The Silent World of Dummy Hoy

In 1992 I was invited to speak at the induction ceremonies of the Ohio Baseball Hall of Fame. My topic was “Cultural Issues in Baseball: A Historical Perspective of the Black, Jewish, Native American and Hispanic Experiences in Baseball.” When Kathy Gardner, who was in charge of the ceremonies in Toledo, informed me that the theme for the ceremonies was cultural issues and minorities, she also mentioned that Dummy Hoy, the first deaf player in baseball, was to be inducted posthumously that year. She suggested that maybe I should also consider the minority of the disabled in baseball as well. I gave it some thought and began gathering information on Hoy to include that aspect in my talk. And the more I gathered, the more I was in awe of this great player.

Some of Hoy’s descendants were at the ceremonies, as were representatives from the American Athletic Association for the Deaf (AAAD). In addition, my speech was being signed; for many in the audience that was the only way they could receive it. It was quite an experience. And following that wonderful day in August of 1992, the letters started coming. They were from the AAAD and many of Hoy’s relatives, part of a tremendous push to get Dummy Hoy into the National Baseball Hall of Fame. The devotion this group has to Hoy and the representation of the deaf athlete truly impressed me.

Tom Boswell, in his recent book Cracking the Show, said, “In baseball the challenge for the greatest of the great — the long haulers — is to stay happy in their hard, simple work, though the world tries to tell them they are fools to care so much about a game so small. Their task is to ignore the money and take on man’s meanest opponent — time. Day after day, they resist insidious invitations to kick back and be less than they dream they can be. Take a day off, Cal, what the hell?  Why bother to be different?  Why try to find the absolute limits of your performance?  They are stubborn, ornery, almost bullheaded men. Not paragons, to be sure; but symbols definitely. They are the part of us that sets our jaw in defiance of common sense, and doesn’t know why — yet feels better and more at peace for it.”

Although Tom was trying to describe Ryan, Aaron, and Ripken, this description also applies to Dummy Hoy.

William Elsworth “Dummy” Hoy was the first deaf player in baseball, and also one of the leading players at the turn of the century. He was born in 1862 and was stricken with spinal meningitis, and left deaf and unable to speak by age two. At ten, he was placed in the Ohio School for the Deaf in Columbus. He graduated at 18, doing in eight years what should have taken 12, and was valedictorian. He became a shoemaker after that in Findlay, Ohio and, remembering the stories he read in the Ohio School about baseball, he had a dream — to become a baseball player.

With persistence he became a catcher for a local team. After belting four hits in a game against a professional pitcher, he thought he would try to turn pro.

He headed for Milwaukee in 1885. Like deaf athletes today, getting a chance to just show what he could do was a major obstacle. In addition, another issue was that he was only 5-foot-4 and weighed 148 pounds.

The Milwaukee Brewers of the Northwestern League needed a catcher and allowed Hoy to try out. They were impressed and offered him $60 a month. Hoy thought he was worth $75 and was turned down. Settling for less was not the style for this strong and confident man. So Hoy went on to Oshkosh, where an outfielder was needed.

Hoy had great speed and a strong arm. He obtained the position of outfielder for Oshkosh, where he was offered $75 per month. Later, a messenger came from Milwaukee to offer him $85 and take him back. The proud Hoy told the Brewers he would not play for them for a million a month!

In his first season in 1885 there were some problems at the plate. Fielding was flawless, but for the time it took him to turn and read the umpire’s lips for the call of the previous pitch, opposing pitchers would try to “quick pitch” him.  This threw his timing off, resulting in his batting .219, a career low.

Hoy’s solution was truly a major contribution to baseball. He asked the third base coach to signal the ball-strike calls using simple hand signals. This was a tremendous help, and Hoy then batted .367, taking his team to the 1887 pennant. Soon after, these hand signals were adopted for all calls made on the field and it helped everyone, not just deaf players. The fans and other players who were not within hearing range could now understand the umpire’s decisions.

In 1888 Hoy went to the Washington Senators of the National League; at 26 he was a major leaguer with impressive credentials; batting .274 and stealing 82 bases in his first season. His speed and strength made him a defensive wizard and he became known as the “Amazing Dummy,” a name he cherished, realizing it was making him very popular. In an interview with the Cincinnati Enquirer in 1889, Hoy said, “I had to be fast or they wouldn’t keep me.”

With Washington in 1889, on June 19 he threw out three runners at home plate, with his catcher Connie Mack applying the final tag. Like many players in the late 1800s, Hoy changed teams often,  In 1890 he went to the Buffalo Bisons of the Players’ League and was with the St. Louis Browns the following season. Then it was back to Washington for three years, and on to Cincinnati in ’95 through ’97. In 1898 and 1899 Hoy played with the Louisville Colonels, which allows Louisville to celebrate this great player.

In 1898 Hoy married a woman who was also deaf. Sam Crawford describes a wonderful arrangement Dummy Hoy and his wife had for the doorbell at their home. The guest would pull a string, which released a lead ball that plummeted to the floor, making a heavy vibration, thus signaling that someone was at the door.

In 1900 Hoy went to Chicago for Comiskey’s White Stockings and helped the team gain their first pennant. The following year he helped gain another pennant for the White Stockings under the leadership fo Clark Griffith. And, in 1902, Hoy returned to the Reds, where he played 72 games, after which the major leagues told Hoy, at 40, they were through with him. Far from disconsolate, he went to the Los Angeles Angels of the Pacific Coast League in 1903 and played 211 games, stealing 46 bases and helping them to a pennant.

Sam Crawford, in Ritter’s Glory of Their Times, said, regarding Hoy, “We played alongside each other in Cincinnati in 1902. He was on his way out then, but even that late in his career he was a fine outfielder, a great one.”

Referring to how Hoy communicated with his players, Tommy Leach said, “You never called for the ball, you listened for him, and if he made this little squeaky sound, that meant he was going for it. Whenever Hoy made a brilliant catch, the fans would stand up en masse and wildly wave hats and arms — the only way they could communicate with him and show their approval and joy.”

Many of Hoy’s teammates, out of respect and love for him, learned to sign. His honesty was unquestionable. His grandson remembers a story that when the umpires asked him whether he trapped the ball or caught it on the fly, he’d tell them the truth.

Another aspect of his deafness was an advantage for baseball. Mike O’Donnel, a coach at Gallaudet College for the Deaf in Washington, DC, explained that deaf people are very sensitive to everything around them. They train their eyesight to be superior to a hearing person’s sight. Hoy’s grandson recalls that his grandfather had a sixth sense on fly balls, locating them in darkness and fog.

Hoy’s career is remarkable: he batted .292, recorded over 3,000 putouts, stole 605 bases, and banged out 2,05 hits.

Retiring in 1903, he had a son to raise and a farm to work on. Selling the farm in 1904, Hoy became a personnel director with Goodyear, and then worked with the Methodist Book Concern. He remained active until his death in 1961, six months short of his 100th birthday. In game three of the 1961 World Series with the Yankees and the Reds, he threw out the first ball.

Many are trying to get Hoy into the National Hall of Fame; there is even a Dummy Hoy Committee. Sam Crawford felt Hoy should be included and so do many others. In 1996 Hoy made it into the final five candidates in the veteran committee, but did not make it into the Hall. All of his fans and supporters will try again.

The plaque honoring Bill Klem in Cooperstown credits him with introducing arm signals for strikes in 1905, but this really happened with Hoy in 1885.

Hoy was a great man; he was a great ball player. And he always accepted his world of silence. He never let it stop him and always believed in who he was. In 1961, bordering on the age of civil rights and political correctness, Hoy was annoyed that sportswriters now called him William Hoy. He barked back, “Tell them to call me Dummy again, like always.”

BARBARA OREMLAND is Assistant Professor of Physical Therapy, University of Louisville; Director, Kentucky SABR.