62. Blackie Schwamb: Major League Murderer!

So after spending a much needed vacation with my mother and brother back in Jersey City, I figure it's time to get back to featuring some more great ballplayers and their stories. While home, I found a book I had given my father a few years ago called "The Wrong Side Of The Wall" by Eric Stone. I found out about the book through the SABR (Society Of Baseball Researchers) newsletter a few years ago. Stone brilliantly tells the story of Blackie Schwamb, pitcher for the 1948 St. Louis Browns who also happened to be a murderer. Stone's book has it all, 1940's L.A., mobsters, life in the low minor leagues, crime solving and attempts to redeem a life that once held so much promise. My story today can only hold a candle to Eric Stone's wonderful book and I recommend everyone to pick up a copy - you wont be disappointed!

As a kid in depression-era Los Angeles, Ralph Schwamb earned his nickname "Blackie" because he dressed in all black to emulate the bad guys he rooted for in western movies. Taller and stronger than kids his own age, Blackie took up with the older neighborhood kids. Dividing his time between sandlot baseball and petty crime, Schwamb started drinking heavily as a teen, the vice that would eventually lead to his downfall in life. Coupled with his drinking problem Blackie had a volatile temper that he backed up with his fists. World War II came along and Schwamb landed in the U.S. Navy. Unfortunately the only action he saw was in various Naval brigs across the country because of his constant need to go AWOL, something he accomplished over 4 times. The need for manpower during the war usually lead the Navy to go lightly on a sailor who overstayed his leave here and there, but Schwamb took it to the extreme and eventually went on a bender and missed the departure of his aircraft carrier that was being deployed for overseas action. This borderline desertion in the face of the enemy was the last straw and Schwamb spent a few years in prison.

When the war ended Blackie drifted back to Los Angeles and quickly took up with the delinquents he'd known growing up. These guys had by now graduated to become full-time hoods and hustlers. L.A. at this time was booming with post-war prosperity and organized crime was right there to take full advantage of those untapped opportunities. One of the biggest syndicates was run by the colorful Mafia-backed Mickey Cohen. A few of Blackie's buddies were connected to Mickey and the six and a half foot Schwamb began a career as an enforcer for his gang.

Working for Cohen was an easy job, intimidating and occasionally beating the hell out of deadbeats who were slow to pay off their gambling debts. Schwamb spent his spare time hanging around a ball field with his buddies drinking and watching the semi-pro teams that played there. Schwamb was always a natural athlete and after hanging around the field for some time, he worked up the courage to ask for a chance to play. From the start Blackie was a natural. His height and strength made him an overpowering pitcher. He had good control and liked to win and soon scouts from the big leagues took notice. St. Louis Browns scout Jack Fournier liked what he saw and his report read in part "he's a screwball, but he can pitch." $600.00 bought Schwamb's signature on a Browns contract. Shortly afterwards Blackie found out that the Cleveland Indians were about to offer $37,500.00 for him.

Blackie breezed through the Browns minor league spring training and was Schwamb was farmed out to South Dakota to the Aberdeen Pheasants of the Class C Northern League. Before reporting he was picked up on a burglary rap, but released. Through half the season he posted a record of 5 wins and no losses and an E.R.A. under 2.00. In one game he even fanned 14 batters. But his erratic behavior and drinking finally caused the manager Don Heffner to ask the Browns to reassign the ace of his pitching staff to another team. That he was messing around with a local 16 year-old girl didn't help much either. Schwamb now found himself at the other side of the country in the Arizona-Texas League.

The Globe-Miami Browns were a team of has-been misfits, a dead-end. But the wild west atmosphere of the towns that fielded teams in the league were more to Blackie's temperament than the conservative South Dakota. Still, even in this rebellious environment Schwamb stood apart. Reporting to the ballpark for the first game of the league playoffs, Schwamb was so intoxicated he was not allowed into the locker room. Now pissed off as well as drunk, Schwamb climbed up the center field flagpole and started hurling expletives at players and fans alike. It took the local cops to get him down and Blackie was tossed in jail. The Browns suspended him and it was the right thing to do. However the team was trying to win the league championship and Schwamb was reinstated after he apologized to the team. He promptly won 2 games and saved a third to win the championship. Schwamb might be a screwball, but he was good.

After spending half the off-season playing ball in Mexico and the other half breaking legs for the mob, 1948 found Schwamb with the Browns top farm club, the Toledo Mud Hens. The Mud Hens might have been the best club in the Browns farm system, but that wasn't saying much. they stunk. Schwamb drifted through the season with a horrible 1-9 record, but it was mostly due to no run support and fielding errors than his own pitching. Dispirited, Blackie's drinking accelerated and he stayed out all night long and sometimes disappeared for days between starts. Despite his record on paper, reports of his pitching were stellar and the parent club called him up at the end of July.

Wearing number 20, Blackie Schwamb pitched his first major league game at Griffith Stadium on Sunday July 25th against the Senators. He pitched a good game until he tired in the seventh and fielding errors did him in. The Browns eventually won but he was not the pitcher of record that day. Discipline-wise he continued where he left off in Toledo. Schwamb didn't just violate curfew, he disregarded it all together by staying out until breakfast time. Manager Zack Taylor ran a loose ship and the players did pretty much whatever they wanted. For a guy like Schwamb who desperately needed discipline and someone to look after him, this was the wrong team to have been playing for.

On July 31st he registered his first win and the post-game celebration never stopped. Blackie was continuously intoxicated. Beer before and during the game and an upgrade to whiskey afterwards. He got clobbered in his next start and a few days later the lowly Philadelphia Athletics handed Schwamb his first loss. Tired of his drinking, gambling and brawling, manager Zack Taylor relegated him to the bullpen.

Relief pitching in 1948 wasn't the specialist position it is today. Most relief pitchers back then, with a few exceptions, were has-beens or guys that just didn't have the stamina to go the distance. Pitchers in 1948 prided themselves on starting a game and seeing it through to the end. To Blackie Schwamb, being sent to the bullpen was an insult and a major step down. He sat on the bench and fumed. In nine innings he'd polish off a case of beer. During batting practice he'd knock his own teammates down with brush-back pitches. The games he managed to get into he was drunk and got hit hard. Although he had a few drinking buddies on the Browns, most stayed away from him. He was different. Dangerous. You could sense it.

On the Browns last road trip of the season Schwamb showed up at the railroad station totally bombed and after fighting with a teammate had to be physically strapped into his sleeping car bunk with some of the players belts to dry out. Taylor had enough and suspended Blackie for the rest of the season.

Schwamb was invited back to the Browns spring training camp the next year. Consensus among the big-wigs in St. Louis was that Schwamb had limitless talent but that he was rushed up to the majors too fast. He clearly needed more seasoning so he was sent off to Baltimore. Schwamb, who should have been thankful for not being banned from the organization, regarded the assignment as an insult. He told the Browns he was through with them. They did something major league teams hardly ever did then or now: Blackie Schwamb was given his outright release and sent on his way.

Schwamb called in all his favors. As crazy and scary as he was, Schwamb still managed to befriend a fairly large number of players and before long something turned up. The Little Rock Travellers needed pitching and Schwamb signed with the team to much fanfare in the local press. Schwamb was a real major leaguer and much was expected of him. Most said it was just a short time until he got the call up to the big leagues again. Unfortunately Schwamb spiraled out of control. After being shelled in his 3rd game with the Travellers he stood on the mound, drunk and swearing at everyone within earshot. The manager sent him to the showers. Blackie stormed off the field and tore up the locker room and deserted the team. Little Rock gave Schwamb's contract back to St. Louis. They were finished with him.

Blackie drifted back to Los Angeles. He was still a well known as a ballplayer back there and the odds were pretty good he'd be playing ball somewhere again in 1950. All he had to do was bide his time until spring and keep his nose clean. He didn't.

Hooking up with a bunch of hood he'd known growing up, Schwamb took part a series of badly planned heists. Starting out by knocking over a few illegal card games the gang graduated to armed robbery. They held up two hotels and liquor store before they were caught. Out on bail the night of October 12th, 1949, Blackie was sitting in a tavern called The Colony Club drinking himself to Palookaville when his old buddie Ted Gardner and his wife Joyce showed up accompanied by a tipsy doctor from Long Beach named Donald Buge.

Dr. Buge was spending the night out on the town with his wife at the Normandie Casino when he made the acquaintance of the Gardner's. Sensing an easy mark for a quick robbery, Ted convinced the doctor to go for a ride with him and Joyce. They stopped off at the Colony Club. Inside sat former major league pitcher Blackie Schwamb. Dr. Buge bought a round of drinks and then asked for a ride back to the Normandie where his wife was. Schwamb came along for the ride, he knew what was going down. They were going to roll the doctor.

What happened next was never adequately solved. The only consistent part of all three participants story is that they all claimed the doctor started getting frisky with Joyce Gardner during the car ride back to the casino. What is known is that somehow Dr. Buge was brutally beaten to death in a vacant lot. Police reports stated that first Dr. Buge was relentlessly punched in the face, his nose and jaw smashed, teeth were broken and knocked out and his eyes beaten shut. He was then kicked several times and left for dead. The doctor was still alive for an unknown period of time until the blood pouring from his wounds finally filled his lungs and he drowned.

Schwamb went home and slept off his bender. Hungover, he appeared for his arraignment for those outstanding burglary charges. For once Blackie caught a break, two of the charges were dropped. The remaining one had the possibility to get thrown out as well. But the cops were quickly closing in on the killers. Ted and Joyce Gardner were a fairly well-known couple around town and they were picked up on the morning of the 14th. It took Ted a matter of hours to finger his pal Blackie and by nightfall Schwamb was locked up.

Beating a man to death is a whole other crime than simply shooting someone. Sure, you have to be determined and devoid of any shred of caring or compassion to pull the trigger, but in order to beat someone to death you have to get intimately close to the victim. It takes a whole different type of person to do that. With that logic in mind, along with pal Ted Gardner's testimony fingering Schwamb as the killer, Blackie was sentenced to life in prison.

Schwamb was sent off to San Quentin where his arrival was met with enthusiasm by its baseball team. Blackie thrived in this environment and before his parole in 1960 he'd won 131 games and lost 35. This tally includes no less than 3 no-hitters and many of those wins were against top-shelf semi-pro teams stocked with major league players. Blackie's reputation was such that scouts would bring prospects to play San Quentin to see how their boy would do against Schwamb.

Upon his parole in 1960, Schwamb received a few offers from major league teams to try out again. After much haggling, the powers that be that ran organized baseball decided Blackie could play ball, but only after one season of semi-pro ball to make sure his behavior on and off the field was acceptable. He reluctantly complied and by the spring of 1961 Blackie Schwamb was a member of the Hawaiian Islanders, the Los Angeles Angels top farm team. It was the comeback of the century, a story fit for the big screen. But it didn't last. The Islanders were a terrible team owned by another terrible team. Schwamb, despite his best efforts, could do no better than 1 win and 2 losses and he was released after appearing in 6 games. Blackie drifted back to California again, floating up and down the coast from job to job. He was even sent back to jail after being found with a handgun, although he only did one years time - he could have been sent back for the remainder of his original life sentence.

Eventually Blackie found a certain peace in life, living with a woman he met while working a warehouse job and becoming a proud step-father to her daughter. Racked with lung cancer, Blackie Schwamb, former St. Louis Brown and convicted murderer, died four days before Christmas, 1989.

Homestead Grays Poster

Now available on my poster website... fantasy 1945 Homestead Grays poster. Printed one out for a fellow negro league fan yesterday and it looks great! Can be printed in 2 sizes and on paper or canvas.

www.cieradkowskidesign.blogspot.com

61. Wally Yonamine: Japan's Jackie Robinson

This week's story was written by award-winning author Rob Fitts. You'd be hard- pressed to find another American who knows as much about Japanese baseball history and cards. I made Rob's acquaintance while doing research on pre-war baseball in Japan and came across his website that offers a great overview on the 1934 tour of Japan by a group of Major League All-Stars. Besides featuring the American team, he also equally focuses on the Japanese team, something that I have never found in English. Rob has a book about that tour coming out this year which I for one can't wait to get my hands on. After finding his website I became fascinated by early Japanese baseball, especially the 1935 barnstorming tour that the Japanese team took all across North America. After returning to Japan that team became the Tokyo Giants and members of the first professional league in Japan. While researching the 1935 team Rob not only shared his research but translated a few things for me and did a great service in identifying player photographs. He also wrote a well-received biography on Japanese-American trail blazer Wally Yonamine...
Often called the Nisei Jackie Robinson, Wally Yonamine was the first ethnic Japanese to play professional football in the United States and the first American to play professional baseball in Japan after World War II. Yonamine was born in 1925 on a Maui sugar plantation to poor Japanese immigrants. His success on the gridiron allowed him to escape the plantation and eventually sign with the San Francisco 49ers in 1947. After an injury ended his football career, Yonamine turned to baseball. In 1951, the Tokyo Yomiuri Giants chose him to become the first American to play in Japan during the Allied occupation. Yonamine adopted his football skills to baseball and played hard-stealing bases, sliding hard, and knocking down opponents. Opposing fans hurled insults and rocks at him, but he quickly became one of the most dominant players in the league, winning batting titles in 1954, '56 and '57 as well as the 1957 MVP Award. His success changed the way the Japanese played the game and opened the door for other Americans to come to Japan. Yonamine adapted to Japanese culture and stayed in Japan as a player, coach, and manager for 37 years. He was elected to the Japan Baseball Hall of Fame in 1994.

Robert K. Fitts is the author of two books and a number of articles on Japanese baseball and baseball cards. A former historical archaeologist, Rob left academics to write about baseball in 2000. His articles have appeared in The National Pastime, Baseball Research Journal, Journal of American Culture, Tuff Stuff and on MLB.com. His first book, Remembering Japanese Baseball won the 2005 Society of American Baseball Research & The Sporting News Award for Best Baseball Research. His second book, Wally Yonamine: The Man who Changed Japanese Baseball tells the story of the "Jackie Robinson of Japan." His forthcoming book, Banzai Babe Ruth!, which focuses on the 1934 tour of Japan will be available in 2012. Learn more about his projects at www.RobFitts.com

60. Johnny Vander Meer: Pride Of The Garden State

I'm not one who goes bananas over baseball records. Cal Ripken breaking Gehrig's record for consecutive games really didn't do that much for me because as a resident of Charm City back in the 80's and 90's I saw first-hand how this selfish pursuit of a lousy record hurt the Orioles rather than helped them. Sure the Birds probably made a ton of cash selling "Working Class Hero" garbage at the souvenir stands, but for a period of years the O's stagnated in part because of Ripken's run at Gehrig's meaningless record. And who really holds the single season and lifetime home run records as sacred anymore, now that McGwire and Bonds and Sosa dragged their hormone and steroid-bloated stats into the record books? I'm sorry, Bonds and his arm-armor contraption coupled with his steroid use cheated his way into baseball history. As did McGwire with his hormone treatments and Sammy Sosa, not only hopped up on steroids, but additionally aided by his corked bat. In my view, they soiled a beautiful game and records and Hank Aaron and the other elders of baseball should have been screaming about that from day one.

That said, there is one record I can think of that will most likely never be broken. No amount of steroid shots a shady clubhouse attendant can give you in the keister will aid you in surpassing it. I'm talking about the 2 consecutive no-hitters hurled by a Cincinnati Reds pitcher in 1938. Since I am headed back to New Jersey for Christmas, I thought I'd throw out a card and story of one of The Garden State's most cherished sons... Johnny Vander Meer.

The small town of Midland Park is one of the reasons license plates in New Jersey bear the slogan "The Garden State." The quaint, picturesque rural community nestled in what is now Bergen County was settled by the Dutch in the 1600's and even though it is only a few miles from Manhattan, when Johnny Vander Meer was born in 1914 it was still rather remote. The son of a Dutch-born stone mason, by his teens Johnny was the ace of the Midland Park Rangers, a six-foot tall lefty with tremendous speed.

Like every boy in the country, the Yankees' Babe Ruth was his hero and he was a New York Giants fan because their ace, Carl Hubbell, was a lefty just like him. But it was New York's other team who showed interest in him. Vander Meer was signed by the Brooklyn Dodgers in 1933 and sent to their Dayton Ducks farm team in Ohio. Vander Meer had speed but no control and he finished the year 11-10. He pitched for the Scranton Miners the following year improving his record to 11-8 while bringing his ERA down some from the previous season. But the Brooklyn organization didn't know what to do with him after his control showed no signs of improvement the next year. His contract was bought by the Boston Bees and he reported to Nashville for the 1936 season. Pitching for the Vols, Vander Meer had a tendency to get rattled when a runner was on first base. Opposing teams jumped all over this weakness and as runners danced off the bag, his control went down the toilet. Nashville had enough after 10 games released the tall southpaw. Cincinnati's general manager, Larry MacPhail, thought there was something special about the kid from Jersey and claimed him for the Reds. MacPhail sent him to the Durham Bulls where manager Johnny Gooch took him under his wing and taught him how to pitch effectively with runners on the bases. Refreshed and armed with a new sinkerball, Vander Meer went 19-6 for the Bulls striking out a remarkable 295 batters in 219 innings.

The Red took him back with them to Cincinnati after spring training and on April 22, 1937 Johnny Vander Meer made his debut in the major leagues. He got into 19 games, half of them in relief and had a 3-5 record for a miserable Cincinnati team. Still haunted by control problems the Reds sent him to their highest minor league team, the Syracuse Chiefs of the International League for further seasoning.

He made the big club again after spring training in 1938 and became the youngest of their starting rotation that included veterans Bucky Walters, Paul Derringer and Peaches Davis. The jury was still out on the rookie when he tossed a 3 hitter against the National League Champion New York Giants on June 5th. His record now stood at a respectable 5-2.

Not one for set pitching rotations, 2 hours before game time on June 11th, manager Bill McKechnie tossed Johnny the ball and told him he was starting that afternoons game against Boston. The first inning went 1-2-3 but with 2 outs in the second, Gil English smashed a ball to deep center. Harry Craft, with his back to the plate raced to the wall and made a sensational over-the-shoulder catch to end the inning. He put them down again in the third and the next inning walked a batter who was promptly taken care of in a double play initiated by veteran catcher Ernie Lombardi when he caught a pop foul and fired to first, catching the runner off the bag. In the bottom of the inning Cincinnati's bats finally came alive and they scored a run.

In the fifth Vander Meer again walked a batter but Lombardi picked him off to clear the bases. Before the inning was over he walked another batter but got out of the inning without any more trouble. Lombardi slugged a two-run homer in the Reds half of the fifth to give him a 3-0 lead to work with.

Now-a-days Casey Stengel is remembered as the wise, funny and beloved old manager of the Yankees of the 1950's, but back in 1938 ol' Casey was a bitter manager of second-rate teams. After being run out of Brooklyn in the mid 30's he was now Boston's manager. Today it is considered bad form to try to jinx or taunt a pitcher who is throwing a no-hitter, even if he is on the opposing team, but back then everything was fair game. Stengel walked up to Vander Meer between innings and hissed "So you've got a no-hitter in your hands? Well, you won’t get it because we’re going to get you in the next inning.” This was the first time Johnny realized he was throwing a no-hitter because his teammates kept quiet so as not to break his concentration.

As uncouth as Stengel's taunt was, Vander Meer refused to get rattled and retired the rest of the Bees that afternoon. After the walk in the fifth, no other Boston player reached base. 4 innings later the rookie from New Jersey had thrown a no-hitter! The city of Cincinnati went wild with excitement. The Reds had had terrible teams the past decade and finally with new management the team was starting to gain momentum. And now a no-hitter, too!

The Reds headed east on a road trip and on June 15th found themselves in Brooklyn to face the Dodgers in the first night game ever played in Ebbets Field. It was a big night in Flatbush. Marching bands played before the game and Olympic champion Jesse Owens was on hand to race Ernie Koy of the Dodgers and Lee Gamble of the Reds around the bases to the delight of the fans. Among the 40,000 sold-out spectators was Johnny's parents who took the trip over from New Jersey to see their first professional baseball game. Several hundred of their fellow townspeople also came to show appreciation for Midland Park's favorite son. By chance, 2 hours before game time manager Bill McKechnie tossed Vander Meer the ball and told him he was starting.

Through the first 2 innings Vander Meer put the Dodgers away. The Reds scored 4 runs in the second and another in the fifth. By this time Vander Meer knew he was throwing another no-hitter and he was nervous. His wildness, which he was carefully keeping under control started showing. In the seventh McKechnie sent Bucky Walters to the bullpen to loosen up, just in case. The sold-out crowd had now come around and was cheering for the lefty. They were watching history and they knew it. For this one time they were rooting against their Bums. When they saw Walters throwing, the crowd started booing him.

The ninth inning came and the Reds scored another run. It was now 5-0 and Vander Meer was 3 outs away from another no-hitter. Taking the mound, the first batter, Buddy Hassett knocked the ball back to Vander Meer who threw him out. With every living soul in the stadium on edge, the kid from Jersey was now 2 outs away from the unthinkable. Catcher Babe Phelps drew a walk. As did Cookie Lavagetto and then Dolph Camilli and suddenly the bases were loaded.

McKechnie called time and walked out to the mound. He told Vander Meer to take his time, but get the no-hitter. Ernie Koy was the next batter. He grounded a ball to third and Hassett was forced out at the plate. 2 outs.

Brooklyn manager and shortstop Leo Durocher stepped up to the plate. The first pitch was a ball, followed by a strike and then another ball. Leo lined the next pitch deep but it turned foul before dropping into the upper deck. The count was 2 balls and 2 strikes. Vander Meer caught his breath and bore down. Durocher smacked the next pitch to Harry Craft in center field who caught it. Game over.

Ebbets Field went berserk. Fans rushed onto the field and chased Vander Meer into the locker room. Babe Ruth, then a coach for the Dodgers pushed his way up to Johnny and said "nice going, kid." Such was the power of Babe Ruth that Vander Meer later said meeting his boyhood hero like that was better than pitching those two no-hitters. Sports writers realised that counting his June 5th game against the Giants, Vander Meer now had pitched 18.1 consecutive hitless innings. Only the great Cy Young's record of 23 hitless innings was better, and on his next start, June 19th in Boston, Young was among the sell-out crowd watching.

Nervous, annoyed at all the publicity and just wanting it all to end already, Vander Meer retired the Bees for three more innings. Mercifully, Deb Garms hit a looper to center with fell for a base hit ending the streak at 21.2 innings.

It was a heady time for Johnny. The press had a field day with the rookie pitcher who barely made it to the majors. Everywhere you looked there was Johnny Vander Meer's face. There was a serious movement in to erect a statue of Johnny next to the one of President Garfield in downtown Cincinnati. He was suddenly the idol of thousands of little boys all over the country. The Reds management even tried to get him to change his uniform number from 57 to 00. He declined.

After the Boston game his record stood at 8-2 and he won his next 3 starts before he cooled off. At the end of the season he was 15-10 and the Reds had finished in 4th place. The next year those old control problems returned and even though the Reds won the pennant, Vander Meer turned in a disappointing 5-9 record. He told reporters that all the interviews, photographs and attention was just too much for him to take. The next year he was sent down to Indianapolis to work out his problems. He came roaring back in '41 winning 16 games and lowering his era to 2.82 and the next year won 18 games with a career low 2.43 era. He led the National league in strike outs for three seasons starting in 1941.

Vander Meer was a good pitcher, not a great one, and his spectacular record made him seem more than what he was. To many he never lived up to the promise he showed in June of 1938, but he was good enough to stay in the majors through the 1951 season. His final major league record stands at a mediocre 119 wins and 121 losses.

Johnny bounced around the minors for a few years and he made headlines again in 1953 when he threw a no-hitter against Beaumont for the Tulsa Oilers. After his playing days ended Vander Meer managed teams in the low minors for the Reds organization before returning to Midland Park. Until his death at the age of 82, Johnny was a well-liked member of the community and was always generous with his time and money. He quietly donated thousands of dollars to the Midland Park Baseball Association, enabling generations of young boys to enjoy the game that made him a star.

I for one can't imagine anyone coming close to Vander Meer's record and if it was broken, I can almost guarantee it wont be by some steroid-riddled bum using dishonest equipment to do so.

59. Dwight David Eisenhower: AKA: Wilson, cf

My apologies for the delay in getting a new player up. I have been busy finishing up projects and wrapping up the premier issue of "Number 21" in order to prepare for a 4 week trip to visit my family back in Jersey City for the holiday. It has been a year since I have been back there and this will be the longest time I have spent in Jersey since I left in 1988. I've always had a love-hate relationship with the place of my birth, but this year I am really looking forward to being there again. Living in California I have come to miss the feel of winter, the way the air smells before the snow comes and the stunning, brittle silence even in the city the morning after a big snowfall. Anyway, without further delay, here is card 59 of the Infinite baseball Card Set...

Fresh from winning the war in Europe, commander of all Allied Forces, General Dwight Eisenhower, landed in New York Harbor, the first stop on a whirlwind victory tour of the States. A life-long baseball fan, the first thing he did was take in a New York Giants game at the Polo Grounds. While meeting the players in the locker room after the game, the General told the awed players and beat reporters that at one time, he too was a baseball player and had played in the minor leagues in Kansas. This wasn't the first time Ike had let slip his brief stint playing the National Pastime professionally. During the war he often talked about baseball and that in the summer before he went to West Point he played centerfield in Kansas under the pseudonym "Wilson". Indeed, a very often used quote from Eisenhower illustrates his love of the game: "When I was a small boy in Kansas, a friend of mine and I went fishing and as we sat there in the warmth of the summer afternoon on a river bank, we talked about what we wanted to do when we grew up. I told him that I wanted to be a real major league baseball player, a genuine professional like Honus Wagner. My friend said that he'd like to be President of the United States. Neither of us got our wish."

That one of our Presidents had a passion for and even played the game is not a big deal in itself, however the fact that Ike did it before he was a Cadet at West Point is a sticky point. He tried out for the baseball team but did not make it, saying later "Not making the baseball team at West Point was one of the greatest disappointments of my life, maybe my greatest." While not destined to be a college baseball player, Eisenhower was the star running back and linebacker of the West Point football team, even tackling Jim Thorpe in a game. That is where the problem lies. If Eisenhower did play minor league baseball back before West Point, he would have been ineligible to play college sports at West Point. Jim Thorpe, who Eisenhower famously tackled in a 1912 game, ran afoul of the same amateur rule when he forfeited his Olympic gold medals because of playing semi-pro baseball for money early in his career. If it was true that he played baseball for money, Eisenhower played sports at The Academy under false and dishonest pretenses.

At the time Ike was at West Point, the idea of college players earning an extra paycheck playing under a false name was nothing new. The Hall Of Fame features quite a few players who did just the same thing Eisenhower did in order to preserve their amateur status. Colleges and universities looked the other way back then, happy to field a winning team. But with Eisenhower, the situation was much more complicated.

West Point prides itself on its rigid "Cadet Honor Code". This beautifully simple ethics guideline is as follows: "A Cadet will not lie, cheat, steal, or tolerate those who do." That's it. Although not formally adapted until the 1922, West Point had always held their cadets to that standard since it opened its doors in 1802. To have played college athletics would have put Ike in severe violation of The Code. If he had been caught as a Cadet, there is the possibility of his dismissal from the Corps of Cadets.

Years later when elected President in 1952, the press, eager to find any human interest story on the new Commander-in-Chief, seized on his collegiate football record and started asking questions about his baseball past. It had been common knowledge that Ike played baseball and the Kansas story was even quoted in the New York Times after the meeting with the Giants players in 1945. In 1952 baseball was still America's Game and their new war-hero President played the game for real. What a feature story this would be, kids would eat it up. But writers asking the President's staff for further information on his baseball career were met with silence. Eisenhower realized the ethical bind that fateful summer in 1911 had put him and ordered his staff to ignore any inquires into the subject. After meeting the wall of silence, newspapers found other things to write about and the story faded away.

So did Dwight Eisenhower really play baseball professionally? In 1911 Ike was 20 years-old and living in Abilene, Kansas. A former star outfielder for his high school baseball team, he was now a low-level engineer at a dairy plant and trying to gain acceptance to the Naval Academy or West Point. From his biography we know he was very short of money back then and desperate to pursue a higher education and get out of Kansas. A check of the records shows that in 1911 the Class D Central Kansas League had a team in nearby Junction City. The team was nicknamed the "Soldiers" after the massive Fort Riley Army base that lie right outside town. Box scores indeed show a "Wilson, c.f." played for Junction City for that summer only. Eisenhower was quoted by numerous sources as claiming to have used the name "Wilson" during his one baseball season. "Wilson" played in 9 games for the Soldiers and batted .355 in 31 at bats. Having committed no errors, his fielding percentage is a perfect 1.000. Because no first name, age or any information for that matter exists of "Wilson", we will never know for sure if this was Eisenhower. But the evidence is pretty good that it was.

Does this tarnish Ike's reputation and paint him as a liar? No, I don't really think so. In 1911, Eisenhower was just a young fellow trying to make a buck and better himself. He may have bent the truth a little. Whether or not his violation of The Code would have earned him a dismissal from The Academy will never be known. Perhaps it would have been overlooked much like most other colleges around the country at the time. What ever the truth may be, we do know that Dwight David Eisenhower, first as a General and then as President, devoted his life to the service of this country and for that, he will be remembered with great admiration. And to me, that he played minor league ball makes him an all the more cooler President.

See You At The Movies...

As some of you might know, one of the things I do as a designer is create period-correct graphics for movies and television. I'm able to accurately reproduce posters and packaging that looks like it is from a certain time period, but is not a real product, for example when you watch a movie scene that takes place in a bar in say, 1953, chances are the beer the characters are drinking are a made-up brand that just looks like it is from the era. The reasons for this is 1) it's too hard for a production company to get permission from the manufacturer of every product in every scene in every movie or tv show, and 2) using real antiques is just too cost-prohibitive.

So anyway, lately I have been working on a line of 1920's era vintage sporting posters. They are not team specific, but only city specific, in this case all New York City oriented. I thought I'd show some here and give everyone an example of what I do when I'm not drawing baseball cards!

Check out my NEW POSTER WEBSITE at www.cieradkowskidesign.blogspot.com to see these and many other posters I have done and now sell! If you have any questions or want a special poster, please email me at info@cieradkowskidesign.com

Just In Time For The Holidays!

Just in time for the holidays... the first edition of a little baseball art and history journal called "Number 21". Named after the number of my Pop's favorite player, Number 21 will hopefully become a semi-regular series of themed books which will include 12 short stories and illustrations of the type of ballplayers you've come to expect from The Infinite Baseball Card Set Blog.

Due to overwhelming requests, the first book will be Jewish Baseball Pioneers and Stars. Besides including different takes on "the Big 3"- Greenberg, Koufax and Berg, I went all out to bring you 9 other guys you may or may not have heard of so it will appeal to ALL baseball history fans, whether you're Jewish or not.

Each edition will be a soft covered 20 page book printed on card stock and includes 12 different stories and artwork. Along with a short introduction about Jews and baseball these is also a 2 page section of baseball book suggestions from small-publishing companies that I think would be worthy additions to your library.

The book is being priced out now by printers and will sell for about $25 - 30.00. Stay tuned to the blog and I should have a definite publication date right after Thanksgiving!

58. Bill Byrd: Call Him "Daddy"

When I left New Jersey and arrived in Baltimore to attend art school back in 1988, I brought with me a growing passion for the negro leagues. From what books and material I was able to get a hold of in those pre-computer days, I of course knew about the mighty Kansas City Monarchs and the venerable Homestead Grays. But it was while living in Baltimore that I learned to appreciate the other teams that made up the negro leagues. The city of Baltimore had a rich black history and its baseball lineage included two great teams, the Baltimore Black Sox and the Elite Giants. Back then many former players were still alive and I tried my best to meet every one I could. My friendship with television and radio host Dr. Bob Hironemus helped me out immensely as he and his wife Zoe were big contributors to the memory and preservation of negro league history. Because of living in Baltimore, I kind of adapted the Elite Giants as "my" team and plunged myself into finding out everything I could about them. Each week as I draw and write about a different player I have to restrain myself from doing a feature on another Elite Giant player. So far I have been good and done only one other Elite, second baseman Sammy T. Hughes. Today I introduce the second Elite Giant to grace the virtual pages of The Infinite Baseball Card Set, pitcher Bill Byrd...

For every flashy Satchel Paige and Josh Gibson in the Negro Leagues, there were guys like Bill Byrd. The big right-hander was the ace of the Baltimore Elite Giants staff. Byrd had a formidable arsenal of specialty pitches; blazing fastball, slider, various speed knuckle balls, change-up and a big ol' roundhouse curve all thrown with pin-point accuracy. But what he was most known and feared for was his spitball. Byrd was the last pitcher in the negro leagues who was allowed to use the slippery pitch. Opposing players swore he used it all the time, but Byrd claimed what he did was use the threat of it more often than not and psyche-out the batter. Byrd would later say that he did not even like throwing the pitch, but that his managers would always ask for it, knowing the value of its formidable reputation. And if he really didn't want to throw it, they told him to fake it.

An opposing player once asked Byrd if he really did throw a spitter to him, to which Byrd replied "if you thought I did, I did."

To throw the pitch, Byrd would chew a tree bark called Slippery Elm which produced a real nice consistency of lubricated saliva. After loading up his thumb, index and middle fingers, Byrd would grip the ball between the seams, wind up and throw the ball not so it rolled off the finger tips, but squeezed the ball out from between the wet fingers. Robbed of its natural spin, the baseball would hurtle towards the plate and suddenly drop away from the batter, kind of like a filthy split-finger fastball. Besides being hard to hit, it was a damned scary thing to try to catch as well.

The fatherly Byrd took it upon himself to look after the younger players, who nicknamed him "Daddy", including a husky young high school kid from Philadelphia named Roy Campanella. The future Hall Of Famer was just a 16 year-old kid when he joined the Elites in 1938. The much older and responsible Byrd took Campanella under his wing and watched over the young catcher, steering him away from the temptations of the road, all the while teaching him the ropes of how to handle big league pitchers. Later while playing for the Brooklyn Dodgers, Campanella and pitcher Preacher Roe made a formidable battery because Campy knew exactly how to handle Roe's illegal spitball. Campanella later credited his years on the Elite Giants catching Bill Byrd as the key to his success in handling the unpredictable pitch. Another one of Byrd's young charges was future Dodger star Junior Gilliam. So too was a cocky young college kid named Joe Black, who joined the Elites as a shortstop in 1943, but his rifle arm made him more valuable as a pitcher. However Black was more of a "thrower" than "pitcher" and it was Byrd who quietly taught Black how to select pitches, set-up and outsmart a batter. Byrd's advice eventually turned Black into an All-Star pitcher and one of the first players to integrate the majors. Later joining the Brooklyn Dodgers, Joe Black's 1952 rookie season ranks among the most dominant season ever for a relief pitcher. Unfortunately an arm injury the next Spring curtailed Black's promising major league career.

Back in the 1930's and 40's Byrd was known as a "Money Pitcher". What this meant was that when a game meant something, this was the guy you wanted on the mound for you. When Byrd played ball, the negro leagues usually played about 3 official league games a week, the rest of the week being games against semi-pro and town teams or exhibition games that did not count in the standings. Negro league teams usually didn't play their best players in these meaningless exhibitions, saving guys like Byrd for the games that counted. More often than not, Bill Byrd came through. He was a workman-like pitcher, striking a batter out when he had to and letting him hit it to try to get a double play or pop out, what ever it took to win. Along with his suitcase of different pitches, Byrd would also use what ever was handed to him. Though he claimed to never do it himself, Byrd was also masterful at using a "cut ball". Negro league pitchers of his day were notorious for "cutting" the ball, making grooves or peeling back a part of the cover along the seams in order to make the ball do funny things. The money conscience negro leagues would use a baseball until it was either hit out of the park or fell apart so Byrd was often left with an artificially modified baseball to work with. Being the consummate professional, he made do with what he had.

Although statistics are incomplete it is fairly certain Byrd has the fourth best record for strikeouts in official negro league games. He is also credited with a lifetime league record of 114 wins and 72 losses, an approximate .615 winning percentage. The games he did lose were more often by a slim margin. For example, in box scores I collected from the 1942 season in which Byrd had 9 wins and 2 losses in league games, those 2 defeats were by the scores of 2-1 and 3-2 to the Homestead Grays who were the eventual Negro National League champs that year.

Perhaps more than his pitching skills, Byrd really was proud of his hitting prowess. As a boy he taught himself to hit by rigging up a stick on a rock and laying a smaller stick on top of that, then stepping on the first stick which popped the small stick into the air which he would then hit. The speed of which was required to hit the stick came in handy years later when he played professional ball. Byrd's bat speed was tremendous as was his power. He would often play the outfield during his days off with the Elites and he was the go-to guy when a pinch-hitter was needed. In the days when negro league teams carried only about 15-18 men on the roster, a multi-skilled player like Byrd was especially prized. As a "money pitcher" Byrd was often called upon to pitch in the Yankee Stadium four-team Sunday double-headers which attracted huge crowds, both black and white. Beside his pitching skills, it was Byrd's slugging power that really paid off in Yankee Stadium where the short right field porch was made for the switch-hitting slugger who had more power when batting from the left side. Byrd reckoned he hit 6 or 7 balls into the stands there.

The waning years of Bill Byrd's career echoed the demise of the negro leagues itself. After the Elite Giants won the Negro League World Series in 1949 when the now 42 year-old pitcher went 12-3, Byrd finally called it quits the next Spring. Attendance was rapidly declining and the Elites ceased to pay players salaries, instead dividing up a percentage of the gate receipts. The end of the league soon followed and the Elite Giants left Charm City for Nashville in 1951 and then disbanded. Byrd played semi-pro ball around Baltimore for a few years and then moved north to Philadelphia where he worked for General Electric.

Baltimore's Byrd might have retired, but his legacy lived on with three of his students moving on to the Major Leagues and stardom. Without their "Daddy", Dodger fans might never have gotten to see Roy Campanella, Junior Gilliam and Joe Black.

Eddie Grant: A Real Hero for Veteran's Day

On a day like today, Veteran's Day, I want to feature a real hero. These days it seems anyone who does anything can be termed a hero. We are losing the real meaning of that word and that is something that really bothers me, especially when I learn about ordinary men and women who somehow rise to the top and emerge as real heroes. Miners trapped in Chile may be survivors and noteworthy, but they are not heroes. But, instead of writing a bitter, angry introduction outing the many pseudo-heroes that the media seems to create and force-feed to us non-stop, I will let the story of a real, bona-fide hero speak for itself.

They called him "Harvard Eddie." At a time when most ballplayers barely had a high school education, third baseman Eddie Grant, Harvard Class of 1909, was a member of the Massachusetts Bar, a full-fledged lawyer. He was also a darn good third baseman, batting .322 for Jersey City and leading the Eastern League during his first year in pro ball. The next season, 1907, Grant was called up to the Philadelphia Phillies. He quickly gained attention, not from his bat or fielding skills, but for what he would say on the field: when calling out his claim on a pop fly, instead of yelling the common "I GOT it!", Harvard Eddie called out the proper phrase, "I HAVE it!" much to the amusement of his more modestly educated teammates.

During off seasons Grant returned to Boston to practice law, but each spring he took up baseball again. Traded to Cincinnati in 1911, he lost something at the plate and his batting average plummeted. The death of his wife after barely 9 months of marriage might have been the reason why. In 1913 the New York Giants picked Grant up and although he rode the bench more often than not, John McGraw took a liking to the scholarly third sacker and made him the Giants' bench coach. As much as he loved the game, Grant disliked the life of a part-time coach and player and a the age of 32, retired to pursue his law career full-time.

The Great War had been raging in Europe for 3 years by now and many of Grant's Harvard classmates were active participants even before the U.S. entered the war. Whether they drove ambulances for one of the volunteer organizations operating just behind the trenches or flew airplanes for the French in the Lafayette Flying Corps, college educated men of that era felt a sense of duty and adventure that sadly seems lacking these days. Once America entered the war in April of 1917, even more of these privileged men from wealthy families left their lucrative careers and easy lives to become officers in the rapidly expanding U.S. Army. Back then the Army assumed that a college educated man made a natural leader and "Harvard Eddie" was made Captain of Company H, 307th Infantry Regiment, 77th Division of the American Expeditionary Forces. After a period of training on Long Island with his men, Grant sailed for France in the summer of 1918.

The American Army was eager to prove itself to their Allies, France and Britain and the Meuse-Argonne Offensive was its chance. Launched on October 2nd, 1918, the Battle of the Argonne was one of the fiercest fights in American military history. The 77th Division charged into the Argonne Forest and strait into the solidly entrenched veteran German Army. It was during the confusing first day of the battle that Major Whittlesey, a New York attorney, got isolated and pinned down deep within the dense forest. Although forever known as "The Lost Battalion", Whittlesey knew exactly where he and his men were, it was just that no one else in the U.S. Army did. After a few anxious days, American aviators braved the dense German anti-aircraft fire and finally located Whittlesey and his battalion. Pilot Lieutenant Harold Goettler and his observer Lieutenant Erwin Bleckley volunteered to circle the forest with the idea that the place that did not fire back at them would be the the location of the lost battalion. They were right and after taking heavy fire which mortally wounded both men, their DH-4 aircraft crashed just short of the French lines. The French soldiers rushed forward to help the downed aviators. Goettler was already dead but Bleckley, with his last dying breath pressed a bloody note into the hands of the closest French soldier. On it was a map showing the location of Whittlesey and his men! With this new information, Captain Eddie Grant and Company H was among the units rushed into the Argonne to rescue the Lost Battalion.

By the morning of October 5th, Eddie Grant and his men had been on the front line and in the thick of the fighting for 4 days. No one, most of all Captain Grant, had had any time for sleep. Being awake and constantly under enemy fire for 4 days must have been a terrible feeling. Add on top of that the responsibility for the lives of the 150 men of his company and you can imagine the stress Grant must have been under. Taken out of the line that day for rest, a fellow officer described the captain as barely able to lift his arm to bring a cup of much needed coffee to his lips. But his company's reprieve was short-lived. The Lost Battalion had been found. When orders to move-out came, Grant got to his feet and took his place at the head of his Company. He led them right back into the Argonne.

The Germans threw everything they had at the Americans rushing into the forest. If Whittlesey and his dwindling men could be captured or killed it would be a devastating blow to the upstart fresh Americans as well as their weary Allies. The story of the Lost Battalion had made newspapers all over the globe and its rescue would come as a giant shot in the arm to the young nation eager to prove itself to the world in the greatest war mankind had ever known. As the 307th Regiment marched forward the German artillery pounded the road leading into the forest. Men and horses were torn to bits by the constant exploding shells but still Captain Grant and the American Army moved forward through the hail of shrapnel.

Among the wounded being brought back past the advancing infantrymen was Major Jay, commander of Grant's battalion. Recognizing Eddie he waved him over. All the other ranking officers were either dead or wounded. Harvard Eddie was now in charge of the battalion.

Though it didn't seem possible, the shelling increased. The Germans knew they had to destroy the Americans before they reached Whittlesey. The whole road had become a deathtrap but everyone knew they had to move forward. Grant called his officers together to brief them on the situation. At that moment a shell exploded, tearing apart the two young lieutenants standing next to Eddie. Grant tried yelling over the screams and explosions for a stretcher bearer. Signaling his men to take cover and waving his arms wildly in desperation for medics that never came, the next shell exploded directly on top of Harvard Eddie. He died instantly.

New York sports writer Damon Runyon was a war correspondent in France during war and had known Eddie Grant well during his time with the Giants. He wrote a stirring eulogy for the former third baseman entitled "Eddie Grant Sleeps In The Argonne Forest". The story was reprinted widely including in the 1919 Spalding Guide and Grant, the only major leaguer killed in the war, gained posthumous fame. In 1921 the New York Giants dedicated a plaque commemorating the former infielder and bench coach in front of which a wreath was placed each Memorial Day in a solemn ceremony started by his old friend, John McGraw. That plaque was famously stolen after the last Giants game at the Polo Grounds in 1957. Historians searched in vain for the plaque or any trace of who the scumbag was who stole it but it wasn't until 1999 that a couple moving into their new Hohokus, New Jersey home discovered a plaque wrapped in a blanket hidden in the attic. Turns out the home was formerly owned by a New York City cop named Gaetano Bucca. Officer Bucca, whose police beat in 1957 included the neighborhood surrounding the Polo Grounds, had apparently stolen the memorial. But baseball historians aren't positive the plaque is the real one stolen from the Polo Grounds. The San Francisco Giants for their part didn't seem to care as they try to distance themselves from their former life in Manhattan. First World War historians did however finally get the team to install a replacement in the new ballpark a few years ago. You can see it near the Lefty O'Doul entrance, but in this day and age of so many "heroes", this modest memorial to a fallen soldier who gave his life for his country just doesn't seem to be enough.

Dedicated to Captain Eddie Grant and every other serviceman and servicewoman who gave their life so I may live free in this great country of ours. Thank You.

Lefty Grove Art on ebay, too!

And a Lefty Grove is also on ebay this week...
http://cgi.ebay.com/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&item=150516447555