Most of all ballplayers got nicknames, and Birdie Tebbett’s is Birdie because he’s always ahollerin’ like a little ole Kinairy bird.

Nicknames may also serve as a capsule history of an individual by selecting and amplifying some incident in his life which is particularly striking. For example, Stan Musial received the nickname “The Man” due to an incident occurring in Brooklyn at Old Ebbets Field. In a series in 1946, he got so many hits against the Dodgers, that when he came to bat one time fans exclaimed, “Here comes the Man.” “The Man” stuck as a nickname.

Language scholars inform us that most American boys receive descriptive and often derogatory nicknames from their peer group during their school years such as, foxy, fatty, tiny, luny, smarty, and so forth. However, most males shed these nicknames by adulthood. For most males, by adulthood, and regardless of occupation, the only nicknames that remain are those common ones derived from their given names such as Jim for James, Jack for John, Woody for Woodrow, etc. However, this does not seem to be the case for professional athletes and especially baseball players. Sports, but particularly baseball, is richer in colorful nicknames than perhaps any other American occupation. “Georgia Peach,” “Big Train,” “Splendid Splinter,” “Three Finger,” “Say Hey,” are all familiar to baseball fans. Yet recently, a number of longtime fans have remarked that there does not seem to be the number of nicknames of this sort as there used to be in the “good old days.”

The purpose of this report is to investigate the fascinating realm of baseball nicknames to document their frequency over time, discover the most popular ones, and develop a scheme for classifying them. To accomplish this I used the first edition of the Baseball Encyclopedia published in 1969 to commemorate the 100th anniversary of professional baseball. It provides data for every man who played in the major leagues for the first 10 decades of baseball from 1871-1968. I used the first edition since even the latest edition still does not provide complete data on the l970’s decade. My interest was not in ordinary nicknames. Therefore, for the purposes of this report nickname is defined as any name used to identify a player in the Baseball Encyclopedia which is not a derivative of any of the legal names listed for the player or the common nickname for his first name. For example, Silas Kenneth Johnson was called Si. Since Si is a derivative of the first name it did not qualify as a nickname for this study. In a similar fashion, although Henry John Aquirre was called Hank, Hank did not qualify as a nickname since Hank is the common nickname for Henry. However, there were cases where players were called Si or Hank independent of any of their given names. For example, Homer Blankenship was called Si. In this case Si is counted as a nickname.

The 1969 edition of the Baseball Encyclopedia lists the names of 10,112 individuals who played major league baseball from 1871 through 1968. By my count 2,851 players (28.2%) had nicknames which were not derivable from their given names. Table I presents the data by decades. Column one lists the first 10 decades of recorded major league baseball. Column two lists the number of players with nicknames who began their career in a particular decade. Column three lists the total number of teams participating in a decade. For example, a 10-team league would have 100 teams competing in a decade. Column four represents a frequency of nickname index. It is derived by dividing the number of nicknames by the number of teams, with a correction factor included for the two decades that were short by one year.

Table I. Frequency of Baseball Nicknames By Decade – 1870-1969

* correction factor used

As can be seen in Table I, 75 players who had nicknames began their careers in the decade 1870-1879. Given the number of teams competing during the decade, the frequency index score is 1.06. For the next four decades both the number of players and the frequency index score continue to increase, reaching a peak of 502 players and a frequency score of 3.14 in the decade 1910-1919. During the next three decades 1920-1929, 1930-1939, 1940-1949 there is a gradual decline in the number of players given nicknames and the frequency index scores. From 1950-1959 there is, however, a major decline of over 100% in the number of players with nicknames as compared to the 1940-1949 decade. The frequency index score drops to 1.03. This is lower than any preceding decade since 1870-1879. Between 1960 and 1969 the number of players with nicknames, 142, and the frequency index score, .82, dip even lower, but not at the accelerated rate for the previous decade. Nevertheless, the frequency index score of .82 is over three times lower than the peak period of 1910-1919. Thus, there is ample evidence to indicate that longtime observers are correct that there were many more nicknames in the “good old days” than there were in the l960s. I strongly suspect that when all the data are available for the 1970s it will be found that the five-decade decline in the use of nicknames continues downward at about the same rate that it did from 1960-1969. Truly, the hey day of baseball nicknames is in the past.

Table II. Most Popular Baseball Nicknames – 1871-1968

Table II presents all nicknames which were listed for more than ten ballplayers. “Lefty” and “Red” are by far the most popular, and if combined with the next four, “Doc,” “Bud-Buddy,” “Dutch,” and “Big,” the six constitute 16.8% of all nicknames. The 32 names on the list represent 32.3% of the total, almost one-third of the baseball players with nicknames.

Table III. Categories of Baseball Nicknames – 1871-1968

Table III divides the nicknames into 1 5 categories. There are probably an infinite number of ways to categorize nicknames. The one I have chosen may not be the best. However, it seems meaningful and useful to me. I started out with the idea that most ballplayers would have nicknames related to baseball. I found this not to be fact. I could trace only 108 nicknames directly related to the game or the player’s ability or inability to play the game. Representative of nicknames in this category were: Joseph Horan – “Shags,” Edward Yost – “Walking Man,” Albert Orth – “Curveless Wonder,” William Hamilton – “Sliding Billy,” and the one that caught my fancy the most, Robert Ferguson “Death to Flying Things.” Nicknames directly related to the game were more characteristic of pitchers than other positions. In fact, “Wild” as applied to pitchers was the most frequently appearing nickname in this category.

Originally, I had suspected that many nicknames would be derived from a player’s given names, being associated with a famous person or a familiar event or object. Yet, I could place only 26 names in this category. For example: Jack Daniels – “Sour Mash,” Richard Erikson – “Lief,” William McGee – “Fibber,” Joseph Gordon – “Flash.” There were several Rhodes who carried the nickname of “Dusty.”

I would not have suspected that any baseball players would receive feminine nicknames. But the Baseball Encyclopedia listed 50 players who did. Included in this category were such macholess nicknames as: Milton Waton – “Mother,” Grayson Pearce –“Grandmother,” William Calhoun – “Mary,” Frank Oberlin — “Flossie,” and my favorite, Charles Pabor – “The Old Woman In The Red Cap.” All but four of the ball players with feminine nicknames began their careers before 1930.

Related and somewhat overlapping with feminine nicknames is the category of family orientation. In addition to “Mother” and “Grandmother” which I have placed in the feminine category, there were 61 instances of nicknames indicating a family relationship which was not feminine. “Pop,” of which there were 22, was most popular, but there was also a “Father,” “Dad,” and “Pappy” as well as “Uncles,” “Juniors,” and “Sonnys.” Ellis Kinder was one of three ball players who were nicknamed “Old Folks.”

Another frequently used category includes 561 nicknames indicating physical characteristics of players such as hair or lack of it, skin color, height, weight, and various deviations from normal body types. There were l53 “Leftys,” of which most were pitchers, 120 “Reds,” 45 “Bigs” (“Big Bill,” “Big Jim,” etc.) and 27 “Whiteys.” Although throwing arm, hair color and physical size were the most frequently listed nicknames, other parts of the human anatomy were not ignored – Joseph Sargent – “Horse Belly,” Joseph Dobson – “Burrhead,” Walter Williams – “No Neck,” William Ramsey – “Square Jaw,” Charles Hickman – “Piano Legs,” Ernesto Lombardi – “Schnozz,” and Henry Cullop – “Tomato Face.”

Closely related to physical characteristics is the category of nicknames associated with personality characteristics, habits and mannerisms. There were 298 ball players whose nicknames fell in this category. I subdivided these into positive characteristics of which there were 121, negative 100, and neutral 77. Representative of this category were: (positive) John Townsend – “Happy,” Edward Turchen – “Smiley,” Charles Grimm – “Jolly,” (negative) John Deegan – “Dummy,” Ed Stanky – “Brat,” Harry Davis – “Stinky,” (neutral) Thomas Forest – “Frosty,” Jacob Wade – “Whistling,” John Schmitz – “Bear Tracks.”

There were 137 nicknames which had definite associations with particular ethnic groups. There were 47 “Dutchs,” 21 “Heinies,” and 19 “Fritzs” as well as several other nicknames suggestive of Germanic background. While there were 9 “Swedes,” there were only 5 “Scottys,” 4 “Frenchys” and none with a distinctive English background. All together 20 different ethnic groups were represented. Among the more distinctive nicknames were: Harry Agganis – “Golden Greek,” Louis Novikoff – “Mad Russian,” Michael Epstein – “Super Jew.”

A general or specific geographical location accounted for 97 nicknames. By far the most popular were “Tex,” of which there were 24 and “Dixie” 13. Some ballplayers were nicknamed for a country such as Edward Wright – “Ceylon,” others for a state (“Tex”) or a city, William Terry – “Memphis Bill.” Still others were nicknamed for less populated areas – Wilmer Mizell – “Vinegar Bend,” James Scott – “Death Valley.”

Ninety-eight different objects were the subject of 146 nicknames. Few were listed more than once. The range of objects was quite diverse. For example: Elwood Wirtz – “Kettle,” Joseph Adams – “Wagon Tongue,” Harry Schafer – “Silk Stocking,” John Taylor – “Brewery.”

Occupations, broadly defined to include royalty and the military, provided a category of 187 nicknames. The most frequently listed occupation was physician. There were 61 “Docs.” Royalty consisted of 2 “Sirs,” a “Baron,” “Lord,” “Squire,” “Earl,” “Knight,” 3 “Princes,” 4 “Dukes,” 6 “Counts,” 11 “Kings,” and a “Rajah.” The military was top heavy on rank with 2 “Generals,” 2 “Admirals,” 2 “Colonels,” a “Major,” and 5 “Sargents,” but just one “Soldier,” “Soldier Boy,” “Sailor” and “Gob.” Twenty other occupations were represented. For instance: Dominic DiMaggio “Little Professor,” Marshall Bridges – “Sheriff,” Bib Falk – “Jockey,” Thomas Fleming – “Sleuth.”

There were enough ballplayers, 74, nicknamed for 44 different foods to serve several full-course dinners. For example: “Juice” – George Latham, “Pea Soup” – George Dumont, “T-Bone” – Jessie Winters, “Honey” – John Romano, “Sweet-Breads” Abraham Bailey, “Hot Potato” Luke Hamlin, “Tomatoes” – Frank Kafora, “Squash” – Francis Wilson, “Beans” – Joshua Keener, “Buttermilk” – Thomas Dowd, and “Peach Pie” – John O’Connor.

For me, one of the most fascinating and colorful categories I have termed fauna. It consists of the 182 ball players who were nicknamed for 76 varieties of animals, birds, fish and insects and a fictional animal. The diversification is great enough to stock a small zoo. The animals in greatest supply were “Moose” – 16, “Rabbits” – 14, “Bulls” – 10. But there were also many other animals less easy to come by: “Reindeer” – William Killifer, “Kangaroo” – David Jones, “Mongoose” – Edward Lukon, and even the invisible “Snipe” – Roy Hansen. There were 8 Hawks, but also such birds as: “Bald Eagle” – William Isbell, “Crane” – Frank Reberger, and a “Blue Goose” – Eugene Moore, to name just a few. In the water there were “Catfish” – Charles Metkovich, “Bull Frog” William Dietrich, “Oyster” – Thomas Burns, “Sea Lion” – Charles Hall, and even a “Whale” Fred Walters. The most frequently listed insect was “Skeeter” of which there were seven, but there was also a “Flea” Freddie Patek, a “Cricket” William Rigney, a “Grasshopper” – Willard Mains, and just plain “Bugs” Arthur Raymond.

A category which I find personally surprising is other peoples’ names. By this I mean 333 ball players had nicknames which were the first name, common nickname, or a last name of other persons. For example, “Mickey” is the common nickname for Michael or it can be a first name itself as it is with Mickey Mantle. As pointed out before in these cases, “Mickey” does not qualify as a nickname in this study. However, there were 27 ball players whose first name was not Michael who had the nickname of “Mickey.” In a similar fashion there were 21 “Petes” whose first, middle, or last name was not Peter, Peterson or anything like it. In most instances the nickname was another person’s first name or common nickname such as Ernest Cox – “Elmer” or George Vico – “Sam.” Yet, there were 17 ball players whose nicknames corresponded to someone else’s last name as was true of Horace Womack – “Dooley” and Arthur Phelan – “Dugan.” I find this particularly puzzling. Given the wide range and variety of nicknames given other ball players, why should more than 300 be nicknamed in this fashion? I have no explanation, but suggest it would make a potentially interesting line of inquiry for future research.

There were 245 nicknames which I placed in the traditional category. It is composed of nicknames with which we are all familiar, but do not fit into any of the other categories. The most frequently listed were “Bud” or “Buddy” of which there were 52, “Chick,” 26, “Kid,” 25, “Babe,” 22, “Chief,” 21, “Rip,” 14. The final category is a residual which I have termed esoteric and individual. The nicknames are esoteric in the sense that many of them would seem to have no common meaning whatsoever and are highly individualistic in the sense that they apply to only one or at best two ballplayers. Examples are: James Weaver – “Fluss,” Everett Virgil – “Pid,” Roger Marquis – “Noonie,” Earl Brown – “Snitz,” and Francis Nekola – “Bots.” No doubt the origin of these names like most nicknames are buried in the life histories of the ballplayers waiting to be discovered. Uncovering them should make interesting research. I ran across the following account by H. Allen Smith which I offer in illustration:

Lawrence Peter Berra refers to himself as Larry, his brothers call him Lawrence, his parents address him as Lawdie, but the world knows him as Yogi. When he was sixteen . . . he went to a movie with a friend. In the picture an Indian fakir or yogi, came on the screen and the friend exclaimed: “Hey, he looks exactly like you. You’re a Yogi! It clung.

Baseball thrives on tradition. Nicknames are part of that tradition. However, the era of the colorful nickname may be over. The frequency of their use appears to be much less in the 1950s and 1960s than it was 20 or 30 years before. What this may mean to the game remains to be investigated. It may be that it is representative of the fact that the general society is becoming more and more impersonal. Nevertheless, nicknames offer a rich body of data for the study of baseball folklore. The categories I have used are arbitrary and only one way of analyzing nicknames. I hope this report will stimulate others to examine nicknames and especially their derivations.

Peck was descended from prominent German American community leader Jakob Lerian, who founded the dominant Lerian Meat Market and took a leadership role in the area’s German-speaking Lutheran congregation.1

Jakob and his wife Elizabeth had five children, the youngest of which, Jacob, was Peck’s father. In 1898 Jacob left home and married Josephine Kaiser,2 who, like her new husband, was a descendant of butchers who had emigrated from Germany. The couple settled in Baltimore while Jacob continued working with his brothers in the family business. Walter Irvin Lerian, their second son, was born on February 10, 1903.3 Peck, his older brother Henry, and younger brother Wilmer all grew to find success in their chosen fields, but Jacob would not live to see his sons’ achievements, dying in May 1909 at age 37 4 and leaving Josephine to raise three small children as a young widow.

Josie, a devout Catholic, and her sons regularly attended Mass at St. Martin’s parish, the largest parish in Baltimore,5 and the small family became well known amongst its many parishioners. Henry and Peck had both started school before their father died, attending St. Martin’s Male Academy, a parochial school at St. Martin’s parish. Peck met some of his closest childhood friends at St. Martin’s, including Robert and William Ashton. He would often play with the Ashton children and became welcome at their home as if he were a member of the family.

When the older Lerian boys had matured enough to find employment of their own, Henry and Peck both started working to help pay for food. Henry continued to attend school as often as he could, while Peck dropped out entirely after the eighth grade and threw his energy into finding odd jobs, earning as much money as possible to contribute to the family’s meager income. The older boys insisted that Wilmer stay in school rather than work like they did so that, as he grew older, he would have a strong foundation for a good career. By the age of seventeen Peck had found regular employment, taking a job as a file clerk for a local bond company, while Henry worked as a pipe fitter in a Baltimore shipyard, allowing young Wilmer to continue with his studies.6

In his time away from the bond firm Peck made a name for himself as an athlete, playing guard for local basketball teams and starring as a catcher on the diamond. It was there that he received his nickname, using his cannon-like arm to throw out potential base stealers while still crouching or kneeling behind the plate. Gifted with exceptionally long, strong arms, he would reach back and rifle the ball to second base. While unleashing these bullet-like throws his right arm would stretch across his body on the follow-through, with his hand quickly brushing the dirt. When practicing his snap throws, making several tosses in rapid-fire succession, his friends said that the way his hand grazed the ground then snapped back up made him look like “a chicken peckin’ corn,”7 and the nickname “Peck” stuck with him for the rest of his life.

Peck’s baseball career began in earnest in 1919, when he tried out for and won the catcher’s spot on the St. Martin’s Catholic Club of Baltimore. The team, representing venerable St. Martin’s parish, boasted one of the most talented sandlot teams in the Baltimore area. Due to its prominent place in the Baltimore community and the caliber of its players, the St. Martin’s squad attracted a great deal of interest from local baseball enthusiasts. One avid follower was Billy Ashton, the father of Peck’s childhood friends Robert and William Ashton. In a pleasant twist of fate, Ashton was named vice president of the International League Baltimore Orioles in 1920, and as one of his first official duties with the team, he persuaded Orioles owner Jack Dunn to give St. Martin’s youthful backstop a tryout.8 Dunn agreed and liked what he saw in the tryout, signing the seventeen-year-old Lerian to a professional contract with the Orioles. Although under contract during the 1920 season, he did not jump directly to the Orioles—one of the finest minor-league teams of the day—but continued to refine his skills with St. Martin’s.

After showing steady improvement throughout the 1920 season, Peck was one of five new recruits invited to join the 1921 Orioles for spring training in Goldsboro, N.C.9 Several carloads of friends made their way to the Baltimore train station to bid Peck farewell. Before departing he was presented with a mitt as a gift from his teammates on the Baltimore Collegians and St. Martin’s basketball teams. He also received a badly needed new pair of baseball shoes, which had been secretly purchased with pennies donated by young parishioners at St. Martin’s.10 Young Peck was leaving home for the first time, having just turned eighteen, but he already had great expectations to live up to. After several years of playing competitive basketball and baseball, his juvenile athletic prowess had been so well documented that even the Orioles viewed him not as a typically fresh recruit, but as a more experienced veteran.

Lerian and his fellow recruits looked forward to learning all they could from the established players. The 1921 Orioles are generally considered to be the greatest of the dominant Orioles squads that played from the late ’teens through the 1920s. The Orioles 1921 entry boasted a lineup featuring second baseman Max “Camera Eye” Bishop, former New York Yankees third baseman Fritz Maisel, and double threat Jack Bentley, who went on to win the IL Triple Crown that season as a first baseman while also compiling a 12–1 record on the mound. Jack Ogden, who would win 31 games that year, and youngsters Lefty Grove (25 wins) and Tommy Thomas (24 wins) anchored the mound corps. No regular member of the staff, backstopped by former Athletics and Indians catcher Ben Egan, had a losing record in 1921.11

Spring training began with most of the Orioles players arriving in Goldsboro during the second week of March. Without delay Peck and the other rookies were put through strenuous workouts, as Jack Dunn, the field manager and team owner, looked them over. Following several days of arduous training Peck’s throwing arm was sore and badly in need of a day off. Sunday provided the first rest offered to the team, and after dutifully attending Mass with his fellow Catholics,12 Peck spent time with Orioles trainer Dr. Fewster to help get his arm ready for Monday’s practice.

Peck had been working extra hard on his throwing during the first week of camp, because Dunn had noticed a hitch in his motion when trying to pick runners off base. While playing sandlot ball Peck’s arm strength compensated for the slight delay in throwing the ball, but against top-level competition the hesitation provided a weakness that the faster, more sophisticated runners in the IL could exploit. He continued working with Dunn and Egan to eliminate the hitch in his delivery, but progress was slow and grueling as he spent hours each day reinventing his throwing motion.

He also took every chance to talk—and more importantly listen—to the fabled Orioles stars, and frequently spent his time off the field discussing the finer points of the game with the veterans. Throughout spring training, Orioles fans in Greensboro could easily find Peck at the team hotel, as he often sat in the lobby discussing baseball with Egan and Dunn long into the night.

After spending the first few weeks of camp rounding into shape, the Orioles started their exhibition schedule in April. Equally as talented as many major-league teams of the day, the Orioles played exhibition games against several big-league teams during spring training. Peck’s first action against major-league competition came in early April, catching for Jack Bentley and Jack Ogden as the Orioles lost a close game to the Brooklyn Robins in Baltimore.13 Dutch Ruether and Leon Cadore held Peck without a hit in four trips to the plate. Peck spent the balance of spring training with the Orioles, but the team already had Egan entrenched behind the plate, with Cal Davis and Wade Lefler providing capable support.14

When the regular season began, Peck was assigned to the Waynesboro Villagers, members of the Class D Blue Ridge League. He played in 78 of the team’s 97 games and was among the league leaders in fielding percentage by a catcher, with a .980 mark and earning honorable mention on the end-of-season All-Star team.15 Waynesboro would only finish third in the six-team league, but Lerian was one of many standouts on their star-studded club.

The Orioles were pleased with Lerian’s inspiring performance at Waynesboro and assigned him to the Newark Bears for the upcoming season. After earning All-Star recognition while receiving $150 per month in 1921, Peck expected a sizeable raise upon moving up to Newark. When the team essentially renewed the previous year’s conditions in his 1922 contract he decided to hold out, threatening to stay home in Baltimore rather than play for less than he had shown he was worth. The team would not budge and, as allowed at the time under the reserve clause, unilaterally renewed his contract, effectively barring Peck from playing Organized Baseball in 1922 unless it was for the Bears. Peck made good on his promise not to sign, playing sandlot ball all year instead of reporting to Newark.

He started the season playing for “Joe Ward’s Ephrata Diamond Stars,” a semipro team in Ephrata, Pennsylvania, but moved closer to home later in the summer. He took a day job with the American Chain and Cable Company, along with a position on the semipro York (Pennsylvania) ACCOs, sponsored by the firm. At both stops, Peck’s lightning-fast throws made headlines as he cut down runners with impunity. He played the balance of the sandlot season with York and then returned home in the fall to take care of his mother and younger brother. Upon settling in Baltimore he caught on with “Brooks’ All Stars,” an industrial semipro team that played in a Maryland regional league.16

Peck provided the steady catching and strong bat Brooks’s team had lacked all season, just in time to face the club’s arch-rival, a slugging team from Laurel, Maryland. When the club traveled out to Laurel, Peck first met Dutch Ulrich, a new pitcher the team also recently acquired, who would pitch for Brooks that day. Throughout the game Ulrich was up to the task, holding Laurel’s powerful lineup to a single run while Brooks’s team brought home six. As the innings wore on Peck noticed that this new pitcher had much better control, movement, and speed than the other hurlers he had caught during the year and determined to become better acquainted with the young flamethrower. The two became friends, training together in Baltimore and following each other’s careers through the 1920s.17

As the 1923 season dawned Peck, freed from the constraints of the reserve clause after sitting out Organized Baseball for the 1922 season, returned to York, where he had become a local celebrity playing with the ACCOs. During a road trip through the Philadelphia suburbs, Peck caught the eye of the Philadelphia Phillies, who tried to sign him away from his semipro team on a trial basis. As one of the most popular and talented players on the ACCOs, Peck was well compensated by the club and his salary was not far below the Phillies’ meager offers. At the time, Peck was the sole economic support for his mother and younger brother, making him deeply mindful of his financial obligation to the family. A longer baseball season meant he would probably be unable to continue playing professional basketball in the off-season. Combining the funds earned from his basketball exploits with his salary from the ACCOs, Peck earned more money as a semipro star than he would as a trial player with the Phillies. In the end fiscal responsibility won out over the honor of playing in the major leagues, and he remained with York’s semipro outfit.18

Peck’s return to Organized Baseball would not be delayed long, however. Hoping to capitalize on his immense local popularity, the York White Roses of the upstart Class B New York–Penn League19 made Peck an offer that would bring him back to the minor leagues while allowing him to play professional basketball in the winter. Playing minor-league baseball again while remaining in York, which had become a second home to the young backstop, combined the best of both worlds for Peck, who happily affixed his signature to the contract binding him to the White Roses for the balance of the 1923 season. Just as the team had anticipated, Peck’s loyal fan base followed him from the sandlots to the New York–Penn League, an easy transition for his admirers, since the White Roses shared a home field with the ACCOs.

The White Roses played a full schedule against the five other New York–Penn League teams, as well as hosting exhibitions with some of the finest Negro League squads of the day. A weekend series against the legendary Hilldale Daisies of the newly founded Eastern Colored League provided an early test of Peck’s abilities. Hilldale featured a lineup stacked with some of the greatest Negro League players of the day, including third baseman Judy Johnson, catchers Biz Mackey and Louis Santop, speedster George Johnson, and player/manager Pop Lloyd. Hilldale won the first ECL pennant in dominating fashion, though York became the first white team to hand the Daisies two losses in a series.20.

The second game of the series featured a catching duel between Peck and Hilldale legend Biz Mackey. Throughout his sandlot and minor-league career, Peck had developed and perfected a ruse he called his Cigar Store Indian play. Standing, seemingly at rest, with his arms at his sides, he would spring into action just as a throw was about to reach him, snaring the ball and applying a quick tag. Every time he received a new mitt, he prepared the glove for this play by unstitching the leather, and cutting a ball-sized hole in the padding. Re-stitching the glove, he created a pocket that was just the right size for securing the ball.

With Fred Warfield at bat, Mirror Briggs on third base, and two down in the fifth inning, Peck got his first chance to try the play in a professional game. Warfield, well known for his ability to beat out infield hits, hit a high chopper to third base that was expertly fielded by York’s Bill Batch. Without a chance to nab the speedy Warfield at first base, Batch instantly fired the ball to the plate where Peck stood placidly. Briggs barreled in, expecting to score easily, when Peck sprang into action, snaring the ball in his specially modified glove, and applied a quick tag. The stunned Daisy had no chance to avoid Peck’s swiping tag, which earned roars of disbelief from the Daisies bench.

The Daisies were also busy on the base paths. With the speedy George Johnson on first and two out, weak-hitting Tom Allen stepped to the plate. Seeking to disrupt York’s defense, Johnson took off on the first pitch. Without a trace of the hitch that distressed Jack Dunn, Peck reached back and, from his crouch, rifled the ball to second base in plenty of time to retire the surprised Johnson.21 The Daisies remained fixed on their bases for the rest of the game.

Throughout the balance of the season with the White Roses Peck continued his stellar defensive play and frequently contributed at bat, but after reaching the high .300s as a semipro, his .252 batting average22 was a slight disappointment and something he vowed to improve the following year.

At the conclusion of York’s season he returned home to Baltimore and resumed his professional basketball career as a guard for the mighty Hagerstown Elks. The Elks played in an East Coast professional league that was more a loose collection of professional fives than a formal league. Several teams stood out above the others, and among the leaders, the Elks were generally considered the team to beat. Although Hagerstown, with a population of less than 30,000 inhabitants,23 was much smaller than the hometowns of other league members such as New York City, Buffalo, New York, or nearby Baltimore, their team was feared around the circuit. Much like his reputation in baseball, he was better known for his defense than his offense, though he could score for the Elks when necessary. With Peck and Maryland basketball legend Valentine Lentz both starring, the Elks were proclaimed by Baltimore Sun sports editor Paul Menton to be the “greatest team in the country” for cities of comparable size to the modest western Maryland village.24

Peck’s characteristic role in the Elks’ attack was to contribute a handful of points, often distributed evenly between the floor and the free-throw line, and provide rock-solid defense. His primary assignment against the tough competition faced by the Elks was to shut down high-scoring opponents with what the papers often called “remarkable guarding,”25 leaving the bulk of the scoring to his teammates. Local sports editors hailed his skill at both stifling opposing scorers and setting up his fellow Elks on offense.

As the basketball season wore on, Peck received and quickly signed his 1924 contract offer from the White Roses in early January.26 The Elks used January to warm up for the championship series in which they would face off against defending champ Hendlers A.C. Just prior to the opening of the series Menton proclaimed Peck to be “the most improved basketball player in Maryland” during the 1923–24 season.27 The teams split the first two games of the series, with Peck making a strong contribution in both games.28 With the championship now hanging on the outcome of the tie-breaking third game, both teams ignored the need to settle the title, foregoing the decisive contest, sharing the championship. Peck continued playing for the Elks through February, when he began to prepare for spring training with the White Roses.

Back with York for the 1924 season, Peck started the year off on a high note, driving in the team’s first run of the season, while expertly handling duties behind the plate. Throughout the summer Peck built on his Opening Day performance, asserting his value both offensively and defensively. By early June he had boosted his average over the .350 mark, breaking into the top five in the New York–Penn League batting race and leading all White Roses hitters.29

Peck had a brush with the law in York that summer, though it was hardly through any wrongdoing of his own, and in the end his true colors as an exemplary gentleman shone through once again. Before an afternoon game with the visiting Grays, he was riding downtown in a car driven by fellow White Rose Neal Dougherty. In an eerie instance of foreshadowing, Dougherty lost control of his vehicle and it jumped the curb, rolling up on the sidewalk in front of a local clothing store.

York plainclothes police officer Myers was present at the scene and detained Dougherty for questioning regarding the incident. Dougherty, perhaps not realizing that Myers was a police officer, was visibly and vocally upset at the interruption in his afternoon’s planned activities, loudly railing against the non-uniformed agent. Myers promptly took Dougherty into custody and transported him, along with Peck, to the police station.

Upon arrival downtown, the two White Roses were taken directly to appear before Chief of Police Buttorff, who reexamined the events surrounding the accident and subsequent outburst. Peck, ever the gentleman, offered his assistance in clearing the matter, explaining that, although the vehicle jumped the curb, it was simply an accident and that no malice was intended, nor any disrespect to officer Myers following the incident. Chief Buttorff was satisfied that, although Dougherty was out of line, no real harm was done, and released the players with only a stiff warning. Following the official chastisement, a sufficiently humbled Dougherty chauffeured Peck to the ballpark in time for the late afternoon game.30

At the conclusion of the 1924 season Peck was named the most valuable catcher in the New York–Penn League, having batted a very respectable .310 while compiling a .991 fielding average to lead all backstops.31 The York press also tabbed him as MVP of the White Roses. His standout performance caught the attention of the Birmingham Barons of the Class A Southern Association,32 who drafted him for the 1925 season. Peck had made such a favorable impression with York’s fans that when they heard the news they took up a collection and presented him with a new watch and cash before he left town.33

As he progressed through the minor leagues Peck also excelled on the basketball court, playing for competitive amateur and professional teams in and around his native Baltimore. Chiefly starring at right guard, he continued to play for the Elks,34 while also starring for the 104th Medical Regiment, St. Martin’s cagers, and Baltimore’s professional city team.35 Peck often shared the court with younger brother Wilmer, who had become an accomplished basketball player himself.36 By 1925, Peck was earning more money collectively between his professional basketball and minor-league baseball careers than he would have made by playing major-league baseball alone.

Early in the 1925 season, Peck played admirably for the Barons, catching the eye of George Weiss, general manager of the Baltimore Orioles and owner of the Eastern League New Haven Profs. Lerian’s tenure with the Barons would be short-lived, as Weiss, who had been watching his progress with interest, dreamed of adding Peck’s hot bat and steady glove to New Haven’s anemic lineup. He negotiated with Birmingham to purchase Peck’s contract rights, settling with the team in July.37

Weiss’s appraisal of Peck turned out to be prophetic, as Lerian immediately showed with both his bat and glove that he was ready for Eastern League competition. During his first trip through the league he caught several opponents by surprise with his Cigar Store Indian play, leading to more cautious base running and more diligent coaching around the circuit.38

Peck spent the 1926 season splitting time behind the plate with Johnny Berger, but as the 1927 season dawned Berger found a roster spot as a bullpen catcher for the Washington Senators, leaving the New Haven catching duty to Lerian. Peck responded with an impressive season at-bat. He took his place as the third batter in New Haven’s lineup, compiling a 16-game hitting streak in late May and early June. His bat did not cool off as the season progressed, and he was found leading the league in batting late that summer with a .378 average, while continuing his commendable performance behind the plate.39

While Peck rose steadily through the minor leagues, William F. Baker’s Philadelphia Phillies were mired in the National League’s second division year after year. The forlorn team, starting a patchwork squad of hand-me-downs and young players signed to low-cost contracts, struggled to draw fans to the vacant stands at the Baker Bowl. As the team’s 1928 spring training camp opened, team captain Jimmie Wilson was slated to handle the majority of games behind the plate. However, in the first week of exhibition contests he injured his finger trying to catch a foul tip.40 The thought of entering the season with no better backup catcher than the untested Johnny Schulte and incapable Harry O’Donnell prompted new Phillies manager Burt Shotton to rapidly hunt for available, bargain-priced catchers. Just before the Phillies opened their City Series with the cross-town Philadelphia Athletics they selected Lerian, New Haven’s star backstop, whose salary requirements—enough to replace the money he would lose by “retiring” from basketball—still fit into Baker’s limited budget.41

Peck’s acceptance of Baker’s contract terms and decision to join the Phillies was solidified by Philadelphia’s geographic proximity to Baltimore, making it easier for him to visit and help his mother and young brother Wilmer during the season. In addition, his friend Dutch Ulrich, from Brooks’s All-Stars, was already a three-year veteran with the Phillies, having established himself as one of the top pitchers on the beleaguered mound staff.42 Sadly for all involved, Ulrich missed all of spring training fighting double pneumonia and, unbeknownst to Lerian or the Phillies, would never play again, succumbing to the disease in February, 1929.43

Peck quickly showed that he could be much more than a backup for the hapless Phillies. Although his hitting suffered to some extent against major-league pitching, his glove work behind the plate showed such promise that Baker started shopping the highly regarded but comparably expensive Wilson elsewhere, looking to acquire some cheap talent and much-needed operating capital.44

Peck rode the bench as the season started, learning the team’s signs and pitchers’ styles while the Phillies showcased Jimmie Wilson in hopes of eliciting trade offers. He made the most of his time in the dugout, creating what he called his “little black book,” a small pocket notebook in which he compiled the pitching techniques and penchants for each of the Phillies hurlers he would be catching along with the hitting preferences and tendencies of every batter the Phillies faced.45 On April 16, in the second game of the Giants series, Peck made his major-league debut in the seventh inning as a pinch hitter for starting pitcher Alex Ferguson. Trailing the Giants 4–0 with Bill Kelly on first base, Phillies manager Burt Shotton sent Lerian to face Giants hurler Bill Walker,46 who had been cruising through his first major-league starting assignment. Although Walker was beginning to lose his effectiveness, he retired Lerian without advancing the runner.

Peck’s next chance to face major-league pitching came just three days later in Philadelphia’s home opener, when Shotton again called on him to take the pitcher’s spot during a critical inning. As the sixth inning opened, “Jumbo” Jim Elliott and the visiting Robins held a 4–2 edge, spoiling the mood of the 12,000 fans who had come to welcome their Phillies home. With Pinky Whitney on second base after doubling against the Baker Bowl’s short right-field wall, Lerian stepped in against Elliott and collected his first major-league hit and RBI by knocking his own double against the wall, scoring Whitney in the process. Shortly thereafter he scored his first run when Fresco Thompson drove him home.47

Lerian’s role with the team changed dramatically on May 11. Without warning Shotton pulled Jimmie Wilson out of the lineup in the second inning of the Phillies’ game against the Cardinals and it was announced that the Phillies’ star catcher had been traded to the opposition. The Cards needed an established backstop to replace the recently dealt Bob O’Farrell, who had been sent to the Giants earlier in the month. Wilson, who was generally regarded as the best all-around receiver in the NL, fit the Cardinals’ requirement nicely.48 In exchange, the Phillies received cost-effective youngsters Spud Davis and Homer Peel, who would have little impact on the Phillies’ success (or lack thereof) but more importantly would not further stretch Baker’s already constrained payroll. When Davis caught up with the Phillies in Cincinnati he was immediately handed the starting catcher’s job, but it would soon be Lerian who would show greater value as the Phillies’ new receiver. By the end of May, Peck had supplanted Davis in the Phillies’ lineup, starting most of the games behind the plate.

At the end of May, Peck found a perfect opportunity to again utilize his Cigar Store Indian play. The Boston Braves had purchased George Sisler’s contract from the Washington Senators on May 27. Sisler, who was approaching the end of his Hall of Fame career, joined the team in Philadelphia two days later to make his NL debut. When he stepped to the plate in the top of the first inning, Sisler received an enthusiastic reception from the Phillies crowd, anxious to see for the first time the man who owned the (since broken) single-season hits record in action. He did not disappoint the fans, collecting one hit and scoring two runs on the day—but he would have had another hit if not for Lerian. With runners on first and second in Sisler’s first time at bat, he lofted a soft pop to short left field. Pinky Whitney and Barney Friberg converged on the ball but couldn’t reach it. Meanwhile, Peck raced down to third to cover for Whitney. Friberg picked up the ball on a bounce and fired it toward third, where Peck stood stoicly. Just before Lance Richbourg reached safely, Lerian sprang to life, grabbing the relay throw and tagging Richbourg out.49.

Throughout June, Peck enjoyed a number of career firsts and established new monthly highs in virtually every offensive category. He commenced a modest five-game hitting streak and became a local hero in Philadelphia on June 19, driving in the winning run in the bottom of the ninth inning of the first game of a scheduled doubleheader against the Robins. With the score 10–9 in the Robins’ favor, Heinie Sand on first, and Pinky Whitney on second with one out, Peck stepped to the plate. Brooklyn manager Wilbert Robinson tapped flamethrower Dazzy Vance to stop the comeback attempt. Vance started with a ball outside, then caught too much of the plate with his next offering, which Peck laced down the third base-line. Whitney and Sand both hurried home and Lerian ended up on third base with a game-ending triple.50

Peck capped his breakthrough month with his first major-league home run on June 27. Down 7–4 in the top of the eighth inning against the Giants at the Polo Grounds, Phillies manager Shotton tapped Lerian to bat for pitcher Claude Willoughby. Facing Vic Aldridge, Peck wasted no time at the plate, promptly hitting a game-tying home run that sent Aldridge to the showers.51 Peck’s offensive emergence, during which he batted .414, continued into early July, with three consecutive multi-hit games from June 30 through July 3.

Inevitably his production declined, and as Lerian’s bat cooled so did the Phillies, finishing the season in a 25–65 skid. Facing Pat Malone on September 26 in the Phillies’ last game against the Cubs, Peck had one final highlight, hitting his second career home run.52 Almost inevitably, the Phillies lost the game, kicking off their final three-game losing streak of the season.53

As the season mercifully ended Peck—along with fellow rookie Chuck Klein, who joined the team mid-season to take over right field for aging fixture Cy Williams54—stood out as bright spots in a miserable season in Philadelphia. According to John Kieran of the New York Times, Rogers Hornsby called Peck “the best young catcher he has seen come up in quite a while.”55

During the season, in addition to finding success on the diamond, Peck found love off the field. He met a young Philadelphia lady who swept him off his feet. As their relationship blossomed they began making plans to wed before the start of the 1929 season. At the close of the season Peck’s fiancée fell ill, and he delayed his return trip to Baltimore to stay at her side while she recovered. As the winter progressed, so did her illness, and she was unable to recover her health. In a tragic end to his romance, his fiancée died before they could wed, and Peck returned home with a broken heart to care for his mother and younger brother.56

He stayed in shape the balance of the off-season by playing with the Baltimore All-Stars baseball team while also scrimmaging with the St. Martin’s squad. When it was too cold to play outside he moved indoors, took up his old position at guard for the Baltimore city professional basketball team, and practiced with the St. Martin’s cagers.

In late February Peck packed his baseball gear in a trunk and, with a heavy heart, boarded the Phillies’ train as the team passed through Baltimore on February 28, on the way to Winter Haven, Florida. When the train arrived in Winter Haven the next day, it was discovered that Lerian’s trunk carrying his baseball shoes and catching gear had been lost en route. Although the railroad searched up and down the line between Baltimore and Winter Haven, no one could locate Peck’s belongings.

Without his baseball gear—especially his comfortable shoes—Peck could only offer encouragement to his teammates as they loosened up in the Phillies’ first-ever Sunday warm-up. In an effort to get their star catcher into the action, several of his teammates offered to loan him their shoes for the unprecedented workout, but none fit well enough for Peck to play. He finally resigned himself to purchasing and breaking in a new pair of “kicks” while borrowing the tools of ignorance from his counterparts until his equipment could be found.57 The Phillies had a day off on Tuesday, which allowed Peck to find a new pair of shoes and some catching equipment before the balance of the team arrived in camp.

During spring training, Peck remained very active in the Catholic Church, making time each day to attend Mass along with Catholic teammates Lefty O’Doul, George Susce, and Denny Sothern.58 While attending daily church services with new teammates O’Doul, who was acquired from the Giants during the off-season, and Susce, his new understudy behind the plate, Peck quickly developed a bond, in particular with O’Doul. During batting practice, Peck’s newfound friend had noticed a deficiency in Peck’s swing and offered some “help” with his batting. Trying in vain to follow Lefty’s suggestions, along with the lingering effects of a broken heart, Peck would endure a season-long slump at the plate.59

With spring training drawing to a close the Phillies prepared to return north to face the A’s in Philadelphia’s City Series prior to the start of the regular season. Before the team left Florida, Peck disappeared from camp for a few days. None of his teammates or coaches had any idea where he went, but were relieved when he returned to Winter Haven just in time to catch up with the team on their journey home. Peck did not explain his absence to anyone until he returned to Baltimore. Upon visiting his mother and younger brother Wilmer, Peck told Wilmer that he had spent some time at the University of Florida in Gainesville. Realizing that his baseball career would support him as long as a typical career or trade, he looked into various programs to improve the outlook on his post-baseball working life. While there he also negotiated for the school to offer Wilmer, Peck’s superior on the court, a basketball scholarship. In exchange for arranging to send Wilmer to school, Peck, who wanted to become a sports writer after his baseball career ended, asked that his younger brother use his college education to find a good job so Wilmer could help finance Peck’s college attendance when he was no longer able to make a living playing baseball.60

In the preseason City Series the Phillies played Connie Mack’s Athletics to a draw, each team winning two games before running out of time before Opening Day. Peck saw action in three of the four games, batting 1-for-5 with a double and a walk. With only a few days left between the close of the City Series and the start of the regular season, the Phillies played one last warm-up game against the Orioles in Baltimore. Warm-up turned out to be a misnomer for this contest, which was played in frigid conditions at Oriole Park. Peck’s catching suffered from the inhospitable conditions, allowing two passed balls on the day.61 The cold snap did not let up, and the Giants-Phillies opener scheduled for April 16 had to be postponed for two days due to the uncooperative weather.

The cold start to the season turned out to be an omen for the 1929 Phillies. The team broke out of the cellar, but still could not reach the first division, finishing in fifth place, 27 1⁄2 games behind the Cubs. Throughout the season, Peck was charged with primary catching duties, appearing in 103 games, with Spud Davis and George Susce providing backup.

Team struggles aside, as the year progressed, Peck took part in several memorable games and feats. On May 18, Peck’s home run and three RBIs helped the Phillies and Robins set a record (later broken) by scoring 50 combined runs in their doubleheader, splitting the games 20–16 and 8–6.62 During the July 6 doubleheader with the Cardinals, he rested on the bench after playing in the first game, watching the Phillies give up a post-1900-record 28 runs on 28 hits.63

Grover Cleveland Alexander earned his 373rd and last major-league win against the Phillies on August 10. Peck had a front-row seat to the postgame celebration, warming up on-deck as Tommy Thevenow made the last out. Alexander pitched four innings of relief to earn the win, which at the conclusion of the game was celebrated as the NL record, thought to have topped Christy Mathewson’s record by one.64 Later research showed that Alexander and Mathewson are actually tied at 373 wins apeice.

Peck’s last major-league game was another record-setting affair. In the first game of the Giants-Phillies doubleheader on October 5, Mel Ott and Chuck Klein entered the game tied with 42 home runs each. Klein homered off of Carl Hubbell to take the lead, after which the Phillies pitchers walked Ott six times to secure the title for Klein. With his 43rd home run, Klein broke Rogers Hornsby’s single-season NL homer record. Meanwhile, in the fifth inning of game one, Lefty O’Doul collected his 251st hit of the season, erasing another of Hornsby’s records. O’Doul collected three more hits on the day, finishing the season with .254. Peck ended his career going 1-for-3 for the day, raising his lifetime average to .246.

At the conclusion of the season, the New York Times named him the top-fielding catcher in the NL.65 Peck was also a leader in a much less desirable category, being one of only six players in the majors in 1929 to fail to score 75 percent of the times he reached base (while collecting at least 50 hits that year). Only Shanty Hogan, Dutch Hoffman and Johnny Gooch had worse scoring percentages.66

Peck stayed in Philadelphia after the Phillies disbanded, watching the A’s defeat the Chicago Cubs in the World Series. On October 15, he returned home to Baltimore, where he quickly reunited with his sandlot acquaintances and began playing. Peck played his final game, an exhibition match on Sunday, October 20, between the Baltimore All-Stars and the Baltimore Black Sox, featuring Negro League stars Dick Lundy and Oliver “Ghost” Marcelle. He had one hit in a losing effort, but kept the speedy Black Sox in check, allowing just two stolen bases on the day.67

On Monday, October 21, Peck attended a Redemptorist sermon at St. Martin’s Church. During the sermon, the preacher admonished attendees to live an honorable life, because no one knows the hour or day that the end may come. Following the service, Peck walked to the trolley stop at the corner of Fayette and Mount streets to catch a ride home. While he waited, a car driven by August Meyers nearly collided with a Hecht’s delivery truck, driven by Charles Lloyd. In an effort to avoid a collision, Lloyd swerved and lost control of his truck. The vehicle headed straight toward a group of children playing on the street. Given just a moment to act, Lloyd swerved again, missing the children. His truck jumped the curb, crashing through the trolley stop. Peck, without a moment to react, was caught as the truck plowed into a brick building.68

The impact of the collision tore a hole in the building, and trapped Peck between the truck and crushed wall. It took over an hour to remove him from the accident site. A passing motorist rushed him to Franklin Square Hospital,69 where Peck was diagnosed with severe body bruises, internal injuries, and multiple broken bones. His doctor optimistically described his condition as “serious.”70

Upon hearing word of the accident, fifty men from St. Martin’s and six Baltimore firefighters lined up to offer blood for a badly needed transfusion.71 Two St. Martins donors were selected, and when the doctors felt that Peck was strong enough to withstand the transfusion, a risky procedure in those days, the donors each gave a pint of blood. Before the transfusion was completed, Peck succumbed to his injuries.

Over 1,000 mourners attended the funeral mass held at St. Martin’s, among them several major leaguers. John McGraw was said to have coveted Peck, trying to negotiate a trade with the Phillies before the accident. Truck driver Lloyd was convicted of manslaughter in December, 1929, and Hecht’s was ordered to pay Peck’s mother a settlement of $22,500. The Phillies, meanwhile, slid back down to the cellar in 1930, featuring one of the worst pitching staff records in history.

After news of his death spread, those who knew Peck provided a clear picture of the player, and the man. Giants manager McGraw called him “the future catching star of the National League,” while Rogers Hornsby said he was the top young catcher in the league. The Catholic periodical the Ligourian mourned the loss of an exemplary role model, eulogizing Peck as the “perfect Catholic gentleman.”72

While Peck’s time in the major leagues may be largely forgotten, his place in Maryland baseball history is not. Peck was inducted into the Oldtimer’s Baseball Association of Maryland Hall of Fame in 1959,73 in recognition of his position as one of Maryland’s baseball greats—one whose life and career were cut tragically short.

Sources

Newspapers

Baltimore American

Baltimore Sun, Baltimore-area newspapers (various unknown)

Chicago Tribune

Ephrata, Penn.–area newspaper, ca. 1922.

Los Angeles Times New York Times

Patterson Evening News (25 September 1928)

Washington Post The Sporting News

York, Penn. Gazette and Daily (ca. 1922–24)

Websites

www.baseball-almanac.com

www.baseballlibrary.com

www.baseball-reference.com

www.blueridgeleague.org/sll21.htm

www.blueridgeleague.org/history_1921.htm

www.easternleague.com/history.htm

www.minorleaguebaseball.com/pages/?id=101

www.retrosheet.org

Other Source Material

Ay, Mr. Richard Lerian. Interview with author, 15 September 2004. Birmingham Barons Media Guide. 2004.

Craig, Gordon A. Europe, 1815–1914. New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1966.

Enoch Pratt Free Library, Baltimore. Maryland Room, Periodical Department and Sports Reference Desk.

Gietschier, Steve. The Sporting News.

Harvey, Father John. Inteview with author, Transfiguration Catholic Community Church, Baltimore, 4 and 9 September 2004.

Hutchins, Mrs. Olga K. Zion Church, Baltimore.

Karst, Gene, and Martin J. Jones Jr. Who’s Who in Professional Baseball.

New Rochelle, N.Y.: Arlington House, 1973.

Korman, Jeff. Maryland Department manager, Enoch Pratt Free Library, Baltimore.

Lerien, Mrs. Diane. Interview with author, 30 August 2004.

Lerien, Mrs. George J. (Betty), Jr. Interview with author, 15 September 2004. Lerian, Dr. Henry J. “Jack.” Interviews with author (numerous).

———. Email correspondence with author (numerous).

Lerian, Mrs. Margie. Interview with author, 30 August 2004.

Lerian, Mr. Walter. Interview with author, 30 August 2004.

The Liguorian. December 1929.

National Baseball Hall of Fame Player Questionnaire. National League official statistician’s record (1928).

Riley, James A. The Biographical Encyclopedia of the Negro Baseball Leagues. New York: Carroll and Graf, 1994.

Gabriel Schechter, National Baseball Hall of Fame Giamatti Research Library, Cooperstown, N.Y.

The Sporting News Record Book for 1921 (St. Louis: The Sporting News, 1921).

U.S. Census Bureau. Baltimore, Maryland, 1900. District 244, sheet 3, ward 19.

U.S. Census Bureau. Baltimore, Maryland, 1910. District 348, sheet 17, ward 20.

U.S. Census Bureau. Baltimore, Maryland, 1920. District 346, sheet 28, ward 20.

Walt Lerian, Hall of Fame file, article, 14 March 1929.

Washington County Free Library, Hagerstown, Md. Western Maryland Room and Government Desk.

Notes

1 Interview, Henry J. “Jack” Lerian, 31 August 2004

2 National Baseball Hall of Fame Player

3 1900 U.S.

4 Mrs. Olga K. Hutchins of the Zion Church of the City of Baltimore.

5 Interview, Father John Harvey, Martin’s Rectory, 4 September 2004.

6 1920 U.S. Census.

7 Interview, Henry J. “Jack” Lerian, 30 August 2004.

8 “Oriole Official Follows the Career of His Protégé,” Baltimore-area newspaper, ca. 1921.

9 Riley, “Hard Practice Begins Today at Camp ”

10 “Oriole Official Follows the Career of His Protégé.”

11 “Team 2, 1921 Baltimore Orioles (119–47),” http://web.minorleaguebaseball.com/milb/history/top100.jsp?idx=2.

12 Riley, “Hard Practice Begins Today at Camp Oriole.”

13 “Exhibition Games,” Washington Post, 9 April 1921.

14 “Peck Lerian, Catcher, Dies After Crash,” Baltimore Sun, 22 October 1929.

15 http://www.blueridgeleague.org/sll21.htm.

16 Harry Robert, “Lerian and Ulrich Mates in 1st Game,” Philadelphia-area newspaper, 2 June 1928.

17 “Lank Leonard’s All Year Sports,” Patterson Evening News, 25 September 1928.

18 Robert, “Lerian and Ulrich Mates in 1st ”

19 www.easternleague.com/history.htm.

20 “York Wins Two from Crack Hilldale Team,” York Gazette and Daily, 1923.

21 Ibid.

22 “Lerian Signs Contract with York for Season,” Baltimore Sun, 3 January 1924.

23 Washington County Free Library, Government Desk.

24 “Shootin’ ’em,” Baltimore Sun, 1 January 1924.

25 Untitled newspaper clipping, January 1924.

26 “Lerian Signs Contract with York for Season”

27 “Shootin’ ’em.”

28 “Hagerstown Has Nifty Floor Squad,” Baltimore Sun, 23 January 1924.

29 “Lerian Out in Front Among York Batters,” York Gazette and Daily, 3 June 1924.

30 “Nabs Ball Player,” York Gazette and Daily, ca. 1924.

31 “Pennsy Fans Say He Will Deliver in Fast Society,” unknown newspaper, 1 April 1925.

32 “Peck Lerian, Catcher, Dies After Crash”

33 “Pennsy Fans Say He Will Deliver in Fast Society”

34 “2,000 Rabid Fans Turn Out to See Twin Court Bill,” Washington Post, 5 January 1925.

35 “Peck Lerian, Catcher, Dies After Crash”

36 Interview, Walter Lerian, 30 August 2004.

37 “Peck Lerian, Catcher, Dies After Crash”

38 Interview, Dr. Henry J. “Jack” Lerian, 30 August 2004.

39 Interview, Mr. Walter Lerian, 30 August 2004.

40 “Phils Drill for Game,” Chicago Tribune, 9 March 1928.

41 Interview, Mr. Walter Lerian, 30 August 2004.

42 “Phillies Leave for South,” New York Times, 20 February 1928.

43 “Ulrich, Philly Pitching Star in 1927, Dies,” Chicago Tribune, 13 February 1929.

44 “Tragedy Again Hits Shotton’s Phillies,” The Sporting News, 31 October 1929.

45 Interview, Dr. Henry J. “Jack” Lerian, 30 August 2004.

46 “Cy Williams Beats Giants with Homer,” New York Times, 17 April 1928.

47 “3 Robin Home Runs Fail to Beat Phils,” New York Times, 20 April 1928.

48 “Alexander fans nine as Cards beat Phils,” Washington Post, 12 May 1928.

49 Philadelphia Inquirer, 30 May 1928.

50 “Rain Saves Robins After One Defeat,” New York Times, 20 June 1928.

51 “Giants’ Four Runs in 8th Crush Phils,” New York Times, 28 June 1928.

52 “Malone Treats Phils as They Deserve: Fans 10,” Chicago Tribune, 27 September 1928.

53 www.retrosheet.org/boxesetc/1928/VPHI01928.htm.

54 www.baseballlibrary.com/baseballlibrary/ballplayers/K/Klein_Chuck.stm.

55 “Sports of the Times,” New York Times, 30 December 1928.

56 Interview, Dr. Henry J. “Jack” Lerian, 31 August 2004.

57 Article, from Walt Lerian Hall of Fame file, dated 14 March 1929.

58 “A True Catholic Layman,” Liguorian, December 1929.

59 Interview, Dr. Henry J. “Jack” Lerian, 31 August 2004.

60 Interview, Dr. Henry J. “Jack” Lerian, 30 August 2004.

61 “Baltimore Beats Phillies,” New York Times, 14 April 1929.

62 “Robins Win First 20–16; Phillies Take Final 8–6,” Washington Post, 19 May 1929.

63 “Cards Score, 28–6, After 10–6 Loss,” Washington Post, 7 July 1929.

64 “Alexander Sets NL Record; Cards Split 2,” Washington Post, 11 August 1929.

65 “Jackson of Giants Tops Shortstops,” New York Times, 27 December 1929.

66 http://guthrie.scottsboro.org/~steve/baserunning/1929baserunning.html.

67 “Rommel and Carroll Pounded as Black Sox Trim All-Stars Twice,” Baltimore Sun, 21 October 1929.

68 “Lerian of Phillies Dies After Accident,” Baltimore Sun, 23 October 1929.

69 “Peck Lerian, Catcher, Dies After Crash.”

70 “Lerian, Catcher, Hurt as Auto Mounts Curb,” Washington Post, 22 October 1929.

71 “Crash Is Fatal to Lerian,” Baltimore News, 22 October 1929.

72 Ligourian, December 1929.

73 http://oldtimersmd.org/HoF.asp.

Keeping it Alive: The Proactive Clark Griffith 

At age 72, Clark Griffith again faced the challenge of maintaining the operations and financial stability of his “small market” team, the Washington Senators, during a world war. The Senators, by population, were the smallest team in major-league baseball. During World War I, the major leagues continued to operate in spite of shortened seasons in 1918 and 1919, reduced attendance, and the loss of 247 players to military service. Griffith also became a very active participant in the selling of Liberty Bonds and other fundraising efforts for the war such as his Bat and Ball Fund, which provided baseball equipment to servicemen.

After the US entered World War II in December of 1941, it didn’t take long for Griffith to become proactive to support the interests of baseball and his team. On December 11, 1941, he initiated the Baseball Equipment Fund, which was built upon the principles of his World War I creation. Upon request of Commissioner Kenesaw Mountain Landis, Griffith hand-delivered a letter from the commissioner to President Franklin D. Roosevelt that inquired about FDR’s views on having baseball continue to operate.

Over the years, Griffith developed strong relationships with Washington’s power brokers. He had known Roosevelt for a long time. Building on this relationship, Griffith used all his diplomatic and persuasive skills in discussing the question of keeping baseball up and running during World War II. 

Roosevelt sent a letter dated January 15, 1942, to Commissioner Landis that made it clear that in the president’s view it would benefit people if baseball were available for their recreation and to take “their minds off their work even more than before.” The president made it clear that if baseball was played, the players would still be subject to the rules and procedures of the Selective Service draft.

This was known as the “Green Light” letter. It also contained another item that was near and dear to Clark Griffith’s heart: night baseball. FDR expressed the hope “that night games can be extended because it gives an opportunity to the day shift to see a game occasionally.” This was more than a green light for Griffith’s desire to have as many night games as he could; it was a fat one down the middle. The Senators had held their first night game on May 28, 1941, at Griffith Stadium and drew 25,000 people, which was a big jump over the normal daytime attendance in 1941 of fewer than 5,500 per game. Originally, Griffith was against night baseball because he thought it would be too expensive. But in 1939 he changed his mind when he attended a night game at Shibe Park in Philadelphia and saw firsthand the financial power of night baseball. The timing was perfect for Griffith to continue pursuit of a great revenue-generating tool.   At the 1941winter meetings he proposed unlimited night games during the workweek. The American League supported his proposal, but not the National. The commissioner also voted against the expansion of night baseball. 

However, it wasn’t over for Clark Griffith. At his meeting with President Roosevelt on January 14, 1942, Griffith seized the opportunity to put the topic on their agenda. It worked. After the Green Light letter, Commissioner Landis granted 21 night games to the Senators and 14 to each other club.

Griffith still wasn’t satisfied. He kept pressing the issue for unlimited night games for the Senators. He said he needed the additional revenue to serve the challenges of keeping a team operating during the war. On July 6, 1942, the owners voted on allowing night baseball for each weekday. Griffith lost on a decisive “no” vote cast by the commissioner. He continued his campaign in 1943 and he extended it to writing White House press secretary Stephen Early in early March of 1943. On July 13, 1943, Landis granted the Senators unlimited weekday night games. Other teams eventually caught up in July 1944. (Still, many ballparks did not have proper lighting for true night games until after the war.)

There was another opportunity for Griffith to generate attendance and to maintain Washington Senators operations during wartime: doubleheaders. He worked hard to get the league to lift restrictions on doubleheaders. On February 5, 1942, The Sporting News reported that Sunday doubleheaders could now be played on any Sunday instead of not until the fourth home Sunday.

This may have backfired on Griffith. It may have been a contributing factor to the Senators’ second-place finish in 1945. From August 19 to the end of the season, the Senators played 16 doubleheaders, seven in August and nine in September. In one stretch, they played eight doubleheaders in 13 days including three back-to-back twin bills. The Senators won 87 games but finished second, 1½ games behind the Tigers. Why such a grueling schedule? Griffith rearranged this part of the schedule to accommodate the practice schedule of the Washington Redskins, who used Griffith Stadium and paid rent to Griffith.

The Green Light letter said there would be baseball. Now Griffith and the other owners had to fill up major-league rosters and attempt to put competitive talent on the field while the players were subject to military service.

In 1941, even before Pearl Harbor, the Senators had lost some players. Although not key, established players, they might have been candidates to fill rosters during the war. Pitcher Lou Thuman had a two-year career of five games with an 0-1 record and a 12.00 ERA. Outfielder Jim Mallory had four games, 12 at-bats, 2 hits, 2 runs scored, and a .167 batting average. Outfielder Elmer Gedeon was in the minors in ’41, but had played five games in 1939 with three hits. Pitcher Lefty Brewer was a minor leaguer on the 1941 spring-training roster when he entered the military in March.

The crafty Washington Senators owner would need to be at his strategic and creative best to acquire players and get them ready to play. His chief talent scout, Joe Cambria, was a big help in solving this problem. Cambria scouted and acquired talent both inside and outside the US but he was especially good at acquiring inexpensive Latin American talent who would be draft-exempt under the Selective Service rules.

Cambria had found some players already for Griffith and he would find more. During wartime, players like pitcher Alex Carrasquel from Venezuela and Bobby Estalella and Gil Torres from Cuba played significant roles to help the team stay competitive. 

From 1942 to 1945, Carrasquel served double duty as a relief pitcher and spot starter. He ranged from a low of 35 games pitched in 1942 and 1945 to a high of 43 in 1944. His record from 1942 to 1945 was 33-26 in 152 games of which he started 42 with 19 complete games. His ERA ranged from a low of 2.71 to a high of 3.68. 

Before the 1942 season, the Senators reacquired the hard-hitting, poor-fielding Bobby Estalella, whom they had signed in the ’30s but lost to the St. Louis Browns in the draft. In 1942 his 68 runs and 65 RBIs in 133 games helped to replace the run production of some key hitters who were in the military.

Utility infielder Gil Torres, whose dad, Ricardo, played 16 games for the Senators and manager Clark Griffith in 1920,  provided depth and flexibility to the 1944 and 1945 teams. He played in 134 games in 1944 and 147 in 1945. As a rookie Torres scored 42 runs, drove in 58, and posted a .267 batting average. In 1945 the average took a significant dip to.237, but he still contributed 39 runs scored and 48 RBIs.

Griffith also used Cambria’s Cuban connection to get effective supporting players like outfielder Roberto Ortiz in 1944 (85 games, .253 batting average, 36 runs, 35 RBIs). Catcher Mike Guerra played in 75 games in 1944 and 56 in 1945. Reliever Santiago Ullrich appeared in 28 games with a 4.54 ERA and a 3-3 record in 1945. Outfielder Jose Zardon played in 54 games in 1945 and had a .290 batting average in 131 at-bats.

However, Griffith’s breakthroughs in international signings did have critics among owners and fans because the players were draft-exempt. In April 1944 the Selective Service System ruled that foreign players would have to sign up for the draft or leave the country. On July 16 several players left the team and returned to Cuba. The policy change requiring draft registration or removal for foreigners was reversed before the start of the 1945 season.

Washington Senators: Years in Review, 1942 to 1945

1942 Season

Washington’s manpower took a big hit prior to the 1942 season. Two key run producers and some role players left for military service. In 1941 the Senators had scored 728 runs, fourth in the American League. The offense seemed to be moving upward. This was 63 runs more than in 1940 (but 137 runs less than the 865 of the top scoring club, Boston). Although the offense was improving, two of Washington’s top run producers would be in the military and not on the field in 1942.

Reliable-hitting third baseman and shortstop Cecil Travis, 28 years old, had one of his best years in 1941 even though Joe DiMaggio’s 56-game hitting streak and Ted Williams .406 batting average made the daily headlines. Travis led the league with 218 hits, 25 more than DiMaggio and 33 more than Williams. Travis was second in the league in triples with 19 and second to Williams in batting average at .359, which was .002 points ahead of DiMaggio. Travis entered the Army in January 1942.

Buddy Lewis scored 100 or more suns in four of his six full years playing for the Senators as an outfielder-third baseman. He scored 97 runs in 1941. Lewis’s RBI production had a similar pattern with 72 or more RBIs in four of his six seasons with a career high of 91 in 1938. Lewis was drafted in 1941, received a deferment until the end of the season, and then joined the Army Air Corps.

The Senators had hoped that a pair of 24-year-olds, third baseman Hillis Layne and first baseman Jack Sanford, might help make up some of the run production lost by the Travis and Lewis departures. However, Layne and Sanford also wound up in the military in 1942. Red Anderson was also missing in 1942. He had started 1941 on a high note by catching FDR’s Opening Day pitch. He played a strong support role the rest of the season as a relief pitcher and spot starter. He appeared in 32 games, worked 112 innings, and had a 4.18 ERA with a 4-6 record. In 1942 he was in the Navy. He did not play in the majors again.

In 1942 the Senators finished seventh, 39½ games out of first with a 62-89 record. They scored 75 fewer runs than in 1941. Stan Spence (.323, 94 runs, 79 RBIs), Mickey Vernon (76 runs, 86 RBIs), and Bobby Estalella (68 runs, 65 RBIs) tried their best to fill the void created by the loss of Travis and Lewis. George Case, a regular since 1938 who continued to star for the Senators during the war years, hit .320 and stole a league-leading 44 bases. (Mickey Vernon was second with 25.)

Pitching performance declined in 1942. Washington’s staff gave up 817 runs, the most of any American League team during the war years. There were high hopes for the staff early on with the return of 34-year-old Bobo Newsom, but he went 11-17 with a 4.93 ERA and was sold to Brooklyn near the end of the year. Knuckleballer Dutch Leonard, the dependable veteran of the staff, pitched in only six games because of a broken ankle.

1943 Season

In 1943 the Senators surprised baseball fans with an 84-69 season and a second-place finish, 13½ games out. A highlight of the season was Buddy Lewis’s appearance at a doubleheader. An Air Force pilot, he had flown some VIPs from his base to the game. The Senators honored him between games. Lewis left before the second game to fly back to his base. However, there was a slight change in the expected routine. Before flying out of Washington, Lewis doubled back and buzzed Griffith Stadium so low that he was clearly recognizable to his teammates. Several protocols and regulations fell victim to his cheerful and creative goodbye. However, it was generally believed and never denied that Griffith took care of it.

Offensively, George Case was first in the league with 102 runs and 61 stolen bases. Mickey Vernon finished fifth in the league in runs (89) and stolen bases (24). Stan Spence was fifth with 88 RBIs.

Pitching was where Washington excelled this season. Washington’s staff lowered its ERA from 4.58 in 1942 to 3.18 in 1943. This was in spite of losing two reliable pitchers to the military, Sid Hudson and Walt Masterson. In 1942 the two had combined for 60 appearances, 382 innings pitched, and 15 wins.

But replacements, new and old, rose to the occasion. In his second full season, Early Wynn had his fastball flying to pitch 257 innings, third in the league, and pick up 18 wins. Dutch Leonard was back for a full season, with 31 games and 220 innings. Although he had only an 11-13 record, Dutch had a 3.28 ERA and a league-leading low of 1.9 walks per nine innings, quite an achievement for a knuckleball pitcher. Some new replacements helped the staff turn in a great performance. First-year pitcher Milo Candini, 25 years old, went 11-7 with a 2.49 ERA in 28 appearances, 21 as a starter. Mickey Haefner, 30 years old, also was new blood. He did double duty with 23 games in relief and 13 as a starter. He had his knuckler working to get his ERA to a sparkling2.29 to go with an 11-5 record. Another knuckleballer, 39-year-old Johnny Niggeling, came to the Senators in a late-season trade and posted promising numbers in only six starts: a 4-2 record and a 0.88 ERA.

1944 Season

In 1944 the Senators found their way to the cellar for the first time in 35 years, finishing 25 games out of first place with a 64-90 record. Both hitters and pitchers performed well below their 1943 effort. The offense scored 592 runs, a decline of 74 from 1943 and their lowest production during the war years. Mickey Vernon’s run-generating bat and base-stealing legs were in the military, not on the field. Slick-fielding second baseman Jerry Priddy and his 1943 production of 68 runs and 62 RBIs was also in military service.

First baseman Joe Kuhel, a steady hitter for the Senators in the 1930s  who was reacquired from the White Sox before the season, scored 90 runs but produced only 51 RBIs. At 38, it was tough for him to completely fill the shoes of Mickey Vernon. Second baseman George Myatt, who turned 30 in June, stepped up from his 1943 reserve role to play in 140 games, hit.284, and score 86 runs but had only 40 RBIs. George Case, second in the league with 49 stolen bases, and Stan Spence, fourth in the league with 100 RBIs, continued to be the leading offensive players for the Senators. Catcher Al Evans and third baseman Hillis Layne returned from the war and showed their “baseball rust.” Layne had 87 at-bats in 33 games with a batting average of .195. Evans had 22 at-bats in 14 games and hit  .091.

The pitching also tailed off. The team ERA rose to 3.49 as the staff allowed 69 more runs than in 1943. Roger Wolff, a 33-year-old knuckleball pitcher, was acquired from the Athletics before the season started. With four knucklers on his staff and with expert knuckleball catcher Jake Early in the military, Griffith reacquired 38-year-old catcher Rick Ferrell from St. Louis. The knuckleball corps of Leonard, Haefner, Niggeling, and Wolff had a 40-52 record. Wildness worked against the newcomer Wolff, as he walked 3.5 batters per nine innings. His Senators debut season consisted of only 4 wins and 15 losses.

1945 Season

In 1945 the Senators were back in the hunt for first place. In a close race, Washington finished second to Detroit, 1½ games behind, with a 87-67 record. The offense scored 622 runs, 30 more than 1944, even though it lost run producer Stan Spence and some key role players to military service. But it was pitching that improved the Senators in 1945. Even with four knuckleball pitchers, the pitching staff allowed only 2.8 walks per game; had a 2.92 ERA, lowest in the league; and tied pennant-winning Detroit with 19 shutouts.

Offensively, some unfamiliar names were key to the Senators’ success. George Case and George Myatt tied for second in the league with 30 stolen bases apiece. Myatt batted .296, and Case .294. Myatt contributed 81 runs and 39 RBIs while Case had 72 runs and 31 RBIs. The big run producers were 30-year-old rookie outfielder George “Bingo” Banks and the ageless Joe Kuhel.. Although he turned 39 in June, Kuhel did his best to replace Spence’s production. Joe had a .285 batting average, a .378 on-base percentage, and a slugging percentage of .400. This was the Joe Kuhel Senator fans remembered when he played for Washington in the ’30s.

War returnees also bolstered Washington’s attack. Hillis Layne, in his first full year back, contributed as a productive role player. In 61 games he hit .299, reached base at a .352 clip, and had a .408 slugging percentage. 

Buddy Lewis was also back in late July, this time without a memorable flyover. In the war, Lewis logged many missions as a pilot in the China-Burma-India Theater (“flying the hump”) and earned a Distinguished Flying Cross. Lewis got to play in 69 games and had 258 at-bats, posted a stellar .423 OBP, and scored 42 runs and with 37 RBIs and a .333 batting average.

Cecil Travis’s return was shorter and not as productive. In 15 games, he had 54 at-bats with a .241 batting average, a .293 on-base percentage, and the worst slugging percentage of his career to that point, .315. Travis served his country well in the war. He earned a Bronze Star and four battle stars. During the Battle of the Bulge, as one of the “Battered Bastards of Bastogne,” Travis got frostbite and almost lost his feet. He survived but his career was never the same. He retired after the 1947 season at the age of 34.

Just as in 1943, the pitching staff made the difference between finishing near the top and dwelling on the bottom. With catcher Rick Ferrell’s help, the four knuckleballers, Leonard, Haefner, Niggeling, and Wolff, won 60 games and lost 43. Leonard and Wolff had ERAs under 2.50 and gave up less than two walks per nine innings, Wolff 1.9 and Leonard 1.5. Walt Masterson came back from the war late in the season to pitch 25 innings in four games with a 1.08 ERA and a hard-luck 1-2 record.

One of the biggest stories that season came in a 5-foot-7 package known as Marino Pieretti, born in Italy but brought to the United States when he was young. Griffith spent $7,500 in the 1945 Rule 5 draft to acquire the 23-year-old right handed Pieretti, who had a 4-F draft classification, from Portland of the Pacific Coast League. He had gone 26-13 with a 2.46 ERA with Portland in 1944. In the offseason Pieretti worked in a San Francisco slaughterhouse killing cattle with a sledge hammer.

Pieretti’s first year with the Senators was a career year. He pitched in 44 games, second best in the American League, with 27 starts, 14 complete games, and 3 shutouts. He had a 14-13 record with a 3.32 ERA, which would be the most wins and lowest ERA of his six-year major-league career.

Pieretti was a battler both on and off the mound. Late in the season fellow pitcher Alex Carrasquel picked Pieretti’s bat to use in his trip to the plate. The 5-foot-7 Pieretti confronted the 6-foot-1-inch Carrasquel, who then broke his bat, Pieretti responded with a right to the face. Carrasquel thanked him by slamming his broken bat on Pieretti’s left arm.

Players broke up the fight and resolved to keep it quiet. The press did find out. But as Frank “Buck” O’Neill reported in The Sporting News of September 20, 1945, such fights are “just indicative of the healthy spirit” of a team, even one collectively fighting for first place.

On August 4, 1945, in the second half of a doubleheader, “replacement player” Bert Shepard came to the mound at Griffith Stadium in the fourth inning with two outs and a runner on second. Washington was down 14-2 to Boston. Shepard struck out George “Catfish” Metkovich to end the inning. He pitched a total of 5⅓ innings in his only major-league appearance, giving up one run, three hits, and one walk.

In 1944 Shepard, a minor leaguer when drafted in 1942, had been shot down in a bombing raid over Germany. A doctor in a German POW camp amputated his right foot below the knee. At Walter Reed Hospital in Washington while being fitted for an artificial limb, Shepard met Undersecretary of War Robert Patterson. He told Patterson about his longtime wish to pitch in the majors. Patterson called Griffith, who arranged a tryout for Shepard at spring training in 1945. Shepard showed that his artificial limb could handle the routines of pitching and then reinforced the message in an exhibition game. Griffith put Shepard on the roster as a coach and he performed his duties well. On July 10 at Griffith Stadium, Shepard started and won an exhibition game against the Dodgers. He was activated to pitch in the August 4 game, his first and last. The war ended 11 days later.

RICHARD MORASKI is a long time Red Sox fan and first-time author from Naugatuck, Connecticut. Rich saw first-hand the impact of World War II on baseball. Two uncles went into the war as Sox fans and came back as Yankees fans; two other uncles were older and wiser. Currently retired from the Federal Government after working 36 years for the US Department of Agriculture as a Management Analyst, he uses his new-found time researching baseball, re-reading past issues of The Sporting News online and sharing his new baseball stories with his cigar-smoking friends. Rich is especially happy to be part of this project since his late brother, Leon, served in the military and graduated from West Point, class of 1959. Rich also worked several years for Senator Abraham Ribicoff (D) from Connecticut and taught as an adjunct professor in Quantitative Methods at American University where he earned a BA and MA.

Sources

Allen, Thomas E. If They Hadn’t Gone: How World War II Affected Major League Baseball, (Springfield, Missouri: Moon City Press, 2004).

Anton, Todd W., and Bill Nowlin, eds. When Baseball Went to War (Chicago: Triumph Books, 2008).

Gay, Timothy W. Satch, Dizzy and Rapid Robert: The Wild Saga of International Baseball Before Jackie Robinson (New York: Simon and Schuster, 2011).

Gilbert, Bill. They Also Served: Baseball and the Home Front 1941-1945 (New York: Crown, 1992).

Gilbert, Thomas W. Baseball at War: World War II and the Fall of the Color Line (New York: Franklin Watts, 1997).

Goldstein, Richard. Spartan Seasons: How Baseball Survived the Second World War (New York: Macmillan Publishing Co. Inc., 1980).

McKenna, Brian. Clark Griffith: Baseball’s Statesman (Lulu.com, 2010).

Stang, Mark Michael, and Phil Wood. Nationals on Parade: 70 Years of Washington Nationals Photos (Wilmington, Ohio: Orange Frazer Press, 2005).

Thorn, John, and Pete Palmer with David Reuter. Total Baseball (New York: Warner Books Inc., 1989).

baseballinwartime.com

baseball-reference.com

sabr.org/bioproject

The Sporting News

ballparks.com/baseball/american/griffi.htm

The first Padre inducted into the Hall of Fame was of course Tony Gwynn.1 He was joined 11 years later by reliever Trevor Hoffman, whose “Trevor Time” with the Padres included 552 of his 601 career saves.2 But Hoffman was only one of three Hall of Fame relievers who toiled for the Padres. He was preceded by both Rollie Fingers, who was with San Diego in 1977–80, and Rich Gossage, who pitched for the Padres in 1984–87.

After a five-save debut in 1993 (two of them with the Florida Marlins), Hoffman’s sophomore log of 20 saves with the Padres would be his last season with fewer than 30 saves (with the exception of a 2003 injury year) until 2010, his final season.3 This skein of 14 seasons of 30-plus saves included nine seasons with 40-plus saves and 53 saves in the 1998 National League pennant campaign. From 1993 through 2008, Hoffman saved 552 games for the Padres. He was the first relief pitcher with 500 saves, as well as the first with 600 (achieved while wearing a Milwaukee Brewers uniform). During his final season in 2010, he logged only 10 saves for the Brewers, ending his career with 601.

Despite his gaudy save numbers during the Qualcomm (previously Jack Murphy) Stadium years in park-like Mission Valley, Hoffman played a supporting role to Gwynn. He began to emerge from this relative obscurity beginning on July 25, 1998, to the resonant tolling of bells from the AC/DC song “Hell’s Bells,” the brainchild of then-Padres-employee Chip Bowers. As Bowers tells it, “I just loved the irony of the song, given that we were playing in Mission Valley at the time and there was a mission directly beyond the outfield walls…. To hear a mission bell ring prior to taking the mound, then you’ve got the Padres while talking about fire and brimstone and Hells Bells, I thought it was a great way to create some energy in the building. So, Hells Bells was born.”4

Gwynn retired in 2001, leaving Hoffman to fill the role of star. At the new downtown Petco Park which opened in 2004, Hoffman took center stage. As “Hell’s Bells” rang out, he reeled off four consecutive seasons of 40 or more saves (2004–2008). In 2018 he was inducted into the National Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown wearing a Padres cap.5

Two other Hall of Famers also toiled in Mission Valley. Rollie Fingers (1968–85) was a Padres pitcher for four years (1977–80) while Rich Gossage (1972–94) also spent four years with the team (1984–87).

Rollie Fingers achieved baseball celebrity twice: first as a reliever with the 1970s Oakland A’s teams that won five division titles and three World Series, then as the mighty warrior in the strike-altered 1981 baseball season who carried the Milwaukee Brewers to the American League East title, earning him both the Cy Young and MVP awards that year. Despite these baseball achievements, he is perhaps best known for his spectacular handlebar mustache, supposedly grown at A’s owner Charlie Finley’s behest.6 Less celebrated than HOF Finger’s facial hair and his 341 career saves were the 108 he earned as a Padre(1977-1980)(See Table 1). His two best Padre years (37 saves in 1978 and 35 in 1977) were his career bests and both led all of MLB in individual season saves.7 His impact on San Diego pitching was palpable. In 1976, the year before Fingers joined the club, they had 47 complete games and 18 saves. In 1977, his first year with the club, the Padres fell to six complete games, but rose to 44 saves, featuring 35 by Fingers.8

The third Hall of Fame reliever to toil in San Diego, Rich Gossage, made his presence felt by earning 83 of his 310 career saves in Mission Valley, and contributing notably to the 1984 pennant drive with 25 crucial saves.9 As with Fingers, Gossage was better known for his earlier years with another team and for his formidable facial hair. As Gossage told many writers: “‘I didn’t grow it to be intimidating… I grew it to tick off Steinbrenner.’”10

With George Steinbrenner’s New York Yankees (1978–83), he registered 150 of his 310 career saves, and led the AL in saves in 1978 with 27 and MLB in 1980 with 33. 11 In San Diego, he reeled off three consecutive 20-plus saves seasons before stumbling to 11 saves in 1987. After San Diego, he spent 1988 through 1994 gathering 21 saves with six different teams.

We also have two notable Padres relievers who did not make the Hall of Fame, but who managed single season achievements with a 1976 Rookie of the Year and a 1989 Cy Young Award. Neither Butch Metzger nor Mark Davis ended up with distinguished MLB careers.

After an uninspiring initial year with the San Francisco Giants (10 games; no saves in 1974) and a few 1975 appearances with the Padres (4 games; no saves), Metzger suddenly found himself in the spotlight in 1976, finishing tied for ninth in MLB games saved and sharing the 1976 National League Rookie of the Year Award with Pat Zachry, then of the Cincinnati Reds.12 Metzger’s 16 saves that year ended up representing 70% of his 23 career saves.13 When Fingers arrived the next year in 1977, Metzger was relegated to middle relief, and then traded to the St. Louis Cardinals where he earned seven saves before being released.14 In 1978, Metzger pitched briefly for the New York Mets before he was released and his MLB career ended.15

The other singular award was a 1989 Cy Young Award accorded to Mark Davis (1980–97) for a league-leading 44-save season.16 Davis quickly turned his newfound celebrity into cash, signing a $10 million contract with the Kansas City Royals.17 His stay with the Royals (1990–92) and subsequent travels through four other teams (1992–97) produced an undistinguished won-loss record (11-19). He did a second tour with the Padres (1993–94) during which he notched the final four saves of his career.

Rod Beck (1991–2004) provides a sad denouement to our trip through a half-century of standout Padres relief pitching. Beck was beloved by San Francisco Giants fans for his 199 saves (1991–9718); and, by Chicago Cubs fans for a brief stay (1998–99), featuring 51 saves in 1998.19 After spending time with the Boston Red Sox (1999–2001), he was out of MLB in 2002 while recovering from Tommy John surgery.20

Beck was known for his colorful, party-animal personality. As he once said, “I sure don’t think of myself as a fat person, just someone who carries extra weight. I’ve never seen anyone on the DL [disabled list] with pulled fat.”21 Beck’s lifestyle was on full display as he rehabbed in the minors:

… Beck, on the comeback trail in 2003, parked his RV behind the center field fence at the Cubs’ Triple-A facility in Des Moines, Iowa. He refused to check in to a hotel because that would mean admitting that he was really in the minors. The RV, of course, soon became the post-game hangout for players and fans, with Beck passing out the free beer.22

He found some redemption later in 2003, when the Padres signed him while Trevor Hoffman recovered from shoulder surgery.23 Beck garnered 20 saves and became a San Diego fan favorite with “… his shoulder-length, wavy mullet, a long straggly mustache and a dangling [pitching] arm that ticked like a pendulum.”24 He remained with the Padres for his final baseball year in 2004, but earned no more saves in a back-up role, finishing with 286 career saves. His career with the Padres ended with a 2004 stint in substance abuse rehab.25

After being out of MLB for two years, Beck was found dead in 2007 at the age of 38, presumed not from his weight but from cocaine abuse.26 His wife Stacey and even former teammates Hoffman and Scott Linebrink had staged interventions to try to get him back into rehab, in vain. Stacey was open about his death in the press: “The reason we’re telling this story is so that other people will seek out the information, seek out the people who can help them. My daughter asked me to tell this story so that daddy doesn’t die in vain without helping someone else.”27

May the next 50 years bring relief pitchers as colorful and successful to San Deigo as the first 50 years saw.

WAYNE M. TOWERS, Ph.D., is a retired SeaWorld San Diego educator and a retired college professor. Prior to retiring, he also worked as a data analyst for the Oklahoman and Times daily newspapers and for multiple business research firms. His published work includes “World Series Coverage in the 1920s” (Journalism Monographs).

Notes

1 Gwynn, the “Mr. Padre” of San Diego’s Mission Valley years (1969–2003), was inducted into Cooperstown in 2007.

2 Miguel Vazquez, “What ‘Trevor Time’ Meant to Me,” East Village Times, January 2018, https://eastvillagetimes.com/2018/01//what-trevor-time-meant-to-me.

3 “Trevor Hoffman,” Baseball Hall of Fame, https://baseballhall.org/hof/hoffman-trevor; Max Mannis, “Trevor Hoffman.” SABR BioProject, https://sabr.org/bioproj/person/740006e2.

4 Bryce Miller, “Roots of Trevor Hoffman’s ‘Hell’s Bells’ stretch to one man’s CD collection,” San Diego Union-Tribune, January 31, 2018, https://www.sandiegouniontribune.com/sports/columnists/bryce-miller/sd-sp-miller-hellsbells-20180131-story.html.

5 “Trevor Hoffman,” [Hall of Fame biography].

6   Kevin Neary with Leigh A. Tobin, Closer: Major League Players Reveal the Inside Pitch on Saving the Game, Philadelphia: Running Press, 2013, 30; “Rollie Fingers,” Baseball Hall of Fame; Voiss, “Rollie Fingers”; Zimniuch, Fireman, 85. As the story goes, Reggie Jackson, Oakland’s star outfielder, showed up for spring training in 1972 with a mustache. His teammates did not like the idea … so they all started growing facial hair to protest. Team owner Charles Finley, instead of making everyone shave, as the players hoped he would, offered a cash prize to the player who could grow the best facial hair by Opening Day. Finley felt the look would help sell tickets. Fingers grew a handlebar mustache that curled at the tips. It won the contest, and the mustache became his trademark look.

7   “Year-by-Year Top-Tens Saves,” Date accessed January 31, 2015, https://www.baseball-reference.com/leaders/SV_top_ten.shtml.

8 John Thorn, The Relief Pitcher: Baseball’s New Hero (New York: E.F. Duttion, 1979), 181.

9   Zimniuch, Fireman, 98.

10 Jeff Miller, “Little Presence, Great Future.” Fort Lauderdale Sun-Sentinel, March 30, 1997.

11   “Year-by-Year Top-Tens Saves,” baseball-reference.com.

12   Retrosimba, “Why Padres Dealt NL top rookie Butch Metzger to Cards,” Date accessed January 13, 2019, https://retrosimba.com/2017/05/15/why-padres-dealt-nl-top-rookie-butch-metzger-to-cards/

13 David E. Skelton, “Butch Metzger,” SABR BioProject, Date accessed January 8, 2019, https://sabr.org/bioproj/person/0c7eb75b.

14 Retrosimba, “Why Padres Dealt NL top rookie Butch Metzger to Cards.” .

15   Retrosimba, “Why Padres Dealt NL top rookie Butch Metzger to Cards.”

16 James Clark, “Where Is the Love for Former Padres; LHP Mark Davis?” Date accessed January 19, 2019, https://eastvillagetimes.com/2018/03/where-is-the-love-for-former-padres-lhp-mark-davis.

17 Billy Brost, “Forgotten Friars: Mark Davis,” Friars on Base, November 26, 2014, https://friarsonbase.com/2014/11/26/forgotten-friars-mark-davis.

18   Michael Saltzman, “San Francisco Giants Remembering Darryl Hamilton and Rod Beck Today.” Date accessed January 13, 2019, https://aroundthefoghorn.com/2017/08/05/ san-francisco-giants-remembering-darryl-hamilton-rod-beck-today.

19 Jake Misener, “Chicago Cubs: Looking back at the career of Rod Beck,” Date accessed January 13, 2019, https://cubbiescrib.com/2015/06/24/chicago-cubs-looking-back-at-the-career-of-rod-beck.

20   Bloom, “Rod Beck Dead at 38–RIP Shooter.”

21 Misener, “Chicago Cubs: Looking back at the career of Rod Beck.

22 Rick Chand, “When Rod Beck Ruled the World.” Date accessed January 13, 2019, https://deadspin.com/271924/when-rod-beck-ruled-the-world.

23   Zimniuch, Fireman, 218.

24   Amy K. Nelson, “’Shooter’ Beck lived as hard as he played,” Date accessed January 13, 2019, http://www.espn.com/mlb/news/story?id=3060456

25 Bloom, “Rod Beck Dead at 38–RIP Shooter.”

26   “Ex-Reliever Rod Beck Dies at 38,” New York Times, June 28, 2007. Date accessed January 19, 2019, https://www.nytimes.com/2007/06/25/sports/ baseball/25beck.html; Nelson, “’Shooter’ Beck lived as hard as he played.”

27   Nelson, “’Shooter’ Beck lived as hard as he played.”

In 1975, for example, there were 49 extra inning homers hit. On two occasions the teams with the extra inning blasts lost; on two other occasions, both teams had extra inning roundtrippers.

Home runs have been hit in all extra innings up to and including the 22nd. On June 24, 1962, Jack Reed, a third-string outfielder with the Yankees, hit his only major league homer off Phil Regan of the Tigers in the 22nd inning, giving Jim Bouton a 9-7 win. On July 17, 1914, Babe Adams of the Pirates set a record by not giving up a walk in a 21-inning game; however, he did give up a 2-run homer to Larry Doyle of the Giants and lost 3-1.

You’d think a roundtripper in the 20th would be a game winner. Tommy Harper hit one for Seattle on July 27, 1969, but Joe Lahoud of the Red Sox hit one with a man on in the bottom of the 20th and they won.

Of the several other late, late home runs, two should be mentioned because they were hit by players usually identified as pitchers. On August 17, 1882, Providence beat Detroit 1-0 in 18 innings when Charles Radbourn, playing rightfield that day, hit one out of the park. Monte Ward pitched the distance and won. On May 24, 1918, Smoky Joe Wood, also playing the outfield, hit one in the 19th to give the Indians a 3-2 win over George Mogridge of the Yankees.

When it came to hitting grand slam home runs in extra innings, no player hit one later than the 16th. The only one to do that was Clyde Voilmer of the Red Sox in 1951. His was one of 73 grand slam homers hit in overtime since 1900. Four players did it twice: Cy Williams, Roger Mans, Tommy Davis, and Cookie Rojas. Here is the full list since 1900:

*Assisted by David Ross

Players Hitting Extra-Inning Grand Slams 

While some players scored a flock of overtime runs with grand slam homers, other players divided up the honors. On May 2, 1964, the Minnesota Twins bombed the Kansas City A’s into submission with 4 consecutive homers in the 11th inning. They were hit by Tony Oliva, Bob Allison, Jimmie Hall, and Harmon Killebrew. The pitching victim of the first three was Dan Pfister. On June 8, 1965, the Braves got into the act in the 10th inning with 4 homers against the Cubs. In that inning, Joe Torre, Eddie Mathews, Henry Aaron, and Gene Oliver delivered the goods.

There have been three occasions when players hit 2 extra inning homers in the same game. In 1943, Vern Stephens connected for the Browns in the 11th and 13th innings; in 1963 when Willie Kirkland was with the Indians, he hit homers in the 11th and 19th innings; and in 1966, Art Shamsky, inserted as a sub for the Reds in mid-game, hit one in the 10th and another in the 11th, to give him 3 for the game.

When it came to hitting fourbaggers in extra innings, the real star was Willie Mays. He connected in overtime in 22 games. His first was a 3-run shot in 1951 when Willie was a 20-year-old rookie and his victim was 42-year-old Dutch Leonard. In June 1967 Willie walloped a grand slam in the 10th at the Astrodome. His most memorable was a swat in the 16th off Warren Spahn in July 1963, which gave Juan Marichal a 1-0 squeaker over the Braves’ great southpaw.

Here is a rundown on all 22 of Mays’ overtime homers.  

Mays has a wide margin over other home run leaders when games go beyond the regulation 9. In comparison, Babe Ruth hit 16 in overtime, and Frank Robinson 15. Robby connected either in the 10th or 11th, while Mays was the only player to hit in each overtime frame up to the 16th. Here is a breakdown of the leaders.

Batters Hitting Most Homers in Extra Innings

*Leader

Pitchers have also joined in the act of hitting extra inning home runs. It has been done 37 times since 1900, occurring all the way up to the 14th inning. Two pitchers did it twice: In 1911 Jack Coombs connected once in the 11th inning and once in the 14th. Dizzy Dean put his bat where his mouth was and hit 10th inning homers in both 1934 and 1935.

When it comes to extra inning homers, however, pitchers are usually viewed from the other end of the delivery system. What pitcher served up the most extra inning homers? Was it Robin Roberts, who gave up a record total of 502 homers in his career? Or Warren Spahn? Or Early Wynn? It was none of these. Roberts gave up only 7 overtime homers; Spahn 6, and Wynn 5. In the first place, Roberts and Wynn were starting hurlers who did not pitch much in overtime. Spahn did pitch more in extra innings, but seemed to get stronger as he went along.

Who then pitches in extra innings? Relief hurlers, of course! The pitcher most frequently victimized by extra inning homers was El Roy Face. He is way out ahead of other pitchers with 21 overtime booboos. Here is the rundown on Face.

Although Willie Mays hit the most extra inning homers, 22, and El Roy Face gave up the most, 21, and they played against each other for 15 years, Willie never connected in overtime off the forkball ace of the Pirates.

Ranking some distance behind Face in giving up boundary belts in extra frames were Hoyt Wilhelm, Lindy McDaniel, Johnny Sam, and Dick Radatz. Radatz is the surprise, giving up 12 extra inning roundtrippers in his short career. Sam split his career as a starter and reliever. The only full-time starter on the list is Gaylord Perry, and he pitches more extra innings than any of the current starters.

Here is a breakdown of those pitchers who have given up the most home runs in extra innings.

Lefty Williams, left, and Eddie Cicotte carried the load for the Chicago White Sox in 1919. The two pitchers started, and won, more than half of the White Sox’s games during the regular season. (National Baseball Hall of Fame Library)

As soon as Red Faber reported for spring training, Kid Gleason knew he had a big problem.

Entering the 1919 season, the Chicago White Sox’s first-year manager was counting on his workhorse aces Faber and Eddie Cicotte to lead his team back to the American League pennant they had won two years earlier. But Faber, the right-handed spitball specialist who had spent most of the 1918 season in the Navy during World War I, was weak from influenza and didn’t look well in his early throwing sessions at Mineral Wells, Texas, where the White Sox were getting in shape for the campaign. 

The White Sox were returning almost their entire championship team from 1917. (The 1918 season had been cut short by the war as players were forced to comply with the US government’s “work or fight” order.) But some writers, like Baseball Magazine’s W.A. Phelon, predicted they would finish no better than fourth in the AL standings, primarily due to their lack of pitching depth.

Kid Gleason quickly grew tired of the criticism, but he never stopped worrying about his pitchers. The White Sox’s unreliable rotation proved to be a concern all season long and was a contributing factor in their World Series loss to the underdog Cincinnati Reds. In fact, some historians have argued that the White Sox might have lost to the pitching-rich Reds even if the Series had been played on the level.

Long before it became known that some White Sox players were intentionally throwing the Series, American League umpire Billy Evans was among the experts to cast doubt on Chicago as heavy favorites, writing in a syndicated column a day before Game One, “I am much in doubt as to Chicago’s chances. It is a pretty big task to ask two pitchers, Eddie Cicotte and Lefty Williams, to carry the burden of a nine-game series.” 

Red Faber, the hero of the 1917 World Series and a future Hall of Famer, might have made the difference if he had been available. He tried for most of the year to assure Gleason that he was feeling fine, but the manager wasn’t fooled — and neither were American League hitters. Faber, weakened by illness and then hampered by arm and ankle injuries, started just 20 games in 1919 and compiled an 11-9 record with a 3.83 ERA, far above the league average of 3.22.

Without Faber at full strength, the White Sox’s pitching staff was extraordinarily thin, even by Deadball Era standards when complete games were common and bullpen specialization was a concept that was decades into the future. Faber’s struggles forced Gleason to conduct an extensive (and mostly unsuccessful) search for other pitchers to provide support and much-needed rest for his two stars, Cicotte and Williams.

The 35-year-old Eddie Cicotte was the team’s undisputed ace, using his dazzling array of trick pitches — including the knuckleball, the emery ball, and his patented “shine ball” — to dominate AL hitters. He finished 29-7 with a 1.82 ERA and five shutouts in a league-leading 306⅔ innings pitched. Near the end of the season, with the White Sox safely in first place, he took two weeks off to rest his tired arm in preparation for an extended best-of-nine World Series against the Reds. This layoff in early September, which was widely reported in the newspapers, has long fueled speculation that White Sox management benched its star pitcher to spoil Cicotte’s chance at a 30th victory and deny him a promised $10,000 bonus. But there appears to be no truth to that story.

In any case, Cicotte did have a chance to win his 30th game and clinch the AL pennant, on September 24, but he faltered in the seventh inning and was pulled before the White Sox rallied to dramatically beat the St. Louis Browns, 6-5. Cicotte pronounced himself ready for the Reds after making a final tune-up start four days later, but questions still lingered about his health up until Game One of the World Series.

Claude “Lefty” Williams had shown flashes of stardom as the White Sox won it all in 1917, but in spite of his 17 victories, his inconsistency caused then-manager Pants Rowland to use him for just a single inning of that year’s World Series against the New York Giants. By 1919 Kid Gleason still wasn’t convinced the slightly-built southpaw with the peculiar side-arm delivery could hold his own as a full-time starter. But the 26-year-old Williams proved he was up to the task and followed Cicotte’s lead to go 23-11 with a 2.64 ERA and five shutouts in a team-high 41 games. Together, they combined for 52 of the White Sox’s 88 wins and almost half of the team’s 1,265⅔ innings pitched in the regular season.

To help take the load off Cicotte and Williams, manager Gleason and team owner Charles Comiskey made trades for other pitchers, called up minor leaguers and aging veterans, and even signed stars from the Chicago sandlots in the hopes that one or two of them might work out for the White Sox as a replacement for Red Faber. 

Their biggest success story was a 25-year-old rookie named Dickey Kerr. The little left-hander, who stood just 5-feet-7, was a 20-game winner three times in the minor leagues before getting his chance in Chicago. In his first season with the White Sox, 1919, he went 13-7 with a 2.88 ERA in 39 games. But where he really shined was in his role as a bullpen ace, where he had a knack for holding opponents at bay as the White Sox’s explosive offense rallied for a victory in the late innings. Kid Gleason called on Kerr 22 times in relief and he went 7-1 with a 1.78 ERA in those appearances.

In the World Series, Kerr’s strong performances gave Chicago fans hope after Cicotte and Williams were trounced by the Reds. His three-hit shutout in Game Three and a 10-inning victory in Game Six helped keep the White Sox’s chances alive. After Kerr’s second win, Gleason was so frustrated by his team’s uncharacteristic performance in the Series that he suggested he might start Kerr in every game the rest of the way. He didn’t follow through on the threat, and the White Sox lost the World Series, but Kerr was a lone bright spot in the franchise’s darkest hour.

Two other young pitchers who went on to greater acclaim but didn’t contribute much for the White Sox in 1919 were Charlie Robertson and Frank Shellenback. Robertson made his major-league debut on May 13 against the St. Louis Browns but was clearly overmatched by big-league hitters; he lasted just two innings before he was relieved by Kerr. The White Sox sent Robertson down to the minors for more seasoning and he wouldn’t return to Chicago for three more years. But in his fourth career start, on April 30, 1922, he threw a perfect game — just the fifth in major-league history — against Ty Cobb and the Detroit Tigers, a once-in-a-lifetime highlight in an otherwise mediocre career.

Shellenback, who possessed an outstanding spitball, had pitched decently for the White Sox as a 19-year-old rookie in 1918 and was expected to be a steady member of the rotation in 1919. But Shelly struggled to post a 1-3 record with a 5.14 ERA in eight games before he, too, was sent down to the minors in July. Those were his only career appearances in the major leagues; he never made it back because the National Commission banned his best pitch, the spitter, that offseason. Fortunately for him, he was allowed to continue throwing the wet one in the Pacific Coast League and he went on to enjoy a long, illustrious career with the Hollywood Stars, winning more than 300 games as one of the greatest minor-league pitchers ever.

The surprising thing about the White Sox’s lack of pitching depth is that just a few years earlier, they actually had the deepest pitching staff in the major leagues. Chicago had led the AL in team ERA in 1913, 1916, and 1917, and finished runner-up in 1914. But two of their former mound stars, Joe Benz and Reb Russell, each pitched in just a single game in 1919. Benz, known as “Butcher Boy” because he spent his offseasons working in the family shop, had risen to fame in 1914 after pitching a no-hitter against the Cleveland Naps and taking another no-hitter into the ninth inning two starts later against the Washington Senators. He was a steady pitcher with the White Sox for several years afterward, but age and injuries hampered his effectiveness. His final big-league appearance was a two-inning relief stint on May 2, 1919, and he was released two weeks later.

The Mississippi-born Ewell “Reb” Russell had one of baseball’s all-time best rookie seasons in 1913, winning 22 games and tossing eight shutouts. But he later suffered an elbow injury that left him unable to throw his curveball effectively, and he barely made the team out of spring training in 1919. In his only appearance, on June 13, he was yanked after two batters without recording an out. Russell was also given his release, and never pitched another game in the majors. But he resurfaced a few years later as an outfielder with the Pittsburgh Pirates, hitting .368 in 60 games as a platoon player in 1922.

None of them helped Kid Gleason solve his pitching dilemma, however. Cicotte and Williams helped lead the White Sox into first place on Opening Day and rarely looked back, but their manager kept looking for more pitching all season long.

In mid-May the White Sox acquired one of the fastest but wildest pitchers in the big leagues, Grover Lowdermilk, from the St. Louis Browns. On his sixth team in eight seasons — Chicago would be his last stop — Lowdermilk was given numerous chances to harness his talent. But the 6-foot-4 right-hander never overcame his lack of control. While he pitched well for the White Sox overall (5-5, 2.79 ERA in 20 games), Gleason didn’t feel comfortable using him down the stretch in tight games. Lowdermilk made just one start after August 31 and pitched one mop-up inning in Game One of the World Series.

John “Lefty” Sullivan was another talented fireballer with one glaring shortcoming who was given a tryout by the White Sox that summer. Plucked off the Chicago sandlots when Lowdermilk abruptly quit the team in mid-July (he returned two weeks later), Sullivan made a big name for himself as the strikeout king of the city’s semipro leagues. During World War I, while pitching for a military team based at Camp Grant, in Rockford, Illinois, he caught the White Sox’s attention when he outpitched Red Faber in a service game in front of a reported 12,000 fans. Sullivan was invited to spring training in 1919 but didn’t make the team, and then refused a minor-league assignment until the desperate Gleason called him back to make a surprise start against Walter Johnson and the Washington Senators on July 19. There was just one problem: Sullivan couldn’t field his position because of a lifelong heart condition that caused him to feel dizzy whenever he bent over to pick up a ball. Major-league hitters had trouble with Sullivan’s great stuff, but they could exploit his one weakness — and they bunted him right out of the league. He made just four appearances for the White Sox, finishing with an 0-1 career record and three errors in five fielding chances.

As the summer rolled on and the first-place White Sox began to look ahead to the World Series, a handful of other pitchers, with varying degrees of talent and experience, tried to earn a spot in the postseason rotation: Win Noyes, Tom McGuire, Roy Wilkinson, Erskine Mayer, Dave Danforth, Big Bill James, and the superbly named Don Carlos Patrick Ragan. None were successful enough to warrant a start against the Reds.

Before the World Series began, prominent pundits like syndicated columnist Hugh Fullerton gave Cincinnati the edge on pitching strength and warned that the White Sox would be weakened if they had to rely solely on their two aces: “Critics … have been arguing that the Reds have a chance to beat the American Leaguers because of their superior pitching strength. … If Gleason gets away to a good start he will not force Cicotte or Williams to the limit of endurance, but will take a chance with others. But if the Reds get the jump on the Sox, Gleason has little choice but to fall back upon the two men who have won the championship for him.”

Cincinnati had five good starters — Dutch Ruether, Slim Sallee, Ray Fisher, Jimmy Ring, and Hod Eller — to Chicago’s two great ones, but they were plenty good enough to win the NL pennant by nine games over the New York Giants. The Reds’ 96-44 record was also eight games better than the White Sox’s at 88-52, although most observers agreed that the American League was the stronger circuit, having won eight of the previous nine World Series. The White Sox were heavy betting favorites entering the Series, but that all depended on Cicotte and Williams giving their best efforts. As Hugh Fullerton predicted, once they faltered in the first two games, Gleason had no one else but Dickey Kerr to fall back on.

Hall of Fame catcher Ray Schalk maintained for the rest of his life that if the White Sox had a healthy Red Faber for the 1919 World Series, they would have won it all even with eight of their teammates conspiring to hand it to the Reds. Back in 1917, Faber had appeared in four of the six World Series games against the Giants, winning three of them. There’s no telling how he would have fared against the Reds, but we can safely assume that he would have given the White Sox a better chance to win than the fixers Cicotte or Williams.

It’s also worth wondering how the White Sox might have fared if Gleason had been able to call on Joe Benz or Reb Russell or Frank Shellenback, too. The first two were proven winners (and Shelly would go on to win more pro games than anyone on the staff) who might have put a quicker stop to the bleeding after Cicotte was blasted out of the box in Game One and Williams lost his control in Game Two. Or Gleason might have chosen to start one of them in place of Cicotte on two days’ rest in Game Four or Williams in Game Five. (The tight World Series schedule, eight games played in nine days, also did the White Sox no favors.) Instead, the other pitchers Gleason did use — Roy Wilkinson, Grover Lowdermilk, Erskine Mayer, and Bill James — generally only made things worse when they took the mound. None of them were intentionally throwing games; the White Sox’s pitching just wasn’t all that strong outside of Cicotte and Williams.

Perhaps, then, we ought to give the Reds’ pitching staff a little more credit for winning the World Series. The White Sox batted only .224 in the World Series, and it wasn’t just the fixers who struggled. Leadoff man Nemo Leibold batted .056 (1-for-18) against Cincinnati pitching and future Hall of Famer Eddie Collins, who was considered one of the great “money” players in baseball by his contemporaries, hit .226 with just one RBI. Reds manager Pat Moran rotated his starting pitchers wisely, as he had been doing all season, and they responded well.

Kid Gleason didn’t have nearly as many good options, and he knew it. He spent all season trying to overcome his team’s one big weakness, and in the end it wasn’t enough. The White Sox just didn’t have enough pitching to beat the Reds.

JACOB POMRENKE is SABR’s Director of Editorial Content, chair of the Black Sox Scandal Research Committee, and editor of “Scandal on the South Side: The 1919 Chicago White Sox” (2015).

Cincinnati Reds pitchers held the White Sox to a .224 batting average during the 1919 World Series. Pictured from left: Hod Eller, Jimmy Ring, Dutch Ruether, Slim Sallee. (National Baseball Hall of Fame Library)

Sources

All statistics were found using Baseball-Reference.com and Retrosheet.org. Biographical information was found in the players’ SABR biographies and by accessing newspaper archives at ProQuest and Newspapers.com. In addition, the following articles were used as sources:

Evans, Billy. “Hard to Predict Winner of Series,” New York Times, September 30, 1919.

Fullerton, Hugh. “Cincinnati Shows Superiority With Leading Twirlers,” Atlanta Constitution, September 29, 1919.

Phelon, W.A. “Who Will Win the Big League Pennants?” Baseball Magazine, May 1919.

In major league history, 121 pinch slams have been hit, 70 in the National League and 51 in the American. No one connected in the 19th century, when pinch hitting was at a minimum. Ironically, the first pinch clam was hit by a pitcher for the Cardinals, Mike O’Neill, in a game against the Braves on June 3, 1902. Mike, born in Ireland, was one of the four O’Neill brothers, the best known of whom was Steve. Another brother, John, caught that June 3 game for the Cards. The first AL pinch slam did not originate until September 24, 1916, when Marty Kavanagh, a utility infielder for Cleveland, hit a hard liner off Hubert “Dutch” Leonard of the Red Sox. The ball rolled through a hole in the fence and every one scored.

Who hits pinch homers with the bases loaded? Not necessarily the great sluggers. Of the top dozen career home run hitters, only Jimmie Foxx and Harmon Killebrew have connected as emergency batters with the bags full. Double-X did it twice, once in each league. Roy Sievers also blasted one in each league. Other two-timers were Vic Wertz, Bill Skowron, and Rich Reese in the AL, and Ed Bailey and Willie McCovey in the Senior Circuit. But the King of Swingers was “Round” Ron Northey, who went “Bingo” on three occasions while with the Cards and Cubs.

It is also noted that no less than five pitchers have come through with pinch, slams. In addition to O’Neill, there was Schoolboy Rowe, Early Wynn, Zeb Eaton, and Tommy Byrne. If pitchers can hit pinch slams, what kind of hurlers can serve them up? Looking over the list, it appears that relief hurlers are the chief victims. This seems only logical, considering that most substitute batters appear late in the game. Only five pitchers were burned twice: Don Mossi, Steve Ridzik, Dave Koslo, Satchel Paige, and Hank Borowy, who was bombed once in each league. Early Wynn was the only player to serve one up (to Bob Cerv in 1961), and to hit one himself (off Jack Gorsica in 1946).

Pinch homers with the bases loaded have been hit in each inning from the 2nd to the 12th. Twenty-eight were hit in the 9th, and 26 in the 7th. Even team managers got into the act. At least two of them looked over their bench and decided that they could do better themselves. Rogers Hornsby connected for his Cubs in 1931, and Phil Cavarretta also hit one for the Cubs shortly after he took over the helm in 1951. Cavvy belted it off Robin Roberts when the latter was at the height of his career. On May 26, 1929, Pat Crawford of the Giants and Lester Bell of the Braves both connected in the same game, the only time that has been accomplished.

The full list of players who have hit pinch hone runs with the bases filled is carried below. (* indicates 2nd game)

National League pinch-grand slams, through 1971

American League pinch-grand slams, through 1971

Assisted by Raymond Gonzalez and Leonard Gettelson.

The scope of his career includes six different decades, spanning such a long period that he went from the days of John McGraw to the days of Tug McGraw. He chased down fly balls hit by Babe Ruth and platooned Ron Swoboda in left field. He played for the Brooklyn Superbas (later Robins) 1912–17 and the New York Giants 1921–23. He coached for the Brooklyn Dodgers in 1932–33, and managed them 1934–36. He managed the Yankees 1949–1960 and then the Mets 1962–65.

Thirty years of New York baseball in his 54-year career. He batted against Christy Mathewson and sent Cleon Jones up to pinch-hit. When Sandy Koufax no-hit his Mets in 1962, he was asked after the game if Koufax might be the “best he’d ever seen.”

“Oh no,” he replied without pausing, “that would be Grover Cleveland Alexander.”

Casey’s path to the majors was relatively swift. He began with the Kankakee Lunatics in 1910. Yes, the Lunatics. Technically they were called the Kankakee Kays, but as their ballpark was located next to an asylum for the insane, the newspapers couldn’t resist. So Casey started off as a Lunatic and went from there.

The next year “Dutch” (not yet Casey) was playing for Aurora, Illinois, which by good fortune was a short and direct train connection to Chicago. Brooklyn scout Larry Sutton took a train and watched Stengel play a few games.

“I was always partial to boys with blonde hair and blue eyes,” said Sutton. “That combination is always a fighter.”

Thanks to the easy train ride, and Stengel enjoying a few good days, he got a Brooklyn contract, and by September 1912 was in the big leagues.

He arrived by train at Penn Station, and took a small hotel room in Times Square. It was his first day ever in New York City, and it would take him several hours by public transportation to find his way to Washington Park in Brooklyn, where he hung his clothes on a nail and shyly introduced himself around.

His teammates (hardly “illustrious”), generally ignored him, as was the fashion with rookies. It even took several days for them let him take batting practice, and to recommend an apartment in Brooklyn (The Fulton Arms near Borough Hall) where some of them lived.

In his very first game, the left-hand hitting prodigy went 4-for-4 and then had the audacity to switch to the right side of the plate for his fifth plate appearance (he walked). He had never been a switch-hitter, and here he was pulling off this stunt in his debut game. The 4-for-4 with two RBIs and three stolen bases remains one of the best debut games in major league history.

He wound up playing in the final game in Washington Park, and the first game in Ebbets Field, hitting the first home run in Ebbets Field.

Casey’s time with the Dodgers was very much defined by his relationship with the team’s high-profile manager, Wilbert Robinson. Casey was never sure if “Uncle Robbie” liked him or not. He thought Robinson was a lot of fun to play for and Casey’s .316 season in 1914 seemed to make him an elite player, but the following year, nursing a shoulder injury, he plunged to .237, one of the lowest batting averages in the league. It did not help his standing when, during spring training of 1915 (the .237 season), he participated in a stunt in which Uncle Robbie was to catch a baseball dropped from an airplane flying over the practice field in Daytona Beach. It turned out it wasn’t a baseball, but a grapefruit, which exploded on Robbie’s chest, causing him to yell “I’m killed! I’m killed!”

Many blamed Stengel for the stunt gone bad, because by 1915, it seemed like a Stengel thing to do. (He may have been an instigator but was likely not on the plane himself.)

“When you are younger you get blamed for crimes you never committed,” he said. “And when you’re older you begin to get credit for virtues you never possessed. It evens itself out.” If we take him at his word, Casey’s later managerial prowess could have been a canny case of letting the press draw their own conclusions from his team’s success. But if Casey was a clown, he was a class clown in the school of baseball, learning from every manager he played for and often excelling on the field. Had there been All-Star Games in those days, he would likely have been chosen for two or three.

In 1916, Brooklyn won its first pennant of the twentieth century, losing to Babe Ruth’s Red Sox in the World Series. Casey went 4-for-11 (.364) in the Series. In 1917, his final season with Brooklyn, he mastered the right field wall at Ebbets Field, recording 30 outfield assists, a total bettered only five times since. Up until the arrival of the “Boys of Summer” in the late 1940s, Casey would have been in the conversation of notable outfielders in franchise history. He was certainly a fan favorite, a matter enhanced when he made his return to Ebbets Field after being traded to the Pirates and famously doffed his cap to the crowd, releasing a stunned sparrow he had retrieved in the bullpen between innings. The “giving the fans the bird” incident came to exemplify his zany and colorful persona.

His “time” served in Pittsburgh included World War I military service—back at the Brooklyn Navy Yard, where he got his first real taste of managing. He managed the shipyard team against incoming sailors from other ships. “Play ’em the first day they’ve landed,” he strategized, “before they get over their sea legs.” It wasn’t Casey’s first time in a managerial role, however. A fact rarely mentioned in his career recaps his stint as an assistant manager for the Ole Miss baseball team through a Kansas City connection.

Casey hated playing in Pittsburgh and was even more miserable when they traded him to the Phillies in August 1919. He refused to report, went home, and organized a barnstorming tour. If there had been a commissioner of baseball, this probably would have gotten him kicked out of Organized Baseball. He finally reported in 1920, and was lying on the training table in July 1921 when he was told he’d been traded to the New York Giants. He bolted from the table, ran onto the field, and celebrated by running the bases, sliding into each one. So much for whatever injury had him on the training table. He was going back to New York!

New York was truly the center of the baseball universe. Often four of the sixteen teams were in New York, some days as many as six, and all would socialize in the evenings at select watering holes in Manhattan. Casey, extroverted as he was, came to know everyone in the game.

Happy as he was to be returning to the city he had come to love, it was going to be a very different experience for him. Playing for John McGraw was not like playing for the jolly Uncle Robbie, where rules seemed meant to be broken. McGraw was strict, but Casey also learned a lot about the game under his tutelage. Just sitting in the dugout, listening to McGraw grumble about some botched play was an education. He marveled at how much McGraw knew.

But McGraw saw him mostly as a wiseguy and told him so.

Because of his now advancing age, and the Giants being laden with star players, Casey didn’t play as often as he would have liked. Although he’d often been swapped with Joe Riggert and Hy Myers against left-handers in his Robins days, being a part-time player now was his role. Casey would eventually become famous as a master of platoons as a manager himself. McGraw saw the managerial potential in Casey, often letting him coach first base and making him a frequent guest at the McGraw home for late night strategy sessions. One spring McGraw assigned him to coach sort of a “B squad” that trained 200 miles away from the San Antonio “big league” camp. Casey wasn’t ready to quit playing for coaching and he let McGraw know he resented it. He “fired” himself and returned to the big camp.

“That’s another smart-aleck thing you’ve done,” said McGraw.

Yes, the kid from Kansas City, who used to throw snowballs at men with pipes in an effort to dislodge them, was still a rascal.

Despite not playing every day, Casey was part of Giants championship clubs of 1921, 1922, and 1923. In the 1923 World Series—the first played in Yankee Stadium—he hit an inside-the-park home run to win the first game, and hit one into the right field bleachers to win game three, with a risqué thumb of his nose at the fans as he circled the bases. (Yankees owner Colonel Ruppert wanted him reprimanded; Judge Landis demurred).

Casey’s lifetime World Series batting average for 12 games was .393.

And then he was done.

After those Series heroics, McGraw traded him to the hapless Boston Braves.1 His playing career was nearly over, his professional managing career about to begin—first at Worcester (1925) and then at Toledo (1926–31), until the Depression left the team—and the Stengels—broke.

He leaped at an offer to become a Brooklyn Dodgers coach in 1932–33, and then succeeded Max Carey as the club’s manager in 1934. This was a low-budget team going nowhere, and after three second-division seasons, he was fired and paid not to manage in 1937. It was his only year out of uniform between 1910 and 1960. And all he did in that year off was invest in a Texas oil field that made him a rich man.2

Signed to manage the Boston Bees in 1938, Casey stayed for six lackluster years with four seventh place finishes. His final year, 1943, began with his being run over by a car in Kenmore Square before opening day and missing almost three months of work.

He followed that with five more seasons of minor league managing, including the Yankees farm club in hometown Kansas City in 1945. At Oakland, 1946–48, he managed a colorful group of veterans (and a very young Billy Martin), and won the Pacific Coast League championship in 1948 as the Yankees were disposing of their manager, Bucky Harris.

In a surprise hiring, the Yankees named him Harris’s successor, handing him the most coveted managing position in the game (along with Harris’s number 37).

“They hired a clown,” screamed the multitudes, feeling him a most un-Yankee-like choice.3 His record as a manager was certainly lackluster to that point. But the screaming abated after he won the 1949 world championship (despite more than 70 team injuries), during which time he perfected his version of platooning (it helped to have a lot of talent on the bench and various injuries forced him to be creative to great effect) and Stengelese—his unique brand of doubletalk which would enable him to circle around a question until he felt he had avoided or answered it. The writers—“my writers” he called them—found it amusing. Casey had found a way to take his “clown prince” mantle and wear it to shrewd advantage.

The ’49 championship erased all doubts about his managing prowess. By the time he had rolled off a fifth straight world championship, not only was he no longer a “clown,” he was on his way to Cooperstown. Although the Joe McCarthy-era Yankees like Joe DiMaggio and Phil Rizzuto never quite warmed to him, his own players—notably Yogi Berra, Whitey Ford, and Mickey Mantle—were carving out their own Hall of Fame careers under his leadership.

Casey rode championship after championship through the ’50s, losing only to oil partner Al Lopez’s 1954 Cleveland Indians, and Lopez’s 1959 Chicago White Sox. When the Yankees fired him after he lost a seven-game World Series to Pittsburgh in 1960 (“I’ll never make the mistake of being 70 again,” he said), the Baby Boomer generation had lost a father figure. But all things must pass. The Yankees felt Casey mismanaged the pitching rotation in the ’60 World Series, but they also did not want to lose manager-in-waiting Ralph Houk, who was being pursued by both Detroit and Boston.

At that point in his career, Casey could have hung up his jersey for good. He would no doubt have been remembered as a colorful but astute mastermind of the game and a Hall of Fame shoo-in. But after sitting out 1961 in Glendale, largely to work on his autobiography, he allowed the expansion New York Mets to pluck him out of retirement and bring him back to New York. He and his wife Edna (neé Lawson) would continue to reside at the Essex House on Central Park South, as they had done throughout his Yankee years, even after the Mets moved to Shea Stadium in 1964 and the taxi fare to Flushing soared to six dollars! But first would come two seasons at the Polo Grounds, where he had played for the Giants, where he had met Edna, and where he had butted heads with McGraw.

The Mets got a lot right immediately—the name, the announcers, the logo, the team song, the mascot, the uniform, the fans chanting “let’s go Mets,” and hiring a legend as manager.

But Casey was a different manager with the Mets. The year off from baseball and the realization that he was now in his 70s seemed to take a lot of the fire from his belly. Even late in his Yankee career, he was deeply engaged in the games, thinking three innings ahead, pushing the right buttons. With the Mets, he more or less turned over daily control to his coaches, Cookie Lavagetto and Solly Hemus, and let center fielder Richie Ashburn run things on the field. Casey (or the coaches), could still platoon, but now it involved sending in bad players to replace bad players. The Mets had done so many things right except build a talented roster. Realizing this, Casey’s best managerial move was to steer attention away from this horrible, 40–120 team, and onto the power of his personality. As it turned out, that was the winning move. The writers loved having him and admired his longevity and wit, and his ability to touch history.

While Casey became the face of the franchise, his coaches would work the pitching rotation, do the lineup, “suggest” pinch-hitters and defensive replacements. Roger Craig, his leading pitcher, was influential in evaluating pitching prospects, perhaps just as much as coaches Red Kress and Red Ruffing.

“Ain’t like the old days,” he whispered to Gene Woodling in the dugout one afternoon, winking. Woodling had been with the Yankees for the five straight; now, he was playing out his career with Casey at the Mets.

Yes, Casey might occasionally doze off in the dugout, but his old Yankee boss George Weiss (now the Mets president), and Joan Payson and M. Donald Grant (ownership) did not seem to mind. The team was considered an immediate hit, even though they averaged a mere 9,000 fans a game against the seven teams who were not the Dodgers and Giants. The illusion of success was strong, and Casey, once the “clown,” also proved to be an illusionist of sorts.

By the time the team moved to Shea in 1964, even some of his writers were thinking the Stengel era had run its course; it was time to shake up this now dull franchise. Even Casey was running out of jokes to distract from the bad play.

It ended for Casey in 1965 when he broke his hip in a fall that no one saw after an Old Timers party in mid-season. He was, at 75, the oldest man in uniform and one of the oldest managers in history. Hall of Fame induction would be speeded up to include him the following year, and he would spend the remaining ten years of his life living the good life in Glendale, but ever a presence on the baseball scene, whether in spring training, at banquets, in Cooperstown, or at Old Timers gatherings.

MARTY APPEL is the author of 24 books including “Casey Stengel: Baseball’s Greatest Character,” published by Doubleday in 2017.

Select Bibliography

Allen, Maury. You Could Look it Up. New York: Times Books, 1979.

— Now Wait a Minute, Casey! Garden City, N.Y: Doubleday, 1965

Appel, Marty. Casey Stengel: Baseball’s Greatest Character. New York: Doubleday, 2017.

Bak, Richard. Casey Stengel: A Splendid Baseball Life. Dallas: Taylor, 1997.

Creamer, Robert. Stengel: His Life and Times. New York: Simon and Schuster, 1984.

Durso, Joseph. Casey: The Life and Legend of Charles Dillon Stengel. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall, 1967.

Goldman, Steven. Forging Genius: The Making of Casey Stengel. Dulles, VA: Potomac Books, 2005.

Graham, Frank Jr., Casey Stengel: His Half-Century in Baseball. New York: John P. Day Co., 1958.

Howard, Arlene with Ralph Wimbish. Elston and Me: The Story of the First Black Yankee. Columbia, MO: University of Missouri Press, 2001.

Koppett, Leonard. The New York Mets: The Whole Story. New York: Macmillan, 1970.

Stengel, Casey and Harry Paxton. Casey at the Bat. New York: Random House, 1962.

Stengel, Edna. Unpublished memoir, 1958.

Vecsey, George. Joy in Mudville. New York: McCall, 1970.

Notes

1 McGraw did bring Casey back in a Giants uniform for a European tour after the 1924 season, which doubled as a Stengel honeymoon.

2 A player, Randy Moore, whose father had invested in an oil well, got Casey and Al Lopez into a small group backing it, and the well came in. It made Casey a rich man for the rest of his life. That well is still pumping oil.

3 Forty-eight years later, “Clueless Joe” Torre, a longtime unsuccessful National League manager, received much the same greeting in New York.