s plan to relocate the ballclub to Staten Island encountered immediate resistance in American Association ranks. To prevent that from happening, circuit magnates voted to expel the Mets from their organization and substitute a club from Washington, DC, in its place. Injunctive relief obtained by Wiman attorneys temporarily stymied that stratagem, while the neophyte club owner blasted the now-stayed AA action. 66 “In all my experience, I have never heard of proceedings so unjustifiable,” an indignant Wiman proclaimed. “Staten Island shall have a baseball club and I already have offers to form a new and stronger association than the one just now guilty of the sharp game reflecting very little credit on baseball ethics.”67 Wiman’s vow to fight was reiterated by recently appointed club secretary George F. Williams, who directly blamed the AA opposition on Brooklyn Grays boss Charles Byrne, fearful of competition from a club situated on nearby Staten Island. Byrne also coveted slugging first baseman Dave Orr and fly hawk Chief Roseman and was reportedly in contract negotiations with both Mets stalwarts.68

Other AA magnates had little appetite for battle with the deep-pocketed Wiman, and the Association soon capitulated. On December 28, 1885, the Wiman-owned New York Metropolitans were recognized as a member club of the American Association.69 And pursuant to the reconciliation process, Byrne was obliged to relinquish any claim that Brooklyn might have had on the services of Orr and Roseman.70

Once his franchise rights were secure, Wiman set about getting his St. George Grounds ready for baseball. The small army of masons, carpenters, and workmen loosed on the site swiftly erected a handsome wooden edifice capable of seating about 4,100 in a two-tiered covered grandstand stationed behind home plate.71 Seated there, spectators were afforded expansive views of New York Bay, the Narrows separating Staten Island and Brooklyn, Sandy Hook, and the cities of New York, Brooklyn, and Jersey City.72 But oddly, the new ballpark contained no seating along the foul lines or beyond the outfield. As an incentive to entice distant customers to St. George Grounds, admission to Mets games included round-trip ferryboat fare to and from Battery Park in Lower Manhattan or Jewell’s Wharf in Brooklyn.73

Given that lightly populated Staten Island was then outside the borders of New York City (and Brooklyn), the Mets were largely ignored by large-circulation metropolitan dailies, prompting one out-of-town journal to observe: “Erastus Wiman ought to buy a [news]paper in his Staten Island resort, so that the club would receive mention when they are at home. The New York papers are inclined to ignore the Mets.”74 It is uncertain, however, how actively club President Wiman involved himself in day-to-day operation of the franchise. His time was mostly devoted to myriad other business interests, particularly an ambitious project to transform sleepy Staten Island into a major commercial port and railroad terminus.75 Administration of routine club affairs was therefore likely the responsibility of managing club director Walter Watrous and/or club secretary Williams. Nevertheless, making the grand gesture that he was fond of, Wiman donated an expensive solid silver trophy to be awarded to the American Association champion at season’s end.76

On April 22, 1886, the New York Metropolitans inaugurated play in their new Staten Island home by dropping a 7-6 decision to the Philadelphia Athletics. “Fully five thousand were in attendance,” noted the New York Herald, but “judging from the inconvenience that they were put to, it is not likely that the crowd will be so large every day.”77 Getting to Staten Island took some effort and only 1,500 showed up at St. George Grounds the next day to see the A’s drub the Mets, 14-6. By late May, Wiman had had enough of his club’s poor play. He discharged holdover field leader Jim Gifford for being “too easy on the boys,” replacing him with crusty veteran Bob Ferguson.78 The managerial change made little difference. The Mets’ 53-82-2 (.393) seventh-place finish duplicated the previous season’s result, while the 67,000 attendance figure at St. George Grounds was about the same as the year before at the Polo Grounds, but spread over 11 more home playing dates.79

Endgame

The Mets got off poorly again in 1887, losing their first 10 games. By late May, the club was solidly ensconced in the American Association cellar. At midseason, Wiman was confirming reports that he might “give up baseball at Staten Island. The ‘Mets’ certainly are not a success,” he lamented.80 Nor did the situation improve thereafter. By the campaign’s end, New York’s dismal 44-89-5 (.331) record fueled its third consecutive seventh-place finish, some 50 games behind the AA champion St. Louis Browns. Shortly thereafter, Wiman divested himself of the New York Metropolitans, selling the ballclub for the same $25,000 that he had paid for it two years earlier.81 Deducting his investment in player salaries and ballpark construction, Wiman’s dalliance with the game reportedly cost him $30,000, if not more.82

The new owners of the New York Mets were Brooklyn club boss Charles Byrne and his partners in the Grays franchise. Brooklyn co-owner Gus Abell assumed the presidency of the Mets while Byrne appointed himself club treasurer.83 Byrne further announced that “the Mets will next season play upon Manhattan Island, and the strongest team the Mets ever placed in the field will represent it next season.”84 But this was all pretense; New York Giants boss John B. Day was never going to consent to a return of the Mets to New York City.85 Nor did Byrne intend to operate a nearby competitor to his Brooklyn club. Rather, the Mets had been acquired so that its playing talent could be absorbed by the Grays. In short order, slugger Dave Orr, pitcher Al Mays, and outfielders Paul Radford and Darby O’Brien were transferred to the Brooklyn roster. The remaining Mets players were released. Byrne then relinquished the playerless New York franchise to the American Association.86 The franchise hulk was subsequently assigned to Kansas City, thereby ending Staten Island’s brief run as a major-league baseball venue and bringing to a close the history of the New York Metropolitans.87

Epilogue: During its five-season stint in the American Association, the New York Metropolitans posted a cumulative 270-309-13 (.464) regular-season record, highlighted by the capture of the 1884 AA pennant. At various times during those years, the club contingent included Hall of Fame pitcher Tim Keefe, formidable batsman Dave Orr, everyday worthies Jack Lynch, Candy Nelson, Paul Radford, and Chief Roseman, and astute field leader Jim Mutrie. The Mets, of course, were hardly the only major-league club not to survive the nineteenth century. But the causes of the franchise’s demise were somewhat unique.

First and foremost, the Mets fell victim to internal decision-making, becoming secondary in the plans of its ownership, the Metropolitan Exhibition Company. Although he had founded and financed the Mets, dominant MEC shareholder John B. Day – whether for reasons of prestige, profit, survivability, or whatever – chose to prefer the National League New York Giants over the Mets when it came to franchise investment, acquisition of playing talent, use of the Polo Grounds, or other advantage. Even the winning of the 1884 American Association crown could not dissuade the MEC from focusing on the Giants. Indeed, immediately thereafter, the Mets were crippled (via the transfer of Mutrie, Keefe, and Esterbrook) to improve the NL club.

This is not to say that Day and his cohorts were wrong. As their respective attendance figures attest, New York baseball fans preferred the Giants over the Mets. Perhaps more important, concentrating MEC attention on just one club proved shrewd business. When the Mets went belly up in 1887, the Giants were on the cusp of back-to-back world championships (in 1888 and 1889) and shattered National League attendance records in the process.88 The Giants were also a cash cow, with one report placing the profits earned by the MEC over the first decade of its existence at $750,000.89 While this figure seems inflated – no MEC club is known to have ever reported a single-season profit in excess of $50,000 – ballclub ownership provided Day and the others with a handsome and reliable income stream, almost all of which flowed from operation of the Giants, not the Mets.

In retrospect, however, the event that sealed the doom of the New York Metropolitans was the club’s acquisition by Erastus Wiman. Like Day and Mets club President Joe Gordon, both one-time amateur players themselves and hard-core baseball enthusiasts, Wiman claimed a pedigree in the game. According to nineteenth-century baseball historian Preston D. Orem, Wiman “was a former baseball catcher and proudly displayed his broken fingers and gnarled hands to prove it.”90 But even if true, Wiman’s stewardship of the Mets strongly suggests that he viewed ownership of a professional baseball club and its relocation as merely a means of extension of his Staten Island amusement empire. Acquisition of the Mets also promised (but did not deliver) increased traffic on Wiman-owned ferryboat and rail lines. But Staten Island, sparsely populated and inconveniently located, was a graveyard for a major-league baseball club. Once the club did not generate the revenues that the commerce-minded Wiman anticipated, he gave up the venture, leaving the Mets’ fate to Brooklyn club boss Charles Byrne. And once he had title to the Mets, Byrne predictably reduced the unwanted rival to nothing but the franchise carcass, which the American Association then assigned to faraway Kansas City.

For the 1896 season, tempestuous Andrew Freedman, a successor to Day as New York Giants club owner, revived the New York Metropolitans name, bestowing it on a short-lived Giants farm club that he placed in the minor Atlantic League.91 Thereafter, the name remained forgotten for well over a half-century, only to be resurrected when the National League decided to place an expansion franchise in New York for the 1962 season. The official names of the two ballclubs – New York Metropolitans vs. New York Mets – are not identical. But that technicality aside, the 1883-1887 American Association club can fairly lay claim to being the original New York Mets.

BILL LAMB spent more than 30 years as a state/county prosecutor in New Jersey. He was the longtime editor of “The Inside Game,” the newsletter of SABR’s Deadball Era Committee, and the author of “Black Sox in the Courtroom: The Grand Jury, Criminal Trial and Civil Litigation” (McFarland, 2013).

Acknowledgments

This club history is derived from an essay published in David Krell, ed., The New York Mets in Popular Culture (Jefferson, North Carolina: McFarland, 2020). Excerpts republished by permission; all rights reserved.

Notes

1 Dick Young, “Our NL Club Christened ‘Mets,’” New York Daily News, May 9, 1961: 42. See also Louis Effrat, “New National League Team Here Approves Mets as Its Official Nickname,” New York Times, May 9, 1961: 48.

2 “Champagne Baptism: N.Y. Names Ball Club ‘Mets,’” San Francisco Examiner, May 9, 1961: 55; “‘Mets’ Is Now Official Name for New York Club,” Harlingen (Texas) Morning Star, May 9, 1961: 5.

3 “‘Mets’ Nickname for NY’s Team,” Cincinnati Enquirer, May 9, 1961: 35; “They’ll Call ’Em Mets,” Miami Herald, May 9, 1961: 39.

4 The modern-day five-borough New York City (Manhattan, Brooklyn, Queens, the Bronx, and Staten Island) did not come into existence until January 1, 1898. During the 1880s, the city consisted only of Manhattan and parts of the West Bronx.

5 Noel Hynd, The Giants of the Polo Grounds: The Glorious Times of Baseball’s New York Giants (New York: Doubleday, 1988), 22.

6 Brooklyn Eagle, December 26, 1886: 6. Yet another version had the Day-Mutrie introductions made by a local semipro pitcher named Jimmie Clinton. See “To-Day and Yesterday,” Brooklyn Daily Times, October 20, 1911: 6.

7 “Base Ball,” New York Sun, September 16, 1880: 2, which reported that the “Metropolitans appeared in new uniforms of blue stockings, and white suits trimmed with blue, and they presented a very neat appearance.” See also “Base Ball,” Brooklyn Daily Times, September 16, 1880: 3.

8 Hynd, 23.

9 The Mets added four runs in the top of the sixth, but the score reverted to 4-2 when darkness prevented the Nationals from completing their sixth-inning turn at bat.

10 “Base-Ball on the Polo Grounds,” New York Times, September 30, 1880: 8. The game’s attendance was adjudged “by far the largest assemblage that has gathered on a ball field in this vicinity in three years.”

11 “John B. Day Tells of a Bitter Hour,” New York Times, February 6, 1916: S3.

12 “Metropolitan vs. College Nine,” Brooklyn Daily Eagle, October 4, 1880: 2. Also, “Base Ball,” Brooklyn Daily Times, October 4, 1880: 4, which gives the final score as 13-3.

13 Appleton and Dillingham had been acquainted for years but it is unknown whether either man knew Day beforehand. In any event, Mets second baseman-turned-sportswriter Sam Crane later asserted that Appleton and Dillingham had been induced to invest in the MEC by Mets manager Mutrie, rather than by Day. See “A Bit of History,” Sporting Life, February 11, 1893: 3.

14 Richard Hershberger, “Memorable Games: Metropolitans 4, Nationals 2, September 29, 1880” in Stew Thornley, ed., The Polo Grounds: Essays and Memories of New York City’s Historic Ballpark, 1880-1963 (Jefferson, North Carolina: McFarland, 2019): 177.

15 “Base Ball on the Polo Grounds and Elsewhere,” New York Sun, October 10, 1880: 7. The National League had just expelled its Cincinnati club and was in need of a replacement franchise for the 1881 season.

16 The League Alliance was an association of independent professional baseball organizations established by the National League in 1877. By the 1881 season, the League Alliance was mostly dormant, supplanted by the Eastern Championship Association, a similar organization consisting of independent pro clubs from the New York, Philadelphia, and Washington areas.

17 Robert D. Warrington, “Philadelphia in the 1881 Eastern Championship Association,” Baseball Research Journal, Vol. 48, No. 1, Spring 2019: 83.

18 Woody Eckard, “Henry Chadwick and the National League’s Performance Against ‘Outsiders’: 1876- 1881,” Baseball Research Journal, Vol. 52, No. 2, Fall 2023: 73.

19 David Nemec, The Beer and Whisky League: The Illustrated History of the American Association – Baseball’s Renegade Major League (New York: Lyons & Burford, 1994): 21.

20 “Sporting Events,” Chicago Tribune, November 6, 1881: 7; “Adheres to the Old League,” St. Louis Globe-Democrat, November 7, 1881: 7. Hulbert had ample reason for concern about American Association overtures toward the Mets. New York and Philadelphia, the nation’s two largest cities, had been bereft of a National League team since 1876 when Hulbert orchestrated the expulsion of the New York Mutuals and Philadelphia Athletics from the National League for failure to complete their playing schedules. Placement of an American Association club in either venue would greatly enhance the new circuit’s prestige as well as its chances for survival against the NL.

21 “Baseball Notes,” New York Clipper, December 10, 1881: 615. Day was said to be put off by the National League’s 50-cent general admission mandate.

22 Brooklyn Eagle, December 26, 1886: 6. The Mets posted a 19-45 log against National League opponents and won all but one of six games played against American Association teams in 1882. Another source puts the Mets’ overall record at 101-57-3 (.639). See Lloyd Johnson and Miles Wolff, eds., The Encyclopedia of Minor League Baseball (Durham, North Carolina: Baseball America, Inc., 3rd. ed, 2007), 137.

23 Per Cliff Blau’s New York Mets chronology for the American Association project, accessible online via the SABR research collection website. Appleton is also identified as a member of the American Association board of directors in “Miller Reinstated,” Sporting Life, August 13, 1883: 3.

24 In a talent evaluation blunder, future Hall of Fame pitcher Tim Keefe, another Troy refugee, was deemed unworthy of a berth with the MEC’s National League team and consigned to the Mets.

25 In the beginning, the MEC’s NL team was sometimes called the Gothams or Maroons but more often simply as the New-Yorks. The nickname Giants did not gain currency until 1885. For purposes of clarity, however, the club will be called the New York Giants throughout this essay.

26 “Baseball: The New-Yorks Win Seven of Eight Games,” New York Herald, May 1, 1883: 4.

27 “Opened with a Victory,” Baltimore Sun, May 2, 1883: 1.

28 The attendance estimate was published in “Baseball,” New York Truth, May 13, 1883: 6.

29 As calculated from 1883 game-day logs compiled by Retrosheet. The Mets posted an aggregate 4-8-1 (.333) record playing on the southwest Polo Grounds diamond on dates when the Giants were in action on the adjacent southeast field.

30 Robert L. Tiemann, “Major League Attendance,” Total Baseball (Kingston, New York: Total Sports Publishing, 7th ed., 2001), 74. Spread over 46 home playing dates (including doubleheaders), the Mets drew an average of less than 1,100 fans per game date.

31 “The ‘Mets’ All Right,” Sporting Life, August 6, 1883: 3.

32 “Notes and Comments,” Sporting Life, October 1, 1883: 3.

33 Preston D. Orem, Baseball from the Newspaper Accounts, 1882-1891 (Altadena, California: Self-published, 1966-1967): 75, accessed via the SABR research collection website.

34 Blau, Mets chronology. Appleton’s removal coincided with a downsizing of the AA board membership.

35 More on Metropolitan Park can be accessed via http://sabr.org/bioproj/park/metropolitan-park-new-york. The ballpark featured a covered 3,500-seat grandstand and 6,500 bleacher-type seats.

36 Orem, 104. See also, “Diamond Dust,” St. Louis Post-Dispatch, April 20, 1884: 11; “Gotham Gleanings,” Chicago Tribune, April 17, 1884: 3.

37 “The Base Ball Muddle,” Sporting Life, December 16, 1885: 4.

38 Once Rhoner was installed, former Mets club President Walter Appleton assumed the title of New York Giants vice president and took a seat on the NL club’s board of directors.

39 Orem, 104.

40 “A Base Ball Muddle,” 4.

41 “Metropolitan Park,” Sporting Life, May 21, 1884: 5; “Three Championship Games,” New York Herald, May 14, 1884: 5. The attendance figures included the guested NYC Board of Aldermen and about 1,000 other freeloaders.

42 Nemec, 62.

43 Use of the playing field in the southwest quadrant of the Polo Grounds was discontinued after the 1883 season. Home date conflicts resulted in seven July-August 1884 Mets home games being played at Metropolitan Park.

44 In the season finale, Buck Becannon notched a six-inning complete-game victory for the Mets. This was the only game in which someone other than Keefe or Lynch pitched for New York in 1884.

45 Providence outscored the Mets by an aggregate run count of 21 to 3, including a 12-2 match closer viewed by only 300 Polo Grounds spectators.

46 Orem, 125. The loss included the one-time cost of construction and maintenance of now-abandoned Metropolitan Park. The MEC was also on the hook for the remainder of the five-year real property lease granted by the city.

47 Tiemann, Total Baseball, 74.

48 Orem, 138.

49 “The Annual Meeting,” New York Clipper, December 20, 1884: 634.

50 Blau, Mets chronology.

51 “Base Ball,” Chicago Tribune, April 13, 1885: 5; “Baseball,” New York Herald, April 13, 1885: 6; “Base Ball,” Cleveland Leader, April 10, 1885: 3; and elsewhere.

52 “Diamond Dust,” St. Louis Globe-Democrat, April 4, 1885: 7.

53 “Notes and Comments,” Sporting Life, April 22, 1885: 6.

54 “The American Association,” Trenton Evening Times, April 30, 1885: 1; “The American Association Meeting,” St. Louis Globe-Democrat, April 28, 1885: 8.

55 “Base Ball,” Boston Evening Transcript, April 28, 1885: 2; “The Reserve Rule Dead,” Pittsburgh Daily Post, April 28, 1885: 4. A previous motion to expel the Mets from the AA was considered too drastic and withdrawn.

56 “Sporting Affairs: Notes,” Chicago Tribune, May 12, 1885: 2.

57 “Still Rampant,” Sporting Life, May 20, 1885: 6.

58 “Harlem Echoes,” Sporting Life, May 27, 1885: 6.

59 “Notes,” Chicago Tribune, May 12, 1885: 2. New York Times, May 12, 1885: 3.

60 Among other things, Gordon located the site in far north Manhattan where Day erected the New Polo Grounds in 1889. Gordon would serve as first club president of the American League New York Highlanders in 1903. Some 20 years later, he tried to broker a deal for the sale of the New York Giants to one-time club boss Harry Hempstead.

61 As per the Chicago Tribune and New York Times, May 12, 1885. See also “Notes and Comments,” Sporting Life, May 20, 1885: 7.

62 Orem, 172. What became of third Mets board member W.H. Kipp is unknown.

63 In 1885 the Giants drew 185,000 fans to home games at the Polo Grounds. The Mets attracted only 64,000 to the same ballpark. Tiemann, Total Baseball, 74.

64 In addition to outdoor opera, Wild West shows, theatricals, and other amusements staged at his newly built St. George Grounds, Wiman also owned Staten Island ferryboat and rail lines.

65 “The Metropolitan Club Deal,” New York Clipper, December 12, 1885: 616; “Mr. Wiman’s Baseball Club,” New York Times, December 5, 1885: 8.

66 “Sporting Notes,” Dallas Morning News; “The American Association Restrained,” New Haven (Connecticut) Morning Journal and Courier; “Erastus Wiman’s Baseball Club,” New York Tribune, all published December 11, 1885.

67 “Erastus Wiman Indignant,” New York Times, December 5, 1885: 2.

68 “To Stand by Mr. Wiman,” New York Times, December 13, 1885: 10.

69 “The Association: The Mets Again in Full Membership,” Sporting Life, January 6, 1886: 1; “Mr. Wiman’s Final Victory,” New York Times, December 28, 1885: 1; and elsewhere.

70 “The Mets and Brooklyn,” New York Times, December 30, 1885: 2; “The American Association,” Hartford Daily Courant, December 29, 1885: 3.

71 A thorough treatment of St. George Grounds can be accessed at https://sabr.org/bioproj/park/st-george-grounds.

72 “Hard by the Bay,” New York Times, March 14, 1886: 14.

73 Phillip J. Lowry, Green Cathedrals: The Ultimate Celebration of Major League and Negro League Ballparks (New York: Walker & Company, 2006), 149.

74 “What the Players Are Doing,” Wheeling (West Virginia) Register, April 11, 1886: 3.

75 For more detail see the Wiman BioProject profile, above. The collapse of the venture would eventually lead to financial ruin for Wiman.

76 The glass-encased trophy was cast in the form of a 26-inch-high batter standing at the plate and valued at between $1,000 and $2,000. For more, see Robert H. Schaefer, “The Wiman Trophy and the Man for Whom It Is Named,” Base Ball: A Journal of the Early Game, Vol. 1, No. 2, (Fall 2007): 44-54.

77 “Batting for Championships,” New York Herald, April 23, 1886: 8.

78 David Nemec and David Ball, “James H. Gifford,” in David Nemec, ed., Major League Baseball Profiles, 1871-1900, Volume 2 (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2011), 123-124.

79 As calculated from Retrosheet data. The 135 games the Mets played in 1886 were 25 more than the previous season but did not include any home doubleheaders.

80 “Mr. Wiman and the Mets,” New York Herald, July 22, 1887: 9.

81 “Byrne Buys the Mets,” Louisville Courier-Journal, October 9, 1887: 4; “The Metropolitans Sold,” New York Times, October 9, 1887: 3; “The Sale of the Mets,” St. Paul Globe, October 9, 1887: 5.

82 Schaefer, above, puts the total Wiman losses at $30,000. But other sources pegged the Mets’ deficit for the 1887 season alone at $26,000. See e.g., “Byrne Buys the Mets.”

83 “Byrne and the Mets,” Chicago Inter Ocean, October 9, 1887: 2; “The Mets Sold,” Leavenworth (Kansas) Times, October 9, 1887: 1.

84 “Byrne Buys the Mets.”

85 Two years earlier, Byrne had been cajoled into waiving enforcement of the National Agreement rule that prohibited the placement of a major-league club within five miles of another club when the Mets moved from north Manhattan to Brooklyn’s doorstep on Staten Island.

86 Nemec, The Beer and Whisky League, 146-147.

87 Early in the 1889 season, the New York Giants, displaced from the original Polo Grounds, played 23 games at St. George Grounds before settling in at the New Polo Grounds in far north Manhattan.

88 The 1889 New York Giants attracted a NL record 305,000 fans to the Polo Grounds. Tiemann, Total Baseball, 74. Interestingly, the AA Brooklyn Bridegrooms (née Grays) drew even better: 353,690.

89 “An Offer for the Giants,” New York Times, September 6, 1889: 3, reporting MEC rejection of a $200,000 bid for the Giants made by Polo Grounds landlord James J. Coogan.

90 Orem, 217.

91 By July, fellow Atlantic League club owners had grown tired of Freedman’s antics and expelled the Mets. Presiding over the expulsion gathering was Atlantic League President Sam Crane, a second baseman for the 1882-1883 New York Metropolitans.

The 1882 Providence Grays. Back: Paul Hines, Jerry Denny, Hoss Radbourn, Jack Farrell. Middle: Tom York, Joe Start, Harry Wright, George Wright, John Ward. Front: Charlie Reilley, Sandy Nava, Barney Gilligan. (NATIONAL BASEBALL HALL OF FAME LIBRARY, COOPERSTOWN, N.Y.)

Competing in the National League from 1878 to 1885, the Providence ballclub won the championship twice and posted a winning record seven times during its eight-year tenure in the league. After struggling financially its first four years, the club became profitable in 1882. However, persistent stockholder pressure to disband the club eventually led to its exit from the National League after the 1885 season.

The Providence Base Ball Association was a stock company organized in January of 1878, with John D. Thurston named as president.1 Thurston, a lawyer, marshaled a bill through the Rhode Island legislature in May of 1878 that granted the ballclub a corporate charter.2 The club initially raised $6,200 in capital through the public sale of stock priced at $25 a share.3

In addition to Thurston as president, Henry A. Church was named vice president, Philip Case was the treasurer, and Henry B. Winship was the secretary.4 At the club’s inception, the five-man board of directors consisted of Church, Henry T. Root, H.S. Bloodgood, M.B. Read, and J.C. Knowles.5 By June the directors were Root, Bloodgood, Winship, Thurston, and Robert Morrow.6

Root and Winship were the directors who handled much of the operational work of the new ballclub. Both were successful businessmen with stores in downtown Providence. Root owned a company that sold stoves, furnaces, and kitchen furnishings, while Winship was a partner at the clothing store J.B. Barnaby & Company.7 Root and Winship, though, were “about as much unlike as two men could be,” as “Root says but little during a meeting” but reviews details with “rigid scrutiny,” while Winship is “full of nervous energy” and is “a story-teller and conversationalist.”8 Their duties were arranged accordingly, with Root having “general supervision of the grounds” and Winship building relationships in “arranging for excursions by the different railroads, advertising, and printing.”9

Much of the original capital was spent building a grandstand on a leased six-acre parcel of land on Messer Street, on the west side of the city, where the club conducted the team’s home games. Due to these expenses, “the first year the club lost [money] quite heavily.”10 It was a financial hole that the Providence club needed another three years to completely emerge from.

Root was elected president and treasurer for 1879, with Winship continuing his role as secretary.11 Root ascended to the club’s top officer position after he secured George Wright from the Boston ballclub to be the Providence manager in 1879. Wright, proprietor of the sporting-goods firm Wright & Ditson, was a seasoned leader as well as an expert ballplayer, whom Root expected to help reverse the club’s financial woes.

Under the leadership of Wright, Providence won the championship of the National League during the 1879 season, when “considerable money was made, which was used in liquidating the [debt] claims of the former year.”12 The New York Clipper reported the club’s net profit to be about $1,500.13

As a reward for their profitable stewardship, Root and Winship were re-elected president and secretary, respectively, for 1880.14 Wright, however, did not return as manager. The Providence directors pressured Wright to accept the same salary, since his employment mobility within the league had been extinguished by the league’s newly enacted “reserve list.”15 Wright retired from baseball to work full-time in his sporting-goods business.

Despite finishing in second place in 1880, Providence lost money. The club’s debt level was reported to be $3,350, after the ballplayers agreed to forgo a portion of their October paychecks.16 For the first time the directors discussed disbanding the club as they considered “whether the grounds were to be sold for what they could bring, and abandon the game, or to square up accounts and pay the $1,350 owed outside of the amount due to the players.”17 The directors sought to retire this debt by selling the remaining $3,800 in authorized stock and seeking subscriptions from existing stockholders.

The club continued to founder financially in 1881 under the leadership of Root, finishing the season with $1,390 in debt.18 To eliminate the debt, the directors enacted a $10 subscription per stockholder. While the directors had initially voted to field a team for the 1882 season, they threatened “to withdraw the club from the league” a month later “unless the balance [of stockholder subscriptions] is forthcoming on or before Saturday.”19 Root resigned as president and was quietly replaced by Winship, who instituted a policy that “business and not sentiment will hereafter prevail in the Providence management.”20

Providence hired Harry Wright to manage the team for the 1882 season. When he piloted the team to a second-place finish, the club turned a profit of $4,624, with receipts of $41,217 offset by expenses of $36,593.21 For the first time since 1879, the club finished the season with a cash surplus of $3,000 after paying its outstanding bills. Winship was re-elected president for 1883, with Mead as treasurer and a board of directors consisting of Bloodgood, Thurston, Thomas C. Peckham, Newton Earle, and C. Fred Crawford.22

Wright returned for the 1883 season, but he quit at season-end due to the directors’ contentious arguments over whether to continue the team in 1884. After ending the season with $9,000 in the treasury (apparently enhanced by a $6,000 profit), Winship pushed the directors to approve the payment of a 100 percent dividend, based on the rationale of “having taken the association when it was in debt and had brought it up to its present prosperous state.”23 The dividend payment on the $10,000 of stock outstanding would have depleted the club’s cash on hand and pushed the club back into debt, forcing the directors to either field an uncompetitive team or withdraw from the league.

Winship and the directors, horse-racing devotees more than baseball fans, planned to use the dividend payment to buy a stake in Narragansett Park, the local race track, “preferring to deal with a sport whose four-legged athletes were not as fractious and self-serving as professional ballplayers.”24 When the stockholders balked at the dividend vote, Winship resigned as president and a new board of directors was installed, consisting of George H. Flint, William T. Smith, J. Edward “Ned” Allen, Henry Root (returning), and Peckham (the only holdover).25 Flint was initially elected president, but he resigned a week later (replaced as director by Crawford) and Root once again became president.26 Allen assumed the role of business manager.

Allen hired Frank Bancroft away from the Cleveland club for an extravagant $2,500 salary to manage the Providence team for the 1884 season. Bancroft soon had second thoughts when he discovered “raw egos had divided the club into bickering factions and know-it-all stockholders were taking sides, angrily squabbling over how to best manage the team.”27 Bancroft had matters largely under control and the team into first place by July. Then both pitchers, Charlie Sweeney and Charlie Radbourn, quit and turmoil struck the team. The directors once again considered disbanding the club, as $17,000 reportedly was in the club’s treasury.28

Bancroft persuaded Allen and Root to keep the team in the league, then persuaded Radbourn to stay and pitch all the remaining games in the 1884 season. The inducements for Radbourn were an increased salary and a promise for the club to release him after the season so that he could freely negotiate with other ballclubs.29 This deal set the stage for “Old Hoss” Radbourn to win 60 games in 1884 and propel Providence to the championship of the National League. Providence then defeated the American Association champion New York Metropolitans in the first-ever World Series. Allen presented Radbourn with two alternatives: to take a release or to fill in whatever salary he wanted on an 1885 contract to play for Providence; “to Allen’s amazement, he filled in a figure for the new season and tore up the release.”30

In January of 1885, the Providence club announced that “the season had been prosperous,” the directors had voted a 10 percent dividend payment to stockholders, Root was re-elected president, and the existing board of directors would return (Allen, Crawford, Peckham, Smith, and S. Tillman White).31 However, things remained fractious among stockholders. Root resigned as president in July of 1885, and the directors elected Allen to be his successor.32 By September there were widespread rumors that Providence (and Buffalo) would be expelled from the National League.

In November of 1885, Allen negotiated a deal with Arthur Soden, the president of the Boston ballclub, to purchase the Providence team (basically the contracts of the Providence ballplayers, not the stock in the club).33 This was a personal investment by Soden (not on behalf of the Boston club), largely to acquire the rights to pitcher Radbourn, but also to encourage Providence to drop out of the National League. Soden reportedly paid $6,600, which was said to be enough (in combination with the cash in the club’s treasury) to pay off the stockholders at 100 percent of their original investment.34 Soden officially withdrew Providence from the league on December 3, 1885.35

Actually, the Soden payment enabled the Providence club to give its stockholders a small profit. In mid-December of 1885, the board of directors declared a dividend equal to 110 percent of the capital stock of ballclub, which was funded by the $6,600 from Soden and $4,400 from the club’s treasury.36 After that $11,000 payment to retire the stock, the remaining $3,000 in the club’s treasury was designated for the operation of the minor-league team and put into the hands of the trustees of the land underneath the Messer Street Grounds.37

Alas, the minor-league club did not last long. Six months after the major-league club was dissolved, the minor-league team had exhausted the $3,000 fund and disbanded in June of 1886.38

CHARLIE BEVIS is the author of seven books on baseball history, most recently “Red Sox vs. Braves in Boston: The Battle for Fans’ Hearts, 1901-1952” (Jefferson, North Carolina: McFarland, 2017). A member of SABR since 1984, he has contributed more than five dozen biographies to the SABR BioProject as well as several to SABR books. He is an adjunct professor of English at Rivier University in Nashua, New Hampshire.

Notes

1 “Ball Talk,” New York Clipper, January 26, 1878.

2 “An Act to Incorporate the Providence Base Ball Association,” Acts and Resolves Passed by the General Assembly of the State of Rhode Island and Providence Plantations at the May Session, 1878 (Providence: E.L. Freeman & Company, 1878), 29-30.

3 “Baseball Notes,” New York Clipper, October 9, 1880.

4 “Organization, Backing, and Prospects of the Providence Club,” Chicago Tribune, February 10, 1878.

5 “Ball Talk,” New York Clipper, January 26, 1878.

6 “Base Ball Association,” Boston Globe, June 8, 1878.

7 Industries and Wealth of the Principal Points in Rhode Island (New York: A.F. Parsons, 1892), 71, 87-88.

8 “The League Managers,” Chicago Tribune, April 20, 1879.

9 “The Opening Game at Providence,” Boston Globe, April 28, 1878.

10 “Baseball Notes,” New York Clipper, October 9, 1880.

11 “Daisy-Cutters,” Chicago Tribune, November 24, 1878.

12 “Baseball Notes,” New York Clipper, October 9, 1880.

13 “Baseball Notes,” New York Clipper, November 29, 1879.

14 Ibid.

15 “Baseball Notes,” New York Clipper, February 21 and 28, 1880.

16 “The Providence Club,” Boston Globe, September 29, 1880.

17 “Baseball Notes,” New York Clipper, October 9, 1880.

18 “Base Ball Notes,” Boston Globe, November 6, 1881.

19 “A Providence Base Ball Manifesto,” Boston Globe, December 2, 1881.

20 “Baseball,” New York Clipper, February 25, 1882.

21 “The Providence Base Ball Association,” Boston Globe, January 13, 1883.

22 Ibid.

23 “Threatened Dissolution,” Boston Globe, September 26, 1883.

24 Edward Achorn, Fifty-Nine in ’84: Old Hoss Radbourn, Barehanded Baseball and the Greatest Season a Pitcher Ever Had (New York: Smithsonian Books, 2010), 58.

25 “Threatened Dissolution,” Boston Globe, September 26, 1883.

26 “Base Ball Stockholders,” Boston Globe, October 6, 1883.

27 Achorn, Fifty-Nine in ’84, Old Hoss Radbourn, 57.

28 “Ball Players Who Won’t Play; Reasons Which May Lead to the Disbandment of the Providence Club,” New York Times, July 23, 1884.

29 Achorn, Fifty-Nine in ’84: Old Hoss Radbourn, 202-206.

30 Achorn, 279.

31 “The Providence Ball Club,” New York Times, January 31, 1885.

32 “Tips from the Bat,” Boston Globe, July 30, 1885.

33 “Bought Out Providence,” Boston Globe, November 30, 1885.

34 “The Providence Franchise,” St. Louis Globe-Democrat, December 1, 1885.

35 “The National Baseball League,” New York Times, December 4, 1885.

36 “Providence and the Eastern League,” Boston Globe, December 19, 1885.

37 Ibid. The land was owned by Josiah Chapin, but when he was delinquent on his mortgage payments, the land was put into trust, with Thomas C. Greene as trustee. Legal disputes reached the state Supreme Court in 1885. “Franklin Institution for Savings, by its Receiver, vs. The People’s Savings Bank, et al.” Reports of Cases Argued and Determined in the Supreme Court of Rhode Island, volume 16 (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1885), 632-634.

38 “Exit Providence,” Boston Globe, June 4, 1886.

Richmond’s Baseball Background

The genesis of the major-league team was the Virginia Base-Ball Club (VBBC), established in 1883. However, baseball already had a vibrant history in Richmond. The first baseball club was formed there in the summer of 1866. Northern transplants as well as Confederate army veterans flocked to form clubs. Historian Harrison Daniel observes that in Richmond, Virginia, alone, “(b)y the fall of 1866, at least fifteen adult and a dozen junior teams had been formed in the city.”2 By 1870, 45 different baseball clubs had formed in the “River City.” During the 1870s, baseball is said to have spread “like cholera.” This intensely Southern city wholeheartedly embraced this quasi-Northern game. Perhaps the ultimate mark of Richmond’s social acceptance of baseball came when one Richmond club made Confederate (and Virginia) icon Robert E. Lee an honorary member.3

The first semiprofessional team in Richmond formed in 1881. Shoe manufacturer Henry C. Boschen, the son of German immigrants, brought in players and paid them to play for his company team, unimaginatively named the Richmonds or the Virginians. Boschen’s team “played at the Richmond Base-Ball Park, located at the corner of Clay and Lombardy streets, opposite the Richmond, Fredericksburg, and Potomac Railroad yards. The facility eventually had a ‘beautiful grand stand with two private boxes on each end … expressly for the ladies.’” Although Boschen charged admission to his team’s games (25 cents for adults, 15 cents for children), apparently much of the money for the club’s operations came out of his own pocket. Usually, crowds of less than 1,000 turned out for their games.4

The Virginia Base-Ball Association

In June of 1883 a joint-stock company formed, the Virginia Base-Ball Association that later morphed into the big-league franchise. Local businessman William Seddon headed the new club. Within two weeks Judge Beverly Wellford (uncle of one of the directors) granted the Association a charter of incorporation. The incorporators included Seddon, a grocer and stockbroker; Charles H. Epps, the city police sergeant; insurance executives Frank Steger and Tom Alfriend; Charles Straus; George A. Smith; Felix I. Moses; Otho Owens; Charles Skinker; Valentine Hechler; S. B. Witt; and G.A. Wallace. At the subsequent election, Seddon was chosen president. The other officers were Epps as vice president, Steger as secretary, and insurance executive Alfriend as treasurer. Elected to the Board of Directors were Straus, Smith, Moses, Owens, Skinker, Hechler, Peyton Wise, Simon Sycle, Beverly Wellford, and John L. Schoolcraft. [See the Appendix for bios of the officers of the club.5

Officers of the Virginias: William Cabell Seddon (c. 1880s), courtesy Seddon Cabell Nelson. Thomas L. Alfriend, from Richmond Times, April 20, 1901. Charles H. Epps, from Richmond Daily Times, April 17, 1897. Frank Steger, from New Orleans Times Dispatch, April 1, 1897.

The board consisted of “some of the best people of all classes,” said the Richmond Virginian.6 The R.G. Dun rating company (today, Dun & Bradstreet) judged Seddon “a young man of excellent character & business habits,” Alfriend a man of “integrity & character,” and Schoolcraft a “man of fair business qualifications, good character, and steady habits.” Sporting Life believed the VBBC backers were “first class men,” “well heeled financially.”7 The board comprised a variegated mix of “First families” (Seddon, Steger, Wise, Wellford, Moses, Maury) and German-American shopkeepers, representing a cross-section of the city’s young businessmen. They were solidly upper middle class, but none of them millionaires – the club lacked the big-bucks backing of a Henry Lucas, St. Louis’s baseball magnate. Half the board members were Confederate army veterans, and perhaps not surprisingly, the VBBC often identified itself with the larger community of veterans.

Capital stock on the amount of $5,000 to $20,000 was to be sold, though it appears only the lesser amount was realized. Shares of stock sold for $25 apiece. The VBBC quickly announced that $1,400 in stock had already been sold, and that a three-man committee was selected to find a playing field.8

The new team, officially named the Virginia Base Ball Club, lured away most of Boschen’s players.9 Perhaps the team’s best player was 20-year-old pitcher Charlie Ferguson, who went 15-8 that year. Later in the season Philadelphia of the National League paid a reported $3,000 for Ferguson, who went on to win 99 games over the next four years.10

Its uniforms featured white jerseys with “Virginia” written in red across the chest, red belts, and red stockings.11

Virginia Base Ball Company stock certificate, circa 1883. (Heritage Auctions)

Within a few days of the team’s formation, the VBBC leased grounds for a ballpark at the western edge of the city. As early as June 26, workers began putting up wooden fences, and construction was finished within a week. The grounds were at the then-western end of Franklin Street, on the Otway Allen estate, and across from Richmond College. The Lee monument once stood near the location of the main gate. The park could hold almost 3,000 spectators, and was expanded to seat more prior to the 1884 season.12

The new team, under manager E.J. Kilduff,13 played a mix of local amateur and semipro teams, games against teams in the minor-league Interstate Association (forerunner of the Eastern League), plus three games against major-league teams. It finished 33-14, with 9 of the 14 losses against the professional teams.14 Perhaps the most notable event of the season occurred in an early game after which the Richmond players were accused of taking bribes. The players heatedly denied the charges, and the club offered a $100 reward (never claimed) for evidence of cheating.15 Financially, the club had mixed success. Overall gate-receipt numbers are lacking. However, the first regular home game, against the major leagues’ Baltimore Orioles, grossed $245, while their signature home game, a 1-0 loss on October 15 to the National League champion Boston Beaneaters, grossed $486, suggesting crowds of 1,000 to 2,000 for home games against big-league opponents.16

During the winter of 1883-84, Richmond made moves to strengthen its team for the coming Eastern League season. In late 1883 it reached a verbal agreement with veteran baseball man Ted Sullivan, the manager of the American Association’s St. Louis Browns, to manage the Virginias. However, in early 1884 Sullivan informed the Virginias that he was joining the Union Association’s new St. Louis franchise, the Browns owner having offered him far more pay. The club instead hired pitcher Myron S. Allen of the Kingston, New York, club to manage and pitch. Allen lasted only to midsummer, being replaced as manager by team executive Felix Moses and later by first baseman Jim Powell. Manager Allen brought with him from Kingston brothers Ed and Bill Dugan, Brooklyn natives, along with several other players.17 In many ways, the changes replaced local players with imported, Northern talent.

Ad for the Virginias, Richmond Dispatch, August 3, 1883. Reward notice, Richmond Dispatch, August 2, 1883.

The Major Leagues Beckon

In late 1883, Richmond’s potential move into an organized professional league drew media attention. A Richmond newspaper noted that for any professional team to make a profit, it needed to belong to a league. The newspaper gently (and not so subtly) hinted that “for the information of the outside world, Richmond is as liberal in its patronage of good ball-playing as any city its size in the Union, and it is believed that the Virginia Base-Ball Company would be in full accord with such a movement as the one above referred to.”18

One baseball historian has labeled 1884 “The Year Baseball Went Crazy.” In late 1883 a group of baseball men decided to challenge the two existing major leagues (the eight-team National League, established in 1876, and the newer eight-team American Association, founded in 1882). The new Union Association refused to recognize the 11-man reserve clause that the NL and AA had agreed to, believing that this grant of more freedom to the players would allow them to poach freedom-seeking talent from the two established leagues.

The UA announcement of a new league set off a series of events that, in retrospect, seem misguided. The AA, for one, hastily expanded from eight teams to 12, placing new franchises in cities such as Brooklyn and Washington in order to block the UA gaining a foothold in those cities. This vast expansion (16 franchises to 28) led to a dilution of talent among the more numerous teams, the establishment of financially weak franchises, and a dilution of ticket-buying baseball fans among the many more teams. However, the three-league war gave cities the size of Richmond a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to break into the major leagues.19

Representative baseball men of nine different cities met on September 12, 1883, in Pittsburgh to explore forming the Union Association. The Richmond club, represented by President Seddon, was one of the nine, albeit representing by far the smallest of the nine cities. At a subsequent meeting in Philadelphia, no Richmond delegate attended. Richmond was still interested in becoming a member, but leaned instead toward joining the new Eastern League, a minor league that would adhere to the NL/AA “National Agreement.” Richmond may also have been influenced by the fear that St. Louis, the “big money” franchise of the new league, would dominate the new league. At the UA’s December meeting, Richmond’s Felix Moses announced that Richmond would not join the league.20

Media speculation also linked the Virginias to the AA’s expansion plans. Sporting Life, for one, recommended that the AA include Richmond as one of its new franchises, noting that “[t]he Virginia Club, of Richmond, is the only club [being considered] which today stands upon a sound financial footing, with good organization, and it is by no means impossible that this club might be taken into the American Association” at the AA’s December 12 meeting. Comparing Richmond to Toledo, Ohio, another city under consideration, Sporting Life claimed that Richmond “is now by all odds a better baseball city. The Virginia Club has a five years lease of a splendid ground, is in the hands of first class men, and last season did much in creating quite a boom of base ball in the state.”21 Richmond’s Seddon and Moses applied for American Association membership at that December meeting. The AA turned them down,22 but promised the Richmond delegation the first chance to fill any vacancy that might occur.23

Rebuffed for the moment, Richmond joined a newly formed regional league, which today would be termed a minor league. This Union League of Professional Base-Ball Clubs, as it was originally known, soon expanded into an eight-team league, with franchises in Richmond, Baltimore, Wilmington, Reading, Newark, Trenton, Harrisburg, and Allentown. Renamed the Eastern League, it was the ancestor of the modern International League. At the January 1884 initial meeting of the new league, Richmond’s Seddon was elected president and Moses put on the board of directors.24

Early in the 1884 season, it became apparent to all three major leagues that a culling of the weaker franchises was inevitable. One of these franchises was the AA’s Washington club. The new Washington Nationals faced stiff competition from the new UA’s Washington franchise, also (and confusedly) named the Nationals. Neither league imagined that Washington could support two major-league franchises, but each league hoped that its franchise would be the survivor. Neither team won many games,25 but the American Association Nationals were arguably the worst team in the Association, and while the UA Nationals made money, the AA Nationals floundered. By early August, AA Nationals owner Lloyd Moxley, a theatrical costumer and billboard magnate, gave up the ghost. One Washington newspaper blamed the demise on the “lack of patronage, and the continued ill health of Mr. Moxley.”26 The club’s 12-51 record, with a then-record 15-game losing streak, played a large part in the declining attendance.

The Association looked for a club, any club, to pick up the remainder of Washington’s schedule. Preferably, the replacement had to be an existing club with a decent record. And so as not to disrupt the existing league schedule, it had to be located in the East, preferably near Washington. Richmond had a large enough fan base so that, potentially at least, visiting clubs like St. Louis could meet their expenses of traveling there to play. Most importantly, the club, like Charles Dickens’ Barkis, had to be “willin’.” In this narrow context, Richmond, which had signaled an interest to join the AA in late 1883, seemed a plausible choice.

The Business Context

In 1884 the thriving city of Richmond was the 25th largest city in the United States, with a population estimated locally at 75,000. Including the suburb of Manchester (which merged into Richmond in 1910), just south and across the James River, the metropolitan area population was about 82,000.27 While Richmond’s size couldn’t compare to that of the big cities (Philadelphia, Chicago, New York) that had major-league franchises, it was by no means the smallest city to be considered for one.

The 1884 season saw a frenzy of expansion in major-league baseball, with three leagues (NL, AA, and UA).28 In the context of this frenzy, it made some sense to locate (or allow) Richmond to have a franchise. Put another way, a Richmond club made more sense than a number of other cities that had franchises in 1884. Richmond had a larger population than Toledo or Columbus, both of whom lasted the season in the AA. Tiny Columbus even finished second in the Association pennant race. The UA featured a (short-lived) team in Altoona, Pennsylvania (with a population less than one-third that of Richmond). In midseason the UA granted replacement franchises in Wilmington, Delaware, and Kansas City, both smaller than Richmond.

Just considering distance and travel costs, Richmond made more sense than several other franchises. The city was 116 miles and five hours’ train travel from Washington, the location of the team it was replacing, and 158 miles from Baltimore, another baseball hub. In the American Association, St. Louis was 243 miles from Indianapolis, its nearest opponent. In the Union Association, the Kansas City replacement team, the Cowboys, was 248 miles from St. Louis, the nearest UA city. Another UA replacement franchise, St. Paul, Minnesota, was even more remote, 401 miles from Chicago.

Considering population and distance, when in mid-1884 the American Association looked for a club to continue the schedule of the dissolving Washington Nationals, Richmond could be considered a plausible replacement. So after the Nationals folded on August 2, the AA’s board met two days later to find the replacement. One story has Washington’s place being first offered to the Eastern League’s leading team, the Wilmington Quicksteps, “but the astute Manager Simmons [later manager of the Virginias] wisely declined the barren honor,” fearing that the league would contract to eight teams in the offseason and leave the replacement club in the cold. The Virginias “decided to run the risks involved for the chance of displaying in a wider field of action.”29

The Club on the Field

After several exhibition games, the first Richmond contest in the Eastern League had been played on May 1. Its last Eastern League game was played on August 4. In between, Richmond earned a 30-28 record, good for third place in the league.30

The new American Association franchise played its first game on August 5, the day after leaving the Eastern League, at home, against the Philadelphia Athletic. The Virginias lost badly, 14-0.31 In their initial five-game homestand, they won only once. President Seddon announced that he would “go north” to find better players, “which his club greatly needs, if they wish to hold their hand against the other American Association clubs.”32 He soon signed several players, adding among others outfielder Walt Goldsby of the defunct Washington team. But clearly, more help was needed.

The team realized that it needed extra money in order to hire better players and compete at this higher level. The original $5,000 capital might work for a minor-league team, but not one competing at a higher level. Richmond’s owners noted that other AA teams boasted $15,000 to $60,000 in stock.33 The UA Chicago franchise was capitalized at $20,000, and the UA St. Louis franchise reportedly spent $8,500 on its grandstand. The yearly salaries of the AA clubs averaged over $20,000.34 A week after joining the AA, the team decided to sell another $5,000 in stock (doubling the capital investment) in order to pay for the talent.35

One baseball historian has estimated that in 1884, a professional team had to average 1,300 paying fans per game in order to break even.36 While attendance numbers for 1884 are spotty at best, the Richmond team clearly didn’t come close to that number at home. While the initial home games drew an average of 1,500 fans,37 the later newspaper reports tell the story. Just for October, 1884, the home games drew on average less than 600 spectators.38

Historian Robert Gudmestad analyzed Richmond attendance based on the fragmentary newspaper accounts. In 1883, for the nine home games (out of 36) with reported attendance, the Virginias averaged crowds of 1,700. He cautioned that attendance reports usually exaggerated the numbers; that this was a count of total, not paying, spectators; and that newspapers tended to report only the bigger crowds. For the Eastern League half of 1884, based on reports from 14 of 30 home games, the reported attendance was 1,600 per game. Reports from 17 (of 23) American Association home games that year placed average attendance at a little more than 1,000 per game. Clearly, the home-game revenue was insufficient to make the team profitable. The similar analysis for 1885 and the Eastern League had them drawing 1,100 fans per game.39

What profit (or loss) the Virginias made in 1884 cannot be determined, as exact records are lacking. However, one newspaper (the New York Dispatch) published what were probably wildly over-estimated American Association club profits, with the league as a whole “about $130,000 ahead,” and with Richmond ending with a $1,000 profit. Even here, Richmond’s asserted profits compared badly to those of the other AA clubs.40 After the 1885 season, one newspaper article estimated that the club was $8,000 in the red.41

The Virginias finished the (half) season with a record of 12 wins, 30 losses, and 4 ties: not very good, but much better than the awful club it replaced. The Virginias were a young team, the ballplayers averaging 24.1 years of age, with only five of the 19 players native Southerners. They scored 194 runs, versus 294 given up. Home field didn’t seem to result in an edge for them: they were worse at home (5-15) than on the road (7-15). They were not the worst team in the American Association: Their record was better than that of the Washington club they replaced, and at 12-30 they were better than Indianapolis and Pittsburgh, two clubs that started and finished the season. The Virginias were competitive (8-9) against the sub-.500 teams in the Association, but a woeful 4-21 against the better teams.42

With the club’s money woes and poor on- field record, the AA dropped Richmond (to no one’s surprise – the move had long been rumored) at the Association’s December 10, 1884, meeting. President Seddon and Secretary Moses objected, mostly because they had paid advance money for the players for next season, money that would be lost by the change. The Indianapolis franchise was also dropped, and with the prior collapse of the Toledo and Columbus AA franchises, the Association returned to an eight-club league.43 Soon thereafter, Seddon moved to Baltimore and resigned as club president, replaced by club treasurer Tom Alfriend.

The money woes extended into 1885, after the club rejoined the Eastern League. The team brought in a well-respected manager, Wilmington’s Joe Simmons,44 and the team competed for the Eastern League pennant. By midseason, the club that couldn’t match the big leaguers was proving too much for its Eastern League opponents. In July, it boasted a 46-11 record and a nine-game lead over second-place Washington. However, the new talent had come at a price: The salaries of the manager and players amounted to $1,800 per month, outstripping the gate receipts.45 In August the team, despite the on-field success, issued a call for $1,500 in subscriptions in order to get it through the remainder of the year. The drive netted only one-third of the target, and a few weeks later President Alfriend reluctantly sold two of the team’s best players, third baseman Billy Nash and outfielder Dick Johnston, to Boston for $1,250. Both went on to have long major-league careers. The sale of its best players ruined Richmond’s chances to take the league pennant. Alfriend sounded almost wistful about the fans, complaining that in 1884, when the team was losing, they told him they didn’t come out because “[t]he Virginias can’t win,” whereas in 1885 they also didn’t attend, complaining that the Virginias were sure to win.46

An embarrassing moment for the club came when its cashier, Thomas W. Carpenter, fled Richmond after embezzling $38,000 from his brokerage business. Carpenter was the bookkeeper for the brokerage of club director J.L. Schoolcraft, and stole the money to cover stock market losses. He returned from Canada two weeks later, guilt-ridden, and tried to give back the money. Later that year Carpenter pleaded guilty and was sentenced to a year in jail. There is no indication that he took any club funds, yet the episode must have damaged its image.47

After a September 18 game against Bridgeport, the Virginia players, who had not been paid for a month, met with management and threated to quit. However, with “the League pennant almost within their grasp,” the players soon changed their mind and decided to play out the remainder of the schedule, but with the players in charge, not the management.48 The club’s management “tendered the treasury to the players. The feeble sum amounted to roughly $7.50 per man. While pride propelled the players to want to finish the season and compete for the pennant, the fans did not support their efforts. About 250 to 300 spectators came out for the Virginias’ first game without management. Only 200 came to the ballpark the following day. After that game, two of the Virginias’ players accepted offers to join the Newark Club and left on the evening train.49 The club, in essence, disbanded. A few days later, the Eastern League expelled Richmond for nonpayment of dues and for failure to pay visiting clubs their guarantee.50 The 1885 Virginias finished with a 67-26 record, a close second to the Washington Nationals.51 For their part, the VBBC’s board members assumed the club’s $3,000 liabilities, each member being assessed $300 or more.52

The Eastern League itself disbanded two years later.

Conclusion

On and off the field, the Richmond Virginians did about as well as one could expect from a minor-league club that’s suddenly, in midseason, elevated into the major leagues. It lacked major-league-caliber players, major-league facilities and major-league financing, and given its known “replacement” status, couldn’t expect a long enough future to build up any of these. Its brief existence underlines the chaos that plagued baseball’s major leagues in the 1880s.

Appendix – Biographies53

President: William Cabell Seddon (1851-1923), a merchant and son of the Confederate secretary of war. In 1883 his income was $2,400, and he owned over $13,000 in personal property. Seddon would later move to Baltimore and become a prominent broker and banker there. Upon leaving, he resigned his post of president, to be succeeded by Thomas Alfriend.

Vice President: Charles Henry Epps (1840-97), sergeant of the Richmond police.

Secretary: Francis Dean Steger (1849-97), an insurance agent. Secretary of the Mutual Assurance Society. In August 1884 Jourdan Woolfolk Maury was elected secretary to replace Steger. In 1897 it was discovered that Steger had embezzled $35,000 in order to pay off his gambling debts, and he killed himself.

Treasurer: Thomas Lee Alfriend (1843-1901), an insurance agent. Owned $5,100 in real property in 1883. Elected president Dec. 20, 1884, to succeed Seddon. When Alfriend was elevated to president, Jourdan Woolfolk Maury Jr. (1856-86), a clerk in his father’s brokerage business, was chosen to succeed him, holding both the secretary and treasurer positions. Maury had been captain of Richmond’s Olympic Base Ball Club in 1874.

Board of Directors:

• Felix Inglesby Moses (1852-89), cousin of a South Carolina governor. Owned $3,000 in real property in 1883. A fertilizer dealer.
• Peyton Wise (1838-97) was the nephew of Virginia’s Governor Henry Wise. A lieutenant colonel in the Confederate army. Postwar Richmond merchant, and active in Confederate veteran affairs. His brother married the sister of Otway Slaughter Allen, the owner of the land on which VBBC’s ballpark was built.
• Beverly Randolph Wellford (1855-1936), a lawyer and member of a very wealthy family. In 1870 his property was valued at $35,000 (an inheritance) and his immediate family owned over $300,000 in real and personal property. His brother-in-law, Otway Allen, owned the land on which the ballpark was built. Later a judge, he married William Cabell Seddon’s cousin.
• Charles Robert Skinker (1839-1903), a grocer and tobacco merchant. Owned $31,900 in real property in 1883. Later a director of the Citizens Bank of Richmond, along with Wellford and Alfriend.
• Simon Sycle (1847-1906), a German-born dry-goods merchant and clothier. Owned $4,015 in real property in 1883.
• Charles Emanuel Straus (1853-1904), a clothier. Owned $2,980 in real property in 1883.
• George Alvin Smith (1844-1908), head of a firm supplying machinery and railroad supplies. Owned $1,300 in real property in 1883.
• John Lawrence Schoolcraft (1856-alive in 1913), a New York-born stock broker. Son of a US congressman. Secretary of the City Stock Exchange. In 1883 his income was $5,600, and he owned $31,000 in property. He later discovered that his wife (daughter of his business partner) had cheated on him, and, broken-hearted, he cashed in his property and fled west. Last seen in Chicago in 1896. Said to be alive when his brother died in 1913.
• Otho Otis Owens (1849-1906), a druggist. Later on the board of several banks.
• Valentine Hechler (1839-1926), a German-born pork packer. Owned $1,980 in real property in 1883.

Later directors included Wilson Miles Cary (1843-1919), merchant, and Stephen Adolphus Ellison (1835-89), tobacco manufacturer, who owned $27,532 in real property in 1883.

Incorporators in 1883. Most of the above men, and:

• Samuel Brown Witt (1850-1912), Richmond district attorney.
• Gustavus Adolphus Wallace (1829-1916), a merchandise broker. Owned $720 in real property in 1883.
• In addition, James T. Ferriter (1843-1902) was engaged to sell corporation stock. A Massachusetts-born Confederate veteran and restaurant owner.

Managers

• Joseph S. Simmons (1845-1901), manager of the Virginias in 1885. Veteran major-league player, and manager of the UA’s Wilmington Quicksteps in 1884.
• James Edwin Powell (1855-1929), player-manager of the AA Virginias in late 1884.
• Myron Smith Allen (1854-1924), who left the Richmond team early in 1884 after an injury.

Simmons and Powell images from Baseball-Reference.com. Allen from the Cleveland Plain Dealer, March 27, 1887.

Sources for Further Reading

Blake, Ben W. “Uncovering a Diamond: A Major League Club on Park Avenue,” Richmond Times Dispatch, August 9, 1981: B2.

Daniel, W. Harrison, and Scott Mayer. Baseball and Richmond: A History of the Professional Game, 1884-2000 (Jefferson, North Carolina: McFarland & Co., 2015).

Gudmestad, Robert. “Richmond AA Franchise History”; Peggy Simmer, Edward Simmer, and Walter Kephart (compilers), “1884 Richmond AA.” SABR “American Association” project, at https://sabr.app.box.com/s/s7ttowtjgaep5llrtjst.

Gudmestad, Robert. “Baseball, the Lost Cause, and the New South in Richmond, Virginia, 1883-1890,” The Virginia Magazine of History and Biography (Summer, 1998), 267-300.

Mayer, Scott P. “The First Fifty Years of Professional Baseball in Richmond, Virginia: 1883-1932” (Master’s Thesis, U. of Richmond, 2001),

Notes

1 Also nicknamed the Virginians in some sources.

2 W. Harrison Daniel and Scott Mayer, Baseball and Richmond: A History of the Professional Game, 1884-2000 (Jefferson, North Carolina: McFarland & Co., 2015), 3.

3 See www.protoball.org for the clubs. “Cholera” quote from Ron Pomfrey, Baseball in Richmond (Charleston, South Carolina: Arcadia, 2008), 7. For Lee, see William A. Christian, Richmond: Her Past and Present (Richmond: L.J. Jenkins, 1912), 417.

4 Robert Gudmestad, “Baseball, the Lost Cause, and the New South in Richmond, Virginia, 1883-1890,” The Virginia Magazine of History and Biography (Summer, 1998), 272.

5 Peggy Simmer, Edward Simmer, and Walter Kephart (compilers), “1884 Richmond AA.” SABR “American Association” project, at https://sabr.app.box.com/s/s7ttowtjgaep5llrtjst, 3.

6 “The Base-Ball Business,” Richmond Dispatch, June 24, 1883: 1.

7 Gudmestad, “Baseball, the Lost Cause, and the New South,” 279; “Richmond or Toledo,” Sporting Life, December 12, 1883: 2.

8 “Virginia Base-Ball Association,” Richmond Dispatch, June 21, 1883: 2. Gudmestad, “Baseball, the Lost Cause, and the New South,” 270-272.

9 Boschen scraped together a new team, which played through 1885.

10 Scott P. Mayer, “The First Fifty Years of Professional Baseball in Richmond, Virginia: 1883-1932” (Master’s Thesis, U. of Richmond, 2001), 17. Statistics from Baseball-Reference.com.

11 Simmer, “1884 Richmond AA,” 5.

12 The lot was approximately 400 feet square, at the northwest corner of Lombardy and Park. See Gudmestad’s “Richmond AA Franchise History” at SABR; “Base-Ball,” Richmond Dispatch, July 17, 1883: 4; Gudmestad, “Baseball, the Lost Cause, and the New South,” 279-80; Ben W. Blake, “Uncovering a Diamond: A Major League Club on Park Avenue,” Richmond Times Dispatch, August 9, 1981: B2.

13 Edward J. Kilduff (1859-1916), Massachusetts-born grain dealer and local amateur ballplayer.

14 “Our Base Ballists,” Richmond Dispatch, October 28, 1883: 1. For 1883-85 player statistics, See Gudmestad, “Richmond AA Franchise History,” 54-57.

15 “Many Mysterious Muffs,” Richmond Dispatch, August 2, 1883: 1.

16 E.R. Chesterman, “Ball in Other Days,” Richmond Dispatch, September 16, 1894: 1.

17 Mayer, “The First Fifty Years,” 24-25. Simmer, “1884 Richmond AA,” 8-9.

18 “Base-Ball,” Richmond Dispatch, September 4, 1883: 1.

19 Justin McKinney, “A Season on the Brink: A Financial Summary of the Union Association in 1884,” Base Ball, 11 (2019): 167-191. See also David Nemec, The Beer and Whisky League (Guilford, Connecticut: Globe Pequot Press, 1994), for more on the AA.

20 See Barney Terrell, “1883-84 Winter Meetings: The Union Association,” in Jeremy Hodges and Bill Nowlin, eds., Base Ball’s 19th Century ‘Winter’ Meetings, 1857-1900 (Phoenix: Society for American Baseball Research, 2018). See also Richard Hershberger, “The First Baseball War: The American Association and the National League,” Baseball Research Journal, Fall 2020: 115-125.

21 “Base Ball,” Sporting Life, December 12, 1883: 2; “Richmond or Toledo,” Sporting Life, December 12, 1883: 2.

22 “Base Ball,” Sporting Life, December 19, 1883: 2.

23 “The American Association Convention,” New York Clipper, December 22, 1883: 672.

24 “Base Ball,” Sporting Life, January 9, 1884: 2. The Eastern League formed largely from the 1883 Inter-State Association.

25 The UA Nationals finished 47-65, while the AA Nationals went a horrid 12-51.

26 “The Washington Club Disbanded,” Washington Evening Star, August 4, 1884: 4.

27 Chataigne’s 1883 Richmond City Directory (online at www.ancestry.com) estimated the city’s population at 75,000. The 1880 US Census found 63,600 residents (40 percent African-American), and a police census the same year found 71,000 residents. The 1890 census suggests Richmond’s population was growing by 2,000 each year. Manchester had 5,720 residents in 1880.

28 With teams going bust and being replaced, there were 33 different major-league teams that year.

29 “Sports and Pastimes,” Brooklyn Daily Eagle, August 10, 1884: 4. “Games Played Aug. 5,” Sporting Life, August 13, 1884: 4. Wilmington had fewer residents than Richmond, but it had a better team (the Quicksteps were dominating the Eastern League) and was geographically closer to the other American Association clubs.

30 Simmer, “1884 Richmond AA,” 4-6; “The Virginias vs. The Harrisburg Club,” Richmond Dispatch, May 2, 1884: 1. Different accounts have slightly different team records, according to whether games should be counted against teams that had folded in midseason. The Eastern League formally expelled the Richmond club after it joined the AA, ostensibly for not paying its dues. See Mayer, “The First Fifty Years,” 29-30.

31 See the game report in Sporting Life, August 13, 1884: 4.

32 Simmer, “1884 Richmond AA,” 6.

33 Simmer, “1884 Richmond AA,” 8-9. “Base Ball in Virginia,” Sporting Life, Aug. 20, 1884: 3.

34 McKinney, “A Season on the Brink.”

35 Simmer, “1884 Richmond AA,” 8-9.

36 McKinney, “A Season on the Brink.” Another analysis, for 1876, comes up with a similar break-even number. See Bruce Allardice, “The Chicago White Stockings of 1876: Baseball’s Most Profitable Club,” SABR Business of Baseball Newsletter, December 2019.

37 Simmer, “1884 Richmond AA,” 7-9.

38 Simmer, “1884 Richmond AA,” 21-24.

39 Gudmestad, “Richmond AA History,” 46-48.

40 “Base Ball Notes,” New York Dispatch, October 12, 1884: 8. According to the Dispatch, only two AA clubs (Indianapolis and Toledo) showed a loss. Other contemporary accounts (e.g., “The Past Professional Season,” New York Clipper, February 28, 1885: 796) suggest that most AA clubs lost money that season.

41 E.R. Chesterman, “Ball in Other Days,” Richmond Dispatch, September 16, 1894: 1.

42 Statistics from Baseball-Reference.com. The club also played several exhibition games.

43 The convention was widely reported. See “Base-Ball,” Cincinnati Enquirer, December 11, 1884: 2; “Sports and Pastimes,” Brooklyn Daily Eagle, December 12, 1884: 1; “A Great Gathering,” Sporting Life, December 17, 1884: 3. The reduction to eight clubs had long been planned. See “Baseball,” New York Dispatch, October 26, 1884: 5, and “The National Game,” Buffalo Commercial, November 11, 1884: 3.

44 “A Great Gathering,” Sporting Life, Dec. 17, 1884: 3; “From Richmond,” Sporting Life, December 31, 1884: 4.

45 E.R. Chesterman, “Ball in Other Days,” Richmond Dispatch, September 16, 1894: 1.

46 “Virginia Base-Ball Club – Meeting of Directors,” Richmond Dispatch, August 8, 1885: 1; “Nash and Johnson [sic] Released,” Richmond Dispatch, August 22, 1885: 1.

47 See various reports in the Richmond Dispatch, August 6-11, 1885; “A Repentant Thief Sentenced,” New York Times, September 23, 1885: 1.

48 Simmer, “1884 Richmond AA,” 29.

49 Mayer, “The First Fifty Years”; Simmer, “1884 Richmond AA,” 29-30.

50 “Drift From the Ball Field,” New Haven Morning Journal and Courier, September 23, 1885: 3.

51 “The Base Ball Record,” Alexandria (Virginia) Gazette, October 12, 1885: 2. Sources differ slightly on the final Eastern League won-lost records.

52 E.R. Chesterman, “Ball in Other Days,” Richmond Dispatch, September 16, 1894: 1.

53 The sources used for the bios are too numerous to list separately. Ancestry.com, familysearch.org, Richmond Tax lists, online newspapers, city directories, and more were used.