Erected in 1890 to furnish a home field for Brooklyn’s entry in the upstart Players League, Eastern Park served the ensuing seven seasons (1891-1897) as the base of operations of Brooklyn’s National League club. Handsome, spacious, and well-maintained, the two-tier ballpark was also a versatile venue, accommodating high school, college, and semipro football, soccer, and track and field events. Despite these attributes, the grounds were widely disliked by Brooklyn baseball players, fans, sportswriters, and club executives. Brisk winds regularly swept in from nearby Jamaica Bay, making the ballpark uncomfortably chilly for ballplayers and spectators alike into late July. Odd playing field dimensions — a short porch in left field and a cavernous center field — were another cause of complaint.

But Eastern Park’s primary problem was its location — in the East New York1 section of Brooklyn abutting the border with Queens. This isolated the ballpark from the population core of Brooklyn, then the nation’s fourth largest metropolis, separate and distinct from adjoining New York City.2 Eastern Park was situated about five miles east of convenient and fan-friendly Washington Park, the Brooklyn Bridegrooms’3 erstwhile home in what was then known as South Brooklyn. Beyond walking distance for most of the Grooms’ fan base, a time-consuming rail or horse-drawn trolley trip was needed to reach the new place. Attendance at games at Eastern Park was a disappointment to club ownership, never approaching the throngs attracted to Washington Park. As a result, the club was a money-loser through most of its tenure at Eastern Park.

With the start of the 1898 season approaching, newly installed club president Charles H. Ebbets secured ballpark-suitable property literally across the street from the franchise’s former haunts, and relocated the Grooms to speedily constructed Washington Park III. Abandoned Eastern Park, meanwhile, was slowly dismantled by real estate speculators, with the underlying grounds chopped up into building lots. The property languished on the market until its sale in late December 1898 to local interests who subsequently placed commercial and residential premises upon it. Today, the site of Eastern Park is a neighborhood eyesore, replete with derelict buildings and an automobile junkyard. The story of this short-lived, long forgotten late-19th- century ballpark follows.

The Players League Arrival in Brooklyn and the Construction of Eastern Park

The 1889 season was one of triumph for the Brooklyn Bridegrooms. Under the direction of manager Gunner Bill McGunnigle, the Grooms posted an outstanding 93-44 (.679) record and captured the pennant of the then-major league American Association. Perhaps more important to primary club financial backer Gus Abell, a Manhattan gambler/casino operator who held a majority stake in club stock, some 353,690 spectators had paid their way into Washington Park II, setting a major league attendance record.4 Club revenues were thereafter enhanced by the Grooms’ participation in the 1889 World Series, regrettably lost in nine games to the National League’s New York Giants.

Notwithstanding success on the playing field and at the turnstiles, all was not well in Brooklyn. Fractious and maladroit American Association governance had become insufferable for club co-founder/president Charles Byrne, vexing him into removal of the Brooklyn franchise from the circuit and affiliation with the National League for the 1890 season. New York sports promoter Jim Kennedy thereafter patched together an AA replacement club, the Brooklyn Gladiators. This threadbare outfit gave Byrne and company little concern. Rather, all eyes were focused on an ominous new arrival on the major league scene, the Players League. The brainchild of visionary Giants shortstop John Montgomery Ward, the PL commanded the allegiance of most of the National League’s top playing talent. And its eight franchises were backed by deep-pocketed capitalists.

With the possible exception of New York — where dueling NL and PL clubs played in north Manhattan ballparks separated by no more than a ten-foot-wide alley and the stadium walls — nowhere was the inter-league conflict fiercer than in Brooklyn. Over the winter, the NL Bridegrooms managed to fend off raids on their roster and remained a strong club. Brooklyn’s new Players League team was also formidable, with Ward himself taking the helm. But the investors in the Brooklyn Ward’s Wonders were a peculiar lot, without a baseball enthusiast among them. Instead, their primary interest was real estate. Investment in the Players League team was motivated by the property development possibilities that might attend placement of a major league baseball club in the underdeveloped East New York section (or 26th Ward) of Brooklyn.

On December 6, 1889, the Brooklyn Base Ball Club, Ltd., filed the articles of incorporation necessary to do business as a Players League entry.5 Field manager Ward was a figurehead incorporator. The real money men behind the enterprise were incorporator-stockholders George W. Chauncey, Edward F. Linton, Wendell Goodwin, and John Wallace, all principals of the Ridgewood Land and Improvement Company, a realty business active in East New York development. Given that, their purchase for ballpark construction purposes of a 400 x 900-foot plot of land situated near Eastern Parkway and elevated train stops in East New York was hardly surprising. But the acquisition price was steep: a reported $88,900.6 At an ensuing meeting of club backers, the four property men were elected to executive positions, with Goodwin assuming the club presidency.7 The collective lack of baseball experience among the new club’s leaders and their rather transparent intention of using the PL baseball franchise as a vehicle for development of East New York property was cause for concern from the very start.8 But for the time being, the Chauncey-Goodwin group was just the crew needed to get a new ballpark constructed.9

The ballpark design of architect Walter M. Coots called for “a palatial [two-tier] grandstand … shaped as a partial oval 433 feet long” behind home plate stretching from first base to third, and was initially intended to accommodate 3,200 spectators. At this point, construction and materials costs were unrealistically estimated at $24,950.10 Meanwhile, contracts for the iron works of the largely wooden edifice and grandstand seating were awarded.11 But over the winter, the future ballpark property — then “a plain meadow with an occasional house” situated on it12 — remained dormant. Finally in late February 1890, “the backers of the Brooklyn Brotherhood Club … decided to put a force of men at work on the new grounds,”13 but construction still did not begin for several more weeks. For the time being, only the name of the Brotherhood ballpark was unveiled: Atlantic Park (in honor of the championship Brooklyn Atlantics ball club of the 1860s).14

A building permit was thereafter secured, and erection of Atlantic Park commenced in earnest in mid-March. But the ballpark was far from completion when it opened unofficially on April 10, 1890 with a game between the Wonders and the Five A’s, an amateur team composed mostly of actors. While carpenters continued work on the structure, some 2,500 fans paid their way into the grounds to observe a 24-1 laugher played on a makeshift temporary diamond.15 Of interest, on that same date only 500 fans made the familiar walk to Washington Park to see the NL Brooklyn Bridegrooms trounce the Newark Little Giants of the minor league Atlantic Association. Even fewer fans (300) made the trip to Ridgewood Park II in Queens to see the American Association’s Brooklyn Gladiators throttle a minor league team from Jersey City.16

With the Wonders scheduled to begin the regular season in Boston, work continued at a frantic pace to get the PL ballpark ready. In the interim, a name change was decided. Heeding the complaints of proprietors of nearby premises dubbed Atlantic something — Atlantic Tavern, Atlantic Gardens, Atlantic Casino, etc. — the new Brotherhood ball grounds was rechristened Eastern Park.17 As the home opener drew near, 26 separate boxes and expanded grandstand seating for 5,046 spectators were installed. Completion of bleacher sections swelled the seating capacity to 7,200.18 By then, however, the ballpark building costs had skyrocketed to $150,000.19 And still construction of Eastern Park was not yet completed. Nevertheless, when the Wonders returned from a 2-3 opening road trip, Brooklyn prepared to welcome its new ball club with gala festivities. Then rain washed out the home opener.20

On April 28, 1890, Eastern Park entered the ranks of major league baseball stadiums by hosting the Brooklyn Ward’s Wonders 3-1 victory over the Philadelphia Quakers. Unhappily for club management, the ballpark was little more than half-filled.21 Many of those patrons, moreover, were reportedly annoyed by the hammering of carpenters and other construction noise, as work on the premises continued while the game was in progress. Outfielders, meanwhile, complained about shadows cast by the Eastern Park grandstand, and sportswriters were irked by the ballpark’s lack of press accommodations.22 And though not a factor in the outcome of the home opener, the short (260 feet) left field foul line and the canyon-sized dimensions of center field would soon prove a detriment, skewing game action.

Unfinished construction work — completion of the grandstand; installation of a press box, player locker rooms, and spectator lavatories; landscaping, etc. — was wrapped up when the Wonders returned to the road.23 The ballpark to which the club came home proved a hospitable one: Brooklyn posted an outstanding 46-19 (.715) record in games played at Eastern Park. But a sub-.500 road record (30-37, .447) doomed the Wonders to a second-place finish in final Players League standings. Unhappily for investors, the club proved a keen disappointment in the attendance department, drawing only 79,272 fans (1,254 per home date).24 Indeed, major league baseball as a whole was suffering, plagued by an oversaturation of ball clubs in 1890. As the season came to a close, the National League and American Association were both in financial straits. But the Players League situation was even more unstable, with the circuit teetering on the verge of collapse. Following the example of the NL and PL Giants’ club owners, Wonders ownership opened franchise merger talks with their Brooklyn Bridegrooms counterparts.

While merger discussions were ongoing, Brooklyn’s PL owners garnered some revenue by leasing Eastern Park for autumn sporting events. With a large crowd expected for the late November Yale-Princeton football game, extra bleachers were secured from Philadelphia. Two hours before kickoff, a section of those bleachers collapsed, resulting in numerous injuries and a near panic on the grounds.25 After calm was restored, Yale administered a 32-0 thrashing to the Tigers. In the meantime, the Brooklyn press wondered where its now-consolidated baseball club would play in 1891.26

Consolidation of the Brooklyn Franchises and Relocation of the Bridegrooms to Eastern Park

The deal which effected the consolidation of Brooklyn’s National League and Players League franchises is a headscratcher. With virtually all the bargaining chips in the negotiation on its side, the Bridegrooms’ brain trust agreed to terms that redounded almost entirely to the benefit of the Wonders owners.27 For example, the Chauncey-Goodwin group was accorded a near half-interest in the surviving National League club for the fire sale price of $30,000 (which was never fully paid).28 But the misstep that proved most costly for Charlie Byrne and company was capitulation to the demand that the merged club play its home games at Eastern Park, still viewed by the PL club owners as the linchpin of their real estate speculation in East New York.29 Perhaps the merger’s only redeeming feature for the Grooms — aside from the acquisition of playing manager John Montgomery Ward — was the retention of the capable, baseball-loving Byrne as club president.

The ballpark into which the 1891 Brooklyn Bridegrooms were moving was a handsome, well maintained, if oddly configured, grounds. To normalize Eastern Park’s playing dimensions, Byrne relocated home plate farther away from the grandstand and reoriented the diamond so that the left field foul line was extended to 315 feet.30 This also had the effect of improving the view of game action for fans in the upper deck and rear grandstand seats. Additional improvements facilitated air circulation, while a ladies’ waiting room and a new press box added to the attraction of the premises.31 But Eastern Park remained hamstrung by the one thing that Byrne could not change: geography. The club’s attendance at the not easily accessed ballpark rebounded to 188,477 in 1891. But that was barely half the crowd attracted to Washington Park only two seasons earlier, and the Brooklyn Bridegrooms lost money playing in their new quarters. The defending National League champions did not fare very well in the standings either, falling to a seventh-place finish (61-76, .445). Right-hander Tom Lovett’s 4-0 no-hitter against the Giants on June 22 was doubtless the Eastern Park highlight of the Grooms season.

That fall, Yale football returned to Eastern Park, this time for a game against Columbia. The grounds also served as home field for a Brooklyn semipro eleven, the Crescents. Meanwhile, Bridegrooms club secretary Charles Ebbets was busy promoting Eastern Park as a venue for bicycle races, while club boss Byrne spent the winter denying reports that the Bridegrooms intended to vacate their East New York ballpark for a return to Washington Park. Among other constraints, the club was bound to Eastern Park by the five-year lease that it had signed in late February 1891.32

More renovations preceded the start of the 1892 season. A roof cover and folding chairs turned the right field bleachers into a shaded pavilion for patrons willing to shell out the 50 cents admission fee. Seats in additional bleachers extending from third base into left field went for a quarter.33 Gates at the main entrance to Eastern Park were designated by ticket price, and “a partition inside the fence will serve to separate the classes after they get in the grounds.”34 In time, the Eastern Park seating capacity reached 12,000.35 Meanwhile under Ward’s field leadership, the Grooms rose to third (95-59, .617) in the final standings of the now 12-club National League.36 But advancement did not carry over to the turnstiles; the 1892 home attendance of 183,727 was less than the previous year, and club owners lost another estimated $15,000 that season.37

In an effort to increase revenue generated by Eastern Park, the cycling track was upgraded to a world class one-third-mile oval in spring 1893.38 Wheel competitions were staged when the Grooms were on the road throughout the season.39 This evidently did no harm to the baseball field, described by a Brooklyn newspaper as “pleasing to the eye and much more beautiful than the Polo Grounds. Here, we have a clear-cut diamond, with a lovely green grass infield and outfield.”40 Under the command of new manager Dave Foutz — Ward had moved on to take over the New York Giants — the Grooms slid back to a tie for sixth-place (65-63, .508) in the NL pennant chase. Yet Eastern Park attendance climbed to 235,000 for the season. Still, the club lost money once again that season, and the patience of co-owner Gus Abell, the franchise’s largest individual stockholder and long the club’s financial angel, was wearing thin.41 Never a fan of Eastern Park to begin with and antagonized by the refusal of the Chauncey-Goodwin faction to contribute to club upkeep, Abell began to agitate behind closed doors for the Grooms to return to South Brooklyn. For the time being, however, the club’s lease militated staying in East New York.

The 1894 season saw more of the same: a mid-pack (70-61, .534) campaign on the field, but a 214,000 count at the gate somehow allowed the club to eke out a small profit, its first in five seasons. On the novelty front, club secretary/bowling enthusiast Charles Ebbets placed temporary lanes within the ballpark confines and staged a bowling match involving local keglers.42 A short-lived association football (soccer) league made use of Eastern Park that fall. Meanwhile, Abell was quietly trying to persuade streetcar magnate and erstwhile Players League financier Al Johnson to buy out the Chauncey-Goodwin group, but eventually to no avail.43 Nevertheless, Eastern Park’s status as home grounds of the Brooklyn Bridegrooms had now become tenuous.

Following the 1895 season — a virtual do-over on the field and at the turnstiles for the club — Abell went public with his displeasure with the Eastern Park situation. “I think it is hardly probable that we will renew the lease on Eastern Park,” he declared. The ballpark was “so much out of the way … and we now pay $7,500 a year [in rent] and that is entirely too much. I have a splendid ground in view … where we would have better attendance if they are secured because they are convenient to all parts of the city.”44 Abell declined to identify his prospective relocation spot, but it was presumed that he had Washington Park in mind. Unhappily for Abell, that property was then tied up in litigation and unavailable for the foreseeable future. As a result, club brass was obliged to ink a two-year renewal of the Eastern Park lease.45

Final Seasons

When the lease extension expired, the Brooklyn franchise was still treading water on both the field and at the gate. The Grooms completed the 1897 season with another mediocre record (61-71, .462) and an unprofitable 220,831 box office. But initiatives to relocate the club had been stymied by the failing health of club leader Byrne, who spent almost the entire season at a Virginia spa trying to recuperate. On a positive note, the Chauncey-Goodwin stake in the franchise was bought out by club secretary Ebbets late in the year.46 With that, a constant impediment to transfer of the club from Eastern Park was removed.

On January 4, 1898, 54-year-old Grooms boss Charles H. Byrne succumbed to Bright’s (kidney) disease. Days earlier, Ebbets had succeeded him as Brooklyn club president.47 Like Abell, the new franchise leader advocated abandonment of Eastern Park.48 But Washington Park remained encumbered by legal problems. This necessitated a return to Eastern Park at the outset of spring training in mid-March.49 Only days later, club brass announced that new grounds had been secured just across the intersection where Washington Park II stood.50 While sod was being broken for construction of Washington Park III, the following advertisement appeared in local newsprint:

For Sale, Eastern Park

Situated on Eastern Parkway and lately occupied by the Brooklyn Ball Club, this magnificent tract of land consists of 140 lots of land, with full equipment for exhibition purposes or athletic contests; the rapid improvement in the immediate vicinity will commend it to investors or speculators; no more desirable plot can be found in Kings County; full commission will be paid to any broker who will make the sale. D.&M. Chauncey R.E. Co., Ltd.51

Few mourned the passing of the East New York ballpark. “The removal of Eastern Park has received the stamp of approval not alone from the home enthusiasts, but every official in the league, as it means prosperity not alone to Ebbets but to his associates in other cities,” maintained the Brooklyn Eagle. “The players of other teams are also jubilant, because the more stationary atmosphere in South Brooklyn means increased batting and fielding averages.”52 Unloved by players, club executives, sportswriters, and fans, Eastern Park had nonetheless been a competitive stronghold for the Brooklyn Bridegrooms. Over seven seasons, the Grooms posted an outstanding 295-182 (.619) record in games played at their unappreciated home grounds. The club’s mediocre placements in NL final standings were entirely the product of poor (188-289, .403) road performance.53

On April 30, 1898, some 15,000 fans attended the inauguration of Washington Park III, witnessing a 6-4 Brooklyn loss to Philadelphia. Ironically, the new venue would attract only a paltry 122,514 paid admissions — far fewer than the Grooms’ worst gate during their tenure at Eastern Park. While a bad (54-91, .372) Brooklyn club struggled to a ninth-place finish, its former home was slowly being dismantled. “The Eastern Park track and grounds are no longer the property of the Brooklyn Baseball Club,” reported the Brooklyn Times. The premises “have been put into the hands of real estate dealers who will as soon as possible cut the old grounds up into building lots.”54 The last discovered athletic event to take place there was a high school track and field meet conducted on May 14 during the deconstruction process.55

The Eastern Park site remained on the market until near year-end. Finally in late December 1898, it was announced that lots of various sizes had been sold to assorted buyers for an aggregate $37,950.56 Soon thereafter, all trace of the ballpark disappeared. In ensuing years, streets were cut through the property to stimulate development, but East New York never enjoyed great prosperity. Today, the area contains an unsightly collection of run-down buildings, junkyards, and other urban detritus, with the handsome, if inconveniently located, baseball park that once graced the neighborhood long beyond living memory.

Acknowledgments

This story was reviewed by Rory Costello and Norman Macht and fact checked by Ken Liss.

Sources

Background sources about Eastern Park include Philip J. Lowry, Green Cathedrals: The Ultimate Celebration of Major League and Negro League Ballparks (New York: Walker & Company, 2d ed., 2006), and Andrew Ross and David Dyte, “Eastern Park,” accessible online via BrooklynBallParks.com. Sources for late-19th century baseball in Brooklyn include Andy McCue’s organizational history of the Los Angeles/Brooklyn Dodgers and John G. Zinn’s for Brooklyn’s Players League franchise, both accessible via the SABR website. Specific events involving Eastern Park have been culled from the articles cited in the endnotes, particularly those published in Brooklyn’s four daily newspapers of the 1890s: the Brooklyn Eagle, Times, Standard-Union, and Citizen. Unless otherwise specified, ballpark attendance figures have been taken from Total Baseball, John Thorn, et al, eds. (Kingston, New York: Total Sports Publishing, 7th ed. 2001).

Notes

1 East New York was known as the Town of New Lots before its annexation by Brooklyn in 1886. Some present-day references say that the park stood in the Brownsville neighborhood, which adjoins East New York on the west — see Steven A. Riess, Touching Base (Champaign, Illinois: University of Illinois Press, 1999) and Jeffrey A. Kroessler, New York Year by Year (New York: NYU Press, 2002). This placement is belied by the reportage of Brooklyn newspapers of the era, which invariably placed Eastern Park in East New York, as does such modern authority as Philip Lowry’s Green Cathedrals; Andrew Ross and David Dyte, “Eastern Park”; Andy McCue’s Los Angeles/Brooklyn team ownership history; and John Zinn’s Brooklyn Players League team ownership history. The Eastern Park plot was bounded by Eastern Parkway (now Pitkin Avenue), Vesta Avenue (now Van Sinderen), Powell Street, and Sutter Avenue. See the street map at BroooklynBallParks.com (http://www.covehurst. net/ddyte /brooklyn/eastern _park. html). The spot is on the Brownsville side of what is today’s East New York-Brownsville boundary. At the time of Eastern Park’s existence, however, it was uniformly considered to be located in East New York.

2 At the time, New York City only consisted of Manhattan and parts of the Bronx. Brooklyn and the other outer boroughs of present-day New York City were not incorporated into the city until January 1898. In 1890, New York (2.5 million residents) was the nation’s largest city, followed by rapidly growing Chicago (1.1 million) and Philadelphia (1+ million). Brooklyn (838,537) was the only other American city with a population approaching one million residents.

3 The nicknames attached to 19th century Brooklyn teams were unofficial and included Atlantics, Grays, and Trolley Dodgers. The moniker Bridegrooms was prevalent during the time of Eastern Park’s existence and thus will be the one used herein.

4 This despite a May 19 fire that had destroyed Washington Park I.

5 As reported in “In the Baseball World,” (Brooklyn) Standard-Union, December 7, 1889: 2; “Base Ball in Brooklyn,” Brooklyn Eagle, December 6, 1889: 6; and elsewhere.

6 See “The Sporting World,” Brooklyn Citizen, November 19, 1889: 6. See also, “The New Brooklyn Club,” Sporting Life, December 11, 1889: 5.

7 Per “Players League,” Sporting Life, December 25, 1889: 1. Goodwin, VP Linton, Secretary Wallace, and Treasurer Chauncey, plus Ward formed the ballclub’s board of directors. Later, Brooklyn businessmen Henry J. Robinson and George H. Wirth were added to the board.

8 See e.g., J.F. Donnelly, “Brooklyn Budget,” Sporting Life, December 18, 1889: 2.

9 The need to construct new grounds for the PL club was manifest, as the lease to Washington Park II, the only substantial ballpark then extant in Brooklyn, was held by the National League Brooklyn Bridegrooms. The Brooklyn Gladiators of the American Association, meanwhile, were consigned to playing home games at Ridgewood Park II in neighboring Queens.

10 Per Andrew Bass and David Dyte, “Eastern Park,” accessible on-line via BrooklynBallParks.com. See also, “The Brotherhood Meets,” Brooklyn Times, March 11, 1890: 1.

11 Per J.F. Donnelly, “Brooklyn Budget,” Sporting Life, March 5, 1890: 2. The firms of Howell & Saxon, F.W. Davis & Company, and Brooklyn City Iron Works received the iron works contracts while Andrews Manufacturing Company was retained to supply folding chairs for the grandstand.

12 Same as above. Prior to the Civil War, “baseball as a juvenile pastime” had flourished on the site, per the Brooklyn Eagle, April 20, 1890: 10.

13 According to “Notes of the Diamond,” Brooklyn Citizen, February 26, 1890: 3.

14 Per “Tips from the Diamond,” Brooklyn Citizen, April 2, 1890: 2; “Sport of All Varieties,” Brooklyn Eagle, March 30, 1890: 9.

15 See “In the Sporting World,” Brooklyn Citizen, April 11, 1890: 3; “In the Baseball Field,” Brooklyn Times, April 11, 1890: 5.

16 Per box scores with attendance figures published in the Brooklyn Citizen, April 11, 1890: 3.

17 See “Eastern Park,” Brooklyn Eagle, April 12, 1890: 1; “Baseball,” Standard-Union, April 11, 1890: 3.

18 According to the Brooklyn Eagle, April 28, 1890: 1.

19 Per John G. Zinn, “Brooklyn Players League Team Ownership History,” accessible via the SABR website, and the Brooklyn Eagle, April 23, 1890: 2.

20 Nobody bothered to inform the 23rd Regiment Band of the postponement and the band arrived at Eastern Park in full regalia ready to put on the scheduled pre-game concert. Club VP Edward Linton, “knowing that the musicians would have to be paid for their attendance, threw open the grounds and persuaded the band to go through with the programme for the benefit of the 300 carpenters and laborers at work on the grounds,” per “The Players League,” Brooklyn Eagle, April 27, 1890: 20. See also, “The Decoration Day Road Race,” Sporting Life, May 3, 1890: 1.

21 Locally published box scores placed Eastern Park attendance at 4,750. See e.g., New York Herald, April 29, 1890: 11. Miles distant, only 2,509 paid admissions were recorded for the National League Brooklyn Bridegrooms’ 10-0 win over the Phillies at Washington Park.

22 According to J.F. Donnelly, “A Chain in Figures,” Sporting Life, May 10, 1890: 1.

23 Per “Work at Eastern Park,” Brooklyn Eagle, May 10, 1890: 1.

24 Including two home doubleheaders, per The Encyclopedia of Minor League Baseball, Lloyd Johnson and Miles Wolff, eds. (Durham, North Carolina: Baseball America, 3d ed. 2007), 156. Over the season, the National League champion Brooklyn Bridegrooms (86-43, .667) handily outdrew the Wonders, but the club’s 121,412 season home gate was a massive fall-off from the 353,809 drawn to Washington Park in 1889. Meanwhile, the hapless (26-73, .263) American Association Brooklyn Gladiators drew so poorly at Ridgewood Park that the club relocated to the Polo Grounds in late June. Two months later, the franchise was transferred to Baltimore.

25 See “Almost a Panic,” Brooklyn Eagle, November 28, 1890: 1; “Fixing the Responsibility,” Brooklyn Times, November 28, 1890: 1; “It Collapsed,” Standard-Union, November 28, 1890: 1. Including 18,000 standees admitted to the grounds, around 30,00 spectators attended the game. The outcome of the inevitable lawsuits was undiscovered by the writer (but matters were likely settled out of court).

26 See e.g., “Will We Have a Club?” Brooklyn Times, December 4, 1890: 4.

27 Among other things, the Bridegrooms were the reigning champions of the surviving National League, not the runner-up of a dying circuit, the Players League; Grooms club president was the baseball-astute Charlie Byrne, not the real estate speculators who backed Brooklyn’s PL franchise; the pockets of Grooms financial angel Abell were far deeper than those of the Wonders owners, and the Grooms ballpark (Washington Park II) was situated in a heavily populated Brooklyn neighborhood (Gowanus) familiar and convenient to the great bulk of Brooklyn baseball fans, not in remote, underpopulated East New York.

28 The consolidation plan allotted a 50.4% share of Brooklyn club stock to the National League contingent. The Players League group was accorded the remainder. The latter eventually reneged on payment of $8,000 of the franchise buy-in price.

29 For more detail on the merger of the Brooklyn ball clubs, see Andy McCue, “Los Angeles/Brooklyn Team Organizational History” and John G. Zinn, “Brooklyn Players League Team Organizational History,” both accessible via the SABR website.

30 Other playing field dimensions for Eastern Park are unknown.

31 Per Bass and Dyte, “Eastern Park,” above.

32 See “Eastern Park,” Brooklyn Eagle, January 14, 1892: 6.

33 As reported in “Now, Ward, get a Move On,” Brooklyn Times, April 20, 1892: 1; “Collegians Play Well,” Brooklyn Eagle, April 3, 1892; “Twenty-Five Centers,” Brooklyn Citizen, March 30, 1892: 3; and elsewhere.

34 Per “Home Tomorrow,” Brooklyn Citizen, April 20, 1892: 3.

35 According to Philip J. Lowry, Green Cathedrals: The Ultimate Celebration of Major League and Negro League Ballparks (New York: Walker & Company, 2d ed. 2006), 35.

36 After the American Association expired over the winter of 1891-1892, the National League absorbed four of the AA franchises.

37 According to “Played a Losing Game,” Brooklyn Eagle, October 13, 1892: 2.

38 Per “Sporting Driftwood,” Brooklyn Citizen, March 20, 1893: 3; “Professional Cyclers,” Brooklyn Eagle, March 20, 1893: 5; “Signing the Players,” Brooklyn Eagle, February 27, 1893: 5. As with most franchise expenditures, the $7,000 bill for the track was footed by Grooms co-owner Gus Abell. See “Baseball Matters,” Brooklyn Citizen, February 8, 1894: 3.

39 See e.g., “Good Bicycle Races in Eastern Park,” Brooklyn Eagle, July 7, 1893: 2; “On the Moving Wheel,” Brooklyn Eagle, June 30, 1893: 10.

40 “Baseball,” Standard-Union, May 5, 1893: 3.

41 With Charlie Byrne and brother-in-law/casino operator Joe Doyle, Abell was a co-founder of the Brooklyn club and the bankroller of club expenditures. Although not a great baseball fan, Abell was in for the long haul, having bought out Doyle’s interest in the club in 1889, assuming the position of dominant Grooms stockholder. Fortunately for the ball club, Abell got along well with Byrne and generally deferred to his judgment on club-related matters.

42 Per “Bowling,” Standard-Union, May 14, 1894: 8.

43 See “May Be a Brooklyn Magnate,” Brooklyn Eagle, January 4, 1895: 4.

44 “Brooklyn Club to Move,” Brooklyn Eagle, January 10, 1896: 10. Abell’s displeasure was doubtless heightened by the fact that the Eastern Park rent was paid to the Ridgewood Land and Improvement Company, the realty business of the Chauncey-Goodwin faction of Grooms ownership.

45 See “Will Play in Eastern Park,” Brooklyn Eagle, January 16, 1896: 1.

46 For more on the sale particulars, see John G. Zinn, Charles Ebbets: The Man Behind the Dodgers and Brooklyn’s Beloved Ballpark (Jefferson, North Carolina: McFarland, 2019), 90-92. The stock purchase was underwritten by Henry Medicus, a wealthy Brooklyn furniture dealer and an Ebbets bowling pal.

47 Per “Ebbets to Control the Brooklyn Club,” Brooklyn Eagle, January 2, 1898: 22.

48 See “Work Ahead for Ebbets,” Brooklyn Eagle, January 31, 1898: 5; “Ebbets Talks of New Grounds,” Brooklyn Times, January 19, 1898: 8.

49 See “Ball-Players Ready,” Brooklyn Times, March 14, 1898: 2; “Baseball,” Standard-Union, March 14, 1898: 7.

50 Per “A Boom for Base Ball,” Brooklyn Eagle, March 16, 1898: 5; “New Ball Grounds,” Brooklyn Times, March 15, 1898: 2; “Brooklyn Club’s New Grounds,” Brooklyn Eagle, March 15, 1898: 18.

51 Brooklyn Eagle, March 19, 1898: 11. A similar ad was published in the Standard-Union. Note also that on January 1, 1898, the City of Brooklyn had passed out of existence, becoming a borough of newly expanded New York City. The Borough of Brooklyn and Kings County were coterminous.

52 “Cranks Getting Ready,” Brooklyn Eagle, April 10, 1898: 33.

53 Per Retrosheet, “Eastern Park in Brooklyn, NY,” accessible via the SABR website. Including the home record of the 1890 Brooklyn Players League club raises the Eastern Park home team record to 339-201, .623.

54 “The L.I.I.A League Meeting,” Brooklyn Times, April 2, 1898: 9.

55 See “St. Paul’s by 24 Points,” Brooklyn Eagle, May 15, 1898: 33.

56 As reported in “Real Estate News,” Standard-Union, December 6, 1898: 6. The aggregate purchase price was well above the $17,500 assessed value of the property.

But that wasn’t the sparkplug catcher’s first appearance at the “House that Ruth Built.” On July 20, 1968, a small contingent of early-arriving fans for the game between the Yankees and Cleveland Indians got an advance look at the young man who became the American League 1970 Rookie of the Year, the 1976 AL Most Valuable Player, the Yankees’ first captain since Lou Gehrig, and one of the finest catchers of the 1970s. As a bonus, it was Bat Day, so some of those prescient fans went home with a tangible souvenir as well as a unique memory.1

The Binghamton Triplets, the Yankees’ farm team in the Double-A Eastern League, played a regular-season game against the Waterbury Indians at Yankee Stadium prior to the major-league game between the Yankees and Indians. Munson, 21 years old, went 1-for-3 and reached on an error as Binghamton beat Waterbury 3-1.

The Triplets had played a regular-season game at Yankee Stadium once before, on August 20, 1966, when they matched up against the New York Mets’ Auburn (New York) affiliate. That game turned into a pitchers’ duel between future major leaguers Mickey Scott of Binghamton and Jerry Koosman of Auburn. Binghamton pulled out a 2-1 win on a seventh-inning solo home run by left fielder Al Otto.

The 1968 game brought together the Eastern League’s bottom-dwelling teams. Binghamton held fifth place in the six-team loop with a 40-48 record, 15 games out of first place. Waterbury brought up the rear at 33-54, 21½ games out.2 While 38,224 fans turned out for the Yankees-Indians game and the Bat Day giveaway, news coverage did not specify how many of them showed up early for the underwhelming minor-league matchup.

The Triplets’ appearance gave several future major leaguers a glimpse of the big time, including Munson’s Binghamton batterymate, starting pitcher Steve Kline. The 20-year-old righty from Washington state went just 5-6 in 14 starts at Double A that season but threw three shutouts and posted a 2.03 ERA.3 News stories at the time compared Kline’s pitching style to that of fellow Washingtonian Mel Stottlemyre, then the Yankees’ ace.4

The 1968 season was a “Year of the Pitcher” in the Eastern League as well as the majors. The league’s batters hit a cumulative .220. The Triplets hit a puny .210 as a team, and Waterbury hitters trailed the loop with a collective .208 average.

Munson, the Yankees’ first-round pick in the June 1968 draft from Kent State University, drew attention by bucking that trend. Over his first month as a professional, he batted .348, hitting safely in 14 straight starts, at a time when no other EL starter was batting better than .292. He also caught four shutouts and four one-run games during that period.5 Munson cooled off slightly the rest of the way but ended the season hitting .301 with 6 home runs and 37 RBIs in 71 games.6 He was the only batter in the league with more than 140 at-bats to hit .300 or higher. “This is an exciting ballplayer, believe you me,” manager Cloyd Boyer enthused.7

Other starters on July 20 who reached the majors were Triplets shortstop Jim Kennedy and three Waterbury players—third baseman Sam Parrilla, shortstop Lou Camilli, and catcher Fran Healy. Healy later donned Yankee pinstripes as Munson’s backup between May 1976, when the Kansas City Royals traded him to New York, and May 1978, when injuries ended his career. Healy then joined the team’s broadcast booth from 1978 to 1983.8

Binghamton’s 5-foot-6 second baseman, Matt Galante, a Brooklyn native, peaked at Triple A as a player but reached the majors as a coach for 19 seasons with the Houston Astros and Mets. Galante also served as Houston’s interim manager for 27 games in 1999 during the illness of manager Larry Dierker. Galante was the only member of the Triplets team that had played at Yankee Stadium two years earlier to play there again in 1968.

Despite their affiliation with the Yankees, Binghamton played as the visiting team at Yankee Stadium because the game took the place of a home date for Waterbury.9 The game started at 11:15 a.m.10

After a scoreless first inning, cleanup hitter Munson began the second by banging a solid single into left field in his first Yankee Stadium at-bat.11 He subsequently scored the game’s first run. News accounts don’t provide details, but the box score indicates that the run was unearned and none of the ensuing Triplets batters were credited with an RBI. Waterbury committed four errors that day—two by catcher Healy, two by second baseman John Sandknop—while Binghamton fielded flawlessly.12

Kline opened the top of the third by singling off Waterbury starter Ron Constantino, a righty who had been the Indians’ third-round pick in the June 1965 amateur draft. Constantino had won 12 games at Double A the previous season, and split his time in 1968 between Double A and Triple A. It was the highest level he reached in a six-season pro career. The Binghamton newspaper noted that Constantino came “from a town in Massachusetts named Munson,” which might have been humorous if it were true. (The pitcher’s hometown, about 15 miles east of Springfield, is called Monson.)

Kennedy followed Kline’s single by lining a ground-rule double into the right-field stands, putting runners on second and third. Three batters later, Munson grounded to second base, where Sandknop muffed it. Kline crossed the plate on the error to give Binghamton a 2-0 advantage.

Binghamton added an insurance run in the seventh, the only earned run charged to Constantino in his eight-inning stint. Kennedy drew a two-out walk, stole second base, and scored the third and final Triplets run on Galante’s single.

In the Waterbury eighth, Gomer Hodge, who reached the majors with Cleveland three seasons later, pinch-hit unsuccessfully for Constantino. Gary Kroll, a former Phillie, Met, and Astro trying to return to the majors, pitched a shutout ninth for the Indians.13

Kline needed an economical 89 pitches to stifle the Indians, scattering four hits. Two came in the fourth inning, representing Kline’s only real jam, but he emerged unscathed.14 The only blemish on Kline’s outing came in the seventh inning, when 6-foot-4, lefty-swinging first baseman Steve Wrenn lashed a pitch into the right-field seats for his 20th home run of the season between Class A and Double A. It was also his last four-bagger of 1968.15

Kline struck out the final two batters in the ninth to end the game in 2 hours and 2 minutes. He struck out six and walked none in pitching his fifth straight complete game. Constantino, who took the loss, walked three and struck out seven. In the day’s second game, Cleveland’s Luis Tiant held the Yankees hitless for six innings, ending up with a complete-game three-hit shutout in a 3-0 Indians win.

After the game, New York Times reporter Gerald Eskenazi spotted Munson in the Yankees’ dressing room, waiting to meet Mickey Mantle—“Mr. Mantle,” Munson called him. The two Yankee legends never played side by side, as Mantle retired after the 1968 season.16 Munson admitted to some nervousness playing at Yankee Stadium. “We play before 500 people at Binghamton,” he said.17

The 1968 season was the last year the Yankees operated an affiliate in Binghamton, ending a relationship that dated to 1932 with a few interruptions. The Triplets’ aging home, Johnson Field, was torn down after the season to make way for a highway,18 and the Yankees moved their Double-A team to Manchester, New Hampshire. Previous Yankee greats who passed through Binghamton on their way up included Spud Chandler, Whitey Ford, and Bobby Richardson; Munson would be the last. “Probably no Triplet catcher in history looked more like a major-leaguer,” a veteran Binghamton sportswriter summarized.19

Acknowledgments

This story was fact-checked by Laura Peebles and copy-edited by Len Levin.

Photo credit: Trading Card DB.

Sources and photo credit

In addition to the specific sources cited in the Notes, the author consulted Baseball-Reference.com and Retrosheet.org for general player, team, and season data.

Neither Baseball-Reference nor Retrosheet provides box scores of minor-league games, but the July 21, 1968, edition of the Binghamton Sunday Press published a box score.

Notes

1 Jim Schlemmer, “Tiant Continues Mastery of Yanks on 3-Hitter,” Akron (Ohio) Beacon Journal, July 21, 1968: B1.

2 Eastern League standings as printed in the Binghamton (New York) Evening Press, July 20, 1968: 8.

3 Kline also started five games with Fort Lauderdale of the Class A Florida State League in 1968, going 1-4 with a 3.90 ERA.

4 “First in the Hearts of his Countrymen” (photo and caption), Binghamton Sunday Press, July 21, 1968: 1C. Stottlemyre won 21 games in 1968, his second of three 20-win seasons, and made his third of five All-Star teams.

5 “Munson Is Eastern ‘Swinger,’” Akron Beacon Journal, July 21, 1968: B5.

6 Munson tied with outfielder Joe Pactwa for the team lead in RBIs, though Pactwa played 31 more games and had almost 100 more plate appearances than Munson. Pactwa briefly made the majors as a pitcher with the California Angels. Munson ranked third on the 1968 Binghamton team in home runs. Again, the players ahead of him—infielder Ed Gagle with 12, and outfielder Johnnie Fenderson with 9—played significantly more games than Munson did.

7 “Munson Is Eastern ‘Swinger.’”

8 Alan Cohen, “Fran Healy,” SABR Biography Project, accessed May 3, 2023. Healy played in only one game for the Yankees in 1978, on April 21; he was released on May 10. After leaving the Yankees’ broadcast team, Healy called Mets games from 1984 through 2005.

9 Newspapers from July 1968 confirm that the teams were scheduled to play in Waterbury on Friday, July 19, but were rained out, and played in Waterbury on Sunday, July 21. Associated Press, “Reading Phillies Lose 1-0 Decision at Elmira,” Lebanon (Pennsylvania) Daily News, July 20, 1968: 15; “Binghamton Defeats Waterbury,” Berkshire Eagle (Pittsfield, Massachusetts), July 22, 1968: 20. Waterbury is about 80 highway miles from the Bronx.

10 Gerald Eskenazi, “Indians Score, 3-0,” New York Times, July 21, 1968: 1S.

11 Munson’s final Yankee Stadium at-bat took place on July 24, 1979, as he drew a fourth-inning walk off California Angels pitcher Mike Barlow. Jerry Narron subsequently replaced Munson in the game. Munson appeared in five more games on the road before his death on August 2 in an airplane crash.

12 Unless otherwise noted, all game action in this story is based on “Kline-to-Munson Unveiling a 3-1 Stadium Success,” Binghamton Sunday Press, July 21, 1968: 1C, and the accompanying box score.

13 Kroll did not make it back to the majors in 1968 but pitched in 19 games for the Indians in 1969 in his final major-league action. He continued to play in the minors until 1971.

14 The Binghamton paper’s account does not specify who collected the two hits in the fourth inning. The box score credits left fielder Pete Sarron, right fielder Johnny Scruggs, first baseman Steve Wrenn (who homered), and shortstop Camilli with collecting Waterbury’s four hits. It seems most likely that Sarron and Scruggs collected the fourth-inning hits, based on the team’s batting order.

15 Wrenn, a product of Wake Forest University, hit 24 homers for Waterbury in 1969 and 19 more for the Indians’ Double-A team in Savannah, Georgia, in 1970. He hit only .221 and .198 at the Double-A level in those seasons, respectively, and 1970 was the last of his four seasons in pro ball.

16 Mantle and Munson shared a clubhouse for part of the 1970 season, during which Mantle served briefly on the Yankees’ coaching staff.

17 Eskenazi, “Indians Score, 3-0.”

18 Kurt Blumenau, “Johnson Field,” SABR Biography Project, accessed May 3, 2023.

19 John Fox, untitled column, Binghamton Evening Press, April 30, 1969: 1C.

By 3:30 game time, the ancient wooden grandstand was already overflowing with a crowd easily twice the size of Parksley’s 600 souls. They had filled the seats early and were entertained by the Onacock Band while waiting for league officials and other local dignitaries to join the two teams in a parade to the center-field flag-raising ceremonies. By the time the Spuds took the field and home plate umpire Arthur Cloak called “play ball,” the fans had long been on their feet.

Few were giving Parksley much of a chance. Al- though Spuds manager Thomas “Poke” Whalen had put together a decent team that won the 1922 pennant by six games over Cambridge, the Spuds were decided underdogs. The swaggering Martinsburg team had bludgeoned their way to the Blue Ridge League title with sluggers George “Reggie” Rawlings and Lewis “Hack” Wilson terrorizing their opponents. The visitors had come to this isolated Eastern Shore village ready to show the upstart Parksley lads who really was the boss of Class D baseball in the Bay region. Time for talk was past and braggin’ rights were on the line.

The answer was quick in coming. Martinsburg rocked veteran Parksley right-hander Frank Hummer for four home runs and took a convincing 8–3 win in the opening game before a disappointed crowd of 1,445 fans. Blue Sox pitcher Hank Hulvey allowed the Spuds only four hits.

The next day was a repeat, with Martinsburg taking a 3–0 decision. Walter “Yap” Seaman doled out three measly singles and shortstop Johnny Brehany supplied the only needed run with a first-inning drive over the left-field fence.

The series moved to Salisbury on September 9, where a large crowd of 2,229 jammed Gordy Park to watch a close and exciting game go to Martinsburg 2—1 in eleven innings. Ross Roberts of Martinsburg and John Clayton of Parksley staged a classic pitchers’ duel, each allowing only six hits.

The Blue Sox winning run came when third baseman Joe Brophy scored on Breheny’s suicide squeeze bunt.

Two days later at Martinsburg, the Blue Sox completed a four-game sweep, again shutting out Parksley 4–0 behind lefty Kirk Heatwole. Rawlings’s home run and a triple play by the Blue Sox highlighted the action as rain shortened the game to six innings and held the home attendance at Rosemont Park to 1,196.

Martinsburg won the 1922 Five-State Series with clearly superior hitting and pitching. The Parksley club battled hard and kept the games close, for the most part. More importantly, Eastern Shore fans were solidly behind their team. The series drew a total attendance of 5,617, with the winning team players pocketing $176.92 each. The losers’ share was $1 7.92. Not bad for an extra week’s work in those days. It showed both leagues that a postseason series could be a financial success, something of real significance to struggling Class D baseball operators, not to mention the players.

THE BAY BASEBALL RIVALRY BEGINS

The Five-State Series originated as the brainchild of Baltimore Sun sports editor J. Edward Sparrow, who conceived the idea of promoting a “Baseball Championship of Maryland” in the summer of 1921. His proposal would feature the winner of the Blue Ridge League, a well-established circuit of towns in western Maryland and nearby parts of West Virginia and southern Pennsylvania, and the independent Eastern Shore League, long a hotbed of amateur baseball, eager to show it could compete on a faster professional level.

Sparrow’s idea was quickly taken up by J. Vincent Jamison Jr., a Hagerstown industrialist and president of the Blue Ridge League. Jamison was an able administrator who had kept the league in business since 1916 and tirelessly promoted it as a model of Class D stability (no mean feat for the chronically underfunded small-town ball clubs). Jamison was also well known in Organized Baseball circles, serving as the smaller Class D clubs’ representative on the National Board of Arbitration of the National Association of Professional Baseball Leagues. He was a close personal friend of Commissioner Judge Kenesaw M. Landis, American League President Ban Johnson, and Philadelphia Athletics owner Connie Mack, whose son Earle managed Martinsburg to the Blue Ridge League championship in 1922 and 1923. Moreover, he was also advising Eastern Shore baseball interests on the process for gaining Organized Baseball recognition.

The Sun newspaper sponsored a 1921 series be- tween Frederick, the Blue Ridge League champion, and tiny Princess Anne, representing the independent Eastern Shore League, the predecessor to the 1922 Class D league. Although largely ignored by Organized Baseball people, the series was a huge regional success. Frederick won this initial series four games to one, with the final game played on September 10, 1921, at Oriole Park in Baltimore, before an estimated crowd of 10,000 fans. The two teams played a meaningless second game that Sunday afternoon, which Frederick also won.

Although Princess Anne lost, its local hero Dick Porter was on his way to a major-league career. In fact, Porter had already been sold to Jack Dunn’s Baltimore Orioles and had been “loaned” back to Princess Anne for the series. It was not enough to keep Frederick from winning, but the excitement generated in the postseason matchup was enough to convince the Sun to continue its sponsorship. When Martinsburg and Parksley won their respective pennants in 1922, Sparrow realized it was no longer solely a Maryland affair and it became the Five-State Series, covering Delaware, Virginia, West Virginia, and Pennsylvania as well as Maryland.

The Five-State series was well covered by the newspapers. Ed Sparrow, of course, was there for every game, writing for the Sun. Local papers like the Martinsburg Evening Journal, the Hagerstown Morning Herald, the Dover Index, and the Cambridge Daily Banner gave extensive inning-by-inning game summaries as well as daily and composite box scores of every game. Front-page headlines and player photographs were prominently displayed, especially when the home team won. In short, the Five-State Series was big news for local baseball fans.

This intense interest created well-received recognition. The players and the leagues not only gained badly needed revenues, but the winning clubs also received the Ned Hanlon Cup and the Ban Johnson Five-State Pennant for its achievements. Individual players received miniature gold baseball medals presented by the Sun newspaper. Medals were also awarded to the Most Valuable Player from both teams participating in the postseason games.

The Five-State Series also benefited from the appearance of many notable baseball figures. Commissioner Landis, Ban Johnson, Connie Mack, Jack Dunn, and Mike Sexton, the president of the National Association of Professional Baseball Leagues, often attended games. Other major-league owners and scouts showed up to look for baseball talent on display. Although it was lowly Class D ball, the series (while it lasted) attracted an audience of fans and baseball people all out of proportion to its limited provincial base.

The series had several unique features that helped to widen its appeal. Games were often played at neutral sites in hopes of attracting more fans. Salisbury, the largest town on the Eastern Shore, was particularly favored, where Gordy Park drew the largest crowds. Games were also played at Easton in 1924 and 1926. Final deciding games were played on neutral grounds at Chambersburg in 1924, Baltimore in 1925, and Salisbury in 1927.

The leagues also permitted each team to add up to two additional players to their postseason roster. This was allowed to strengthen the lineup (pitchers were often in demand) or to compensate for late-season injuries. On more than one occasion, added players made a big difference. In 1924, a young catcher named Jimmie Foxx (spelled with one x in the box scores and stories of the era) played for Easton during the regular season. Picked up by Parksley for the postseason, Foxx wreaked havoc on Martinsburg, blasting four home runs and batting .391 in six games. Paul Richards, a future major-league manager and a Crisfield addition to the Parksley lineup in 1927, did even better, hitting .463 with five homers and winning three games single-handedly with his bat.

THE BLUE RIDGE LEAGUE

Although only a short distance from the bustling urban centers of Philadelphia, Baltimore, and Washington D.C., the Blue Ridge country was geographically and culturally a world away. Old factory, coal mining, and railroad towns occupied narrow valleys flanked by apple and peach orchards on the slopes of the surrounding Allegheny Mountains. It was a land only a few generations removed from searing Civil War conflict at places like Gettysburg, Antietam, and South Mountain.

Hagerstown, the largest city in the region, lay at the hub of a network of rail and trolley lines that linked it to Martinsburg to the south, Frederick to the east, and Chambersburg to the north.

Early town baseball teams cemented these connections and fierce rivalries developed. The Blue Ridge League was formed in 1915 with Hagerstown and Frederick, Maryland, Martinsburg, West Virginia, and Chambersburg, Hanover, and Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, as the original members. The compact little circuit prospered, faltering briefly in 1918 when Gettysburg left and Chambersburg was replaced by Cumberland, Maryland. It emerged stronger than ever in 1920 when Chambersburg returned and Waynesboro, Pennsylvania, joined. In a remarkable display of stability, the same six towns comprised the Blue Ridge League for the next decade without a change in franchises, an almost unheard-of feat at the Class D baseball level.

The success of the Blue Ridge League was due in large part to the guidance of President Jamison, whose firm hand kept quarreling owners and unhappy players under control. Such was the respect for Jamison’s abilities that when he attempted to resign in 1924 to pursue other business interests, the owners quickly came to their senses, overcame their differences, and implored him to stay on the job.

Along with the league’s reputation for stability, its proximity to major East Coast cities and location at the center of a baseball-rich area meant major-league baseball clubs were always ready to stock Blue Ridge League teams with prospects. The league was the incubator for such early baseball greats as Lefty Grove, Jimmie Dykes, Joe Boley, Lu Blue, Bill Sherdel, and Hack Wilson. Later on, Joe Vosmik, Roger Cramer, Luke Hamlin, and Babe Phelps would get their starts in the Blue Ridge League. Connie Mack had a close connection with the Martinsburg team, often sending players down for added seasoning and acquiring others for his Philadelphia Athletics. Jack Dunn of the Baltimore Orioles also kept a close eye on Blue Ridge prospects.

THE EASTERN SHORE LEAGUE

In marked contrast to the well-established Blue Ridge League, the Eastern Shore League traveled a rocky road in its early years. Formed out of the same strong local baseball rivalries that existed everywhere in the early days of the century, the Eastern Shore League suffered from its relative geographic isolation and the incredibly small population bases of its league towns.

The Chesapeake Bay eastern peninsula, consisting of parts of Maryland, Delaware, and Virginia, was an insular world in the 1920s, with its own unique set of customs and traditions, a land peopled by fishermen and farmers who spoke their own distinctive Tidewater dialect. Accessibility to its shores was primarily by ferry from Annapolis or Baltimore. The largest towns, Salisbury and Cambridge, claimed barely 10,000 residents, and time passed slowly along their streets in the lazy, hot summers.

Baseball was one of the few pastimes the local folks enjoyed. Every crossroads and village had a team. When the interested parties gathered at Salisbury in October 1921 to discuss the formation of a professional league, everyone wanted in. As a result, the small towns of Pocomoke City, Crisfield, and Parksley, with populations of less than 1,000, were admitted to the fold. Although baseball fever in these tiny communities was undoubtedly high, in time the small populations were the Eastern Shore League’s downfall. The fan support base simply was not enough, and ballclub owners lost money every year.

In 1922, the Eastern Shore League was sanctioned for play by Organized Baseball as a Class D circuit. The six original members were Salisbury, Cambridge, Pocomoke City, and Crisfield, Maryland, Parksley, Virginia, and Laurel, Delaware. Interested towns like Centreville and Easton, Maryland, and Milford, Delaware, were thought to be too far north of the league’s center. As a result, the league took on a more southern tilt, a geographic feature that eventually proved unworkable.

The league was plagued by a host of problems— on and off the field—in its early years. Fan rowdyism, teams failing to show for games, and disputes over poor umpiring were rampant. Violation of player salary limits and use of excessive numbers of “class” or more experienced players were commonplace. Owners tried to expand the league to eight teams in 1923, but that ill-advised experiment failed when Milford and Pocomoke City quit before the end of the season— Milford on July 14, Pocomoke City on August 21. League presidents, first Walter Miller, then M. B. Thawley and Harry Rew, tried to instill order but it was too little and too late. When the Great Depression arrived on the Eastern Shore ahead of the rest of the country, the league could no longer stay afloat, and in July 1928, the first Eastern Shore League closed its gates. It was later revived in 1937 and, except for the war years of 1942–45, lasted until 1949.

Despite its problems, the Eastern Shore League produced many future major-league players in its early years. Among these, in addition to Foxx, Richards, and Porter were Mickey Cochrane, George Selkirk, Clint Brown, and Red Ruffing. Frank “Home Run” Baker, a Shore native, played and managed at Easton in 1924, after his major-league playing days were over.

It could be argued that the Five-State Series did more than anything else to keep the Eastern Shore League going as long as it did. It brought in badly needed revenue to ease the clubs’ financial burdens. It sustained fan interest with exciting, competitive baseball in a spirited regional rivalry. Finally, especially when the Eastern Shore team won the series, it raised a glimmer of hope for fans that, maybe, next year on the Shore things would be a little bit brighter.

1923—DOVER’S STUNNING COMEBACK

After the humiliating losses in 1921 and 1922, Eastern Shore League followers were beginning to wonder if they were in over their heads. Martinsburg, their most recent tormentors, were back again. The Blue Sox won their league title easily, finishing 15 games ahead of Waynesboro. Their opponent in this year’s series was the Dover Senators, a surprise winner who rode a late- August winning streak to overtake Cambridge for the shore championship.

The series opened on September 7 at Martinsburg’s Rosemont Park, with 1,380 fans on hand. Veteran Reggie “Doc” Rawlings homered twice to back Horace Ozmer’s six-hit pitching to give the Blue Sox a 5–4 win. Sloppy fielding hurt the Dover cause, and the local paper predicted a Martinsburg series win in five games at best.

The next afternoon Hank Hulvey outpitched Dover right-hander Ira Plank to give Martinsburg a 4–1 victory and a two-game edge in the series. Rawlings and George Quellich homered for the Blue Sox. As the teams left for Dover, it looked like the hometown newspaper folks might be right about a short series.

A sizeable contingent of Martinsburg fans motored down to Dover via Wilmington, confident of their team’s chances. Dobbins manager “Jiggs” Donahue called on local boy Fred Willey to take the mound for Game 3. Donahue’s choice proved a smart one, as Wil- ley, with the vocal backing of Delaware Governor William Denney and 1,492 Dover fans, shut down the hard-hitting Blue Sox 4–1. The Dobbins’ defense sparkled in support of Willey.

First-game starters Ozmer and Charley Humphrey squared off again in Game 4. This time the result was different. Dover first baseman Harvey McDonald’s grand slam fueled a six-run rally in the fifth inning as the Dobbins took a wild 10–6 win to even the series. Dover catcher Frank King (aka Mickey Cochrane) was ejected for arguing a called third strike and grabbing umpire Sipple. His actions provoked a near-riot in the crowd of 1,315 and visibly rattled the visiting Blue Sox. Game 5 was played at Salisbury, where the largest turnout of the series (2,320) saw Ira Plank handcuff Martinsburg on five hits to earn a 5–2 win. Dover played without King, who was suspended for the game and fined $25 for his outburst the previous day. Home runs by Leonard Schaeffer and Art Sullivan broke open a close game and gave the Dobbins the series lead.

Willow Lane Park in Hagerstown was the neutral site for Game 6 on September 14. Martinsburg manager Earle Mack used his entire roster in a vain attempt to stem the Dover tide. The Dobbins abused four Blue Sox hurlers for 1 hits in a 9–5 series clincher. Willey won his second game over a disappointed Martinsburg club.

The year 1923 was a pivotal year in the Five-State Series. A total of 9,1 5 fans attended the six games, nearly 50 percent more than the previous year. The surprising Dover win proved the Eastern Shore League could compete on the field with its more renowned sister circuit to the west. For Blue Ridge supporters it was a wake-up call. In the future, the Five-State Series would be a war—not a walkover.

1924—PARKSLEY GETS REVENGE

The 1924 series was a rematch of the 1922 participants. Martinsburg, under new manager Pete Curtis, continued its dominance of the Blue Ridge League, taking its third-straight crown.

It wasn’t easy this time as they nipped Hagerstown by the narrowest of margins—.002 percentage points. Parksley, too, had a fight on its hands, beating hard-luck Cambridge by one game.

Parksley didn’t take long to make a statement. Before 1,479 appreciative fans, the Spuds mauled Martinsburg 17–0 in the series opener. Catcher Jimmie Foxx blasted two long home runs to lead the Spuds assault. Veteran Frank Hummer allowed only four hits in, coasting to an easy shutout.

Martinsburg came back strong in Game 2 as lefty Charles Willis blanked Parksley 8–0 on two hits. The Blue Sox collected 14 hits off three Spuds pitchers. Rawlings homered and catcher Art “Woody” Woodring added a pair of doubles to lead Martinsburg. Rain held the crowd down to 949, and the game was called after eight innings.

Another postseason Parksley pickup, pitcher Tom Glass, tossed a six-hit, 7–1 win at Easton in Game 3.

A standing-room-only crowd of 1,748 watched local hero Foxx (who played with Easton during the regular season) launch a three-run homer in the first inning to give the Spuds all the runs they needed. Blue Sox starter Ed Andrews failed to last through the fourth inning and took his second loss in the series.

Back in the friendly confines of Rosemont Park on September 8, Martinsburg carved out an 1 –4 victory to even the series. Willis was the beneficiary of a 17- hit barrage, sparked by home runs from Dave Black and Denny Sothern. Every player in the Blue Sox lineup hit safely as they scored in every inning except the first and fourth to secure an easy win.

A sparse crowd of 519 hardy fans braved the cold and wet weather on September 9, as Frank Hummer again showed his mastery over the Blue Sox in a convincing 8–2 triumph. Ralph Mattis’s three-run homer and five runs scored on Martinsburg errors in the ninth inning sealed the Parksley win. Ed Sherling’s two-run homer in the bottom of the ninth spoiled Hummer’s bid for a second straight shutout.

The series moved to Chambersburg for Game 6. The change didn’t help Martinsburg as Glass, with re- lief help from Hummer, gave Parksley a 6–3 clinching win and evened the Five-State Series at two wins apiece. Again wintry weather kept the crowd of 379 in overcoats. Spuds first baseman Charley Fitzberger had three hits and outfielder John Goetzel added a home run to lead a 16-hit attack on Blue Sox pitchers Steve Adamson and Ed Andrews.

It was a dramatic reversal from 1922. From the opening game rout, Parksley soundly outplayed its rival. With Fox batting .391 with four homers, Goetzel (.391, three homers), Fitzberger (.363), and Hiller (.360) all helping out, the Spuds were in complete control. Martinsburg had no answer to Hummer and Glass, who each won two games for manager “Poke” Whalen’s boys. When Parksley carried away the Ban Johnson pennant, the Five-State Series was dead even.

1925—HAGERSTOWN HOLDS ON

Two new faces took the field for the 1925 series. After three seasons as runner-up in the Eastern Shore League race, Cambridge finally broke through. Manager Ted Smith’s Canners beat Parksley by 3½ games as John Trippe, Tom Glass, and Carl Fischer headed up a strong pitching staff. Hagerstown represented the Blue Ridge League as manager Ray Werre’s Hubs held off second-place Frederick to qualify for the annual postseason battle.

The series opened at Hagerstown on September 10. A Willow Lane Park crowd of 1,419 saw the home team

scratch out a 7–4 win behind right-hander Joe Zubris. A three-run homer by manager Werre in the bottom of the eighth inning snapped a 4–4 tie. The Hubs had to overcome five errors to hand Tom Glass the loss.

Cambridge jumped on Hagerstown’s Al Kendricks for eight runs in the third inning of Game 2 en route to an 1 –6 victory. Canner pitcher Curt Gordy homered to cap the early outburst. Outfielder Leo Strickler added four hits, including a pair of doubles and a home run. Gordy was credited with the win, pitching in relief of starter John Shellberg.

After his rough outing the previous day, Al Kendricks was back on the mound in Game 3. Hubs manager Werre’s move was vindicated as Kendricks went the distance, scattering eight hits in a 5–3 win. There were 1,147 in attendance as George Thomas’s double and home run accounted for three Hagerstown runs and his defensive plays in the outfield saved the day for Kendricks.

The teams took a day off to make the ferry crossing to Cambridge for Game 4. A large crowd of 2,027 cheered an 8–5 Canner victory to even the series. Glass won with late relief help from Trippe. Glass aided his own cause with a home run. Third baseman Bill Dressen also homered in a six-run, fourth-inning rally that gave Cambridge the lead for good.

The situation looked dark for Hagerstown when the Canners romped to an easy 10–2 win in Game 5. The Hubs, short of pitching, turned to outfielder Frank Roscoe, on loan from Hanover, but his mound success was short-lived and he was driven to cover in the fourth inning. Cambridge, with Dressen and shortstop Joe Nelson leading the way, continued its attack on reliever Nick Harrison, to the delight of 1,549 hometown rooters.

With their backs to the wall, Hagerstown called on Kendricks once more in Game 6. The big right-hander came through, holding Cambridge to seven hits in a complete-game 4–1 victory. Solo home runs by Thomas and third baseman Joe Conti made the difference. Clutch defensive plays by Conti and Werre also kept the Canners at bay for the afternoon.

The deciding seventh game was played on September 17 at Baltimore’s Oriole Park. The announced crowd of 2,574 saw Hagerstown come back from a 5—4 deficit and score a wild 12–10 win to take the 1925 series. The Hubs took an early 2–0 lead, then fell be-hind, and retook the lead with five runs in the seventh inning, withstanding a late Cambridge surge to claim the win. Winning pitcher Joe Zubris staggered through six innings before catcher John Albert’s two-run double put Hagerstown ahead to stay.

The 1925 Five-State Series was the only one to go the full seven games. It featured two evenly matched teams with dramatic swings in momentum that kept the fans constantly on the edge of their seats. Hagers- town pitcher Kendricks was the hero, coming through with two crucial wins in Games 3 and 6. Ray Werre’s club had just enough hitting to prevail, as Cambridge could have easily won the Ban Johnson pennant with a break or two going their way.

1926—THE HUBS WIN IT AGAIN

With their big guns, Werre, Thomas, and Conti returning, Hagerstown cruised to a second-straight Blue Ridge League title by beating Frederick in a playoff series. Postseason pickups Chick Fullis (Frederick) and Dave Black (Martinsburg) made the Hubs an even stronger bet to take the Five-State Series again. Crisfield was the Eastern Shore League champion as the surprising Crabbers beat out Salisbury. Manager Dan Pasquella fielded a solid, hustling club, but the odds favored Hagerstown. The series opened on September 13 in the bustling little seaport town of Crisfield, the “Seafood Capital of the World” at the end of the road in Somerset County. An overflow crowd of 1,682 was disappointed when Hagerstown’s Al Kruez belted a ninth-inning homer off Cecil Rose to lift the Hubs to a 4–3 win. Both teams used three pitchers in the tense duel as Kruez’s blast made Nick Harrison the winner.

Only 824 fans showed up the following day to watch Crisfield stage a four-run uprising in the eighth inning and take Game 2 by a 10–6 score. Crabber second baseman Paul Richards’s two-run triple highlighted the winning rally. Paul Smith, on loan from Salisbury, went the distance for Crisfield, despite nine hits and eight walks, while surviving a late Hagerstown comeback.

In hopes of drawing a larger crowd, Game 3 was moved to Easton on September 15. Crabber hopes were buoyed when lefty Leslie Signor shut down the Hubs on four hits in a 4–2 Crisfield win. Home runs by first baseman John Pasquella and shortstop Johnny Schofield gave Signor all the support he needed.

Back home the next day at Willow Lane Park for Game 4, Hagerstown evened the series with another close 4–3 victory. Harry Fishbaugh won it for the Hubs, overcoming home runs by Pasquella and Richards. Fishbaugh won his own game with a seventh-inning double off Bill Everham, driving in Kruez with the winning run.

In as exciting a game as local fans had ever seen, the hometown Hubs captured a heart-stopping 2–1 win in Game 5, scoring twice in the bottom of the ninth inning. Catcher Bob Harper’s two-out single plated Joe Conti with the game-winning run. Crisfield scored its run in the first inning as Harrison and Smith waged a torrid pitching duel, until Harper’s hit ended the game.

Irvin “Stub” Rase, Hagerstown’s ace right-hander, slammed the door on Crisfield in Game 6. Rase surrendered only three hits in giving the Hubs a 4–1 win and the 1926 series. Thomas’s homer off Signor broke a 1–1 tie in the sixth inning as Rase did the rest. Both teams turned in several outstanding defensive plays in another tense game between the two rivals.

The 1926 Five-State Series was arguably the most exciting of all. With the exception of Game 3, every contest was close and not decided until late in the action. The series turned on Game 5, with the last-inning Hagerstown win. Rase overpowered the feisty Crabbers in Game 6, but Crisfield came close to winning it all. The only downside was the dwindling crowds who came out to watch the well-played games.

1927—PARKSLEY WINS AGAIN

It would be the last Five-State Series, although no one would know it at the time. The Parksley Spuds won their first Eastern Shore League title since 1924, when they trashed Martinsburg in the postseason finale. The Spuds finished well ahead of Salisbury in the regular season. Meanwhile, Chambersburg had to survive a split-season playoff with Martinsburg to capture the Blue Ridge League flag. Manager Mickey Kelliher’s Maroons added Martinsburg’s Reggie Rawlings to an already potent batting order for the series.

Henniger Field in Chambersburg was the scene for Game 1 on September 12. The visiting Parksley nine drew first blood when Clint Brown bested the Maroons 6–4. Paul Richards, added from Crisfield, blasted two homers and drove in four runs to lead the Spuds offense. A crowd of 1,266 saw a late Chambersburg rally fall short.

The Maroons knotted the series the next day when they sent six runs across the plate in the bottom of the eighth to snatch a 6–2 win. Chambersburg’s Robert Shatzer and Parksley’s Ray Perry hooked up in a classic pitcher’s battle before doubles by Kelliher, Russ Saunders, and Chet Horan allowed the Maroons to break through and hand Shatzer the win.

Game 3 was played at Willow Lane Park in Hagerstown before 1,250 fans. Poor fielding by Chambersburg betrayed pitcher Bob McIntyre as Parksley made an early lead stand up for a 6–4 victory. The heat affected the listless play of both teams as lefty Steve Toner pitched seven innings of strong relief to gain the well-deserved win.

After a day’s rest, while making the ferry trip across the Bay, Chambersburg bounced back to tie the series again in Game 4. Kermit Smith, with ninth-inning relief help from Charley Hamel, tossed a five-hitter to win 4–2. The largest crowd of the series, 1,441 in all, saw the Maroons take an early lead on shortstop Johnny Griffith’s double and Hamel squelch a ninth-inning Spuds rally.

Two home runs by Richards, his fourth and fifth of the series, and another round-tripper by Dave David- son, was more than enough to give Perry a 7–3 win in Game 5. Horan and third baseman Whitey Bowman homered for Chambersburg, who outhit Parksley 13—9, but the Maroons wasted too many good scoring opportunities.

At Salisbury on September 19, Game 6 and the series ended early in a downpour as Parksley, behind the four-hit pitching of Toner, blanked Chambersburg 5–0. A final game attendance of 1,631 saw the Spuds break the game open with four runs off Mike Dodson in the sixth inning. An inning later the rains came, washing out any hopes for a Maroon comeback.

Parksley, led by the bats of Richards and Dan Pasquella and the pitching of Toner, all postseason additions, held a decisive edge in the 1927 series. The Spuds outplayed Chambersburg in every department, while Kelliher’s Maroons never showed the batting power that had carried them through the regular season. The Parksley win gave each league three wins apiece in the hard-fought series.

IT’S ALL OVER

By 1928, the Great Depression had settled in with grim determination on the Eastern Shore. Farmers and small-town merchants were the first to take hits. Families could barely pay their bills, let alone afford the 75-cent admission ticket to a ball game. Local ballclub owners, who rarely made money in the best of times, saw their losses steadily mounting. The Eastern Shore League opened briefly in 1928, but on July 10 the directors met at Salisbury and reluctantly decided to close the gates for good.

The Blue Ridge League soldiered on until 1930, when only four clubs managed to stagger through the season. President Jamison, ever the tireless promoter, arranged a brief postseason series with the Class C Middle Atlantic League. But it just wasn’t the same. The zest and excitement that had characterized the old Five-State Series was gone. The battle for baseball braggin’ rights in the Chesapeake Bay region between the Eastern Shore and Blue Ridge leagues was over.

Baseball had long been a popular pastime on the Shore. Almost every town supported a team, and competition among the amateurs could be fierce. Baseball’s prosperity on the Eastern Shore needed no more proof than the fact that crowds at ball games sometimes doubled the town’s population.

Since most amateur players were farmers, chores like planting crops and harvesting strawberries complicated team schedules. Rain postponed games and farm work alike, placing pressure on good weather.

Impatient fans looked to the Class D Blue Ridge League in West Virginia and saw a firmer game schedule, ostensibly better umpiring, and apparently less rowdyism. They believed they gazed upon better baseball.

As early as May 1921, the Salisbury Chamber of Commerce had proposed a six-team Organized Baseball league on the Eastern Shore. Each town that wanted a team posted a $1,000 forfeit fee as a guarantee of interest. As soon as officials of the Blue Ridge League learned of these plans, they sent league president J. Vincent Jamison to Salisbury to explain the working details of Organized Baseball and the features of Class D organizations. Thus, the Blue Ridge League played a major role in the establishment of Organized Baseball on the Eastern Shore. It not only served as an example but also helped to set up the league’s first set of rules.

The league formally organized in late October 1921, and began play in 1922. The original teams represented the Maryland communities of Salisbury, Cambridge, Pocomoke City, and Crisfield, along with Laurel, Delaware, and Parksley, Virginia. These towns formed a geographic wheel that simplified team travel. Easton, considered too far north of the hub, lost its bid for original membership. The league required every town with a team either to build a new ballpark or enlarge its current one.1

Crisfield’s opening day that first season proved rather unforgettable—and a bit ominous. Many years later, Salisbury attorney Stanley G. Robbins, who played second base for Crisfield that season, recalled the game.

I remember it vividly. We were hosting Parksley. Around the second inning, the umpire called a third strike on a Parksley batter. Boos rang from the crowd of 600 and then, lo and behold, this drunk ran out from the sidelines and clobbered the umpire. Players and some of the spectators ran out and pulled him off the ump, who was later taken to the hospital. He was pretty beat up, if I remember correctly, and the game was called at that point. It was certainly an unusual way to begin the season.2

Despite various efforts, fan disorder remained a problem throughout the league’s history.

During the winter of 1922 and the spring of 1923, officials from each franchise tried to cover the league’s first year’s deficit by selling additional stock. This was a common method of raising money under an agreement most minor-league clubs had with the majors.

By terms of the agreement, the town baseball association was responsible for paying player salaries that ranged from the lower limit of $1,750 per month in 1922 to $2,250 per month in 1947. Major-league clubs then paid about $2,000 for exclusive rights to draft players from the Class D organization. On a working agreement basis, the major-league clubs were responsible for supplying players to their minor-league affiliates. Sometimes the major-league club would bear the entire financial responsibility for operating a minor-league team. Or one individual could financially support a team, which would operate independently of any major-league club. This was a risky arrangement that often proved costly. Arthur Ehlers, who owned the Pocomoke franchise in 1937–38, was the only man to take that risk in the Eastern Shore League. He later confessed to hocking his furniture on occasion to meet the team’s monthly payroll.3

In 1923, eight teams comprised the league, which had elected a new president, M. B. Thawley of Crisfield, and accumulated more than $2,000 in debts. Conditions worsened in early July, when Milford, Delaware, refused to abide by the class-player limit of three (a class player was one who had played in more than 25 games in a higher-division league). This rule, along with the monthly salary limit, was the basis for the league. Yet both were frequently violated and turned out to be instrumental in the league’s failure.

For violating the class-player limit, the team had to forfeit all the games it had won while that player was on its roster. These forfeitures could drop a team completely out of the pennant race early in the season and thus dramatically affect attendance. Milford chose to quit the league rather than submit to the indignity of forfeiting so many of its victories and playing the rest of the season to empty seats.4

Dover won the 1923 pennant with future Hall of Famer Mickey Cochrane, who played under the name of Frank King to protect his amateur status. In mid-July, Dover played Martinsburg, West Virginia, in the “Five State Championship” series (featuring Class D teams from Maryland, Delaware, Pennsylvania, Virginia, and West Virginia) and won the best of seven games. Once again the playoff series was responsible for what money there was in the league’s treasury at the end of the season. Helping at the gate this year was the renowned commissioner of baseball, Judge Kenesaw Mountain Landis, who came to the Eastern Shore to witness the playoffs. On July 19, which had been dubbed “Landis Day,” Judge Landis watched Cambridge beat Laurel in Salisbury.5

The commissioner’s blessing notwithstanding, the Eastern Shore League faced serious troubles. Burdened with debt and facing an unpromising financial picture, officials had to doubt that the Shore could support an eight-team league. The 1924 season started on shaky ground—with yet another new president, Harry Rew of Parksley, and heavy debt, plus reshuffled franchises.

Except for pennant-winning towns, attendance-related problems plagued the league until finally, on July 10 1928, at the Wicomico Hotel, directors disbanded the league by a vote of 4–2. President Rew, writing his treasurer, attributed the demise of the league to the fact that “every club was running heavily behind with no prospects of any better attendance.”6

During the Great Depression, the Eastern Shore was without professional baseball. By 1936, however, the economy had improved and popular interest in reorganizing the league had mounted. All that was lacking was effective leadership, which finally came from Tom Kibler, baseball coach at Washington College. Kibler contacted the promotional director of minor-league baseball and promised to renovate ballparks that had been idle for six years. Eight towns pledged support for franchises—Federalsburg, Dover, Cambridge, Salisbury, Easton, Centreville, Chestertown, and Pocomoke City. To avoid another financial collapse, league members stressed the importance of adhering to the salary limits. Happily enough, the director agreed to resurrect the Eastern Shore League in time for the 1937 season.7

That year the revived league offered fans a pennant race that received national attention. By June 18, the Salisbury Indians had compiled a record of 21–5. The following day, league president Kibler ruled that the Indians had been using an ineligible player and had to forfeit their 21 victories. Individual statistics, however, were not affected.

Kibler’s ruling threatened the league with another collapse. First baseman Robert Brady was the subject of the controversial ruling. At the time, no club was allowed more than two members who had played in a higher-class league. Brady had been under contract to Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, in the New York–Penn League for a year. He never played, however, and had been placed on the reserve list. Indians owner Joe Cambria objected, saying Kibler earlier had sanctioned Salisbury’s list of eligible players, including Brady. Under extreme pressure, Kibler remained firm and produced turmoil in the often-troubled league.

“Kibler . . . always impressed me as being levelheaded, but in this case, he seems to have forgotten the words ‘common sense’ are in the English language,” said Cambria. When informed that the ruling might cause the league to fold for a second time, the steadfast Kibler responded, “Then that’s just the way it will be.” Not even his personal relationship with Salisbury manager Jake Flowers (who had played for Kibler at Washington College), deterred him from enforcing the letter of the league law. If the temporary setback rattled Flowers, he never showed it. “We’ve won 80 percent of our games so far and I don’t see any reason why we can’t continue to do that,” he told some skeptics.8

Flowers had several reasons to be optimistic. In Cuban Jorge Comellas and Philadelphian Joe Kohlman, he had the league’s best pitchers. He also had the league’s best-hitting team. Before the forfeits, Comellas was 5–0, surrendering only 33 hits in 42 innings. Kohlman owned a 4–1 record and had allowed only 28 hits in 45 innings. Comellas was a crafty, 20-year-old right hander with a roundhouse curve. He had entered pro baseball after a revolution at home closed the University of Havana and ended his student days. Kohlman, a 24-year-old righty, had tried out for the Philadelphia Athletics in 1934 and 1935 and had played minor-league ball elsewhere before joining Salisbury. When questioned about his success, Kohlman replied, “I just mix them up—fastballs, curves, drops, change of pace and an occasional screwball.” Most Eastern Shore pitchers relied on one pitch; Kohlman had five in his repertoire.

“Comellas and Kohlman were just out of their league,” recalled Fred Lucas, who managed Cambridge in 1937. “Most of the players in Class D were fresh out of high school. Comellas and Kohlman had a wealth of experience and maturity compared to the rest of the league. Kohlman lost the second game of the season to us, 5–4. If a player hadn’t overrun second, the Indians would have won it. That turned out to be his only regular-season loss. That’s how tough he was.”9

Immediately following Kibler’s June 19 ruling, Salisbury forfeited 21 games and fell to last place. The Indians then caught fire. They split their next four games, but Comellas and Kohlman provided a foreshadowing of their dominance with back-to-back wins on June 29 and July 1. Comellas struck out 21 Centreville hitters en route to an eight-hit, 11–5 decision and his ninth win of the season. Kohlman followed by fanning 18 Cambridge batters while tossing a three-hit shutout. Playing at a feverish clip, Salisbury moved out of last place on July 29.

From August 1 until the end of the season, the comeback Indians went 31–3. The club split a doubleheader with Pocomoke on August 6, giving the latter a 32–35 record and sole possession of fifth place. Three games later, the surging Indians reached the .500 mark after playing at a .790 clip following the forfeits. Once at .500, they immediately embarked on a 12-game winning streak that carried them into second place.

The pace of victory slowed slightly in August and September, but the Indians’ momentum continued. On August 19, Kohlman won his 20th consecutive game—a 9–1 decision over Centreville. The following day, however, Centreville snapped Comellas’ winning streak in a thrilling 2–1 game. Comellas was touched for seven hits, but two close calls proved crucial. Salisbury bounced back with three consecutive victories. In the third game, Kohlman made a relief appearance in the tenth inning and notched his 21st victory. That moved the Indians (47–36) just one game behind first-place Easton. A victory over Dover pushed the Indians into a first-place tie with Easton on August 27. The Indians maintained their momentum with back-to-back wins by Kohlman and Comellas.

With ten days remaining in the season, five of the league’s eight teams had a shot at winning the pennant. Salisbury appeared in trouble on September 1, after losing to Pocomoke, 4–3, while Easton won a pair of games. But a four-game winning streak moved Salisbury into first place by one and one-half games on September 3. In an important contest with Easton, Kohlman responded with a no-hitter and his 20th consecutive win. Salisbury then clinched the pennant by sweeping a doubleheader from Easton. Kohlman won the opener, 1–0, and Leon Revolinsky won the nightcap. The Indians had climbed from the cellar to win the pennant by three and one-half games.

For the regular season, the Indians had actually won 80 of 96 games for an amazing .833 winning percentage. That mark has never been equaled by any full-season minor-league club. Manager Jake Flowers was named “Minor-League Manager of the Year” by The Sporting News.

This heroic comeback, which featured 59 wins in the final 70 games, owed much to Comellas and Kohlman. But Salisbury’s offensive power certainly provided balance. On August 27, when Salisbury tied for first place, shortstop Frank Trechock was hitting .360, second baseman Jerry Lynn .344, and centerfielder Bill Luzansky .321.

The amazing Indians hadn’t finished yet. Salisbury entered the Eastern Shore League playoffs against Cambridge, while Easton played Centreville. The Indians defeated Cambridge behind Comellas’ 23rd win and Kohlman’s 26th consecutive victory. Centreville eliminated Easton in four games.

In the opening game of the best-of-five championship series, Centreville shocked everyone by shelling Comellas, 9–1. In game two on September 14, Centreville ended Kohlman’s winning streak at 26 when Lloyd Gross halted Salisbury, 3–2. Gross fanned nine, walked one and allowed just five hits. John Bassler rescued the Indians in the third game, beating Centreville, 6–3, with relief help from Comellas. Bassler came back to win game four by a 7–2 count to even the series. In a fitting finale, Kohlman threw another no-hitter as the climax to the Indians’ miraculous 1937 season.

While the summer of 1937 was the most memorable for Eastern Shore League fans (and one of the most unusual in baseball history), their heroes failed them in stiffer competition. Immediately following the playoffs, Kohlman, Comellas (who would not pitch in the majors until 1945), Trechock, Lynn, and catcher Fermin “Mike” Guerra reported to the Washington Senators, the team’s parent club. Fame proved brief for all but Guerra. Kohlman’s major-league totals show a 1–0 record in 27.7 innings during parts of two seasons, while Comellas closed at 0–2 in 12 innings with the 1945 Cubs. Trechock and Lynn each played in one game. Trechock went 2-for-4 and Lynn rapped two hits in three at-bats. Guerra went on to play nine seasons in the majors with the Senators, Philadelphia Athletics, and Boston Red Sox. He compiled a lifetime batting average of .242.10

The Eastern Shore League between 1938 and 1940 was financially stable and lost only one franchise (Crisfield was replaced by Milford in 1938); future big-leaguers Mickey Vernon, Carl Furillo, Sid Gordon, Mel Parnell, and Ron Northey all provided glittering play that helped fill the parks. Yet league problems like rowdyism continued. When the Eastern Shore brought Organized Baseball to the area in 1922, community leaders had hoped to eliminate misbehavior at the park. Instead, higher stakes led to more rhubarbs, team fighting, and fan abuse of umpires.

On July 26, 1938, a game between Cambridge and Centreville came to a head when manager Joe O’Rourke took a swing at his Centreville counterpart Joe Davis while discussing the possibility of resuming the game. It had been halted in the bottom of the eighth with two Cambridge runners on base and no outs. Fans rushed onto the field, and as the melee worsened Francis O’Rourke, brother of the Cambridge manager and secretary to the club, was knocked cold and had to be carried away for medical attention.11

Less than a month later, when Cambridge beat Easton 8–3, a police escort was necessary to return the umpire safely home from disgruntled Easton fans. Two bad calls, according to Easton partisans, had ignited the incident. A similar fracas took place on July 21, 1940, when Cambridge beat Dover, 7–2. At one point, the umpire ejected Cambridge manager Hugh Poland, bringing fans out of their seats in anger. Only the peacemaking efforts of the Cambridge players kept them from spilling onto the playing field. Spectators quieted long enough to complete the game. But the umpires, even with the aid of local police, could not leave the park until the wee hours of the morning.12

American intervention in World War II took many of the brawling ballplayers overseas. In 1941, Dover and Pocomoke City dropped from the league, leaving a six-team circuit. Between Pearl Harbor and V-J Day, more than 350 major-league players served their country, and many regional players joined the exodus. The year 1941 was the worst financially for the league since 1937. Attendance dropped and only one or two teams showed a profit. An interesting season would have helped receipts, but Milford had led the league by as many as 15 games at one point and won the pennant handily, by four games.

Harry Russell, successor to Tom Kibler as the league president, nonetheless believed that the league could have continued had war not broken out. In any event, the league folded. Once again the Eastern Shore went without Organized Baseball.13

Naturally enough, baseball men began planning a league comeback even before the war’s end. Activists in each of the old franchise towns met to discuss the possibility in the winter of 1945. They included John Perry of Centreville, Dr. W. K. Knotts of Federalsburg, Dr. Walter Grier of Milford, and Fred Lucas of Cambridge. Harry Russell remained on duty with the army air corps, and coordination with major-league owners was weak. These owners, moreover, were wary of overbuilding their minor-league teams during those uncertain times. As in the past, the issue of renovated parks, or new ones, remained critical.

Cambridge, with its reputation as the best baseball town on the Eastern Shore, became a leader in talks with major-league owners. Fred Lucas, who had managed the Cambridge Cardinals as a farm team for Branch Rickey’s St. Louis Cardinals, set to work to try to persuade Rickey, who now co-owned the Brooklyn Dodgers, to support minor-league baseball in Cambridge—and to invest some $65,000 in a new ballpark.

Lucas had his baseball arguments well mapped out, but hunting and fishing proved the easier path to Rickey’s attention. “I began making trips to Brooklyn to talk to Mr. Rickey,” recalled Lucas. “He didn’t warm to my idea. He was an avid outdoorsman and would rather talk about fishing than Class D baseball. One day he asked me, ‘How are the fish biting in Cambridge?’ Without hesitation and without really knowing, I replied, ‘Great. Why don’t you come down and try your hand.’ ” Rickey was quick to accept the invitation.14

A few weeks later, Mr. and Mrs. Rickey visited Cambridge and stayed with Lucas. The next morning Milford Elliott took him and the Rickeys fishing on the Choptank River. Within ten minutes, Mrs. Rickey landed a good-sized croaker. A few minutes later, Mr. Rickey did the same. By the end of the day, Lucas and the Rickeys had caught 96 fish. Delighted, Mr. Rickey wrapped 50 of them in old copies of the Cambridge Daily Banner and packed them in one of Lucas’ old suitcases. He then caught the Colonial Express out of Wilmington for New York, the fish stored in the train’s refrigerator car.15

The Eastern Shore’s natural resources continued to appeal to Rickey, who, when Lucas visited Brooklyn to talk minor-league baseball, always greeted the ex-manager with questions—not about baseball, but about fishing and duck hunting. Lucas invited him to go duck hunting in Dorchester County. Again Lucas made the arrangements, engaging Adrian Hynson of Hoopers Island as a guide. Lucas made sure he would be with Rickey every moment, ready to mix business and pleasure. This time Rickey brought along his 31-year-old son. The day got off to a bad start on the water. When the hunters reached the blind they quickly realized it was going to be one of the coldest days of the year. With everyone shivering and generally miserable (they only shot one duck), Lucas did at least get in some talk about baseball.16

Rickey remained skeptical about backing a team in Cambridge and building a new ballpark there until Lucas proposed a money-saving idea. He suggested that the Brooklyn Dodgers could use the park as the site of a tryout camp before the class season opened, thus cutting the Dodgers’ operating expenses. Lucas believed Rickey was at least thinking about the suggestion and began to take heart. “A few days after Mr. Rickey returned to Brooklyn,” as Lucas told the story, “he called me and told me to pick out a site in Cambridge for the ballpark. I selected the Linden Avenue location in the center of town. Mr. Rickey and his organization spent $68,000 to build Dodger Park. It was rated as one of the top three Class D minor-league parks in the country. Just as we hoped, the move encouraged other major-league owners to support our Class D franchises.”

Following Rickey’s lead, other major-league teams jumped in to help their proposed farm teams fix up their ballparks. By 1946, each town had become affiliated with a major-league club.17

Thus the Eastern Shore League appeared, for the third time, in 1946. Tom Kibler again became president of an eight-team league, comprised of Cambridge, Centreville, Easton, Federalsburg, Salisbury, Dover, Milford, and Rehoboth. Centreville’s phenomenal fan support received national attention in 1946. Centreville’s postwar population stood at 1,100; in 62 home games, the team drew 42,500 fans, averaging nearly 700 fans a game. Sometimes the team drew 1,500. The largest crowd—for a playoff game against Dover, Delaware—numbered 2,550. Townspeople boastfully dubbed Centreville “Baseball Town U.S.A.” The Orioles’ outstanding play gave Queen Anne’s County fans plenty to cheer about. They fashioned an 88–37 record (.703) and won the pennant by 11 1⁄2  games.18

Rivalries fueled by betting and various player incentives also boosted attendance. Merchants frequently would offer $5 or $10 to any player who hit a home run, the amount climbing according to the importance of the game or even inning. Jack Dunn III, president of the Centreville Orioles, recalled how in 1946 Bunky Langgood collected quite a treasure for a home run against Milford, Delaware.

“We had just knocked Milford out of first place when they visited us in late July. The game drew 1,500 fans and the tension ran high as a pitchers’ duel developed,” he recalled. After nine innings, the game was tied 1–1. Then the fans started to get into the action. Since many were dairy farmers, a quart of milk was a common prize.

“When it was all over, the fans of Centreville, Chestertown, Queenstown and Stevensville had raised an unusual kitty. I don’t know if that was the incentive or not, but Langgood delivered an inside-the-park home run in the bottom of the eleventh inning for a 2–1 win. He won 64 quarts of milk and $100 for his game-winning blow.”19

Reminiscent of the Salisbury miracle of 1937, the 1946 Orioles won 31 of their final 34 games. By the end of July, the Orioles were in first place by four games. Many of the Centreville players had just come out of the service. They had the maturity that many younger Class D players lacked. The team also boasted great pitching, speed, solid defense, and good hitting.

The Orioles had three pitchers who won 15 games or more. Late in the season the team obtained Al Heuser, who went 6–0. Three of his wins came in the playoffs. The outfield of Langgood, Nick Malfara, and Fred Pacitto hit well over .300. Langgood and Malfara each drove in more than 90 runs. Washington College graduate Jimmy Stevens was always a favorite with Centreville fans and established the Eastern Shore League record for stolen bases in a season with 80.

Neither bonuses nor winning seasons gave the Oriole players or management the rewards they fully deserved. Team president Dunn, for example, had to wear many hats during his first year as a club official. Early in the season, catcher Lou Isert got suspended for fighting on the field. He had a habit of throwing dirt into the batter’s shoes and that started a melee against Seaford. Dunn, as he recalled in an interview years later, filled in for the catcher for a while and hit .465 as a reserve player. He got a chance to direct the club when manager Jim McLeod went into the hospital with a bad knee. Dunn took over in early July with Centreville in second place. When McLeod returned at the end of the month, Dunn was able to give him back the reins with the team in first place. If the groundskeeper was sick, Dunn laid the foul lines and took care of the field. He got up at 5:30 a.m. to wash the team’s uniforms. “I was one of the few playing club presidents,” he said later (he went on to become a vice president of the American League Baltimore Orioles). “I always tell friends that I ended my playing days when I went in and asked myself for a raise and the request was denied.”20

Although the 1946 Centreville Orioles won the league championship and playoffs, they had almost nothing to show for it. The reward for winning the playoffs was $500—split 20 ways. Then, despite the Orioles’ success, the parent club (the International League Baltimore Orioles) declined to return the club to Centreville in 1947. The Baltimore AAA team had payroll problems of its own and was unable to afford the luxury of a farm system at the Class D level.21

Playing in Class D minor-league baseball certainly offered few immediate material benefits. Caroll Beringer, who pitched for Cambridge in 1946 and 1947, going 22–6 in the latter campaign, and later served as bullpen coach for the Los Angeles Dodgers and the Philadelphia Phillies, recalled the conditions.

He signed his first contract at age 17. The Dodgers offered him 90 dollars a month and he was a little hesitant. But when they said they would pay his way home at the end of the season, he said nothing could have stopped him from signing. At the time, Class D players received a dollar-a-day meal money. To stretch it, they frequently asked the bus driver to stop near a watermelon field when they were returning from a game. Several players would run through the field and grab what they could. The team would feast on watermelon for dinner.

Neither living accommodations nor playing conditions boosted their spirits much. Players never stayed overnight in a motel, because all league teams were less than two-and-a-half hours away. Three other players and Beringer stayed in $4-a-week rooms at a house just a few blocks from the ballpark. On the road, the crowds were typically hostile.

Visiting pitchers learned to throw while keeping an eye out for the occasional flying tomato. Umpires took a great deal of abuse, just as before the war. Only two who worked the 1946 season returned in 1947. When it became harder and harder to find major-league clubs to support Class D teams on the Shore, Milford and Dover were dropped from the circuit after the 1947 season.22

In 1948, the Salisbury Cardinals had little trouble capturing the pennant, but the league itself was having trouble surviving. Fred Lucas, the league’s new president, faced perennial problems—failure to obtain working agreements with major-league clubs, poor attendance in some towns, and the lack of financial backing. At winter meetings after the 1949 season, officials of the Eastern Shore League desperately attempted to strengthen it.23

By December, survival was dubious at best. Baseball enthusiasts on the Shore discussed possible changes to insure continuation of the league. Some observers suggested expanding Class D ball to the Western Shore, with eight teams and four-day road trips.

Extending the geographical base of the league would spark new interest and involve larger towns such as Frederick and Hagerstown. Supporters argued that league attendance would increase. Others suggested fewer games, shorter seasons, fewer players, and lower salary limits. Lucas supported an internal reorganization of the league. In fact, as he would maintain years later, his plan became the basis of the “All-Rookie Leagues” established across the country in the mid-1950s.24

Lucas, however, was ignored. Major-league executives and baseball organizers on the Eastern Shore failed to share his vision, and the Eastern Shore League died for the third time after the 1949 season.

Notes

1 Salisbury Times, 19 May and 31 October 1921.

2 Ibid., 14 June 1972.

3 Ibid., 10 March 1923; author’s interview with Arthur Ehlers, 20 November 1970.

4 New York Times, 6 July 1923.

5 Ibid., 9 April and 19 July 1923.

6 Harry Rew to league treasurer, 14 July 1924, collection of Fred Lucas; see also New York Times, 1 May, 11 July, and 13 September 1923.

7 New York Times, 15 January 1937.

8 Ibid., 3 May and 1–21 June 1937.

9 Ibid., 21 June 1937; see also author’s interview with Fred Lucas, 10 January 1971.

10 New York Times, 20 June–30 September 1937.

11 Cambridge Daily Banner, 27 July 1938.

12 Ibid., 17 August 1938 and 22 July 1940.

13 Author’s interview with Harry Russell, 27 November 1970.

14 Author’s interview with Fred Lucas, 10 January 1971.

15 Ibid.

16 Ibid.

17 Ibid.

18 Daily Banner, 13 May 1946; Queen Anne’s Record-Observer, 1 September 1946.

19 Author’s interview with Jack Dunn III, 2 June 1977.

20 Ibid.

21 Ibid.

22 Author’s interview with Carroll Beringer, 5 August 1977; Daily Banner, 1 June–30 September 1947.

23 Author’s interview with Fred Lucas, 10 January 1971.

24 Ibid.

The result was red ink. Total losses sustained across all three leagues easily exceeded $250,000 and possibly reached $500,000. The so-called “magnates” of the NL (and, to a lesser extent, the AA) and the “capitalists” backing the PL sought to stanch the bleeding. While some postured about how much more pain one could endure than the other, the magnates and capitalists also attempted to find a way to reach terms. The question was how. As the 1890 season drew to a close, “how?” would be the dominant question as all sides continued to maneuver for a fight each was determined to win.

The Conquest of Cincinnati and a Conference Committee for Peace

Within hours of the PL season ending on October 4,1 the offseason business opened with the shocking and provocative sale of the Cincinnati Reds to a consortium of capitalists from six PL clubs. Cincinnati was the one NL city where the PL and NL were not in direct competition. Aaron Stern, who switched the Reds from the AA to the PL for the 1890 season, opted to cut his losses by taking $40,000 in exchange for the stock, ballpark lease, and player contracts.

With few changes expected to the on-field personnel and management, the PL capitalists hoped to flip the club to local backers in Cincinnati. The temporary allocation of stock among PL group, however, would prove consequential to later events related to the club. The Reds were formally re-organized with Cleveland president and lead PL antagonist Al Johnson in the club presidency. PL secretary Frank Brunell gloated about the capture, “The National League folks were no doubt surprised.”2 Brooklyn president Charley Byrne was alternately sympathetic that Stern sold out for the price he was able to command but also commented on Stern’s “duplicity,” promising “we will get even with him later.”3

The sale of the Reds occurred in advance of a meeting of the NL magnates at New York’s Fifth Avenue Hotel on October 9. Club owners from all three leagues had held intermittent meetings with counterparts to find a way to reach compromise. While there was desire to end the conflict, “no one has the slightest conception of the gigantic scheme which is now being brought to a focus in the brains of the baseball thinkers.”4 Several AA representatives, including St. Louis’ Chris von der Ahe, Baltimore’s Harry von der Horst and Billy Barnie, and Columbus’ Allan Thurman joined the NL meeting.

Although the AA largely avoided direct competition with the PL and NL, the circuit was “in a precarious position, yet its leaders endeavor to keep a stiff upper lip and talk confidently of the future.”5 Thurman proposed condensing the number of leagues from three to two.6 After some initial hostility to the idea, the NL designated Chicago president Albert Spalding, New York president John B. Day, and Byrne, to treat with AA and PL representatives on a conference committee. Spalding, a dominant figure in the game, had been key to the events to the schism between the magnates and players and would be instrumental to any settlement of differences.

Meeting a block away at the St. James Hotel, the PL appointed Johnson, New York’s Edward Talcott, and Brooklyn’s Wendell Goodwin to make the short walk to the Fifth Avenue Hotel. Joined by the AA’s Thurman, von der Ahe, and Barnie, the group “grasped each other warmly by the hand”7 and got to business.

The conference committee took the formal step of selecting Thurman as its chair and Byrne as secretary. While the representatives realized they were in no position to bind their respective leagues, a spirit of compromise nonetheless prevailed to avoid scheduling conflicts between rival clubs in the same city and refrain from going after each others’ players for a period through October 26.

One sticking point related to the names of the two circuits that might survive any consolidation. The PL and AA appeared willing to drop their names, but Spalding declared the NL would never do so. After an hour, Spalding calmed down and it seemed the existing circuits would yield to names such as United League and National Association.8 The conference committee concluded with an agreement to confer with their colleagues and reconvene on October 22. Compromise appeared within reach, as even Brotherhood leader John Montgomery Ward declared, “I am for peace first, last, and all the time. . . . It is evident to everybody that war is a losing game.”9 For his efforts to end the conflict, Thurman assumed the nickname, “White Winged Angel of Peace,” and optimistically predicted, “We’ll all be happy before Thanksgiving.”10

Capital Compromises and Labor Responds

The NL met again on October 10. During deliberations, the magnates agreed to reach out to PL counterparts in their respective cities with instructions to “buy or sell out or amalgamate as they saw fit.”11 In fact, discussions were underway in New York, Brooklyn, and Pittsburgh. Also, Chicago’s primary PL backer, John Addison, wanted out, making price the key factor in meetings with Spalding. Even Al Johnson conferred with Cleveland NL president Frank Robison and his partners; however, with each side owning a ballpark located near a streetcar line each controlled, compromise would prove elusive. Meanwhile, suspicions stirred among the players about the possible effects of consolidation. Outfielder George Gore declared, “If the Players’ League don’t want us, they had better let us go.”12 He claimed that new financial backers could be found and warned that the players “will fight the monopolists tooth and nail.”13

In advance of the conference committee reconvening, a sizable contingent of Brotherhood members descended on the St. James Hotel on October 20. Ward tried to assure his colleagues that the PL capitalists, particularly Johnson, would look after their interests. Many players, however, were “fearful that when the consolidation comes along the players will be forgotten, and that their sympathetic feelings, as well as their pockets, will be touched.”14

Ward noted his own financial investment in the Brooklyn PL club and expressed his confidence that the PL capitalists would include the players in their deliberations with the NL magnates. To facilitate that outcome, the Brotherhood adopted a resolution the following morning expressing to the PL Central Board of Directors the players’ confidence in PL management and requesting the inclusion of three players on the conference committee. The PL received the Brotherhood resolution during its meeting later that day, and responded with the statement, “Your action now stimulates us to a still stronger effort for your interests in the future.”15

Addison moved to add three players to the conference committee. The resolution carried unanimously after some initial opposition from New York’s Edwin McAlpin, who was also the PL president, with the added instruction “to confine its deliberations in the joint conference committee to an effort to compromise and not consolidate, except when it was found to be for the good of the Players’ League.”16 Ward, Ned Hanlon, and Arthur Irwin were designated to represent the players, to which Johnson noted that as shareholders in their clubs, “the National League can give no acceptable reason for not meeting with them.”17

A Pause in Compromise and a Prelude to Consolidation

The NL and AA met separately during the morning of October 22. With the conference committee scheduled to meet at noon, both circuits instructed their delegates to oppose the inclusion of the players. When Thurman called the conference to order, he noted the presence of Ward, Hanlon, and Irwin. Johnson presented the resolution from the PL and added, “Unless the new members are allowed to act, we cannot consent to confer.”18 Ward argued that, as Spalding and Barnie were former players, they should not be allowed to participate if the current players were excluded. Thurman did not believe he could call to order a committee that was different from the one to which he was elected chair.

As a result, all six PL delegates exited the parlor. Johnson, Talcott, and Goodwin returned, whereupon Thurman called the meeting to order after Byrne called the roll. Johnson moved that the PL delegation be expanded by three players, but the committee members voted against the motion, 6-3. The PL delegates left once more, and Thurman adjourned the meeting after a short wait.

The recriminations commenced shortly after the meeting concluded. Spalding made clear that he had no intention to meet with the Brotherhood. He asserted, “[T]he League would never meet a committee of any kind upon which there was a member of the Brotherhood. I did not object to a ball player, but would never countenance a secret organization that for two years worked to undermine and wreck it.”19 He further suggested that the PL capitalists had agreed that the conflict should be settled among “moneyed men of both organizations on a purely business basis,” but the Brotherhood tied its backers’ hands ahead of the conference committee.20

The dispute over conference committee representation did not stop negotiations from occurring among the club owners in individual NL and PL cities. In Pittsburgh, the two sides met again but could not agree on how much each side would control in the consolidated club; the PL side wanted 70 percent and the NL side wanted 60 percent.21 In New York, reports stated that McAlpin and Talcott told Spalding and Byrne that the PL purchased Cincinnati in order to force an agreement with the NL.22 It was further suggested that McAlpin’s wife was exerting pressure on her husband to compromise.23

The Brooklyn PL capitalists were split among themselves on the terms of consolidation with Byrne, but the process of negotiations was turning Goodwin and Byrne into fast friends.24 With consolidation talks advancing in several cities, Ward and Boston PL president Charles Prince tried to counteract the effort. Ward singled out Talcott for criticism, and added more generally, “I don’t like the way certain capitalists of the Players’ League have been acting of late. They are not treating the players in good faith.”25

Prince’s situation in Boston was different from most cities where the PL and NL competed against each other. The so-called Triumvirs who controlled the Beaneaters — Arthur Soden, William Conant, and J.B. Billings — had neither an interest in consolidating nor sharing the city with a rival club. Julian Hart, a PL Boston director, had previously urged Talcott for a cessation in consolidation negotiations.26 When Frank Robinson, secretary of the New York PL club, wrote to other clubs to inform them of a tentative agreement there with the NL club, Prince called for a conference of PL capitalists at the Continental Hotel in Philadelphia on November 6.27

Robinson’s message stated that action on the consolidation proposal had been deferred 30 days to allow other PL clubs to make similar arrangements. Telegraphing the sentiments of New York, Robinson added, “We hope you will be able to satisfactorily adjust matters in your city within that time.”28 McAlpin assured Philadelphia’s Wagner brothers (Earle and George) that New York would remain in the PL if other clubs proved unable to strike similar deals, but Prince exhibited suspicion. Prince viewed the New York deal as “an effort made by the New York Club to force us to a surrender for their own advantage.”29

Earle Wagner counseled Prince against holding the special meeting only one week before the PL annual meeting. He also cautioned against alienating McAlpin, who was not invited to the Philadelphia gathering. Wagner suggested, “That would be a grave insult to him and would drive him absolutely into the consolidation scheme.”30 The Philadelphia meeting considered options in the event New York and Brooklyn (whose backers were also not invited) defected from the PL through consolidation. The delegates discussed various scenarios involving possible consolidations among NL and PL clubs and the potential inclusion of other clubs into an AA that was known to be seeking to shed its smaller cities. Nevertheless, the Philadelphia gathering concluded with an agreement to plan for an 1891 season.

The Players’ League Convenes Only to Fall Apart

The PL annual meeting opened November 11 at the Monongahela Hotel in Pittsburgh. After formally awarding the 1890 championship to Boston, the attendees shifted their focus to consolidation talks. McAlpin confirmed the satisfactory agreement made with his NL counterparts in New York, then stated his instruction to withdraw his club from the PL with the 60-days’ notice required by the PL constitution. (McAlpin later tried to resign as PL president, but withdrew the resignation when it was pointed out that his term had expired.)

Learning of the progress of consolidation in New York may have been no surprise, but Pittsburgh shocked the delegates by reporting that it signed a consolidation agreement with the local NL club just the prior day, November 10. After prior differences about the division of stock in a combined club, the two sides agreed to a 50-50 split. The club’s action, “denounced as treachery by nearly all present and as decidedly illegal under” the league constitution, Pittsburgh attempted to resign.31 PL secretary Brunell refused the request on the grounds that Pittsburgh placed itself in a position to be expelled.32

Amidst the commotion, the PL managed to elect a new slate of officers: Prince as president and Johnson as vice president, with Brunell re-elected as PL secretary. The league also appointed Prince, Johnson, and Ward as its representatives to the conference committee. About the new trio, Brunell opined that “if the same gentlemen had been on our recent conference committee instead of others, the Players’ League wouldn’t have received such a crack on the jaw.”33

With Buffalo broke and in debt, the PL referred that club to the Emergency Committee and admitted its Cincinnati acquisition to league membership. Before concluding the first day of business, the PL summoned its legal advisor, Judge Bacon, from New York to the meeting to review the league’s legal options.

When the PL meeting reconvened on the morning of November 12, McAlpin formally presented New York’s resignation. Bacon had arrived by then and, after reviewing the New York merger agreement, opined that the agreement was not binding due to a provision making it contingent on a consolidation between the NL and PL. There was some sentiment toward expelling New York, but McAlpin and Robinson offered to assist other PL clubs in reaching settlements in their cities. In the end, the PL took no action on the New York resignation and tabled the Pittsburgh resignation. The meeting subsequently adjourned, and the reconstituted PL conference committee delegation and Judge Bacon headed for the NL annual meeting due to convene in New York later that day.

The National League Meets

With consolidation looming in the air, the NL annual meeting convened at (naturally) the Fifth Avenue Hotel on the morning of November 12. The Board of Directors, composed of Young, Day, Robison, Byrne, and Pittsburgh’s William Nimick, conducted the seemingly mundane business associated with running a league under ordinary circumstances. The Board awarded the 1890 pennant to Brooklyn, adopted the secretary and treasurer reports, and re-elected Young as NL secretary.

The Joint Committee on Playing Rules met next. Spalding, Day, and Philadelphia’s John I. Rogers represented the NL and Barnie and Rochester manager Pat Powers sat for the AA. The committee adopted two rules changes. First, it amended Rule 28 with respect the substitutes, with clubs now permitted to dress as many substitutes as they wished instead of the previous limit of two players on the bench. Second, the committee adopted a change to Rule 48 with respect to baserunning. The prior rule required a player running to first base to stay within a three-foot space demarcated by the baseline and a parallel line that ran halfway from home plate to first base. The change would allow a baserunner to prepare to round first base in preparation of a possible dash toward second base on a hit to the outfield. No action was taken on a proposal to have every foul-tip called a strike.

The full league meeting was called to order during the afternoon. Before getting to the juicy business of consolidation, the NL elected Young as its president and chose a Board of Directors from Day, Nimick, Philadelphia’s Al Reach, and a Cincinnati representative to be named later. Members of the scheduling and rules committees and the representative to the Board of Arbitration were also selected. The league reviewed the Cincinnati situation, which included an assessment of the details that retired John T. Brush’s Indianapolis club during the previous offseason to make way for the additions of Brooklyn and Cincinnati from the AA. Brush, who was listed as a delegate on behalf of Indianapolis and considered “a representative of an untenanted franchise,”34 positioned himself to make a play for Cincinnati. With several notes still outstanding from the Indianapolis buyout, there was an expectation that Brush would end up with the to-be-revived Reds. Word soon arrived that the PL delegation was headed to New York, leading to an adjournment of the day’s proceedings.

Meeting in Bacon’s New York office, the PL representatives, which included New York and Brooklyn capitalists, agreed not to settle with the NL unless all PL clubs were accommodated.35 By letter to Young, the PL requested a meeting with the NL. In receipt of the request, the NL “chuckled over the downfall of the Players’ League,”36 and, at Byrne’s urging, agreed that it could not meet with the PL in the absence of the AA.

With the PL delegation held in abeyance, Brush made his move for Cincinnati during the November 13 proceedings. The NL had never recognized the transfer of the franchise to the PL consortium, believing that the NL franchise on Cincinnati was not subject to transfer without its consent. Brush brought charges that a series of post-sale games against Al Johnson’s Cleveland Infants violated the NL constitution and thus necessitated expulsion. Young telegraphed former Cincinnati director Harry Sterne requesting a response from the club, to which Sterne replied that he was not responsible for any games played following the sale.

The NL appointed a committee composed of Robison, Brush, and Young both to bring suit against the former Reds owners for breach of contract and evaluate applications for a new Cincinnati franchise if the current one (held by Johnson and other PL capitalists) was deemed forfeited.37 In lighter business, Rogers presented Pittsburgh president J. Palmer O’Neill with a pennant “of blue silk with 114 white stars”38 signifying the record-breaking number of defeats by the Alleghenys during the 1890 season. O’Neill accepted the pennant with good humor and a promise to claim the real pennant for the following season.

The National League Senses Victory

The NL ended its annual meeting with little formal business on Friday, November 14, but the posturing between PL and NL interests continued through the weekend. Prince arrived in New York, joining his PL colleagues at the St. James Hotel. With Addison on the brink of reaching a settlement with Spalding in Chicago, Prince declared he received legal advice questioning the legality of the apparent desertions of New York, Pittsburgh, and Chicago. Under a 10-year agreement among the clubs and the PL constitution, no club could sell out or assign its interests without a three-fourths approval of the others.39 Brunell was authorized to seek injunctions to enforce these provisions, if necessary.

There remained a split among the Brooklyn PL backers, primarily over whether the consolidated club would play its games at Washington Park (NL home) or Eastern Park (PL home). One director, Edward Linton, declared he would maintain a PL club at Eastern Park if either the circuit continued or Brooklyn would be taken care of in the event of a wider consolidation.40 Prince announced he was prepared to prop up the league financially and sent a letter to players under his signature. Prince attempted to assure players, writing that “you have no fear for the success of the organization, notwithstanding the way many of the so-called capitalists have shown weakness.”41

Keeping to their position not to meet with the PL in the absence of the AA conferees, the NL authorized Robison to invite Johnson into their conclave in his capacity as an individual club owner. Telling the NL magnates they “were the masters of the situation,”42 Johnson outlined the basis of a settlement. He asserted there could be no agreement without accommodating Prince and the Wagners in their respective situations in Boston and Philadelphia.

The resistance of the Triumvirs was well known, but the Wagners had navigated through a three-way fight in Philadelphia. The AA Athletics had collapsed before the conclusion of the 1890 season and their affairs were being handled in local bankruptcy courts. The NL Phillies appeared willing to countenance the Wagners’ PL team as competitors under the AA umbrella. Earle Wagner had hinted to Spalding his willingness to move to the AA.43

The opinion of the AA was unclear, however. As for himself, Johnson proposed two paths to settlement: giving him full control of Cincinnati under the NL banner or compensate him for $37,000 of his claimed $46,000 in losses from the prior season. The NL rejected that offer, as well as a subsequent offer from Johnson consisting of cash and notes and also volunteering the condition that there be no PL club in Boston, Brooklyn, or Philadelphia.44

When Brush, Byrne, and Robison later delivered an offer from Spalding of $25,000 for Johnson’s interests in Cleveland and Cincinnati as well as his retirement from baseball, Johnson “indignantly rejected the proposition, threw the paper on the floor”45 and stormed out of the room declaring an end of negotiations with the NL. Johnson advised the other PL capitalists they could settle with him if he was an obstacle to an agreement with the NL. Spalding later gloated about the relative state of the rival leagues, “The Players’ League is dead as the proverbial door nail and no amount of hustling can revive it.”46

And About the American Association . . .

The AA met in Louisville on November 24 for its annual meeting, which AA president Zach Phelps had moved up from its original December date in response to recent events. The AA convened with half of its clubs teetering on expulsion or exclusion. Because the Athletic club was in arrears for unpaid player salaries, league dues, and gate guarantees, the AA unanimously expelled the Philadelphia club despite the interest of the receiver and minority shareholders in paying off indebtedness and reestablishing the team on sounder footing.

Rochester, Syracuse, and Toledo had been recruited from the minor leagues to round out the 1890 AA circuit after Brooklyn, Cincinnati and others bolted the AA following the 1889 season. Now, they were surplus to requirements but also members in good standing. There were no decisions taken with respect to the PL clubs in Boston and Philadelphia, but it was generally understood (and, among some, already agreed) that Rochester, Syracuse, and Toledo would need to make way if such an arrangement occurred. Plus, former Nationals manager Michael Scanlan organized a group in Washington and sent former player Sam Trott to Louisville to file the application. (New Haven was also interested in AA membership, but that interest was not reciprocated.)

Louisville president Laurence Parsons moved to appoint a conference committee, which turned out to be composed of Barnie, Thurman, and von der Ahe, to settle the Philadelphia franchise as well as “all matters affecting the circuit and welfare of the association.”47 The motion carried unanimously. In other business, although Phelps had been reelected president at the outset of the meeting (with Barnie elected vice president), he resigned the post due to the demands of his law practice. At Phelps’ suggestion and upon von der Ahe’s motion, the AA unanimously elected Thurman to the presidency. Phelps would be retained as legal counsel for the association. After the meeting’s adjournment, the conference committee met briefly to hatch plans to pay off Rochester, Syracuse, and Toledo and recruit other cities (likely Boston and Chicago) in their places.

Following the Louisville meeting, von der Ahe and Thurman set to work in dealing with the AA’s smaller cities. Thurman met with Syracuse president George K. Frazer in New York on December 13, and the latter agreed to a buyout then estimated at $8,000 and conditioned on Frazer’s player contracts and territorial rights being respected. Rochester’s Col. Henry Brinker also intended to meet with Thurman, but returned home when kept waiting too long.

Brinker claimed losses of around $18,000 and stated that he had a written agreement from the 1890 AA finance committee to be reimbursed for any losses. The AA was unlikely to meet that price, to which Brinker responded, “I am still ready to sell my Rochester franchise, but I don’t intend to be kicked out.”48

Toledo was not eager to be bought out, and it seemed the club might get kicked out. Club president V.H. Ketcham met with von der Ahe and Thurman in late December. During the meeting, Ketcham brushed aside an initial buyout offer of $7000 and also pointed out that as a condition of Toledo leaving the International League, other AA clubs (including St. Louis) had agreed not to force Ketcham from the association. Thurman threatened to invoke a section of the AA constitution as a means of forcing out Toledo if Ketcham did not take a buyout.

The matters of Rochester and Toledo lingered until the joint NL-AA meeting in mid-January in New York. In the case of Rochester, Brinker remained willing to sell; the issue was agreeing on a figure. It was believed the Rochester’s dismissal would make way for Washington to join the AA. Prior to the meeting, Thurman served notice on Ketcham to show cause why Toledo should not be expelled. Asserting that his club remained a member in good standing, Ketcham responded by obtaining an injunction to prevent Toledo’s expulsion.

As both sides prepared to argue the matter in court, Thurman and Ketcham met privately and struck a deal. On January 14, 1891, the AA reached an agreement with all three clubs that would pay $8,500 to Toledo and $7000 to Syracuse in cash the following morning. Rochester would receive $10,000 in notes to be paid over three installments. When Parsons objected to the arrangement, it was suggested that Louisville might be dropped instead of Toledo.49 At that threat, Louisville joined the scheme. For the AA, disposing of its unwanted cities was only part of the structuring the league for the 1891 season.

Compromise and Consolidation Squeeze Out the Players’ League

While the AA sorted through the business of its future configuration, the NL and PL clubs spent the remainder of 1890 maneuvering in individual cities. In Chicago, two issues required disposition: the buyout of the PL club and the placement of an AA club. Spalding and Addison reached a tentative buyout agreement at $25,000 (with some New York stock thrown into the deal by McAlpin and Talcott), but Addison faced claims from Chicago PL players for unpaid salaries.

Spalding wanted that matter resolved before consummating the deal. Addison argued that he owed the players nothing, asserting that their contracts called for salaries to be paid from gate money after payment of expenses.50 Addison complained, “I’ll see them hanged first.”51 After conferring with his business partners, Addison told Spalding to deduct the salary payments from the $25,000 and pay the players himself. Thus, for approximately $18,000, Spalding acquired the player contracts, grounds lease, and a commitment from the Chicago PL officers not to go into the baseball business in the Windy City for at least five years.

The Spalding-Addison agreement did not account for the AA’s efforts to place a club in Chicago, however. Thurman met with Spalding in early December, and the Chicago magnate signaled his willingness to relent on the conditions that the AA club charge 50-cents admission and not play on Sundays or sell beer. Spalding argued, “I have labored for fifteen years to elevate the game and I have always felt Sunday ball degrades it . . . .”52 Those conditions seemed fatal to any success an AA club might enjoy. The Sabbath question was also complicated by the local City League, which generally played its games on Sundays and used available grounds around Chicago to do so. Though Spalding just spent a tidy sum to get rid of Addison and the PL, he was also lobbying the Triumvirs to accept an AA team in Boston and realized he could not ask them to agree to local competition without doing so himself.53

Meanwhile, several clubs completed their consolidation arrangements as the new year approached. Leaders of the New York NL and PL clubs signed an agreement at Judge Bacon’s office on December 18, completing their consolidation arrangement. The expectation was that Day would assume the presidency of the combined club with Talcott as vice president.54 Pittsburgh finalized the consolidation in mid-December; the NL club would resign from the league during the January NL meeting with the combined club being admitted in its place as the “Pittsburgh Athletic Company.”55

Brooklyn seemed likely to be the next domino to fall with Byrne and Goodwin nearing an agreement that, if completed, would bring half of the 1890 PL under the control of NL. Further, in consolidating PL clubs into the league, the NL was slowly acquiring shares of the Cincinnati Reds that had been subscribed by PL capitalists now brought into the NL fold.

A jilted Al Johnson and an uncertain Charles Prince worked to keep alive the PL although it was unclear whether they were motivated by maintaining by leverage over the magnates or the ideals upon which the PL was founded. Prince implored, “Don’t you think for a moment our League is dead,”56 and announced plans to form a six-team circuit from the remaining clubs and the prospective new entrants he believed to be plentiful. Johnson and Brunell wrote to players believed to be loyal to the PL cause on December 12 requesting that they stand by the PL “at a critical stage of its existence.”57

The letter promised the settling of any outstanding salaries and a bright future, but requested whether the players would sign for a smaller salary than 1890. Learning of the letter, Spalding mocked, “Such a circular makes one laugh.”58 Declaring the PL defunct, the Chicago owner added, “All the Al Johnsons on earth . . . could not revive the Players’ League.”59 In response, Johnson stated of the NL magnates, “The Czar of Russia could not be more autocratic than the airs and authority which they have assumed.”60

As the calendar turned to January, resolution in additional cities brought greater clarity to the baseball landscape for 1891. The Brooklyn situation had remained unresolved due to a continuing difference of opinion among the directors from the PL side. Objecting to the terms of the deal, Linton obtained an injunction on January 6 in Brooklyn Superior Court to prevent the other directors from disposing of club property or effecting consolidation. Linton met with other PL capitalists to discuss fielding a rump circuit for the 1891 season, but he ultimately accepted a buyout that allowed the consolidation of the Brooklyn clubs at the end of January.

The Triumvirs remained opposed to a second team in Boston, relying on the provision of the National Agreement that allowed them control of their territory as well as their conviction that the Hub could not support two profitable teams. During the New York NL-AA meeting, Spalding and Thurman promised Prince a spot in the AA, although it was unclear it was their spot to give.61

The joint committee — by now, the NL-AA grouping of Spalding, Day, Byrne, Thurman, von der Ahe, and Barnie — voted unanimously to allow Prince’s club to join the AA. Without support for their position, the Triumvirs finally caved to the momentum for peace but not before extracting conditions. In exchange for their consent to allow Prince’s club to join the AA, Boston had to agree to return players under reservation to NL clubs, refrain from using “Boston” as its name, charge 50-cents admission, and agree to play away on Decoration Day in exchange for playing at home on the Fourth of July.

With the path cleared, the AA formally admitted Boston and Philadelphia from the PL as well as the new Scanlan-Trott club in Washington. It was expected that Chicago would be admitted later, but Milwaukee was positioned as an alternate member.

Losing allies, Johnson sought to preserve whatever advantage might remain available to him as he increasingly appeared to be a one-man PL. Prince and Wagner agreed to permit Johnson to hold their Cincinnati stock as a trustee, the intention being to provide Johnson with leverage to force a settlement with the NL over the Reds. Johnson warned the NL not to acknowledge anyone else as the Cincinnati owner, a request tabled by the NL in apparent deference to Brush.62

Johnson’s isolation became increasingly obvious when several NL representatives showed up to a PL meeting intending to exercise the influence gained through consolidation. With the PL all but dead, the consolidation “scorecard,” if one was kept, might have read as follows:

• NL: New York, Brooklyn, Pittsburgh, Chicago consolidated with local PL rivals; Philadelphia and Boston intact with local AA opposition from admission of former PL clubs; Cleveland intact with no apparent local competition; Cincinnati with Brush application pending.

• AA: Baltimore, Louisville, St. Louis, Columbus returning; Rochester, Syracuse, Toledo bought out; bankrupt Athletics replaced by Wagners’ Philadelphia PL club; Boston admitted from PL; Washington admitted; Chicago or Milwaukee for final spot.

• PL: Four clubs consolidated with NL clubs; two clubs admitted to AA; Buffalo effectively collapsed; Cleveland/Cincinnati interest held by Johnson.

Therefore, the only open questions appeared to concern the eighth clubs in the NL and AA; that is, who would control the NL franchise in Cincinnati and whether Chicago or Milwaukee would claim the final spot in the AA. As it stood, Johnson had no one with whom to contest the PL.

The Making and Unmaking of a New National Agreement

With the make-up of the leagues coming into shape, a new National Agreement was developed and approved by the NL and AA on January 16. Former NL president A.G. Mills was the lead drafter of the document, but he received considerable input from the leading figures of the NL and AA. The Western Association was admitted to major-league status under the agreement with the lobbying of president L.C. Krauthoff.

The agreement established a three-person Board of Control that had broad oversight over the game, including the powers to approve player and manager contracts, resolve controversies and grievances, release players whose salaries had not been paid, and enforce “all agreements fairly made.”63 The agreement carried prior concepts of territorial rights and minor-league classifications, and attempted to resolve two of the Brotherhood’s grievances by prohibiting the transfer of players without their consent and eliminating the player blacklist. The reserve rule, however, remained in place. Clubs were to submit their reserve lists to the Board of Control by February 9 and the Board was scheduled to meet February 13 to resolve any outstanding issues about player reservation, assignment and allocation.

Before leaving New York, the AA and NL transacted additional league business. Meeting on January 17, the AA agreed a plan to divide gate receipts on a 50-50 basis with an exception for pooling and dividing equally among all clubs those receipts from Decoration Day, Independence Day, and Labor Day games. The exception was included to address complaints from some clubs about playing in lower-drawing cities on major holidays.

The owners also selected Thurman as the AA representative to the Board of Control, a decision that later events would prove significant. Thurman and Prince were delegated the responsibility of filling the vacancy intended for a new Chicago club, but Spalding and Anson were making offers to provide players to strengthen Milwaukee should the AA look toward the north for its final club. The NL also met on the 17th, with Rogers chosen as its representative to the Board of Control after Spalding declined the post; Rogers’ name was pulled from a hat to break a 4-4 deadlock between him and Byrne.64

The issue of player reservation and allocation became crucial to the remaining events of the winter meetings. With the Wagners’ PL team effectively becoming the successor club to the bankrupt AA Athletic club, the brothers believed that Athletics players would be “returned” to them as the new Athletics club prepared for the 1891 season. Lou Bierbauer and Harry Stovey, one rising star and one current star, were two former Athletics players the Wagners counted on controlling.

The circumstances of their reservation after the 1890 season was unclear, however, and the matter would be decided by the Board of Control. The issue was whether the collapsing Athletics, or then-AA president Phelps when the club was forfeited, properly reserved Bierbauer and Stovey (and other players, too). Bierbauer and Stovey played for the Athletics in 1889, but signed for the PL’s Brooklyn and Boston clubs for 1890. The Wagners intended to exercise their perceived rights to the players. They wanted Bierbauer for themselves but intended to “transfer” Stovey to Boston (where he played in 1890) to help Prince maintain a strong nine for 1891.

Believing they had not been reserved correctly and therefore free agents for 1891, Bierbauer signed with Pittsburgh and Stovey agreed a contract with the Triumvirs in Boston. Earle Wagner thought the players would be awarded to the “new” Athletics club because the players had been reserved by the “old” Athletics after the 1889 season and their lack of reservation after the 1890 season was a technicality given the circumstances of the Athletics’ collapse.

With AA president Thurman and NL representative Rogers (from Philadelphia) forming a majority, the Board declared on February 14 that the players were not properly reserved and the contracts with their new clubs should be “sustained and enforced.”65 Only Krauthoff sided with the Wagners and the AA. (An additional ruling upheld Pittsburgh’s deal with Connie Mack, the contract disputes leading to the “Pirates” nickname that survives to this day.)

The ruling, and Thurman’s role in it, enraged the AA. Meeting February 17 with Barnie as chair, the AA unanimously voted to withdraw from the National Agreement. Peace had reigned for 32 days. Thurman, “charged with acting in complicity with the League and against his own organization,”66 was stripped of the presidency, and the AA appointed a committee to examine his books, records, and cash accounts. An outraged Thurman lashed back, asserting that his sacking “only shows that they do not understand or appreciate the purpose of the board.”67

The AA installed Cincinnati attorney Louis Kramer as its new president. Intending to ensure that the AA held together, the owners adopted a guarantee fund to be composed of 51% of the capital stock of each club. The AA also adopted a resolution thanking Krauthoff for supporting the AA position and decided that players would wear white at home and black on the road. In a final act, the AA named its eighth club: Al Johnson’s Cincinnati club. Johnson conditioned his acceptance on Mike “King” Kelly joining his club, which was agreed by the Prince’s Boston Reds.

Further positioning the AA for war footing, Johnson was named to the Board of Directors. The AA fully planned to raid NL clubs for players, a state of affairs to which the NL would oblige. The Board of Control had taken the position that AA clubs effectively annulled all player contracts by withdrawing from the National Agreement that was specifically referenced in those contracts, meaning that AA players were free agents available to any National Agreement (read: NL) club. Referring to the Board action, the AA’s law committee stated that “[t]he American Association does not take its law from the self-constituted court of base ball—the Board of Control.”68

The scramble for players included many twists, perhaps none more strange than von der Ahe swearing out a warrant for Pittsburgh pitcher Mark Baldwin’s arrest when the latter traveled to St. Louis for the purpose of enlisting players to jump from the AA to the NL. The subsequent contest for players’ services eliminated hope of a “peace dividend”; salaries would rise from an average of $3,000 in 1890 to $3,500 in 1891.69

Back Where We Started in Cincinnati

Since the January NL meeting, Brush had been acting as the presumptive owner of Cincinnati franchise. Coming from Indianapolis, however, he had a difficult time finding local investors to take stock in the new club. Viewing Johnson’s newspaper allies as creating a hostile atmosphere, Brush even tried to reach an agreement with Johnson.70

With Johnson joining the AA, Brush requested assistance from the other magnates when the NL assembled at the Fifth Avenue Hotel on March 3. The fight with Johnson in the Queen City dominated the first two days of proceedings. While the magnates blanched at the estimated $30,000 for the fight, they also agreed on the need to stabilize the Cincinnati club. The NL appointed a committee of Reach, Robison, and O’Neill to assess and report on the matter and directed Brush to make arrangements for playing the 1891 season in Cincinnati. The NL also resolved a long-discussed scheme for dividing gate receipts by adopting a formula of 50 percent to the home team, 40 percent to the visitors, and 10 percent to be sent to Young for a guarantee fund. That fund might be tapped to prop up Brush, if needed.

The AA magnates might have believed it had the upper hand in Cincinnati with its history of Association baseball, but they soon discovered the risk of doing business with Al Johnson. As the AA assembled in Cincinnati on March 10, delegates heard rumors that Johnson was negotiating with the NL about a sellout. O’Neill, who was part of the committee appointed to assess the Cincinnati situation, provided the funds to buy out Johnson for $26,000 in cash and $4000 in notes.

The AA obtained a temporary injunction on March 11, claiming that Johnson violated his trusteeship for those who subscribed to stock when the PL bought the Reds in October. Indeed, there was a question about whether Johnson controlled what he attempted to sell. With Johnson holding $7500 in stock in his own name and $10,000 in trusteeship for Prince and the Wagners (although Johnson later claimed they gave him their stock in “atonement for deserting him”71), that only added up to $17,500 of the $40,000. Through consolidations in New York and Brooklyn as well as Addison’s share from Chicago’s stake, the NL appeared to control $19,000 of the stock. The remaining stock, held by former Chicago PL shareholders not controlled by Johnson, appeared to provide the balance.

With the injunction in place and the lack of clarity about Johnson’s ability to actually deliver the Cincinnati club, O’Neill and the NL held up payment of the funds promised to Johnson. The NL nonetheless ratified the O’Neill-Johnson agreement in late March and turned over the club to Brush as the season approached. NL clubs answered Brush’s appeal for players by placing 17 men at the Reds’ disposal for the season.72

The AA quickly established a new club in Cincinnati, subscribing 80% percent of the capital stock to local investors within the first few days. King Kelly chose to remain with and manage the AA outfit, subscribing $1,000 in stock before setting out to find players for a club due to open its season within a month. With the Western Avenue grounds tied up in the court action, both clubs scrambled to find a place to play. The NL managed to secure the Western Avenue grounds on the eve of the season when the NL paid the money promised Johnson to a court-appointed receiver, while the AA had settled on constructing stands in Pendleton, four miles from central Cincinnati.73

As the Cincinnati correspondent to The Sporting News stated, “There’s no doubt of our having a well developed, real and lively base ball war in Cincinnati . . . .”74 An offseason that opened with a battle over Cincinnati would end with that same city representing the wider dispute between the two leagues still standing for the hearts and minds of baseball fans.

One Era Ends and The Next One Nears

Shortly before the opening of the 1891 NL season, an era of baseball history came to a close. In a letter to NL president Young on April 14, Spalding announced his retirement from active involvement in baseball with James Hart elected as president of the Chicago club in his place. Spalding claimed he originally intended to leave the baseball arena after the famous 1888-1889 world tour, but “I was deterred from this course at that time on account of the recent Brotherhood revolt.”75

With the PL no more and his expanding sporting goods empire requiring greater attention, Spalding apparently felt comfortable to “retire with the consciousness that I have always tried to do that which I believed to be for the best interests, advancement, and elevation of professional baseball.”76 With that announcement, Spalding and his wife boarded a ship for a long European vacation.77 Spalding, however, would never be far from the game.

From the outside and Spalding’s exit notwithstanding, the events of the 1890-1891 offseason may seem to have brought a restoration of the status quo: the NL and AA as the two dominant baseball organizations, changed but largely intact after prevailing in a bruising war with their players. The PL was no more, but there was hardly a return to the 1880s. The decade of the 1890s would prove much different, and 1891 would also prove to be the last of the century with two major leagues. The battle for players and the battle between the leagues proved still costly. Posturing would continue, so would back-channel contacts. By the end of the year, the way forward for major-league baseball would reveal itself as monopoly.

Sources

In addition to the sources cited in the Notes, the author also consulted baseball-reference.com.

Notes

1 Robert B. Ross, The Great Baseball Revolt: The Rise and Fall of the 1890 Players League (Lincoln and London: University of Nebraska Press, 2016), 179.

2 Joe Murphy, “The Hoosier Club,” The Sporting News, October 11, 1890: 1.

3 “Byrne Roasts Stern,” The Sporting News, October 18, 1890: 3.

4 “The Great Baseball War,” New York Times, October 6, 1890: 2.

5 “Random Guesses,” Sporting Life, October 4, 1890: 6.

6 F.C.R., “Conference at Last,” Sporting Life, October 11, 1890: 1.

7 “All In Favor Of Peace,” New York Times, October 10, 1890: 3.

8 F.C.R., “Conference at Last.”

9 “All In Favor Of Peace.”

10 “The Baseball Situation,” New York Times, October 12, 1890: 8.

11 “Baseball Men In Session,” New York Times, October 11, 1890: 3.

12 “Another Baseball Row,” New York Times, October 19, 1890: 10.

13 Ibid.

14 “Ball Players in Session,” New York Times, October 21, 1890: 2.

15 “Players’ League Meeting,” Sporting Life, October 25, 1890: 2.

16 Ibid.

17 Ibid.

18 Gotham, “A Verdict Rendered,” The Sporting News, October 25, 1890: 1.

19 “Spalding’s Review,” Sporting Life, November 1, 1890: 3.

20 “Baseball Men Disagree,” New York Times, October 23, 1890: 3.

21 Reddy, “Want to Compromise,” The Sporting News, November 1, 1890: 5.

22 Gotham, “The Latest News,” The Sporting News, November 1, 1890: 1.

23 Ibid.

24 Gotham, “In the Metropolis,” The Sporting News, November 8, 1890: 3.

25 “Prodding Players’ League Men,” Sporting Life, November 8, 1890: 2.

26 “Boston on the Rampage,” Sporting Life, November 8, 1890: 2.

27 “Fresh Excitement,” Sporting Life, November 8, 1890: 2.

28 Ibid.

29 “Boston on the Rampage.”

30 Ibid.

31 “The Players’ Annual Meeting,” Sporting Life, November 15, 1890: 2.

32 Ibid.

33 Ibid.

34 “The League Meeting,” Sporting Life, November 15, 1890: 4.

35 Gotham, “The League Meeting,” The Sporting News, November 15, 1890: 3.

36 “Sale of a Baseball Club,” New York Times, November 14, 1890: 3.

37 “The League Meeting.”

38 “Sale of a Baseball Club.” Modern records state that the Pittsburgh Alleghenys lost 113 games during 1890 instead of the 114 losses depicted by the white stars on the pennant presented to O’Neill.

39 H.W. Lanigan, “Wagner Still Fights,” The Sporting News, November 22, 1890: 3.

40 “Players’ League,” Sporting Life, November 22, 1890: 2.

41 Gotham, “The Closing Rites,” The Sporting News, November 22, 1890: 2.

42 “Players’ League.”

43 Gotham, “The Closing Rites.”

44 “Players’ League.”

45 Ibid.

46 Murphy, “The Olive Branch,” The Sporting News, November 29, 1890: 1.

47 Anslem(?) “A New Association,” The Sporting News, November 29, 1890: 5.

48 “Brinker’s Views,” Sporting Life, January 10, 1891: 1.

49 “A New Baseball Circuit,” New York Times, January 14, 1891: 2.

50 Murphy, “The Olive Branch,” The Sporting News, January 3, 1891: 1.

51 “Chicago Settled,” Sporting Life, November 15, 1890: 1.

52 Murphy, “Boston and Chicago,” The Sporting News, December 27, 1890: 1.

53 “Spalding’s Review,” Sporting Life, December 27, 1890: 4.

54 “The Consolidation Perfected,” New York Times, December 20, 1890: 8.

55 “Checkmated Again,” Sporting Life, January 10, 1891: 2.

56 Mugwump, “Hub Happenings,” Sporting Life, December 6, 1890: 4.

57 “That Circular,” Sporting Life, December 27, 1890: 3.

58 Murphy, “Boston and Chicago.”

59 “Spalding’s Review.”

60 “Johnson Still Confident,” Sporting Life, January 10, 1891: 1.

61 Charles C. Alexander, Turbulent Seasons: Baseball in 1890-1891 (Dallas: Southern Methodist University Press, 2011), 114.

62 “Daylight at Last,” The Sporting News, January 24, 1891: 2.

63 “End of the Baseball War,” New York Times, January 17, 1891: 2.

64 “Daylight at Last.”

65 “Thurman’s Break,” The Sporting News, February 21, 1891: 2.

66 “Another Baseball War,” New York Times, February 19, 1891: 3.

67 Murphy, “Thurman Very Warm,” The Sporting News, February 21, 1891: 1.

68 “Work of the Week,” Sporting Life, March 7, 1891: 3.

69 Ross: 198.

70 Ban Johnson, “Cincinnati Chips,” Sporting Life, February 7, 1891: 6.

71 The Cincinnati Scandal,” Sporting Life, April 11, 1891: 1.

72 “Cincinnati Affairs,” Sporting Life, April 4, 1891: 7.

73 “Work of the Meeting,” Sporting Life, March 14, 1891: 3.

74 D.O.K., “In the Queen City,” The Sporting News, March 28, 1891: 3.

75 Murphy, “Al Spalding Resigns,” The Sporting News, April 18, 1891: 1.

76 Ibid.

77 Alexander: 127.

The league’s new name was now officially the National League and American Association of Professional Base Ball Clubs, which suggests a merger. It was not a merger but an absorption of the Association’s four most desirable clubs, Louisville, Washington, St. Louis, and Baltimore. The League, after 16 years, had evolved into a nice blend of six Eastern and six Western members in roughly the same Northeastern quarter of the nation that major-league baseball would represent for the next 66 years.2

The Triumvirs (Arthur Soden, James B. Billings, and William H. Conant) were in a windfall position since recent events left the Beaneaters (or Bean-eaters, or Bean Eaters, or even Reds in rare instances) as the sole major-league team in the Boston area. Actually, Charles A. Prince, owner of the Boston Reds of the American Association, had desired to leave baseball in any event and agreed to the League’s terms without much difficulty.

One of the first monopolistic moves that the owners undertook was to limit each club to 15 players, an increase of one from the previous five years.3 Manager Frank Selee’s roster was basically a mirror of last October’s club except for three remarkable gains. The first was Jack Stivetts, the stocky right-handed 33-game winner for the St. Louis Browns of a year earlier. Happy Jack, as he was called, was downhearted playing for Chris Von der Ahe, owner of the Browns, and signed with Boston for 1892 one month before the end of the 1891 season.4 Von der Ahe also lost his brilliant right fielder, Tommy McCarthy, to the Boston triumvirate and vainly demanded some sort of redemption from their organization. Von der Ahe’s redemption was achieved to his own peculiar satisfaction when he sent two constables to Tommy’s room at the Lindell Hotel in St. Louis on April 30 and seized his watch and chain to force satisfaction of a claim for $300 advance money given by the Browns’ owner. McCarthy paid $19.50 to get his timepiece returned; Von der Ahe then signed Boston’s recently released Steve Brodie, whom McCarthy replaced.5 McCarthy was a hometown boy, born in South Boston on July 24, 1863, and had played 40 games for the Beaneaters back in 1885. Manager Selee had managed McCarthy with Oshkosh of the Northwestern League in 1887.6 The Beaneaters also signed “Humpty Dumpty” Hugh Duffy, the center fielder at the Congress Street Grounds, where the Boston Reds played, and the only one of Prince’s athletes who signed to play at the South End, a player the Boston directors had coveted for years. Duffy, who was the spring season coach for the Brown University team in Providence, was “looking fine as silk” after shedding about 12 pounds.7 The outfield duo of Duffy and McCarthy became forever known as the Heavenly Twins.8

To heighten fan interest, the League-Association reintroduced a split-season format. With an expanded 154-game schedule, the champions of the first 77 games were to meet the winner of the second 77 in a best-of-nine series for the world’s championship.9

The “Spring Programme” arranged by manager Selee began on March 31 at Charlottesville, Virginia, with two or three games against the University of Virginia nine. The team also played games in Richmond, Virginia, and Naugatuck, Connecticut, near Waterbury. The schedule concluded with games against Yale University, Brown University, and finally Princeton University on the way south to Washington.10

The regular-season opener was played on April 12 at National Park in Washington on a bitter cold day before 6,000 to 7,000 spectators, overflowing the grandstand and bleachers.11 The Beaneaters, behind a 13-hit attack, trounced the Senators, 14-4, scoring six times in the seventh inning. Selee’s lineup included Herman Long at short, Duffy in center, Harry Stovey in left, Tommy McCarthy in right, Captain Billy Nash at third, aging Mike “King” Kelly catching, Australian Joe Quinn at second, switch-hitting Tommy “Foghorn” Tucker at first, and 30-year-old John Clarkson in the box.12

With essentially this same Opening Day lineup, Boston surged to the forefront with the power and purpose of 400 stampeding buffalo (which was about all that remained of the species in 1892). Selee’s nine won 12 of their first 15 matches.

His battery troupe alternated between catchers Mike Kelly, 37-year-old Charlie Bennett, and Charlie Ganzel, and pitchers Kid Nichols, Jack Stivetts, and Harry Staley, who together with Clarkson completed what appeared to be the first great starting rotation of four.

The Beaneaters won 15 of their first 18 matches, almost entirely on the road, before losing two in a row against the Cleveland Spiders at League Park on May 9 and 10. One of the more interesting games during that stretch was a scoreless 14-inning tie at Cincinnati’s League Park on May 6 between Clarkson and Icebox Chamberlain of the Reds. Both hurlers completed what they started in the 2-hour 35-minute marathon. The pitchers’ duel also extended to the bat, as the two boxmen both connected for two-base hits.13

The two victories on Decoration Day (Memorial Day) drew 3,687 fans to the morning game at the South End, while the afternoon game drew 7,367.14 The morning contest featured John Clarkson versus Cy Young and the Spiders in an exciting 10-inning duel cleanly played for the first nine innings. The game was decided in the 10th by two walks, Young’s miscue, and singles by Kelly and Stovey for a 4-0 triumph. If we ignore the five-run fifth that Cleveland fashioned, the afternoon match was a cakewalk for the Beaneaters, as the cranks were entertained to a 12-6 victory. King Kelly was the star with a double, two singles, and brilliant catching, helping Harry Staley win his eighth straight game.15

After Stivetts completed the three-game sweep of Cleveland by outpitching the Spiders’ Nig Cuppy on May 31 by a score of 2-1, Boston found itself with a 4½-game lead over the second-place Chicago Colts, and stood 27-9.

The individual statistics as of June 9 placed Duffy ninth in batting at .320, but Boston was only eighth with a .234 average. Stivetts was first in the long-forgotten average earned-runs-per-game-by-opposition at 0.91. The Bostonians ranked just fifth in fielding average with a .934 average.16 The early numbers and facts supported Cap Anson’s claim that the Beaneaters were lucky. Even Stivetts wondered how the club kept winning despite a lack of hitting. His guess was that winning can be attributed to pitching and baserunning.17

In June, the club won 18 of 27 matches behind the tandem of Nichols winning eight of nine games, and Stivetts who won seven of eight while pacing the league in batting. Nichols, with two straight shutouts on June 22 and 24, had a string of 23 scoreless innings before giving up a run in the first inning at New York on June 27. Staley, with his effective “drops,” started just four games, with meager run support. Boston had improved to 45-18 with a 5½-game lead over Brooklyn with just 12 days to go before the end of the season’s first half.

June was a month of adjustments as club owners cut their squads to 13 in an effort to help defray the $130,000 indebtedness owed to the four frozen-out clubs of the American Association. Boston’s two casualties were genial Harry Stovey and John Clarkson. Stovey, hitting just .164 over 38 games, was given the usual 10-day notice on June 20 for his release effective July 1.18 His lackluster performance possibly resulted from what was described as a case of vertigo, or sore side, or some other undescribed ailment along with a strained hip early in the season; nonetheless, the 35-year-old landed a job with the hapless Baltimore Orioles on July 9 and managed better personal results.19 John Clarkson was released on June 30 when his sore arm recurred.20 His record up to his discharge was eight wins and seven losses. In one grand fling to the winds, the Triumvirs unloaded two of their oldest players and their heavy contracts as well.

For Clarkson it was especially thankless. Handsome John piled up 149 victories during his 4½ years with the Beaneaters, placing him second only to Albert Spalding in the 22-year history of the club. He was also the club’s last 40-game winner (1889).

The loss of Clarkson was more than made up for by the singular efforts of Stivetts, the most valuable player on the squad. Not only did he match Nichols’ record of 35 wins and 16 losses, Jack helped himself offensively with three homers and a .296 batting average, second best on the team.

Stovey’s replacement in left field was Bobby Lowe, 26 years old, who was usually placed sixth or seventh in the batting order during the second half. Manager Selee, however, had no choice but to settle on his three remaining boxmen for the rest of the year, a simple task considering the lack in quality, depth, and endurance that the other managers were faced with. Clarkson’s last game as a Beaneater came on June 28 in an 8-1 defeat at the hands of Timothy Keefe and the rising second-place Phillies at their cavernous Huntingdon Grounds in Philadelphia. Clarkson eventually landed with the Spiders of Cleveland and lost all three of his starts against his former club, all against Staley.

Near the end of the first half, Billy Nash, under a two-year contract, decided that the rigors of being captain detracted too much from his performance on the baseball diamond. It didn’t help that he missed several games because of an injured hand with the first-half flag on the line.21 Kelly, with all his savvy and experience, was awarded the position, this time without John Morrill, his old nemesis, to oversee his off-field antics.22

On July 11, new captain King Kelly had his gang take the field sporting beards in all sorts of ridiculous uniforms of ethnic varieties at Chicago’s West Side Park, much to the dismay of Cap Anson and the Chicago reporters. The masquerade was in retaliation for Anson appearing at the South End with a set of long whiskers. Aside from the display, Boston won the match, 3-2, behind Kid Nichols.23

Billy Nash and Frank Selee guided their crew to a record of 52 wins and 22 losses to take the first-half title or pennant by 2½ games over Brooklyn. The Beaneaters defeated the Bridegrooms four out of seven times during the half.

The figures for the first half, which ended on July 13, showed that Stivetts was the top hitter in the league at .382, but with just 102 at-bats. For the twenty-first-century fan, the more acceptable leader was Oyster Burns of Brooklyn with a .366 average based on 262 at-bats. Among everyday players with an acceptable number of at-bats, Hugh Duffy was Boston’s top batter and fourth overall in the League-Association with a .333 average. Herman Long was third on the club at .296 and Tucker was fourth with a .266 average, which placed him 44th in the league. Apart from Stivetts, the Beaneaters pitchers collectively hit .159 with eight long hits. Fielding was mixed as Ganzel led all catchers in fielding average (.980), and pitcher Staley had committed just one error so far.24

The Bostons got off to a wobbly start in the second half, losing to St. Louis in the opener, 20-3, on July 15, as Nichols gave up 20 hits in the most lopsided defeat of the year. Their second-half record stood at 8-6 on July 31, which was good for a fifth-place tie but only a single game behind three teams in first.

Some of their troubles could be attributed to pesky injuries. Bennett had been knocked out in one game. Ganzel’s leg was incapacitated, unfit for duty, leaving poor-hitting Kelly to do all the catching. Long was suffering from an aching arm, resulting in a number of errant throws. And then there’s the familiar blame directed at the umpiring, particularly Tim Hurst, the long-serving arbiter.25

August was not much better as Selee’s crew managed a 14-11 record for the month and 22-17 for the half, rising to second place, but a distant seven games behind the surging Cleveland Spiders. The month featured four shutouts, two by Harry Staley. On August 5 Nichols pitched a 12-inning shutout against Brooklyn at Eastern Park that was finally decided when Tucker was hit by a pitch followed by a clean two-run homer by Stivetts, playing left field. The 6-foot-2 right-hander himself hurled an 11-0 no-hitter the next day against the Bridegrooms, marred a tad by five walks. It was the first in franchise history and the first one by friend or foe in Boston. On August 8 Staley pitched a four-hit whitewash of the Senators, a 7-0 victory at Boundary Field a.k.a National Park in the nation’s capital. Boston pitchers threw three consecutive shutouts and 33 consecutive innings without giving up a run.26 Notwithstanding Stivetts’s pitching, off the field he was the center of unrest on the club that may have contributed to their subpar play so far in the second half, bringing manager Selee to the brink of trading his star to Cincinnati in exchange for Tony Mullane.27

Four players made appearances in just one game for Boston during the season. The first was catcher Joe Daly, the 23-year-old brother of Tom Daly of the Brooklyn Bridegrooms. Daly began the year with Columbia of the four-team South Atlantic League that went belly-up in late July. His one appearance for the Beaneaters came in relief of Kelly on August 13 against Philadelphia.28 A fortnight later, handsome Lee Viau, recently released by Louisville, was signed and pitched one game on August 27, a nifty five-hit, 8-1 triumph over his former teammates at Eclipse Park. Selee changed his lineup for the match by placing Lowe in the leadoff spot and moving each player down a notch.29

On August 15, one month into the second half, the Bostons found themselves in third place, 2½ games behind Cleveland after Staley shut down John Clarkson and the Spiders, 5-0. Staley allowed only two hits, a double by Chief Zimmer and a single by Clarkson. Despite missing an entire week, left fielder Bobby Lowe was the topmost hitter on the club for the second half with a .313 average, followed by Billy Nash at .305.30

The determined Hubites steamrolled over the remainder of the second half, winning 28 out of 37 matches, and finishing three games behind the Spiders in second place. Under King Kelly’s field leadership, the Beaneaters won 50 out of 76 decisions that still prompted some observers to accuse Boston of coasting in the second half. The Beaneaters, in any case, made history and became the first team to pass the century mark in one season, amassing 102 victories overall and a .680 winning percentage.

As a point of interest, John Clarkson’s younger brother, Arthur, a blond 26-year-old right-hander nicknamed Dad at some point in his career, was plucked from the Philadelphia bench and/or the Troy Trojans where he had pitched 390 innings. He started one game for Boston and defeated Amos Rusie and New York, 3-1, in the second game of a doubleheader on October 8, a seven-inning affair.31 The only other player to appear for Boston in one game was catcher Dan Burke, formerly of the Brockton Shoemakers, on October 1, after Kelly hurt his finger the previous day.32

Part of Boston’s improvement over the 1891 season was due to the team’s consistency on the road. There was no missing the fact, however, that Boston only did what the other seven National League seniors had done. The four hapless remnants of the Association were picked to pieces by the gang of eight and finished 9th, 10th, 11th, and 12th. 

For good measure, Stivetts added a five-inning, 6-0 no-hitter against Washington at Boundary Field in the second game of a doubleheader on October 15, the final game of the regular season. It was also the last regular-season no-hitter hurled from the literal “box” of the pitcher.

There was a rumor or possibly a consideration that the world’s championship would not be played, but played it was to the satisfaction of Boston’s and Cleveland’s populace. The series would consist of three games in Cleveland, three in Boston, and three in New York if necessary.33

The much-anticipated first game was played at League Park in Cleveland on October 17 before 6,000 spectators including League President N.E. Young, and several League umpires.34 The crowd was blessed by a marvelous pitching battle between Jack Stivetts and Cy Young, backed by several extraordinary defensive gems and a pitching struggle for the ages as Stivetts battled Young in a scoreless tie that went 11 innings until darkness prevented its conclusion. Both teams had opportunities to score. Duffy in the fourth inning and Lowe in the fifth were the only Beaneaters to reach third base. For the Spiders, Jesse Burkett took a chance during a discussion between Quinn and the umpire and dashed for home.35Quinn threw a perfect throw to catcher Kelly and Burkett was tagged out one foot from the plate.36

The next day Harry Staley held the Spiders to three runs on 10 hits and bested John Clarkson, 4-3, before 7,500 spectators at League Park. The batting hero for the Beaneaters was Hugh Duffy with a double and two triples. Down 4-2, the Spiders had a chance to tie in the ninth inning when catcher Chief Zimmer banged a two-out triple that hit the top of the left-field fence, over 350 feet from home plate, scoring Jack O’Connor who singled. However, Clarkson – hitting just .139 for Cleveland – hit the ball hard to Staley, who fumbled momentarily before recovering and tossing the ball to Tucker at first to end the game.37

Game Three was played at League Park on October 19 before 7,500 fans on a clear, balmy afternoon. It was a rematch between Young and Stivetts in the box, as both struggled through the first couple of innings. For the Spiders, Cupid Childs led off with a smash past Nash at third base for a single; Burkett followed with a double to left, putting men on second and third. Ed McKean then drove both runners home with a one-out single to center. The Spiders never scored again. In Boston’s half of the first inning, Herman Long singled, but was forced out by McCarthy, who then stole second. With two out, catcher Charlie Ganzel singled to right, scoring McCarthy. In Boston’s half of the second inning, Bobby Lowe singled to left and was advanced to second base by Tucker’s sacrifice. Light-hitting Quinn lifted a fly ball to left field that Burkett misjudged, giving the second baseman a gift double and Boston’s second run and tying the game, 2-2. The teams failed to score until Boston’s half of the eighth inning when Stivetts doubled and then scored on McCarthy’s single for what turned out to be the winning run. Cleveland mounted a threat in the ninth as Jimmy McAleer got to third where he “died.”38

The two contestants then changed their base of operations and two days later, on October 21, the series continued at Boston’s South End Grounds before 6,547 spectators, enjoying the cool but fair weather. For the first time the Beaneaters appeared in blue stockings instead of their familiar red. The Boston battery consisted of Nichols in the box and Charlie Bennett behind the plate. The Cleveland battery comprised Nig Cuppy pitching and Zimmer once again behind home base.

Cupid Childs walked to open the match, but failed to reach second. In the Boston half of the first, Cuppy gave up one-out walks to McCarthy and Duffy without any damage. The Beaneaters scored in the third inning when McCarthy walked for the second time and Duffy hit the first offering over the right-field fence, much to the delight of the home crowd. Nichols continued to hold the Spiders scoreless with a couple of key strikeouts, backed by some fine fielding, especially by Billy Nash at the hot corner. In the sixth inning, Boston rallied for two more runs. Duffy opened with a single but was cut down by Zimmer trying to steal. Nash got to first on an error by first baseman Jake Virtue, who dropped shortstop Ed McKean’s wide throw. Nash stole second, and went to third on a safe bunt hit by Lowe, who then stole second. Light-hitting Quinn brought both runners in with a sharp hit up the middle. The final score was 4-0, as Boston won its third game without a loss.39

The fifth game of the championship series was played on Saturday, October 22, in the presence of 8,486 recorded fans at the South End. Cy Young complained of a lame arm and was replaced in the box by John Clarkson for his fifth attempt to defeat his former teammates.

The Cleveland devotees became jubilant after the Spiders scored six times off Harry Staley in the second inning. With two away, Chief Zimmer singled. The next batter was manager Patsy Tebeau, who gained first base on Herman Long’s fumble. Clarkson then cracked a homer over the right-field fence for a 3-0 lead, but the visitors were not finished. Another two runs were scored after a single by Childs and another error by Long allowing Burkett to reach first, and a walk to Virtue to load the bases. Shortstop Ed McKean drove in Zimmer and Tebeau with a blast off the top board of the right-field fence. Virtue scored the sixth run while catcher Ganzel tried to throw out McKean trying to steal second base.

The score stood at 6-0 until the fourth inning when the Beaneaters began to pound what were described as Clarkson’s dewdrops and cut the deficit in half with three runs on four singles and two sacrifice hits. In the top of the fifth Cleveland scored one run when McKean singled, McAleer sacrificed, and Zimmer got a base hit to drive McKean in. With the score 7-3, Boston answered in its half of the fifth with two more runs. Herman Long reached first on an error by third baseman Tebeau and scored on McCarthy’s double to right. Duffy sacrificed him to third and McCarthy scored on Billy Nash’s fly ball to deep left, making the score 7-5. In the last of the sixth, Boston scored four more runs to take the lead on a single by Quinn, a triple by Stivetts, a single by Long to tie the score, and a wild throw by Tebeau to put McCarthy on second. On the play, Childs threw out Long trying to score. Duffy’s double to right scored McCarthy for the go-ahead and eventual winning run, and a single by Ganzel drove in the ninth run. Three more insurance runs were tallied in the last of the seventh, the big blow being Tucker’s home run over the right-field fence. Jack Stivetts allowed just one man to reach first over the final three innings. The final score was an extraordinary come-from-behind 12-7 victory.40

Selee’s nine needed just one more victory to capture the championship. With the series outcome nearly assured, the turnout for the finale on October 24 was only about a third of the South End capacity.41 It didn’t help that the fair weather was in the 50s.

Once again Kid Nichols battled Cy Young. The umpires were Jack McQuaid on the bases and John Gaffney behind the plate. The Spiders grabbed a 3-0 lead in the third inning with singles by Young, Childs, and Burkett, who stole second base, and a wild throw. In the Boston half, however, the locals fought back with two runs as Nichols scored on Virtue’s error and McCarthy scored on Duffy’s double to left. In the fourth inning Boston teed off on Young’s curves, scoring two more runs as Tucker, Bennett, and Nichols all singled, giving the Beaneaters a 4-3 lead. They added a run in the fifth when McCarthy doubled, moved to third on Duffy’s hit, and scored on Tucker’s grounder. In the sixth inning, Bennett smashed a home run over the right-field fence, improving the lead to 6-3.42 Boston scored one run each in the seventh and eighth innings. The final score was 8-3 and Boston won the World’s Flag for 1892 and their ninth pennant in what was described as a “Blooming Walk.”43

When the final out was recorded, friends and fans of the team took to the field to congratulate their Beaneaters. Arthur Soden presented Frank Selee with a $1,000 check to be disbursed among the 13 players, about $76.92 per man.44

Not everyone was pleased. Had Cleveland won the fifth game, the series would have resumed in New York, where greater crowds meant more money, something the League’s magnates were quietly wishing for. In fact, the feeling in the baseball world was that the double season was doomed. On the other hand, the 12-team league was simply too large for a practical or interesting race.

Although he was well back of Cupid Childs (.3351) and Dan Brouthers (.335) in the batting race, Hugh Duffy, who led his team during the regular season with a revised .301 average [an original average of .302] became the pre-eminent hitting star of the series with 12 hits, two doubles, two triples, and one homer, stamping him “as a man for an emergency.”45

On October 27, 1,200 spectators attended a benefit in honor of the champs. The attractions included races and throwing competitions plus a five-inning match between a picked nine and the regulars that the Beaneaters lost through carelessness. The Beaneaters’ longtime booster, General Arthur Dixwell, awarded each member of the Boston club a scarf pin.46

After the benefit, the players left for their homes, although some, like King Kelly, appeared on stage with Tony Lions in a performance of We Never Strike Out.47 Kelly, along with Duffy and McCarthy, could be seen refereeing New England Polo League matches until winter set in. Bobby Lowe left for California after a stint with Uncle Billy Marshall’s billiard parlor, and manager Frank Selee left for Melrose, about eight miles north of Boston, to build a house.48

Notes

1 “The Real Situation,” The Sporting News, December 12, 1891: 1.

2 In 1958 the Dodgers and the Giants moved to the West Coast.

3 The 15-player limit is noted by Harold Seymour in Baseball: The Early Years (New York: Oxford University Press, 1989), 266.

4 George V. Tuohey, A History of the Boston Baseball Club (Boston: M.F. Quinn & Co., 1897), 106.

5 “Unworthy a Magnate,” Sporting Life, May 7, 1892: 1; “The Browns’ Work, Tommy McCarthy’s Case,” The Sporting News, May 14, 1892: 1.

6 A.D. Suehsdorf, “Frank Selee, Dynasty Builder,” The National Pastime, 1987: 330.

7 Boston Globe, February 22, 1892: 9; Jacob B. Morse, Hub Happenings, “That Cracking Outfield,” Sporting Life, March 26, 1892: 15.

8 Donald Hubbard The Heavenly Twins of Boston Baseball (Jefferson, North Carolina: McFarland & Company, Inc., 2008).

9 In 1892 the postseason series was normally called the World’s Championship and the Championship Series, and the World’s Championship series.

10 Jacob B. Morse, “Hub Happenings,” Sporting Life, March 26, 1892: 15.

11 Boundary Field was identified as National Park in The Sporting News, April 30, 1892: 1.

12 Duffy, McCarthy, Kelly, and Clarkson, as well as Selee himself were eventually enshrined in the National Baseball Hall of Fame.

13 National League “Games Played Friday, May 6,” Sporting Life, May 14, 1892: 8.

14 “Decoration Day Attendance,” Sporting Life, June 4, 1892: 2.

15 “Games Played Monday, May 30,” Sporting Life, June 4, 1892: 3.

16 “The Big League Averages,” The Sporting News, June 18, 1892: 4. 

17  “Boston Ways,” Sporting Life, July 16, 1892: 1.

18 T.H. Murnane, “Pretty Finish,” Boston Daily Globe, June 21, 1892: 12.

19 “New York Wants Stovey,” The Sporting News, May 7, 1892: 1; “Base Ball, Caught on the Fly,” The Sporting News, May 21, 1892: 3; T.H.M., “Boston Releases Stovey,” The Sporting News, June 25, 1892: 1; “Keeps the Boys Guessing,” Boston Globe, May 10, 1892: 21; and various other sources.  

20 Harold Kaese, The Boston Braves (Boston: Northeastern University Press, 2004), 60.

21 T.H. Murnane, “Cannot Lose It,” Boston Globe, July 9, 1892: 5.

22 Sporting Life, August 13, 1892: 9; T.H. Murnane, “Awake at Last,” Boston Globe, July 21, 1892: 5.

23  W.H.K., “Kelly’s Little Joke,” The Sporting News, July 16, 1892: 1; Base Ball, “Caught on the Fly,” July 23, 1892: 3. 

24 “Work of League Players,” Sporting Life, July 23, 1892: 4. The author used original statistics.

25 Jacob C. Morse, “Hub Happenings,” Sporting Life, July 30, 1892: 9.

26  “National League,” Sporting Life, August 13, 1892: 3.

27 T.H. Murnane, “Shut Out,” Boston Daily Globe, August 27, 1892: 5.   

28  National League, “Games Played Saturday, August 13,” Sporting Life, August 20, 1892: 3.

29 The World, August 28, 1892: 8; Logansport (Indiana) Chronicle, September 15, 1906: 6.

30  “League Leaders,” Sporting Life, August 20, 1892: 3.

31  Jacob C. Morse, “Hub Happenings,” Sporting Life, October 15, 1892: 9.

32  National League, “Games Played Saturday, October 1,” Sporting Life, October 8, 1892: 4.

33 Boston Evening Transcript, October 17. 1892: 7.

34 According to various sources, the park had a capacity of 9,000 or 10,000.

35 Bob Emslie and Pop Snyder were the umpires, according to The Sporting News box score.

36  Logansport (Indiana) Daily Pharos-Tribune, October 18, 1892: 1; “For the Big Pennant, the Good Work Continues,” The Sporting News,October 22, 1892: 3. 

37 George Davis, who didn’t finish the first game due to a sprained tendon in his heel, was unavailable for pinch-hitting.

38  “For the Big Pennant,” The Sporting News, October 22, 1892: 3.

39 T.H. Murnane, “Duffy Again,” Boston Daily Globe, October 22, 1892: 11.

40 The facts for the fifth game were drawn from the October 25 issue of the Boston Globe and the October 29 issue of The Sporting News.

41 Two references reported a crowd of 2,000. The park’s capacity in 1888 was 6,800.

42 Cy Young thus became the last pitcher to serve up a home run from the pitcher’s box in a major-league game. The box was 5½ feet long and Young was required to place one foot on the back line before his delivery, a distance of 55½ feet from the four-sided home plate.

43 Bean Blower, “In a Blooming Walk,” The Sporting News, October 29, 1892: 3.

44 T.H. Murnane, “Five Straight,” Boston Globe, October 25, 1892: 5.

45  Duffy’s original average was .302 per Reach’s Official 1893 Base Ball Guide; also .319 per Clarence Dow, “Cold Numerals,” Boston Globe, October 19, 1892: 5. See also “The World’s Series, Review of the Series,” Sporting Life, October 29, 1892: 3.

46 “Picked Team Won,” Boston Globe, October 28, 1892: 3; Boston Evening Transcript, October 28. 1892: 10.

47  “Kelly’s Future,” The Sporting News, October 29, 1892: 3.

48 For Kelly, Duffy, and McCarthy, see Boston Post, November 5, 1892: 5; and various other sources. For Lowe, see Boston Post, December 1, 1892: 3; and for Selee, see “Personals,” Sporting Life, November 12, 1892: 3.

Since opening in April of 1995, Denver’s Coors Field has received accolades for its architectural design and downtown location. The ball park echoes the scale and materials of adjacent brick warehouses and replicates the urban accessibility found in early 20th century ballparks like Wrigley Field and Ebbets Field. Yet, Coors Field, home of the Colorado Rockies, has acquired a much less favorable reputation as a place to play baseball. In fact, it has gained national notoriety as the ultimate home run hitter’s park—a launching pad of historic proportions. Coors Field led all major league ball parks in both total home runs and home runs per at-bat during seven of its first eight seasons (James 1995- 2001; STATS Inc. 2001; Carter et al. 2002).

Nearly all observers, from noted physicists to veteran players to casual fans, attribute the dramatic home run output at Coors Field to the effect of thin air on the flight of a baseball. In theory, the ball should travel about 10% farther in Denver (elevation 5,280 feet) than it would in a ball park at sea level, an elevation-enhancement that prompted prominent sports columnist Thomas Boswell to call Coors Field “a beautiful joke” that “turns the sport into a third-rate freak show” (Boswell 1998).

These comments are hardly atypical. Nationally syndicated radio talk show host Jim Rome routinely refers to the ball park as “Coors Canaveral.” Former Philadelphia manager Jim Fregosi calls baseball at altitude “arenaball” (Armstrong 2003). Throughout the nation, Coors Field is viewed as a curious anomaly that distorts our cherished national pastime and transforms mediocre hitters into stars.

But does the ball really fly that much farther in Denver? And, is thin air really to blame for the large number of home runs hit at Coors Field? We decided to put these assumptions to the test and came up with some surprising results: fly balls simply don’t travel as far as they should in Denver. In fact, the effect of thin air on the flight of the baseball at Coors Field is overestimated, owing to the influence of prevailing weather patterns in and around Coors Field. Altitude clearly plays a role in Coors Field’s home run rate, but it is not the only factor and it is perhaps not even the most important factor. Based on our research, a re-evaluation of the ball park’s reputation is in order.

HOW FAR DO BALLS FLY IN NATIONAL LEAGUE BALL PARKS?

According to scientists Robert Adair and Peter Brancazio, a baseball hit 400 feet at sea level should travel 440 feet in Denver—10% farther.2 Of course, not all National League ball parks are situated at sea level, so comparing Coors Field to the rest of the league requires an adjustment to reflect actual elevations around the league. Compared to the elevation-adjusted average of the other National League ball parks, the ball should fly 9.3% farther in Denver.

In order to determine if these theoretical relationships hold true on the field, we analyzed fly ball distance data for 14 National League ball parks for the years 1995-1998.3 These data provide an estimate of the distance traveled by every fly ball hit in fair territory for every game played in those ball parks over those four seasons. This is a total of nearly 8,000 fly balls per ball park and over 100,000 fly balls overall, more than enough to detect any systematic enhancement of fly ball distance due to altitude.

The fly ball distance data was obtained from STATS Inc. STATS records a wide range of information for each baseball game played in the major leagues, including the distance traveled by every ball put into play. Our analysis focuses only on fly balls, as these are the type of batted ball most affected by atmosphere and weather. In every major league ball park, STATS estimates the distance that each fly ball travels by locating the final position of the ball on a chart of the field.

This method yields estimated distance, not precise distance. However, we believe that this data is reliable because a consistent method is used at each ball park, and because the sample size is more than large enough to account for any individual errors in fly ball measurement (that is, cases of over-estimation or under-estimation will cancel each other out).

While this reduction is significant, keep in mind that the boosting effect of altitude in Denver is further minimized by the generous outfield dimensions at Coors Field, the league’s most spacious ball park. Indeed, in order to come up with a measure of just how much more likely it is for home runs to occur at Coors Field due to low air density, one must take into consideration actual field dimensions around the league. We made this adjustment by calculating average fly ball distance as a percentage of average outfield dimension for 14 National League ball parks (Table 2).4

This calculation yields a measure of how far the average fly ball travels relative to the average position of the outfield fence in each ball park. As the table shows, when field dimensions are taken into account, the effective difference between Coors Field and the other National League stadiums is not even 6%—it is just 3%. Moreover, the difference between Coors Field and the stadiums in Philadelphia, Los Angeles and Atlanta is minimal, while the average fly ball actually carries closer to the outfield wall at St. Louis’ Busch Stadium than it does at Coors Field.5 Faced with these numbers, the facile assumption that elevation enhancement of fly ball distance alone is responsible for the large number of home runs in Denver vanishes into so much thin air.

This raises two important questions. First, why do baseballs not fly 9.3% farther in Denver as the laws of physics would predict? And, second, if altitude enhancement of fly ball distance is not the only factor, what else explains the impressive home run statistics at Coors Field?

COORS FIELD METEOROLOGY: SOMETHING IN THE WIND

To answer the first question, we explored the possibility that shorter than expected fly ball distances at Coors Field could be explained by baseball factors alone. After all, no two at-bats are alike, and the distance that any batted ball travels is the result of a complicated and unique set of circumstances having to do with the particular pitcher and batter involved. It depends, for instance, on the pitcher’s skill level and orientation (left or right handed), the type and speed of pitch thrown, the batter’s orientation, the batter’s hand-eye coordination, and so forth. For these reasons, we would expect fly ball distances to vary somewhat from ball park to ball park over the course of several seasons. To determine the influence of this routine, baseball-driven variation in fly ball distance, we analyzed average fly ball distances for just those National League stadiums located at sea level, thus eliminating the elevation factor. We found a standard deviation of plus or minus 6 feet in fly ball distance for this set of ball parks over the four- year study period, which is far short of the 18.3 foot difference between average fly ball Coors Field distance and average fly ball distance at the other National League parks. According to our statistical analysis (a single tailed student’s t-test) this means that the lower than expected difference between Coors Field and the other National League ball parks does not derive from baseball variables alone (at the 90% confidence level).

Next, we turned to an explanation based in the ball park’s geographic situation, particularly its weather. We set up two meteorological stations inside Coors Field for the duration of the 1997 baseball season.6 These stations were constructed atop concession stands along the rear concourse of the ballpark. One station was located down the left field line, while the other was in straight away center field just beyond and above the bullpens (Figure 1).

Measurements taken included temperature, relative humidity, barometric pressure, and wind as recorded by equipment that provides three-dimensional modeling of air flow. Measurements were taken continuously during game time and averaged every 15 minutes. For each game for which weather data was collected, averages of temperature, relative humidity, barometric pressure and wind were determined. This weather data was then related to average fly ball distance data for the same game.

There have been several previous attempts to link weather and baseball (Kingsley 1980; Skeeter 1988; Kraft and Skeeter 1995). These studies did not show any significant relationship between weather variables and fly ball distance. The results of our meteorological analysis indicate that of the measured variables, wind—especially the east-west vector—is the only statistically significant weather variable that is correlated with fly ball distance in Coors Field. In fact, almost 20% of the variation in fly ball distance at Coors Field can be attributed to differences in winds along the east-west vector.7 Average fly ball distances decreased with easterly winds (approximately 290 feet with easterly winds versus over 303 feet with a western component).8 Not surprisingly, easterly winds inside Coors Field were twice as strong as westerly winds—blowing at 12 versus 6 miles per hour.

A look at the regional wind pattern shows that easterly winds do indeed predominate in the vicinity of Coors Field daily from 12:00 p.m. to 10:00 p.m. (the time period in which almost all Rockies games are played) throughout the baseball season (April through September). These seasonal winds result from the daily upslope and downslope flow of air along the Colorado Front Range (Toth and Johnson 1985). The heating of the east-facing foothills in the morning hours causes air to flow up the South Platte River valley in the late morning through the evening hours. This flow reaches a peak in downtown Denver at around 4:00 p.m. Thereafter, winds weaken and eventually shift direction down the valley, becoming westerly around Coors Field between 10:00 p.m. and midnight. This downslope pattern persists until the process reverses itself the following morning (Figure 2).9

Certainly, westerly winds do occur, as we found during our data collection inside Coors Field. But these westerly winds are the exception to the rule, occurring due to local thunderstorms or the passage of frontal systems. Thus, westerly winds seem to be relatively brief events followed by a return to the “normal” upslope-downslope pattern.

Our assessment is that these daily easterly winds suppress fly ball distances at Coors Field.10 Easterly winds flow up the South Platte River valley and enter the vicinity of the ball park from the northeast. Within Coors Field, northeasterly winds blow from center field toward home plate into the face of the batter and into the path of batted balls hit to all parts of the outfield (Figures 3 and 4).

The expected advantage of playing at mile-high elevation (as far as home runs are concerned) is decreased substantially under such conditions. However, when the winds are out of the west, the full advantage of altitude is realized, and then some. Thus, the effect of the wind is variable; during some games, the enhancement of altitude on fly ball distance will be realized and in other games it will be suppressed. However, it is our conclusion that over the course of a season—or several seasons—easterly winds act to minimize the effects of low air density and thus account for the shorter than expected fly ball distances at Coors Field.

THE COORS FIELD “EFFECT”

Now let’s turn to the second question: if not just thin air, then what else explains the impressive home run statistics at Coors Field? After all, during the 1995 through 2002 seasons, Coors Field witnessed a rate of .044 home runs per at-bat, while the combined average of the other National League parks was just .029 home runs per at-bat. In other words, home runs occur at Coors Field at a rate that is 52% greater than at the other ball parks—far more than would be expected even if the mile high atmospheric enhancement was realized to its fullest (James 1995-2000, STATS Inc. 2001, Carter et al. 2002). We believe that the answer to the question has to do with two factors: first, the personnel make-up of the Colorado Rockies ball club in terms of both hitters and pitchers; and, second, the general problems of pitching at altitude.

During the first several seasons played at Coors Field, the Rockies team was stacked with notable power hitters. Simply put, they were a team designed to produce large numbers of home runs. However, over the past several years, these “Blake Street Bombers” were traded or allowed to leave via free agency as team management shifted focus from home run hitters to high- average hitters with less power. This personnel shift is verified in the record of Coors Field hitting statistics. Since 1995, there is an overall downward trend in the number of home runs per at-bat—a trend that is accounted for by a reduction in the number of home runs hit by the Rockies (the trend in home runs per at-bat for the opposition at Coors Field has risen) (Figure 5).

In fact, during the 2000 season, Coors Field was surpassed in home runs per at-bat by both Busch Stadium in St. Louis and Enron Field in Houston. Thus, the large number of home runs hit at Coors Field can be attributed, in part, to the specific group of hitters assembled early on by the Rockies. Once the franchise changed the character of the team, the pre-eminence of Coors Field as the league’s ultimate home run ball park was somewhat diminished.

The Rockies have also lacked successful pitching for most of their history. Colorado pitchers have had more than their share of problems over the past eight years, both at home and on the road. Between 1995 and 2002, the team was either last or next to last in most pitching categories, leading the league in home runs allowed seven times. Had the Los Angeles or New York staffs pitched at Coors Field for 81 games per year, the ball park’s home run totals would most likely have been significantly less. Put Atlanta’s pitching staff in Denver for half of their games and this reduction is a virtual certainty. Remember that Atlanta’s Fulton County Stadium was known as the “launching pad” until the Braves put together the league’s premier group of pitchers in the early 1990s.

But perhaps the most important factor in explaining the home run numbers in Denver is the “Coors Field Effect”—the not so subtle influence of the ball park on pitchers from both the home and visiting teams. Most of these professional athletes are clearly intimidated by Coors Field. As one player recently observed, the ball park causes “an identity crisis” for pitchers, leading them to change their approach to the game, move away from their strengths, and ultimately lose confidence in their abilities.11 Even the league’s best pitchers often come unglued in Denver. Pitching is undeniably more difficult in Coors Field than in other National League ball parks because of the very limited foul ground and the cavernous outfield spaces. This field configuration gives hitters more chances, allows more balls to drop in front of outfielders, and permits more balls to find the gaps for extra-base hits. Yet, beyond this, most pitchers are beset with a range of other problems once they take the mound. Chief among these are a sudden lack of control, breaking balls that don’t break, and sinker balls that don’t sink. The result is more pitches thrown straight and over the heart of the plate, and more balls hit high, deep, and out the park. Thus, what we suggest is that more home runs are hit at Coors Field not because routine fly balls carry farther, but because a higher percentage of pitched balls are hit harder than in other ball parks.

These pitching problems in Denver have also been attributed to low air density. Theoretically, thin air reduces ball-to-air friction, cutting down on ball movement between the mound and home plate and thus decreasing the overall control of the pitcher and the effectiveness of the pitches thrown. In addition, the low relative humidity at altitude promotes evaporation from the baseball itself, making the ball lighter, drier, and more slick in Denver than in other parks around the league. Because of this, pitchers at Coors Field have a very difficult time getting a proper grip on the ball, which, in all likelihood, further reduces their control as well as the movement on their pitches.12 During the 2002 season, in an effort to counteract the presumed effects of thin air on pitching, the Colorado Rockies began using a “humidor” to store baseballs at Coors Field; this device maintains the balls in a controlled environment of 90 degrees and 40% humidity. According to the Rockies organization, the intent of the humidor is to ensure that the baseballs do not shrink to a weight less than the 5.0 to 5.25 ounce range specified by the league. The Rockies ball club also believes that these baseballs—having not yet lost water content to evaporation when they enter play—are easier to grip, and thus will ‘level the playing field’ for pitchers in Denver. But this might be just wishful thinking: a comparison of the statistics for the 2002 season versus the previous seven seasons indicates that the humidor had little if any effect upon games played at Coors Field.13

Ultimately, these altitude-related issues may prove to be important contributors to the poor pitching in Denver, but, for now, difficulties on the mound would seem to be more the result of the fragile psychology of pitchers faced with the imagined specter of baseballs floating out of Coors Field like weather balloons. Based upon the analysis presented above, we believe that the answer to why so many home runs are hit at Coors Field lies as much on the field as it does in the air.

COORS FIELD: KEEPER OF THE FLAME?

In 1998, the Colorado Rockies hosted the Major League All-Star Game. It was a very high-scoring affair won by the American League team. Upon departing Coors Field, the national sports media complained vociferously about the style of baseball played at the ball park. Baseball reporters and commentators focused on the large number of “cheap” home runs, and on the ways in which the ball park’s spaciousness allowed too many runners to circle the base paths.

Chief among these critics was Boswell of the Washington Post. He stated: “When baseball is played a mile in the air, all the game’s distances are suddenly off. Instead of being a thing of beauty, baseball suddenly becomes not only distorted, but actually defaced and displeasing. The activity conducted in Coors Field is simply not baseball any more. And, worse, it’s not some kind of new, novel, fun variant on baseball, either. What the All- Star Game put on display for tens of millions to see was a 20th century commerce-driven practical joke played on a 19th century American heirloom” (Boswell 1998: 6D). Thus, for Boswell—and for the many others that share these views—baseball played in Denver is “a confused, capricious mess” because it violates the game’s perfect dimensions.

There is no denying that the game played at Coors Field is a high-scoring, offensive brand of baseball. As we have shown, this is not the simple and direct result of Denver’s rare atmosphere, allowing routine fly balls to become home runs, but has as much or more to do with the personnel of the home team, the size of the outfield, limited foul territory, and assorted pitching problems. Yet, to dismiss Coors Field as an affront to baseball tradition is ludicrous and more than a little hypocritical. After all, what is Fenway Park’s beloved “Green Monster” if not a complete aberration of baseball’s perfect dimensions? Why is a short fly ball that ricochets off Fenway’s left field wall for a double thought to be charming while a bloop single in front of an outfielder at Coors Field is considered to be “an abomination”? To take this further, what was perfect about routine fly balls dropping for home runs over a short, waist-high right field wall at Yankee Stadium in its original configuration? And, could Willie Mays have made the most famous catch in baseball history anywhere but in the horribly distorted center field of the Polo Grounds?

In our view, the self-appointed guardians of baseball tradition like Boswell miss the point entirely. The very heart and soul of the game’s tradition lies not in some homogenous set of outfield dimensions, but in the individuality and distinctiveness of major league ball parks. This point was made forcefully when much of the game’s appeal was destroyed by the proliferation of multi- purpose stadiums in the 1960s and 1970s. Most of these “cookie- cutter” venues had perfect dimensions but had absolutely no character or soul, and are now being replaced by ball parks explicitly designed to recall the variation and peculiarity of turn- of-the-century fields.

Sure, baseball played at the Denver ball park is a little different by virtue of its location. But, in this sense, Coors Field is anything but an aberration; it represents a continuation of a long-standing and cherished tradition of quirk-filled ball parks, which gives baseball a unique charm in every city where the game is played.

Sources

Adair, Robert K. The Physics of Baseball. New York: Harper Perennial, 1990.

Adair, Robert K. The Physics of Baseball (2nd Ed.). New York: Harper Perennial, 1994. Armstrong, Jim. “Still Solving the Big Mystery.” The Denver Post, March 30, 2003: 3J. Boswell, Thomas. “Coors Field is a Mistake That Mustn’t be Repeated.” The Denver Post, July 10, 1998: 1D, 6D.

Brancazio, Peter J. SportScience: Physical Laws and Optimum Performance. New York: Simon and Schuster, 1984.

Carter, Craig, Tony Nistler, and David Sloan. Baseball Guide, 2003 Edition. 2002, St. Louis: The Sporting News.

Chambers, Frederick, Brian Page, and Clyde Zaidins. “Atmosphere, Weather, and Baseball: How Much Farther do Baseballs Really Fly at Denver’s Coors Field?” 2003. The Professional Geographer.

James, Bill. Major League Baseball Handbook. 1996-2001 Editions. Skokie, IL: STATS, Inc., 1995.

Kingsley, R.H. “Lots of Home Runs in Atlanta?” Baseball Research Journal 9. (Society for American Baseball Research, 1980): 66-71.

Kraft, Mark D. and Brent R. Skeeter. “The Effect of Meteorological Conditions on Fly Ball Distance in North American Major League Baseball Games” (1995). The Geographical Bulletin 37 (1): 40-48.

Moss, Irv. “Braves Contend Coors Baseballs are Slicker.” The Denver Post, May 9, 1999: 18C.

Renck, Troy. “Neagle Staying True to Form.” The Denver Post, March 5, 2003: 14D. Skeeter, Brent R. “The Climatologically Optimal Major League Baseball Season in North America” (1988). The Geographical Bulletin 30 (2): 97-102.

STATS, Inc. Major League Baseball Handbook 2002. Skokie, IL: STATS, Inc., 2001.

Toth, James J. and Richard H. Johnson. “Summer surface flow characteristics over northeastern Colorado (1985).” Monthly Weather Review 113 (9): 1458-1469.

Still, by the definition of the time, Chicago was still a “western city.” Serious development of the area was impossible until the settlement of the Black Hawk War in 1833. 1 In significant matters—politics, business, social, and cultural—Chicago played catch-up with the deep-rooted and wealthy eastern cities.

This was also true in baseball, a sport becoming defined by the formal “New York” rules. Yet as quickly as it created itself, Chicago established its interest in the national game. Clubs were playing by the New York rules even earlier than eastern cities like Baltimore and Washington, D.C. But because of its location, Chicago did not join the sport’s formal organization, the National Association of Base Ball Players, until 1867.

This happened to be the year professionalism began to proliferate throughout baseball. Because of their willingness to compensate players, whether directly or indirectly, and because of the greater opportunities that could be found for players, eastern clubs fielded the best nines. In order to catch up, the west had to tap that resource—that is, lure the talent west.

The first club to do this was the Red Stockings of Cincinnati, who in 1869 experienced astonishing success: an incredible winning streak and a coast-to-coast barnstorming tour that transformed the sport. Chicago wanted a piece of that success, as well as the accolades befitting its place among the top cities of the nation. The road to respectability for Chicago baseball, however, was characterized by a start-stop nature rather than a smooth, flowing path.

In late 1869, Chicago interests sent agents east to lure top baseball talent. This process would be repeated as needed during much of the next decade. Several hiccups occurred along the way, including a harsh local press, interfering shareholders, and a ruinous fire that destroyed not only the city’s premier ballpark but also caused an absence of a top professional team in the city for two seasons. The successes were notable but fleeting. The early seasons were, in fact, stellar for the newly-formed White Stockings, but following the 1871 Chicago Fire, the club floundered and disbanded. A new club was formed the next year.

By 1875, the club’s new president, William Hulbert, had tolerated eastern dominance for too long and took matters into his own hands. He robbed the nation’s top club, Boston, of four of its top men, overthrew the existing National Association, and formed a new professional organization: the National League. Chicago won the first NL championship in 1876 and placed the city among the sport’s elite, a position it has never relinquished.

Baseball would, for many decades, feel the imprint of Chicago influences: Hulbert, Al Spalding, Ban Johnson, Charles Comiskey, Rube Foster, and Kenesaw Landis, to name a few.

THE EARLY YEARS

Baseball, or at least a form of it, was played in and around Chicago before the first rail lines arrived. 2 The city’s first formal baseball organization was the Union Club, probably an offshoot of the Union Cricket Club, which incorporated on August 12, 1856. 3 The Excelsior Club organized the following year but distinguished itself by immediately adopting the New York style of play. 4

Match play—pitting one club’s skills against another—kicked off July 7, 1858, when the Unions hosted the nearby community of Downers Grove. The cordial contest, won by the visitors, was followed by a round of gentlemanly speeches and a visit to the theater, with all combatants still proudly wearing their uniforms. 5 The meeting also sparked an immediate call for local clubs to convene and hash out a standard set of rules, which would form the basis of any future competition. A local reporter, anticipating that “some alteration is to be made as to the manner of playing,” outlined the New York rules, which had been garnering attention of late. 6 The convention, held July 21, resulted in the forming of the Chicago Base Ball Club and approving the adoption of the New York rules. 7

In August, the Unions formally challenged the Excelsiors on the grounds of the Prairie Cricket Club, using New York rules. The first contest took place on August 30 with the Excelsiors triumphing 17–11. 8 In a return match on September 13, the Excelsiors won again, 30–17. “Speech making, pleasant repartee, merry jokes, and singing” at the Union Park House followed the contest. The editors of the Chicago Press and Tribune were “glad to note the good feeling that was evinced by the members of each club on this occasion, and trust that our citizens will take more interest in this truly healthful and entertaining game.” 9

Several new clubs (the Olympics, Columbias, and Atlantics) heeded the call for 1859. The Excelsiors and Atlantics established themselves as the city’s premier clubs and battled for local bragging rights over the next decade. On Saturday, June 11, the two met before 500 spectators, many of them female. The Excelsiors again took the victory. The Atlantics claimed the rematch in July then eked out an 18–16 win in the rubber match in August to, in essence, claim the championship of the city.

Baseball fever took hold of Chicago in 1860 as more clubs organized and match play exploded. 10 Taking the losses of ’59 to heart, “The Excelsior forces are greatly strengthened this season by the ascension to their ranks of several prominent players, formerly of the Columbian Club.” 11 The Atlantics, however, again took the season series before the largest crowds in the city to date.

“ Chicago was a growing metropolis with more than 112,000 residents. It was a city bursting with physical development, economic growth, and political vitality. The Republican Party’s choice of Chicago for its national convention that year put the city on the political map and infused it with energy…on June 18 in Baltimore, [Chicago resident] Stephen A. Douglas won the nomination of his divided Democratic Party, and Chicagoans must have appreciated the unlikely scenario of two Illinois men battling for the nation’s highest office.” 12

Abraham Lincoln, known and respected in Chicago, was elected to the presidency in the fall and the country descended into civil war. With many Chicago-area ballplayers having enlisted, clubs went dormant and the sport floundered in the city until after the war. The only notable matches during the war were a little-followed city series between the Garden City and Osceola clubs in 1863, a series between Garden City and a Freeport, Illinois nine the same year, and some play in 1864 among the men of the nineteenth Illinois Infantry.

Many believe the Civil War to be the catalyst spreading baseball through the country. In fact, the war stymied the game’s growth to a threatening extent. Luckily, the lure of the sport and Americans’ thirst for exercise and recreation brought a renewal in 1865—that is, once Chicago had properly mourned the assassination of President Lincoln.

DRIVING TOWARD PROFESSIONALISM

Many prewar players moved on and a new breed took over in 1865. The proud Excelsiors and Atlantics regrouped in late summer along with new clubs like the Ogdens, Pacifics, and Pioneers. The season ended with a tournament at the Winnebago County Fair Grounds, but matters ended inauspiciously; the Excelsiors walked off the field in the deciding match after the umpire reversed a call after a plea by the challengers. 13

The call in December 1865 to form the Northwestern Association of Base-Ball Players sparked the game’s revival in the middle west. The Atlantics, Excelsiors, and Pacifics of Chicago joined fellow clubs from Illinois and seven other states to promote the sport. 14 The fever was such that a game was even played on ice over the winter at the Washington Skating Park. 15

For the 1866 season, the Excelsiors added a recruit from the east: pitcher C. J. McNally. This proved effective as the club won both of the season’s major tournaments to claim the championship of the west. The tournaments were the biggest baseball events to date for western sportsmen. The Rockford tournament, held in late-June, attracted clubs from Detroit, Bloomington, Rockford, Milwaukee, and Freeport as well as Chicago’s Excelsiors and Atlantics. The Excelsiors took the honors—and the prize of a gold ball—as McNally won the key game over the soon-to-be famous Al Spalding of the Rockford Forest Citys.

The field at the Bloomington tournament in September was even more impressive, including “the Union and Empire clubs of St. Louis; the Olympics of Peoria; the Pacifics of Chicago; the Perseverance club of Ottawa; the Louisville and Olympic clubs of Louisville; the Cream Citys of Milwaukee; the Forest City and Empire clubs of Freeport; the Capitol club of Springfield; the Hardin club of Jacksonville, Ill.; two Quincy clubs; and the Excelsiors of Chicago. A feature of this tournament was a specially built amphitheatre (sic) designed to allow spectators to witness two games at once…Again the Excelsiors were victorious, taking the series in impressive style.” 16 The Excelsiors, the Champions of the West, finished the season 6–0 in match play.

Black clubs also formed in Chicago after the war. One such was the Blue Stockings, a group of hotel and restaurant employees. 17 This nine gained notoriety in August 1870 for taking a series with the Pink Stockings of Rockford. The following month, however, they were excluded by decree from the city amateur tournament. 18 Over the winter, some Blue Stockings hopped to the Uniques and the reinforced nine became the first black club in baseball history which, according to James Brunson, “established themselves regionally and nationally.”

After topping the Blue Stockings 39 – 5 to claim city supremacy, the Uniques played and beat a white nine, the Alerts, 17–16 on July 10, 1871 . Noting the oddness of the interracial game, the Chicago Tribune commented, “…Contestants were the Unique Club (colored) and the Alert (not as much so).” 19 The Uniques took off for the east at the end of the summer, stopping in Washington D.C., Baltimore, Philadelphia, Pittsburgh, and Troy. They split a series with the strong Alerts of D.C. and Pythians of Philadelphia and topped the other clubs, claiming bragging rights as the champions of the West.

In 1867, the Amateurs, Atlantics, Eurekas, and Excelsiors of Chicago joined the eastern-based National Association of Base Ball Players. 20 The Excelsiors started the season well, taking a series over the Atlantics and topping the Rockfords twice to further strengthen their claim as the class of the region.

The most-anticipated event of the summer was the July arrival in Chicago of the Nationals of Washington, D.C., who were barnstorming during the sport’s first western tour. The Nationals even carried Harry Chadwick, baseball’s great chronicler, in tow. The Nationals were set to play Spalding’s Forest Citys of Rockford, the Excelsiors, and the Atlantics. In a bit of a stunner, Spalding topped the Nationals 29–23. This was the D.C. club’s only loss during the ten-game tour, which also took them to Columbus, Cincinnati, Louisville, Indianapolis, and St. Louis.

Chicago eagerly awaited the Nationals/Excelsiors matchup, anticipating victory since the Excelsiors had defeated the Forest Citys as recently as the beginning of the month. The Excelsiors, however, were embarrassed by the Nationals 49–4. The loss hurt not only the Excelsiors’ self-esteem but also their standing in local baseball circles as the club became the butt of many a joke.

Chicagoans could not stand the second-rate status held by the nation’s western cities, whether it was in politics, business, or baseball. The humiliating loss to the Nationals reverberated throughout the city and helped drive the actions of local sportsmen and supporters for much of the next decade. It also led directly to professionalism in Chicago.

Though officially “amateur,” the Excelsiors began recruiting top players from the east and west, offering high-paying jobs during the week in return for their skill and diligence on the ball field. For the latter part of the season, they brought in left fielder John Zeller 21 from the Mutuals of New York and a pitcher named Keenan from the Bloomingtons. Other alleged professionals with the Excelsiors in 1867 include Al Spalding, C. J. McNally, and Tom Foley. 22

With the new recruits, the Excelsiors breezed through a tournament in Decatur in September, whipping the Egyptians of Centralia 79–9, and a hand-picked team 44–6. 23 On October 5 in Chicago, Keenan and his sluggers handily topped the Detroits in a heavily-anticipated match. 24 In Detroit on the 19th, the Excelsiors brought in Al Spalding for a game to help Keenan and the club beat Detroit again 36–24. The Excelsiors finished the year 10–1; their only loss since the end of the war was the rout by the Nationals.

For 1868, the Excelsiors imported Harry Lex and James Hoyt from Philadelphia. 25 The club faltered out of the gate against stiff competition, however, suffering losses to the Forest Citys of Rockford, Athletics of Philadelphia, Atlantics of Brooklyn, and Buckeyes of Cincinnati. After the July 21 loss to the Buckeyes, the club imploded; several players jumped ship and the club weighed merging with another. The Chicago Tribune lambasted, “Chicago needs a representative club; an organization as great as her enterprise and wealth, one that will not allow the second rate clubs of every village in the Northwest to carry away the honors in base ball…The Excelsiors cannot fill the bill.” 26

Luckily, a major fundraising effort allowed the Excelsior club to hire the talent needed to win and showcase the nine. 27 After losing to the strong Unions of Morrisania on August 10, the Excelsiors hired New Yorkers Fred Treacey, Joe Simmons (a much-needed catcher), and Bill Lennon from Brooklyn. They then hit the road after a loss to Detroit and two wins over Buffalo and Cleveland clubs. They drew with Detroit in Detroit, lost to Harry Wright and his Red Stockings in Cincinnati, and topped three mediocre clubs in St. Louis. 28 But the new hirees and traveling costs proved to be too expensive and management folded the Excelsiors.

Amateur clubs met with meager success in Chicago in 1868 and 1869. The Atlantics disbanded as well, leaving the city little baseball to boast about. Another western club, though, soon took center stage in baseball circles, broadening the game’s appeal and reigniting Chicago’s pride as a western city and in its baseball.

The sport’s first openly-declared professional squad, Cincinnati’s Red Stockings, dominated baseball in 1869 in the west and east. This impelled Chicago to amass a squad of the best talent available regardless of cost. The amateur ideal surely wasn’t going to get Chicago what it so dearly craved—respect from and bragging rights over the east.

1870 29

Late in 1869, 48 Chicago businessmen met and formed the Chicago Base Ball Association, intending to develop a professional squad in the mold of the Red Stockings, one which could compete and defeat the best in the country. These men wanted not only to show their superiority over eastern nines but also to supplant the Red Stockings as the west’s dominant team. 30 Shares and honorary memberships were sold, at $25 and $10 respectively, raising more than $15,000.

This was baseball’s first stock venture; previously clubs had been social in nature, raising funds primarily through member fees. “The Chicago businessmen eliminated the dues-paying club membership, instead raising capital through the sale of stock. The joint-stock company was a familiar business model in the booming Chicago economy. This was the organizational model of the future. By 1876 all top professional clubs followed the pattern, which continues to this day.” 31

Tom Foley, a local billiards hall owner, was the team’s new business manager, overseeing day-to-day operations. Among his first assignments was to head east and sign players for the 1870 season. He went to Philadelphia and New York and even placed an ad in the New York Clipper in hopes of attracting some top players. 32

Foley’s efforts proved fruitful but expensive. Catcher Bill Craver was signed for $2,500. 33 Captain and second baseman Jimmy Wood was paid $2,000. Most of the others were paid between $1,500 and $2,000. Many of the players were taken from the Eckfords of Brooklyn, Unions of Lansingburgh (a.k.a. Haymakers of Troy), and Athletics of Philadelphia. The nine:

This group became Chicago’s first professional nine. 35 Foley then sought a dedicated, enclosed ball grounds. The park was erected inside the oval of a race track at Dexter Park. A grandstand, with seating for 12,000 plus standing room, was built around the field. 36

With its grounds under construction, the club headed south for a series of games in St. Louis, Algiers (Louisiana), New Orleans, and Memphis. Despite suffering general malaise and intestinal troubles during the trip from drinking southern water, the Chicagos played to win. In one game, they smoked the Bluff Citys of Memphis by the outrageous score of 157–1. Memphis begged the Stockings to allow them to put some runs up, but Jimmy Wood would have none of it; his men would play hard no matter the score. 37

The Chicagos gained the nickname “White Stockings” by the time they took the field in St. Louis. “The Chicago nine were clad in their new uniform, which they had donned for the first time [in St. Louis]…It consisted of a blue cap adorned with a white star in the center, white flannel shirt, trimmed with blue and bearing the letter C upon the breast worked in blue. Pants of bright blue flannel, with white cord, and supporting a belt of blue and white; stockings of pure white British thread; shoes of white goat skin, with customary spikes, the ensemble constituting by far the showiest and handsomest uniform ever started by a base ball club.” 38

The dapper crew proved to be a strong nine; in fact, they won all 30 contests they played through July 2, although most of their opponents were second-rate. In mid-June, the White Stockings took off for an extended tour, their first, which saw them play strong squads from Cleveland, Buffalo, Rochester, Syracuse, Troy, Boston, New York, Philadelphia, Baltimore, and Washington, D.C. They defeated the Eckfords and Unions—clubs they had previously decimated by signing their top players—but fell to the toughest eastern nines: the Atlantics of Brooklyn and twice to both the Mutuals of New York and Athletics of Philadelphia. They even dropped a game to Harvard and then lost another to the Unions.

In the eyes of the Chicago press, the tour had begun disastrously. Local sportswriters were extremely critical and the eastern ones condescending, especially after the White Stockings were buzzed 9–0 by the Mutuals on July 23. The term ‘Chicagoed’ (to be blanked) was born. Reeling from the criticism, stockholders began meddling in day-to-day affairs. Due to the travel and high salaries, the team stood $3,000 in debt by mid-August. Management reorganized and brought in Norman T. Gassette to take over the presidency. 39

Gassette demanded autonomy but gave Jimmy Wood and Tom Foley control over day-to-day team affairs without much interference. Bill Craver, alleged to have gambled and fixed games, was expelled from the club for violating his contract. 40

The White Stockings finished the season strong, arguably making them the best team in the country at season’s end. Henry Chadwick, as he was wont to do, claimed a piece of the success by declaring that the club’s fortunes turned around only after he gave Jimmy Wood a piece of advice: adopt a deader ball.

Dead ball or not, the White Stockings lost just once after August 5, pulling off some impressive road wins over the Atlantics, Athletics, Mutuals, Eckfords, and Red Stockings. After topping the Red Stockings in Cincinnati 10–6 on September 7, the White Stockings were greeted as conquering heroes by 3,000 fans at downtown Union Station. It had been a bit of a rocky season, but the win over their midwest rival healed all.

Excitement over an impending rematch electrified the city, and on October 13, 20,000 fans attended the game versus the Red Stockings at spacious Dexter Park. It may have been the biggest crowd in baseball history to that point. The White Stockings won again, 16–13, sparking celebrations and civic pride. In total, Chicago finished with a 65–8 record. Not even having the Mutuals storm off the field in protest in the ninth inning of the final game of the season on November 1 could dampen the club’s pride in its success.

Over the winter, Gassette laid out $4,000 of his own money to cover payroll and to sign new players. He also funded an eastern trip by Foley to lure new talent.

NATIONAL ASSOCIATION

That winter, a rift between amateur and professional players brought down the long-established National Association of Base Ball Players. Shortly after, in March 1871, the professional National Association was formed. The White Stockings immediately joined the new pro circuit, which is in effect a predecessor of the National League.

Also in March, Chicago’s city council granted the team use of a small plot of land on the lakefront. Dexter Park, on Halsted between 42 nd and 47 th Streets on what is now the city’s south side, was poorly located, too far from downtown.

The new property, however, was in poor shape, with piles of debris and trash scattered about. At a cost of $5,000, the club had a 7,500-seat facility erected. This, the first enclosed baseball-dedicated park in Chicago, would be known as White Stockings Grounds. The limited space led to necessarily quirky dimensions, which in 1871 included a short right field wall.

That season’s White Stockings featured holdovers King, McAtee, Treacey, Wood, and Duffy, with Wood and Tom Foley continuing to run day-to-day affairs. Joe Simmons, a former local Excelsior player, was obtained from Rockford and George Zettlein, a top eastern pitcher, was added from the Atlantics of Brooklyn.

The White Stockings were among the top clubs in the National Association, sitting near first place all season. Chicago’s last home game occurred on October 7, at which time they stood tied with the Athletics for the best winning average (.720, 18–7) in official contests. By the NA’s rules, however, Boston led the circuit with its 20 victories, albeit compiling “just” a .667 winning percentage. After returning from a hard-fought eastern trip and a win over the Boston Red Stockings on September 29, Gassette rewarded the men with expensive gifts, including a home for pitcher Zettlein. Then disaster struck.

On October 8, a fire ripped through Chicago; it raged for three days. The White Stockings’ ballpark was destroyed on October 9 along with the team’s adjoining business offices. Moreover, they lost their uniforms, equipment, record books, receipts, and on-hand cash. “The loss of the members of the nine was generally heavy, consisting of all their clothing and personal property. The only exceptions were Foley, Atwater, and Captain Wood, who all lived outside the limits of the fire.” 41

In despair, the White Stockings formally released all their players. The men regrouped in the east, though—save Atwater—to play some contests. Three of these games counted in the standings, including the championship. Two thousand spectators, a fair share of who were Chicagoans and Philadelphians, showed for the deciding contest, held at Union Grounds in Brooklyn. The Athletics won 4–1 to settle the matter. The men then scattered and the club folded for good.

In April 1872, Gassette and fifty others formed the new Chicago Base Ball Association with the immediate intention of erecting suitable grounds with which to entice top clubs to play in Chicago. Naturally, the long-term goal was to rebuild a top level club once again for Chicago. 42

The 23 rd Street Grounds opened at the end of May 1872 at a cost approaching $4,000. William A. Hulbert became a club director in July, his first official position with the club. 43 Baltimore, Cleveland, New York, Philadelphia, and Troy made the trip to Chicago during the summer to play at the new ballpark, and the project actually proved profitable, as the team finished the year about $400 in the black.

In August 1873, Gassette and Jimmy Wood hit the east coast to amass a nine for 1874. The effort proved successful and professional baseball returned to the Windy City.

The 1874 White Stockings included top names such as Jim Devlin, Davy Force, and Paul Hines. Former Chicago players Jimmy Wood, Ned Cuthbert, Levi Meyerle, George Zettlein, and Fred Treacey were on board. Wood was slated to captain the club once again, but while trying to lance an abscess on his left leg, he instead gashed his right leg badly enough to lead to infection and eventually amputation. 44 Wood did return in August as field manager, though.

While pro baseball was back in Chicago, the 1874 and 1875 White Stockings were of second-division quality. Sloppy play brought fan disillusionment and even an unfounded charge of game-fixing. In August 1874, William Hulbert assumed the day-to-day management of the club, a responsibility he maintained until his death in April 1882. That year, the White Stockings finished fifth in the eight-team organization with a 28–31 record.

Davy Force’s contract became an issue over the winter. He first re-signed with Chicago for 1875 and then inked a deal with the Athletics. At first, the National Association awarded him to Chicago, but after the organization installed a Philadelphia-based president, the decision was reversed. 45 An incensed Hulbert, feeling cheated perhaps with good cause, 46 would soon get his revenge.

BIRTH OF A NEW LEAGUE

Hulbert, a grocer by trade, married the daughter of his employer, eventually taking over the company and expanding into the coal trade. He also held a prestigious and influential position on the Chicago Board of Trade. The 200-pound Hulbert was loud and authoritarian and usually got his own way.

The White Stockings disappointed in the standings in 1875 but had another good year financially. The National Association itself, however, had numerous troubles, including gambling, game-fixing, and excessive revolving (that is, players jumping clubs). That Boston copped each pennant from 1872 to 1875 riled Hulbert, and some others, to no end. Financial instability plagued the organization, which fielded too many clubs, especially in small markets. Expensive trips between the east and west and the travails of multiple unstable clubs in Philadelphia also taxed the business model.

Hulbert added to the NA’s woes by pulling an old Chicago trick: luring players from eastern clubs. During June 1875 he negotiated with and signed much of Boston’s roster for the 1876 Chicago White Stockings. Hulbert brought over Al Spalding, Cal McVey, Deacon White, and Ross Barnes. Spalding, the sport’s best pitcher, was the key component. Hulbert liked the fact that he was originally a western player and intelligent to boot. On June 26, Spalding, in turn, recruited Athletics players Cap Anson and Ezra Sutton, though Sutton later reneged.

The infighting and strain clouded the National Association all winter. Concerns existed that the players moving to Chicago could be expelled from the NA. In order to prevent this, and to usurp control from the east, Hulbert organized several western clubs and set out to form the new National League.

With the western clubs on board, he approached the eastern owners in February 1876. Hulbert extended an olive branch, offering the NL’s presidency to an eastern owner, Morgan Bulkeley of Hartford. It was clear to all, however, that Hulbert was the driving force behind the new endeavor.

It seems that the new departure was, from the first, a Chicago idea, and without desiring to detract from the good judgment of the club managers who came into it after it had been explained to them, it should go on record that the president of the Chicago Club is to be credited with having planned, engineered, and carried the most important reform since the history of the game, and the one which will do most to elevate it. 47

Baseball’s oldest league, the National League, kicked off two months later. Hulbert’s efforts paid immediate dividends as the White Stockings took the new organization’s first pennant, firmly planting Chicago as standard-bearer of the national game.

BRIAN McKENNA grew up and lives in Baltimore, not too far from the old Memorial Stadium. His upcoming work focuses on the beginning of the game in Baltimore, the 1860s.

Sources

Notes