I was there on the spot at the creation of this experimental academy and witnessed its development for the first two or three years. Moreover, I was instrumental in many of the decisions that led to its founding. Puerzer downplayed my role and thus neglected my insider’s perspective. I was director of player procurement, directly involved in putting the Royals together in 1968 and 1969. Then I was director of scouts and players. And in 1970, I was the field manager for the Royals, when Joe Gordon didn’t want to manage anymore. The details of all this are in Chapter 10 of my book, Safe by a Mile (University of Nebraska Press, 2001). The early success of the Royals as an expansion franchise had more to do with who we drafted and who we traded for, rather than who got developed in the Baseball Academy, Frank White notwithstanding.

My original input began with the selection of the site. I had a connection with John Schab—I may have the spelling wrong—who was a majordomo in the Sarasota area and who was a friend of Hall of Famer Al Lopez. I had met Schab when I was a coach for Lopez and the White Sox in the early1960s. Schab had been interested in getting the Royals to establish their Spring Training facilities in Sarasota, in conjunction with the White Sox. When the subject of a site for the academy came up, Schab located two parcels of land as possibilities. One was a 600-acre one directly east of Sarasota. We considered it, but then thought it was too far away from the city. The other was a 120-acre piece near the outskirts of Sarasota. The price for the second parcel was $120,000 plus an $8,000 legal fee. A doctor, who was retired and living in Spain, owned that second piece of land. Ewing Kauffman, the Royals owner, agreed to that purchase price, and the deal was done. Kauffman asked me my opinion, because of my experience with Tigertown, the Detroit facilities at Lakeland, Florida. I went out and inspected the land and told him that it was suitable and beautiful. The topography with the palm trees and slightly rolling terrain was gorgeous.

Kauffman asked me about matters of design. I had spent several years at Tigertown and had some definite ideas. I suggested a cloverleaf pattern of four fields, each on different elevations with the elevated center structure serving as an observatory, where you could watch all four fields efficiently. I also suggested implementing batting cages and pitching machines. I did the same thing with the Royals at Municipal Stadium, where I had a batting cage installed in a picnic area along the left field line. For the infield on one of the diamonds, I foresaw the increasing use of astroturf and argued that the Royals players should get used to playing on that surface. Again, drawing on my Tigertown days, I urged him to have concentrated dormitories, much like elaborate motels, and a cafeteria with a chef, so the players could eat together and the club could oversee their diet. And I also persuaded the Royals, over some initial objection to cost, to distribute the instructional manual I had developed to all the personnel at the Academy.

When it came time to pick instructors, I suggested Tommy Henrich, Billy Herman, Tom Ferrick, and Steve Korcheck, among others. I recommended a left­ hand and right-hand hitting coaches, an infield coach, an outfield coach, pitching coaches, left and right. Kauffman and I discussed these on a regular basis. I particularly recall one trip to Fort Myers, on which we went over a lot of these details. These discussions were on top of my regular job with the Royals, director of players and director of scouts. I was also the one who brought in trackmen Bill Easton and Wes Santee to boost running speed of the players. We paid them for ten days of instruction, and they greatly improved some of the players’ speed, especially catcher Fran Healy.

The Baseball Academy was a great idea, but the full potential got wasted by the leadership at that time. Rather than hire the experienced ex-major leaguers, Syd Thrift chose a bunch of amateur and relatively inexperienced coaches at first. Some of this first collection of instructors were teaching poor fundamentals, not major-league caliber techniques. For example, they were teaching bunting by holding the bat straight up instead of parallel to the ground! Eventually the Royals saw their mistake and hired some of the guys I recommended, as well as other ex­-major leaguers.

From a professional standpoint, I thought the Royals should have gotten more for the money they invested. Most of the Academy players never panned out as major leaguers. Only Frank White was a bona fide star. Bruce Miller played for the Giants, and Ron Washington was a journeyman with the Twins. The major stars who carried the Royals throughout the 1970s and 1980s, George Brett, Dan Quisenberry, John Mayberry, Freddie Patek, Amos Otis, Dennis Leonard, Steve Busby, Al Fitzmorris, and others came by way of the draft, trades (a couple of which I helped facilitate), and free agency.

CHARLIE METRO played for the Detroit Tigers and Philadelphia A’s, managed the Cubs, Royals, and several minor league teams, and scouted for several franchises. TOM ALTHERR teaches in the History Department at Metropolitan State College of Denver, including an American Baseball History class. Together they published Safe by a Mile (University of Nebraska Press, 2002).

Ball then hired Sisler as manager on October 21, 1923. It was a position he had turned down three years earlier, but with his playing future somewhat in doubt, he was now quite willing to take on the challenge. His contract was for one year with pay contingent upon his ability to play as well as manage. If playing was now out of the question, Sisler was content to manage only. As things played out, he was able to perform at a level well beyond the average player, but not at the level that had seen him hit .407 in 1920 and.420 in 1922.

Sisler had essentially inherited a team that came close to winning in 1922. Rick Huhn in his splendid biography The Sizzler: George Sisler, Baseball’s Forgotten Great, projected the 1924 Browns:

The regular lineup could certainly hit with the best, but in fairness no longer could be called youthful. The outfield of Jacobson, Tobin, and Williams … showed their ages to be 33, 32, and 34 respectively. Sis was now 31, [Catcher Hank] Severeid 33, and shortstop Wally Gerber 32. Only 24-year-old second baseman Marty McManus was a youngster who played regularly from the start. Gene Robertson, 25, eventually took over at third base … the pitching … was essentially unchanged ... Shocker was around ... and in 1923 he had once again delivered 20 wins.

The Browns assembled for spring training in Mobile, Alabama, for the third straight year in 1924, and Sisler soon resumed his comfort zone at the plate. By the time the team reached St. Louis, he was hitting .324 in 16 exhibition games. After a slow start, the Browns were 16-11 and in second place on May 22 while the new player-manager was hitting at a .315 clip by mid-June. That would be as high as they would go, but they were still in the race in late August only three and a half games from first despite being lodged in fourth place. It would be where they would finish the season as a devastating 1-9 run at season’s end left them at 74-78, 17½ games from the top as the Yankees took the American League flag. A highlight of the season was Urban Shocker’s ironman performance on September 6, when he pitched two complete-game 6-2 victories over the White Sox. One wonders who was doing the pitch count that day.

Sisler himself finished with a .305 average with nine home runs and 74 RBI. These would be great numbers for almost anyone but Sisler. He was no longer the force to be reckoned with that he once was, and Bob Shawkey, Yankee pitcher, in Donald Honig’s The Greatest First Baseman of All Time, told why:

When he was up at the plate, he could watch you for only so long, and then he’d have to look down to get his eyes focused again. So, we’d keep him waiting up there until he’d have to look down and then pitch. He was never the same hitter again after that.

True, but he would nonetheless raise his average to close to .350 in 1925 while guiding the Browns to a third-place finish behind the eventual pennant­ winning Washington Nationals (Senators). Sisler would be the first major league player to make the cover of Time magazine when he appeared there in the March 30 issue. The magazine asked: “Will he, fans wonder, regain his former prowess?” The above number would seem to indicate an answer of: “Yes, but not quite.”

The 1925 Browns changed spring training sites, moving from Mobile to Tarpon Springs, Florida. The new site would enable them to be closer to major league opposition for exhibition play. The team had made a major trade over the off-season, giving up the veteran Shocker to the Yankees for right handers Joe Bush and Milt Gaston and lefty Joe Giard. While Bush was past his prime, the three acquisitions would win 39 games between them. Notable newcomers among the position players were outfielder Harry Rice, shortstop Bobby LaMotte, and catchers Leo Dixon and Pinky Hargrave.

The Browns opened the season at home against Cleveland, and Sisler sent Bush to the mound. The initial results were not encouraging as the Indians scored 12 runs in the eighth inning on their way to a 21-14 victory. In the history of the American League in only one other game have both teams scored as many runs. Sisler himself committed a career­ high four errors, and the team then dropped the next three games before finally beating the White Sox. But better things were ahead for both the team and their playing manager.

On May 21 with the team in fifth place, Sisler failed to hit in a game for the first time since the season opened. The 34-game hitting streak still stands as an American League record from the start of a season. By June 5 the club was in the first division at fourth place with a 24-24 record.

Weak pitching would plague the 1925 Browns, and by the time the Yankees arrived at Sportsman’s Park for a series on July 8 they had slipped back to fifth at 38-40. That still put them two places above the Evil Empire, which was suffering through a rare bad year. For New York, the season was characterized by Babe Ruth’s “tummy ache heard ’round the world” in spring training and his subsequent $5,000 fine for missing two games in a later series with the Browns. Still, there was optimism in New York as the second half of the season began. Harry Cross, New York Times, July 6, 1925:

These Yanks know as well as anyone else that they belong in the first division. … As the Yankee excursion whirled from Washington to this city [St. Louis] there was a general and hopeful feeling among the players that the second half of the season of 1925 could not possibly be as depressing for them as the first.

But it would be. Sisler started the two former Yankee hurlers in the opening doubleheader on July 7. Gaston limited the visitors to two runs while scattering 11 hits in the opener. The Browns got five runs in the fifth and four in the seventh en route to a 12-2 romp, which featured triples by the manager and Jacobson among 13 hits. Ruth went l-for-4 and sat out the second game.

Joe Giard would have only one noteworthy major league season, and 1925 was his brief place in the sun. He would gain one of his 10 wins in the nightcap, matching Gaston’s complete-game effort. Jacobson’s three-run homer in the sixth inning put the Browns ahead 5-3 until Earl Combs tied it with a two­ run blast in the top of the ninth. The home team would have the last laugh, however, as Harry Rice pounced on reliever Herb Pennock’s 1-0 delivery for the winning home run in the last of the ninth to make the final 6-5.

The kind of heat for which St. Louis is famous came out in full force for the single game on July 8. Harry Cross, July 9, 1925: “It was so hot in the ballpark that the peanuts were badly burned before the fans could eat them. Ice has taken on the same value as uncut diamonds…. When one mentions the fact to a native St. Louisan that it is hot, they come right back with that old one about, ‘Oh, this isn’t hot. We don’t take off our coats until the sun starts to blister the paint on the houses.”‘ The weather was apparently to the visitors’ liking. Ruth put New York ahead 2-0 in the top of the third with a two-run shot off Dixie Davis, and the visitors were never headed. The Yankees were aided by three St. Louis errors, two by third baseman Gene Robertson, and led 6-2 in the eighth before the home team added two to make it close at 6-4.

Cooling rains came to St. Louis the next day and they worked very well in the Browns’ favor. Trailing 8-5 in the top of the fourth, Harry Cross, July 10, 1925, describes what happened:

In the third it became as dark as doomsday, accompanied by a sky full of lightning flashes and claps of thunder which shook the grandstand. The rainfall in sheets…. There have been rainstorms and rainstorms, but never one like this. There were perhaps 6,000 fans in the stands and not one escaped a drenching…. The storm followed a day of stifling humidity and roasting heat.

The rains allowed Joe Bush to escape another bad effort. His former teammates had quickly knocked him out in the first inning with a seven-run barrage, but the Browns managed to claw their way back before the downpour came to wipe out everyone’s efforts, including Sisler’s two-run homer in the bottom of the first.

The teams resumed play on July 10 with a doubleheader, and Yankee manager Miller Huggins sent Shocker against his former team in the first game. He was superb for six innings as the visitors built up a 6-0 lead. The Browns then sent their old teammate to the showers in the seventh with three runs and then added another in the eighth. New York seemingly put the game out of reach with two in the ninth to provide an 8-4 lead. But Bob Shawkey, who had relieved Shocker, couldn’t live with success. Giving up three runs, he was succeeded by Sad Sam Jones, who then gave way to Herb Pennock, who had lost game two of the July 7 doubleheader. Hanging on to an 8-7 lead with Harry Rice at third and Bobby LaMotte on second, Pennock literally threw the game away. As L.A. McMaster wrote in the July 10, 1925, St. Louis Post Dispatch:

Sisler laid down a perfect bunt for a safe hit. The ball was near the third-base line and Pennock was the only one who could get near it. The pitcher finally picked up the sphere and trying vainly for Sisler at first, threw to the right field pavilion. Rice and LaMotte crossed the plate and the contest was over.

The second game proved to be another version of the first game of the July 7 doubleheader. Sisler finally got a good nine-inning effort from Joe Bush, as the Brainerd, Minnesota, native gave his former team only three runs on eight hits while the Browns scored in every inning but the first. When the game was called after the eighth because of darkness, the home team had romped to a 13-3 victory. Trailing 2-0 after an inning and a half, two two-run home runs by Pinky Hargrave and Harry Rice set the tone for the rest of the game, which featured three-run innings for the Browns in the sixth and seventh. Yankee starter Waite Hoyt lost his second game of the five­ game series.

Sisler had managed his team to victories in four of the five games, and New York would depart still in seventh place, a position they would find themselves in at season’s end. The teams would split the season series at 11-11, only one of nine occasions over the Browns’ 52-year history when they either broke even or won the season series with New York. On only five of those occasions did they actually win the series. 1925 would find Gorgeous George or the Sizzler, take your nickname, finishing with the best mark of his three-year run as manager. On the way there, he would put together another hitting streak, 22 games, and suffer the passing of his mother on July 27.

By late August the team was in fourth place at 66-59. In September they compiled a 16-11 mark, which would put them in third place at season’s end, 15 games behind pennant-winning Washington. In the second game of a season-ending doubleheader with Detroit, Sisler held the Tigers scoreless in a two­ inning relief stint. Like Ruth, Sisler had first started his career as a pitcher.

As a player Sisler would finish with his best post­ eye problem year with a .345 average, 224 hits, 12 home runs, and 105 RBI. Ever the perfectionist, it left him with little sense of accomplishment. Tom Meany, in Baseball’s Greatest Hitters, quotes him: “Oh, I know I hit .345 and got 228 [sic] hits in 1925, but that never gave me much satisfaction. That wasn’t what I call real good hitting.”

Not much satisfaction to the man described as “the perfect player,” but great satisfaction to St. Louis fans, particularly in this five-game set in early July 1925 when Sisler hit .524 (11-21) as the Browns took four of the games.

ROGER GODIN lives in St. Paul, Minnesota, and is the team curator for the Minnesota Wild. He is the author of The 1922 St. Louis Browns: The Best of the American League’s Worst.

Sources

Huhn, Rick. The Sizzler: George Sisler, Baseball’s Forgotten Great. Columbia, MO: University of Missouri Press, 2004.

Meany, Tom. Baseball’s Greatest Hitters. New York: A. S. Barnes & Co., 1950.

New York Times, July 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 1925.

Sabol, Ken. Babe Ruth & The American Dream. New York: Balantine, 1974.

St. Louis Post Dispatch, July 8, 11, 1925.

St. Paul Pioneer Press, July 9, 1925.

The Baseball Encyclopedia, 10th ed. New York: McMillan, 1996.

THE ROSTER

Table 1 lists the first player born within each decade of the 20th century to play in a major league game.¹ Of course no player born in the 1990s has yet graced a major league roster. The list is a mix of modestly accomplished players, short timers with names unrecognizable to even contemporary fans, and perhaps the most talented young hitter of today­, Albert Pujols.

As expected, these point men began their careers at a very young age. Only Albert Pujols began his major league career after his 20th birthday, with the youngest, Dave Skaugstad, appearing in his first game well shy of his 18th birthday. The birthplaces of these players reflect the shift in where the typical major leaguer originates-the Mid-Atlantic States in the first third of the 20th century, Midwest/western states in the middle of the century and Latin America in the past two decades.

THE 1900s

The first player born in the 1900s to appear in a major league game was John Cavanaugh, born in Scranton, PA, in the spring of 1900. Cavanaugh played in only one major league contest, for the 1919 Phillies. Substituting at third base in the late innings of a July 7 contest at the Polo Grounds, Cavanaugh struck out in his only at-bat against Giant ace Jesse Barnes, the NL’s winningest pitcher in 1919. The Phillies were swept in a doubleheader that day, enabling the Giants to briefly regain first place in their National League pennant race with Cincinnati. The Redlegs would go on to win the NL crown and face the Chicago “Black” Sox in the World Series.

While Cavanaugh was to play only this single game for the Phillies, it was notable for a record set that day that has not been equaled since. In the bottom of the ninth, trailing by eight runs, the Phillies mounted a valiant comeback against Giant reliever Pol Perritt. The comeback fell short as the Phils managed only three runs but in one stretch, four consecutive Phillie batters reached base on three hits and a walk. Each of those base runners (Luderus, Sicking, Cady, and Cravath) in turn stole both second base and third base-stealing a total of eight bases in a single inning. Newspaper accounts describe the Giants as indifferent to the base-running antics of the Phillies, suggesting that modern rules would not award a single stolen base in a similar situation today. Nonetheless, on the day the first player born in the 20th century participated in a regular season major league game, the 1919 Phillies broke the NL record (and tied the major league record) for stolen bases in an inning.

What exactly happened to Cavanaugh after his debut has not been documented. That very evening, with an ugly 18-43 record and having lost 11 consecutive games, Phillie manager Jack Coombs was fired by owner William F. Baker.² Coombs was replaced by outfield star Gavvy Cravath, who immediately announced his desire to upgrade the team’s talent level, kicking off a wave of trades and player releases.³ John Cavanaugh may well have been caught up in Cravath’s whirlwind effort to return to the glory of Philadelphia’s 1915 NL Championship season. Cavanaugh resurfaced with a Scranton semi­pro team later that year (the “Uniques”), while the Phillies finished securely in last place, not to win another title for 31 years.

THE 1910s

Joe Cicero was both a cousin of actor Clark Gable and the first player born in the 1910s to reach the majors. The Atlantic City, NJ, native joined the Red Sox squad in the spring of 1928 as a 17-year-old shortstop. He began the season with the club but was optioned to Salem of the New England League on June 1 without playing in a single game. The following year Cicero was promoted from Pittsfield to the Red Sox in mid-September, making his major league debut on September 20, 1929. Cicero delivered a pinch­ hit single in a 4-2 loss to the Cleveland Indians, followed up nine days later by a three-hit, three­ RBI performance in a 10-0 whitewashing of Lefty Grove and the AL champion Philadelphia Athletics. This was to be Joe Cicero’s most prodigious major league performance. Used sporadically in the 1930 season, he was sold to the Indianapolis Indians and resumed what was to be a lengthy minor league career.

Joe Cicero did not return to the baseball limelight until 14 years later, when he made headlines as a wartime member of the famed Newark Bears. In the 1944 opening day contest against the Montreal Royals, left fielder Cicero drilled three home runs, including two grand slams and delivered 10 RBI in a 17-8 victory. This game was a likely springboard to the next, and most improbable, chapter in Cicero’s career. Faced with wartime shortages of baseball talent, Connie Mack invited Cicero to spring training in 1945 with his Athletics squad. Cicero was the ”hit” of the A’s camp, “with his booming drives over the left-field fence.”⁴ And so the bespectacled Cicero began the 1945 season as the Philadelphia A’s starting left fielder-15 years after last appearing in a major league game. He did not hit well against regular­ season pitching though, batting only .158 in a dozen games for the last-place A’s. Joe Cicero played his last game in May 1945, a few weeks after VE Day, as ballplayers began returning from military service around the globe.

THE 1920s

Walt Masterson, first player born in the 1920s to reach the majors, was impressive in spring training outings for the 1939 Washington Senators as a reliever for manager Bucky Harris. The 18-year-old Philadelphia native impressed AL President William Harridge enough to be included in an article he authored on the eve of opening day in which he previewed the upcoming season. Masterson was listed alongside Ted Williams, Charlie “King Kong” Keller, and Bill Rigney as the class of 1939’s most promising rookies.⁵ Masterson opened the season at Charlotte but was quickly called up to the Senators in late April, making his first appearance on May 8 in relief against the Cleveland Indians. The young right-hander pitched a shaky eighth inning, allowing two walks and one hit but no runs in a 6-2 loss. 

After another brief outing in relief, Masterson was given his first major league start on May 18 against the Detroit Tigers. Masterson’s mound opponent was veteran Buck “Bobo” Newsom, acquired days earlier from the St. Louis Browns in a 10-year deal. Winner of 20 games for the seventh-place Browns in 1938, Newsom would go on to again win 20 games in 1939 and then post a brilliant 21-5, 2.83 ERA season as a workhorse for the AL champion Tigers in 1940. But Masterson spoiled Newsom’s tiger debut, throwing a 4-1 complete-game victory for the Washington Senators in Griffith Stadium. Masterson scattered six hits while walking six and striking out seven, the only Tiger run set up by a wild throw by Masterson himself on a ball hit by Newsom. The rookie held Tiger stars Charlie Gehringer on three straight curveballs with two men on in the ninth to secure the win. Walt Masterson would pitch for 14 years with the Senators, Red Sox, and Tigers, compiling a 78-11 record. He was selected to start in the 1948 All-Star game in what was surely the highlight of his career but was unlucky enough to be a part of two record hitting streaks during his career. On June 29, 1941, Joe DiMaggio collected a seventh-inning single off Masterson to break George Sisler’s 41-game AL consecutive-game hitting streak record. In July 1952 the Red Sox’s Walt Dropo went 4-for-4 against Masterson in the first game of a doubleheader with the Senators. Before the second game was over Dropo had collected 12 consecutive hits, setting a new major league record. 

THE 1930s

John August (Johnny) Antonelli, one of the first ”bonus babies,” was also the first major leaguer born in the 1930s. The 18-year-old left hander signed with the Boston Braves for $65,000 on June 30, 1948, reputedly the largest bonus paid to that point for any player. A week later Antonelli made his debut for Boston on the road against the Philadelphia Phillies in the first half of a July 4 doubleheader. Relieving in the eighth inning, Antonelli allowed one run on two hits (to Richie Ashburn and Del Ennis) in one inning of a 7-2 loss to the Phils. The nightcap of the holiday doubleheader featured the fourth career start and third lifetime win for Phillie rookie and fellow bonus baby hurler Robin Roberts.

Antonelli pitched only three more games in 1948 for the NL champion Braves, earning a save while allowing no hits and no runs. He did not appear in Boston’s World Series loss to Lou Boudreau’s Cleveland Indians but was awarded a partial share ($571.34) of the World Series losers’ bonus money. Antonelli’s portion was decreed by baseball commissioner Happy Chandler⁶, overriding his teammates’ decision not to award him a cut of the money. 

After three years with the Braves as an occasional starter, Johnny Antonelli joined the military for two years, serving in Korea. Prior to the 1954 season he was traded to the New York Giants in a controversial deal for center fielder Bobby Thomson, hero of the 1951 Miracle at Coogan’s Bluff. Antonelli would go on to a 21-7 record in 1954, leading the NL in ERA (2.30) and the Giants to a World Series sweep over the Cleveland Indians. He started and won game two over tribe ace Early Wynn and delivered a game four save in relief. Antonelli earned a full $10,795.36 winners’ share for his efforts. 

In a game remembered by many New Yorkers as vividly as his World Series performances, Johnny Antonelli started and lost the final game played by the Giants in the Polo Grounds on September 29, 1957. He suffered a 9-1 shellacking by the Pittsburgh Pirates, after which Giant fans poured on the field in search of souvenirs, stealing home plate, the bases, and even a center-field monument to Giant infielder Eddie Grant, killed in action during World War I. After four All-Star appearances and winning 108 games for the NY/SF Giants, Antonelli split his final season in 1961 between the Indians and Braves-opponents in the 1948 World Series. Following the end of the season, Milwaukee sold his contract to the expansion New York Mets. Johnny Antonelli elected to retire rather than report, ending his career with the team that first signed him as an 18-year-old phenom. 

THE 1940s

David Wendell Skaugstad was a 17-year-old left­ handed pitcher from Compton High School in Compton, CA, when he signed with the Cincinnati Redlegs in September 1957. Skaugstad debuted for the Redlegs in relief against the Chicago Cubs on September 25, 1957. He surrendered three hits and three walks but allowed no runs in a four-inning no-decision, finishing the last game of the year at Crosley Field, a 7-5 loss to the Cubs. Skaugstad was the third of three fledgling pitchers to throw that day for Cincinnati.⁷ along with first-time starter and 20- year-old bonus baby Jay Hook (later the first pitcher to win a game for the expansion 1962 Mets) and 18- year-old Claude Osteen.

Despite his fine initial outing, Dave Skaugstad was to appear in only one more major league game. On September 29, the last day of the 1957 season, the Redlegs were in Milwaukee playing the NL champion Braves. On the day after breaking the NL single­ season record for attendance, 45,000 hometown fans were treated to a pitching duel between Redlegs starter Jay Hook and Braves starter Bob Buhl, with both throwing no-hitters after five innings. Before the start of the sixth inning Reds manager Birdie Tebbetts remarked, “He’s too young to throw a no­ hitter,”⁸ and lifted Hook, replacing him with Dave Skaugstad. Skaugstad retired pinch-hitter Andy Pafko, second-basemen Red Schoendienst in search of his 200th hit of the season, and shortstop Johnny Logan to preserve the no-hitter. In the seventh inning of the still scoreless game, Skaugstad retired future Hall of Famers Eddie Mathews and Hank Aaron, but then walked Wes Covington and allowed the first hit of the game to Brave first baseman Joe Adcock. Skaugstad’s inexperience got the better of him as he walked the next two batters to force in a run. After pitching 1 2/3 innings, he was removed for veteran Hersh Freeman, leaving to a hail of boos from the partisan crowd. Cincinnati rallied to take the lead in the top of the ninth, but eventually lost the game 4-3 in the bottom of the ninth.

Dave Skaugstad enjoyed a minor league career that extended from 1958 through 1965, wrapped around a three-year stint in the Army. A good-hitting pitcher, in 1959 he played first base and outfield between starts for the PCL Seattle Rainiers and lobbied the Redlegs’ organization to be converted into an everyday player. His “conversion” ended after he struck out 18 batters in a game during 1960 for Class D Geneva. Back problems caused Skaugstad to take the next year off, during which he enlisted. Pitching for the V Corps Guardians baseball team in Europe, he developed a forkball and a goal of returning to the majors by 1965. After a strong early season showing with Class AA Knoxville in 1965, Skaugstad was called up by Cincinnati to pitch in an exhibition game with the Chicago White Sox. He warmed up in the bullpen once but never appeared in the game. Sent back to Knoxville, he pitched poorly in the second half of the season and a lingering rotator cuff problem caused him to retire at the ripe old age of 25.

THE 1950s

The first major leaguers born in the 1950s were a pair of 19-year-olds-Californian Lloyd Allen and Connecticut native and future Mets manager Bobby Valentine, both of whom debuted in early September 1969 as late season call-ups (Allen with the California Angels and Valentine for the Dodgers). Allen, the Angels’ first selection in the 1968 amateur draft, was the first of the two to appear in a game, pitching an effective inning of relief in the front half of a doubleheader with the Senators on September 1 in a shutout loss to Joe Coleman. A newspaper account of the game mentions that David and Julie Eisenhower attended the game, the newlywed grandson of former President Dwight Eisenhower and daughter of then President Richard Nixon.⁹

Allen’s strong showing earned him a start his next time out from manager Lefty Phillips. Allen started the penultimate game of the season for the Angels against the Kansas City Royals on October 1, 1969. In a rain-shortened five-inning game, Allen walked eight batters, including filling the bases by walks twice and lost a 6-0 shutout to Royals’ rookie Bill Butler. This was Butler’s fourth shutout of the year, helping secure for the Royals the best record by an expansion team in the then 100-year history of the major leagues.

Lloyd Allen played for several more seasons, principally as a reliever for the Angels, Rangers, and White Sox. In 1971, he led the Angels with 15 saves, including a game on July 16, 1971, in which he completed the rare combination of both hitting a home run and earning a save. Allen’s career won-lost record was unsightly at 8-25, with 22 saves and a 4.69 ERA. He lost his last 10 decisions between 1972 and 1975, including his final appearance, a 2/3-inning start against the Oakland Athletics in which he allowed a two-run HR to future Hall of Famer Reggie Jackson.

THE 1960s

Tim Conroy was the first player born in the 1960s to reach the majors. Selected by the Oakland Athletics in the first round of the 1978 June amateur draft (the 20th overall pick), Conroy was less than a month out of high school when he was added to manager Jack McKeon’s A’s squad. Just prior to his arrival, owner Charlie Finley claimed that Tim Conroy had “more poise than Catfish Hunter … when I brought [him] up as [a] kid.”¹⁰ Conroy joined fellow 18-year­-old hurler Mike Morgan on the roster, who had also jumped from high school to the big leagues that same month.¹¹ Prep catcher Brian Milner, a seventh-round draft choice, also jumped from high school to the majors, debuting the same day as Conroy.

Conroy debuted as the starting pitcher in the second game of a doubleheader with the Kansas City Royals on June 23, 1978. In front of the second largest crowd of the year at Royals Stadium, Conroy pitched 3 1/3 innings, allowing only one run and two hits while walking five Royals in a game won by the A’s. The second and final major league appearance for Conroy that year was another start in which he did not fare as well-allowing five runs on only one hit in 1 1/3 innings at home against the Texas Rangers. A first-inning error by Conroy on a Bert Campaneris sacrifice bunt, four walks, and two stolen bases earned him a quick shower but not a loss as Oakland eventually won in 10 innings.

Reassigned to the minors, Tim Conroy toiled for four years before returning to Oakland in 1982. Ultimately, after a lackluster 10-19 career record with Oakland, Conroy was traded to the St. Louis Cardinals in December 1985 along with catcher Mike Heath for 21-game winner Joaquin Andujar. The trade occurred just two months after Andujar’s meltdown in game seven of the 1985 World Series where he charged home plate umpire (and game six “villain”) Don Denkinger following two disputed pitches in an 11-0 loss to Bret Saberhagen and the Kansas City Royals. Andujar’s Series antics made him a pariah in St. Louis, leading to the quick trade for seemingly unequal talent.

THE 1970s

Venezuelan-born Wilson Alvarez, first major leaguer born in the 1970s, bears the distinction of being one of the few major leaguers to play in the Little League World Series, appearing in the 1982 LLWS with the Coquivacoa Little League of Maracaibo. Alvarez debuted for the Texas Rangers on July 24, 1989, appearing as the starting pitcher against the eventual AL East champion Toronto Blue Jays. Called up from Class AA Tulsa to fill in for an injured Charlie Hough, the 19-year-old left hander was rudely welcomed into the fraternity, as many rookie pitchers are-allowing first inning home runs to Tony Fernandez and Fred McGriff facing five batters in all without recording a single out.

Alvarez returned to the Tulsa team and five days later was bundled by the Rangers in a trade with the Chicago White Sox for veteran outfielder Harold Baines. Accompanying him to the Windy City was a young outfielder from the Rangers’ Triple A Oklahoma City roster, Sammy Sosa, who a few weeks earlier had drilled his first major league home run. Alvarez was assigned to a ChiSox minor league affiliate, not to appear in another major league game for two years. As a result, he carries an ERA of infinity for his 1989 major league season.

Alvarez returned to the major leagues with a bang. Called up by the White Sox from Double A Birmingham in the summer of 1991 after posting a 10-6, 1.83 ERA record, Alvarez was immediately given an opportunity to start. On August 11, in his first outing for the ChiSox and only the second game of his major league career, Alvarez tossed a no-hitter against the Baltimore Orioles. Striking out seven Orioles en route to a 7-0 victory, Wilson Alvarez became the most inexperienced major league pitcher to throw a no-hitter since the St. Louis Browns’ Bobo Holloman blanked the Philadelphia A’s in his 1953 major league debut.

Later in his career, Wilson Alvarez earned the distinction of starting the first regular season game for the Tampa Bay Devil Rays on March 31, 1998. More recently with the Los Angeles Dodgers, Alvarez suffered the indignity of serving up the 2004 NLDS­ clinching home run in the eight inning of game four to St. Louis Cardinal slugger Albert Pujols.

THE 1980s

The preseason rosters for 2001 included quite a few young players born in 1980, including future World Series MVP Josh Beckett, current Indians ace C. C. Sabathia and Dodger shortstop Cesar Izturis. But the very first player born in the 1980s to appear in a major league game was Albert Pujols. The Dominican Republic native was a 13th-round selection by the St. Louis Cardinals in the 1999 amateur draft, turning down the Cards’ initial contract offer, but eventually signing for a $60K bonus in the summer of 1999. Pujols earned league MVP honors for Class A Peoria of the Midwest League in 2000, finishing the year with Class AAA Memphis. Taking advantage of a roster spot made available by a spring training injury to Bobby Bonilla, Pujols was the 2001 opening day left fielder for the Cardinals. He went l-for-3 and was caught stealing in his debut against Mike Hampton and the Colorado Rockies in an 8-0 loss on April 2, 2001. Pujols hit his first major league home run, along with a double and three RBI, on April 6 in the Cardinals first win of the season, against the eventual World Series champion Arizona Diamondbacks.

Albert Pujols went on to earn NL Rookie of the Month honors for May 2001 and was the first Cardinal rookie selected to the All-Star team since Luis Arroyo in 1955. He finished the year batting .329 with 37 HR and 130 RBI, leading the Cardinals to a wild card berth and unanimously winning NL Rookie of the Year honors. Pujols has continued to dominate NL pitching in his four seasons with the Cardinals. He was runner-up to Barry Bonds in the NL 2002 and 2003 MVP voting, leading the NL in 2003 in batting average (.359), hits (212), runs (137), and doubles (51). With another stellar season in 2004, he has joined Joe DiMaggio and Ted Williams as the only players to collect 500 RBI in their first four seasons. Pujols earned the NL 2004 LCS MVP award and, despite his lackluster performance in the 2004 World Series, has emerged as arguably the best young hitter in the game today.

Today there are no major leaguers born in the 1990s, but in four, five, or maybe six years some lucky youngster will be given the opportunity. The tantalizing question is whether his career will follow the course of a John Cavanaugh, ending as soon as it began—or that of an Albert Pujols, challenging the record books with the very real prospect of enshrinement in the Hall of Fame one day.

LARRY DeFILLIPO is a wanna-be Mets statistician masquerading as an aerospace engineer in his newly adopted home of Ashburn, Virginia. This is his first article published by SABR.

Sources

Wood, Allan. Babe Ruth and the 1918 Red Sox. Lincoln, NE: Writer’s Club Press, 2000.

www.baseballlibrary.com

www.baseball-reference.com

www.retrosheet.org

en.wikipedia,org

www.williamsportonline.com

Notes

1. Technically speaking, 1901 was the first year of the 20th century, and so Phillip “Lefty” Weinert was the first player born in the 20th century to appear in a major league Born in Philadelphia, PA, on April 4, 1902, Weinert debuted as a relief pitcher with the hometown Phillies on September 24, 1919, not yet 17½ years old. Though not at the same time, he was a teammate of 1900’s firstborn John Cavanaugh, who was also born in southeastern PA. For consistency with the other decades, I’ve elected to explore the career of Cavanaugh rather than Weinert.
2. Chicago Tribune, July 9, 1919, 19.
3. Several of the Philly players objected to Coombs’ removal and staged a “strike,” sitting in street clothes and getting drunk in the bleachers at Baker Field during the July 8 contest with the Cubs. The apparent ringleader, pitcher Gene Packard, was fined $200 by William Baker and soon released. As detailed in Babe Ruth and the 1918 Red Sox, Packard was implicated by Harry Grabiner, secretary to White Sox owner Charles Comiskey, of fixing the 1918 World Series—won by the Boston Red Sox over the Chicago Cubs, for whom Packard played in 1916 and 1917. AL President Ban Johnson had apparently suspected the 1918 Series was fixed, but neither he nor Commissioner Kennesaw Landis ever launched an official investigation.
4. Washington Post, March 16, 1945, 12.
5. New York Times, April 16, 1939, p. 34. Harridge’s article also announced the planned June 12 enshrinement of the inaugural “Hall of Fame” members on the 100th anniversary of baseball in Cooperstown, NY.
6. New York Times, October 20, 1948, 41.
7. Los Angeles Times, September 26,1957, C5.
8. Letters from David Skaugstad to the author, November 29 and December 21, 2004.
9. Washington Post, September 2, 1969, DI.
10. Washington Post, June 18, 1978, D3.
11. Morgan’s debut in early June 1978 was an inauspicious one, lasting less than an inning after he tripped and severely sprained his ankle while backing up third base on a hit to the second batter he faced.

In-season exhibitions were common m the first 75 years of pro baseball. Dubuque’s games against the White Stockings were noteworthy because the rosters featured so many future Hall of Famers, major league managers, and among the Dubuque nine, future big­ league players. And there was an acrobat.

The Hall of Famers were Adrian “Cap” Anson, the White Stockings player-manager; Dubuque player Charles Comiskey, who changed the way first base is played and became a powerhouse owner in the American League; and Dubuque pitcher Charles “Old Hoss” Radbourn, whose dominance as an “ironman” remains legendary. Coincidentally, each was enshrined in Cooperstown in 1939-60 years after the Dubuque exhibitions.

The records of the Hall of Famers have been extensively documented elsewhere, so only an abbreviated review is necessary.

Anson joined the White Stockings in 1876 and became their player-manager in 1879, the year of the Dubuque exhibitions. He managed the team to five NL pennants and bit at least .300 in 19 of his 22 seasons as a player. Anson was the first manager to move preseason training to a warm locale in the South, one of the first to rotate pitchers, and an early advocate of base stealing and the hit-and-run. Not all his contributions to the game were as positive. Anson was tempestuous and bigoted. He enforced team rules with his fists, baited opponents and umpires, and refused to take the field against any team with a black player.

Dubuque’s star pitcher in 1879, Radbourn joined Providence (National League) in 1881 and started piling up astounding statistics for effectiveness and endurance. Throwing “submarine” style even after the rules permitted overhand deliveries, Radbourn completed more than 97 percent of his starts. His best season was 1884, when he went 59-12, pitched 678 2/3 innings, struck out 441, and posted an earned­ run average of just 1.28. Over 11 major league seasons (including one in the Players League), his career record was 309-195 with a 2.67 ERA.

Comiskey is best known as a founder of the American League and the charier owner of the Chicago White Sox. (Chicago’s National League team abandoned its While Stockings nickname in 1890. Comiskey appropriated it for his new team in 1901, the inaugural season of the American League. The name was soon condensed to “White Sox.”) A Chicago native, Comiskey first made his mark on the game as a player. He developed a new way of playing first base. Instead of standing with a foot on the bag as each pitch was delivered, as was then the practice, he experimented with playing away from the base. He snared more batted balls but could still run to the bag in time to receive an infielder’s throw.

Comiskey’s leadership, innovative defense, and solid offense earned “The Old Roman” the job of player, captain and, later, manager of the St. Louis Browns, then of the American Association but today known as the St. Louis Cardinals of the National League. (Comiskey’s St. Louis Browns are not to be confused with the American League team that used the nickname from 1902 through 1953.) Except for one season (1890) with the short-lived Players League, Comiskey played in St. Louis from 1882 until 1891. He then became player-manager of the Cincinnati Reds (1892-94)

Including Comiskey, three members of Dubuque’s 1879 team went on to manage at the major league level and helped form and stabilize minor leagues. The others were “Ted” Sullivan and Tom Loftus.

Born in Ireland in 1851, Timothy Paul Sullivan came to the United States when he was about 10. He got the baseball hug while studying at St. Mary’s College in Kansas, where Comiskey was his roommate. Thus began a lifelong personal and professional friendship between Sullivan and “The Old Roman.” A few years later, the friends married sisters from Dubuque.

For most of 1883, Sullivan managed the St. Louis Browns, who lost the American Association title to the Philadelphia Athletics by just one game. (Comiskey managed 19 games that season.) The next year, Sullivan won 35 of 39 games with the St. Louis Maroons of the Union Association before taking over the lowly Kansas City Unions (13-46). After a couple of years managing in the Texas League, which he helped create, Sullivan in 1888 managed the Washington Senators, then of the National League.

Sullivan’s greatest contributions to the game were as a scout and an administrator. He briefly owned the minor league franchise in Clinton, Iowa (Northern Association). In addition to serving as Comiskey’s confidante and aide, he helped establish several minor leagues, including the Northwestern, Southern, Atlantic Association, and Texas.

An outfielder and captain of the 1879 Dubuque team, Tom Loftus became highly regarded in baseball circles. “Always of sunny disposition and the soul of good humor,” the Chicago Tribune said of Loftus, “he probably possessed more friends both in baseball and business than almost anyone else connected with the game.” When he arrived in Dubuque, Loftus had three games of National League experience, in his native St. Louis (1877). In 1883, he joined his pals Comiskey and Sullivan on St. Louis’ American Association team, but it was a brief reunion; Loftus saw action in only a half-dozen games.

Though the game placed him in various cities during the season. after 1879 Loftus made his home in Dubuque, where he entered the saloon business. His big-league managing experience included the Milwaukee Grays (Union League, 1884), Cleveland Spiders (1888-89), Cincinnati Reds (1890-91), and the Chicago Orphans (NL, 1900-01). He was part owner and manager of Washington’s American League franchise (1902-03). Loftus also owned or managed teams in Columbus and Grand Rapids. He came out of baseball retirement in 1908 when he was drafted to serve one year as president of the Three-I League, which was wracked by political division. Working from Dubuque, Loftus provided the leadership that kept the league intact.

Loftus died of throat cancer in 1910. At the funeral in Dubuque, his honorary pallbearers included Comiskey, Sullivan, and American League president Ban Johnson. Other members of the 1879 Dubuque squad included:

Bill Gleason, a shortstop, played eight seasons in the American Association, including St. Louis’ string of four championships. He and teammate Arlie Latham are credited with the idea that resulted in designated coaches’ boxes along the first- and third­- base lines. Upon retirement, he joined the St. Louis Fire Department and rose to the rank of captain. On a tire call, he suffered a serious injury when he came into contact with an electrical wire.

Jack Gleason, Bill’s older brother, played most of his top professional games in the AA. He also became a St. Louis firefighter and was hurt in the same incident as his brother.

Laurie Reis, pitcher and outfielder, who had played a handful of games for the Chicago White Stockings the previous two seasons before joining Dubuque.

Catcher Tom Sullivan (no relation to Ted) went on to play a few years for Buffalo and the St. Louis Browns before landing a political job affiliated with the St. Louis Police Department.

The acrobat was Al Alveretta, an outfielder for Dubuque. He scored the only run of the second game against the White Stockings, Alverella was also known as a cross-country runner. When he left baseball, he joined his brothers in an acrobatic troupe. Later, he managed a Philadelphia theater.

This was the group that would take on the White Stockings.

The 1879 season was the first for Northwestern League and the first for a professional team in Dubuque. The team’s local hackers included U.S. Senator William Allison and D. B. Henderson, a future Speaker of the U.S. House. During the off­ season of 1878-79, league member Rockford (IL) swooped in to sign the entire Milwaukee team after it lost its National League franchise. However, Ted Sullivan, who helped found the league and agreed to run the Dubuque team, responded by signing a batch of players from Peoria, including Loftus and Radbourn, and recruiting his friend Comiskey. As the season got under way, Loftus recalled years later, “We were a lot of youngsters who looked good only to ourselves and our manager.” However, Dubuque tarted winning-and often.

Sullivan arranged for Anson to bring his White Stockings to Dubuque for an exhibition on July 29, 1879. Local anticipation ran high. Railroads serving the region offered excursion rates for parties of at least 20 fans departing for Dubuque from the same town.

Some 2,000 fans jammed Base Ball Park, on the north edge of Dubuque, for the event. Sullivan hiked ticket prices lo 35¢ for general admission, 50¢ for “amphitheater” seats and a quarter for children under 14. Curiously, he did not charge extra for reserved seals.

Pre-game entertainment included a 100-yard race between two White Stockings. Outfielder George “Orator” Shaffer won $20 by crossing the line a few feet ahead of pitcher Terry Larkin.

Larkin might not have yet caught his breath at 3:45 P.M., when Dubuque leadoff hitter Jack Gleason stepped to the plate. (In those days a coin toss usually determined which team batted first.) Dubuque slapped out a couple of first inning hits, but Larkin recovered to hold bis hosts scoreless.

The Old Roman, playing outfield instead of first base, sparkled at defense. “Comiskey distinguished himself in the field by his remarkably fine catching of difficult flies,” the Dubuque Herald reported, “one of which he held after running over one hundred feet and rolling over and over but holding to the ball with a death grip.”

However, Comiskey’s outstanding defense could not offset his teammates’ repeated blunders. The White Stockings received an unearned run in the first inning after an Anson single. The score was still 1-0 in the Chicago half of the sixth inning when Dubuque turned especially generous. It handed Chicago four unearned runs on no hits.

“It seemed as though they were playing to see who would make the largest record in the error column,” the Herald observed. ”W(illiam) Gleason carried off that prize and especially distinguished himself by his remarkable fumbles.”

Exactly 100 minutes after the first pitch, umpire Robert F. Ross signaled the game’s last out. The final score: Chicago 8, Dubuque 1.

The Herald’s game report, tucked next to com­munity briefs and an obituary on an inside page, carried the headline “A Comedy of Errors” and opened, “The Chicagos departed for home … well pleased with their first visit to the Key City.” Apparently so. They agreed to return to Dubuque within the week. Dubuque fans, who saw their team collapse under major league pressure, were less enthusiastic about the rematch on August 4, 1879. Ticket sales dipped.

However, in the second game Duhuque went with its best pitcher: Radbourn. Three years earlier, while playing for Bloomington, IL, one of the best amateur teams around, Radbourn had beaten the White Stockings.

“Radbourn kept the audience roaring by his deceptive down shoot, which the Chicagos would vainly strike at and saw wind magnificently,” the Herald reported. He shut out the White Stockings on four hits. The Dubuque defense was still shaky, but it held firm at critical moments.

Shortstop Will Gleason, the defensive goat in the previous game, redeemed himself by making a spectacular running catch and connecting for three of Dubuque’s four hits against Chicago’s Frank Hankinson.

Dubuque scored the game’s only run in the sixth inning. Alveretta, the acrobat, reached first on an error. He advanced to second while Comiskey was caught in a rundown between third and home. After stealing third, Alveretta scampered home when a Chicago infielder made a wild throw to first.

The hosts had some other breaks go their way. Anson did not play and Chicago’s starting catcher, Frank “Silver” Flint, suffered a dislocated finger on his throwing band in the second inning and finished the game in the outfield. (Flint’s injury contributed to the collapse of the 1879 White Stockings, who fell from first to fourth with a 14-21 conclusion to the season.)

“When the third man on the Chicago side was put out in the last inning,” the Dubuque newspaper reported, “the audience with one impulse sprang to their feet and tossed up their hats and hurrahed and hurrahed again on the assured victory of the Dubuques.” Final score: Dubuque 1, Chicago 0.

Historical references in Dubuque make much of the second game, but little or no mention of the first. Some articles elevated the White Stockings to defending National League champions and made the case that Dubuque, therefore, was the best team in baseball. The White Stockings did win the title in 1876, but they had placed no better than fourth the next two campaigns. There was talk of squeezing in a third and deciding game to the series, but it was not to be. Within two years all the Dubuque stars were gone, soon to make their mark on the major leagues.

BRIAN COOPER is executive editor of the Telegraph Herald, Dubuque, Iowa. He is writing a biography of Hall of Fame pitcher Urban “Red” Faber, a narrative of Dubuque County.

Sources

Baseball Magazine

Chicago Tribune

Dubuque Daily Herald

Dubuque Daily Times

Dubuque Telegraph Herald

Elfers, James E. The Tour to End All Tours. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press. In addition, personal correspondence with author.

National Baseball Hall of Fame

Retrosheet. Some information in this article was obtained free of charge from, and is copyrighted by, Retrosheet, 20 Sunset Road, Newark, DE 19711.

The Sporting News

Washington Post

Radbourn is widely recognized as the greatest of all 19th-century pitchers, as reads his plaque in Cooperstown, where he was inducted in 1939. His 1884 season alone was astonishing. That year Radbourn led Harry Wright’s Providence Grays to the National League pennant and ultimately the first ‘World Series” championship over the American Association’s New York Metropolitans in a three­ game sweep, where he tossed three complete games, including a shutout. Radbourn led the league that season with 60 wins, a 1.38 ERA, 441 strikeouts, and 678 innings pitched.¹ At one point he pitched 30 of 32 games and 27 straight, winning 26.² His career totals include 308 wins, 1,767 strikeouts, and an incredible 473 complete games. In five years during his prime with Providence, Radbourn tallied 26 shutouts, 158 complete games, and more than a three-and-a-half to one strikeout/walk ratio.³ Other career highlights include a no-hitter on July 25, 1883, against Cleveland and 51 complete games in 1882.

Additionally, in 1881, his first full season with Providence, Radbourn shared mound duties with legendary John Montgomery Ward, replacing Ward as the club’s ace the following year. While it is impractical to juxtapose Radbourn’s statistics with contemporary numbers, he truly stands as the original iron man. Before Lou Gehrig, Cal Ripken Jr., and Brett Favre, “Old Hoss” set the standard for durability and consistency.

Part of Radbourn’s success was due to his innovative delivery. In fact, the rules were changed after the 1884 season and pitchers were not allowed to jump toward the plate as they delivered the ball. While it cannot be verified officially. the timing of the rule change suggests that baseball brass had Radbourn’s 1884 dominance in mind, much the same way NBA officials widened the key because of Wilt Chamberlain’s ascendancy. After 1884, whether it was the stress on his arm or the rule changes, his stats declined. Providence folded in 1885, replaced by the Washington Senators, and in four seasons with Boston, he went 27-12. and including his swan song year with Cincinnati. Old Hoss finished 181 of his final 185 starts.

Radbourn was a pioneer of the curveball. Accord­ing to former manager Ted Sullivan be had a “drop ball he did not have to spit on, a perplexing slow ball that was never duplicated … [and was] the master of curves and deliveries.” Radbourn’s curve has been compared to a French restaurant where the customer would order the same dish every day with a new name. but it was equally appealing.⁴ One contemporary boasted there was “not a curve that he was not the master of, and to invent new deliveries was the constant occupation of his mind.” Journalist Sam Crane noted the variety of curves as the primary reason for Radbourn’s inclusion as number 16 on his 1912 list of the top 50 players in baseball history.

But it was not only Radbourn’s book and intimidating delivery that quieted opponent’s bats: he could toss the heat with the best of them. According to one former teammate, “Rad had plenty of speed but never let it loose ’til it was absolutely necessary … that is why his arm lasted for so many years.” At one point in a game against Cap Anson’s Chicago club, Radbourn struck out Hall of Famer King Kelly, Ned Williamson, and George Gore in succession with the bases loaded. One former manager noted that Radbourn could deliver the ball with the “speed or a catapult.”

Radbourn is often listed in box scores as a right fielder, and according to reports he certainly was a well-rounded player. But like most existing major league pitchers, his batting statistics declined when he started to pitch regularly. Sullivan wrote that Radbourn was a “natural ballplayer …  and batter at all times.” He also praised him in the clutch. “The closer the game,” Sullivan noted, “the better he could hit.” Radbourn was certainly a serviceable position player. with a .238 lifetime average, 585 hits, and 259 RBI. His best season at the plate was in 1883, the year prior to taking over the full-time pitching duties from Ward. Radbourn batted .283 with an OBP of.308, and racked up 17 extra-base hits along with 48 RBI. After 1883, his average season was only .220, while prior to concentrating primarily on pitching the number was nearly 30 points higher. In the Deadball Era, this was certainly sound production for a pitcher.

But the right field slot has modern significance. When Radbourn did not start on the mound, he was inserted into right field, like many of his contemporary hurlers. In 19th-century ball, non-injury substitutions were prohibited. The potential relief, or “exchange” pitcher, was almost always placed in right, hence the bad knock that right fielders have received all the way down to the little league game. Ironically, however, in today’s game, left field is often the position where managers ”hide” a player in order to get his bat into the lineup, and right field remains the spot for a power-hitting supers1ar. Still, allocating pitchers almost exclusively to right field surely had its origins in their arm strength, given the distance of the throws when compared to center and left. It is no coincidence that today’s right fielders have the top arms; this is merely an extension of the 19th-century game.

One of Radbourn’s accomplishments involved helping to bankrupt an entire league. According to accounts, in 1879 Sullivan tricked rival manager James McKee, who led a popular Rockford, Illinois, team, into thinking that Radbourn was no more than an average player. Sullivan managed a Dubuque, Iowa, club in a four-team league that included squads from Omaha, Nebraska, and Davenport, Iowa. The crafty manager had seen Radbourn play on a Peoria. Illinois nine from an independent league the previous spring, and assured the other managers at the league meeting that Charles Comiskey had “hit him over the canvas” and another had blasted him “over a haystack.” After the gathering, Sullivan admits the ”train could not come fast enough” to Radbourn’s home in Bloomington, Illinois, and he hired the pitcher on his front doorstep for a monthly salary of 75 dollars.⁵ That season the Dubuque club blasted Rockford for six straight games, setting the tone with their fresh stud pitcher. According to Sullivan. “Radbourn won so many games that the league lost heart and busted in August.”

But it was more than Radbourn’s stellar play that fueled changes in the baseball landscape; it was actually his sharp tongue that might have indirectly landed him in Cooperstown. When teammate and fellow pitcher Charles Sweeney was banished from the team at a pivotal point in the 1884 season, Radbourn’s antics were to blame. Sweeney had been tearing through opponents that year and had set the single-season strikeout record at 19. But the record lasted only a month before Hugh Daily, a one-armed hurler from Chicago, equaled the mark. One night a slurring Radbourn poked fun at the unpredictable Sweeney, who was, nine years his junior, referring to the fact that a man with one arm had tied his record. The two nearly came to blows; in fact, Radbourn is said to have hurled a can of tobacco juice at Sweeney. Providence management initially sided with Sweeney, but after two consecutive errors in a game and consistently serving up lobs to opponents, manager Frank Bancroft yanked him and suspended the young gun without pay.⁶ Sweeney signed with St. Louis of Henry Lucas’ Union League in only mild controversy against the reserve clause, and despite Providence considering disbandment, they agreed to ride “Old Hoss” to the finish.

Providence went on to win it all, but more intriguingly still, management had assured Radbourn his release after the season if he “piled up a lot of wins.” This curious move seems to have been the product of practical thinking on both sides. Radbourn had been offered more money from other clubs prior to the season, so after a productive stretch run, he knew he could command a raise. Management seems to have also foreshadowed the long-term strain on an overworked arm and wanted to get what they could out of Radbourn and send him on his way. If they were lucky, they would get a pennant, which they did; either way Old Hoss would get paid. But in a legendary moment of victory euphoria, management presented him with two sheets of paper, his release and a blank contract. Radbourn stared at the ground, spit some tobacco in deliberation, then tore up the release, and gave himself a $2000 raise to remain in Rhode Island.⁷ Without a dose of whiskey-infused sarcasm toward Sweeney, however, Radbourn would have never signed this contract, nor enjoyed his mythological 1884 campaign, which catapulted him into the Hall of Fame. In the end, while Old Hoss landed in Cooperstown, Sweeney, who eventually pitched St. Louis to a pennant, ended up in a California prison for murder.

*****

Radbourn was born on December 11, 1854, in Rochester, New York. His only education was in a grammar school just outside Bloomington, Illinois, where he moved with his parents as an infant. Like most early ballplayers, Radbourn sought refuge from working-class labor; his father, Charles, an English immigrant, was a butcher who required his son to work in the slaughterhouse. There is little mention of this relationship anywhere in the record, so it would be poor scholarship to speculate on how this might have impacted his baseball career. But by the time he was 24, Radbourn was barnstorming and had little contact with his family. He married Carrie Clark Stanhope in Chicago in 1887, adopting her son.⁸ In 1891 Radbourn retired from baseball and spent most of his time at a pool hall and saloon that he opened in Bloomington four years prior. Radbourn’s Place was advertised as having the “best of everything in wet goods and cigars.” In 1894 he lost his right eye after an unlucky hunting accident on Friday the 13th. In his reduced state, Radbourn’s proclivity for liquor and loose women increased, and ironically his cherished right arm became paralyzed from syphilis. He died from complications less than three years later. and was buried in Evergreen Memorial Cemetery in Bloomington.

Much of Radbourn’s life outside baseball is pierced with enigma. An 1891 New York Times article identifies him with the Illinois regiment of the Civil War, and given his location during that time, this seems plausible. But Old Hoss is omitted from a plaque in Cooperstown that commemorates Hall of Famers who served in the U.S. Armed Forces. This could represent a glaring slight if the Times is accurate. There is also the question of whether or not his last name ends in an “e.” One Bloomington city directory listed the correct spelling of his name to be Radbourn. His father also once spelled his name without an “e” on a hunting license. To add to the mystery, Old Hoss’s last will and testament disappeared in 1988, initialing a police investigation. In the pre-eBay world, this signed document was still estimated to have been worth in excess of $8,000.

Chemical dependency seems to have contributed to an unpredictability and obstinacy that was at times severe; Radbourn would drink a quart of whiskey each day and constantly chew tobacco. After allegedly defeating his two brothers in a hunting contest, ties with them were severed for several years. Radbourn explained this conflict without emotion to friends as a “family weakness.” One instance, after purchasing a pair of Canadian hunting dogs for $500, he immediately shot them when they failed to obey his initial commands. It was later found that the dogs were trained to respond only to French. In one comical flash in 1876, a few of his independent league teammates were suspected of fixing a game. Radbourn was exonerated of any guilt-well, at least culpability as related to gambling-and was charged with “being drunk.” One might speculate whether or not Radbourn used his high as a cover in this instance, but there were never any other allegations against him, and all accounts praise his character and integrity. Still, when the bottle is involved, values are often compromised, so the possibility of his involvement needs to be at least considered.

At a stocky 5’9″ and 165 lbs., Old Hoss represented endurance, resourcefulness, and loyalty. While some of his record outside baseball remains clouded with amber, his contribution to the game is less ambiguous. The original workhorse of pitchers, Radbourn set the standard for baseball’s working-class commitment. His 1884 season is one of the most impressive feats in the history of sport, with a record 60 wins that will stand forever. He was an uncommon recipe of mental and physical prowess with a kicker, the propensity for revelry. Radbourn’s plaque in Cooperstown appropriately flanks that of the morally principled Gehrig, with a hint of irony that must bring a smile beneath that tobacco-stained curved mustache.

JIM FOGLIO is a freelance writer based in Wray, Colorado. He has a M.A. in Sport History and has most recently published articles in Beckett’s Monthly, Nevada Magazine, and American History. He is currently working on a travel memoir. 

Sources

Bancroft, Frank C. “Old Hoss Radbourne,” Baseball Magazine 1, July 1908, pp. 12-14.

Charles Radbourn file, Bart Giamatti Research Library, Cooperstown, New York.

Daily Bulletin (Bloomington, Illinois), July 20, 1892, p.1.

Daily Pantagraph (Bloomington, Illinois), February 6, 1897.

Letter from Red Ringeiser to Lee Allen, February 3, 1963.

Letter from Red Ringeiser to Lee Allen, April 23, 1967.

Sullivan, Ted. “Ted’s Tribute: Radbourne was master of Curves and Speed,” The Sporting News, February 27, 1997.

Sullivan, Ted. “Crooked and Spun: Mr. Sullivan Narrates Tale of Radbourn’s Skill,” The Sporting News, January 10, 1887.

Notes

1. Radbourn’s 1884 strikeout and innings pitched totals were fourth and second highest of all-time, respectively.
2. During the 1884 stretch, Radbourn struggled to even roll out of bed. Reports indicate he could barely raise his arm to brush his mustache or hair. Each day he would arrive at the ballpark hours early, rub down his arm, and start tossing the ball underhand from only a few feet away, gradually extending the distance. When teammates realized that he could reach his partner, who was standing at home plate, all the way from center field, they breathed a sigh of relief and were confident they had a chance to win that day.
3. It is important to note that walks equaled six balls in Radbourn’s playing days, but batters could also call for a pitch in their desired hitting zone.
4. Chances are, this French metaphor also had something to do with French food being “heavy,” a word also often used to describe drop balls in baseball.
5. Radbourn negotiated this number up from an initial offer. This was the first of two instances in his career when Radbourn bargained himself a better salary, something not always common in an era where owners enjoyed much of the clout. Remember, the White Sox were referred to as the “Black Sox” because their owner, Comiskey, refused to clean their uniforms, one of the reasons for the 1919 scandal.
6. Because of the substitution rule, Providence was forced to cover the outfield with only two men. They lost to Philadelphia on eight unearned runs in the ninth inning.
7. There are conflicting sources on the amount of the raise. One letter cites it as $2,000, while another maintains that it was $1,000.
8. Records indicate that Radbourn’s stepson, Charles, “inherited” a fondness for whiskey from his stepfather.

The story begins on May 16, 1921, in New York’s Polo Grounds. Berman, a Hartford, Connecticut, native living in New York City, went to watch his favorite team, the New York Giants, battle the Cincinnati Reds. The Giants were managed by Hall of Farner John McGraw, and its lineup included two more Hall of Famers, first baseman George “Highpockets” Kelly and second baseman Frankie Frisch, the Fordham Flash. 1921 was an eventful year for the Giants. On February 15, team president Charles A. Stoneham arrived in New York from Cuba, where he and manager John McGraw owned a stable of racehorses. Stoneham was so confident of his team’s chances that he printed programs of an all­ Manhattan world series featuring the Giants and the Yankees. An exhibition game against the Washington Senators on April 4 in Jackson, Tennessee, ended when the Senators refused to continue play as a protest against umpire Bill Brennan. On May 3, Stoneham had the Giants autograph baseballs to benefit the army hospital in New York.

Given the excitement of the new season, few fans paid attention to Giants’ policy that fans must “conduct themselves in a gentlemanly and orderly manner and comply with all reasonable and proper requests, rules and regulations of the Giants.” To Charles Stoneham, that meant foul balls hit into the stands belonged to the Giants, not to lucky spectators. In 1921 major league baseball teams maintained the right to set their own policies on foul balls, and most agreed with the Giants. Chicago Cubs spectators began keeping foul balls in 1916 after a brawl broke out between fans and security staff over a ball during a game with the St. Louis Cardinals. Owner Charles H. Weeghman, who had owned a team in the defunct Federal League, decided it was better business to let fans keep the balls. Charles Stoneham and the other owners did not share that sentiment.

During the game a foul ball sailed Berman’s way and he caught it. Ushers spotted Berman and demanded that he give them the ball or toss it on the field for reuse. Berman refused. As the ushers approached him, Berman tossed the ball backward, where it disappeared into baseball lore. The Giants weren’t amused. Security men took Berman to team offices, where he was interrogated and threatened with arrest. After his questioning Berman was expelled from the ballpark, although his ticket price was refunded.

Giants management thought they had proven their point. Fans would not dare try to keep foul balls again. They did not know Reuben Berman. His grandson, New York City teacher Steven Kronovet, recalls that his grandfather had an independent streak and a keen sense of humor. Berman wasn’t going to tolerate being abused for keeping a foul ball. On August 11, 1921, his attorney, S. Michael Cohen served Giants secretary Joseph D. O’Brien with legal papers. The next day Cohen filed them in New York’s Supreme Court, its trial division despite its grandiose name, charging that the team, officially called the National Exhibition Company, had unlawfully detained, imprisoned, and threatened Berman. He sought $20,000 for humiliation, suffering mental and bodily distress, and loss of reputation. Court records don’t reveal why, but team attorneys failed to respond properly. On December 11, 1922, Justice Edward Gavegan gave them 10 days to answer or face default. Their attorney, William Butler, did so, going to the heart of the dispute. He pointed to the ticket language stating that the team reserved the right to revoke the license granted by the ticket by refunding the purchase price. In his view, so long as the Giants refunded the price, they were free to treat fans any way they chose.

The Giants put a benevolent spin on the incident. Giants ushers had merely asked Berman to throw the ball to them and requested that he leave his box and appear at their offices. Following his interrogation, they again requested that he leave the premises. As a parting shot they charged that if Berman suffered any damages, it was due to his own fault, act, and misconduct. The case was tried and Berman was awarded $100 for his treatment at the Polo Grounds. Court records don’t reveal details of the trial, but Berman told his grandson Steven Kronovet about collecting the $100. Although the monetary judgment was small, Reuben Berman had proven his point. The Giants soon changed their policy and the remaining holdouts followed.

Reuben Berman continued to follow baseball after the incident. Like many Americans he was hit hard by the stock market crash of 1929, but he went on to build the U.S. Ribbon Company and worked well into his final years. His sense of humor remained strong. In the early days of television Maxwell House advertised its coffee as good to the last drop. Berman called the station and asked, what’s wrong with the last drop? With many New York baseball fans he lamented the move of the Giants and Dodgers to California in 1958. Reuben Berman died in 1975. Although he was never officially recognized by major league baseball, his gift to baseball fans endures. The National Baseball Hall of Fame maintains his court records and has contemplated an exhibit if space can be found. Perhaps the ultimate tribute to Reuben Berman came on May 28, 2003. The Milwaukee Brewers offered fans a foul ball night, guaranteeing all spectators a baseball used in the game. Baseball had come a long way from John McGraw’s era.

Berman’s tradition also runs in the family. One night at Boston’s Fenway Park, Reuben Berman’s great-grandson, a Yankees fan no less, caught a foul ball and kept it.

DAVID MANDELL practices law in New London County, Connecticut and is a lifelong Giants fan. He has caught one foul ball, at a Yankees minor league game.

The foul ball is baseball’s trickster, leaving the perfect geometry and symmetry of the baseball field and taking off into the great masses of fans, where it can bring joy or wreak havoc, often on the same play. The foul ball truly makes the fans part of the game, if only for a brief moment.

While the vast majority of fouls bring a thrill for one or two folks who may touch them fleetingly before they careen off into another pair of waiting hands, some foul balls leave a mark of humor or coincidence that gets written into the annals of baseball forever.

Consider the case of Norm Zauchin, a first baseman for the Red Sox and the Senators in the 1950s. One hot summer afternoon in 1950, the year before he made the show, Zauchin went tearing toward the stands in pursuit of a foul pop-up. Diving over the front railing, he snared the foul backhanded and tumbled into the stands. When he got his bearings, he found he’d fallen head over heels into the lap of pretty young Janet Mooney, attending the game with her parents. “Hi” was all he could manage to say, but that led to a dinner invitation from the family after the game, and the following season, after he’d gotten the call from the Red Sox, Norm and Janet were married. Talk about a great catch.

Not all foul balls are so romantic. Some are just plain crazy. On August 11, 1903, the A’s were visiting the Red Sox, then playing in the old Huntington Avenue Grounds. At the plate in the seventh inning was Rube Waddell, the colorful southpaw pitcher for the A’s, who was known to run off the mound to chase after passing fire trucks, and to be mesmerized whenever an opposing team brought a puppy onto their bench to distract him. Waddell lifted a foul ball over the right field bleachers that landed on the roof of a baked bean cannery next door.

The ball came to rest in the steam whistle of the factory, which began to go off. As it was not quitting time, workers thought there was an emergency and abandoned their posts. A short while later, a giant caldron containing a ton of beans boiled over and exploded, showering the Boston ballpark with scalding beans. It is probably safe to say that this was the most dramatic foul of all time.

Still, a foul ball hit by the aptly named George Burns of the Tigers in 1915 is worth mentioning in the same breath. His “scorching” foul liner struck an unlucky fan in the area of his chest pocket, where he was carrying a box of matches. The ball ignited the matches, and a soda vendor had to come to the rescue, dousing the flaming fan with bubbly to put out the fire.

One of baseball’s most ironic foul ball incidents happened on Mother’s Day, 1939, when Lena Feller traveled from Iowa to see her son Bob pitch against the White Sox in Comiskey Park. In the third inning, Feller delivered a pitch which Marv Owen fouled into the stands, striking Mrs. Feller above her right eye and breaking her glasses. Young Bob ran into the stands to assist his mom, but watched helplessly as she was led off to the hospital, where stitches were required. “There wasn’t anything I could do,” Feller said, “so I went on pitching.” The incident shook him up, but after settling down, he won the game en route to leading the league with 24 victories that season.

Richie Ashburn figures in many of the best foul ball stories in baseball lore. A contact hitter, Ashburn had the ability to foul off many consecutive pitches till he found one he liked. On one occasion, he fouled off fourteen consecutive pitches against Corky Valentine of the Reds. Another time, he victimized Sal “The Barber” Maglie for “18 or 19″ fouls in one at-bat. ”After a while,” said Ashburn, “he just started laughing. That was the only time I ever saw Maglie laugh on a baseball field.” Ashburn’s bat control was such that one day he asked teammates to pinpoint a particularly offensive heckler seated five or six rows back. The next time up, Ashburn nailed the fan in the chest.

On another occasion, Ashburn unintentionally injured a female fan who was the wife of a Philadelphia newspaper sports editor. Play stopped as she was given medical aid. Action resumed as the stretcher wheeled her down the main concourse, and, unbelievably, Ashburn’s next foul hit her again. Thankfully, she escaped with minor injuries.

Another notable foul ball hitter was Luke Appling, the Hall of Fame shortstop with a career batting average of .310. As the story goes, Appling once asked White Sox management for a couple of dozen baseballs, so he could autograph them and donate them to charity. Management balked, citing a cost of several dollars per baseball. Appling bought the balls from his team, then went out that day and fouled off a couple dozen balls, after which he tipped his hat toward the owner’s box. He never had to pay for charity balls again, the legend goes.

Another great foul ball story involves Pepper Martin and Joe Medwick of the St. Louis Cardinals famous Gas House Gang teams of the mid 1930s. With Martin at bat, Medwick took off from first base, intending to take third on the hit-and-run. Martin fouled the ball into the stands, and Reds catcher Gilly Campbell reflexively reached back to home plate umpire Ziggy Sears for a new ball. Then, just for fun, Campbell launched the ball down to third, where Sears, forgetting that a foul had just been hit and that he had given Campbell a new ball, called Medwick out. The Cardinals were furious, but not wanting to admit his error, Sears refused to reverse his call, and Medwick was thrown out-on a foul ball!

The great Cal Ripken Jr. made life imitate art with a foul ball in 1998. In the movie The Natural, Roy Hobbs lofts a foul ball at sportswriter Max Mercy, as Mercy sits in the stands drawing a critical cartoon of the slumping Hobbs. Baltimore Sun columnist Ken Rosenthal faced a similar wrath of the baseball gods after he wrote a column in 1998 suggesting that it might be time for Ripken to voluntarily end his streak—at that point several hundred games beyond Lou Gehrig’s old record—for the good of the team. Ripken responded by hitting a foul ball into the press box which smashed Rosenthal’s laptop computer, ending its career. When told of his foul ball’s trajectory, Ripken responded with one word: “Sweet.”

Another sweet story involves a father and son combination. In 1999, Bill Donovan was watching his son Todd play center field for the Idaho Falls Braves of the Pioneer League. Todd made a nice diving catch and threw the ball back into the second baseman, who returned it to the pitcher. On the next pitch, a foul ball sailed into the outstretched hands of the elder Donovan. “I was like a kid when I caught it,” said the proud papa. “It made me wonder when was the last time that a father and son caught the same ball on consecutive pitches.”

Had he made his catch a few generations earlier, Mr. Donovan might not have been allowed to keep his treasured souvenir. In the game’s early years, balls were comparatively very expensive, and fans were encouraged, even occasionally forced, to throw them back. In 1901, in fact, the National League rules committee suggested disciplining batsmen who fouled off good pitches, as a way of cutting costs. In 1904, a rule change allowed the teams to post special employees in the stands to retrieve the fouls caught by the fans.

However, fans already had a sense of magic and luck concerning fouls, and they wanted to keep them. They would often hide them from the “goons” sent to retrieve them, or engage in games of keep-away from the same hapless employees.

A solitary voice among the owners, however, was Charles Weeghman of the Chicago Cubs, who saw the public relations value in a free, but rare, souvenir. In 1916, Weeghman went against the grain and announced that Cub fans would be allowed to keep foul balls. He was immediately supported in an editorial in the influential Baseball Magazine, which said, “The love of souvenirs is firmly implanted in the blood,” and also chastised the other owners by saying “it isn’t always good business to be penny wise.” The other owners failed to follow suit immediately, however.

About the same time, a 1915 article in The Sporting Life, a major baseball newspaper of the day, complained of the excessive cost of foul balls, saying, “… some fans are indignant and abusive when special police make attempts to recover balls hit into the crowd. The practice of concealing balls fouled into grandstand or bleachers has reached disgusting proportions in New York, where it is far more common than anywhere else.”

There was a short truce in this developing war between the fans and the owners over fouls in the late teens, as both sides agreed to donate all fouls hit into the stands to servicemen, who would need the balls for on-base recreation during World War One. After the war ended, though, the foul ball dispute was rekindled.

One day in 1921, New York Giants fan Reuben Berman had the good fortune to catch a foul ball, or so he thought. When the ushers arrived moments later to retrieve the ball, Reuben refused to give it up, instead tossing it several rows back to another group of fans. The angered usher removed Berman from his seat, took him to the Giants offices, and verbally chastised him, before depositing him in the street outside the Polo Grounds.

An angry and humiliated Berman sued the Giants for mental and physical distress and won, leading the Giants, and eventually other teams, to change their policy of demanding foul balls be returned. The decision has come to be known as “Reuben’s Rule.”

While Berman’s case was influential, the influence had not spread as far as Philadelphia by 1922, when 11-year-old fan Robert Cotter was nabbed by security guards after refusing to return a foul ball at a Phillies game. The guards turned him over to police, who put the little tyke in jail overnight. When he faced a judge the next day, young Cotter was granted his freedom, the judge ruling, “Such an act on the part of a boy is merely proof that he is following his most natural impulses. It is a thing I would do myself.”

The tide eventually changed for good, and the practice of fans keeping foul balls became entrenched. World War II was another time when patriotic fans and owners worked together to funnel the fouls off to servicemen. A ball in the Hall of Fame’s collection is even stamped “From a Polo Grounds Baseball Fan,” one of the more than 80,000 pieces of baseball equipment donated to the war effort by baseball by June 1942.

One of those baseballs may well have been involved in one of the strangest of all foul ball stories. In a military communique datelined “somewhere in the South Pacific,” the story is told of a foul ball hit by Marine Private First Class George Benson Jr. which eventually traveled 15 miles. Benson’s batting practice foul looped up about 40 feet in the air, where it smashed through the windshield of a landing plane. The ball hit the pilot in the face, fracturing his jaw and knocking him unconscious.

A passenger, Marine Corporal Robert J. Holm, muttering a prayer, pulled back on the throttle and prevented the plane from crashing, though he had never flown before. The pilot recovered momentarily, and brought the plane to a landing at the next airstrip, 15 miles away.

In 1996, at the age of 71, former President Jimmy Carter made a barehanded catch of a foul ball hit by San Diego’s Ken Caminiti, while attending a Braves game. “He showed good hands,” said Braves catcher Javy Lopez.

With foul balls by this time an undeniable right for fans at the ballpark, what are your actual chances of catching a foul ball at a game? Well, to start with, the average baseball is in play for six pitches these days, which makes it sound as though there will be many chances to catch a foul ball in each game. While comprehensive statistics are not available, various newspapers have sponsored studies which, uncannily, seem quite often to come down to 22 or 23 fouls into the stands per game.

That seems like a healthy number until you look at average major league attendance at games. In the year 2000, the average game was attended by 29,938 fans. With 23 fouls per game, that works out to a 1 in 1,302 chance of catching a foul ball. With numbers like that, no wonder it feels so special to catch a foul ball.

Nevertheless, those who yearn to catch a foul ball can improve their chances. I have listed some tips to help you bring home that elusive foul ball. Good luck!

TIM WILES has been director of research at the National Baseball Hall of Fame Library since 1995. He is co-editor of Line Drives: 100 Contemporary Baseball Poems (Southern Illinois University Press, 2002).

TIPS FOR CATCHING FOUL BALLS

1. Wear a glove. Catching balls is a lot easier—and far less painful—with a glove.
2. Watch for ricochets—most fouls are caught after their initial impact.
3. However, don’t try to play them on the bounce. A ballpark is not a baseball field, and there is a great chance a bouncing ball will careen off at a crazy angle. If you have a chance to catch it on the fly, do so.
4. Sit in the lower decks, along the baselines. In the upper deck, try to sit in the front row. As they say in the real estate business, there are three important things, location, location, and location.
5. Arrive early for batting practice. This more than doubles your chances.
6. Pay attention. Fastball pitchers generate more fouls than finesse guys. Two-strike counts produce more fouls as hitters swing more often to protect the plate.
7. Remember that lefties are likely to hit more fouls down the third base line, and righties more likely to hit fouls toward first. As there are more righties than lefties, consider sitting on the first base line more valuable than the third base line.
8. Don’t eat or drink during game action. You could be caught flat-footed.
9. Sit on an aisle when possible. You’ll have far more room in which to operate.

As John Odell has said, “Robinson wore number 42 throughout his major league career; for baseball fans and American historians, the number … is … associated with no other player, and likely never will be.”¹ On April 15, 1997, the 50th anniversary of Jackie’s debut, his number was permanently retired, with only Yankee pitcher Mariano Rivera allowed to continue to wear it. Odell concludes, “Robinson’s jersey certainly signifies his tremendous playing career. Ultimately, however, what no jersey can ever show are the marks of insults and slurs hurled at Robinson while playing, the injustices he endured on and off the field, and the character he showed throughout his life. It remains our responsibility to collect artifacts like this jersey to pass on larger stories to succeeding generations.”²

Odell is correct that although the jersey cannot convey literally the hostility Robinson overcame in his pioneering debut in 1947 and career, it can represent figuratively his story and subsequent mystique. The two films to be discussed use Robinson’s number and jersey to memorialize the baseball star and civil rights pioneer as a cultural artifact, a repository of meanings which can continue to represent and address social, personal, and racial problems.³

Spike Lee’s Do the Right Thing (1989) concerns the riot that occurs in a Bedford-Stuyvesant neighborhood when police choke a young black man to death. Lee plays the central character Mookie, the pizza delivery boy, who wears a Robinson jersey for much of the movie until he discards it when the riot occurs. Lee also includes a number of other athletic jerseys, posters, and pictures to signal the power of iconic images to help form ethnic cultural identity.⁴ Clifton, the white yuppie who owns a brownstone in the neighborhood, wears a Larry Bird jersey; a black youth wears a Magic Johnson jersey; Mookie appears at the beginning of the movie wearing a Jordan jersey; a huge sign advertising Mike Tyson as Brooklyn’s favorite is prominently posted on the side of a building; and, finally, a photo of the Marciano­ Walcott fight is shown burning on the “wall of fame” in Sal’s pizzeria during the riot. Mitchell has observed that these signs “are commercial objects and vehicles for the propagation of public statements about personal identity.”⁵ It is the Robinson jersey that creates the most important public image for the film’s themes and motifs of personal identity and racial conflict.

Lee has indicated why he had Mookie wear Jackie’s Dodger jersey with the number 42 on the front and back: “The jersey was a good choice. I don’t think Jackie Robinson has gotten his due from Black people. There are young people today, even Black athletes, who don’t know what Jackie Robinson did. They might know he was the first Black major leaguer, but they don’t know what he had to bear to make it easier for those who came after him.”⁶ But Mookie, the mercurial messenger, is not heroic in any sense like Robinson. He is a man stuck uneasily in the middle, a bridge between Sal’s Famous Pizzeria and the black community. As Nelson observes, “The Jackie Robinson jersey that Mookie wears does not suggest that he’s a racial pioneer but that he’s a man watched closely by interested parties on both sides of the racial divide. Both sides think that he’s loyal to them- that’s how he survives.”⁷

Moreover, McKelly has argued cogently that the film is based on conflicting ideas instilled in Mookie by different characters and cultural forces: “Mookie … becomes… an entire ‘sociology of consciousness,’ a cacophony of autonomous, irreconcilable significations in conflict, each reflecting the persistence of ‘double consciousness’: Sal/Buggin Out, Pino/Vito, DaMayor/Mother Sister, Jade/Tina, ‘whiteness’/’blackness’, ‘King’/’X,’ cool/heat, ‘LOVE /’HATE,’ ‘right thing’/ wrong thing.”⁸ The most important of these binaries are the black/white and love/hate dichotomies, which are represented respectively by the Robinson jersey and the picture of Malcolm X and Martin Luther King, which Smiley sells and illustrates by the words love and hate inscribed on his knuckle rings.

The movie consists of a series of attempted integrations resulting in racial conflicts. Buggin’ Out, the neighborhood radical, is upset at Mookie being friendly with Sal’s son Vito, but Mookie tells him to shut up. “Vito is down.” Clifton spills juice on Buggin’ Out’s new Air Jordan shoes, and when some angry neighborhood people tell him to move to Massachusetts, he says, “I was born in Brooklyn.” Pino, Sal’s racist son, declares that his favorite great black athletes and entertainers transcend their color. When Mookie retorts that Pino harbors a secret desire to be black, he is incensed. Then in separate scenes, Pino and Mookie exchange choice ethnic insults in rapid fashion. Pino wants whites and blacks to be segregated in their own neighborhoods and tells his brother that blacks cannot be trusted. Mookie, in turn, tells Vito to disavow his brother’s racism.

The precipitating factor in the ensuing disturbance occurs when Buggin’ Out, the neighborhood radical, wants to integrate Sal’s wall of fame, which sounds like the Hall of Fame, by including pictures of black stars, not just Italian Americans. Sal menaces him with a baseball bat and declares that since it’s his pizzeria he can put on the wall the heroes he chooses. The wall of fame is important to Sal because he owns the store and wants a public declaration of the fame of certain Italian Americans as proof that Italians have entered American life. However, the wall is also important for Buggin’ Out because it. graphically represents the exclusion of blacks from American society.⁹ Integrating the wall would not solve the major problems of the neighborhood, but it would be a token of public acceptance by its major white business establishment: “Spike Lee’s film articulates the desperation of a minority . . . calling on the majority to open the doors to the public sphere promised by its official rhetoric.”¹⁰

Sal’s policy parallels the lack of integration in baseball, which claimed to be the national pastime but excluded black players until Robinson played for the Dodgers in 1947. He refuses to integrate the wall with African American heroes despite the fact that the Bedford-Stuyvesant community is the source of his business. For Sal, Mookie represents the unity and progress which he thinks his family pizzeria has fostered in the neighborhood. But he will not expand this recognition to the community at large by allowing black heroes on the wall of fame.¹¹

After Buggin’ Out organizes a boycott of the pizzeria, Mookie discards the Robinson jersey and wears a Sal’s Famous Pizzeria jersey in the Italian national colors of red, white, and green. When he wore this shirt earlier, it signified, like the Robinson jersey, that Mookie was the link between the pizzeria and his community. However, Sal’s livery now represents the servile position he will rebel against. The riot begins with Sal crushing Raheem’s boom box with a baseball bat and exchanging racial epithets with Buggin’ Out. When the police choke Radio, his knuckles show the words love and hate. After he dies, Mookie smashes the garbage can through the window, and the crowd sets fire to the pizzeria. As it burns, Smiley finally integrates the wall by posting a photo of Malcolm X and King on it.

The movie ends with two quotations, one on non-­violence from King and the other on the necessity for taking action against violence (self-defense) by Malcolm. In his final statement on the movie’s ending, Lee seems to declare his allegiance to Malcom X: “Both men died for the love of their people, but had different strategies for realizing freedom … [and] justice   The way of King, or the way of Malcolm. . . . I know who I am down with.”¹² Similarly, by his participation in the riot, Mookie seems to have disavowed King’s as well as Robinson’s policies of non-violence and integration, but within the complex and ambiguous context of Mookie’s behavior, Lee has both revered and dismissed Robinson’s nonviolent legacy as a viable policy for black advancement.

Bringing Down the House (2003) stars Steve Martin as a yuppie lawyer who learns to incorporate elements of stereotypical ghetto language and behavior to win a case for a black woman who has been framed by her boyfriend.¹³ The plot is in some sense a comic take on the motifs of black/white integration in Do the Right Thing. Like Mookie, Peter Sanderson wears Robinson’s number 42 as the representation of his ability to go between the two communities. But in the comedy, the wearing of Robinson’s number results in a successful integration.

The movie begins with the Internet blind dating communication between divorced tax lawyer Peter Sanderson and Charlene, who represents herself as “lawyer girl,” but actually is a black woman charged with an armed robbery she claims she didn’t commit. When they meet, he doesn’t understand her ghetto language and gets rid of her quickly. But when he is at work, she throws a party in his house for a black charity and infuriates him and his all-white neighborhood. She also infiltrates his country club in full ghetto power dress and beats up Ashley, his ex­ wife’s sister, who i1nsists on treating her as a waitress. Charlene reveals that she is ”bilingual” in white and black language and culture. She keeps showing up in Peter’s white sanctuaries and manages to defeat any attempts to eject her. She teaches Peter to be less uptight, to dance instinctively, and to be more aggressively romantic by using black “styling.”

Widow, Charlene’s tough ex-boyfriend who framed her, hangs out at the Down Low, a club where a white man can’t go. But to prove Charlene’s innocence, Peter buys a rapper outfit from two home boys, replete with stocking cap, chains, Air Jordans, and a sweatshirt with 42 stitched on the back. He explodes on the scene uttering rapper lingo and shaking his booty on the dance floor, with 42 visible throughout his maneuvers. Peter offers to launder Widow’s money and records proof that Charlene was framed. During the ensuing struggle, Charlene is shot by Widow, but is saved when the bullet hits Peter’s cell phone, which she had been carrying. At the end, he returns to his wife and quits the firm to go off on his own, declaring to his boss, “Kiss my natural black ass,” Charlene says, ”You ain’t black,” to which he responds, “Well, I’m off white.”

Peter has learned to function in two worlds as the result of his contact with Charlene. When he dons the ghetto outfit with 42 on the back, he becomes a latter­ day comic white parallel to Robinson’s integration of the formerly segregated major leagues. Similarly, Charlene has taken on white characteristics, as represented by his protective cell phone, which she had earlier denounced as a symbol of his uptight white lawyer’s world. Together, they have brought down the house, destroying Widow’s place and earning our applause. Unlike Do the Right Thing, Bringing Down the House has used Robinson’s mystique as the means of representing a successful reduction of racial conflicts.

FRANK ARDOLINO is a professor of English at the University of Hawaii at Manoa, where he teaches Shakespeare and modern drama. He is currently working on Reversing the Curse in Literature and Film.

Notes

1. John “On the Road with Baseball as America.” Memories and Dreams, 26, 2004:31.
2. Odell, 31
3. Jackie Robinson has been the subject of four movies: The Jackie Robinson Story (1950), A Homerun for Love (1978), Court-Martial of Jackie Robinson (1990), and Soul of the Game (1996). In addition, Rhubarb (1951), which ostensibly concerns a cat’s inheritance of a baseball team, is actually about Robinson’s integration of baseball. See my articles, “Breaking the Color Line: Five Film Representations of Jackie Robinson 1950-1992,” Aethlon 13.2, 1996, 49-60; “Tearing Up the Pea Patch at Ebbets Field: Rickey, Robinson, and Rhubarb,” Aethlon, 1992, 133-43.
4. Douglas Kellner. ”Aesthetics, Ethics, and Politics in the Films of Spike Lee,” Spike Lee’s Do the Right Thing. Mark Reid, ed. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), 80.
5. J.T. Mitchell, “The Violence of Public Art,” Spike Lee’s Do the Right Thing, 124.
6. Spike Lee with Lisa Jones. Do the Right Thing: A Spike Lee Joint (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1989), 110
7. George Nelson, “Do the Right Thing.” Five for Five: The Films of Spike Lee,” Terry McMillan, ed. (New York: Stewart, Tabori & Chang, 1991), 80.
8. James McKelly. “The Double Truth: Do the Right Thing and the Culture of Ambiguity,” African American Review 32, 1998, 223-24.
9. Mitchell, 110-12.
10. Mitchell, 123.
11. McKelly, 221-22.
12. Lee, 282.
13. Bringing Down the House. Adam Shankman, director; 2003.

Kirk Gibson won an MVP Award but was never named to a single All-Star roster during bis entire career. John Denny won the 1983 National League Cy Young Award but did not make the NL All-Star team that year, or any other year. What about a player who hit at least .330 four times, drove in 100 runs six years in a row, hit more than 25 home runs four times, and scored more than 100 runs four times? A player such as that would be an All-Star several times over. would he not? No, on the contrary, he never was an All-Star. Surely a pitcher with the eighth-highest winning percentage of all time pitched in a few midsummer classics, right? Wrong.

Findings such as these, along with memories of Atlee Hammaker’s performance in the 1983 All-Star game, led me to the following hypothesis: one could formulate an all-time team of players who were never named to an All-Star roster whose talent would be far superior to a roster of actual All-Stars whose careers were, as a whole, mediocre. The goal was not to show that the players who never made an All-Star team should have, or those who did were unworthy of making the team based on a solid half-season performance. Rather, the point was to compare a group of star quality players who were never bestowed All-Star status with a group of players who were named to at least one All-Stars team in spite of rather pedestrian careers. The result is a 32-man roster (the current All-Star limit) of players who never made a major league All-Star team that would in all likelihood easily win over 100 games if pitted against its counterparts—a squad of 32 less than illustrious All-Stars-in a mythical 162 game season.

Players who played any portion of their careers prior to the inception of the All-Star game in 1933 were omitted from consideration. The basis for this is obvious-a player who didn’t play after 1933 was never eligible for an All-Star game, so players like Ty Cobb, Honus Wagner, etc., who surely would have been All-Stars, are not included. Likewise, players such as Rogers Hornsby, who continued to play for a few years after the All-Star game came into existence but never made an All-Star team because their best years were pre-1933, were likewise omitted because they, too, likely would have been All-Star, but for the fact that no midsummer game existed at the time. One roster, therefore, will truly be filled with players who were eligible for the All-Star game during every year of their playing careers, but who nevertheless concluded their careers with no All-Star selections.

Players who were still active at the end of the 2004 season were not eligible. Even if they are nearing the end of lengthy careers, the possibility remains that players who are still active may yet be selected to an All-Star roster.

Finally, the fact that a player never played in an All-Star game was not enough. There are many instances where players don’t make it into the game but are nonetheless on the roster. Similarly, there have been myriad situations involving injured players who don’t participate in the game or even attend the contest, but are nonetheless, technically, All-Stars. In order to be eligible, the player must never have been named to an All-Star roster in Major League Baseball.

In the other dugout, the same rules of eligibility apply. The mediocre players who were bestowed All-Star status had to begin their careers after 1932 and retire from the game prior to 2004. There is no requirement that they threw a single pitch, had a plate appearance, or even played in the field. As long as they were named to an All-Star roster, they were eligible. This is the case for the reasons noted above to a certain extent, but also for consistency’s sake.

The team of superior talent, but no official All­ Stars, will be dubbed the No Stars. Their adversaries will be referred to as the All-Stars.

NO STARS: THE STARTING LINEUP

• HAL TROSKY, 1B
• TONY PHILLIPS, 2B
• WOODIE HELD, SS
• CLETE BOYER, 3B
• KIRK GIBSON, OF
• KEVIN McREYNOLDS, OF
• GARRY MADDOX, OF
• RICK DEMPSEY, C

Hal Trosky

Trosky is the player whose hitting acumen is noted in the opening paragraphs. During his first full season, Trosky batted .330 with 35 home runs, 142 RBI and 117 runs scored. He was not a flash in the pan. He hit at least .330 four times, hammered 25 or more home runs six times, drove in over 100 runs in six consecutive seasons, and scored at least 100 runs four times. He finished the year in the top 10 in the AL in batting average four times, slugging percentage six times, OPS four times and led the league in total bases in 1936. He finished in the top 10 in runs, home runs, and RBI twice, six times, and five times respectively. His 162 RBI in 1936 paced the American League and remained an Indians single season record until 1999. His 216 home runs with the Indians is fifth on their all-time leader board. Unfortunately for Trosky, he played during a time of outstanding American League first basemen. Lou Gehrig, Jimmie Foxx, and Hank Greenberg were selected over Trosky for the AL All-Star team during his career, as were lesser stars such as George McQuinn and Rudy York. Sadly, Trosky’s career was cut short due to unmitigated migraine headaches. While he returned to baseball in the mid-1940s, his career effectively ended in 1941 at the age of 28, when most players are in their prime.

Tony Phillips

The spirited and much-traveled Phillips played a variety of positions during his career but spent more time at second base than anywhere else. Unlike most players who are traded twice before they reach the majors, Phillips’ career was extremely successful. He could hit for power (160 home runs), steal bases (177) and score runs (1,300). In fact, he led the AL in runs scored in 1992 and finished in the top 10 six times during that decade. Phillips was also prolific at getting on base. His lofty on-base average was due in large part to his ability to draw walks. He led the league in that department in 1993 and 1996, and finished in the top five in the American League in bases on balls seven times in the 1990s. While Phillips moved around a lot, playing eight stints with six different franchises in his career, his bat kept him employed for almost two full decades. In 18 years in the big leagues, however, it never resulted in an All­ Star selection.

Woodie Held

Although not terribly impressive with the glove, in six seasons with the Indians Held averaged 21 home runs, finishing his career with 179. While the premier shortstops of today routinely hit 20 or more round trippers per year, it was not nearly as commonplace in Held’s day. Luis Aparicio was Held’s contemporary, and Pee Wee Reese and Phil Rizzuto played near the same time. All three are Hall of Famers. Aparicio and Rizzuto combined for 121 home runs, and Reese hit 126, fewer than Held. While he is obviously not a Hall of Farner, he had more power than even the best shortstops of his era.

Clete Boyer

Boyer won his only Gold Glove with the Braves and showed more power while in the National League, but he spent the majority of his career in the American League and contributed greatly to the success of the Yankees during his years with the club. Playing the hot corner for one of the strongest defensive infields of all time, Boyer helped the Yankees to five consecutive pennants and back-to-back World Series titles in 1961 and 1962. In spite of the success of his teams, often a significant factor in All-Star selections, Boyer never made a single All-Star roster. While the Orioles third sacker, Brooks Robinson, explains not only why Boyer wasn’t winning Gold Gloves but also why he wasn’t starting midsummer classics, it’s interesting to note who was backing up Robinson at the All-Star games in those days. Other third basemen invited to participate during Boyer’s tenure in the AL include Max Alvis, Dick Howser, and Rich Rollins, but no Clete Boyer, one of the finest fielding third basemen of all time. Boyer also had some power, clouting double-digit round trippers in nine of ten seasons in which he had more than 350 at-bats, while most of the time hitting seventh or eighth in the order, with no protection behind him.

Kirk Gibson

While Gibson’s most famous moment occurred while a member of the Dodgers, he had long before ingratiated himself to AL fans as a member of the Tigers. Although he never quite lived up to Tiger manager Sparky Anderson’s proclamation as the next Mickey Mantle, Gibson’s aggressive play and athleticism helped Detroit to great success during the 1980s. His post-season exploits are well documented, beginning with the 1984 world champion Tigers. He was the 1984 ALCS MVP and clouted two home runs in game five of the World Series in which Detroit closed out the overmatched Padres. Gibson drove in seven runs in the 1984 World Series and stole three bases as well. In the 1988 NLCS, as a member of the Dodgers, Gibson continued his clutch play with a 12th-inning game winning home run in game four, a three-run homer in game five and the game-winning RBI in game seven. While he managed only one at-bat in the World Series that year due to injury, it was one of the most replayed at-bats in the history of the game. Gibson’s home run in the bottom of the ninth won the game, and in some people’s opinion, the Series. As Gibson had done to Goose Gossage in the 1984 World Series, he beat another of the game’s great closers, the Athletics’ Dennis Eckersley. In all, Gibson finished his career with seven home runs and 21 RBI in 21 post-season games.

Gibson truly had a power/speed combination. He ranks tenth all-time in Tiger home runs, and sixth in the club’s history in stolen bases. He finished in the league top 10 in home runs three times, slugging four times, and stolen bases four times. He won the National League MVP in 1988, and remains the only MVP never to be named to an All-Star roster. Although Anderson, and later Dodger manager Tommy Lasorda, reportedly asked Gibson if he would like to play in the game (invitations he obviously declined), the fact remains that he was never on a single All-Star roster in either league.

Kevin McReynolds

Rob Neyer, in his Big Book of Baseball Lineups, calls McReynolds the best left fielder in Mets history, and the second-best center fielder in Padres history. His best season was 1988, when he finished third in MVP balloting as a Met. McReynolds batted .288 that summer, with 27 home runs, 99 RBI and was a perfect 21 for 21 on the base paths, culminating a two-season string that saw McReynolds caught stealing only once in 36 attempts. McReynolds ranks in the top 10 all-time in Mets history in most major offensive categories. McReynolds was also a fine defensive outfielder.

Garry Maddox

The “Secretary of Defense” is widely regarded as one of the best defensive outfielders of all time. His defensive skills were so highly regarded that broadcaster Ralph Kiner is often quoted as having said, “Two-thirds of the earth is covered by water. The other third is covered by Garry Maddox.” The only outfielders in NL history with more Gold Gloves than Maddox’s eight are Willie Mays and Roberto Clemente. Maddox contributed with his bat as well. He was a lifetime .285 hitter and finished third in the NL in batting average twice. His 1976 season earned him fifth place in MVP voting. He finished his career with 248 stolen bases and was among the top 10 in the NL in stolen bases, doubles, and triples three times each. Maddox recorded the series-winning hit against Houston in the 1980 NLCS in extra innings, culminating one of the most exciting post-season series in NL history.

Rick Dempsey

Dempsey caught in four different decades and did so with great success. He caught more games than any other player in Oriole franchise history. During his career, he played in 25 post-season games and earned MVP honors in the 1983 World Series. The Orioles acquired him midway through the 1976 season in a trade with the Yankees. Dempsey did not hit much, but was an excellent defensive catcher. Bill James rates him as the 43rd best catcher of all time. On this mythical team, he handles a staff peppered with Royals and Cardinals.

NO STARS: THE ROTATION

• JOHN TUDOR, LHP
• DENNIS LEONARD, RHP
• PAUL SPLITTORFF, LHP
• CHARLIE LEIBRANDT, LHP
• BOB FORSCH, RHP

John Tudor

Tudor never had a losing record during any season in the 1908s. The high point of the decade was 1985, Tudor’s first season with St. Louis, when he was a runner-up for the NL Cy Young. Although he started the season 1-7, he finished 20-1. The slow start deprived him of an All-Star berth. He finished the year with a 1.93 ERA, 14 complete games, and 10 shutouts, all good for either best or second best in the league. Tudor has a lifetime winning percentage of .619 and ranks first in that category in Cardinal history. He also owns the second lowest career ERA among Cardinal hurlers.

Dennis Leonard

Shockingly, Leonard never made an All-Star roster in spite of the fact that he won more games than any other pitcher in the junior circuit from 1975 to 1981. His 120 wins during that span paced several strong Royals teams, including a pennant winner in 1980. He ranks first all-time in Royals complete games and shutouts, second in wins, and third in strikeouts and games started. He is the only Royals pitcher to post three 20-win seasons and finished fourth and tied for seventh in Cy Young voting in 1977 and 1978 respectively. He tied for the league lead in wins in 1977 and shutouts in 1979. He had multiple other league top 10 finishes during his career, including five top 10 finishes in strikeouts, five in wins, and six in shutouts. 

Paul Splittorff

Leonard’s teammate, Splittorff, was likewise snubbed by All-Star managers. He has more wins in a Royals uniform than any pitcher in franchise history with 166. He also ranks at the top of the franchise list in games started, second to Leonard in complete games and shutouts, and fifth in strikeouts. He garnered enough recognition in 1978 to tie for seventh in Cy Young voting, but not enough to win a place on the All-Star team.

Charlie Leibrandt

The third former Royal on the staff began his career with the Reds. His success, however, came primarily in Kansas City, where he ranks eighth all-time in wins and tenth in ERA and strikeouts. He finished fifth in Cy Young voting in 1985 but was overshadowed by two teammates who finished first and fourth­ Bret Saberhagen and Dan Quisenberry. Although Saberhagen is largely considered the ace of the Royals staffs of the mid and late 1980s, Leibrandt won 60 games from 1985 to 1988, while Saberhagen posted 59 victories during that span. Leibrandt finished in the league top 10 in wins three times, ERA three times, and shutouts four times.

Bob Forsch

Forsch, another Cardinal hurler, made hitters earn their way on base. He finished in the top 10 in the league in fewest walks per nine innings five times during his career. He led the league in that department in 1980. He ranks third all-time in Cardinal wins, behind only Bob Gibson and Jesse Haines. He also ranks third in Cardinal history in strikeouts and ninth in shutouts. Forsch also helped himself, handling the bat well.

NO STARS: THE BENCH

• LYMAN BOSTOCK, OF
• ELMER VALO, OF
• CESAR TOVAR, OF
• DWAYNE MURPHY, OF
• DAN DRIESSEN, 1B
• BILL DORAN, 2B
• SOLLY REMUS, SS
• RICHIE HEBNER, 3B
• BILL BRUTON, OF
• DON SLAUGHT, C
• DOUG RADER, 3B
• JIM GANTNER, 2B

Lyman Bostock

Bostock was murdered on September 23, 1978, in the waning days of his fourth big-league season. Bostock, a member of the California Angels at the time of his murder, has finished a game against the White Sox in Chicago earlier that day, and traveled to Gary, Indiana, to visit his uncle. The two men were riding through the streets of Gary with two ladies, one of whom was the estranged wife of Leanord Smith. Smith drove up beside the vehicle and shot into the car, striking Bostock in the head. Bostock died later that evening, Smith was acquitted of the crime, a jury finding him insane. He spent less than two years in an asylum and was released in the midst of the 1980 season, which would have been Bostock’s sixth.

Bostock, the son of a former Negro League player, was only 27 years old when he was killed, and was undoubtedly entering the prime of his career. He hit .323 in 1976, his first full season in the majors. That was the fourth-best average in the American League. The following year, he hit .336, second best in the American League. 1977 was Bostock’s breakout season. He finished in the top seven in the American League in seven major offensive categories, including second in average, fourth in runs scored, and seventh in on-base percentage. During the season he tied a major league record for putouts in a nine-inning game by a center fielder, with 12, and set an American League record for putouts in a doubleheader with 17. He helped the Twins set a franchise record for most runs scored in a season. In short, he had become a star, and was arguably the most sought-after player in the free agent market between the 1977 and 1978 seasons.

In 1978, after signing a hefty free agent contract with the California Angels, Bostock started the year miserably, and demanded that Angels owner Gene Autry keep his money until Bostock started earning it. When Autry refused, Bostock gave the money to charity. In June, his bat came alive, and his average for the remainder of the season was well over .300. He finished at .296.

That capped a three-year stretch during which Bostock hit .318, the third highest average in the game during that span, behind only Rod Carew and Dave Parker. Bostock garnered a few points in the MVP voting in both 1977 and 1978. His body of work for the three-year stretch of 1976-78 is impressive in and of itself, but consider that those were his first full major league seasons, and the numbers are even more impressive. Unfortunately, Bostock was murdered before he had a chance to reach more lofty heights, and his career ended without a single trip to a major league All-Star game.

Elmer Valo

Valo, one of only four major leaguers born in Czechoslovakia, and the only native Czech with any success, spent the bulk of his career in Philadelphia. He was noted as a hustling player, not afraid to crash into an outfield wall to make a catch. While not blessed with significant power, Valo was adept at getting on base. His lifetime OBA is 50 points higher than the league average during his career, and he finished in the top 10 in OBA twice and ranks eighth all-time in Athletics franchise history. He also notched league top-10 finishes in batting average, OPS, doubles (twice), triples (three times), RBI, walks (twice), and stolen bases (seven times). Also contributing to his ability to get on base was his knack for getting hit, finishing in the top 10 in HBP four times. According to baseball historian Bill James, Valo has the third highest on-base percentage of all time among outfielders who played at least 1,500 games and are not in the Hall of Fame. As Barry Bonds and Rickey Henderson are ranked one and two on that list, it is only a matter of time before Valo reaches the top. Evidently, he is already the leader among players who were never All-Stars.

Cesar Tovar

Tovar was a very versatile player, once playing all nine positions in a single game. He struck out Reggie Jackson while on the mound. Tovar finished in the top 10 in the AL in stolen bases six times and totaled 226 for his career. He hit .311 in 1971 while leading the league in hits. The year before, he hit an even .300 and led the AL in both doubles and triples. He finished in the top 10 in the AL in runs six times, hits four times, doubles four times, and triples four times. He recorded the lone hit in five one-hitters during his career. He did a lot of things well, but didn’t dominate any aspect of the game, which is the likely cause of his omission from All-Star rosters.

Dwayne Murphy

One of the finest-fielding center fielders of all time, he won six consecutive Gold Gloves. He displayed power (hitting at least 15 homers in live consecutive seasons) and speed (swiping at least 10 bags in four consecutive campaigns). In his only post-season. he hit .545 in the ALDS, collecting 6 hits in 11 at-bats in a series victory against the Royals in the strike­ shortened 1981 campaign. Despite his acumen at the plate, on the base paths, and especially roaming the outfield, he was never recognized as an All-Star.

Dan Driessen

Never a starter with the Big Red Machine during its truly dominant stretch, Driessen moved to first when Tony Perez moved to the Expos. He exhibited a good glove during his seven-year stretch as the Reds starter at first, a period that began in 1977 and ended in 1984, when he. like his predecessor, went to Montreal. He tied for the NL lead in walks in 1980 and throughout his career showed good power and speed, finishing with more than 150 home runs and more than 150 stolen bases lifetime.

Bill Doran

Doran was an integral member of the successful Astros teams of the 1980s with both his glove and his bat. He was a two-time team MVP and ranks in the top 10 in Astros history in OBA, games, at-bats, runs, hits, total bases, triples, walks, and stolen bases. His speed on the base paths was a particular asset to Doran and the Astros. He finished his career with over 200 stolen bases, including 42 for Houston’s 1986 division-winning team.

Solly Hemus

Hemus finished his playing career with a phenomenal lifetime on-base average of .390, thanks in large part to a willingness to sacrifice his body. He led the league in times hit by a pitch three times. His propensity to take one for the team also allowed him to score more than 100 runs in both 1952 and 1953.

Richie Hebner

Hebner was seemingly in the post-season constantly, although most often for teams that lost once they got there. He was, however, a big reason why many of those teams made it as far as they did. He was a lifetime .276 hitter with 203 home runs, 890 RBI and 865 runs scored. He ranks in the top 25 in the illustrious history of the Pirates in multiple offensive categories, including home runs, slugging, total bases, RBI, walks, extra-base hits, and times hit by a pitch.

Bill Bruton

Bruton was the table-setting leadoff man for the strong Braves learns of the 1950s. He led the NL in stolen bases his first three seasons in the majors, 1953-1955. In all, he placed in his league’s top 10 in swipes eight times. His speed also manifested itself in triples, a category in which he led the league twice and finished in the top 5 six times. Bruton led the National League with 112 runs scored in 1960 and had three other top 10 finishes in that department. While he would have made a fabulous leadoff hitter in front of Mays, Clemente, Aaron and other perennial NL All-Stars of the 1950s and ’60s, he was never a member of an All-Star team.

Don Slaught

Although not regarded as one of the best defensive catchers in the league, Slaught’s offensive contributions were noteworthy. He hit over .300 six times in his career, including a .34.5 clip in 1992 with the Pirates.

Doug Rader

Rader’s defense is too impressive to ignore. He won every NL Gold Glove at third base from 1970 to 1974. Rader could handle the bat as well, hitting 155 career home runs. Rob Neyer calls him the best third baseman in Astros history.

Jim Gantner

Gantner played more games at second base than anyone in Brewers history, and it isn’t even close. In fact, other than Robin Yount and Paul Molitor, Gantner has more games played and at-bats than anyone in franchise history at any position. His consistency over the course of his career resulted in his place among the top eight in Brewers history in hits, runs, doubles, triples, RBI, walks, stolen bases, and sacrifices. He is the club’s leader in sacrifices.

NO STARS: THE BULLPEN

• ALEX FERNANDEZ, RHP
• BILL HANDS, RHP
• DON GULLETT, LHP
• JOHN DENNY, RHP
• ELLIS KINDER, RHP
• GENE GARBER, RHP
• RON PERRANOSKI, RHP

Alex Fernandez

Alex Fernandez’s career was short-circuited by injuries, but while he played, he was among the game’s most successful pitchers. His best years were 1993-1997, when he recorded a mark of 74-46, for a .616 winning percentage. He tied for sixth in the American League Cy Young voting in 1996, only to leave for the Marlins the following year, where he led the World Series champs to victories. During his short career he finished in his league’s top 10 in wins four times, strikeouts four times, shutouts five times, complete games three times, and ERA twice. 

Bill Hands

Hands finished in the league top 10 in wins, complete games, and fewest walks per nine innings three times each. He never walked more than 76 batters in a season.

Don Gullett

Gullett was the unheralded ace of the Big Red Machine. His career winning percentage of .686 ranks eighth in the history of the game. While some may attribute that solely to the offense that supported him in Cincinnati, he had a lifetime ERA of 3.11, and finished sixth in the league in 1971 with a 2.65 mark. He was seventh in Cy Young voting in 1974 and fifth in 1975, yet never made an All-Star squad. He was a member of two world championship teams in Cincinnati and one in New York, with the Yankees. 

John Denny 

While Kirk Gibson is the only MVP in the All-Star era without an All-Star game on his resume, Denny is the only NL Cy Young winner never to play in a midsummer classic. (Pete Vukovich, a near miss for this roster, won the 1982 AL Cy Young without a career All-Star appearance.) Denny won the award in 1983 after leading the league in wins (19-6) and compiling seven complete games and an ERA of 2.37, Denny walked only 53 batters in over 240 innings that season. Seven years earlier, Denny led the league with a 2.52 ERA.

Ellis Kinder

”Old Folks,” as he was affectionately dubbed, did not pitch in a major league game until his 30s. Once he started, he flourished. Kinder finished fifth in the AL MVP race in 1949 and seventh in 1951. He was a versatile pitcher, compiling a league-leading, six shutouts and winning 23 games in 1949 (second in the American League), while at the end of games showing his worth by leading the league in saves twice and finishing in the top 10 six times. He ranks third on the Red Sox all-time saves list.

Gene Garber

His 218 saves ranks 29th all-time. While he never led the league in saves, he finished in the top 10 six times, and is second only to John Smoltz in saves us a Brave. He finished seventh in Cy Young voting in 1982. when he saved 30 games and posted a 2.34 ERA.

Ron Perranoski

Perranoski split his time between the leagues. His best season came as a member of the Dodgers in 1963. He was 16-3 with 21 saves and a 1.67 ER.A. He was fourth in MVP voting that year. He saved 179 games in his career, leading the American League twice. He finished in the top 10 in saves seven times and is 43rd all-time. He’s fifth in Dodgers history and seventh in Twins history in saves.

ALL STARS: THE STARTING LINEUP

• RON COOMER, 1B
• EMIL VERBAN, 2B
• ROCKY BRIDGES, SS
• EDDIE KAZAK, 3B
• RICHIE SCHEINBLUM, OF
• DAVE ENGLE, OF
• ORIS HOCKETT, OF
• DON LEPPERT, C

Ron Coomer

Coomer was a decent hitter and a good fielder, but never finished in the top 10 in any season in any offensive category and never hit .300. He never hit more than 16 home runs, while playing a position that is typically associated with power. Coomer also grounded into a lot of double plays. That said, Coomer is one of the better hitters on this team but would not make the No Stars team.

Emil Verban

Verban made three All-Star teams in three consecutive seasons, 1945-47. He is evidently considered, or at least was, a fine fielder. Although that may be true, his career fielding percentage was basically league average. He hit a grand total of one home run in his entire big-league career, and never had a batting average higher than .289 or an on-base percentage higher than .316. Although he was nicknamed “The Antelope,” he stole only 21 bases in his major league career, and never more than five in a season.

Rocky Bridges

Bridges made the American League All-Star team as a member of the Senators in 1958. He had little power, hitting 16 career home runs and driving in 187 in parts of 11 major league seasons. He struck out more than he walked and was caught stealing more often than not.

Eddie Kazak

Kazak’s short career reached its apex in the summer of 1949, when he was the starting third baseman for the NL All-Star team. He had a solid season in 1949, but in his entire career had only 165.hits. Speed was not his game either, as he was never credited with a single stolen base. Kazak’s career was that of a part­ time player, evidenced by the fact that he had only two seasons with more than 33 at-bats.

Richie Scheinblum

1972 was a good year for Scheinblum, who was rewarded with an All-Star selection that summer. Other years were not as productive. Scheinblum recorded single season batting averages of .218 (1968), .186 (1969); .143 (1971), and .183 (1974). He homered only 13 times and drove in only 127 runs during his entire career. He was never successful in attempting to steal a base, a feat he attempted to accomplish on only six occasions.

Dave Engle

The Twins had to have an All-Star representative in 1984, and Engle was the man. He was a part-time outfielder/catcher who also played designated hitter. He was below average defensively, and although he had some power, he played so infrequently that he hit only 31 career home runs. Engle was part of a trade for Rod Carew while in the minors.

Oris Hockett

Hockett homered every 166 at-bats or so, not exactly Ruthian numbers. His career on-base percentage was .329 even though he played most of his career during World War II, against somewhat lesser competition.

Don Leppert

Ken Retzer caught more games for the Senators in 1963 than Leppert, yet Leppert made the AL All-Star team. In other words, he wasn’t even the starting catcher on his own team. Leppert’s lifetime batting average was .229 and lifetime on-base average was .289. He clobbered 15 major-league home runs, drove in 59 runs, and scored 46 times. He never played in more than 73 games during any major league season.

ALL STARS: THE ROTATION

• JERRY WALKER, RHP
• ATLEE HAMMAKER, LHP
• JACK ARMSTRONG, RHP
• HAL GREGG, RHP
• WAYNE SIMPSON, RHP

Jerry Walker

Walker finished his career with a record of 37-44 and a 4.36 ERA, playing for the Orioles before they hit their stride in the 1960s. He never finished a season more than one game over .500 as a pitcher, and he accomplished that feat only twice.

Atlee Hammaker

Hammaker, truth be told, was not a bad pitcher. The 1983 All-Star game may have been the worst thing that ever happened to him. He gave up six hits and seven runs in the midsummer classic, retiring only two batters and giving up a home run to Jim Rice and the first All-Star grand slam ever to Fred Lynn. After leading the National League in ERA in 1983, his career was never the same.

Jack Armstrong

As a Red in 1990, Armstrong started the season 11-3 with a 2.28 ERA and was rewarded with a starting assignment in the All-Star game as the NL’s hurler. The rest of the season, Armstrong was 1-6 with a 5.96 ERA. 1990 proved to be Armstrong’s only winning season in the major leagues. He finished his career having only one full-season ERA under 4.49. In spite of his early success for the Reds in 1990, he did not pitch in the NLCS and logged only three innings in the World Series.

Hal Gregg

An All-Star in 1945, Gregg won 18 games that season. He won only 22 in every other season of his career combined. His lifetime ERA was 4.54. Gregg was not a control freak. He walked more batters during the course of his career than he struck out and led NL pitchers in walks in 1944 and in 1945, his All-Star season. In 1944, he also led the league in earned runs allowed, wild pitches, and hit batsmen.

Wayne Simpson

Largely due to arm trouble, Simpson was 14-3 with an ERA of 3.02 in 1970 and achieved much of that success in the first half of his rookie season, resulting in his only All-Star selection. The rest of his career was not as impressive. He was 22-28 with a 4.89 ERA between 1971 and 1977.

ALL STARS: THE BENCH

• MIKE HEGAN, 1B
• RAY MACK, 2B
• EDDIE KASKO, SS
• FRANKI ZAK, SS
• BILLY HUNTER, SS
• BILLY BRABARKEWITZ, 3B
• JIM FINIGAN, 3B
• MORRIE ARNOVICH, OF
• LEE WALLS, OF
• GINO CIMOLI, OF
• STEVE SWISHER, C
• JERRY MOSES, C

Mike Hegan

The son of catcher Jim Hegan, Mike was a good-fielding first baseman with a .242 lifetime average. He led the Pilots in 1969 with a .292 mark and represented the team at the All-Star Game. Mike drove in more than 50 runs only once and stroked 53 home runs in 12 big-league seasons.

Ray Mack

With the exception of the. 1940 season, his All-Star campaign, Mack never hit higher than .232 in a season in which he had substantial playing time. His career on-base average was only .3o1, but he was a solid defensive player.

Eddie Kasko

Kasko did not get on base often (career on-base average of .317) and was caught stealing as often as he was successful. He averaged a bit more than two home runs per season.

Frankie Zak

This 1944 NL All-Star never hit a home run and drove in a mere 14 runs during a career which spanned only three seasons and 208 at-bats.

Billy Hunter

Hunter finished his career with the following percentages: batting average .219, on base average .264, slugging .294.

Billy Grabarkewitz

During a career hampered by injuries, Grabarkewitz had a fine season in 1970. A comparison of that season to the rest of his career is mind-boggling. He hit 17 home runs in 1970, but only 11 the rest of his career. He drove in 84 runs in 1970, but only 57 during all his other seasons combined. He stole 33 bases in his career, 57% (19) of those in 1970. He never hit higher than .226 in any single season the rest of his career, and 153 of his lifetime 274 hits came during his All­ Star summer of 1970.

Jim Finigan

Finigan was an All-Star his first two seasons. In a six-year career he hit only 19 home runs and drove in 168 runs. Only three of those home runs and 49 RBI came after his second major league season.

Morrie Arnovich

Ten of Arnovich’s 22 career homers came in 1937. He was an All-Star, however, in 1939, when he hit .324, by far the highest average of his career.

Lee Walls

Walls struck out almost twice as often as he walked during his career. With the exception of the 1958 season, he never generated more than 11 home runs or 54 RBI. His All-Star season of 1958 was excellent.

Gino Cimoli

Cimoli never reached .300 or hit more than 10 home runs in any single season. He struck out more than twice as often as he walked.

Steve Swisher

Like Cimoli, Swisher struck out more than twice as often as he walked. He was a career .216 hitter with an on-base average of only .279. A former first-round draft pick, he had season batting averages of .214, .213, .236, .190, .151, .143, and .172. He was selected as an All-Star in 1976, ahead of such players as Ted Simmons and Manny Sanguillen.

Jerry Moses

Moses was a career .251 hitter with an on-base average under .300. He had only one season with more than 200 at-bats, his All-Star campaign of 1970. He scored a total of 89 runs in his entire major league career, which spanned almost a decade. He struck out nearly three times as often as he walked.

ALL STARS: THE BULLPEN

• MATT KEOUGH, RHP
• DAVE STENHOUSE, RHP
• TYLER GREEN, RHP
• JASON DICKSON, RHP
• ED FARMER, RHP
• JOHN O’DONOGHUE, LHP
• DEAN STONE, LHP

Matt Keough

although Keough posted a 3.24 ERA in his All-Star season of 1978, he finished the year with a record of 8-15. That season marked one of four campaigns in which he lost at least 13 games. He won that many only once. He finished three different seasons with an ERA over 5.00, and in 1982 he walked 26 more batters than he struck out, and led the league in home runs allowed, earned runs allowed, and losses.

Dave Stenhouse

Stenhouse started one of the two major league All­ Star games played in 1962. He won 10 games by the All-Star break during that, his rookie, season. He won six the rest of his career. (He was 10-4 by the All-Star break and 6-24 from that point until the end of his career in 1964.) He never had a winning season.

Tyler Green

Green’s career record was 18-25 and he finished with a 5.16 ERA. Although he was an All-Star in 1995, his lowest single-season ERA came in 1997, when he posted a 4.93 earned run average.

Jason Dickson

Dickson suffered from arm injuries during his short career. He posted an ERA above 6.00 in both 1998 and 2000, and finished his career with a record of 26-25 with a 4.99 ERA.

Ed Farmer

The well-traveled Farmer achieved his most success with the White Sox, for which he saved 30 games in 1980. He finished seven of his 11 seasons, however, with an ERA over 4.00, and had a career ERA of 4.28. He won 30 games and suffered 43 defeats during his nomadic tenure in the big leagues.

John O’Donoghue

Oddly, O’Donoghue led the American League in losses during his All-Star season of 1965. His only winning season was 1970, when he was an unspectacular 4-3 and posted a 5.12 ERA. His career record was 39-55.

The No Stars feature speed and power throughout the batting order. Phillips is the likely leadoff hitter followed by Maddox. The best hitter of the bunch, Trosky, hits in the third spot, although he could bat cleanup as well. McReynolds, Gibson, and Boyer bat fourth through sixth, with Held and Dempsey hitting before the pitcher. If a designated hitter were allowed, a manager would love to have the ability to insert Bostock, Hebner, Murphy, Driessen, Doran, etc. The bench is deep and has speed, power, and defensive prowess. Their All-Star counterparts cannot field a starting lineup that competes with the bench of the No Stars.

Likewise, the No Stars have eight or nine starting pitchers who are arguable superior to anyone the All-Stars can send to the mound. The No Stars bullpen has three legitimate closers to finish games.

For the most part, the All-Stars roster consists of players who had a good half season. If these rosters were pitted against one another, all players in their prime, for a mythical 162-game season, the All-Stars would have difficulty winning 40 games against the opposing team, devoid of a single All-Star.

TIM CONNAUGHTON is an attorney who lives in Troy, Michigan with his wife and son.

Bobby Doerr was born and raised in a Los Angeles experiencing its adolescence as a big city, and 70 summers ago—at the age of 16—he began playing professional baseball as second baseman for the Pacific Coast League Hollywood Sheiks. When the franchise shifted to San Diego in 1936, he became an original Padre, and made a lifelong friend in fellow teenager Ted Williams. Doerr played second for the Red Sox from 1937 through 1951, where he drove in 100 runs six times and set an AL record for consecutive fielding chances without an error. He was elected to baseball’s Hall of Fame in 1986.

Respect for Doerr, however, goes deeper than the record books. Williams famously called him “the silent captain of the Red Sox,” while a Yankee opponent styled him “one of the very few men who played the game hard and retired with no enemies.” Others have quietly honored his 65-year marriage to wife Monica, and his devoted care for her during her many years of facing health issues. A man of deep faith, sharp mind, and striking vitality, our conversation of March 11, 2004 (supplemented by others) offered a memorable glimpse into the story of young “Bobby” as a gifted teenager breaking into pro ball in the mid-1930s.

“My parents, Harold and Frances, were really wonderful people. Dad worked for the phone company and liked baseball a lot. He never pushed me, but when I showed an interest in the game, there were plenty of opportunities. I learned to play on the Manchester Playground there in Los Angeles, and later enjoyed sandlot ball. Along the way, I made some great friends.

“Our 1932 American Legion team had George McDonald at first, Arnold Owen at shortstop (they later called him “Mickey”), and Steve Messner at third, while I took second base. We almost were the national champions, going to playoffs in Catalina and Ogden, Utah—just missing the big trip to Omaha. That level of competition really helped you grow up and learn the game.

”As a kid I used to shag outfield balls at Wrigley Field, while the Coast League teams were taking batting practice, and then they’d let you watch the game for free. Over time, the Hollywood Sheiks (who were tenants at Wrigley, which was owned by the Angels) became interested in me, and I was invited to work out in the field and take some hitting. In the spring of 1934, they began to talk seriously about signing me.

“The Legion ball officials were upset about this, and even threatened a lawsuit, but it was dropped. My older brother Hal (a catcher) was already in the league. In June, when his Portland team was in town, Dad and Hal picked me up from Fremont High and told me Hollywood was offering a $200-month ironclad contract. Of course, I was interested—it was a great opportunity and good money for the time. It was the Depression, you know. My dad insisted on one condition: finishing school at Fremont, which I did with the class of 1935. Of course, when I signed a pro contract, that ended my high school eligibility. So, in the summer of 1934—70 years ago, now—it was professional ball.

“There I was at age 16, a Coast League rookie­ definitely young, but pretty mature. In L.A., the weather usually allowed us to play ball in the winter, often against pros. So, I’d been hitting some good pitching for a while and looked forward to the next level. My friend George McDonald (who still lives in Southern California) signed with the Sheiks too, and that helped. He was a fine fielder (and quite a talker) and enjoyed a long career in the league. It was a great experience!

“My biggest thrill that season was just putting on the uniform and playing in my first professional game. In late June, a matter of days after signing, I was in the lineup as the Sheiks were playing in Sacramento. They assigned me George Myatt as a roommate. He had just turned 20, I think, and was being groomed as a shortstop, so we matched up well on that basis. We also became good friends, and he asked me to be best man when he was married at home plate at Lane Field in San Diego a couple of years later.

“Part of what made it great, too, was the old guys, the veterans on that team. They treated us well. Oscar Vitt was my manager that first season, a seasoned baseball man whose leadership helped get everybody working together. But the one who really struck me—and became our manager in 1935—was Frank Shellenback. He’d been pitching for about 20 years, an old spitballer who’d suck on slippery elm, pick a spot about the size of a quarter to douse the ball, and those pitches would move. Sometimes our infield throws were spitballs! Anyway, he was a real class guy—an active Catholic with a big family who was strict, but just had that makeup you respected.

“Fred Haney was at third, and he helped me with my fielding. Also, he’d been a teammate of Ty Cobb’s, and was a great base runner for us. He taught me to slide better and maybe drag a bunt occasionally to keep ’em honest. Our catcher Johnny Bassler, who had been with Detroit, too, was a .300 hitter wherever he went, and taught me some techniques. The greatest hitter, of course, was Smead Jolley. What a slugger, and such a big, nice guy—but, yes, an awful fielder. On shallow flies to the outfield, I could hear the “thump, thump” of his footsteps on the way in. You know, it’s the little things that you’d pick up, whether out in the field or on the train trips talking. It was a long season, but I just loved it.

“There were a lot of fine ballplayers in the Coast League in the 1930s, and a real mix of ages. One of the most amazing hitters was Oscar Eckhardt. He beat out Joe DiMaggio for the batting title in 1935—but the most memorable thing was how. A left-handed hitter he’d whip his bat through the strike zone, drive the ball usually to left field, and before finishing his swing was running like a deer toward first. It was a really unusual stance and stroke, and I played him behind second base. Now that you mention it, that Ichiro who plays for Seattle reminds me a bit of his style.

“Of course, in 1934, the Angels won everything. We finished third or so, but the other team was something else. [They won 23 of 26 weekly series and, with a 137-50 record, set PCL marks for wins and percentage.] They had Frank Demaree, Jimmie Reese (who later replaced me in San Diego), Gene Lillard, Fay Thomas . . . strong everywhere. Some have called it the best minor league team ever. We had a pretty good crosstown rivalry, but it was cordial.

“Meanwhile, my folks loved it. Dad kept a scrapbook of my games, stayed away from interfering, and just enjoyed being supportive with Mom. People appreciated them. Two years later, facing economic problems, the owner Bill Lane moved the team down to San Diego, and we became the original Padres. That was the extra seasoning I needed before going up to the Red Sox. And when the Padres signed Ted Williams, he was still attending Hoover High School—a junior like I had been. So, the road was familiar, and from 1936 on we had a wonderful friendship.

”Looking back, I’ve been blessed in so many ways. In my younger years, I wasn’t too much on church. I’d wonder, like everyone else, “What’s life about?” When I did pray, it was mostly to be a better ballplayer. What really made an impact on me was the movie King of Kings. The scenes and the music moved me to pick up the Bible and read the story of Jesus for myself. When I did, I began to learn and grow—and came to accept Christ as my Savior. There’s life beyond baseball, and I’d recommend that to anyone listening.”

JAMES D. SMITH III, a SABR member since 1982, has contributed to The National Pastime, Baseball Research Journal, and many other publications. He teaches at Bethel Seminary San Diego and the University of San Diego and serves as a pastor at College Avenue Baptist Church.