This book evokes memories of Crosley Field through detailed summaries of more than 85 games played there, and 10 insightful feature essays about the history of the ballpark. It was an arduous task limiting the number of games. Our preliminary list was considerably longer, and had other editors chosen the games, their list might have been substantially different. Some of the games might be considered great, like Ewell Blackwell tossing a no-hitter as part of 16 consecutive winning decisions in 1947; or historical, like the first and last regular-season contests at the ballpark; yet other contests might be remembered for outstanding or milestone accomplishments, such as the first night game played in major-league history (in 1935) or Hank Aaron of the Atlanta Braves collecting his 3,000th hit (in 1970); or fantastic finishes like when the Reds overcame a nine-run deficit to win in extra innings, in 1969. The Reds suffered through their share of heartbreak at Crosley Field, and this volume rekindles those memories, too, such as losing at least a tie for the NL pennant on the last day of the 1964 season.

It would have been easy to create a volume consisting solely of great games by Hall of Famers or All-Stars who played for the Reds, players like Edd Roush, Johnny Bench, and Frank Robinson, or Paul Derringer, Bucky Walters, and Pete Rose; however, we were guided by an overarching principle to present the history of the Reds and Crosley Field through the baseball games played at the ballpark. For us that meant also including games focusing on and showcasing as many different players as possible, some well-known, others less so, from Ernie Lombardi, Johnny Vander Meer, and Jim Maloney to Pat Duncan, Hod Eller, and Tom Sheehan. We’ve also included every World Series game played at Crosley Field, from the four as part of the Reds’ tainted victory against the “Black Sox” in 1919, and six more in 1939-40 as the club captured consecutive pennants and its second championship, to the three losses against the overpowering New York Yankees in 1961.

The 10 feature essays contextualize the ballpark’s history. Included is an in-depth historical sketch of Crosley Field itself and shorter pieces focusing on the some of the unique and defining characteristics of the park, such as its outfield terrace, “Goat Run,” “Laundry,” and its evolving dimensions. Essays on Negro League baseball at Crosley Field, the great flood of 1937, the All-Star ballot-stuffing scandal of 1957, and a reflection on The Long Season, the memoir by Reds player Jim Brosnan, help round out the volume. And as is this editor’s tradition, we end with a stat- and factoid piece for all of the numbers-oriented readers.

Members of the Society for American Baseball Research (SABR) made this book possible. These volunteers are united by a passion for researching and writing about baseball history. I thank all of the authors for their contributions, meticulous research, cooperation through the revising and editing process, and finally their patience. I am impressed with your dedication to preserve baseball history by combing archives, interviewing players, and telling the story of so many exciting games played in, and the history of, Crosley Field.

We had an All-Star editorial team. The second reader, Bill Nowlin, read every submission and always provided prodding questions about content. This is the eighth book we’ve worked on together, and I think he anticipates my questions before I ask them. Carl Riechers was the fact-checker. He verified every statistic and fact in every essay, and offered addition insights, suggestions, and information for authors to consider. The copy editor was Len Levin, who has served in this capacity for all of the SABR books. I am not sure what we would do without his deft touch – he made us all look good. It has been a pleasure to once again work on a book project with such professionals, with whom I corresponded practically every day, and typically more than once.

This book would not have been possible without the generous support of the staff and Board of Directors of SABR, SABR Publications Director Cecilia Tan, and designer Gilly Rosenthol (Rosenthol Design).

A word of gratitude goes to two former Cincinnati Reds players, three-time All-Star catcher Johnny Edwards and Art Shamsky, for providing us with their memories of Crosley Field where they debuted as rookies in 1961 and 1965, respectively. Their perspectives of playing in the park enrich this volume immeasurably.

Special thanks go to the Cincinnati Reds Hall of Fame and Museum presented by Dinsmore for providing every photo for this book. I’d also like express my gratitude to the Reds’ Chris Eckes, Operations Manager/Chief Curator, Reds Hall of Fame and Museum, located at the Great American Ballpark in Cincinnati. He was extremely helpful finding and sending us high-resolution images to use for this book. Thanks also go to Greg Rhodes, Cincinnati Reds Team Historian, for his contributions, support, and advice throughout this project. The Reds’ support of SABR’s nonprofit mission is greatly appreciated. 

And finally, I wish to thank my wife, Margaret, and daughter, Gabriela, for their endless patience with my baseball pursuits. They are accustomed to my late evenings and early mornings working on SABR projects. Thankfully they are baseball fans who also attend SABR conventions with me.

We invite you to sit back, relax for a few minutes, and enjoy reading about the some of the great, memorable, and historic games and the exciting history of Crosley Field.

Gregory H. Wolf
May 1, 2018

Related links:

• Buy the book: Click here to download the FREE e-book edition or save 50% off the purchase of the paperback
• Games Project: Click here to read about Crosley Field’s most memorable games at the SABR Games Project

The process for selecting the starting lineups for the All-Star Game had varied since the game’s inception in 1933. Conceived by Chicago Tribune sports editor Arch Ward as a game for the fans, the first several All-Star Games included elements of fan voting with slight changes from year to year. Commissioner Kenesaw Mountain Landis, suspecting voting irregularities, eliminated fan voting in 1938 and turned over responsibility to the managers. That practice continued until the fan vote returned in 1947, overseen by Ward and the Tribune. After Ward’s death in 1955, Commissioner Ford Frick’s office assumed responsibility for vote tabulation for the 1956 contest when the Tribune declined continued participation.

The rules of the 1957 balloting followed the same process as the 1956 game: The players with the largest number of votes at each position comprised the starting lineup and would play at least three innings. Cincinnati fans had made their preferences known when they voted five Redlegs into the NL starting lineup for the 1956 All-Star Game. Although there was some grumbling about the Redleg-dominated lineup, no changes were made to the voting process. In fact, Frick brushed aside the gripes: “[E]verybody had a chance to vote, so there should be no squawks. Nobody is on the National League team who doesn’t belong on it.”1 Frick confirmed on May 3, 1957, that his office again would handle the vote tabulation with the assistance of radio and television to promote and collect the ballots.

In Cincinnati, the Times-Star newspaper served as the official collector of ballots for forwarding to the commissioner’s office. Despite later complaints about ballot stuffing, there were no rules against the practice. Fans could vote as often as they wanted by writing in their choices for the eight starting positions and signing the ballot. The Times-Star threw itself into active promotion by printing a daily ballot during the voting period. This ballot also listed the names of the Redlegs players and encouraged fans to vote early and often. Additionally, Burger Brewing Company, which sponsored Reds broadcasts, circulated 350,000 ballots to Cincinnati bars and arranged for pickup and return to the Times-Star.2 It became apparent that Cincinnati’s boosterism was atypical, and the approach drew negative reactions. Tommy Holmes of the New York Herald-Tribune wrote, “The fan poll . . . suffers from a varied approach. . . . But in Cincinnati, the newspaper involved is conducting an unabashed and nauseating shill for Cincinnati players.”3

Voting commenced on June 2 for a period scheduled to run until June 27. Early returns showed several Redlegs in the running for starting positions, but there were no indications of what was to come. In fact, Cincinnati Enquirer columnist Lou Smith predicted that, among Redlegs players, only catcher Ed Bailey and left fielder Frank Robinson would win the fan voting.4 Tallies released on June 18 showed five Redlegs either leading or among the leaders at their respective positions. To illustrate the scale of coming surge, St. Louis’s Stan Musial led all NL players at this point with 28,288 votes and the Enquirer printed only the names of those players with at least 3,000 votes.5 Support for first baseman George Crowe, center fielder Gus Bell, and right fielder Wally Post did not clear this meager threshold. Indeed, Bailey and Robinson led at their positions. Shortstop Roy McMillan had a narrow lead over St. Louis’s Alvin Dark and Milwaukee’s Johnny Logan, while second baseman Johnny Temple and third baseman Don Hoak trailed their respective rivals from Milwaukee, Red Schoendienst and Eddie Mathews.

As the deadline approached, these trends appeared to be holding. Results released on June 24 showed that Musial remained the most popular choice among all NL players, with 55,380 votes, and his closest rival in the first-base vote, Brooklyn’s Gil Hodges, polled only 9,141.6 Musial’s support among all major leaguers was exceeded only by the AL’s Ted Williams and Mickey Mantle, with each above 60,000. Among Redlegs players, Bailey and Robinson had clear leads over the competition, but McMillan had fallen behind Dark. Temple trailed Schoendienst by about 11,000 votes and Hoak sat about 9,000 votes behind Mathews.7 Willie Mays and Hank Aaron led by clear margins for the center-field and right-field spots, respectively. Crowe, Bell, and Post were nonfactors in the voting at their positions. If Cincinnati supporters were to engineer a takeover of the NL All-Star team, their efforts were not showing up in the count.

The commissioner’s office noted an increase in voting in the final week of balloting. When the Times-Star reported the count from the Cincinnati area, however, the effects of the Cincinnati campaign proved uniquely overwhelming. The Times-Star telegraphed to Frick’s office figures showing over 500,000 ballots had been collected from the Cincinnati area. A shocked Frick asked NL President Warren Giles to check out the Times-Star’s tabulation operation, and Giles replied with his satisfaction about its accuracy.8 Preliminary figures showed the extent of Cincinnati’s efforts. The Times-Star reported over 465,000 votes for each of Hoak, Temple, McMillan, Bailey, and Robinson.9 Additionally, Bell garnered about 379,000 votes from Cincinnati locals and Post received about 313,000.10 Crowe benefited from a surge of about 220,000 votes, but Reds fans showed some impartiality in casting about 200,000 votes for Musial in the late surge.11 It was not yet clear how these figures factored into the overall count, but it seemed likely that the NL lineup would be overwhelmed by the Cincinnati vote. Frick opined that “it would be terrible for eight Redlegs to be in the starting lineup,”12 and told Giles that the votes would be rebalanced. Frick reasoned, “In an effort to be entirely fair to all fans, and with no reflection on the honesty or sincerity of the Cincinnati poll, a restudy of the ballots has been made on the percentage of ballots cast in all cities.”13

Based on this study, Frick announced changes to the NL lineup on June 28, one day after the deadline and in advance of the original scheduled release on July 1. After consulting with AL President Will Harridge and NL President Giles, Frick decided to act. Without announcing the actual vote totals, Frick assumed an all-Redlegs NL lineup. The commissioner replaced Bell with Mays in center field, Post with Aaron in right field, and Crowe with Musial at first base. The other five Redlegs players maintained their starting positions. Frick argued that those five players were either leading or contending in the balloting before the mass of votes from Cincinnati; thus, they remained in the lineup. Frick deemed Crowe, Bell, and Post too far out of the running nationally before the late surge. “I took this step in an effort to be entirely fair to all fans,” Frick said.14 Co-opting Giles into his decision, Frick added, “The National League, while recognizing this rule, feels that the overbalance of Cincinnati ballots has resulted in the selection of a team which would not be typical of the league.”15

Some Redlegs fans did not appreciate Frick’s rebalancing of the votes. Patrons at the Z-Bar, which collected over 10,000 votes, made an effigy of the commissioner and drove it behind a truck around Cincinnati.16 One fan boasted of his effort, “I voted 800 times, and I worked hard to get the vote in.”17 Another’s comments reflected the politics of the 1950s: “This isn’t Russia and no one man like Frick should make the decisions.”18 A lawsuit was contemplated. Redlegs fan and former high-school baseball coach Harry “Bonny” Washer threatened legal action in federal court. Washer asserted that Frick’s action “was an affront which can’t be taken lightly by any Redleg fan who voted for any of the players summarily dismissed from the All-Star team.”19 Washer dropped the idea of suing Frick the following week largely to avoid embarrassing or distracting the still pennant-chasing Reds.20

As for the Redlegs, their reaction was muted compared with that of some of their fans. General manager Gabe Paul disagreed with Frick’s action, noting, “[t]he votes were cast fairly and the rules were adhered to. If a candidate for public office was elected because the supporters of his rival did not get out the vote, I am sure his election would be considered valid.”21 Together with Reds manager Birdie Tebbetts, he urged for some sort of reward or memento for the dropped players. Tebbetts downplayed the players’ possible disappointment but offered, “I think, however, in all fairness to these boys, that they be named honorary members of the All-Star team.”22 Bell found Mays a worthy substitute, “because he’s had a better year so far than I have … I’m not exactly burned up about being replaced by Willie.”23 NL All-Star and Brooklyn manager Walter Alston later selected Bell as a reserve player. Post reasoned, “I’m not disappointed because I don’t deserve to be there the way I’m hitting.”24 Indeed, Post’s batting average had fallen from .280 on June 1 to .231 by the All-Star break.

When Frick announced the voting results on July 1 in conjunction with naming the AL lineup, the impact of the Cincinnati efforts became clear. Robinson and Bailey received the most votes, 745,689 and 737,851 respectively. These figures were almost triple the number of votes received by the AL’s leading vote recipients, Williams (255,969) and Mantle (253,010). Robinson and Bailey’s figures also swamped their respective runners-up, Wally Moon and Hal Smith, both of St. Louis. Similarly, McMillan, Temple, and Hoak won their races by margins greater than 500,000 after trailing during the final week. Mays and Aaron indeed required Frick’s action to secure starting positions in the game. Bell defeated Mays by 471,295 votes to 302,575 in the center-field race, while Post bested Aaron by the smaller yet decisive margin of 445,457 to 335,918 for the right-field spot. Musial was the only player who did not require Frick’s intervention. With the late Cincinnati tally showing substantial support for the St. Louis first baseman, Musial won the ballot outright with 362,792 votes to Crowe’s 272,655. Crowe may have been the only Redleg to lose his race, but his tally exceeded those of all non-Cincinnati major leaguers except Aaron, Mays, and Musial.

In the actual event, the AL defeated the NL, 6-5, in the July 9 contest at Busch Stadium in St. Louis. Even the victorious AL team included a Cincinnati connection. The winning pitcher, Detroit’s Jim Bunning, grew up just outside of Cincinnati in Southgate, Kentucky, and attended Xavier University in Cincinnati. The six Redlegs had a minimal impact on the game, going a collective 3-for-10 with two RBIs. The greatest impact was made by the one Redleg named a reserve, Gus Bell. The center fielder accounted for both RBIs with a double.

Proposals abounded to fix the perceived problems with the existing system of fan voting. Dissatisfaction was not exclusive to the NL as there was also some unhappiness on the AL side about picks being made on the bases of geographical bias and past performance.25 In fact, AL manager Casey Stengel replaced Harvey Kuenn, George Kell, and Vic Wertz promptly after completion of three innings. The league presidents offered different solutions. Harridge argued for having the league managers select the squads, citing its prior use. Giles wanted to maintain the fan vote, and proposed providing an equal number of ballots to each major-league team for distribution in their stadiums. He argued, “Let the fans vote when they visit the ballpark.”26 In response to criticism that such a proposal limited the franchise only to those fans able to attend major-league games in person, Giles modified his suggestion. He proposed printing 1,600,000 punch-card ballots. Each of the 16 clubs would receive 100,000 ballots: 50,000 for ballpark distribution and 50,000 for distribution among minor-league affiliates.27 The estimated $50,000 cost, however, was deemed prohibitive and the proposal was shelved.

Shortly after the All-Star Game, Frick expressed his inclination against continuing a fan vote. He commented that “at this time, it seems to be highly advisable to call at least a moratorium on the fan vote.”28 The commissioner was in no hurry to rush the decision. With franchise moves in the offing, antitrust hearings in Congress, and nascent labor-relations pains, Frick said of the All-Star Game voting issue, “I wish I faced no more serious things in the next three years.”29 He deferred a decision until February 1958, when he confirmed the elimination of fan balloting. Instead, players, coaches, and managers would choose the starters from among the other clubs in their league. Each would be permitted to cast two votes from among their opponents at every position except pitcher; the players with the most votes would start the game and, in a nod to the existing system, play at least three innings. The fans would remain disenfranchised from All-Star Game voting until Commissioner Bowie Kuhn restored the ballot in 1970. Perhaps today’s fans should feel fortunate that there was enough time in 2015 to prevent one team’s fan base from overwhelming the results.

JOHN BAUER resides with his wife and two children in Parkville, Missouri, just outside of Kansas City. By day, he is an attorney specializing in insurance regulatory law and corporate law. By night, he spends many spring and summer evenings cheering for the San Francisco Giants and many fall and winter evenings reading history. He is a past and ongoing contributor to other SABR projects.

Notes

1 Bill Ford, “Change Is Made in All-Star Cast,” Cincinnati Enquirer, June 29, 1957: 1.

2 Oscar Ruhl, “Cincy Fans See Red After Ump Frick Calls Out Three,” The Sporting News, July 10, 1957: 15.

3 Lou Smith, “Hacker Peddled; Kelly Possibility as Replacement,” Cincinnati Enquirer, June 27, 1957: 31.

4 Lou Smith, “Sport Sparks,” Cincinnati Enquirer, June 16, 1957: 61.

5 “Big Battle,” Cincinnati Enquirer, June 19, 1957: 35.

6 Cincinnati Enquirer, June 25, 1957: 24.

7 Ibid.

8 Ruhl.

9 Oscar Kahan, “Redleg Vote Deluge to Bring Change in All-Stars’ Selection,” The Sporting News, July 10, 1957: 15.

10 Ibid.

11 Ruhl; Kahan.

12 Ruhl.

13 Ibid.

14 Michael Strauss, “Frick Sidetracks Three Redlegs After Avalanche of Ohio Votes,” New York Times, June 29, 1957: 12.

15 Ibid.

16 “Redleg Fans Rail Against Frick For Vetoing 3 of Their All-Stars,” New York Times, June 30, 1957: 2 (Sports).

17 Ibid.

18 Ibid.

19 “Red Fan Plans Suit in All-Star Hassle,” Cincinnati Enquirer, July 1, 1957: 1.

20 “Fan Abandons Suit Against Frick in ‘Interest’ of Redlegs,” Cincinnati Enquirer, July 4, 1957: 64.

21 Ruhl.

22 Ford.

23 Lou Smith, “Take Vote From Fans, Many Urge,” Cincinnati Enquirer, June 29, 1957: 12.

24 Smith “Take Vote.”

25 Frederick Lieb, “Majors to End Present Plan of Fan Poll on All-Star Picks,” The Sporting News, July 17, 1957: 6.

26 Lou Smith, “Restore Red Trio to All-Star Nine, Paul Urges Frick,” Cincinnati Enquirer, June 30, 1957: 53.

27 J.G. Taylor Spink, “‘Keep Fan Voice in Star Picks’ – Giles,” The Sporting News, July 31, 1957: 1.

28 J.G. Taylor Spink, “Frick Favors Player Vote for All-Stars,” The Sporting News, August 7, 1957: 1.

29 Spink, “Frick Favors.”

Reds baseball writer Tom Swope described how Schwab, respected as a “master groundskeeper” by his peers, carefully tended his field, including the elaborate system of drains Matty had installed beneath the Crosley turf. The “outfield is honey-combed with tile drains which carry off the surplus water at a surpisingly rapid rate of speed,” wrote Swope.1 The drains flowed into the nearby Millcreek, a few hundred yards to the west of Crosley Field.

By the time the story appeared on January 21, Matty’s drains were under siege as never before. Heavy rainfall had inundated the Ohio Valley and the Ohio River had already reached flood levels. By January 26 the river crested at 79 feet, far above any previous flood levels in Cincinnati, and hundreds of blocks of low-lying land in and around the city were covered in water. An estimated 100,000 people were homeless. And Matty’s plumbing had surrendered to the flood waters, which began invading Crosley Field.

In the early days of the deluge, Crosley filled up like a bathtub, as the drains backed up with overflow from the Millcreek. The surrounding streets were still dry. This backup was not an unusual event for Schwab. Just a year before, in 1936, after a minor flood, some six feet of water covered Crosley Field two weeks before the opener. Matty had all the slime and debris cleaned up by Opening Day.2

But this time, as the rain continued to fall and the Ohio River kept rising, the current surged up the Ohio tributaries, including the Millcreek. Water soon crept into the streets around the ballpark, rising high enough on Western Avenue, the eastern boundary of the park, that water flowed over the center-field wall.

That created the circumstances for one of the iconic photos of the 1937 flood, and in Crosley Field history, the photo of men in a skiff, navigating the pond that now covered the playing field and lower grandstands to a depth of 21 feet. This skiff was one of many boats that made their way into the ballpark, but this particular party included two Reds pitchers, Lee Grissom and Gene Schott, along with Schwab, and was reprinted in papers across the country. The Sporting News ran the photo on February 4.3 The photo captured both the scope of the flood, and the determination and spirit of Cincinnatians to make the best of a hopeless situation.

Were Grissom and Schott just on a sightseeing trip, an impromptu journey provoked by the novelty of it all, or was it more purposeful? According to local lore, which has no certain provenance, the excursion might be explained in pecuniary terms. One or both of the pitchers was being paid on an annual basis, and the paychecks were in the Crosley offices. And it was payday, flood or not.

About the same time the photo was taken, a series of cartoons appeared in the Cincinnati Enquirer suggesting how the Reds would adapt to the flooded conditions. Cartoonist Harold Russell imagined outfielder Ival Goodman patrolling right field in a skiff, shortstop Billy Myers scooping up balls with a net, and Kiki Cuyler stealing a base with a splashing, belly-flop slide.4 Another wag had chalked a note on a dry spot on the grandstand: “No Game Today – Wet Grounds.”5

The Reds did have more serious concerns. Although the water in the ballpark had little current, debris still floated over the fence and threatened to damage the structure. “We had from 10 to 40 men patrolling the field in rowboats night and day,” reported new general manager Warren Giles. “They kept dragging the floating oil drums, whiskey casks, auto tires, timbers, packing cases, etc. away from the stands and clubhouse before they could do damage.”6 Giles, in his first months as the Reds GM, said he had personally put in time on the rowboat patrol, a task not likely found in his new job description.

Not only did the Reds have to worry about flotsam entering the ballpark, they had to keep property from floating off. At one point, Schwab “was seen frantically rowing up the street chasing a ticket booth that was floating away. His rescue mission was successful.”7

At the baseball writers’ dinner in New York in early February, Giles received a fair amount of teasing about the condition of the ballpark. One writer referred to him as “Noah,” wondered if Giles would sign swimmer and Tarzan movie star Johnny Weissmuller to a contract, and if the Reds might switch to water polo for the 1937 season. But Giles promised that the grounds would be fine for Opening Day and there would be no disruption of the schedule.8 However the Reds did have to replace the visitors clubhouse, an antiquated structure that no one missed.9 Overall damage estimates ran about $30,000, over $500,000 in today’s dollars.

As Giles promised, the Reds held their annual festive opener as scheduled, featuring partly sunny skies and balmy spring temperatures. The only evidence of the flood was lines on the grandstand beams to mark the crest of the water and a mark on the center-field flag pole that was slightly higher than the top of the center-field wall.10

GREG RHODES, a former chair of the Hoyt-Allen SABR Chapter of Cincinnati, is currently the Cincinnati Reds team historian. He was the founding director of the Reds Hall of Fame and Museum and served as director from 2003-2007. Two of his eight baseball books received The Sporting News-SABR Research Award (Reds in Black and White, with co-author Mark Stang, in 1999 and Redleg Journal, with co-author John Snyder, in 2001), and his book Big Red Dynasty, with co-author John Erardi, was a finalist for the 1998 Seymour Medal.

Notes

1 Tom Swope, “Schwab Couldn’t ‘Make’ Majors as Pitcher,” The Sporting News, January 21, 1937: 5.

2 “Baseball,” Cincinnati Enquirer, January 31 1937: 2.

3 The Sporting News, February 4, 1937: 4.

4 Cincinnati Enquirer, January 30, 1937: 11.

5 “‘Wet Gounds’ at Crosley Field,” The Sporting News, February 4, 1937: 4.

6 “’Tisn’t So, Says Red President,” Cincinnati Enquirer, February 8, 1937: 11.

7 The Sporting News, February 4, 1937: 4.

8 “’Tisn’t So, Says Red President.”

9 The Sporting News, February 18, 1937: 11.

10 John Erardi and Greg Rhodes, Opening Day (Cincinnati: Road West Publishing, 2004), 226.

The best known of these Crosley neighbors was the low two-story industrial building just beyond the left-field wall. Beginning in the early 1920s and through the 1960 season, the building housed the Superior Towel and Linen Service, and it was always referred to as “The Laundry,” as though one might drop their cleaning off on the way to the ballpark. But it was a commercial laundry, whose clients included hotels, restaurants, and other large enterprises that dealt in laundry by the truckload.

The laundry was so close to the ballpark that home runs regularly ricocheted off the front of the building, and sometimes landed on the roof. The left-field fence was on the edge of York Street, which was more the size of an alley, about 15 feet wide. The laundry was directly on the other side of the street, some 25 feet from the outfield wall. A drive of 350 feet to straightaway left field could reach the laundry. Fans could easily see the laundry from their seats, and used it as a gauge of a home run’s distance. Longtime Reds announcer Waite Hoyt regularly used the laundry as a reference point: a home run hit the front of the laundry, the ball landed on the roof. Fans listening at home could immediately grasp the trajectory of the blast.

For one brief moment, the laundry was hidden from view from the Crosley fans. For the 1919 World Series, the Reds built temporary bleachers atop the left-field wall. The wooden stands were buttressed by posts anchored against the front of the laundry. The addition added about 4,000 seats, and this was the only time the Reds erected these temporary stands.1

In Brooklyn in the Ebbets Field era, players could win a free suit by hitting Abe Stark’s famous sign on the scoreboard in right-center field. In Cincinnati, the suits were delivered by Siebler tailors, who placed their sign atop the laundry. The billboard on top of the laundry was enormous, about 10 feet high and stretching 131 feet from the foul line into left-center. Siebler’s suit sign was on the left-center-field edge of the billboard, but the offer of the free suit pertained to the entire billboard, not just the Siebler portion.2 The prominent ad on the billboard over the years featured beers (Heidelberg Beer, Bavarian Old Style Beer, Student Prince), but it is the Siebler sign that lives in the memories of Crosley fans.

“Hit This Sign and Get a Siebler Suit Free” was the offer, and over the 20 years Siebler gave away 176 suits, about eight winners a year. And they weren’t off the rack. Jack Siebler recalled that Willie Mays was “surprised to find our line was all custom-tailored. He said he thought it was a ready-made.”3

Siebler had an arrangement with the Cincinnati beat writers to tell the store when a player hit the sign. “We’d send the guy a letter,” Siebler said. “‘Congratulations, slugger. You did it. Come in and pick out any suit in our line.’” Del Ennis, an outfielder with the Phillies and Cardinals in the 1940s and 1950s, once hit the sign twice in one homestand. He came in after the first home run and couldn’t decide on a pattern. Siebler recalled, “He told me, ‘I’ll take this one, but save the other one. I might hit your sign again tonight.’ And he did!” The champion suit winner was Wally Post, who played for the Reds for 12 seasons. The slugger won 11 suits, and admitted he was so appreciative of the Sieblers’ generosity that he bought three more on his own.4

The laundry played a bit role in the 1956 season when the Reds, Braves, and Dodgers careened through the final weeks of the season chasing the National League pennant. The Reds printed World Series tickets, but wound up third, two games behind the Dodgers. A few days after the season ended, a group of Reds employees loaded a million dollars worth of unusable World Series tickets onto a couple of hand carts and pushed them across York Street to the laundry. Many a home run had come to rest on the roof of the laundry over the course of the 1956 season, but the tickets disappeared into the basement, into the laundry’s furnaces.5

The famous Crosley landmark disappeared after the 1960 season when the City of Cincinnati demolished the laundry for additional parking lots. Many of the buildings surrounding Crosley Field fell to the wrecking ball in the late 1950s and early 1960s as the automobile pushed the streetcar aside as the favored mode of transportation to the ballpark.

GREG RHODES, a former chair of the Hoyt-Allen SABR Chapter of Cincinnati, is currently the Cincinnati Reds team historian. He was the founding director of the Reds Hall of Fame and Museum and served as director from 2003-2007. Two of his eight baseball books received The Sporting News-SABR Research Award (Reds in Black and White, with co-author Mark Stang, in 1999 and Redleg Journal, with co-author John Snyder, in 2001), and his book Big Red Dynasty, with co-author John Erardi, was a finalist for the 1998 Seymour Medal.

Acknowledgments

Thanks to Mike Weaver, Crosley Field model builder and historian, and Chris Eckes of the Reds Hall of Fame for their contributions.

Sources

1 Greg Rhodes and John Erardi, Crosley Field: The Illustrated History of a Classic Ballpark (Cincinnati: Road West Publishing, 1995), 56.

2 Pat Harmon, “N.L.’s Flashy Dressers Walloped in Wardrobe,” The Sporting News, April 19, 1961: 6.

3 Ibid.

4 Ibid.

5 “The End of a Dream in the Rhineland,” The Sporting News, October 24, 1956: 11.

The impact of what Brosnan accomplished through his writing has been lost over the passage of time. Modern readers accustomed to blogs, Facebook, reality shows, and the like might have difficulty relating to how sporting events and players were presented to the public well into the twentieth century.

For most baseball fans in the mid-1950s the ability to gain an understanding of the inner workings of the game was quite restricted. Box scores recorded events but offered little in the way of underlying player perspectives. Accounts of games or players in the sports sections of newspapers, magazine articles, and occasional player biographies tended toward the bland, superficial, or worshipful. This commonality of theme was reinforced by the fact that frequently writers specializing in one of these mediums frequently wrote for all of them. If a baseball player (or most any sports figure for that matter) shared his life story or offered commentary, it most often came about in a ghost-written effort or reflected the expertise of a professional writer.

A case in point is found in the first serious publication on the life of Stan Musial, appearing in 1964, a year after his playing career ended. Titled Stan Musial: “The Man’s” Own Story, it contained the telling tag line “As told to Bob Broeg.”2 Broeg essentially wrote a book more or less reflecting the same adoring perspective he offered in years of covering Musial’s career while a regular contributor to The Sporting News. It was the traditional narrative of an underprivileged youth struggling to make good, deferential in nature, tracing Musial’s career but from a distance, never approaching a sense of intimacy. 

These types of literary efforts revealed little beyond antiseptic numbers or milestone achievements. This sterile approach to chronicling baseball and sports in general began to change in the early 1960s as a tone of realism emerged. One agent of transformation came with publication of The Long Season in 1960, which chronicled the experiences of a journeyman pitcher during a season with a mediocre team. It was not ghost-written or “as told to”; it contained the honest feelings of pitcher Jim Brosnan’s struggle to survive in a fiercely competitive environment.

How Brosnan’s effort, in a diary format contrasted with then-followed sportswriting axioms could be illustrated by comparing his entries with those of newspaper reporting on any given game he described. A case in point can be shown by comparing news coverage of his inaugural pitching effort for the Cincinnati Reds at Crosley Field with how he described the same game in The Long Season. The contest, played on June 24, 1959, was important to Brosnan. He had been traded to the Reds just a few weeks before; he needed to look good before the hometown crowd.    

The July 1, 1959, issue of The Sporting News contained a box score for the match, between Cincinnati and the Chicago Cubs. The final score shows a 5-0 win for Cincinnati. Brosnan, did well, throwing a complete-game shutout, allowing the Cubs just four singles and two walks while striking out seven batters. His opponent, Dick Drott, by way of contrast, did not last out the first inning. Drott gave up three hits, a walk, and four runs before being removed from the game.

Frank Robinson got three hits, one a double. Ed Bailey and Gus Bell drove in two runs apiece, Bailey on his fifth home run of the year. The game lasted 2 hours, 14 minutes and was played before 6,510 fans. The Sporting News’s brief explanation of the game and box score recounted these details as well as the fact that Brosnan had completed his first game since September 1, 1956, when he was with the Cubs.3

The Chicago Tribune’s coverage of its home team had a more extended account of the contest, explaining various plays as well as offering a brief aside on Brosnan having formerly pitched for the Cubs and noting his recent trade to the Reds from St. Louis.4 Nothing in either of these articles from the player’s perspective was shared; it was typical of the times. These separate reports of the game pretty much summed up what fans came to expect in the way of information on major-league baseball.   

After the season ended, however, with publication of The Long Season, a much different rendering and decidedly untraditional perspective of baseball emerged on the June 24 game. His entry for June 24 was but one of a series of penned by Brosnan spanning spring training through the last day of the season.

Recollections of the contest commenced with off-field concerns for family dynamics:

“How many tickets do you want?” I (Brosnan) said into the phone. … That’s lotta box seats. … I guess I can get ’em. The way we been going I don’t think we’re gonna pack Crosley Field. … Mom coming with you tonight?… She’s never seen me pitch at a major league park, has she? …”5

Even though this was Brosnan’s first appearance as a Red at Crosley Field, the pressure of performing well before his new teammates at home was momentarily supplanted by the need for tickets to the game.

Once out on the field, Brosnan’s challenge of coming up with tickets was overtaken by a new concern; a blister on the third finger of his pitching hand had popped while he warmed up. Reds manager Mayo Smith asked if Brosnan could make it. Offering the customary bravado of an athlete, Brosnan reassured Smith, “I’ll give it a try. It bothers my breaking stuff mostly. I’ll lay off the curve and use my slider.”6

The game commenced inauspiciously for Brosnan. A hit and a walk, just one out, and Brosnan found himself facing Cubs shortstop Ernie Banks who just happened to have 67 RBIs, the most in the majors.7 With the game at a crucial point in the top of the first, what was Brosnan thinking? Not what casual observers of the game might think. A mental soliloquy commenced on the mound.

“Wonder if Mother is here, yet.” Then almost as an afterthought, “I can’t take a chance throwing Banks a breaking ball away and down. That’s a good double-play pitch but if I make a slight mistake I’m behind three runs.”   

Brosnan ruminates on catcher Ed Bailey’s call to throw a slider. “Bailey must like my slide ball. (Most of the pitcher’s control on breaking balls lies in his fingers. I had a bad finger. I must have poor breaking stuff. Q.E.D. Well, Bailey probably never heard of Q.E.D., so why not give him what he wants?)”8 Brosnan might have been the only major-league ballplayer to have expressed doubt in Latin when deciding on what pitch to throw.       

His mother, pitch selection, the state of his finger, and a Latin phrase. All these pass through his mind while one of the most dangerous hitters in the game waits at the plate.

Brosnan throws a slider, Banks pops out to Bailey, and after the next batter lines to left, Brosnan has survived the first inning. All outs were made on sliders.

Reds manager Mayo Smith greets him in the dugout. “That’s your bad inning, Jimmy. Your fast ball’s alive.” Brosnan says to himself, “I’d only thrown one (fastball).” With that terse four-word passage, Brosnan shared his estimation of Smith’s powers of perception and by extension, his confidence in Smith’s management capabilities.9

All these mental gyrations and it was only the first inning. Brosnan’s commentary on the game, while involving a few key plays, did not focus on pitching strategy or the overall game but on his finger. It was bleeding. The following innings dealt with the challenge to minimize bleeding.

“Doc (Doc Anderson, the team’s trainer), let’s go to work. This finger’s bleeding. You got any collodion we can put on it?”10 Anderson goes in to action. “This’ll do the trick, my boy. Just let old Doc take care of your finger. You take care of the batters.” Anderson kept medicating the finger each inning but it quickly wore off, leaving specks of blood on the ball.

As the game went on, Brosnan developed a rhythm. “But for the most part my arm worked like a well oiled machine. The batter came to the plate. My experience classified him. My mind told my arm what to do. And it did it. It seldom happens precisely that way.”11

So it went the rest of the way until Cubs batter Dale Long came to the plate with two outs in the ninth. Brosnan, the bleeding momentarily under control, was now into the mental game. “Why not experiment a little? Think I’ll throw him a change-of-pace. Defy the book.” Long grounded to first and Brosnan had a shutout. Robinson made the final out at first and stuck the ball into his back pocket. “Oh no, Robby,” I said. “That one’s mine.”12    

Brosnan’s shutout involved an almost meaningless contest between two teams going nowhere. Chicago was then in fifth place; Cincinnati in seventh. This rather mundane contest did not concern a turning point in their respective fortunes as the two teams ended the year tied for fifth in the eight-team National League.

It was but one game yet his thoughts, ranging from questioning his pitches to the Q.E.D. reference to being a “well oiled machine,” were in microcosm a reflection on the roller-coaster ride his confidence took all year long.

Brosnan’s experiences during this game were totally foreign to what the larger body of fans had come to expect in understanding the game. At its core, while sharing numerous experiences and touching on many themes, The Long Season resonated with readers because it tapped into something all have felt at one time or another: a crisis of confidence. It went beyond the bravado conventionally shared on sports pages, in baseball books, or in magazines. Players fall into slumps, are sent to the minors or released. The Long Season observes baseball immortal Stan Musial experiencing his first sub-.300 season. Reds teammate Frank Thomas, one of the more prolific hitters in 1958, endures a yearlong slump. Marv Grissom and Sal Maglie, two veteran pitchers with 20 years’ experience between them, find they can no longer perform; their careers end. Uncertainty is always a presence.

For Brosnan particularly, his midyear trade from St. Louis to Cincinnati, jarred belief in himself. It affected his family, a consideration beyond the public’s consciousness. His wife, Anne, hearing he has been traded from the Cardinals, cries, “Oh no! Oh God … not that. I’ll never be able to drive from Chicago to Cincinnati.” She then asks, “Who did they trade you for?” Brosnan replies, “Jeffcoat. Straight swap I guess.” “Jeffcoat!” Anne responds, “Couldn’t they get more for you than that? Oh honey, they just wanted to get rid of you.”13

In clearing up loose ends with the Cardinals, he met with general manager Bing Devine and asked why he was traded to the Reds. Devine responded, “Solly (Hemus, manager of the Cardinals) has said that he just doesn’t seem to be able to get the work out of you.”14 Hemus’s perspective on Brosnan’s ability disturbs him. Over a month later Brosnan in talking with Reds bullpen coach Clyde King speaks of this. “Hemus didn’t like me. I didn’t like him. But I’ve been thinking. With the Cardinals, I was beginning to lose confidence in my pitching ability, and over here (with the Reds) I’ve proved that I can do just as good a job as ever. So my guilt feelings about Hemus must have had a direct effect on my pitching.”15

Part of what helped Brosnan gain confidence came with Fred Hutchinson’s replacement of Mayo Smith as manager. He helped guide Brosnan through the metamorphosis from starter to relief pitcher.

Brosnan’s shutout of the Cubs was an aberration. It was the seventh complete game in what were then 38 career starts. He never pitched a complete game again.

After another start in which he was pulled earlier than he thought proper, Brosnan confronted Hutchinson. Feeling he was somewhat less than a complete pitcher based on a dismal record of finishing games, Brosnan was set right by his manager, who recognized the true value of his talent. “You don’t think you were pitching good ball up till then, do you? I didn’t. You’ve got good stuff and you’re a pretty good pitcher. I may use you in the bullpen now because I know that you can do that job for me. Not every pitcher can. As for you, don’t worry about it. You’ll get plenty of work.”16   

Hutchinson was right. Brosnan could do the job coming out of the bullpen, a fact proved over the next few seasons. But those days were in the future.

How Brosnan dealt with the trade, pitching triumphs such as his effort on June 24, or games where his effort made for an early exit, proved the essence of his book. His everyday struggles connected with followers of the game. And made The Long Season one of the most popular pieces of baseball writing.

Notes 

1 Mark Armour, “Jim Brosnan,” SABR BioProject, https://sabr.org/bioproj/person/b15e9d74.

2 Bob Broeg, Stan Musial: “The Man’s” Own Story as Told to Bob Broeg (New York: Doubleday, 1964).

3 “National League,” The Sporting News, July 1, 1959: 26.

4 Edward Prell, “4 Run Salvo Routs Drott in 1st Inning,” Chicago Tribune, June 25, 1959: D1. Brosnan was traded from the St. Louis Cardinals to Cincinnati on June 8, 1959.

5 Jim Brosnan, The Long Season (Chicago: Ivan R. Dee, 1960), 183.

6 Brosnan, The Long Season, 184.

7 Banks would end the season hitting .304 with 45 home runs and 143 RBIs, the most in the majors. His performance won him a second consecutive Most Valuable Player award.

8 Q.E.D. A Latin term, quod erat demonstrandum essentially translates to “which was to be proved.” https://macmillandictionary.com/us/dictionary/american/q-e-d.

9 Less than two weeks later, Smith was fired and replaced by Fred Hutchinson.

10 Collodion is a clear, syrupy liquid compound used to close small wounds and cuts.

11 Brosnan, The Long Season, 186.

12 Brosnan, The Pennant Race (New York: Harper, 1962), 184-187, covers the June 24 game.

13 Brosnan, The Long Season, 160. Hal Jeffcoat’s major-league career lasted just 12 more games.

14 Brosnan, The Long Season, 171.

15 Brosnan, The Long Season, 206-207.

16 Brosnan, The Long Season, 210.

Black baseball was a fun, athletic, comedic, and proud enterprise that made its way across the national landscape during the first half of the twentieth century. Crosley Field provided a home to several Negro League teams beginning in 1934.

The Cincinnati Tigers were the first Negro League team to play at Crosley Field. They first emerged in 1934 as an independent team. They opened their home season at Redland Field and first played at Crosley Field on May 20, 1934, against the Kansas City Monarchs. The Monarchs won 10-3 behind the seven-hit pitching of Chet Brewer. Jess Houston and Virgil Spears each had two hits for Cincinnati, but they were unable to mount a rally. The decisive blow was a three-run homer by Monarchs second baseman Dink Mothell.2 The Tigers played independently, often at Crosley Field, through 1936. In 1937, they were one of the original eight teams in the Negro American League and once again played at Crosley Field. It was their only season in the NAL. They finished in third place during the first half of the season with a 15-11 record, and the following season were reborn as the Memphis Red Sox.3

In 1941, the touring Miami Ethiopian Clowns, owned by Syd Pollock, took the field on June 8. Instrumental in the planning for the event were Abe Saperstein, owner of the Harlem Globetrotters basketball team, and Warren Giles of the Cincinnati Reds. The Clowns played a brand of baseball that was as much comedic as athletic. Crosley Field, at the time, was one of seven big-league parks to host Negro League baseball.4 Opposing the Clowns were the Satchel Paige All-Stars. A crowd of 12,000 was on hand as the teams split two games. The Clowns won the first game, 1-0, in 10 innings, and Paige’s team came back to win the second game, 5-4. Paige started and pitched three scoreless innings in the second game, the only hit being made by Showboat Thomas, a first-inning triple. In the first game, Eddie Davis, also known as Peanuts Nyassas, had wowed the crowd not only with his pitching but also with his comedic touch, which included his famous “Shipwreck Walk.” Natchett pitched well for the Paige All-Stars in the opener, but got little in the way of offensive support. The Clowns also enthralled the crowd with their “2-Ball Lightning Infield Workout” routine that lasted two minutes.5

Frank “Fay” Young of the Chicago Defender had this to say about the Clowns: “The fans get a kick out of their funny antics. Also do these fans get a whale of a kick out of the brand of baseball these boys put up on the diamond. They make some of the dadgonest catches, the outfield moves at lightning speed to rob opponents of extra-base hits, and the infield is hustling all the time.”6

Off this showing, the Clowns were booked to return to Crosley Field on June 29 against the Cuban Giants. Peanuts Nyassas once again pitched the Clowns to victory, allowing only three hits in the first game. Paige, pitching for the Giants in this encounter, did not fare too well. The Clowns won both games of the doubleheader and knocked Paige around for four runs and five hits in the third inning of the opener.7

In 1993 John Erardi in one of a series of articles for the Cincinnati Enquirer, spoke with players and fans and came away telling his readers, “At Negro League games, you didn’t keep the foul balls. Tickets cost less, so you were expected to throw the foul balls back. Generally, there was more of a picnic atmosphere at Tigers and Clowns games. It was more of a social event – a happy get-together on Saturday and Sunday afternoons – because the games came about so rarely. People dressed up.”8

However, there were those, including Cumberland Posey, who took issue with the Clowns’ comedic play and were looking for more serious Negro League baseball to be played at Crosley Field. As Neil Lanctot noted in Negro League Baseball: The Rise and Ruin of a Black Institution, “the (often white) media recognition of Davis once again demonstrated that mainstream whites accepted and remained relatively unthreatened by blacks appearing as comedians.”9

On July 20, 1941, three Negro League teams came to play some serious baseball. In the first game, the Chicago American Giants faced the St. Louis Stars. The winner was matched up against the Memphis Red Sox. Playing in front of 8,000 fans, with Negro American League president, J.B. Martin, throwing out the first ball, St. Louis defeated Chicago, 11-7. It began as a pitchers’ duel between Willie Cornelius of Chicago and Frank McAllister of St. Louis, and Chicago led 4-2 after seven innings. Then St. Louis plated nine runs in the eighth inning. The game’s hitting star was Dan Wilson of St. Louis, who had four hits. McAllister struck out eight Chicago batters. In the second game, Memphis defeated St. Louis, 6-1, as Verdell “Lefty” Mathis pitched a four-hitter, defeating Eugene Smith.10

On August 20, 1941, Memphis, which featured six players who had played for the Cincinnati Tigers Negro League team in the 1930s, took on the Clowns in a doubleheader.

The following season, 1942, the Clowns relocated to Cincinnati and played in the upstart Negro Major Baseball League of America, drawing a record 12,500 for a game during May. That same season, the Cincinnati Buckeyes joined the Negro American League. Two Negro League teams in Cincinnati were not sustainable, and the Buckeyes moved to Cleveland during the season. The NMBLA was short-lived, and the following season, the Clowns moved on to the Negro American League and toned down their act. Over the next several years, the Clowns, when not barnstorming, split their “home” games between Indianapolis and Cincinnati.

“I saw Jesse Owens race a horse, outfielders throw the ball into a peach basket, and fans chase down greased pigs and chickens and then take them home to eat. Even White people went to the Clowns’ Games – Edgar Bradley, 1993.11

In 1946 Cincinnati had a team it could totally call its own. An independent operation, the Cincinnati Crescents came to town. They were headed by Winfield S. “Gus” Welch and Ted “Double-Duty” Radcliffe. Star power was provided by first baseman Luke Easter. During the season, the Negro American League Clowns called Crosley Field home for several games, as well.

The Crescents first games at Crosley Field were played on May 12 against the Havana La Palomas. It was not a favorable debut for the Crescents as they lost by scores of 6-5 and 3-2. The doubleheader was played in front of 6,500 fans. In the opener, the Crescents took a 4-2 lead but the Havana squad scored four runs to take the lead and go on to win. Luke Easter’s two singles and a double powered the Crescents offense, but they were not able to regain the lead. In the nightcap, the hero for the Cuban team was Len “Sloppy” Lindsay, who had two doubles and a single.12

The House of David All-Stars visited Crosley Field on May 30 for a doubleheader with the Crescents. The Crescents swept the doubleheader, winning by 11-4 and 5-4.

On June 27, the Crescents swept the Puerto Rican All-Stars, 4-3 and 6-5, at Crosley Field.

There were two doubleheaders with the Clowns to determine Negro League supremacy in the Queen City.

On July 7, 1946, the teams split two games, with the Clowns winning the opener, 9-1, and the Crescents taking the nightcap, 6-3, in seven innings. The star of first the game was Henry “Speed” Merchant of the Clowns. The center fielder had four hits, including a triple, and a sacrifice in five trips to the plate. Pitching for the Clowns was Atires “Perfecto” Garcia, who bested Johnny Markham. The game’s final outs resulted from a double play engineered by Reece “Goose” Tatum and Richard “King Tut” Kelly. Tatum, the team’s first baseman, was moved to second base and King Tut came in to play first base at the beginning of the ninth inning. Tatum was perhaps better known for his antics on the basketball court with the Harlem Globetrotters. The winning pitcher of the second game for the Crescents was Willie D. Smith, who allowed six hits in going the distance. In the second game, Merchant singled in his only plate appearance, as he injured his ankle and was forced to leave the game.13 Eddie “Peanuts Nyassas” Davis started the second game on the mound for the Clowns but was unable to contain the Crescents.14

On July 23, the Crescents hosted the Memphis Red Sox in a night game at Crosley Field. The hitting star was Easter, who struck his 41st home run of the season and added a triple in an 11-2 thrashing of Memphis by Cincinnati. Johnny Markham, the Crescents pitcher, limited Memphis to six hits.15

The Clowns and Crescents met for a second time at Crosley Field on August 4. As if a doubleheader were not enough of an enticement, a beauty contest was held as part of the festivities. The Crescents swept the twin bill, 6-2 and 3-2. The opener went 11 innings, with the Crescents scoring four times in the 11th for the win. In the nightcap, the Crescents came from behind on a homer by Howard “Duke” Cleveland and a run-scoring single by pitcher Ed Cathy. The sweep gave the Crescents the season’s series, three games to one.16

Although an independent team, the Crescents were a very good squad and their Sundays were spent in games against teams from the Negro National and Negro American Leagues. On August 18 at Crosley Field, they took on the Chicago American Giants. After a pregame fungo-hitting contest between Luke Easter and Chicago’s Ed “Pepper” Young, the Giants won the opener, 5-1, before succumbing to the Crescents, 3-0, in the finale.

And it wasn’t only the Crescents and Clowns in 1946. On September 6, the Kansas City Monarchs took on the Homestead Grays at Crosley Field. The Clowns faced the Monarchs two days later at Crosley.

W.S. Welch again fielded a team in 1947, but they played as the Detroit Senators and did not see action at Crosley Field. The Clowns played several games at Crosley Field, the first being against the Birmingham Black Barons on Memorial Day.17

The Crescents re-emerged at Crosley Field in 1948 under manager Howard Easterling and played a series of doubleheaders, the first of which was on June 27 against the Puerto Rico All-Stars.

On July 11, 1948, in a doubleheader at Crosley Field, four Negro League teams were represented. The Crescents defeated the Chivos, a local semipro team, and the Homestead Grays defeated the San Francisco Sea Lions.

The lure of Negro League ball was vanishing in 1948 as major leagues were in the second year of integration. Meaningful Black baseball contests at Crosley Field were on the decline. On May 23, the Birmingham Black Barons came to play against the Chicago American Giants. Chicago swept the two games, 7-5 and 5-3, breaking an eight-game Birmingham winning streak in the process. The only other meaningful game of Black baseball in Cincinnati in 1948 was played at Crosley Field on August 24, when the Chicago American Giants faced off against the Cleveland Buckeyes in a Negro American League game.

In 1949 the Clowns, based in Indianapolis, were part of a revamped 10-team Negro American League (the Negro National League’s last year was 1948). They returned to Crosley Field with many of the characters who had delighted Cincinnati fans over the years, including Peanuts Nyassas and Goose Tatum, to face the Houston Eagles on July 18, 1949. Houston won, 5-2. It was the last appearance of the Clowns at Crosley Field. By the time the 1950 season began, the Negro Leagues were but a memory and the few remaining Black teams including the Clowns would caravan around the country making a living where they could, mostly in smaller towns. Crosley Field on June 25, 1950, once again welcomed Satchel Paige. He was pitching with the Grand Rapids Black Sox when they took on the Homestead Grays. The Grays won, 7-1 and 5-1, and got back on the bus.

The days of Black baseball in big-league parks were all but over, but the Clowns returned to Crosley Field in 1953, playing the Kansas City Monarchs on July 3 and the Memphis Red Sox on August 21 in Negro American League Games. In the Clowns lineup was a barrier-breaker. Marcenia Lynn “Toni” Stone was a female second baseman who was getting rave notices. Syndicated columnist Dorothy Kilgallen offered that “she belts home runs as easily as most girls catch stitches in their knitting, and the sports boys are goggle-eyed.”18 Stone hit .243 in 50 games for the Clowns in 1953, including a single off Satchel Paige.19

And she joined the men on the bus.

Sources

In addition to the sources included in the notes, the author used Baseball-Reference.com and recommends the following sources for information on the subjects included in this article.

Erardi, John. “The Negro Leagues and Cincinnati: Swing Was Good but Timing Was Bad,” Cincinnati Enquirer, April 5, 1993: C17, C19-C20.

Mohl, Raymond A. “Clowning Around: The Miami Ethiopian Clowns and Cultural Conflict in Black Baseball,” in Tequesta, 2002: 40-61.

Notes

1 John Erardi, “No Souvenirs – Just Memories: At Negro League Games, You Didn’t Keep Foul Balls,” Cincinnati Enquirer, August 5, 1993: C21.

2 “Tigers Are Beaten,” Cincinnati Enquirer, May 21, 1934:14.

3 Leslie A. Heaphy, The Negro Leagues: 1869-1960 (Jefferson City, North Carolina: McFarland Publishers, 2003), 114.

4 “Clowns in Cincy on June 8,” Chicago Defender, May 24, 1941: 24.

5 “Clowns, Satchel Paige Split Double Bill,” Norfolk News Journal and Guide, June 21, 1941: 13.

6 Fay Young, “The Stuff is Here – Past, Present, Future,” Chicago Defender, June 14, 1941: 42.

7 “3-Team League Twin-Bill in Cincy July 20,” Chicago Defender, July 5, 1941: 23.

8 John Erardi, “No Souvenirs.”

9 Neil Lanctot, Negro League Baseball: The Rise and Ruin of a Black Institution (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2004), 228.

10 “St. Louis Stars Defeat Chicago Then Lose to Memphis Red Sox, 6-1,” Chicago Defender, July 26, 1941: 22.

11 John Erardi, “The Negro Leagues in Cincinnati – Pictoral,” Cincinnati Enquirer, August 5, 1993: C23.

12 “La Palomas Take Two from Crescents,” Chicago Defender, May 18, 1946: 11.

13 “Clowns Split with Crescents,” Chicago Defender, July 13, 1946:10.

14 “Cincinnati (sic) Clowns and Cincinnati Crescents Divide in Double Bill,” Atlanta Daily World, July 12, 1946: 5.

15 “Easter Whole Show as Crescents Win,” Cincinnati Enquirer, July 24, 1946: 13.

16 “Crescents Victors in Clowns’ Series,” Cincinnati Enquirer, August 5, 1946: 14.

17 “Baseball Chatter,” Los Angeles Sentinel, May 29, 1947: 23.

18 Dorothy Kilgallen, “Jottings in Pencil,” Cincinnati Enquirer, May 13, 1953:11.

19 James A. Riley, The Biographical Encyclopedia of the Negro League Baseball League (New York: Carroll & Graf Publishers, 1994), 746.

Ryder was not crazy. He had covered the Reds since 1905, and in the seven years he had watched the Reds at Redland Field, he had never seen an over-the-fence home run at the yard. And for good reason. It was the Deadball Era, a time of “scientific hitting” that emphasized placement as much as power. And Redland Field was enormous. Like most ballparks of the era, Redland Field used the street grid as a guide for locating fences. No attention was paid to establishing distances at what we would think of today as a challenging home-run target. Redland’s dimensions, according to a 1911 architectural plan of the park, listed the distances as 390 feet to right field, 420 to deep right-center field (the deepest part of the ballpark) and 360 to left.2

Changes in the game in the early 1920s made the over-the fence home run more likely and more popular. Players began swinging for the fences and hitting the ball farther than ever. Still, Ryder’s prediction of no over-the-fence home runs at Redland held for two more seasons. The barrier finally fell on May 22, 1921, not to a major leaguer, but to Negro league slugger John Beckwith. The Cincinnati Cuban Stars rented Redland Field for their home games when the Reds were on the road, and Beckwith, playing for the visiting Chicago Stars, hit one over the left-field wall.3

The first official major-league home run came a few days later, on June 2, by Reds outfielder Pat Duncan. Duncan also deposited his home run over the left-field wall. The ball struck a surprised policeman on York Street, just beyond the wall. Duncan, who never showed much power in his major-league career, proved to be adept at a home-run trot. “Pat took his own time going about the paths,” wrote an admiring Ryder watching the dawn of the home-run era in Cincinnati.4

Duncan and Beckwith had conquered the left-field barrier, but what about center and right? On July 25, 1921, the New York Yankees and Babe Ruth stopped at Redland Field for an exhibition game. Ruth, who had a phenomenal 54 home runs in 1920, and had 36 by the time the Yankees appeared in Cincinnati, drew a large crowd. Most came to see if the Babe could hit one out of the park. In the fifth, with the bases loaded, Ruth sent a long, high drive over the center-field fence. Ryder estimated the distance at 450 feet. In the seventh inning, the Babe hit a low liner to deep right-center that cleared the fence in front of the bleachers.5 Years later the Babe recalled those home runs: “Believe me, neither of them was a dipsydoo.”6

Ruth’s blasts, as majestic as they were, had little immediate impact, for there weren’t many Babe Ruths playing in Cincinnati or in the National League The first home run to clear the right-field fence in an official league game is credited to Walton Cruise of the Boston Braves, on July 17, 1922.7 It was not until 1929, eight years after Ruth’s exhibition home run and 17 years after the park opened, that the first official home run was hit over the center-field wall, a drive off the bat of Reds center fielder Ethan Allen.8 And that was after the Reds shortened the fences. In 1927, the Reds added about 5,000 extra ground-level box seats in front of the original grandstand. This required the moving of home plate out some 20 feet, reducing the outfield dimensions to 339 feet to left field, 395 to dead center field (and 400 feet to deep right-center) and 377 feet to right.9

The Reds averaged only 5.2 home runs a year at Crosley Field in the 1920s, and many of those were inside the park. Visiting teams fared no better. From 1920 to 1937, the Reds and their opponents combined for 371 home runs at Redland/Crosley Field while combining for 1,288 on the road. Even Mel Ott, the NL’s reigning home-run hitter in the 1930s, hit fewer home runs at Crosley than in any other NL park. As baseball analyst Greg Gajus put it, Crosley Field was “the Astrodome of the 1920s and 1930s.” The long-ball revolution of the ’20s and ’30s passed right by Cincinnati.10

In 1937, the Reds once again shortened the home-run distance, moving home plate out another 20 feet. Unlike the 1927 relocation, the 1937 move was done just to bring the home run into play. The Reds had led the league in road home runs in 1935, 1936, and 1937, but the power was wasted at home. According to Lee Allen in his 1948 book The Cincinnati Reds, owner Powel Crosley read a suggestion from a fan to move home plate, and Crosley ordered the change.11 The move reduced the distance to right and left by 11 feet and to center by 20 feet. The new dimensions were 328 feet to left, 387 to dead center, and 366 to right. 

The effect was dramatic. The Reds hit 50 home runs at home in 1938, more than twice as many as they had ever hit before in the vast confines of Crosley. Ival Goodman set a club home-run record in 1938, with 30 home runs, easily breaking the old record of 19.12

The only changes to the dimensions of Crosley after 1938 came in the 1940s and 1950s when the club reduced the distance to right field by 24 feet with the addition of seats in front of the original bleacher section.13 The Reds also changed the height of the center-field fence in 1964, adding nine feet in a wooden extension that sat atop the old concrete wall. The extension was necessary to block headlights and glare from the new expressway that opened just beyond the center-field wall in 1963. At first, the club left the home-run line at the top of the old wall; any ball hitting the wooden extension was a home run. In 1967, after several controversies, the club put the entire wall into play.14

GREG RHODES, a former chair of the Hoyt-Allen SABR Chapter of Cincinnati, is currently the Cincinnati Reds team historian. He was the founding director of the Reds Hall of Fame and Museum and served as director from 2003-2007. Two of his eight baseball books received The Sporting News-SABR Research Award (Reds in Black and White, with co-author Mark Stang, in 1999 and Redleg Journal, with co-author John Snyder, in 2001), and his book Big Red Dynasty, with co-author John Erardi, was a finalist for the 1998 Seymour Medal.

Notes

1 Greg Rhodes and John Erardi, Crosley Field (Cincinnati: Road West Publishing, 1995), 64.

2 Based on calculations by Mike Weaver, Crosley Field historian and model builder, from blueprints of Redland Field (Harry Hake & Partners, architects), from the collections of the Cincinnati Historical Society.

3 “Ball Goes Over Wall,” Cincinnati Enquirer, May 23, 1921: 9.

4 Jack Ryder, “Garden Wall Cleared by Duncan,” Cincinnati Enquirer, June 3, 1921: 6.

5 Jack Ryder, “More Honors Fall to Swat King,” Cincinnati Enquirer, July 26, 1921: 8.

6 Frank B. Grayson, Cincinnati Times Star, May 27, 1935.

7 Greg Rhodes and John Snyder, Redleg Journal (Cincinnati: Road West Publishing, 2000), 215.

8 “Notes of the Game,” Cincinnati Enquirer, June 23, 1929: 26.

9 Greg Rhodes and John Snyder, Redleg Journal, 232.

10 Greg Rhodes and John Snyder, Redleg Journal, 281.

11 Lee Allen, The Cincinnati Reds (New York: G.P. Putnam’s Sons, 1948), 254.

12 John A. Mercurio, A Chronology of Cincinnati Reds Records (Scotch Plains, New Jersey: Kalyn Press, 1993), 3.

13 See the essay “Goat Run” by Greg Rhodes in this volume.

14 Lou Smith, “Clear Fence, or Run It Out.” Cincinnati Enquirer, February 4, 1967: 1.

That compilation is only part of the legacy of the Crosley Field terrace, the infamous slope that extended from the left-field wall toward the infield. The terrace also extended into center and right fields, but the left-field portion was the most notorious section. Although a few other early parks had slopes (including Duffy’s Cliff in Fenway Park), none attained the iconic status of the left-field terrace at Crosley Field.

The left-field terrace extended some 30 feet from the wall, and was six feet high at the wall. This slope was a feature of the ballpark landscape in all the years the Reds played at Crosley Field (which was named Redland Field in its first 22 seasons). The center-field and right-field slopes were added in 1935, although they were not as deep or high. The slope in center field and right field extended some 10 to 12 feet from the wall, and rose about two feet.  Due to its large profile, the left-field terrace was clearly visible from the stands. It often came into play and was much more difficult for outfielders to negotiate than the sections in center and right. And thus it remains the best-remembered feature of the old ballpark.

Redland Field opened in 1912 on the western edge of Cincinnati, in the floodplain of Mill Creek, an Ohio River tributary, on a plot bordered by York Street on the north, Western Avenue on the east, and Findlay Street on the south. The landscape was naturally depressed, as much as six feet below the grade of the surrounding area.

Redland Field was not the first ballpark on this site. The Reds had played there since 1884 when the club first leased the land, an abandoned brickyard, for five years at $2,500 annually.1 The club built four ballparks on this site before abandoning it in 1970 for Riverfront Stadium in downtown Cincinnati.

The earliest known photograph of the slope is from the ballpark called League Park, which opened in 1894. The photograph from August 6, 1898, shows a narrow, steep embankment up against the left-field wall. In 1902, the Reds opened a new park nicknamed “Palace of the Fans,” which, photographs show, retained this slope. The club could have eliminated the slope for new Redland Field in 1912. In fact, an architect’s rendering of the new Redland Field (on the cover of the dedication program from May 1912) shows a level playing field. But not only did club officials leave the embankment in place, they enlarged it well beyond its dimensions in the previous parks.2

It is not known why the club included the expanded terrace, but it was common practice in this era for fans to sit on the field when ballparks were oversold. Embankments helped create the effect of a natural amphitheater. The very first game the Reds played in Redland Field, Opening Day 1912, several dozen fans set on the terrace. And the vast dimensions of Redland Field also meant that few balls would ever be hit so far as to reach the terrace, except after a long roll. Left field was 360 feet from home plate and in the Deadball Era, the “hit ’em where they ain’t” era of “scientific hitting,” players did not swing for the fences. In fact, it was not until 1921 that Reds outfielder Pat Duncan hit the first home run over the left-field wall.

Two memorable events added to the terrace story in 1935. In late May, the Boston Braves, with Babe Ruth in left field, played at Crosley Field. Over the years, the story of Ruth’s surrender to the Crosley terrace has become inflated, with tales of the Babe limping off the field after suffering the humiliation of falling. While none of that seems to have happened, the bulky, 40-year-old Ruth did suffer an injury that helped precipitate his retirement. On May 28, in the final game of a three-game series, he injured his knee chasing a ball. Jack Ryder, the veteran Reds writer for the Cincinnati Enquirer, did not confirm the injury, but reported that the terrace “annoyed” Ruth and he was “slow in fielding base hits.”3 On June 2, back in Boston, Ruth announced his retirement, after a run-in with Braves owner Emil Fuchs over the injury. He said he had hurt his knee in Cincinnati chasing after a ball. “My left knee is all swelled up,” said Ruth, who wanted time off. Fuchs declined and Ruth, who had feuded with Fuchs most of the season, quit on the spot. He never played again.4

Two months after Ruth’s appearance, the Reds hosted the St. Louis Cardinals in a night game on July 31, just the sixth night game in major-league history. The lure of the defending World Series champions and a warm summer evening created overwhelming demand for tickets. The Reds oversold the ballpark, perhaps 5,000 to 10,000 over capacity with 35,000 to 40,000 in the ballpark. Much of the overflow crowd sat on the terrace in left field or up against the fence in center field and right. The crowd constantly inched forward for a better view, sometimes edging far onto the field. In the third inning, unruly fans scampered about the field, bringing a threat from the umpires of a forfeit. After the debacle, the club extended the left-field terrace into center and right fields. The Reds hoped expanding the amphitheater contour of the field would provide clearer boundaries for overflow seating, and facilitate crowd control in the future.5

The shallowness of the center- and right-field slope meant outfielders seldom had to change their fielding strategies. But the deeper and higher left-field terrace provided such a challenge that conventional positioning was ignored. Cleanup hitter or pitcher, some left fielders played them all the same. Reds Jerry Lynch and Art Shamsky both used the same strategy, standing at the base of the terrace. “I played the terrace with my body turned a bit to the left, with my left leg at the base of the hill going up,” recalled Shamsky.6 “It made practical sense to have one foot on it so my first move was either up or down.” The Dodgers’ Tommy Davis always played a few feet up the slope. “The ground comes up quickly when you’re running sideways up a hill, and a few times I ended up on my face,” he said. “So I learned to play deep and come in on balls so I wouldn’t have a problem with the rise.”7

Such tactics did not always work. Frank Robinson recalled struggling with the terrace as a young player, but finding solace in watching Willie Mays fight the terrain.  “In one game against us, Willie ended up with his feet in the air and his back on the ground,” remembered Frank. “And I remember thinking, ‘OK, now I feel good, because it happened to the best.’”8

In the 1940s and 1950s, the club often used the terrace for seating on Opening Day. If ticket sales exceeded 30,000, the club placed wooden folding chairs on the terrace beginning in left field and extending into center and right as the need arose. In left field, the Reds could fit 10 to 12 rows of seats, but only three to four rows in center and right. The club stretched a rope across the front of the seats and any ball that flew or rolled into the temporary seats was a ground-rule double. Given the shallow dimensions of left field (328 feet down the line), these extra seats produced many ground-rule doubles. Jim Greengrass took full advantage on Opening Day in 1954 by hitting four balls into the temporary seats. His four doubles in one game tied the major-league record. (And led to a memorable quip after the game, when general manager Gabe Paul asked his young slugger how he was feeling after his Opening Day exploits. “Ready to negotiate,” came the quick reply.)9

The Reds ended the practice of seating fans on the field in 1959. The business manger in the 1950s, John Murdough, recalled that the cheap hits threatened to make a mockery of the game, and that the lack of facilities created problems. “There were no rest rooms, concessions couldn’t get out there,” Murdough said. “Seats were crowded so close together. Hell, if it rained you were finished. You got wet.”10

The terrace, along with the ballpark, was demolished in the early 1970s after the Reds moved to Riverfront Stadium. For years, the entrance from York Street on the north to the parking lots and businesses that now occupied the Crosley site sloped down several feet, the surviving remnant of the left-field terrace. That slope is now gone, as is Tal Smith’s tribute to the Crosley terrace in the Houston Astros ballpark. Smith, who began his front-office career in Cincinnati, always appreciated Crosley’s quirky features, and he included an incline in the new Houston ballpark, which opened in 2000. But the slope, which became known as “Tal’s Hill,” was removed after the 2016 season to shorten the distance to center field, add more seats, and eliminate a safety risk for the outfielders.

Never fear, the terrace won’t die. A full-scale re-creation of the Crosley terrace lives on in the Cincinnati suburb of Blue Ash. Some 15 miles from the original site, the Blue Ash Sports Center, which opened in 1988, features a baseball field with several Crosley elements, including the terrace.

Sources

In addition to the Sources listed in the Notes, the author also consulted BaseballReference.com and Retrosheet.org.

(Thanks to Mike Weaver, Crosley Field model builder and historian, and Chris Eckes of the Reds Hall of Fame for their contributions.)

Notes

1 Greg Rhodes and John Erardi, Crosley Field: The Illustrated History of a Classic Ballpark (Cincinnati: Road West Publishing, 1995), 14.

2 Photographs in the uncatalogued archives of the Cincinnati Reds Hall of Fame.

3 Jack Ryder, “Lowly Braves Victims as Reds Chalk Up Sixth in Row,” Cincinnati Enquirer, May 29, 1935: 11.

4 “‘I Quit!’ Says Babe Ruth; ‘Fired!’ Replies Braves’ Owner,” Cincinnati Enquirer, June 3, 1935: 14.

5 Greg Rhodes and John Snyder, Redleg Journal: Year by Year and Day by Day With the Cincinnati Reds Since 1866 (Cincinnati: Road West Publishing, 2000), 267-68.

6 Lindsay Berra, “Crosley Field Terrace Had Unique Charm,” July 11, 2015, MLB.com (m.mlb.com/news/article/136100146/crosley-field-terrace-had-unique-charm/).

7 Ibid.

8 Ibid.

9 John Erardi and Greg Rhodes, Opening Day (Cincinnati: Road West Publishing, 2004), 243.

10 Opening Day, 26.

The trapezoidal shape of the street grid bordering Crosley Field yielded a right-field line that was always longer than left field. Since 1938 (when the Reds moved home plate out some 20 feet), the right-field distance stood at 366 feet, the longest in the major leagues (while left field was 328 feet). As the 1946 season approached, Giles decided to give a boost to his offense and brought in the right-field fence some 24 feet, reducing the line distance to 342 feet. The new fence angled in from the line, narrowing in deep right-center where it met up with the old fence in front of the grandstand. At its widest near the foul line, the Goat Run could hold eight additional rows of seats, and altogether provided additional seating for several hundred fans.2

The decision was a little puzzling. The Reds of the late 1940s were not much of an offensive team, and despite the presence of Ewell Blackwell, not much of a pitching threat either. Giles did have a new left-handed bat in the lineup in Grady Hatton and a left-handed slugging prospect in the minors named Ted Kluszewski, but the Reds lacked a powerful lineup that could take much advantage of the shorter fence. But neither could the opposition. In 1949 opposing teams hit only one more home run into the Goat Run than did Cincinnati.3 Hatton failed to benefit, averaging just over eight home runs a year at Crosley Field from 1946 to 1949.

In June of 1950, with the Reds deep in last place, Giles announced that he was removing the Goat Run while the club was on a 16-game road trip. “It’s about time that the baseball people begin to think of the pitchers,” he explained.4 At that point in the season, the Reds were dead last in runs scored and next-to-last in runs allowed. Whatever impact the Goat Run was having on his team was hard to discern, but Giles must have known something. His Reds did play significantly better after the Goat Run was demolished; they were nine games over .500 at home the rest of the season. Perhaps the pitchers were appreciative.

Warren Giles became the president of the National League in September 1951, and owner Powel Crosley Jr. promoted Gabe Paul to the general manager’s job. Paul admittedly loved power, and he resurrected the Goat Run in 1952. Although as Paul admitted, the Goat Run hadn’t seemed to make much difference to the fortunes of the Reds in the 4½ seasons it was in place, and he didn’t think that the Reds’ record in the future would be “materially affected by the new fence.” So why do it? It would give his players more “confidence,” said Paul. The shorter fence would bring Crosley’s dimensions more in line with those of other ballparks. “I think our club, as a whole, will be more confident with a shorter right-field fence to shoot at,” Paul predicted.5

Confidence and talent proved Paul right. The Goat Run remained in place through the 1957 season, and during that six-year stretch Kluszewski blossomed as one of the league’s leading home-run hitters. He was joined by Frank Robinson, Gus Bell, Wally Post, and Ed Bailey to create one of the great power-hitting clubs of the 1950s. The Reds walloped 221 home runs in 1956 to tie the then major-league record. It is not known how many of those home runs landed in the Goat Run, but without it there would have been no record-tying performance.

But the Goat Run began to be viewed as a double-edged sword. Reds pitchers complained about “cheap” home runs. A poll showed most fans wanted to remove the Goat Run, thinking it was hurting the Reds more than helping. With the Reds struggling to develop pitching, Paul agreed. A week before the 1958 season, the Goat Run was dismantled, with Gabe explaining that it was a mental hazard for his pitchers.6 Paul toyed with the idea of bringing the Goat Run back in 1959, but decided against it. “That goat run gives our pitchers claustrophobia,” Gabe concluded, ending a 15-year experiment with Crosley’s dimensions.7

Sources

In addition to the sources listed in the Notes, the author also consulted Baseball-Reference.com and Retrosheet.org.

(Thanks to Mike Weaver, Crosley Field model builder and historian, and Chris Eckes of the Reds Hall of Fame for their contributions.)

Notes

1 Lou Smith, “Giles Kills Homer Fence, Citing Aid to Hurlers,” Cincinnati Enquirer, June 10, 1950: 13.

2 Ibid.

3 Ibid.

4 Ibid.

5 Lou Smith, “Right-Field Wall at Crosley Field to Be Cut Down Again,” Cincinnati Enquirer, December 22, 1952: 32.

6 Earl Lawson, “Tebbetts Has Secret – It is ‘Pinson, R.F.,’” The Sporting News, April 16, 1958: 18.

7 Earl Lawson, “New Boxes at Cincy,” The Sporting News, April 8, 1959: 14.

I had never been to Crosley Field as a kid. I played in Visalia (California) in my first year in the minors and after the season Cincinnati invited me to see a game. It was a rude awakening to see the stadium. It was shaped like a boomerang. I was a left-handed hitter and the farthest part of the ballpark was in right field with the Moon Deck. Then you had center field with a hill, and then there was the fence in left field with the big scoreboard in left-center. The stadium was a big surprise to me. I had played primarily in concentric baseball stadiums with left and right field about the same distance and center field the farthest from the plate. And here I was in a park that was different. In 1960, I played in Sulphur Dell in Nashville and that park had an even more unique shape.

I really enjoyed playing in Crosley Field. It was my home ballpark for six years. I liked it because the fans were right down on the field. There was a fence, maybe three feet high, between the field and the box seats. We’d warm up before the game right next to the fans. We got to know some of them really well. They became our friends. We’d sign autographs right on the field. When we left the ballpark, the fans would be waiting for us and we’d sign more autographs after every game. I remember my wife getting upset because I’d be late after signing autographs and talking to the kids.

We tried to keep the ball down in Crosley because it was so easy to hit home runs to left field and center field. We didn’t do anything special or out of the ordinary to the grass or the foul lines. In Los Angeles, they rebuilt the mound every day. Don Drysdale wanted it low and Sandy Koufax wanted it high. In San Francisco the baselines were sloped out so that you couldn’t bunt, they kept the grass high, and watered it down so much that you couldn’t hit a grounder through the infield. We just didn’t do those things at Crosley.

The dugouts were old-fashioned and there was nothing fancy about them. They didn’t have a tunnel like in a modern ballpark. When you left the dugout, you walked to the outfield and went through the stands to the clubhouse, which was on the second story. And obviously there were no bathrooms in the dugout.

My most vivid memories of Crosley Field are of the fans who were so close to you. The ballplayers today cheat the fans. In today’s stadiums, you have high walls separating players and fans. I remember how loyal our fans were. We had wonderful seasons when I played there. We won the pennant when I was a rookie in 1961 and played the New York Yankees in the World Series. We almost won the pennant again in 1964, the year Hutch [skipper Fred Hutchinson] was diagnosed with cancer and had to resign in August. We were competitive every year I played there.