213. Jimmy O'Connell: The Other Side of a Scandal

Over the years I've been fortunate enough to hear from several of the players whose portraits and stories I've included on my website, and that continued after my book "The League of Outsider Baseball" came out in May. One of the most memorable letters I received from a relative of Jimmy O'Connell. He's in the chapter entitled "The Bad Guys" due to his being thrown out of organized baseball for offering money to an opposing player to throw a game. Jimmy's great-niece wrote to say how bittersweet it was to find her great-uncle Jim in a chapter with a title of "Bad Guys". After telling me about how much she enjoyed the book she added this poignant passage: "So I'd like to put in a word for Jim O'Connell and let you know what a good guy he was. Devoted to his wife, my Aunt Esther, a loving uncle to my mom and her sister and madly in love with the game of baseball, long after it turned its back on him. ". 

Those words stuck with me ever since. These ballplayers I illustrate and write about had families who loved them. The letter made Jimmy O'Connell not just a name from old newspaper articles and box scores, but a very real person. I want to thank Jimmy's relatives for taking the time to write this great piece. The story of Jimmy O'Connell and the 1924 pennant scandal is often told, but never to my knowledge has it been told from the family's perspective. I'm both honored and humbled to be able to showcase this story here on my website. and without further delay, here the O'Connell family's "guest author" post on the old ballplayer they called "Uncle Jim"...

We all know the curdled feeling you get when your ball team loses. It is always at its most intense when the game hinges on a single error and your team ends up sinking a bit deeper in the loss column. But brighter tomorrows come easily in baseball. With its lengthy season and ambling games that always breed hope, the crummy feelings dissipate and faith is restored with one swing of a bat. But for New York Giants outfielder James "Jimmy" O'Connell, a single error of judgement in the 1924 pennant race meant a lifetime ban from professional baseball. The stamp of his poor decision stayed affixed to him and his name has traveled down nine decades of baseball history with a scandal attached.

But for me, the name Jimmy O'Connell doesn't exist solely in places like Gary's excellent book The League of Outsider Baseball. He was also my mother's "Uncle Jim", her lovable, generous and incontrovertibly optimistic uncle, friend and hero. My mom Mary June, her sister Margaret and cousin Bette always kept stories of dashing Uncle Jim alive for their combined 21 children. Although they never denied the fact that in the pennant race of 1924, Jim offered another player $500 if he didn't "bear down too hard ", they also handed down the story, detailed in their aunt's anguished letters, of heartbreak and misguided faith in the men of baseball who held Jimmy's fate in their hands. They told us, too, about the life Jim lived after the scandal, spent on dusty Outlaw League diamonds, and then back in California where some of the shimmer of his days as a San Francisco Seal stood him in better light with old fans and admirers.

In 1921, my grandmother's sister Esther moved from Montana to San Francisco to look for work. She found a secretarial job at accountants Price-Waterhouse and one day she noticed a photo of a young ball player named Jimmy O'Connell in the newspaper and set her heart on him. The handsome Irish-American was a member of the San Francisco Seals and Esther, chaperoned by her visiting mother, left a note for the first baseman at Recreation Park. "We went down to 14th Street and Valencia and left a note at the Seals office. I asked him to call on me at the Palace Hotel, if he wished. I got a call that afternoon," said Esther in an interview recorded on cassette tape before her death in 1978. Their first date was spent at the Pantages Theater seeing comedian Georgie Jessel. Recalling the evening, Esther said, "In his monologue he said, 'Did you ever see O'Connell hit one?'"

The young couple was married on October 2, 1922 and not long after their honeymoon, O'Connell was in the newspapers on both coasts due to the record-breaking sum paid by the New York Giants for his contract. "Babe Ruth Has Nothing on Seals $75,000 Beauty" and "N. Y. Giants $75,000 'Rookie'" sang the headlines. O'Connell went straight to work at the Giants' training camp, gearing up for a switch to the outfield.

The early 1920s were a glittering time in New York City and Esther was a faithful correspondent, describing to her mother and sisters the glamorous Broadway revels and pure excitement of the Polo Grounds. A family of inveterate newspaper clippers, Esther's sisters saved every mention of Jimmy O'Connell from printed game stats to the items in the society page depicting the young O'Connell and his smartly dressed wife on the town.

Then the 1924 season came to a staggering end and with it, the baseball career of Jimmy O'Connell. Books like Judge Landis by J.G. Taylor Spink and John McGraw by Charles C. Alexander have reported the details of what happened on Sept. 27, 1924 and the ensuing meetings held in Judge Kenesaw Mountain Landis' office. The main fact was thus: In a game whose win would only be an insurance policy in a National League pennant race they had nearly captured, NY Giants rookie outfielder Jimmy O'Connell approached Philadelphia shortstop Heinie Sand and whispered, "It will be worth $500 to you if you don't bear down too hard against us today."  Aghast, Sands refused and went straight to his manager to report the offer.  Word traveled swiftly to the ears of baseball commissioner Landis and O'Connell and coach Cozy Dolan were immediately summoned to explain their part in Sands' accusation. (And as it turned out, the Giants didn't need any funny business to win their "fourth straight flag". "Why offer Philadelphia $500 to lose?" one wag quipped. "They're happy to lose for free.")

Esther's side of the story was delivered in a long, tear-stained letter she composed to her mother after sitting out all night with Jim in Central Park to avoid the hordes of reporters that had descended upon their residence.  "He didn't want to but when he asked the older men what to do he was told, 'You know how thick McGraw and Dolan are, so it is orders.'" McGraw was brusque Giants owner John McGraw and those "older men" were future hall-of-famers Frank Frisch, Ross Youngs and George Kelly, who all denied saying anything and escaped punishment.

For a time, the couple remained hopeful. Jimmy never denied having made the offer to Sands, saying that he was told by coach Dolan to send out a feeler. And there is nothing that has ever been published (to my knowledge) that states that Jimmy O'Connell was solely responsible for the offer. Several baseball writers have asked, "Who put together the money?" and a couple have wondered aloud whether it was all a prank against a credible greenhorn. But adjudication was solely in the hands of Judge Landis and he handed Jimmy O'Connell and Cozy Dolan lifetime bans from professional baseball.

Stunned, Jim and Esther left New York and returned to Northern California. Esther wrote to her sister, "Jim has youth and health and we have each other and we can start over again in time." Jim's love for baseball (and his terrific athletic ability) drew him down to New Mexico to play outlaw baseball in a small league that hosted several other banned players and was looked upon with scorn by organized baseball. The Fort Bayard team was sponsored by a group of World War One vets, most of whom were bedridden with lingering wounds and tuberculosis in the post hospital. Jimmy was so popular with the fans and the vets that he eventually formed a team for the Southwest New Mexico League called "Jimmy O'Connell's All-Stars". Throughout his six years in New Mexico, Jim thrived in his roles of team captain and raiser-of-spirits to the men of Fort Bayard Hospital.

There was no shortage of calls and petitions for the reinstatement of Jimmy O'Connell made to Judge Landis. None other than the colorful writer Damon Runyon asked Landis to reconsider. "Don't you think this boy has been punished enough, Judge? I believe the public would be with you if you reinstate him." But Landis never budged and eventually Jim and Esther left the Southwest and headed back to California to begin another chapter in their lives. Jim took a job with Richfield Oil and enjoyed a long career with the oil company, starting as a refinery worker and ending his career in public relations, promoting the development of the Alaska Pipeline.

My mother, Mary June, described a visit to Uncle Jim and Auntie Esther in her 1940 diary, composed when she was nineteen years old. She flew from Cheyenne, Wyoming to San Francisco and stayed for a week in the O'Connell's Sausalito home. Each day she recorded a marvelous sightseeing trip with her Uncle Jim, culminating in a visit to the World's Fair. My mother always treasured the souvenir photograph that Uncle Jim gave her that day. And with good reason. There aren't many photos of Jimmy O'Connell in our family collection and very little memorabilia outside of a silver "Open Gate" medallion given to Jim by the NY Giants in 1924.

When Esther O'Connell returned home from Jim's funeral in Bakersfield in 1976, there was a baseball collector waiting in the driveway. Brushing past him and his inquiries, Esther made a bonfire in her backyard and threw Jim's mitts, uniforms and memorabilia on the flames. Jim had allowed himself to move on, but Esther's anger at baseball had never subsided. Mom's cousin Bette managed to save one box of Jim's things from the bonfire, but Esther had already torn the photos in two. A team photo of the SF Seals, a press photo of Jim and Sox player Willie Kamm, and a photo of Jim shaking hands with John McGraw were poignantly pieced back together with transparent tape. It is a small, but cherished, collection that I hope will spur the curiosity and baseball fever of my grandnieces and nephews as it has mine.

I am so very grateful to Gary Cieradkowski for including Jimmy O'Connell in his book and for creating such a wonderful illustration of Uncle Jim. I wasn't sure if I was just dispatching an email into the wild blue yonder when I wrote to Gary about another side of Jimmy O'Connell's story. HIs gracious reply has allowed me to share these personal reminiscences of my family and provide another view of a man who, by all surviving post-scandal accounts, was admired by just about everyone he came across.

I have been encouraged to write about Uncle Jim for many years by my Aunt Margaret. At 92, she is in full possession of her detailed memories of her beloved Uncle Jim.  I dedicate this blog post to her. She is the last person in our family (and perhaps the world!) to have seen Jimmy O'Connell play baseball. She saw him play on the Richfield Oil company team on a visit to California in 1935. She was eleven years old.

I spoke to her on the phone the other day and asked her if Jim ever talked about his regrets or suffered from the anguish that plagued Esther. She said, "He never said a word about it. It was all in the past. When he walked in the room, he'd look me and Mary June in the eyes and say, "Shall we get an ice cream cone, girls?"


A Note About the Illustration: I wanted to show Jimmy back before he joined the Giants, circa 1923 while with the San Francisco Seals, when his future was bright and the sky was the limit for him. I depicted him in the time-honored baseball chore of "boning" his bat with a horse shoe. This was done back before players used 100's of bats each year. Players would spend spare time rubbing a horse shoe, Coke bottle or steak bone on the bat which closed the pores of the wood, making it rock-hard and less likely to break.
 

204. Mahlon Higbee: To the Major Leagues in a Single Bound

In today's game it's quite common for a ball player to go from Double A ball to the majors. Most players today have at least a few seasons of college ball under their belt before they even appear in the minors. With today's structured and very regimented scouting and farm systems, major league teams know fairly quickly whether a player has what it takes to make The Show. Thirty major league teams means there are almost twice the number of positions available than there were fifty tears ago and that extra room enables clubs to take more risks than they did decades ago - like bringing up rookies after only a single season in the low minors.

That's what makes Mahlon Higbee's story quite interesting. Back in the summer of 1922 Higbee was a  20 year-old outfielder for the Hopkinsville Hoppers of the Kentucky-Indiana-Tennessee League (thankfully called the "KITTY League" for short). The KITTY was classified a Class D loop, equivalent to today's Rookie League level and pretty much the bottom rung of Organized Baseball. By late July the Louisville native was hitting .385 with 16 homers, 101 RBI and 31 stolen bases. Despite playing in a low-level league far from the big cities of the major leagues, the New York Giants got wind of Higbee's numbers.

In the early 1920's the New York Giants were the best and most feared organization in the game. Firmly managed by John McGraw, the Giants boasted no less than six future Hall of Famers in their regular line up and could boast of having beaten the upstart Yankees in the 1921 World Series. In short, back in 1922 the New York Giants were what the Yankees would become in just a few short years - the embodiment of baseball excellence.

So Mahlon Higbee must have made one heck of an impression on the Giants scouts that summer. John McGraw bought Higbee's contract from Hopkinsville for a nice $2,500. Back in the days before minor league teams had working agreements with major league teams, selling young players at the end of a season often meant the difference between finishing the year with their books in red or black ink.

By the time Mahlon Higbee packed his bag and took the train north, the Giants had clinched the National League pennant by seven games. On September 27th Higbee took his position in left field as the Giants hosted the Philadelphia Phillies at the Polo Grounds. The rookie struck out twice as Jimmy Ring pitched shut out ball. Higbee did record a sacrifice hit which must have pleased John McGraw, letting him know the young slugger could also play "small ball" which the Giants skipper much preferred to the new home run game being made popular by Babe Ruth and the Yankees. After seven innings the Phils led 2-zip but the Giants came alive in the eighth. Higbee got his only hit of the game, a two run single which tied the game and later scored the go ahead and ultimately winning run. 

The next game was a double header on Saturday September 30 against the Boston Braves. Higbee sat out the first game, a 5-1 loss. Playing left field in the night cap, Higbee went 2 for 4 with an RBI as the Giants beat Garland Braxton and the Braves 5 to 3. The late editions of the New York papers showed that the Giants rookie was batting a lofty .429.

Sunday, October 1st was the last day of the season and another double header against Boston. Higbee sat on the bench as the Braves shut out New York 3 nothing. In the second and last game Higbee played right field. In his first two at bats the rookie failed to get a hit but in the sixth he came to bat again. With a man on first Higbee took an Al Yeargin pitch deep for a two run homer making it 3-0 Giants. The last two innings went fast and uneventful as New York closed out 1922 with a final win. 

With the end of the regular season came the final statistics and Mahlon Higbee's 1922 line was fantastic: 10 at bats; 4 hits; 5 RBI; 1 home run and a sterling .400 average. Since he was brought up too late to qualify to play in the World Series, Higbee had to ride the bench as the Giants creamed the Yankees 4 games to 1. It was a given that the rookie would be invited to the Giants' spring training the next year and he was.

Although the Giants were overflowing with outfield talent, beat writers following the team in San Antonio that April tabbed Higbee as the forth outfielder, backing up Irish Meusel and Hall of Famers Casey Stengel and Ross Youngs. Then, right before the Giants broke camp, Higbee wrenched his left ankle. Now instead of holding a train ticket with "New York City" on it he found himself headed to Denver, Colorado. 

The Denver Bears played in the Western League and had a loose working agreement with the Giants. The Western League had a classification of A, about same or a little lower than what Single A is today. Higbee played well for the Bears, hitting 2 points shy of .300 with 10 homers and 31 doubles, but it was far from the numbers he put up in 1922. At the end of the season the Giants sent Higbee to the Portsmouth Truckers in exchange for some low-level minor leaguers. The once promising Giants phenom now found himself in Class B ball, one rung backwards. He hit .279 with 12 homers but a collision with the outfield wall in Richmond effectively ended his career.

Higbee was back with Portsmouth in 1925 but he only managed to play 26 games. After batting a disappointing .188 with Evansville in 1927 he called it quits. 

Today Mahlon Higbee is just a single line in the baseball record books - but oh what a line it is. Since 1900 roughly 10,000 ball players played less than 10 games in the big leagues. It's called having a "Cup of Coffee", meaning their time spent in The Big Show was barely long enough to consume a cup of joe. Most of those guys have completely uneventful numbers, not leaving much to the imagination as to why they didn't stick. Mahlon Higbee is different. He actually left a line of stats a guy could be proud of and one that makes the casual reader wonder what the heck happened... and now you do.
 

192. Shumza Sugimoto: A False Spring or Lost in Translation?

Yesterday I found a box on my porch containing five advance copies of my book "The League of Outsider Baseball". With shaking hands I cut open the box and started peeling back the cardboard packaging. Peering inside I hesitantly eyed the culmination of five years of work, the actual hard-bound realization of the most pleasurable project of my long career as an illustrator and writer. Next week I'll write a post with some nice photos (not lousy iPhone shots) of the book which I hope you find as incredibly rewarding and interesting as I do! 

Shumza Sugimoto.

He's a footnote to a footnote of baseball history, a ballplayer known not for what he did on the field, but for how he was kept off that field by the white powers that be. You can find Shumza Sugimoto mentioned in books and articles on Japanese baseball, New York Giants histories and scholarly studies of racism in the game. Some writers elevate Sugimoto to a Jackie Robinson before his time, one of the game's great "what-if?" questions. Some more creative historians draw a direct line linking Sugimoto with baseball's most favored "what-if" character, Moonlight Graham.

Who was Shumza Sugimoto?

First mention of the man comes in the Spring of 1905. The mighty New York Giants were beginning their pre-spring training in Hot Springs, Arkansas. Manager John McGraw, always on the prowl for fresh talent, spotted a Japanese ballplayer who happened to be in Hot Springs. As most blackball aficionados know, at the turn-of-the-century Hot Springs was the winter base for the best black baseball talent in the country. The opulent resorts in town fielded virtual outsider baseball all-star teams made up of some of the best black ballplayers in the land who doubled as hotel employees. In the days before radio, television and movies, taking in a ballgame was first-rate daytime entertainment for their guests.

A February 10, 1905 newspaper story reported that John McGraw discovered Shumza Sugimoto in his hotel's massage parlor where he was working as a masseuse. A New York Times article lists Sugimoto as being a 23 year-old outfielder weighing in at 118 pounds. Described as a "jiu jitsu expert", Sugimoto revealed that he had played the previous season with the Cuban Giants. At the time the Cuban Giants were one of the best outfits playing outside the white major leagues. To suit up with them you had to have some serious chops. The story goes on to say that McGraw had the masseuse/ballplayer/jui jitsu expert practice with the Giants who pronounced him as having "all the goods". It was reported that Sugimoto was "as good with the willow as with the wrestling art". Articles claimed that the Japanese outfielder could field, hit and run in "first class style". John McGraw told the sports writers that when the Giants broke training camp and went south on their spring exhibition tour he was taking the Japanese ballplayer with them. Some papers chose to leave off the part where the manager stated that he didn't think Sugimoto would eventually make the team. Follow up stories became a touch more fanciful, playing up Sugimoto's Jiu Jitsu. One story even claimed that Sugimoto came close breaking Turkey Mike Donlin's neck in a club house martial arts exhibition!

Then, as soon as it began, the story ends. Before the Giants left Hot Springs, Sugimoto declared in the February 25th edition of Sporting Life Magazine that he "does not like the drawing of the color line in his case, and says he will remain a semi-professional with the Creole Stars of New Orleans if his engagement by the Giants will be resented by the players of other clubs.”

Sugimoto's semi-voluntary retirement was picked up by a few newspapers who spun it into a broader discussion on race and sports. The above quote is interesting in that it is one of the earliest use of the phrase "color line" in conjunction with baseball. Articles appeared in the sporting press questioning why Japanese were excluded when American Indians were welcomed. One article has Cincinnati Reds managers Frank Bancroft and Ned Hanlon and the team's owner Garry Herrmann going on record as having no objections to a Japanese ballplayer and notes that there appeared to be no rule or by-law prohibiting Sugimoto from joining the Giants. Interestingly, Black athletes were not mentioned in the race discussion. At any rate, the Giants headed south to play their way into shape and Shumza Sugimoto disappears.

Or did he? I think the better question is: "Did Shumza Sugimoto  even exist in the first place?"

I'm really not sure. 

The Sugimoto story brought together two of the finest Blackball and Japanese baseball historians you could assemble: Rob Fitts and Ryan Whirty. However, this research dream team could unearth no previous or subsequent record on Shumza Sugimoto. Fitts, probably the fore-most American expert on Japanese baseball history, could find no trace of a ball playing Sugimoto in Japanese archives. Whirty is a specialist in Louisiana blackball and he could not verify even the existence of the Creole Stars of New Orleans team Sugimoto was to play for in 1905. Over the years Negro League historians like Gary Ashwill and Phil Dixon have successfully mined newspaper archives for information and box scores for the 1905-era Cuban Giants. Although the Cuban Giants played on the fringes of organized baseball, the team was very successful and left a trail of box scores and stories from wherever their barnstorming took them. Sugimoto doe not appear in any photograph of the team nor does his name appear in any box score or game recap.

But Bill Staples, the go-to man on Japanese ball players in America and head of SABR's Asian Baseball Committee has another take on the Cuban Giants/Creole Stars link. Bill suggests we take a step back from taking team names mentioned in the newspaper articles literally - "Cuban Giants" might have referred to one of the many barnstorming teams that used the name "Cubans" back at the turn-of-the-century. In Bill's own words: "It's not out of line to think that as an Issei, Sugimoto's English was not perfect, so perhaps he tried to explain his playing experience and a reporter misinterpreted what he said? I've seen many articles where a reporter gets a fact wrong, and then it is repeated by others. If we explore this possibility then maybe this would point us to more clues about Sugimoto the real person."

Also Bill brings to our attention that the 1904 World's Fair in St. Louis brought many foreign ball players to the States. Again, I'll let Bill explain: "That year baseball was an exhibition sport there (perhaps with the Olympics too, which was held in conjunction with the fair), and teams and players came from all over to compete." Bill emailed me an example of a 1904 immigration record of a Cuban ball player arriving at the Port of New Orleans with the intention of attending the World's Fair. "With that it mind, I suspect there were other Cubans playing ball in St. Louis in 1904, and maybe this is where Sugimoto played briefly with a team that might have called themselves the Giants (Giants was a popular team name in the early 1900s). In Ancestry.com we see that on March 8, 1904. S. Sugimoto arrived in New Orleans from Cuba. Perhaps he learned about the Cuban baseball plans in St. Louis World's Fair when he was in Cuba?" 

Very interesting stuff.

My own research uncovered that if you opened a newspaper in the spring of 1905 you'd find a few mentions of men and women named "Sugimoto", just none who played ball. There was a troupe of female Japanese jugglers and acrobats called the "Sugimoto's Score of Japanese" who toured the country from 1904 through 1906. These geisha-clad ladies played every vaudeville and opera house from California to Denver to Baltimore. A Mr. Sugimoto could be found touring the east coast giving intellectual talks on Buddhism to packed houses. Another man named Sugimoto was a prominent businessman in Cincinnati, Ohio and was touring the Midwest giving lectures on Japan. In the spring of 1905 it was announced that Waseda University's baseball team was scheduled to tour the eastern United States for the first ever Japanese-American Intercollegiate games.

Besides the name Sugimoto and Japanese baseball being readily found in newspapers across the United States, you have to take a broader look at the time period during which this McGraw story takes place. 

During 1904 and 1905 the Japan and Russia were fighting a savage war in Manchuria. While this conflict is all but forgotten today, back in '04 and '05 this was big news. Russia was a creaky superpower on the way to revolution and Japan was a brand-new nation that fascinated the West. The war began with Japan's sneak attack on the Russian port of Port Arthur. The complete defeat of the Russian Pacific Fleet was the first time an Asian nation inflicted a military defeat on a Western power. The subsequent Russo-Japanese War was the first modern conflict to be fought on a large scale using machine guns, observation balloons and all-steel and steam warships. This clash of modern arms attracted newspaper correspondents and military observers from every nation. Since the Japanese were on the offensive, most of the newspaper correspondents were attached to the Japanese army and the majority of newspaper articles on the war were Japan-centric. 

America loves an underdog and the majority of the country was pulling for little Japan. Plus the United States was in the middle of a surge of immigrants from Poland, Ukraine and other countries that were under the oppressive thumb of the Czar. All these newly minted Americans were rooting for Japan to kick the hell out of Russia.

If you were a bored and mildly playful sportswriter in the spring of 1905 with a hankering to file a phony dispatch about a foreign ballplayer, you'd most likely conjure up a Japanese one.

It's isn't like this hadn't happened before: as far back as 1887 the story of a Chinese ballplayer signed by the White Sox made the rounds. (Please the wild tale on Teang Wong Foo HERE). It is very interesting to note another, more well known incident that took place just a four years earlier featuring the exact same elements of the Sugimoto story: John McGraw, Hot Springs, Arkansas and an ethnic ball player. In the spring of '01, McGraw was the manager of the Baltimore Orioles and he tried unsuccessfully to pass off blackball star Charlie Grant as an American Indian named "Chief Tokohama". (For the whole story please see my post on Chief Tokohama HERE). The story made all the papers and the incident became an early baseball legend. It wouldn't be a stretch to imagine a bored sports writer conjuring a fake story to sell a few more newspapers. 

Bill Staples enters again to offer his take on whether or not a sports writer would fake this story. The February 25th Sporting Life article in which Sugimoto reveals he will remain a semi-pro was written by William F. H. Koelsch. Back at the turn-of-the-century Koelsch was a highly respected sports writer who closely followed the New York Giants before, during and after spring training. McGraw and his club were Koelsch's beat and he was the go-to man for anything Giants. Bill raises a good point: Would a guy like Koelsch risk his reputation by spreading false information?

As another side-note to this tangled tale is a story originating from Chicago in the winter of 1911. According to Chicago Cubs president Charles Webb Murphy an infielder named Ito Sugimoto wrote asking for a tryout with the club. The article mentions that this Sugimoto played semi-pro ball in Hawaii and San Francisco where he was a resident. The letter was forwarded to manager Frank Chance and just like Shumza six years before, this Sugimoto conveniently disappears...

Well, that's my take on the whole Sugimoto - first Japanese ballplayer - Cuban Giants story. On one hand, I would like to see the whole yarn proven true. The stories it provoked sparked a dialogue on racism and baseball's color line like never before. Like I wrote in the introduction, I've even seen it writen quite matter-of-factly that when Sugimoto left the Giants his place was taken by - wait for it - Archibald "Moonlight" Graham! Now that would be one heck of a story. (As Bill Staples points out, this comes from both men being mentioned in the same half page Sporting Life article by William F. H. Koelsch). On the other  hand, when put into a broader historical context, it not only reveals a long forgotten war but also demonstrates how Americans and the west in general were fascinated with the world's mysterious new superpower, Japan.

Special thanks goes out to Bill Staples who adds a great counter-point to my original story. You may remember Bill from a story and illustration we collaborated on just after the publication of his book "Kenichi Zenimura, Japanese American Baseball Pioneer”. This excellent piece of research not only recounts the life of a pioneering ball player but also tells the story of Japanese-American baseball in America, one of the great untold chapters of baseball history.

132. Artie Wilson: Last of the .400 Hitters

A few months ago Larry Blakely wrote to me suggesting Artie Wilson, last of the .400 hitters, as a suitable candidate for The Infinite Baseball Card Set. Larry spelled out Wilson's credentials - a key member of the Negro League Champion Birmingham Barons, one of the first blacks to play in the majors, teammates with Willie Mays both in the Negro and Major leagues, a legend in Puerto Rico for his batting prowess and all-around fan favorite in his later years in the minors out on the west coast. As if that wasn't enough to convince me that Artie Wilson did indeed deserve a place on this site, Larry also sent along a copy of an article he'd published a few years ago about Wilson. After reading it I instantly knew that no one was better qualified to write about the subject so I asked Larry if he'd consider letting me run his article as-is along with a card I illustrated. Larry graciously agreed, updated the earlier published piece with some new tidbits, and, well, here it is...

Almost every baseball fan knows Jackie Robinson broke Major League Baseball’s color barrier in 1947. Less well known is the fact that integration of baseball thereafter was a slow process, taking far longer than it should have. After Robinson joined the Brooklyn Dodgers, the door of opportunity for African American players was ajar but not yet fully open, the stream of blacks entering the majors was initially more like a trickle.

True, the integration of baseball was faster than the glacial “all deliberate speed” of school desegregation in America that began in 1954. Nonetheless, for several seasons after Robinson’s breakthrough, tapping into the existing pool of talented Negro League veterans was more sluggish than swift. For reasons ranging from simple to complex, clear to obscure, many star players didn’t get the call. Some, like Josh Gibson in 1947, had died young. Some, like James “Cool Papa” Bell, had played their best ball a decade earlier. And some, though clearly qualified to play in the major leagues, had a break or two go against them. Case in point: Artie Wilson.
 

In July of 1959 the Boston Red Sox became the last major league team to shake its Jim Crow heritage and include an African American on its roster. Elijah “Pumpsie” Green modeled his game after a speedy shortstop who played professionally for the Oaks in nearby Oakland when Green was growing up. His name: Artie Wilson.
 

Who was the last big leaguer to hit .400? No, it’s not that Red Sox slugger who ended the 1941 season with a .406 batting average. It was a different left-handed hitter known for knocking line drive singles to the opposite field. The year was 1948 (Ted Williams only managed a paltry .369 that year). The player: Artie Wilson.
 

1948 was a very good year for Arthur Lee Wilson. Besides hitting .402 in the regular season and winning his second batting title in a row, he played in the East-West All-Star game as well as the Negro Leagues World Series. After the Series he went to Puerto Rico for winter ball where he led the Mayaguez Indians to a Cuban league title, hitting .379. Oh yeah, in 1948 Wilson also met Dorothy Daniels, the manager of a Birmingham record store, and later left her tickets for a game. Turned out she and her father were big baseball fans. The following year “Dotty” became his bride.
 

Artie Wilson first played professional baseball in 1944-48, five seasons with the Birmingham Black Barons. Four times he was selected to play in the All-Star game, a huge event in black baseball that usually drew 40,000-50,000 fans to Comiskey Park. The only year he missed, 1945, the shortstop chosen was a rather talented Kansas City Monarch rookie, Jackie Robinson. Wilson played in the Negro Leagues World Series three times, including the final one in 1948, each time losing to the powerful Homestead Grays. “Those guys could play,” Wilson said in a classic bit of understatement. “Even their pitchers could hit.” 

1948 was also the year that a fellow Alabama native, 16-year-old Willie “Buck” Mays, joined the Black Barons. Wilson, who had once played against Willie’s father “Cat” in Birmingham’s semipro industrial league, said the elder Mays was a terrific all-around player who covered center field like a tarp. “He’d played real shallow, practically in the infield,” he recalled, “but he could run down anything hit his way.” In fact, in his entire career, Wilson says he never saw a player better than Willie Mays Sr. though he conceded son had better home run power than dad. Wilson’s wife said her husband was like a second father to young Willie. In 2006 the Wilsons attended a banquet in Beverly Hills where Mays honored four surviving Black Barons teammates. He said his Birmingham mentors knew he could, with a little guidance and a little luck, play in the majors. “What they did for me, I’ll never forget.”
In the spring of 1949, two years after Jackie Robinson made sports history, it appeared Wilson was likewise headed to the major leagues.
 

The Cleveland Indians, after winning the 1948 World Series with Larry Doby, the American League’s first African American player, and an aging yet ageless Satchel Paige on their roster, purchased the rights to Wilson from Barons president Tom Hayes Jr. In February of 1949 Cleveland’s flamboyant president Bill Veeck personally flew to Puerto Rico to sign Wilson, 28, who they had been scouting for a year. Earlier, between the regular season and winter ball, Wilson had barnstormed with Satchel Paige’s All-Stars, playing Bob Feller’s white All-Star team in venues all over the country. In addition to Rapid Robert, he hit against top pitchers such as Warren Spahn, Bob Lemon and Spud Chandler. So when he arrived at the Indians’ Arizona spring training site in 1949, a confident Wilson commented, “I’ve hit major league pitching before. I think I can do it again.”
 

1949 was also the year the New York Yankees signed a raw talent from Oklahoma who could likewise get wood on a baseball: Mickey Mantle. Unfortunately, the Yanks also thought they had secured the rights to one of the Negro Leagues brightest prospects: Artie Wilson.
New York General Manager George Weiss, sounding very much like he’d just eaten a large serving of sour grapes, claimed Veeck’s signing Wilson was unethical if not illegal.
To the middle infielder caught in the middle who simply wanted a chance to play Major League Baseball, the controversy was difficult to fathom. “New York made me an offer. I didn’t accept it,” Wilson told a newspaper reporter. “Cleveland came along with another offer. I liked it. I accepted it and signed. That’s all there is to it.”
 

Well, so it seemed.
 

Except the Yankees, being the Yankees, weren’t about to let a rival best them in the pursuit of new talent. They were probably still stinging from Cleveland’s taking the 1948 World Series title, a title held the previous year by the Bronx Bombers (and for five consecutive years starting in 1949). The fight for Wilson wound up in the commissioner’s office for resolution. At the same time a second contract dispute developed between the Indians and Yankees involving former Negro League outfielder Luis Marquez who, unlike Wilson, had signed with New York. In biblical times, King Solomon threatened to split the baby. In this case, baseball commissioner “Happy” Chandler switched the players. He voided both contracts, sending Marquez from the Yankees’ farm club in Newark to the Cleveland organization and Wilson to Newark. Unhappily, neither player would make it to the majors for another two years.
 

Truth be told, in those days the Negro Leagues owners knew, with integration finally becoming a reality, their teams’ days were numbered. Some were less than straightforward with both their own players and the major league teams seeking to sign their best players. So it’s possible Hayes, unbeknownst to Wilson, conveniently backed out on the Yanks when a better offer came along. Or the Yankees simply muscled the commissioner’s office into wiping out a legitimate deal. Or perhaps Chandler was pushing his own hidden agenda.
In any event, after the decision was announced, the Yankees promptly traded Wilson to the Oakland Oaks of the Pacific Coast League where he played his first season of integrated ball one year after the PCL color barrier was broken. 

One day a cocky second baseman arrived and overheard someone mention that Wilson didn’t have a roommate. “Yeah, he’s got a roommate,” said 20-year-old Billy Martin. “I’m his roommate.” Wilson fondly recalled Martin was both a good player and a good person. In those days, of course, it was not exactly common for teammates of different races to share a room on the road. Although the fiery Martin matched with the even-tempered Wilson seems an odd couple, Wilson said they—sharing a passion for the game—got along great.
 

That year Wilson quickly became the Oaks most popular player while topping the league in both hitting (.348) and stolen bases (47). After the 1949 season, the Yankees bought the rights to second baseman Billy Martin. Yet it was another year, during which he helped Oakland win the 1950 pennant, before the shortstop who played next to Martin got an opportunity to move up. It was not the Yankees but New York’s Giants who signed Wilson, and in the spring of 1951 it appeared he was finally going to be playing on major league diamonds. In Florida, he shined in spring training, once collecting 5 of the Giants 11 hits in a game. In one of his typical at-bats reflective of the faster, more freewheeling style of the Negro Leagues, Wilson laid down a bunt and rocketed to first, stole second and then scored on a single. During a short barnstorming tour after spring training, Wilson had a team-high .480 batting average.

Well into his 80s, Negro League veteran, New York teammate and Hall of Famer Monte Irvin retained an encyclopedic memory of his baseball career. He compared Wilson to major leaguer Ichiro Suzuki and said, “You couldn’t get Artie out. As soon as his bat hit the ball it seemed like he was already halfway to first base.” Irvin added, “Artie was great in the clubhouse. He kept us loose and laughing, always had a joke to tell. That’s why Leo Durocher loved him so much.” Heading into the regular season, an April 3 New York Times headline touted the versatile Wilson as being slated for a regular berth. In fact, when asked about the highlight of spring training, Giants manager Durocher said, “This fellow Wilson. In my book he has been terrific and I don’t see how I’m going to keep him out of the line-up. A fellow who can field and hit the way he can is going to take somebody’s job, make no mistake about that.”
 

It never happened.

On the road toward full integration of the game, at the intersection of talent and opportunity, Wilson hit a roadblock. After the regular season started Wilson played only sparingly for the Giants, getting only 22 at bats in 19 games, sometimes as a pinch hitter, other times while playing second or even first base. He once commented, “The only time I got into a game was when somebody got hurt or kicked out.” One day Durocher, who Wilson admired in spite of “The Lip” routinely stealing his cologne while he was in the shower, asked him to play center field. According to a newspaper account, Wilson replied, “You’ve got the best center fielder in baseball down in Minneapolis. Why don’t you get him up here?” Indeed, a 20-year-old on the Giants’ farm club was torching AAA pitching at a .477 clip after 35 games. 

Willie Mays was called up. After initially batting a less than spectacular 1-for-26, he soon became, well, Willie Mays. And to make room on the roster for the Say Hey Kid, Wilson was sent down. Thus a dependable leadoff man who consistently hit well over .300, a speedster who ran like a cheetah on caffeine, a slick-fielding shortstop who had a strong arm and a soft glove, a player who was popular with fans and players alike, was gone.

After Bobby Thomson hit his famous Shot Heard ’Round the World in a playoff against Robinson’s Dodgers, that Giants team went on to the World Series in 1951. They lost to a Yankees squad that included Joe DiMaggio in the twilight of his career and a blond rookie on the ascent, Mickey Mantle.
 

As for Wilson, was it simply bad luck because the Giants younger shortstop and co-captain, Alvin Dark, was in his prime? A lack of home run power? Concern that the 31-year-old’s stellar skills might soon decline? Or another possibility that can neither be proved nor ruled out: an unwritten racial quota in play behind the scenes. This much is known: in 1951 only six of the 16 major league teams carried at least one African American player on their rosters. A few owners like Veeck aggressively pursued Negro Leaguers, whereas other teams were more interested in bringing a young black player along through the minor league ranks than signing an established veteran. And some simply and steadfastly maintained a certain uniformity of skin color. With Mays in uniform, the 1951 Giants were also about to field the first all-black outfield in major league baseball and had another African American, catcher Ray Noble, on the roster. A cynic might wonder if someone in upper management was a bit twitchy about the team becoming too dark too fast.

Instead of playing for Giants minor league clubs, Wilson—with Dotty’s blessing—eventually decided to return to Oakland where he earned more money than his major league salary and, even more importantly, could play every day. Major league cities only went as far west as St. Louis until 1959, and in the ‘50s the PCL was often called the third major league as its level of talent was nearly on a par with the major leagues. Upon his return to Oakland Wilson was greeted by a big floral display purchased by fans. His first game back, attendance was four times greater than a normal weeknight crowd. Like the previous two seasons, hordes of youngsters waited after the game to get his autograph, and the friendly shortstop always accommodated the fans.

Wilson hit over .300 each of his first four years after returning to the Pacific Coast League and earned three more batting titles. Obviously his skills had not eroded. But he never again got a look with a major league club. Wilson finished his career in the PCL in 1957 after playing for the Oaks, Seattle Rainiers and Portland Beavers. In an odd twist, the 1955 Beaver team included a couple of former Negro League stars, Luis Marquez and Artie Wilson. And 1955, by the way, was also the first year the Yankees fielded an African American player, Elston Howard. Two years earlier, Jackie Robinson had publicly questioned whether the Yankees had an unwritten pigmentation policy. In a follow-up magazine article, the front office strongly denied it. But their scout who had earlier passed on Willie Mays was quoted, “I got no use for him or any of them. I wouldn’t want any of them on a club I was with.” Policy or no, I’m guessing he wasn’t the only scout to harbor such views.

For over 50 years the Wilsons lived in Portland, Oregon, where they raised two children and Artie sold cars for many years after his professional career was over. Wilson never really left baseball, however, and when he still played in old-timers games in his 70s, the 5’ 11” former shortstop remained within a pound or two of his 163 pound playing weight. At age 85, the man who “loved to hit” threw out the first pitch when the Yankees played the Mariners in Seattle. When asked what would happen if he stepped into the batter’s box, his eyes lit up, he flashed a sly smile and said, “Well, I wouldn’t be leaving the bat on my shoulder, that’s for sure.”
 

Some 60 years after the fact, Wilson received official recognition for his Negro League stardom. The ESPN Baseball Encyclopedia named him both Rookie of the Year and Most Valuable Player in the Negro American League for 1944. In addition, historian John Holway’s Complete Book of Baseball’s Negro Leagues named Wilson and Marquez winners of the Fleet Walker Award (MVP) for their respective leagues in 1947. “There have been only two geniuses in the world,” actress and notorious free spirit Tallulah Bankhead once said, “Willie Mays and Willie Shakespeare.” A few years ago Mays told an audience, “Artie broke me in. I wish I could somehow pay him back.”
 

A few centuries ago that other Willie wrote, “Let us not burden our remembrance with a heaviness that’s gone.” By these words Artie Wilson lived, happy in the moment, unfettered by regret. Some have speculated that Josh Gibson’s fatal stroke at age 35 was due in part to heartache after being passed over by major league baseball in favor of Jackie Robinson. If in fact the man known as the black Babe Ruth was haunted by thoughts of what might have been, this definitely cannot be said of Wilson. The mild-mannered player who was never—not once—tossed from a ball game, was completely comfortable in his own skin, fully satisfied with the way things turned out for him both within and without baseball.
 

Still, one fact is inescapable: in slightly different circumstances he could have played for the Indians with Bob Feller and Satchel Paige. Or the Yankees with Mickey Mantle and Billy Martin. Or the Giants with Willie Mays and Monte Irvin. But Wilson was definitely not one to waste time on idle speculation, not inclined to curse the baseball gods (or owners, if they are different), not the sort of man to bemoan a tricky curveball of fate. Sure, early in his career he was forced to play in the shadows of segregated ball due to a nation’s shameful racism. And for four seasons post-Jackie Robinson, he didn’t get a shot at the major leagues. His typically tranquil reaction, per one newspaper account, “Why be angry about it? There’s a time for all things. It just wasn’t the time.”
 

Several years ago, following a lengthy discussion about his playing days, Wilson stood on the porch of his comfortable Portland home and gazed down the tree-lined street where he and Dotty lived for a half century. Finally, in a voice scarcely more than a whisper, he said, “Those were some good old days.” A pause. “I had a nice career. That’s good enough.”
Playing across the U.S. and Latin America against some of the all-time best players, both black and white. Batting and stolen base titles. Negro Leagues World Series. Multiple pennants. Pacific Coast League Hall of Fame. All-Star. Rookie of the Year and Most Valuable Player, albeit belatedly. Mentor to Willie Mays. Last of the .400 hitters.
 

For Artie Wilson, good enough was plenty good. The last of the .400 hitters died in October 2010 a few days after his 90th birthday.

A Little About the Author... Before he retired, Larry Blakely wrote sports for a number of publications including Chicago Sports Weekly. Dust and Dreams, his collection of short fiction, is out of print but he hopes to bring it back soon as an e-book.

129. Benny Kauff: Stealing bases and Automobiles

I've been working on three new cards and stories the past few weeks and much to my chagrin, each one became pretty complex (especially the one you're about to read). I try to update the site every week but due to the research and writing (I'm a hunt and peck kind of typist) it took much longer than I had wanted, but in the end I think it was time well spent. I hope you enjoy reading them as much as I enjoyed researching, drawing and writing them.

It was the week before Christmas, 1919 when James Brennan parked his new Cadillac outside his father's apartment building at 789 West End Avenue on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. As he spent an enjoyable winter evening with his Pop, three men were cruising the neighborhood looking for a Cadillac exactly like Brennan's. It was, as the stockier one of the three had proclaimed earlier that evening, a "good night for stealing autos."

The three men had walked all over the Upper West Side looking for a new Caddy. That stocky fellow, who was the leader of the group, already had an eager buyer waiting for a "discounted" Cadillac and if they could boost one tonight, it was easy money in their pocket. Sure enough, turning onto West End Avenue they spotted one that would do just fine. Two of the men went back and waited at the end of the block looking out for the cops while the stocky one jimmied the lock with a screwdriver and hot-wired the Caddy. Pulling away from the curb he paused just long enough to pick up his two accomplices before they sped off, headed south.

The three men were car thieves, something relatively new since the mass-produced automobile was less than a decade old. With fore-sight, Manhattan already had a dedicated police unit that dealt with auto theft. Because usually only the most influential and wealthy citizens of the city owned cars, the NYPD Automobile Squad was crewed by some of the department's best plain-clothes detectives. A Cadillac like Brennan's that they just boosted cost about $3500 off the lot - over $40,000 in 2012 dollars. Ths was a serious crime and the three thieves surely knew they had to act fast if they wanted to get away with this heist.

The men brought the car to a garage and auto parts store on Columbus Avenue between West 68th and 69th Street that the stocky man owned. They needed to hide all traces that would link the Caddy back to its original owner. First, one of the men removed the motor number plate located on the engine block and handed it off to the second man who took it over to the work bench and ground out the original numbers and added new ones. Now the stocky man and the other man jacked up the Cadillac and replaced its tires and rims with new ones. With the altered motor number plate bolted back on the men hopped back in the car and drove up to 137th and Lenox Avenue in Harlem to give the Caddy a new paint job. Once it had its new color it would be sufficiently unrecognizable except under close scrutiny. While the paint was drying the stocky man arranged for a phony bill of sale to be drawn up to show the car was purchased from a William Dorst and carefully dated a few months prior to the theft. With the fake paperwork in hand he telephoned the man who wanted the new Cadillac. They had been introduced to each other a few days earlier by a mutual friend, ruthless racketeer, bootlegger and murderer Dutch Schultz. When the phone call went through the stocky man told Ignatz Engel that for $1800 cash he had that Cadillac he wanted.

The transaction went smoothly and after he handed off the cash Engel drove away in the Cadillac and the stocky man went back to his two accomplices and divided up the loot.

A few months later it all fell apart. Detectives Martin Owens and Thomas Moran of the NYPD Automobile Squad showed up at the Hotel Monterey and knocked on the door of the stocky man. Earlier that month two hoods named James Whalan and Jim Shields had been pinched after stealing a $5000 automobile. Facing some seriously steep charges, it didn't take much for the two thieves to rollover and offer up some information on their boss, the stocky garage owner. The detectives busted Ignatz Engel and recovered the Cadillac. After giving the Caddy a thorough going over it was obvious to the veteran cops that the body had been repainted and the motor number plate altered. After putting the screws to Engel he gave up the guy who sold him the car, the stocky garage owner on Columbus Avenue, whose door they were now knocking on.

The man who opened the door was well known to the two detectives as well as to most of New York's sporting public - the stocky man they put in hand cuffs was the star center fielder of the New York Giants, Benny Kauff.

10 years before, Benny Kauff came bursting like a comet out of the miserable coal fields of eastern Ohio. Mining coal underground made his 5'-7" stocky frame strong but agile enough to be as fast as deer. In the minors he hit for power as well as average and besides playing the outfield with great skill he stole bases like he owned them. It was only a short time before the big leagues noticed him and in 1912 the New York Highlanders brought him up to take a look. The kid batted .273 in 5 games but he couldn't beat out the veterans already stationed in the Highlanders' outfield. He was sent back down to the high minors where he continued to make waves especially when he led the Eastern League the following season with a .345 average. This time the Cardinals bought his contract and made plans to send him to the Indianapolis Indians who they had a working agreement with. With their own outfield already set, St. Louis had no immediate use for Kauff but wanted to keep him tucked safely away in Indianapolis, just in case. Kauff, who by this time had developed quite a cock-sure attitude about himself, seethed. He felt - no, he knew he belonged in the major leagues. At 24 he was afraid of spending the best years of his career buried in the bushes, but as property of the Cardinals there wasn't anything he could do about it. Or was there?

1914 happened to be the debut year of the Federal League. Founded in 1913 as an unaffiliated minor league, the Federal League emerged the next season aiming to be a third major league. The 8 team league strategically placed their clubs all around the eastern half of the country, selecting major league cities like Chicago, Brooklyn, St. Louis and Pittsburgh as well as the big minor league markets of Baltimore, Indianapolis, Kansas City and Buffalo. The Federals then commenced a raiding spree on the major leagues. Aging and underpaid stars like Three-Finger Brown, Germany Schaefer and Eddie Plank joined up eagerly signing contracts paying them much more than what their major league teams did. Besides these disgruntled big leaguers the Federal League offered a way out for ballplayers like Benny Kauff who felt trapped down in the minors. Major League Baseball called the Federal League an "outlaw league" and considered any ballplayer who jumped their contract to join them ineligible to play in organized ball again without being officially reinstated.

The brash outfielder signed with the Indianapolis Hoosiers for $4000, a nice jump from his bare-bones minor league contract. Right from the start Kauff made headlines. By June he was knocking the cover off the ball and stealing bases left and right. Every week the newspapers seemed to be talking about another great catch he made in the outfield. Instead of veterans like Brown, Schaefer or Plank being the stars of the Federal League, it was Benny Kauff who was the undeniable superstar. The sportswriters took to calling him "the Ty Cobb of the Federal League."

Benny Kauff lived his life as one would expect the a star to live - he bought racks of expensive suits and covered his stocky figure in diamonds and gold jewelry. When out on the town he astonished lesser men with his ability to chew tobacco, smoke a cigar and down mugs of beer - all at the same time. Besides his brilliant all-around play on the field he led the league in trash-talking. It was reported that Kauff would get on base and announce when he was going to steal a base. And then he would proceed to do so, safely. He was tossed out of games for arguing with the umpires. Brash and a complete show-off, Kauff was a surprisingly good teammate and a soft touch when it came to picking up the tab.

Kauff and teammates Bill McKechnie, Al Scheer, Edd Roush and Frank LaPorte added the spark the Hoosiers needed to win the first Federal League championship after an exciting pennant race that went right down to the wire. When the dust settled the record book showed Kauff led the league in batting average (.370), runs scored (120), hits (211), doubles (44), on base percentage (.447) and stolen bases (75). Benny Kauff was the face of the new Federal League.

But to Kauff, the Federal League was still the Federal League. He yearned to bring his talent to the other major leagues, specifically to the mighty New York Giants. In the off season Kauff had started talking with Giants manager John McGraw. By spring, 1915 McGraw had convinced Kauff to jump over to the Giants. Kauff didn't believe he was breaking any contract with the Federals - his Indianapolis team folded and what was left was hastily relocated to Newark, New Jersey and renamed the Peppers. Indianapolis sold Kauff's contract to the leagues' Brooklyn team but since Kauff had specifically signed to play in Indianapolis he argued that his contract was null and void. After a typically boastful press conference Kauff tried to take his place in center field that afternoon against the Braves but Boston would have none of that. The team's owner who just happened to be at the game that afternoon, protested to the umpires that Kauff was not eligible to play because he had been a member of an outlaw league. After much back and forth Kauff was removed from the field and he slinked across the East River to join the Brooklyn Tip Tops.

Not one to disappoint, Kauff picked up where he left off the previous season and was again the star of the league. By the time 1915 ended he led the Federal Leagues in batting average (.342), on base percentage (.446), slugging (.509) and of course stolen bases (55). More important to Kauff, the Federal League called it quits at the conclusion of the 1915 season and he was free to sign with the Giants for the 1916.

With the Giants Kauff was a good ballplayer, but all his headlines and his own bragging worked against him. No one, not even Benny Kauff, could possibly live up to all the hype he'd generated. His first season in New York he batted a mediocre .264 but he got on base at crucial times and McGraw made him the Giants' regular center fielder. In 1917 he improved to .308 and in the world series that year hit 2 homers in one game. Kauff wasn't setting the National League on fire but he was an integral part of the Giants juggernaut and his larger than life persona made him an instant favorite amongst New Yorkers.

So by 1919 Benny Kauff was the toast of the city. In New York City he found that even his name garnered additional attention: "Benny Kauff" was assumed by many to be a typically Jewish name. In fact Kauff wasn't a Jew, but a large chunk of the Giants' fan base were Jewish immigrants from Eastern Europe and their belief that he was one of their own made him all the more popular. He circulated in the highest circles of the sporting world - and that meant gangsters and gamblers. That many of the prominent gamblers in the city who he palled around with were Jews probably intimated to many that Kauff indeed was Jewish as well.

It was from running around with this crowd that Kauff made the acquaintance of the city's most ruthless gangster, Dutch Schultz, and the East Coast's premier sportsman, Arnold Rothstein. Prior to the revelation that the Chicago White Sox had fixed the 1919 series it was common for ballplayers to be in the company of known gamblers and fixers, often called "sportsmen" or "sports." Being in New York, the Giants always seemed to be dogged by allegations of crooked play and it was no surprise to insiders when it came to light that two Giants players, Heinie Zimmerman and Hal Chase tried to fix a few games at the tail end of the 1919 season. When they tried to rope Kauff into the scheme he went and reported the whole thing to McGraw. By the end of the year both Zimmerman and Chase were released by the Giants and on the surface, Kauff seemed to come off as an upstanding and honest ballplayer.

That winter Kauff went back to his off-season profession - auto parts dealer. The year before Kauff and his half brother Frank teamed up with Giants pitcher Jess Barnes and bought an auto accessory store on Columbus Avenue in Midtown Manhattan. Unfortunately Kauff was a better ballplayer than he was businessman and by the fall of 1919 the store was hemorrhaging money so bad that he and Barnes borrowed money from the Giants to stay afloat. With the store going down the drain and now in debt to the Giants for future earnings coupled with his taste for the high-life, Kauff was in serious financial trouble.

When Kauff was indicted for petty larceny in February 1920 he pleaded not guilty and claimed to have not known the Cadillac was stolen when he sold it to Ignatz Engel. Kauff came up with the story that he did indeed want to buy the Cadillac and while he went out of town on a trip he left money with store employee James Shields to buy it if the owner wanted to part with it for a reasonable price. When he returned the Caddy was sitting in his garage waiting for him. Shields and Whalan both turned on their boss and for a plea bargain signed statements naming Kauff as the mastermind behind the theft.

Kauff was released on bail and he went to spring training with the Giants. He continued to play good ball and when the Giants opened the 1920 season Benny Kauff was in center field. Behind the scenes ugly rumors started swirling around and threatened to turn into a hurricane. That the 1919 series wasn't played on the level started to make the papers and people started asking why veterans Hal Chase and Heinie Zimmerman suddenly retired from the game. Kauff's legal troubles lumped him into the same dirty pool and by July McGraw sold his star center fielder to the minor league Toronto Maple Leafs. It's probable that McGraw did so to get the heat off of the Giants because by the end of the season, in which Kauff hit .343 for Toronto, he told reporters that he expected him to be back with the Giants in 1921.

John McGraw was wrong. Baseball had named former Judge Kennisaw Mountain Landis to be the commissioner of baseball in the aftermath of the Black Sox scandal. Landis was determined to rid the game of undesirable elements and in his zeal to do so sometimes got a bit too overenthusiastic. Before the 1921 season Landis met with Kauff and decided that he was suspended until his auto theft case was sorted out.

The trial took place the second week in May. The first 2 days found Shields and Whalan testifying against Kauff and fingering him in open court as the ring leader. They described in detail how he set up the job and recruited his two employees, how Kauff personally broke into and hot-wired the Cadillac and how the three men met in a restaurant on a specific night to split the $1800 three ways upon Kauff and Engel completing the sale. Witnesses stated that Kauff attempted to refund the $1800 purchase price after everyone was pinched. One one hand it could appear that Kauff was a stand-up guy who wanted to do the right thing, while on the other it could look like he was trying to hush the whole thing up. It seemed like almost every witness for the prosecution was one low-level scumbag after another - even Detectives Owen and Moran, the two Automoblile Squad cops who busted up the theft were now under indictment themselves in another unrelated case for accepting bribes.

Things didn't look too good for Kauff when the lovely Mrs. Kauff took the stand on the third day with a surprise revelation: on the evening Shields and Whalan claimed to have met in the restaurant to split the dough, Kauff was with her having dinner with a friend. During dinner she testified that her husband left the table to sell the Cadillac and returned a half hour later. After dinner Kauff and his wife returned to their apartment at the Hotel Monterey where Kauff handed her the full $1800. It took the jury an hour to find her husband not guilty.

Believing he was now clear to join the Giants, who had re-acquired his contract from Toronto, Kauff applied to Landis for reinstatement. The commissioner took his time to rule on the request and then decided against reinstating him. Landis proclaimed that the Giants center fielder's "mere presence in the line up would inevitably burden patrons of the game with grave apprehension as to its integrity." Furthermore the commissioner felt that the trial "disclosed a state of affairs that more than seriously compromises your character and reputation."

In short, Benny Kauff was banned from organized baseball. Newspapers and fans alike speculated how he could be denied reinstatement when he was found innocent by a court of law. The real reason was a bit deeper than the alleged auto theft.

Remember Hal Chase and Heinie Zimmerman? When Landis started to look into the game fixing accusations revealed by Kauff at the end the 1919 season, Zimmerman turned around and implicated Kauff as well as a few other Giants in fixing games. He also threw out a few tidbits regarding Kauff and stolen cars. When the whole filthy Black Sox scandal was being sorted out Benny Kauff's name got brought up as well. None other than old pal Arnold Rothstein supposedly claimed Kauff had requested $50,000 from the gambler to bribe White Sox players. It was all hearsay but together with the auto theft charge it was more than enough for the commissioner to shut the door on Kauff's baseball career.

Incredulous, Kauff hired a lawyer to get Major League Baseball to allow him to play again. The case went to the New York Supreme Court but it ruled that it had no grounds to intervene but one judge commented that in his opinion Kauff suffered an apparent injustice.

After suing the New York Giants for the balance of his 1921 contract the disgraced former ballplayer returned with his wife to Ohio. To add insult to injury Kauff was used by auto magnate and rabid anti-Semite Henry Ford when he wrote his paranoid pamphlet "The International Jew." Twisting a quote by sportswriter Hugh Fullerton out of proportion and perpetuating the belief Kauff was a Jew, the former outfielder and his pal Arnold Rothstein are held up by Ford as prime examples of a "sport spoiler," meaning they and all Jews are detrimental to the game of baseball and sports in general. (When I read in Craig Burley's great article in The Hardball Times about Kauff's inclusion in Ford's publication, I had to verify it for myself. Dredging up a copy of "The International Jew" which I had come across referenced many times but never looked into personally, I was truly sickened when I read through the part on Jews and sports. I can only assume the rest of that vial pamphlet was just as evil. It's shocking what a sick and twisted man Henry Ford was.)

In 1930 Kauff made the papers again when he was banned from a race track in Columbus, Ohio for "practices detrimental to horse racing" which probably meant either some kind of gambling or a race fixing accusation. The next year he topped that by being banished from the entire city of Columbus, Ohio for violating prohibition laws. He then became a scout for the New York Giants, a job he held for over 22 years. At the time of his death in 1961 he'd switched careers, and putting his past experience of being a fashion plate in his youth, Kauff was employed by the John Lyman Company in Columbus as a clothing salesman.

SELECTED SOURCES

• Burley, Craig, Free Benny Kauff (The Hardball Times www.hardballtimes.com April 12, 2004)
• Coshocton Tribune (November 20, 1961)
• Jones, David, Benny Kauff in Deadball Stars of the National League (SABR, 2004)
• Reno Evening Gazette (May 5, 1915)
• Galveston Daily News (May 11, 1921)
• New York Evening Telegram (May 11, 1921)
• The Washington Post (May 11, 1921)
• Bridgeport Telegram (May 11, 1921)
• The Washington Post (May 11, 1921)
• Rome Daily Sentinal (May 11, 1921)
• Boston Globe (May 9, 1921)
• The Washington Post (May 11, 1921)
• Wiggins, Robert Peyton, The Federal League of Base Ball Clubs (McFarland and Company, 2009)

95. Buck Lai: The Celestial Speed Demon

If you've been reading my stories for a while, you'd already know that before the 1950's, the best ballplayers weren't all in the major leagues. The Negro Leagues had their stars as did the Cuban and Puerto Rican leagues. Here in the States we had a thriving semi-pro circuit and that is where guys like Buck Lai plied their trade on Saturday and Sunday afternoons throughout the 1920's...

Three times Buck Lai came perilously close to becoming the first Asian-American to play Major League ball. The first time was 1915 when the Chicago White Sox invited Lai, then known as Lai Tin, to join the team for spring training. Sox manager Nixey Callahan had seen Lai play ball when he toured with the Chinese Travelers. The team was made up of Hawaiians and each summer toured extensively throughout the States. The son of Chinese immigrants and a native of Hawaii, Lai was a star athlete back in Honolulu not only in baseball but he held the high school record for the 100 yard dash and running broad jump. Though newspapers reported his expected presence at Chicago’s camp that spring, Callahan was sacked as manager and apparently so was Lai’s direct link to the the Sox.

By 1916 Buck had married a Brooklyn girl named Isabel and was living in Audubon, N.J. While working as an inspector for the Pennsylvania Railroad he played semi-pro ball against top-notch Negro League teams and other touring ball clubs, continuing to make a name for himself in the press becoming known by the nickname "Speed Demon". Two years later the Philadelphia Phillies came knocking and after a tryout was signed to their farm club in Bridgeport, Connecticut. His first year there he batted a respectable .293 and along with Chinese-American teammate Andy Yim, was a favorite of the Bridgeport Americans’ fans. According to newspaper accounts the two “Celestials” sometimes serenaded the crowd, Buck belting out the hits accompanied by Yim on ukulele.

The next year he suffered an injury to his hand which dogged him for the rest of his life and effectively ended his hopes of making the big leagues. Lai played a total of 4 seasons with Bridgeport and batted around .260, about average for the league.

Still keeping his day job, Buck joined the Brooklyn Bushwicks, a major league-quality semi-pro team and was their starting third baseman for more than 10 years. The Bushwicks played 4 games a week and often out-drew the Dodgers in attendance. Besides Buck the Bushwicks boasted quite a few former and future major league players and they played against the best teams in outsider baseball.

Baseball researcher Scott Simkus reviewed 248 Bushwick box scores for games played against top-tier Negro League competition and found Buck hit an astonishing .297! He then compared that record with another contemporary third baseman, Negro Leaguer and Hall of Famer Judy Johnson who hit .295 against the same teams as Buck. Since the Bushwicks were very well-known around the New York area, it was just a matter of time before John McGraw of the New York Giants came calling.

In the spring of 1928, 33 year-old Buck Lai travelled to Augusta, Georgia to join the Giants. Though Buck played third his whole career, New York already had the best third-sacker in the league, Freddie Lindstrom. Buck was offered the chance to win the job at second base but failed to make the cut. Newspaper accounts reported that while Buck was not the best fielder, he more than compensated with his base running, batting and all-around smart sense of the game. Despite all this the Giants thought he was too small to last a season in the majors. Reluctantly Buck agreed to join the Giants top farm club. Lai played 4 games for the Jersey City Skeeters before calling it quits and rejoining the Bushwicks.

In the mid-1930’s Buck formed his own travelling team called the All-Hawaiian Nine featuring the best players of Chinese, Japanese and Hawaiian decent. As the they toured the U.S. showcasing the skills of Asian-Americans, a few of his players were offered tryouts by pro ball clubs. Taking after his Pop, Buck’s teenage son, Lai Jr., joined the All-Hawaiians as well. By 1939 Buck had retired from playing ball and resettled back in Audubon, N.J. While working at a ship building company, Buck stayed active in the game by managing a few semi-pro teams in the Camden area and scouting for the Dodgers. With a lifetime of brilliant outsider baseball behind him, Buck Lai passed away in March, 1978 at the age of 83.