152. Jimmy Horio: The Japanese Ty Cobb

While learning about the Negro Leagues years ago, I became interested in the various teams they competed against when not playing against other black teams. Back before the Second World War there was a whole parallel universe of baseball operating just out of bounds of the recognized leagues affiliated with major league baseball. Researchers Scott Simkus and Gary Ashwill seem to have coined the perfect phrase for these teams and the games they played: "Outsider Baseball". From flickering microfilm and disintegrating yellowing newspapers I learned about the bearded House Of David religious colony from Michigan which sent out as many as 3 different traveling teams a season to play all over the country. I heard about the Nebraska Indians, made up of, you guessed it, Native Americans. I read about barnstorming teams made up of major league stars angling to make a buck. All-Girl teams. Teams of washed up players sponsored by a shoe company. Prison teams. The F.B.I. had a team which J. Edgar Hoover never failed to come out and support. And I also came across the Japanese All-Stars which toured North America in 1935.

Among the Japanese players was a lone American, Jimmy Horio. I was fascinated by what little I could find out about him and when I started this site Horio was among the first players I featured. It was a much too short overview of a career which spanned two continents and 2 decades and heavily influenced the way the game was played in Japan. Over the years I have received many emails asking about him and the original story is consistently one of the most-read pages on my site. Information about Jimmy is hard to find in English, but over the years I have been digging up every article I could find about the 1935 Tokyo Giants and their players. Rob Fitt's beautifully written book "Banzai Babe Ruth", about the 1934 Tour of Japan, features Horio as a minor character and offers some good insight into his time with the Dai Nippon team. I also managed to have some key articles translated from the Japanese by a colleague of my fiancé which helped me gain much insight on how Horio was treated in the Japanese Baseball League. Now I believe I can say this is the most comprehensive article about one of the most interesting and little-known players in "Outsider Baseball" history.


At the same time immigrants from Europe began flooding into the Eastern United States, on the other side of the world there began a similar exodus as thousands of Japanese emigrated to Hawaii and California. At the turn of the 19th century, the Horio family from Hiroshima were one of the many hopefuls to sign a contract to become indentured servants to one of the vast Hawaiian sugar plantations in exchange for free steamship tickets and the chance at a better future.

If at first it seemed too good to be true, the Horio's found out they were right. Passage to Hawaii was spent in the rancid steerage section of the ship packed in with hundreds of other immigrants. When the horrific crossing was over the new immigrants found that life on a Hawaiian plantation was anything but easy. Guards armed with whips made sure the back-breaking field work was done swiftly while the whole Horio family and others like them labored from dawn to dusk under the brutal tropical sun. The Horio's eventually had 8 children of which Jimmy was the seventh and the fifth one born in Hawaii. By the time he was six the family decided to head back to Japan.

Upon returning to Hiroshima, Jimmy Horio entered school and played baseball. However, times were still tough in Japan so Mr. Horio packed up the whole family again and sailed back to Maui in 1919. Continuing his ball playing, Jimmy grew up to be quite tall for the time, 5'-11" and this helped propel him to become a star athlete in his high school, playing basketball and track in addition to baseball. Outside of school Horio made local headlines with his advanced play in the semi-pro Maui plantation league. 

Once again Horio's father decided to head back to Hiroshima, but this time Jimmy stayed behind. He was an American and he never was able to speak Japanese without a halting, heavy accent. He dropped out of high school and dedicated himself to fulfilling his dream - becoming the first Japanese-American to play in the major leagues. Since Hawaii didn't have anything more advanced than sandlot and factory league teams, and the chance of being spotted by a major league scout was slim-to-none, Jimmy decided to try his luck in Southern California.

Los Angeles had a thriving Japanese community and like every other ethnic enclave in the country, the Japanese had their own baseball teams. Horio got a job as a truck driver and played a season with a lower-tier team sponsored by the Grand Central Market. When the Grand Centrals met the L.A. Nippons, California's best Japanese team, for the 1930 Southern California Japanese League title, the Nippons invited Horio to join them. One of his new teammates was Yoshio Takahashi, a fellow Hawaiian and in a few years the two would be among the pioneers of the pre-war Japanese Baseball League. The Nippons visited Japan in 1931, a tour that helped spread the popularity of the game in that country. Since Jimmy was bigger than a typical Japanese male at the time, he particularly impressed local fans with his hitting and outfield play. He had become a switch hitter by now, also a rarity in Japan as almost every player hit right-handed. Since he spoke Japanese, something many of the second-generation players on the L.A. Nippons did not, Horio cultivated friendships with many of the opposing players, a connection he would put to use later on in his career.

When the Nippons returned to Los Angeles and no professional scout came to offer a contract, Horio went looking for them. In the spring of 1934 he earned himself a place on the Sioux Falls Canaries of the Nebraska State League. The Canaries were an unaffiliated Class D club and none of his teammates would make it to the bigs, but at least he had his foot in the door.  His spirited play earned him the nickname "The Yellow Peril" and though his average was only a meager .250, he ran the base paths with abandon and his play in the outfield was stellar. In August a news wire service picked up on Horio and ran a syndicated story under the headline "Nippon Slugger Really Hits' Em" along with his picture. Another story lauded him as one of the attractions of the league and claimed that he "takes to professional baseball like a hobo to a hand out." Kind of a clumsy analogy but at least the establishment was taking notice of the Hawaiian. A Cardinals scout came to Sioux Falls to take a better look at Horio, but by the end of the 1934 season nothing ever came of it and he returned to Los Angeles.

Although he told reporters in Nebraska he was 21, Jimmy was now 27, married, and facing a rapidly closing window of opportunity to get to the majors. It was while contemplating his future in the fall of 1934 that he read about the major league tour of Japan that winter and the Japanese national team that was being formed to oppose them. With stars like Babe Ruth, Lou Gehrig and Jimmie Foxx, there was bound to be lots of opportunity to show what he could do - if only he could get a place on the Japanese team. Horio reasoned that the Japanese would surely value his American expertise and they'd have to let him join the team - they just didn't know that yet. Like his Father before him, Jimmy packed up his wife, boarded a ship and sailed off into an unknown future.

When Horio reached Japan he wrote to the new Japanese team's manager, Daisuke Miyake, and got himself a tryout. Showing the fast, aggressive way of play he learned as an American he easily earned himself a place on the Dai Nippon (meaning "All-Japan") club. He was disappointed to learn there was no salary paid to any of the ballplayers but he must have figured the chance to showcase his talents against the best big league players in the world was worth the risk. Miyake also told Horio that after the exhibition games against the Americans there would be a new professional Japanese league and when it began the Yomiuri Shinbum newspaper, who was sponsoring the Dai Nippon team, would pay him retroactively.

Before the Americans arrived Horio helped train the Japanese players. The press, both American and Japanese, had covered the lead-up to the tour with considerable enthusiasm and Horio knew that the opportunity to play against a team like the American All-Stars was a once in a lifetime chance. At first he performed well. His daring base running made him stand out from the other Japanese players and he fielded impressively as well. However as the tour wore on Horio was hampered by sickness and became more and more ineffective. His fielding suffered and his hitting, which was never his strong suit, fell off drastically. After 15 games he batted a disappointing .195. His one highlight was a dramatic 3-run homer hit off Washington Senators ace Earl Whitehill. Horio told a Japanese newspaper that while he was disappointed with his performance, a few of the big leaguers were kind to him and offered constructive advice to improve. But when the Americans sailed away in the beginning of December, the elusive contract he was hoping for from a big league team failed to materialize. Still without a paying job, Horio signed on with the Dai Nippon team for their tour of North America which was departing in February. At least he would get free passage back to America.

The team was called "The Dai Nippon Tokyo Yakyu Kurabu" (Great Japan Tokyo Baseball Club), but by the time they played their first game in America they'd been renamed the "Tokyo Giants" by Lefty O'Doul, who helped arrange the team's schedule. 

The Giants' toured extensively, playing all-levels of ball clubs from small town factory teams to AAA level minor league teams. Gauging their success and talent is not an easy thing to do as they did extremely well against amateur teams and decent against minor league opposition, however the games against minor league teams were during spring training and many of the teams did not field their best players. None-the-less, the tour was very successful and huge crowds packed the ballpark when the Japanese came to town. American audiences were fascinated by their cultural differences such as tipping their caps and bowing deeply to the umpire when coming to bat or being thrown out steeling. Particularly noted during the tour was Jimmy Horio's excellent fielding and newspaper accounts are filled with mentions of the Japanese-American's exploits in the center field. He was also promoted as their power hitter and in the Giants' batting lineup he was often featured in the cleanup slot. His fluency in Japanese and English made it much easier for the tour to navigate it's way through the back roads of North America. It is reported that the Tokyo Giants' record for the 1935 tour stood at 74 wins and 34 losses. More importantly to Jimmy Horio was that the acclaim he received on the tour led to that elusive professional contract.

After the Japanese players went home in July, Horio happily stayed in the United States as he'd signed a contract with the Sacramento Senators of the Pacific Coast League. The opportunity to play in the PCL might have been initiated by a helpful recommendation from "Lefty" O'Doul who was now playing-manager of the San Francisco Seals. Again, news wire services picked up Horio's story and made him a minor news item across the country as he began playing in the highest rung of minor league baseball. The Senators had a working agreement with the Brooklyn Dodgers and more than half of his teammates would go on to play in the majors. With Brooklyn's lousy record leaving them perpetually mired in the second-division along with bleak prospects, it was not far-fetched to assume Jimmy Horio might actually become the first Asian-American in the major leagues. He got into 10 games and was batting .260 when tragedy struck.

Horio's wife Yoshiko had been in a car accident earlier that spring from which she seemingly recovered. However in late July while Jimmy was playing for Sacramento she was rushed to a Los Angeles hospital. With Jimmy at her side she passed away on August 2nd. Two weeks later Horio returned to the Senators, but understandably distracted, he wasn't very effective.

Throughout the Pacific Coast League local Japanese fans turned out to stage "Jimmy Horio Days" when Sacramento came to town. On August 25th San Francisco held their tribute to the only Japanese-American in professional ball. Japanese Boy Scouts marched on the field and women who dressed in traditional kimonos were admitted free. When Sacramento traveled to Los Angeles to play the Angels on September 1st, the local Japanese community delegation presented Horio with a bouquet of flowers when he came to bat in the first inning. With 9 out of 10 fans in the stands of Japanese decent that day, Jimmy reciprocated by smashing a single and scoring two runs as the Senators beat the Angels.

The "Jimmy Horio Day" in L.A. was the high watermark of his season. In the 10 games he played in after returning from his wife's death in he went 5 for 21 and his average stood at the .250 mark when the season ended.

Now a 30 year-old widower with a mediocre season of minor league ball behind him, Horio was at a cross-road. He was seething about not being paid his retro-active money by the Yomiuri Shimbun when a Japanese League failed to emerge in 1935 and he desperately cast around for a new team to play for. Finally, the Seattle Indians invited him to their spring training camp in Santa Monica. Among the exhibition games Seattle had lined up was one against the 1936 edition of the Tokyo Giants. The Yomiuri Shimbun newspaper decided to once again send a team to North America, but this time it wasn't a mere exhibition tour - this was spring training for the inaugural Nippon Professional Baseball League season.

Still sore about his money, Horio begged Seattle manager Dutch Reuther to play him against his former team. Boiling over with anger, the Giants former center fielder hit a two-run single that led the way to a 9-0 route of the Japanese. Despite his timely hitting against his old team the Indians declined to give him a contract when they broke camp and started the season.

Apparently Jimmy patched things up with the Giants, because a month after the game in Santa Monica, Horio was back with the team and was given much ink in a feature article in the Spokane Daily Chronicle. After the Giants' spring training Jimmy returned to Japan and officially joined the Nippon Professional Baseball League. Although the Giants declined to sign him, Horio joined the Hankyu Ball Club which was managed by Daisuke Miyake, the man who led the Dia Nippon and Tokyo Giants. Again, although his averages were low, .233 for the first half of the split season and .217 for the second, his influence on the game in Japan well out-weighed his offensive output. The press dubbed him "The Ty Cobb of Japan." 

Though recognized at the time as being a great influence in how the Japanese played the game, like most innovators, he was far from popular. Due to his rudimentary Japanese, Horio had trouble fitting in with his teammates who almost to a man had attended the best universities in Japan. Horio had dropped out of high school and had lived a far from ideal life as had most of his teammates. On the field he was stoic and unemotional. His face was described as fearless with a perpetually stubbly chin.  Horio's great height, combined with strength said to be superhuman, made him the most imposing player in the islands. Unlike the other players in the league, Horio swung-away like American sluggers, highly unorthodox and offensive to the "hit and run" John McGraw-like way the Japanese played the game. While his average may not have showed it, Horio was famous (or infamous) for the furious speed of his line-drives which no other player on the island could match. While most players owned only a single bat, Horio travelled with several dozen which the conservative Japanese must have viewed as frivolous. 

Horio steadily increased his batting average, batting over or close to .300 for the 1937-41 seasons. He further made himself unpopular among Japanese fans when he switched from Hankyu to the Hanshin Tigers, Hankyu's hated rival. He starred for the Tigers until 1941 when he and Tadashi Kameda, another American player in Japan, left the island due to the deteriorating political situation between the two countries.

Jimmy continued to play semi-pro ball in Hawaii during the war, playing until he was 39 years-old. Back in Hiroshima his father passed away in 1943 and he lost a brother when the United States dropped an atomic bomb on the city in August of 1945. Jimmy Horio died from bone cancer in 1949 and although he never reached his goal of becoming the first Japanese-American in the majors, his influence on the game in Japan is still felt, forever known as "The Ty Cobb of Japan".

Memorial Day

By the morning of March 4th, 1945, the boys of G Company, 2nd Battalion, 11th Infantry Regiment, 5th Infantry Division had become hardened veterans. Most had just arrived in Europe barely 3 months before and now those same freshly minted young soldiers had checked the Germans at the Battle of the Bulge, chased their asses back across the Rhine and were now slugging their way into the Third Reich itself. The war was close to being over with, the Allies gaining more momentum everyday and the enemy knew it. If the Germans were only fighting the western powers they most likely would have caved in already. However, on the other side of Germany the Soviets were smashing towards Berlin and every day they held out meant more Germans could make their way west to be captured or at least get to an area occupied by the western Allies. No one wanted to be around when the Russians came so the war ground on.

The boys of G Company probably didn’t care much about the reason why the Germans still fought them tooth and nail. Each man had had his life interrupted and shipped half way around the globe to stop an evil that was threatening to swallow the whole world. The boys of G Company had left pretty young wives, anxious mothers, college classrooms or good jobs and took up a Garand Rifle to do their part. Complaining about what they were missing out on was pointless - the fella next to you had the same story. Maybe even better than yours. Nah, complaining wouldn’t do any good. Best thing was to keep marching forward and get this over with. As they wearily crossed the makeshift bridge built over the Kyll River they just cared about the fight they had ahead of them that afternoon and the one after that and the one after that until these Krauts threw in the towel.

If any of the boys in G Company were still sleepy, chances are the mortar fire that greeted them as the crossed the bridge woke them up. The enemy they’d been chasing since Luxembourg had dug in around the town of Erdorf. As the German lines collapsed and contracted the enemy became more dense, more desperate. Besides regular infantry, G Company was marching right into redeployed artillery and Panzer units. As they pushed forward the resistance became stiffer and more determined. Each gain was met with vicious counter-attacks and artillery barrages.

G Company was deployed to sweep the fields around the village of Erdorf. This was pleasant farm land of rolling little green hills and blooming trees. To the boys of G Company, the area they were clearing of enemy troops looked a lot like familiar places in the northeast and Midwest United States. Perhaps more than a few were suddenly lost in thoughts of an afternoon spent in surroundings much like this. The boys of G Company thought back to little places they left behind called Sussex County, Washington Courthouse, Mechanicsburg or Crescent Springs.

To the officers of G Company, this place was just called Hill 378.

The company spread out and took a low hill like they had countless other times in the last three months. All very textbook. Regrouping and moving forward, they entered a wooded area where entrenched German troops and the Panzer tanks were waiting. This obstacle, too, was eventually beaten aside by G Company and just like every other hill and wood and field G Company had cleared in the past three months, they left behind some of their own. As the troops emerged on the other side of the wood and continued eastward into Germany, one of the 32 boys they left behind that afternoon was 22 year-old Private First Class Bill Niemeyer of Crescent Springs, Kentucky. The life he had put on hold in order to beat back the evil that darkened the world consisted of his young wife Marie, infant daughters Deanna Gail and Mary Johanna and a promising pitching career in the Chicago Cubs organization.

Even though Bill Niemeyer never made it up to the Cubs, I wanted to depict Bill in a Chicago uniform. Was he good enough to have eventually made it to Wrigley Field? I don’t know. We will never know. The same as we will never know what any of the other boys in G Company who died that afternoon in Germany would have accomplished in their lives. The one thing I do know is that is their sacrifices, all veteran’s sacrifices, made it possible for me to have a good life in the greatest country in the world. As I sit here writing this, I can see and hear my neighbors enjoying this beautiful Memorial Day weekend. The shouts of the boys next door, the couple across the street putting a pair of mountain bikes in their SUV and the girl on the corner attempting to train her new puppy on her green front lawn. In a few hours I will be going over to see my fiancé who I love very much, and share a nice, lazy summer evening. All that I see and hear right at this very moment was possible because of men and women like Bill Niemeyer, a 22 year-old promising ballplayer who once lived right down the street from where I sit right now, the place he left to go off to war and never saw again.

Many thanks to Gary Bedingfield who is the foremost authority on baseball and World war II. While looking around for a ballplayer to feature this Memorial Day I of course consulted his amazing website www.baseballinwartime.com. Consulting a page he constructed showing the many professional ballplayers who died fighting for our country, Bill Niemeyer jumped off the screen. He was born and raised right where I was sitting. I might even pass his relatives at the market or live next door. The fact that he came from this place made his sacrife a bit more personal for me, especially as I sat there with a nice fresh cup of coffee by an open window enjoying the beautiful Kentucky scenery he never saw again. The place of his death was even more interesting as that part of Germany looks very similar to what he had grown up in. I’m glad I found Bill’s name on that website and I encourage every other baseball fan to take a look at Gary Bedingfield’s monumental work. His site features in-depth articles about hundreds (actually it might even be thousands of entries by now!) of players who found themselves in the service during the war. Gary is also an author of two indispensable books on the subject, "Baseball's Dead of World War II: A Roster Of Professional Players Who Died" and one of my personal favorites, "Baseball In World War II Europe (part of the Images of Sports series)."
 

151. Al Schacht: Fun & Games

When I first started this blog a little over 3 years ago, I started receiving many requests for players to be profiled on here and given The Infinite Baseball Card Set "treatment." Out of all the emails I began to notice that it was not one particular player that was asked for the most, but rather a whole ethnic group: Jewish ballplayers. I did cards and stories on here of Sandy Koufax and Moe Berg, but I began slowly researching different players of the Jewish faith, trying to find characters who would fit in with the kind of stories I like to write - guys with interesting stories who may not be known to the casual fan of baseball history. Al Schacht was one of those guys, and in fact he appears on page 7 of the Premier Issue of "21: The Illustrated Journal of Outsider Baseball." While many baseball fans may know of him from the comedy routines he did with Nick Altrock, Al Schacht was actually a real pro ballplayer and had a nice career before he started his second career as a comedian. His story of doing everything possible to attain his goal of playing in the major leagues was both funny and inspiring to me, as I hope it is to you...

Al Schacht was a product of the teaming slums of the Lower East Side. The son of Russian immigrants, Al defied his parents wishes by embracing the American pastime of baseball. His mother, daughter of the village Rabbi back in Russia, was especially against the game, fearing he’ll turn out to be a bum or a loafer if he continued. Despite the warning, Schacht poured his heart and soul into the game. After the family moved to the more rural Bronx, Schacht would walk all the way to the Polo Grounds in Harlem to see his beloved New York Giants play. He went beyond being a  casual fan however and soon made himself useful to the team by running errands for the players. Christy Mathewson especially became a favorite of Schacht and the two struck up a friendship of sorts. Mathewson even taught the young kid how to throw his famed “fadeaway” pitch.

Because of being 5’-11” and only 125 pounds, Schacht was overlooked for his high school team so he put his talents to use on the sandlot and with semi-pro teams. Although he eventually made his high school team, he was later found illegible because of his having played semi-pro ball for pay. So Schacht dropped out of school all together and pursued a career in professional baseball. 

Catching on with a team in Walton, N.Y. he promptly won 16 consecutive games. Before one game he learned that a scout from the Cincinnati Reds was in the stands to watch him. Fearing his diminutive size would work against him before he even had a chance, Schacht pulled on double pairs of socks and a couple of sweatshirts along with sliding pads to make himself seem bigger. The afternoon was hot and the struggling Schacht lost 2-0, but he was called to Cincinnati and put in front of owner Clark Griffith. Seeing that he was much smaller than described, Griffith offered him a minor league contract. Schacht declined, knowing he could make more playing semi-pro ball than in the low minors.

Schacht played around the Northeast for various clubs and after a stint in the army during the First World War, where he did little more than play baseball, Al signed with the Jersey City Skeeters in 1919. The Skeeters were a miserable team, winning only 45 games during the whole season. However, Schacht was the winner of 20 of those contests. After each win Schacht would anonymously send a newspaper clipping of the game to Clark Griffith. Now owner of The Washington Senators, Griffith himself travelled to Jersey City to look Schacht over. After his 10th shutout of the year, Griffith signed Al to play for the Senators. He was a good pitcher for a few seasons but it was his second talent on the diamond that he became known for. 

Al Schacht was a natural clown. Teaming up with former player Nick Altrock, the two made the stands howl with laughter as they went through silent vaudeville routines between innings. Besides being clowns, the two men served as 1st and 3rd base coaches. By all reports Schacht was a well respected coach while with the team. By 1921 Altrock and Schacht were performing all over the league as well as at the World Series. Somewhere along the way however, Altrock and Schacht had a falling out. No one really knows the reason why, some say it was an anti-Semitic remark Altrock made while drunk, others say it was jealousy over Schacht's younger age. Whatever the reason the two silently feuded for years before breaking up the act in 1936. 

Clad in his trademark top hat and tails over a baseball uniform and known as the “Clown Prince of Baseball” Schacht was famous all over the country, even appearing on stage with such celebrities as Bing Crosby. During the Second World War Al volunteered to entertain the troops. Appearing in such remote places as North Africa and the South Pacific, Schacht helped bring a smile to homesick servicemen. After the war he opened up a restaurant in Manhattan which became a hang out for ballplayers and celebrities. The affable Schacht worked the room entertaining his customers.

Throughout his long career Al Schacht never hid that he was a Jew, famously remarking: "There is talk that I am Jewish-just because my father was Jewish, my mother was Jewish, I speak Yiddish and once studied to be a rabbi and a cantor. Well, that's how rumors get started." 

149. Jackie Robinson: A Great Day in Jersey City

Today's post is a re-working of one of my oldest ones on the site. While I liked the original drawing, times change and my style has evolved a bit so when I wanted to include Jackie in my new edition of 21, I decided it was time to give him an update. Since Robinson's first appearance in 1946 was such a momentous occasion, and being from New Jersey, I wanted to show a bit of the old ballpark in Jersey City where the game took place. That's Roosevelt Stadium's distinctive scoreboard in the background. I liked this drawing so much I made it a full-page illustration in 21. I tried to depict Robinson as being full of confidence, ready to take the field for the first time, the weight of a whole race upon his able shoulders. It was an important day and I wanted to make this an important drawing.

67 years ago today, Jackie Robinson sat in the visitor's locker room of Jersey City's Roosevelt Stadium. Suiting up with his Montréal Royals teammates, Robinson was about to do what no black man had done since 1899 - play in an organized baseball game. Johnny Wright, another black ballplayer was on the roster that day, too, but Wright was a pitcher and was not going to play. Once the bands stopped and Mayor Hague threw out the first ball, Robinson was on his own. Opening Day in Jersey City was a big deal back then, a city-wide holiday. The Hague political machine that ran the city since 1917 expected every single municipal employee to purchase a ticket in order to give Jersey City the largest opening day crowd every year. Although 25,000 fans streamed through the turnstiles that afternoon, twice than number was sold. Still, with 25,000, Jersey City easily led the International League in attendance that day, and they got to witness history being made.

From the story accompanying the illustration in 21:

When Jackie Robinson took the field at Jersey City’s Roosevelt Stadium on April 18, 1946 he became the first black ballplayer in organized baseball since 1899. Robinson’s fame as a college athlete, his university education, and experience as an army officer made him the perfect man for a very difficult job. Many Negro League ballplayers expressed disappointment that he was to be the first to integrate the game. His manager with Montréal silently questioned whether or not a black man was even human. Bob Feller, who pitched against Robinson in 1945, thought so little of his talent said “If he were a white man, I doubt if they would even consider him big league material, except perhaps as a bat boy.” Robinson faced it all with quiet dignity and strength. In that first game in Jersey City he went 4 for 5, including a three-run homer, scored 4 runs, drove in 3 and stole 2 bases. Overcoming immense racial pressure, Jackie won over his teammates and fans with his natural physical ability and intense drive to win. Sparked by his play, Montréal won the Little World Series of 1946 and the next year he was playing for Brooklyn. Through his sheer determination Jackie Robinson not only paved the way for the desegregation of the major leagues but also the modern civil rights movement. 

Don't forget the card I posted yesterday of Happy Chandler, the Commissioner of Baseball who backed up Branch Rickey when he wanted to bring Jackie Robinson to the Dodgers.

148. "Happy" Chandler: Instrumental to Integration

With all the hoopla these past few weeks about Jackie Robinson and the integration of baseball, I thought before I wheel out my new Robinson card and story this week, I'd feature one man who was directly responsible for the destruction of the color line. He's a guy that I will include in the next edition of 21, which will have a "Baseball in Kentucky" theme in tribute to my adopted state. While Brooklyn Dodgers general manager Branch Rickey gets the well-deserved lions share of ink for his part in integrating the modern game, Happy Chandler played an instrumental, though not well-recognized part.

 He was one of those old-time baby-kissing, glad-handing southern politicians with a billion-watt smile, the kind you see in cartoons. He was elected governor of the Commonwealth of Kentucky two separate times, represented the state in the United States Senate and was the second Commissioner of Baseball. But before all of that, Happy Chandler was a shortstop.

In the long line of Commissioners of Baseball, Happy Chandler is the only one to have played the game professionally. He was a star athlete in high school and played ball for Transylvania College. He reportedly tossed a no-hitter playing for Grafton in North Dakota's Red River Valley League in 1920 (the town even named the local baseball field after him) and was invited to a tryout with the Saskatoon Quakers but returned to college instead.

During the summers of 1922 and 1923 he played for the Lexington Reos of the Blue Grass League. The Blue Grass League was a Class D circuit, the lowest classification at the time, but it was professional baseball and one of his teammates was future Hall of Famer and member of the famed 1927 Yankees, Earle Combs. Chandler played in less than 20 games but for a time considered pursuing baseball as a career. He also served as a league umpire during the two seasons he spent with the Reos before deciding to attend Harvard Law School.

Chandler worked his way up the ladder of Kentucky politics, first in Woodford County then on to the state level. He was a fiscally conservative Democrat and by 1935 was elected governor. He switched over to the United States Senate in 1939 and it was there that he was approached to become the second Commissioner of Baseball.

Kennesaw Mountain Landis had held the post since 1920 and upon his death the team owners elected Chandler to succeed him. In the period between Landis' death and Chandlers appointment, Brooklyn Dodgers general manager Branch Rickey  signed Jackie Robinson and Johnny Wright to Montreal Royals contracts making them the first blacks to play professional ball since Hippo Galloway in 1899. 

After the 1946 season, Rickey wanted to transfer Robinson's contract to the Dodgers, something that the Commissioner's office had to approve. Rickey went to personally see Chandler who gave his complete support. The Dodgers' general manager later said that without Chandlers full support he would not have been able to bring Robinson to Brooklyn.

Why did Chandler give his support to something his predecessor had vehemently opposed? There are two quotes attributed to him in regards to his approval of the smashing of the color line. The first was given right after he was named Commissioner. Ric Roberts of the Pittsburgh Courier asked Chandler about blacks playing pro ball to which he responded: "If they can fight and die in Okinawa, Guadalcanal, in the South Pacific, they can play baseball in America." Coming after more than 25 years of double-talk and out right lies by the former Commissioner, Chandler's statement came as a bombshell, not just for it's strait-forwardness but because of where he was from. Kentucky in 1946 was still a Jim Crow state and Chandler's words were sure to upset more than a few of his constituents. 

The second quote shows the way he was thinking not just about baseball but the whole idea of institutionalized racism. From his autobiography Chandler had this to say to Branch Rickey at their meeting in 1946:

"I've already done a lot of thinking about this whole racial situation in our country. As a member of the Senate Military Affairs Committee, I got to know a lot about our casualties during the war. Plenty of Negro boys were willing to go out and fight and die for this country. Is it right when they came back to tell them they can't play the national pastime? You know, Branch, I'm going to have to meet my Maker some day. And if He asks me why I didn't let this boy play, and I say it's because he's black, that might not be a satisfactory answer. If the Lord made some people black, and some white, and some red or yellow, he must have had a pretty good reason. It isn't my job to decide which colors can play big league baseball. It is my job to see that the game is fairly played and that everybody has an equal chance. I think if I do that, I can face my Maker with a clear conscience."

As Commissioner Chandler did as much as he could to limit the on-field racism Robinson and the other black players faced. When the St. Louis Cardinals threatened to strike if they had to face Robinson he pledged that any player who failed to take the field would be immediately suspended. After Phillies manager Ben Chapman disgraced himself and the game with sickening racial taunts when his team faced the Dodgers, Chandler made it clear that any more of that would earn him and the team severe disciplinary measures.

Besides his part in integrating the game, Chandler was known as the “Players Commissioner." After the Pittsburgh Pirates almost went on strike for more players rights, Chandler established the first pension fund using the proceeds from selling the radio broadcast rights to the World Series. He also tried to keep the game free of the threat posed by gamblers and gangsters when he suspended Brooklyn manager Leo Durocher before the 1947 season. While popular culture has often portrayed Durocher's suspension being brought on by his affair with the married actress Lorraine Day, in actuality he earned it by palling around with Bugsy Siegal and other seedy underworld figures.

For all he did for the game, Chandler's reign as Commissioner came to an abrupt end in 1951 when he resigned after the team owners twice refused to extend his contract. It was a loss for the game as Chandler was its most forward-thinking leader for many decades. He went back to politics and in 1955 was re-elected governor during which he over-saw the integration of the states' public school system. He was inducted to the Kentucky Sports Hall of Fame in 1957 and in 1982 he took his place in the National Baseball Hall of Fame. Still smiling, he lived until the age of 92, dying of a heart attack in 1991.

Though he isn't remembered today as reverently as Branch Rickey or Jackie Robinson, Happy Chandler was indeed instrumental in the games' integration.

Infinite Baseball Card Set On the Air

 Last week I was surprised by the invitation to be interviewed on the Stealing Home podcast. Since I mostly listen to podcasts and books on tape while I work everyday, I was familiar with Stealing Home and subscribe to it. If you haven't heard it before, it's put together by David Temple and offers an hour-long discussion on baseball history and related subjects. Besides covering interesting subjects and David's insightful observations, Stealing Home is a thoroughly professional production that actually surpasses most talk radio shows. The episode I was asked to participate in was Number 6: Art. On it I talk about why I started the Infinite Baseball Card Set, the why and how I choose the players I do and what makes my drawings different than other baseball artists. It was a fun conversation and while I have a hard time talking about my work, David's radio experience put me entirely at ease and made the whole interview easy for me. I hope you take the time to check out the episode and also check out the other installments in David's unique series. My part starts about 29 minutes into the show.

147. Ford Meadows: Better Than The Babe

I love those "what if?" questions in history. You know, those major events in history that hinged on one minor and insignificant event or individual: what if Hitler had gotten into art school or what would America be like now if Lee Oswald was a lousy shot? Baseball has plenty of those great "what if's" as well, and it was one of those minor turn of events that gave the game its greatest player.

In the spring of 1914, Baltimore Orioles owner and manager Jack Dunn looked over his roster for the coming season and knew he had a problem - left-handed pitching, or more precisely, the lack of it. Fortunately Baltimore and the surrounding countryside was an untapped gold mine of amateur talent. Though the city had a major port, world-class universities and a many top-notch semi-pro teams, Baltimore's pool of ballplayers was often overlooked due to the close proximity of Washington, Philadelphia and New York City. For years the savvy Jack Dunn had it all to himself and he was famous for his meticulous scouting of local talent. When the time came for him to fill that left-handed spot in his pitching rotation Jack Dunn knew exactly who he wanted.

For a year Dunn had been following a local 19 year-old student at an Xaverian school who was mowing down every team he pitched against. He was a big fella and like most left-handers had a bit of a reputation for being a bit eccentric. To Dunn, a veteran judge of baseball talent, this kid was one of the greatest lefties he'd ever seen. In early February of 1914 the Orioles owner took his former third baseman and now New York Yankee Fritz Maisel along to talk to the Brothers who ran the school the young phenom attended. Dunn figured that by bringing along Maisel, a local boy, would make it easier to get the Xaverians to give up their star player if they could see that being signed by the Orioles was a stepping stone to the big time.

Brother Gilbert, the schools baseball coach and athletics director, met with the two men apprehensively. While one one hand he wanted the young man to succeed, on the other he also wanted a winning ball club for the upcoming season and this kid was his ace. Brother Gilbert thought about how he could keep him for just one more season and settled on the old bait and switch tactic.

"Sure my boy is great" he told the two men, "but this other lefty we faced last season was even better". Dunn, intrigued, must have wondered who this other unknown star was. 

"Ruth from St. Mary's" was Brother Gilbert's reply.

See, the pitcher Jack Dunn had scouted and called one of the greatest left-handers he'd ever seen was not the young Babe Ruth, but a student at Mount St. Josephs College named Ford Bernard Meadows. 

At the time, Meadows was hands-down the best pitcher in Baltimore. In the 1913 season the kid had shut out Georgetown, Boston College and Holy Cross - all in one week. His games were given as much coverage in the Baltimore newspapers as the Washington Senators and Orioles. There was no doubt that Meadows was a budding superstar. As far as anyone was concerned, no one had heard of this Ruth kid over at St. Mary's that Brother Gilbert had spoke of.

And in truth, the Xaverian Brother and baseball coach was fibbing a bit: he'd never actually seen Ruth pitch before. In all the games Mount St. Josephs played against St. Mary's Ruth appeared as a left-handed catcher. The big kid impressed Brother Gilbert not with his pitching but with his bat, a skill he used to eat up any pitcher Mount St. Josephs threw at him. Because both St. Mary's and Mount St. Josephs College were run by Xaverian brothers, Gilbert was familiar with Ruth's coach, Brother Matthias, and through him had learned of Ruth's strong and accurate arm. 

It was a brilliant tactic and Jack Dunn fell for it. Within days he'd signed the young George Herman Ruth without ever seeing him play an inning of baseball, all based on the little white lie of an Xaverian Brother who was trying to keep his prized ball club intact for one more season.

But what became of Ford Meadows? 

Well, he continued to dominate the collegiate scene. He kicked off the 1914 season with a brilliantly pitched game against the Orioles. Though he lost, the newspapers reported that had he been backed by a capable catcher and right fielder, Meadows would have defeated the Birds. A few weeks later he pitched a no-hitter and at the end of the college season was in Frederick, Maryland playing semi-pro ball and making headlines with his pitching feats. So while Ruth played half a season with the Orioles and made it up to the Boston Red Sox, Meadows was still an amateur, though a well-known and highly touted one. 

After school ended in the spring of 1915, Jack Dunn swooped in and finally signed the southpaw he'd originally wanted. Dunn's Orioles has been forced to relocate to Richmond after they were beaten at the box office by the upstart Baltimore Terrapins of the Federal League. While with Richmond the former phenom was less than mediocre. He was consistently wild and in 13 games could only muster an 0-2 record. But the New York Yankees saw something in him and in late August Dunn sold Meadows to New York for a $5000 profit. 

Meadows rode the Yankees bench for the rest of the season, never getting into a game but was invited to join the team in Macon, Georgia the next year for spring training. Unfortunately for Meadows he pitched poorly and was quickly let go, rejoining the Orioles, who had again set up shop in Baltimore after the demise of the Federal League. 

Now Jack Dunn began to sour on the former college star. Throughout the spring he failed to impress. He couldn't find the plate and Dunn complained he was sorely out of shape. Exasperated with Meadow's performance and attitude, Dunn suspended him. In what was a pretty ballsy move for the time, the southpaw filed a grievance with the minor league baseball commission and Dunn was told to play him or let him go. This kind of insubordination from one of his players couldn't have sat well with the autocratic manager and owner. While Dunn was well known for treating his ballplayers with unheard of respect, the Orioles were his team, an extension of himself. That one of his boys would have the stones to file a grievance against him and challenge his authority to run the club as he saw fit must have angered him immensely.

Dunn reluctantly took him back into the fold. 

Ford Meadows, the guy who was more highly touted than Babe Ruth, would finally get his own place in the baseball history books, but not in a good way. On June 30, 1916 Dunn put him in as a relief pitcher against Richmond. Down 8-2, Meadows took the mound for the home half of the sixth and started walking everyone in sight. By the time it was over he issued free passes to 11 Richmond batters and set what was then a record. Dunn, his point made, gave Meadows his unconditional release later that day.

As far as I can tell, Meadows never appeared in another professional game. He did, however, find love and on August 4th married Miss Grace Miller. Meadows was still so well known that the Baltimore newspapers wrote about his wedding and one article reported that the couple honeymooned in Atlantic City and that since his release from the Orioles he had been playing amateur ball around Baltimore. 

With the World War raging in Europe it was just a matter of time before Meadows, 22 at the time, was caught up in it. He served with the 514th Pioneer Infantry in France where he dislocated his shoulder and had his ear shot off in the fighting. He returned home on a transport ship with thousands of other wounded doughboys almost six months after the war was over.

I couldn't find any other traces of Ford Meadows after that. Most likely he returned to his wife and made a life for himself around Baltimore. While his ball playing career might not have lived up to the promise many expected from him, he was instrumental in launching the career of the greatest baseball player of all time.

146. Charlie Hoover: Talented But Troubled

When I was looking for any kind of reference on Humpty Badel, I could find only one other person who had written about him in the last 90 or so years - Thom Karmik. His website Baseball History Daily is a joy to read, a fact that I can personally testify to. After reading the Badel story I found myself going deeper and deeper into his archive of past stories until I had to restrain myself - I was getting dangerously off the track of my Badel research. His endless trove of interesting ballplayers and new (to me) stories had me hooked. Seeing that we both share a similar taste in obscure players and stories, I emailed Thom and asked him if he'd be interested in writing a story for my site as a guest author. Lo and behold he agreed and quickly sent me this great bit of original research on a really interesting guy from the early days of the game. So, without further delay, I'll turn it over to Thom Karmik...

Charles E. Hoover is one of a select group; Major League players for whom no information is available about when or where he died.  Like many 19th Century ballplayers he eventually became better known for his demons than for his ability, and eventually faded into obscurity.

Hoover was born in Mound City, Illinois in September of 1865; the town, upriver from Cairo was incorporated just seven years earlier and was the site of the Union Army’s largest hospital in the west and a shipyard that produced three Union ironclads:  the U.S.S. Cairo, the U.S.S. Mound City, and the U.S.S. Cincinnati.

Nothing is known about Hoover’s childhood, but at some point he settled in Hannibal, Missouri, where he would return throughout his life. 

His professional career began in 1886 with the Lincoln Tree Planters in the Western League.  Hoover played for three teams in the Western League in 1887, and his .342 batting average and growing reputation as a solid catcher with an excellent arm earned him a contract with A.G. Spalding’s Chicago White Stockings. 

Between the 1887 and ’88 seasons Hoover’s troubles began.

He was drunk in Lincoln, Nebraska (some contemporary papers said the incident happened in Kansas, but it appears Lincoln was the site) in early December of 1887 when he was arrested for shooting at a carriage driver.  In January a wire service report which appeared in several papers said Hoover had been released from jail and would be joining the white Stockings in the spring:

“(Hoover) has written a letter to President Spalding in which he proves by the court record that the charge preferred against him was entirely fictitious and the work of two men he whipped in a fight.”

The story said a fight broke out between Hoover and the two men and the gun “accidently discharged” and, “Spalding, after investigating all the evidence at hand has come to the conclusion that Hoover, while perhaps a little hotheaded, did nothing especially reprehensible.”

Hoover joined the White Stockings in the spring, but was released to the Western Association before the season began.  The catcher split time between the Chicago Maroons and the Davenport Onion Weeders.  He was purchased for $8500 at the end of the season by the Kansas City Cowboys in the American Association and made his major league debut in October, appearing in three games for the Cowboys.

The following season in Kansas City was a stormy one.  There were numerous reports that he and Kansas City manager Bill Watkins did not get along, and Hoover’s reputation as a talented, but “troubled” player grew.

After another disagreement with Watkins in July, The Sporting Life said:
“Hoover is a peculiar ball player. Fines, bad treatment and threats of expulsion don't seem to  have any effect on him. The management had tried everything on him. It was thought for a time that he would be released, but yesterday he was put in to catch and caught the best game ever played in this city. His work was simply wonderful.”

Then, a few days before the end of the season, Hoover fought with a fan in Kansas City.  The Sporting Life was not ready to give up on him and provided his defense, despite acknowledging he was probably drunk:

“Many a ball player has done worse and has been forgiven readily. Hoover had been drinking. He was mad and angry and when a spectator insulted him, he lost his temper altogether.”

Besides, The Sporting Life said “He did some of the best catching this season in the American Association.”

Despite his defenders, Hoover was finished with Kansas City. When he returned to the Western Association the following season, The Denver Republican said:

“(He) is a good backstop, an excellent thrower, fair hitter and rapid baserunner.  He is cursed however, with a tinder-like temper, which no manager has yet been able to control.”

There are no available statistics for the1890 season.  Hoover began the season with the Kansas City Blues and was acquired in August by the Lincoln Rustlers. 

Hoover’s troubles continued.  The Omaha World-Herald reported that summer that Hoover’s “Mistress” in Lincoln, was the “Keeper of a disreputable house at 6th and M Streets,” and shortly after the end of the 1891 season Hoover was arrested in Lincoln another incident involving Hoover shooting at someone while drunk.

The erstwhile catcher managed to avoid prosecution again when he was signed to a contract with the Sacramento Senators of the California League.  In February, The World-Herald said:

 “At 5 o’clock this morning Charley Hoover was escorted to the Burlington depot by an officer and put upon a train bound for California… (The) ballclub telegraphed $150 and from it he extracted $25 and paid his fine.  If he ever shows up in Lincoln again he will be prosecuted for assault with intent to kill.”

The Sporting Life said Hoover “Who but for his besetting sin, drink, would be one of the great catchers of the profession…He has signed a contract to abstain from liquor, a forfeiture of salary being the penalty for a violation of his agreement.”

By late May Sacramento manager John McCloskey had tired of Hoover and the catcher was released.  Hoover went first to Hannibal, and then signed a contract to play for a semi-pro team in Bozeman, Montana.  The next season he signed with the Omaha Omahogs of the Western League.  The World Herald said Hoover was:

“One of the best backstops in the business…he has been signed on the condition that he keeps straight.”

He didn’t, and was released before the season began.  Hoover spent the year working as a bricklayer in Butte, Montana.

He was next heard from in January of 1893 when The Sporting Life said “Hoover got into several scrapes in Butte, so the town became so hot for him that he shook the dust off his feet and returned to his Hannibal, MO home.”

That spring, Charlie Comiskey was desperate for a catcher to back up Farmer Vaughn and signed Hoover.  The Sporting Life’s opinion of Hoover had soured, and the paper did not support the move:

"Comiskey is sufficiently hard up for a catcher to take chances with an unreliable man, notwithstanding costly experience. He is trying Charlie Hoover, the ill-tempered and bibulously inclined ex-Kansas City catcher."

Hoover’s last chance at the Major Leagues ended when Comiskey chose to stick with Morgan Murphy, who had hit .197 and committed 18 errors in 74 games the previous season, as Vaughn’s backup.  Hoover dropped out of sight for the remainder of 1893, but returned the next two seasons playing in the Southern and Western Associations—the 29-year-old’s professional career was over after the 1895 season.

Hoover returned to Hannibal and was not heard from again until 1899.  Hoover was drunk when he attempted to pass a bad check at the Stillwell Packing Company in Hannibal.  He was arrested, and for the first time convicted and sentenced to prison—for five years. 

In 1902, Missouri Governor Alexander Dockery pardoned Hoover.  The St. Louis Republic said:
 
"Hoover’s propensity to gaze upon the wine when it was red has caused him all his trouble.”

But the paper was hopeful for Hoover’s future:

“He is considering several offers to play ball and will probably accept one of them.”
 
The 36-year-old Hoover did not sign with any professional team.  That was last that was heard from Hoover--one of the few who reached the Major Leagues and disappeared without a trace.

Be sure to visit Baseball History Daily. When I asked Thom to write about what his site is all about, this is what he said: 

“In the days before electronic media the players who toiled in hundreds of small and medium sized towns across North America were heroes, idols and sometimes villains; and they were household names.  While organizations like SABR have provided reams of research on professional baseball, so many of those household names, and the teams and the leagues in which they played, have been lost in the mists of time.”

"What I’ve also discovered is that just as many stories of the players who reached the pinnacle of their profession and played in the largest cities in country have also faded into obscurity."

"What has made it especially fun and satisfying for me is that I have actually heard from ancestors of some of the players I’ve profiled and had them tell me they learned something about a great-grandfather or uncle that they hadn’t known. I’m a former broadcast journalist and also worked on political campaigns for a decade;  I relocated to Las Vegas a year ago and no longer do either of those things." 

145. Humpty Badel: Almost Major League

Although I'm originally from New Jersey, I've come to adopt the Commonwealth of Kentucky as my home. It wasn't a quick decision - over the years I'd moved here and then left 2 times - yet last year when I was looking for a place to settle after 6 years in Los Angeles there was only one place that truly felt like home - Kentucky. I live right across the Ohio River from Cincinnati and within minutes I can go from a Reds game to the beautiful farm where my girlfriend boards her horse, Lefty (great name, huh?). For some reason, of all the places I've called home over the years, Jersey, Baltimore, Chicago, Colorado - Kentucky is where I want to be. And as a little private way to say thanks to my adapted state, I like to feature players with Kentucky roots like Pee Wee Reese, Carl Mays and Bill Niemeyer.

But there's one team I always wanted to do a card for: the short-lived Covington Blue Sox. Covington, Kentucky is the city directly across the Ohio River from Cincinnati and in 1913 was host to a franchise in the newly-formed Federal League. That first season was a trial run for what in 1914 would become almost a third major league. The Blue Sox lasted only a few months before they were forced to move west to Kansas City, becoming known as the Packers. Since I lived in Covington and know the spot Federal Park once stood, I have been avidly searching for the perfect player to represent Covington's brush with baseball history. After rummaging through pages and pages of 1913 Cincinnati newspaper files, I found that certain player and his story was better than I could have hoped for...

At a time when the only way someone with a handicap could get onto a professional ball club was as a mascot, hunchback Fred Badel came surprisingly close to making the major leagues. Badel came from Carnegie, one of the many gray steel towns outside Pittsburgh. He was born in 1881, or maybe before that, we just don't know for sure - like many ballplayers throughout the history of the game, he probably shaved a couple of years off as he grew older. Newspaper stories during his playing career make note of his peculiar accent and that he spoke German so he was probably the son of immigrants, of which the greater Pittsburgh area had no shortage of. He suffered from a severe curvature of the spine called Kyphosis which caused a hump to form on Badel's back. In those pre-politically correct times it inevitable he would be known as "Humpty". He could neither read nor write and contemporary sportswriters weren't shy in declaring Badel a bit on the slower side of things. He apparently had trouble remembering simple instructions and one manager said he lacked common sense. Newspaper articles called him "odd" and "picturesque." Humpty could, however, play ball.

Badel got his professional start around 1902 or 1903 playing for Youngstown in the Ohio-Pennsylvania League. In 1905 he surfaced with the Johnstown Johnnies of the "outlaw" Tri-State League. The "outlaw" brand meant that the league wasn't affiliated with the minor or major leagues which fell under the umbrella of the National Association. While playing outfield for the Johnnies, Badel attracted the attention of the Buffalo Bisons of the Class A Eastern League, which was the equivalent of today's AAA.

The manager of the Bisons was George Stallings, later manager of the 1914 World Champion Boston Braves. Stallings became very smitten with Badel during spring training. Accounts state that he was above average contact hitter with a good eye. On the base paths he was described as a "whirlwind" and fearless. Moreover, Badel used his disability to his advantage: due to his hump and curved spine his strike zone was quite small making him a hard man to pitch to. By the time the Bisons broke camp and headed towards Buffalo, he was penciled in as the starting right fielder.

Playing their way north, the Bisons stopped in Cincinnati to play the Reds. After a short series between the two clubs reds manager Ned Hanlon offered Stallings $5,000 then and there for Badel but was rebuffed. Stallings felt he had a budding star and wanted him for himself. 

The presence of a hunchback on the club was as much a source of interest and amusement for press as it was for his new teammates. It was a different time and like black children and midgets, hunchbacks were considered good-luck charms by superstitious ballplayers. "Rubbing the hump" for luck was as time-honored a tradition in baseball as spitting. Unfortunately for Badel, some of his new teammates couldn't differentiate between the ball-playing Badel and the lucky hunchback Badel.

Bisons' ace pitcher Rube Kisinger was so infatuated with Badel's hump that he would wait for him to come in from the outfield after each inning and rub his hump all the way to the dugout. While Kisinger probably meant no disrespect doing what a newspaper at the time called an "affectionate demonstration", Badel was mortified by the superstitious ritual and pleaded to the Bisons' management for relief. None came. Rube Kisinger was a former big leaguer and the best pitcher on the Bisons. Though Badel was warmly accepted by the Buffalo fans and he was holding his own in the league, by July the "humpstroking business" became unbearable. He was also having a hard time learning the club's field and batting signs and his teammates began to poke fun at his illiteracy and ignorance. Badel was also disgruntled with his pay on the Bisons which was less than what he was getting in outlaw ball. A 1907 Sporting Life article relates that Badel borrowed $100 from Stallings then told him he was jumping the club. A hundred bucks in 1906 was a hefty sum and Stallings had to have his lawyer talk him out of physically attacking Badel and beating his money out of him. On July 6th he quit the club.

By leaving the Bisons Badel effectively KO'ed his chances at making the majors. Breaking a professional baseball contract, especially one in the high minors, was career suicide. Not only would a club think twice about signing a known "jumper" but in most instances couldn't because the rebellious ballplayer would be blacklisted from any league that was part of the National Association. That's exactly what happened to Badel who had no other choice but to return to Johnstown. He hit a nice .302 for the remainder of the season but suffered a setback when health problems and the death of his mother and brother kept him off the diamond in 1907.

Back with the Johnnies in 1908, Badel played for Ed Ashenback, a life-long minor leaguer who also wrote a very funny and insightful book about his career called "Humor Among the Minors". Ashenback describes how Badel couldn't comprehend simple hit-and-run signs or any other instructions for that matter. Discovering Badel spoke fluent German like himself, Ashenback tried simply shouting base running instructions in that language. This too came to naught since Badel would become excited while speaking German and get picked off base. 

Badel spent the next decade in and out of baseball, mostly in the low minors or Midwestern independent and outlaw leagues. In 1912 he was with the outlaw Cincinnati Pippins. The Pippins were part of the United States League which was formed to challenge the National Association's vice-grip on professional baseball. The league tried to place teams in many big league markets but their brand of ball was of a much lower standard than the majors and fans stayed away. Badel was popular with the sparse Cincinnati fans who did turn out for Pippins games and in May was batting a smooth .364. Unfortunately poor attendance and sub-standard talent forced the league to fold after less than 30 games.

In late July Badel surfaced in the South Atlantic League where he managed the Columbia Comers. Stats show he hit a paltry .203 but he made headlines when he took the mound for the Comers and pitched a complete game win over Columbus. 

For 1913 Badel returned to the Cincinnati area. Crossing the Ohio River to Kentucky he joined up with the Covington Blue Sox. Covington was a franchise in the new Federal League which grew in part out of the ashes of the defunct United States League. The 1913 season was to be a trial run for the Federals who aspired to become a third major league. By this time Badel was mostly playing first base, likely due to his age being somewhere in the mid-thirties range. He apparently still possessed his legs because in June he was listed as leading the Federal League in doubles. The Blue Sox played in a bread box of a stadium called Federal Park that held a cozy 6,000 and boasted outfield dimensions of 218 feet down the right field line, 267 feet to center and 194 feet down the right field line. With the big league Reds a trolly car ride away, the Blue Sox couldn't make ends meet and wisely moved to Kansas City in June.

Badel had one more year of baseball with Maysville, Kentucky of the Ohio State League, batting .246 before he was released in June. After that I could find no other mention of Badel anywhere. Giving it one last try I stumbled on a very impressive blog by Thom Karmik called Baseball History Daily. Karmik wrote the only modern summary of Badel that I've come across and it was through his story that we can get one last glimpse of him (as well as his approximate date of birth and name of the condition he suffered). According to his World War I draft registration, Badel moved back to Ohio and became a carpenter. After 1919 he simply disappears from history.

SOURCES

• The Sporting Life (July 1, 1905)
• The Sporting Life (March 2, 1907)
• Washington Evening Star (January 23, 1907)
• Washington Times (August 3, 1912)
• Ashenback, Edward, Humor Among the Minors (M.A. Donohue & Company, 1911)
• Okkonen, Marc, The Federal League of 1914-1915 (Society for American Baseball Research, 1989)
• Thom Karmik (Baseball History Daily)

142. Stan Musial: Do widzenia Stashu!

The halfway point on the drive between New Jersey and Kentucky is Donora, Pennsylvania. Besides being my own personal milestone of almost being home or almost being to my Grandmother's house, Donora is the birthplace of 2 Hall of Fame ballplayers. I say 2, but it's actually just 1 at the moment - Ken Griffey, Jr. hasn't gone through the formalities of being inducted, but he will. In 35 years of watching baseball in person, Griffey was the absolute greatest ballplayer I had the pleasure of seeing in person. So I call him a Hall of Famer. The other Hall of Famer who hailed from that town of Donora was Stan Musial. Stashu. That Man. Stan The Man. 

He was THE budding superstar of the early 1940's. On a St. Louis Cardinals team that was loaded with talent, young Stan Musial stood out. Unlike tough and rough teammates like Whitey Kurowski or Enos Slaughter, Musial was a quiet, friendly fella. So nice was he that when radio announcers pronounced his Polish last name wrong, Stan was too nice of a guy to bring it to their attention. Thus, Musial (pronounced "Mu-shill") became Musial (pronounced "Mu-see-al"). He seemed to have come out of nowhere - a converted pitcher from the sticks of Pennsylvania who hit .315 and quietly forced his way into the starting lineup of the best team in the National League. It was while he was still relatively unknown that Stan got his famous nickname. Dodger fans at Ebbets Field began referring to the new ballplayer as "that man", as in "oh shit, it's that man again" when he came to bat against Brooklyn. It seemed that every time "that man" came to bat he tore Brooklyn pitching apart. Eventually it evolved to "The Man", the name he was forever known by. That rookie season was just a teaser - in 1943 he led the league in hits, doubles, triples, batting average, slugging percentage - being named the National League MVP was just a formality. 1944 was pretty much a repeat of the previous year and for the third year in a row the Cardinals went to the World Series. But there was that thing called World War II going on and it was inevitable that The Man would have to take part. Brooklyn's Pete Reiser pushed hard to get Stan to join the Army and play on his Fort Riley ball club but Musial wanted Navy instead. 

Seaman Stan Musial was posted to Bainbridge Naval Training Center in Maryland. During the war all military bases had football, basketball and baseball teams to keep the servicemen occupied and out of trouble. Team sports helped build an esprit de corps among the recruits and many of the larger bases fielded varsity teams loaded with former big leaguers. Teams like the Bainbridge Commodores, which Musial played on, would play exhibition games against major league teams and local semi-pro outfits for the benefit of the troops. Free admission to see Bainbridge take on the Philadelphia Athletics or Brooklyn Dodgers kept many a sailor out of trouble for the afternoon and take his mind off of what was to come when they shipped overseas.

While with Bainbridge Musial played with Lum Harris (A's), Dick Wakefield (Tigers), Thurman Tucker (White Sox), Stan Spence (Senators) and Dick Sisler (Cardinals). Not a bad variety of talent for a Navy base. It was while stationed there that Musial decided to tinker with his batting mechanics enabling him to pull the ball. Pulling the ball allowed him to hit more home runs to entertain the sailors. Besides making the white hats happy, the adjustment turned a great hitter into a power hitter.

Musial continued to play ball when he was shipped out to Hawaii. In 1945 the island was an arsenal of talent and it can be argued that the level of ball being played on any given weekend in Hawaii was better than what was being offered by the Major League back in the States. Playing ball the entire two years in the Navy gave Musial the edge when he rejoined the Cardinals for the 1946 season. He led the National League in all the same offensive categories that he did in 1943 and of course was again given the MVP Award as the Cardinals won the World Series over Boston. 

The Man went on to have one of the best careers in baseball history. Besides being arguably the best hitter of all-time, Stan was also one of the most respected. His cheerful personality and fair sense of sportsmanship earned him the respect of millions of fans. There's a story from 1947 that sums up what Stan Musial was all about. During a Dodger-Cardinals game, Jackie Robinson, playing first, was intentionally spiked by Enos Slaughter. This was Robinson's first year and he was under strict orders not to fight back. To do so would jeperdise the whole integration effort. Players from the other teams knew this as well and it was open season on Robinson. Enos Slaughter took full advantage. Out by a mile, Slaughter leaped into the air and slid his spikes down the defenseless Robinson's calf as he stretched for the ball. When Robinson got himself on base a few innings later, he stood on first, poised to spike the hell out of whoever was covering second. Stan was playing first for St. Louis and told Robinson that saw what happened and he wouldn't blame him for spiking whoever was covering second. Musial's sense of sportsmanship and empathy struck Robinson and made him realise that not everyone was against him. Stan's words that day totally defused a situation  that could have gotten totally out of control had Robinson intentionally hurt who ever happened to be covering second.

When Stan passed away last week at the age of 92, baseball lost a great man. What more can I say except Do widzenia Stashu!