103. A Tale of 4 Ruths

While working on the previous Babe Ruth post, after I drew the '34 All-Americans uniform on him, I wanted to see what that drawing would look like in the colors of other teams The Babe played with. Clockwise from the top left is: 1938 Brooklyn Dodgers from his time as a Dodger coach, 1927-30 New York Yankees, 1935 Boston Braves and 1923 Barnstorming uniform.

102. Beibu Rusu: The Babe In Japan

When my buddy Charlie Vascellaro and I were taking the Babe Ruth Museum Traveling Exhibit around the country back in '02, one of the best things about the job was the personal stories people were constantly telling us about their own, or someone they knew, had with The Babe. Most of the stories culminated in getting the cherished autograph of the big man. I don't think anyone else in the history of the world signed their own name as much as The Babe. In a day and age where guys like Barry Bond will deliberately ignore young children politely asking for a signature (I witnessed it myself, it was an episode that still turns my stomach), the stories of The Babe delaying the departure of the Yankees' team bus on a humid summer afternoon because he couldn't bring himself to leave until every scrap of paper handed to him by little children and blushing adults had his signature on it. I often wondered what went through The Babe's mind as he signed ball after ball, had his meals interrupted by a request to sign a cocktail napkin or confronted a typical day's mail delivery that held countless requests for that most famous of autographs.

I think The Babe looked on it as his obligation to the people who made him famous, a small price to pay for the love, money and adulation he now received and that his childhood so tragically lacked. We've all seen the newsreel footage of him standing on a ledge in New York, tossing brand-new baseballs with his signature to hundreds of screaming fans in the street. He's laughing so hard at the joy his autograph gave the people below. After re-watching this footage once, I realized how many hours he must have sat in a room and signed ball after ball.

Earlier this week, as I was devouring Rob Fitts' new book "Banzai Babe Ruth: Baseball Espionage & Assassination During the 1934 Tour of Japan", I read a great passage about how The Babe was relaxing one night in his suite at the Imperial Hotel in Tokyo when there was a knock at the door. An old Japanese man in a kimono bowed and handed a ball to The Babe: "sign please". The old man didn't have a pen so The Babe went back into his suite and got his own which he used to sign the ball and returned it to the old man. The old man bowed in thanks and out from his kimono sleeve rolled another ball. "Sign please" said the old man and The Babe signed the second ball. The old man bowed again and out rolled a third ball: "sign please" and The Babe did again. As Ruth's wife and daughter watched laughing, The Babe and the old man repeated the same drill more than a dozen times until there were no more balls to sign and the old man bowed and left. As Fitts writes "the amused Ruth took it in stride."

So this week I just wanted to pay tribute to Babe Ruth and how something so simple and free as his signature could bring so much happiness to so many people, as well as introduce you to a really spectacular book, the aforementioned "Banzai Babe Ruth." I've written about the 1934 Tour of Japan in my stories on Moe Berg, Eiji Sawamura and Victor Starffin and Fitt's book brings them all together in a great tale of baseball, spying and murder. I haven't read a baseball book this good in a very long time I can't recommend it enough. Here is what Rob has to say about his new book:

Nearly 500,000 screaming fans lined the streets of Tokyo on November 2, 1934, to welcome Babe Ruth and his team of American all stars to Japan. The line of open limousines held one of the greatest baseball teams ever assembled. Joining the Bambino were future Hall of Famer members Lou Gehrig, Jimmie Foxx, Earl Averill, Charlie Gehringer, Lefty Gomez, and Connie Mack as well as stars Lefty O’Doul, Bing Miller, and Earl Whitehill. Only one player didn’t seem to belong—a journeyman catcher with a .238 career batting average named Moe Berg. Berg would eventually become an operative for the OSS, the forerunner of the CIA, and many believe that this trip was his first mission as a spy.

As the motorcade paraded through Ginza rows of fans, often ten to twenty deep, crowded into the road to catch a glimpse of the Americans. The pressing crowd reduced the broad streets to narrow paths just wide enough for the limousines to pass. Confetti and streamers fluttered down from well-wishers leaning out of windows of the avenues’ multi-storied office buildings. Thousands waived Japanese and American flags and cheered wildly. Cries of “Banzai! Banzai, Babe Ruth!” echoed through the neighborhood. Reveling in the attention, the Bambino plucked flags from the crowd and stood in the back of the car waving a Japanese flag in his left hand and an American in his right. Finally, the crowd couldn’t contain itself and rushed into the street to be closer to the Babe. Downtown traffic stood still for hours as he shook hands with the multitude.

Ruth and his teammates stayed in Japan for a month, playing 18 exhibition games against Japanese opponents in 12 cities. But there was more at stake than sport. Japan and the United States were slipping towards war as the two nations vied for control over China and naval supremacy in the Pacific. Politicians on both sides of the Pacific hoped that the goodwill generated by the tour and the two nations’ shared love of the game could help heal their growing political differences. Many observers, therefore, considered the all stars’ joyous reception significant. The New York Times, for example, wrote: “The Babe’s big bulk today blotted out such unimportant things as international squabbles over oil and navies.” Connie Mack added that the tour was “one of the greatest peace measures in the history of nations.”
But the shared love for a sport would not be enough to overcome Japan’s growing nationalism. Just two miles to the northwest of the parade at the Imperial Japanese Army Academy in Ichigaya, a group known as the Young Officers was planning a coup d’etat against the government, an upheaval that would jeopardize the tour’s success and put the players’ lives at risk. In another section of Tokyo, the ultra-nationalist War Gods Society met at their dojo. Their actions would tarnish the tour with bloodshed.

Banzai Babe Ruth! is the story of the doomed attempt to reconcile the United States and Japan through the tour of Major League all stars in 1934. It will reveal how two groups of men from different cultures, temporarily united by their love for baseball, became tragically divided as their countries rushed towards war. It is a tale of international intrigue, espionage, attempted murder and, of course, baseball.

We shall see how Babe Ruth, the jovial demigod of baseball, brought the two nations together and forestalled talks of war, before becoming a symbol in Japan of American decadence, cursed by imperial troops charging to their certain deaths. We shall also see how a 17-year-old pitcher named Eiji Sawamura became a national hero by playing against the Americans in friendship but died in the South Pacific as their bitter enemy. We will follow Moe Berg’s forays into espionage; the Young Officers attempt to overthrow the Japanese government; the ultra-nationalist War Gods Society attempt to murder tour organizer Matsutaro Shoriki; and the birth of Japanese professional baseball. It will introduce the lesser-known tales of Victor Starffin, the Russian immigrant and player for Japan whose father was a convicted murderer; and Jimmy Horio, a Japanese-American who played for the All Nippon team in an effort to gain a Major League contract. The 1934 All American tour of Japan was more than just a series of exhibition baseball games. It was an event that changed lives and influenced Japanese-American relations, for better and worse, for decades.

Robert K. Fitts is the author of three 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." Learn more about his projects at www.RobFitts.com

101. Nick Cullop: Tragedy and Triumph in Atlanta

Anyone who's done their share of baseball research by culling through old newspapers knows how easy it is to get sidetracked by an interesting article totally unrelated to the thing you're looking for. Such was the case a while ago with the mysterious Farmer Dean. Just recently I was going through a 1925 Dallas sports page when I stumbled on an Associated Press article causing me to abandon what I was originally searching for and set my artistic sights on an obscure outfielder whose major league career totaled just 173 games spread over 5 mediocre seasons with 5 different teams.

Despite forging a mediocre career in the majors, Nick Cullop was the “Babe Ruth of the Minor Leagues” back in the 1920’s and 30’s. His 420 home runs is still the third best in the minors and for a while he held the RBI record as well with 1,857. Despite his early promise, Cullop’s life took several tragic turns on the way to the majors.

He broke into pro ball with the 1920 Madison Greys of the class D South Dakota League where his 18-12 pitching record and .341 average got him a quick promotion to the Minneapolis Millers. A bit out-classed in the American Association he managed only a 1-2 record by the time the season ended. The next spring Cullop was sent down a rung to the Western League where despite early praise in the newspapers including The Sporting News, he went 6-11 and batted a disappointing .229. The following season he played for the Des Moines Boosters and had a bit more success with his 13-16 record for a poor team, but his average improved to .295. Despite his billing as a pitcher, Cullop was traded to the Omaha Buffaloes and converted into an outfielder. Through everyday use his hitting improved in spades to the point of him smashing 40 homers in 1924.

The New York Yankees got wind of Omaha's window-breaking outfielder and bought his contract from the Buffaloes. With the Yankee outfield stocked with fellas such as Babe Ruth, Earle Combes and Bob Meusel, Nick was optioned to the minor leagues for another year of seasoning.

Cullop was sent to the Atlanta Crackers of the Southern Association where he became the teams' starting center fielder. By now the 25 year-old slugger was married with two boys and his family moved with him to Atlanta for the 1925 season where he rented a 3rd floor apartment in town. The Yankee-in-waiting made the best out of his Atlanta assignment and continued demonstrating his hitting prowess. By the time Independence Day weekend rolled around Cullop was leading the Southern Association with 21 homers and was one of the most popular players on the Crackers.

Cullup went into the holiday weekend riding a hot streak - on the Thursday before the 4th he smashed 2 round-trippers off New Orleans' Harry Kelley and the next day belted another off John Martina. The Pelicans were still in town for the next 2 days and Nick was chomping at the bit getting ready to feast on some more New Orleans pitching.

Saturday morning, July 4th, Cullop was up early and at Spiller Field warming up for the holiday double header. Throwing the ball around to loosen up, Nick was informed that his 4 year-old son Billy had somehow broken through the screen covering the family's window and fallen 3 stories to the street below. Cullop dashed out of the ballpark still in uniform and not taking the time to grab a cab or secure a ride, ran the whole way back to his apartment building.

By the time the exhausted center fielder arrived in front of his home, young Billy Cullop was dead. The lengthy fall had broken his neck and he had died instantly. Cullop collapsed on the sidewalk in grief.

Emotionally distraught, Cullop spent two long weeks mourning his boy and supporting his frail wife and other son. The stress took its toll on the burly ballplayer and he lost over 14 pounds. When he finally became stable enough to suit up, Cullop dedicated the rest of his season to his boy Billy and finished up 1925 with a league-leading 30 home runs. Despite the tragic turn the year in Atlanta took, Nick had successfully battled back from adversity and proved to the Yankees that he had what it took to play in the big leagues. When the New Yorkers' went south for spring training in March of 1926, Nick Cullop was with them.

In his first season in the majors he rode the Yankee bench but did get into two games as a pinch hitter - he had one hit and one strike-out. Because of the sheer amount of talent on the Yankees Cullop was dealt to Washington and then Cleveland. Despite his promising minor league stats Cullop managed only .231 before he was sent back to Atlanta for the 1928 season.

The Crackers' fans welcomed Nick, his wife and remaining son back with open arms. If anything, Cullop's tragedy his previous stint in town made him an even more popular payer and he responded by hitting .352 with 17 homers. The Brooklyn Robins (they were nick-named "The Robins" after their popular manager Wilbert "Robby" Robinson and would be called "The Dodgers" after he left the club in 1932) took notice and when opening day 1929 came around Cullop was roaming the Ebbets Field as one of the Robins' back-up outfielders. Unfortunately a .195 batting average was not good enough to even stay in Brooklyn and he was sent down to Minneapolis for the 1930 season. If a being demoted a second time wasn't bad enough, things would get even worse for Nick.

During the winter of 1929-30 Nick's remaining son passed away when he contracted a fever and died. Unable to bear the death of their remaining son, Cullop's wife had a nervous break down and he spent the spring of 1930 nursing her back to health. The baseball season started off just as bad - in his 3rd game Cullop was beaned in the head. Throughout the first month of the season he suffered from a fear of the ball and in 15 at bats he struck-out 11 times.

With all the bad juju coming down on him, 1930 should have been a lousy season for Nick, but, like 1925 when Billy died, he put his head down and plowed ahead. For Nick Cullop 1930 was to be his best season ever. After that first month he suddenly regained his confidence and for the remaining 130 games he hit .359 and his 54 home runs was the best in the American Association. Just like in 1925 and 1928, the majors came knocking and Cullop was back in the bigs wearing a Cincinnati Reds uniform during the tail end of the 1930 season.

Although he made the Reds after spring training in 1931, his final season in the majors was to be as disappointing as all the others. His fielding became so erratic to the point he committed 3 errors on the same play when he charged in on a scorching ground ball - the ball took a bad hop and went through his legs - error number one. Cullop turned to snag the ball when it rebounded off the outfield wall and went through his legs again - error number two. Finally catching up with the darn thing he threw it towards third but the throw, rushed by the flustered outfielder, went wild and eluded the third baseman - error number 3. That fielding lapse plus a .263 average and the most strike-outs in the National league sealed his fate - after the season his contract was sold to Columbus- Nick was back in the American Association again.

For his part he was pretty positive about his brief major league career, noting that the teams he played on already had pretty good talent in place and he never really had the chance to play a full season and show what he could do. Now realizing he was back in the minors to stay, Cullop focused on learning how to manage a ball club. The Columbus Red Birds were part of the Cardinals vast farm system and in 1941 the team put him in charge of their Asheville Tourists club. For the next 19 years Nick was a popular and successful manager, mostly at the AAA level with Baltimore, Columbus and Milwaukee. He retired in 1960, a full 40 years after turning pro.

There's one last story about Nick that I think speaks a lot about the man. While skipper of the Columbus Jets in 1955, he had a black outfielder named Al Pinkston on the team. Although this was 10 years since Jackie Robinson had broke the color line in organized ball, racial tensions were still present and during a game with the Toronto Maple Leafs those tensions were hot and heavy. Toronto's pitcher Bill Miller sent Pinkston diving into the dirt one pitch after another until he finally started arguing about it. As the 2 teams started getting closer to a fight, Cullop apparently heard something he didn't like from the Leaf's first baseman Lou Limmer and knocked him flat on his keister with a left-hook. Cullop was thrown out of the game, but that wasn't all. The two teams remained in a high state of alert and the next inning all hell broke loose after a rough play at second base. Before it ended 40 players pounded on one another before 11 sheriff's deputies and 7 local Columbus cops restored order. Limmer, already hurting from Cullop's left-hook, was hospitalized with severe bruising to the face and body. Nick Cullop was fined $50 and made African-American newspapers and magazines across the country for standing up for his black outfielder.

Frankie Zak: The Reason I Love This Game

Recently, I was reminded of the ballplayer whose story, more than anyone else, got me into researching obscure players and teams from baseball’s past and tell their stories.

 

Way back when I was a kid, I remember asking my grandfather if he ever knew anyone who made it to the major leagues. My grandfather said yes, as a matter of fact he did know a major leaguer, and his name was Frankie Zak. Frankie was a buddy of my grandfather from the old neighborhood in Passaic, New Jersey, an industrial city a few miles west of Manhattan. Frankie, like everyone else on Fourth Street, was the son of Polish immigrants. Thomas and Victoria, his parents, had immigrated from the Galicia region of Eastern Poland. Born in 1922, Frankie was the youngest of the four Zak kids. 

 

Just like my grandfather and the rest of the gang on Fourth Street, Frankie played baseball, but the game didn’t really interest Frankie. Sure, he tagged along when my grandfather and his cronies were devising schemes to sneak into Newark’s Ruppert Stadium to see the Yankees top farm club play, but baseball wasn’t Frankie’s thing. Just under 5’-10” and with a lean, athletic build, Frankie excelled at football, tennis, and especially track, where his fast speed earned him medals in the 60-yard dash.

 

When he graduated Passaic High in 1940, Frankie went to work in a wire cable factory. The stable life of a blue collar factory worker seemed to be his future, but that’s when fate stepped in.

 

In the summer of 1941, Frankie and a couple neighborhood pals decided to bum around the country in an old jalopy. With $30 bucks between them, they ventured south to visit another neighborhood pal (and an uncle of mine) Eddie Sudol. Back in the neighborhood, Eddie was the guy everyone thought would go all the way to the major leagues one day, and sure enough he was now playing his second year of organized ball with the Tarboro Orioles in the Coastal Plain League. This was Class D ball, the bottom rung of the minors at the time. While most teams at this level were not owned by a big league club like they are today, the Tarboro team had recently signed a working agreement with the Baltimore Orioles, an independent minor league team at the time.

 

So anyway, Frankie Zak and his two pals turn up in Tarboro one hot and humid June day. As Eddie told the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, “That night I went to the park, not because I liked baseball, but just to see my friend play. I wasn’t very much impressed, and the next day was making ready with my two pals to shove off, when my ball-playing friend rushed into the room and said: “Come on to the park. You’re goin’ to play for us tonight.”

 

In another interview with the Paterson Morning Call, Frankie recalled that Eddie, “came up and told me their shortstop quit and I was going to play that night. I’d played a little amateur and sandlot ball, but didn’t care much about the game. But the manager, Poke Whalen, said he would pay me for it–and I needed the money. So I played. I hit one for three and didn’t make any errors. He signed me to a contract after the game, and I stayed.” But it was only temporary, you know, ‘cause Frankie didn't really care for baseball.

Though he had been a second baseman back in Passaic, Frankie eased right into his new job. And the sportswriters who covered the Coastal Plain League were delighted with the newcomer because they no longer had to write out the name of the shortstop Frankie replaced: Olesciewicz!

 

So Zak finishes the season with the 6th place Orioles, bats a lean .255, and fields his position with a .905 percentage, right about in the middle of the league. Not bad for a rookie who never played the position before. In normal times, it would be a tough call to say whether his first season at Tarboro was good enough to keep him in professional baseball, but these were not normal times. During the off season the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor and the country was thrust into a two-front war. Any able-bodied men who didn't rush to volunteer were being scooped up by the draft, and baseball at all levels was being affected. It was a time when men like Frankie Zak got their chance at baseball immortality.

With the war picking up steam, Frankie's rookie season was deemed good enough to be picked up by the Pittsburgh Pirates organization. The Bucs sent the 20-year-old shortstop to the Class D Hornell Maples in the Pennsylvania-Ohio-New York League (mercifully known as the PONY League). While he didn't exactly tear up the circuit, he did boost his average to .271 in 129 games as the Maples’ starting shortstop. He had 39 RBI's and belted 2 home runs, the only ones he ever hit in his career. The baseball odyssey of Frankie Zak was fully underway.

Spring training for the Pittsburgh Pirates in 1943 was held in Muncie, Indiana due to wartime restrictions, and Frankie worked out under the tutelage of the greatest shortstop who ever played, Hall of Famer Honus Wagner. Though he didn’t seem ready for the majors quite yet, Frankie always managed to endear himself to those around him. This included the legendary managers he played for, such as Casey Stengel, Frankie Frisch, and Burleigh Grimes – all gruff veterans and Hall of Famers who did not normally take to young ballplayers. Yet something about the kid from Passaic made these normally taciturn skippers take on an almost big brother role when it came to Frankie.

 

Throughout his career, the slight but enthusiastic ballplayer who was descried in an Associated Press wire story as “dynamic, effervescent,” never failed to make a positive impression on those around him. He was ever eager to hone his craft, showed unselfishness at the plate, willing to take a walk and get on base instead of swinging for the fences, and was a non-stop chatterbox of whistles and encouragement to his teammates when he was manning shortstop. The other ballplayers began calling Frankie, “The Voice.”

 

While Frankie didn’t impress Pirates skipper Frankie Frisch enough to make the big club, he was promoted to Pittsburgh’s highest minor league team, the Toronto Maple Leafs of the International League. The 1943 Leafs were managed by Burleigh Grimes, the cantankerous former Brooklyn Dodgers spitball pitcher and later manager. Grimes quickly became a Frankie Zak fan, singing his praises to both the young ballplayer and the press. The Leafs skipper told one sportswriter that his shortstop, “is better than Pee Wee Reese was when he came to the Dodgers” and Frankie later told the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette that Grimes “told me I would be a star in the majors, but I thought it was just encouragement, that’s all.”

 

Besides being the Leaf's starting shortstop, Frankie became noted for his speed on the bases. He batted .246 with 9 doubles and a triple in all 150 games played that year, the only player on the team to do that. He swiped 22 bases, led the league with 104 runs scored, and was second in the league with 104 walks as Toronto won the pennant. He did, however, commit 50 errors at his position – but then again, who can find fault with that, ‘cause Frankie didn’t care for baseball very much...

In 1944, the major league talent pool had been decimated by the war. By then pretty much every player who could pull a trigger was in the service. Those still playing were high school aged kids, geezers too old for the service, guys who were just plain lucky their draft number hadn’t come up yet, and those given a 4-F deferment by the draft board. 4-F was given out for a wide variety of reasons why a person was not acceptable for military service, in most cases a physical ailment. Afflicted with what was described in newspapers as a “kidney ailment,” Frankie was one of the 4-F’s.

 

It was under these circumstances that Frankie Zak put on a Pirates uniform with the number 14 on the back and stepped out onto the field as a real major leaguer.

 

Frankie’s big league debut came on April 21, 1944, in Forbes Field against the Cincinnati Reds. With the Pirates losing 4-2 in the bottom of the ninth, with 11,377 fans in the stands, Frankie Zak was put in to pinch hit for veteran catcher Al Lopez. He wound up being stranded on first when the next batter hit into a forced third out – but still, Frankie Zak, the guy from the old neighborhood who didn't care for baseball, was now a major league baseball player!

 

Pirates manager Frankie Frisch continued to use Frankie exclusively as a pinch hitter through the first two months of the season until his regular shortstop, Frankie Gustine, went into a batting slump. Frankie made his batting debut on June 1 in Ebbets Field against the Brooklyn Dodgers. In his first major league at bat, Frankie hit a single off Curt Davis in the top of the third. With Rip Sewell at the plate, the over enthusiastic Frankie danced too far off the bag and was picked off by Davis. However, Davis’s throw was off target and Frankie scampered into second on the error. Frankie clipped Davis for another hit in the fifth before he was taken out for a pinch hitter in the eighth inning.

 

Throughout the summer the young shortstop played backup to Frank Gustine and got into 87 games, frequently used as a pinch runner. Zak batted a hearty .300 with 3 doubles, a triple and 6 stolen bases thrown in there for good measure. But breaking the .300 mark was not the highlight of Zak's 1944 season – getting named to the 1944 All-Star Game was! Yes, Frankie Zak, rookie back-up shortstop and occasional pinch-runner was named to represent the National League at the 1944 All-Star Game.

How the heck did that happen? Well, it's like this: The 1944 All-Star Game was to be played on July 11 at Pittsburgh’s Forbes Field. Marty Marion of the Cardinals and Eddie Miller of the Reds were picked as the National League shortstops for the game. However, on the eve of the game, Miller was injured and could not play. National League manager Billy Southworth needed a backup to Marion ASAP, but because of wartime travel restrictions it would be impossible to import a player from out of town. He needed to grab someone present in Pittsburgh.

 

Southworth’s first choice was the Pirates second baseman, Pete Coscarart. Unfortunately, Pete was using the All-Star break to go on a fishing trip out of town. Fortunately, Frankie Zak had decided to stay in town. And just like that, Frankie Zak, the guy who didn’t care for baseball all that much, became an All-Star.

 

Although he didn't get into the game (Marty Marion played all 9 innings), Frankie had the best seat in the house as the National League won, 7-1. He did, however, manage to get into the official team portrait, mixed right in there with the best National Leaguer players of 1944.

Frankie, who was batting .330 at the All-Star break, cooled down slightly to an even .300 at the end of the season. Though he more than held his own in his rookie season, Frankie’s major league career would last only 36 more games spread over the next two years. But Frankie Zak made up for lack of playing time with a couple of legendary baseball stories that are still told by old timers.

 

The first one takes place sometime in the 1944 season. The Pirates were playing Chicago at Wrigley Field and Frankie was trying to score on a double by outfielder Jim Russell. As he rounded third, the Cubs nasty little third baseman, Eddie Stanky, gave him a hard shove. Thrown off balance and now out of control, Frankie careened out of the basepath and tumbled all the way to the dugout. The ump waved in the run but neglected to discipline Stanky. Pirates manager Frankie Frisch vowed to even the score for Frankie, and sure enough on the next play Jim Russell comes sliding into third, spikes high, as does manager Frankie Frisch, sliding in spikes high from the coach’s box! The ump, Hall of Famer Jocko Conlan, calls Russell safe and Frisch out of the game.

Another great Frankie yarn took place on Opening Day, 1945. Pittsburgh is leading the Reds 1-0 in the fifth at Crosley Field and Frankie Zak beats out a bunt. Now there's two men on base. Reds pitcher Bucky Walters looks in to pitch to Jim Russell and Zak, noticing his shoe is untied, calls time. The first base umpire throws his hand up calling time out, but Walters and the home plate ump didn't hear it in time. Walters throws and Russell belts the ball into the right field bleachers for a home run. Only it wasn't. The run wasn't allowed and after much argument, Russell returned to the batter’s box while Frankie hung his head in shame, tying his cleats. The best the Pirates could do was score one run that inning and as luck would have it, they lost the game 7-6. The next day Frankie Frisch got a telegram from Casey Stengel “Am rushing a pair of button shoes for Zak.”

 

Then there’s the time in spring training when the Pirates were playing an exhibition game against the Cleveland Indians. Frankie was the leadoff batter in the Pirates half of the first inning. The pitcher was a giant Native American from Oklahoma named Allie Reynolds. Eager to show his stuff, Reynolds wound up and threw his hard one. Frankie swung and connected solidly – everybody heard it – but nothing happened. There Frankie was, standing at home plate, his hands empty and his bat laying on the ground – Reynolds threw so hard it literally knocked the bat out of Frankie’s hands! Pirates manager Frankie Frisch fell off the bench laughing so hard. Allie Reynolds would go on to be known for his overpowering fastball and pitch the New York Yankees to a couple World Championships.

The last Frankie Zak story comes from the old catcher, Al Lopez. When he was the manager of the Cleveland Indians he used to tell this story:

 

“I never like to see women in the dugout. In the first place they don't get a very good view. In the second place, they don't know how to duck. I even knew a fellow whose romance was broken up by a foul ball in the stands. His name was Frankie Zak – a shortstop when I was catching for Pittsburgh – and he fell in love with a Chicago girl. There was only one hitch. The girl's mother didn't want her daughter to have anything to do with a professional ballplayer. Frankie thought he knew how to break down a mother’s prejudice. He arranged for the girl to bring her mother to a game. We were in Wrigley Field and it was Ladies' Day – 20,000 women in the park. And of all those people, who do you suppose got the foul ball in the face? That's right. The girl's mother. She was really hurt, too. And that was the end of the romance.”

So what became of Frankie Zak? As the war wound down in the summer of 1945, former big leaguers began rejoining their old clubs. Frankie bounced back and forth between the Pirates and their farm team in Kansas City. He made the most of his demotion, leaving anyone who saw his work at shortstop come away impressed. The Kansas City Star went so far as call him, “one of the more talented tenders of that position in Kansas City’s baseball history.”

 

The start of the 1946 season marked the return of real baseball and replacement players like Frankie Zak became redundant. To allow both the returning vets and the replacements to have a fair shot at staying in the majors, the usual 40-man roster was enlarged to 48 players for the season. Frankie opened the season with Pittsburgh, but after batting a flat .200 in 20 at bats he was given his release by Pittsburgh. Fortunately, Frankie’s time in KC the previous summer had impressed his manager, Casey Stengel. Even though he was now managing the Oakland Oaks, when Casey heard the Pirates had cut Frankie loose, he contacted his former bosses in Kansas City and told them to sign Frankie ASAP. As Kansas City was now a Yankees farm club, Frankie was now part of their vast organization.

 

Again, Frankie’s fielding and speed made him stand out, with the Kansas City Star musing, “the fact remains he is considerably above the average shortstop in fielding and is a definite threat on the cushions. His inability to drive in many runs is all that prevents his becoming outstanding as a major leaguer.”

 

After the ’46 season, Frankie became eligible for the Rule 5 Draft. This was MLB’s way of preventing teams such as the Yankees from keeping too many talented players down in the minors when they could be used by another major league club. The St. Louis Browns snatched Frankie up, but before he could report he was thrown in to sweeten the pot of a Browns-Yankees trade and he again found himself part of the Pinstripe Empire.

 

The Yanks sent him to their top farm club, the Newark Bears, the same team Frankie and my grandfather’s gang would try to sneak into watch years before. He batted a weak .206 for 1947 and then spent the next three seasons with Portland, San Diego, Oklahoma City, and finally Tacoma.

 

His nine-year baseball odyssey at an end, Frankie returned to Pittsburgh. He had married a Smoke City gal named Helen in 1945 and had two daughters. Sometime in the late 1950s Frankie made his way back to Passaic and took a job at United Wool. He stayed active in the area’s semipro baseball scene and in 1967 was inducted into Passaic High’s Athletic Hall of Fame along with his old pal Eddie Sudol, the same guy who started Frankie on his unlikely baseball career. The National League All-Star passed away of a heart attack just a few days before his 50^th birthday in February 1972.

Well, that's a lot to write about a guy who played only 123 major league games, right? Wrong. It's players like Frankie Zak who make this great game so interesting. For every Mickey Mantle and A-Rod, there are thousands of Frankie Zak’s out there, every one of them with their own bunch of stories just waiting to be told. It just takes a little digging, and you'll find them. I did.

 

Look up Frankie Zak today and you’ll find a bunch of mediocre articles churned out by lazy sportswriters that label Frankie “The Worst All-Star of All-Time” or some similar click-bait title. They rehash the ’44 All-Star Game replacement story and how Frankie hit just .269 in his three year MLB career and essentially was a nobody that went nowhere. The one thing all those articles have in common is that the writers didn’t look any father into Frankie’s story than his entry in Wikipedia or maybe his stat line on Baseball-Reference.com. They don’t go into how and why Frankie got to the time and place that made him an accidental All-Star. Their curiosity ceases after the 36 games Frankie played after his All-Star Game season.

 

Do a bit of research and you find that far from being a joke at the time, contemporary sportswriters found Frankie Zak’s story inspiring. He was given the title of “Baseball’s Cinderella Man.” Like the original “Cinderella Man,” James J Braddock who in 1935 went from being a washed up thirty-year-old New Jersey fighter to the heavyweight boxing champion of the world, the sportswriters appreciated how Frankie made the most of his unlikely career and turned into a real major leaguer. In 1944, Frankie’s story was an inspiration, something people could hold onto when their options looked bleak. Frankie proved that any man could become a “Cinderella Man.”

 

And that label of “worst All-Star?” Frankie was batting .330 at the All-Star break. If we use the same level of research those writers put towards their stories, one can make a case that the mantle of “worst All-Star” could be given to Willie Mays who played in the 1972 game despite hitting a sad .211 on the year – or Hank Aaron who was an All-Star in 1975 despite batting a sub-Mendoza .234. But do Mays and Aaron deserve title of “worst All-Star?” No, of course not once you look past the numbers. And neither does Frankie.

 

Frankie Zak was the beginning of my interest in baseball research. Where else would I have heard of the Tarboro Orioles? Or learned that before the Orioles fielded a major league team in 1954, there was a team by the same name with a proud heritage and enough success that it could support a farm system of its own, independent of the major leagues? I learned every box score and faded photograph holds the potential to launch a great yarn. That's why Frankie Zak, the guy from the neighborhood who never cared much for baseball, is the Patron Saint of The Infinite Baseball Card Set.

Now's Your Chance!

Did Uncle Tommy play on a St. Louis Browns farm team in 1935 and you always wanted a card of that? Ever want to have your own card, pitching for the 1922 Baltimore Black Sox? Well, you sure can!

One of the little-known projects I take on are individual custom-made baseball cards done in the same style as The Infinite Baseball Card Set. Many of my clients use them for business or calling cards while others commission me to their whole baseball or softball team which, I'm told, sure as heck beats a dinky plastic trophy at the end of a hard-fought season!

All you need to do is send me a head shot, preferably with a ball cap on, your preferable pose (pitching, standing, batting, etc), the team you want and a write-up for the back (you can even throw some stats on there as well (now you have proof you did hit .376 that year) or choose a tobacco card style back with your business information on it - and leave the rest up to me. I will create your own card in the style of my card set and in a week or two you can have something very few folks can say they have - your own baseball card!

The drawing and back of the card, 500 cards all printed just like The Infinite Baseball Card Set and shipped to you is $250. Email me or go HERE if you are interested and we can go over the details. These are truly a little work of art, all your own. You know you've always wanted your own baseball card!

99. Leon Day: The 1945 G.I. World Series

Writing up the Subway Sam Nahem story last month, I related how I learned about him from Negro League All-Star and Baseball Hall Of Fame member Leon Day, who'd played with Nahem during the war on one of the first, if not the first, integrated military baseball team. Like I related in the Nahem story, Leon told me that the game he was most proud of in his long and storied career was the one he pitched against Patton's 3rd Army team in the 1945 G.I. World Series. It's a great and little known part of baseball history and I thought it deserved a place here at the Infinite Baseball Card Set...

By 1942 Leon was one of the best pitchers in baseball. During that year's East-West All-Star Game Day entered the game in the 7th inning and beat Satchel Paige, striking out 5 of the first 7 batters. The next year Newark had a lousy team, hampered by players entering the service and Day fell to 4-5 but he pulled extra duty as an outfielder and hit a nice .304 before he too got the call from Uncle Sam.

Day shipped out to England with the 818th Amphibian Battalion and went ashore on Utah Beach on June 6th, 1944. Leon drove a DUKW, a six-wheeled amphibious vehicle, across France and Belgium throughout 1944 and '45. When the war ended, Day was recruited to pitch for the Com Z OISE All-Stars baseball team that represented the Forward Base at Reims, France. With the war over and thousands of troops anxiously waiting around to go home, baseball leagues were organized to take the men's minds away from mischief. The U.S. Army had a plethora of former big league ballplayers and each unit fielded a competitive team with the local champs going through a serious of playoffs culminating in the G.I. World Series to be held in September, 1945.

The OISE All-Stars were a scrappy hodge-podge made up of former semi-pro players and low-level minor leaguers put together by former Brooklyn Dodgers and St. Louis Cardinals pitcher Subway Sam Nahem. With the inclusion of Leon Day and former Kansas City Monarch slugger Willard Brown the All-Stars became one of the first integrated ball clubs in the military. Against all odds, the OISE team decisively beat team after team, steadily advancing through the playoffs.

Meanwhile, on the other side of Europe in occupied Germany, the 71st Infantry Division Red Circlers team pounded their way through the playoffs. Led by Cincinnati Reds pitcher Ewell Blackwell and St. Louis Cardinals star Harry Walker, the Red Circlers boasted an alarming 9 former major leaguers and 3 more who'd play in the bigs right after the war. Representing General George Patton's 3rd Army, the Red Circlers were the odd-on favorites, and just to be sure, Patton had 7 former pro ballplayers transferred to the 71st Infantry just in time for the opening game of the G.I. World Series.

On September 2nd, 1945, 50,000 GI's packed Nuremberg Stadium to see the first game of the best of 5 series. Armed forces radio was on hand to broadcast the games to the thousands of other GI's stationed throughout Europe and Africa. It wasn't the real world Series, but there was enough major league talent on hand to make it enjoyable. During the course of World War II, no less than 500 big league ballplayers and 4,000 minor leaguers were in the service, and all the best ones seemed to be on Patton's team. As expected, the Red Circlers' beat up on Bobby Keane, former Brooklyn Bushwicks semi-pro hurler, and won the first game 9-2.

The next day was Labor Day in America and in Nuremberg 45,000 soldiers filled the stands of Hitler's former stadium expecting to watch another one-sided contest. Coach Nahem gave the ball to Leon Day. Facing major league talent was nothing new to Day, heck he was a veteran of the Negro National League and had out-dueled Satchel Paige himself on numerous occasions. The Red Circlers may be more well known than the OISE All-Stars, but that didn't mean Leon Day couldn't handle them. Facing off against minor leaguer Walter "Ole" Olson, Day was simply magnificent, holding the big league sluggers to just 4 hits and not allowing a single run for the first 8 innings. However Olson also did well, keeping the game scoreless despite being hit hard by the All-Stars. OISE's first baseman Tony Jaros, a 6'-3" giant who played Big Ten basketball for Minnesota before the war, belted out 3 doubles in the game and Subway Sam Nahen added two doubles of his own to the mix. Finally in the sixth with no one out, St. Louis semi-pro Joe Herman singled followed by a walk to Roy Marion. That brought up Kansas City Monarch All-Star Willard Brown who banged out an RBI singles scoring Herman. Jaros came up next but went down swinging. Nick "Warehouse" Macone popped out and then Olson fanned Ty Richardson to get out of the inning. The next inning the All-Stars jumped on Olson again, this time Emmet Altenburg tripled to right-center field followed by Coach Nahem's double to the same place, pushing across a run.

The next inning Patton's men came to life and finally tapped Day for a run. With two outs, St. Louis Cardinals All-Star Harry "The Hat" Walker got a double off of Day and then Cincinnati Reds' second baseman Benny Zientara doubled him home. With the tying run on second and the go-ahead run at the plate in the form of Pittsburgh Pirate Johnny Wyrostek, Leon Day, proving that the previous 2 years in the service didn't hamper his pitching, struck him out to end the inning. It was a surprising upset and Day proved he could more than hold his own against white major league talent. All told, Day had struck out 10 batters and walked only 2 that day and the OISE All-Stars evened the series at 1 game a piece.

The series then shifted to Reims, France where the OISE All-Stars were based. Subway Sam penciled himself in as the starting pitcher and tossed a great game, winning 2-1. With the All-Stars now unbelievably up 2 games to 1, Leon Day was tapped to pitch game 4.

Unfortunately Leon didn't have his stuff that afternoon and by the 4th inning he's given up 4 runs on 6 hits and was taken out of the game. The Red Circlers won 5-0 and evened up the series. The fifth and deciding game was a see-saw event with the All-Stars eventually scoring the winning run in the 9th inning to take the game and the series, 2-1. Now OISE was supposed to be headed to Rome to take on the Mediterranean champs but unfortunately things got fowled up. Not content with being the losing team, many of the major league players on the Red Circlers got themselves transferred to the OISE All-Stars and many of the unknown semi-pros who were the heart and soul of the scrappy team were left behind in Reims. Leon was still bitter about that years later when retelling the story. But, in the end I guess it didn't matter all that much, Leon got his honorable discharge and in his first Negro League game threw a no-hitter against the Philly Stars on opening day, 1946. While not as flashy and well known as Satchel Paige, Leon Day was shown the ultimate tribute when a panel of his peers elected him into the Baseball Hall of Fame shortly before his death in 1995.

Pete Hill Card Set Photoshoot Outtakes

Card Sets Have Arrived!

The Pete Hill Card Sets have arrived! Today I've been sorting them into sets (we're not exactly hi-tech here) and numbering each one by hand and the first ones will be mailed out on Saturday... I'm not one to crow, but THESE CARDS MIGHT BE THE BEST I'VE DONE SO FAR! Each one holds up on its own and when viewed together as a whole set you can see and read about the whole career of the dead-ball ear's greatest black ballplayer. The different uniforms really make each card visually appealing and Gary Ashwill's impeccably researched text and statistics make this a card set like no other. And if you order a set by December 31st you get THIS CARD as a bonus! Alright, that's all I'm going say about them and let the pictures speak for themselves...

98. Russ Van Atta: The Babe, Oil and One Dead Finger

Well, it's Christmas time again and I'm preparing for my trip back to New Jersey to visit my Brother and Mom. Although I left that place when I was 17 and never really looked back, Christmastime always makes me a bit nostalgic about growing up there and I get a little homesick for my home state. So, like last year at this time when I did a feature on New Jersey native Johnny Vander Meer, I'd like to introduce you to another son of The Garden State, former Yankee pitcher Russ Van Atta.

Back when I was growing up in New Jersey, my Grandparents would take my brother and I out into the country of the northwest part of the state to pick apples. Sussex County was as far away from the belching smokestacks, endless overpasses and teaming city streets of the eastern part you think of when the word "New Jersey" is invoked. No, Sussex County was and still is a dazzling wilderness of rolling green foothills, black and white milk cows, race horses and tidy red barns. It was the reason New Jersey's often-derided nickname is "The Garden State."

Now back then, in the late 1970's, chances were if you stopped in any diner or tavern in the county there would be one thing that they all had in common besides offering cold Ballantine Beer in bottles - an autographed picture of Babe Ruth. Every single establishment had one, even hotels, golf courses, hardware stores... they were as common as a calendar. Who was behind this county-wide plethora of Bambino ephemera? The Sheriff, that's who.

Long before he was known as "The Sheriff", Russ Van Atta was just another poor kid trying everything he could to escape the zinc mines that dotted the foothills of Northwestern New Jersey. Understandably, working underground all day for 53 cents an hour wasn't how he wanted to spend the rest of his life. Like many other young kids in the United States before and since, Russ figured baseball was his way out. A southpaw pitcher, Van Atta was good enough to have been offered a partial scholarship to Penn State in 1924. Unlike most of his well-to-do classmates, Van Atta took on any odd job he could find in order cover school costs - making the beds in fraternity houses and keeping the furnaces lit during the bitter winter months. By the time graduation rolled around Van Atta had firmly established himself as the Nittany Lion's ace pitcher, losing only 1 game in 4 seasons.

For a $250 bonus, super-scout Paul Kritchell got Van Atta's signature on a New York Yankees contract and by June the kid from the mines was dressed in pinstripes, sitting on the Yankees bench wondering when he was going to pitch. Manager Miller Huggins quickly waved away any delusions the kid had about cracking the Yank's rotation when he sat him down and told him he didn't even trust him to pitch batting practice, let a lone a real game. No, the newly-minted college grad was going to Hartford in the Eastern League for seasoning.

He was 8-4 in 24 games for the Hartford Senators with a 2.37 ERA. In August he went the full 9 innings against the Boston Braves, shutting the National Leaguers out on 4 hits. The word was he was wild but talented and the next year the Yankees moved him up to their St. Paul team.

Van Atta now suffered through two seasons of bad luck and even worse pitching. The control problems became a real issue and by the time spring 1931 rolled around all Van Atta had to show for two seasons was a lousy 7-14 record. During the off-season he contemplated giving up game but eventually decided to give it the old college try. It was a good choice.

New to the Saints in 1931 was veteran Cardinals and Giants catcher Frank Snyder. Working closely with Van Atta, Snyder used his 16 years of major league experience to mold the discouraged southpaw into a first-class pitcher. By August he was considered the best pitcher in the American Association and finished 13-5 for the '31 pennant winning Saints.

The following year was Van Atta's break-out season as a pitcher. He tied for league-leader in wins with 22 and on May 19th, 1932 Van Atta barely missed making a baseball history by following up teammate Slim Harriss' no-hitter of the previous afternoon with one of his own against the Kansas City Blues. Van Atta's no-hit bid was busted up in the 8th when Pat Collins doubled and he had to settle for a one-hitter. Together the two St. Paul pitchers tossed 17 2/3 consecutive scoreless innings. By now Van Atta was considered as a no-questions asked sure thing and after the Yankees struck their spring training camp and headed north to start the 1933 season, Russ Van Atta was wearing his own set of pinstripes with the number 14 on the back, his signature freshly inked on a $3,500 Yankee contract for the season.

On April 25th the Yankees were in Griffith Stadium to play the Washington Senators. Once the butt of many a joke, the Senators now possessed a talented team that would eventually derail the mighty Yankees' annual pennant. Russ Van Atta took the ball and began one of the most memorable and infamous debut performances in baseball.

Van Atta had the Senators handcuffed and scoreless for the first 3 innings. In the top half of the 4th, Yankee outfielder Ben Chapman came to bat. Chapman was a mediocre ballplayer who more than made up for his inadequacies with ruthless determination and a mean streak 16 miles long. On the professional, sterile New York Yankees, Chapman stuck out like a sore thumb, provoking fights and cultivating his reputation as a rabid anti-Semite, to the point of taunting Jewish fans in Yankee Stadium with the Hitler salute. So Chapman hits a double off Monte Weaver and after rounding first sees Washington's star second baseman Buddy Myer blocking the base. Chapman bears down and slides into the base spiking the hell out of Myer in the process. Buddy Myer, a tough ballplayer himself, jumped to his feet and kicked Chapman in the head. Being Jewish he undoubtedly figured Chapman's aversion towards his religion had something to do with the intentional spiking. The two went at it and slugged it out. Both benches emptied as the players ran onto the field to fight.

Van Atta was among them but was quickly grabbed by manager McCarthy and pushed back towards the bench - he was their pitcher and the Yanks couldn't afford to have him be thrown out of the game, or even worse, hurt. When he reached the Yankee dugout he discovered there were only two men still sitting there, Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig. From the dugout Van Atta marveled at the orgy of violence that unfolded before him. Finally the umpires managed to separate the players and promptly ejected both Chapman and Myer. As Chapman walked past the Senators bench on his way to the clubhouse, Washington pitcher Earl Whitehill shouted something at him and Chapman belted the pitcher in the mouth.

Now all hell broke loose.

An estimated 300 fans rushed onto the field to attack Chapman. Yankee outfielder Dixie Walker did his best to defend his teammate but was soon overwhelmed. The rest of the Yankees charged through the crowd to rescue the 2 men as the police beat back the enraged spectators trying to restore order. 20 minutes later it was over. In addition to Chapman and Myer, Dixie Walker was ejected and a handful of Washington fans were taken away in handcuffs. It was probably one of the worst riots in Major League history, but the day wasn't over yet.

Van Atta, much to his credit, resumed his mastery on the mound, unwilling to become rattled by the battle that took place. At bat he registered hit after hit, going 4 for 4, all singles, knocking in a run and scoring three. He kept the Senators to five hits and shut them out 16-0. It was one of the best debut performances for a pitcher to date but it was totally overshadowed by the riot in the 4th inning.

To Van Atta it didn't really matter because everything he did that season went his way. With an already overpowering fastball, the rookie worked with veteran pitcher Herb Pennock and developed a nasty little curve, the key being the pressure he put on the ball with the middle finger. As the season wore on number 14 registered win after win and closed out the season 12-4, his .750 win-loss percentage leading the quartet of Yankee starters. Besides his dominance on the mound Van Atta batted a nice .283 to boot. New York finished 7 games behind Washington who absolutely crushed the competition that year - all except the rookie Van Atta who was the winning pitcher 5 of the 6 times the Yanks managed to defeat the pennant-bound Senators.

Van Atta went home to the Jersey foothills a conquering hero. The Sporting News, back then the New York Times of the baseball world, picked him, along with Hank Greenberg and Joe Medwick, for their 1933 freshman all-star team. Besides the accolades in the sporting press, Van Atta had also made some influential friends, namely his teammate and the most famous athlete in the world, Babe Ruth.

The big slugger was winding down his career in New York and befriended a the young ballplayer from North Jersey. Both the Babe and Van Atta had a passion for the outdoors - hunting, fishing and golf, and Van Atta proudly took the big slugger home with him on off days to sample what his corner of The Garden State had to offer. The Babe fell in love with Van Atta's hometown and continued to visit there every year up into the 1940's. The locals who were already proud of their hometown hero now really had something to crow about, Van Atta brought The Babe home with him. Local roadhouses, well-stocked with liquor since the recent appeal of prohibition, all boasted Bambino visits and every golf course in that part of the state proudly displayed a personally autographed picture of the big guy.

Anyone in the know predicted great things for this lefty and when the Yankees sent him his 1934 contract filled out with the same $3,500 he made in '33, Van Atta wasn't shy about sending it back with a counter offer of $7,500. Both parties settled for $6,000 and Van Atta was so well touted for a great future even that made the papers nationwide. Then a week later, this tiny article appeared:

HOUSE BURNS.
Russell Van Atta, New York Yankee pitcher, his mother, wife and child were left homeless when fire destroyed the family residence at Lake Mohawk, near Sparta, N.J. on December 13. Firemen from Sparta tried to save the house but the flames had gained such head-way that their efforts were unavailing.

Losing your house was a lousy way to cap off a great year, but so long as no one was injured, Van Atta had the world at this feet. Baseball season, and what was supposed to be another great year, was right around the corner.

But right from the start something was wrong. His fastball lost it's sting and the new-found curve left town. By May Van Atta had been knocked out of the box 4 times and quickly slipped from New York's starting rotation. The former phenom soon found himself in the bullpen, back then a shameful demotion for such a young player. 1934 ended with a disappointing 3-5 record with an unacceptable 6.34 E.R.A. Newspapers debated Van Atta's season - was it the dreaded sophomore jinx, did he strain his arm in spring training, maybe the other batters around the league simply "figured" the southpaw out. No one knew for sure until the real reason finally leaked out.

Remember that December fire? Well, there was an injury that fateful night. As the fire engulfed the family home, Van Atta took stock of his family members - mother, wife, child, dog... wait, where was the dog? Realizing his cocker spaniel was missing Van Atta dashed back into the burning house to find his dog. In the rescue attempt somehow the pitcher sustained a terrible cut on the index finger of his left hand, severing the nerves. Van Atta staggered back outside clutching his pitching hand only to discover his dog waiting for him.

As the winter turned to spring, Van Atta's finger healed in appearance but the nerves had been destroyed. He could no longer get a good grip on the ball which pretty much threw his newly-found curve ball out the window and robbed his fastball of its velocity. He told no one about the injury, not the Yankees, not even his wife. In spring training he muddled through, trying to get by on his fastball as best he could but the finger was so badly damaged he could run a lighted match along it with out feeling a thing - not a bad cocktail party trick but meaningless for a big league pitcher trying to stay in the game.

After his wipe out in 1934, Van Atta stumbled through spring training in '35 before being sold for the waiver price to the St. Louis Browns. Van Atta's career was effectively over. He went 18-32 with the miserable Brownies, all the while feuding with their despot of a manager, Rogers Hornsby. He held on in the Browns' bullpen until the spring of 1940 and then returned home to the foothills of New Jersey. Still a popular fella, Van Atta ran for Sheriff of Sussex County and with the help of his old pal Babe Ruth, easily won. The Babe's campaign pitch was simple: with a wink of the eye he told the locals if you don't elect Russ, I'm not coming back to this part of the state anymore. And that's how Russ Van Atta became known as "Sheriff" Van Atta. A few years later as The Babe lay dying from cancer, Van Atta made the trek to his hospital bedside to bid his old pal goodbye. He died 2 days later.

After a term as sheriff he moved on to the post of County Freeholder and then on to a highly successful career as a representative of the Gulf Oil Company. Shrewd land deals made him a wealthy man. Renown throughout Sussex County as an all-around good guy, "Sheriff" Van Atta spent his retirement traveling around the country visiting his old teammates, reliving his once promising career and reveling in all the friendships he made. Alzheimers finally claimed the old southpaw and Sheriff Van Atta died at the age of 80 on October 6, 1986.

97. Sam Nahem: Subway Sam vs. The World

About a year ago when I was researching Jewish players I wanted to write about (and draw) for the first issue of 21: The Illustrated Journal of Outsider Baseball, my old friend Leon Day came to mind. Not that Leon was a Jew - he was in fact one of the greatest Negro League pitchers of all time, a member of the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown and I was fortunate to know him back in the late 80's. No, I thought of Leon because of the conversations I would have with him in his baseball room on the second floor of his Baltimore row house. Leon would talk about anyone and everyone else, heaping praise on his teammates on the Newark Eagles as well as famed opponents such as Satchel Paige, Roy Campanella and Josh Gibson. It would always take a lot of prodding to get Leon to talk about his own career and the first thing I remember asking him was "what was the best memory you have from playing baseball?"

Without pausing he told me about the 1945 G.I. World Series he pitched in after the fall of Nazi Germany. Leon played on an integrated team called the OISE All Stars that represented a supply unit of the U.S. Army Quartermaster Corps. After beating all the competition in France and Belgium they were to meet the formidable team from Patton's 3rd Army who'd decimated all the German and Austrian based Army teams. Patton liked a winner and his team was made up of the best major league talent serving in the U.S. Army in Europe, many of the players finding themselves on his team after a round of shady back-room transfers from their old units into his 3rd Army. Looking like a David going to meet Goliath, Leon's scrappy OISE All-Stars were coached by a former major league pitcher and Jew from New York named "Subway Sam" Nahem. Subway Sam. Now that was a name I couldn't forget and I stored it away in the back of my mind until he reemerged to take his rightful place on page 13 of 21: The Illustrated Journal of Outsider Baseball...

Teammates in the minor leagues called him “Subway Sam” because he was a real-live New Yorker, the first many had ever seen outside a movie theater. But Subway Sam was different in many other ways as well. Born in New York City to a family of affluent Syrian Jews, his first language was Arabic. Sam loved baseball but was unable to break into his high school team’s lineup. Undeterred, he played sandlot ball and by the time he entered Brooklyn College he was good enough to join the college team as a pitcher, making a name for himself by beating rivals Fordham University with a 6 hitter and St. John’s University with a 3 hitter.

When no major league teams came to him, Sam went to them. In 1935 he showed up at Ebbets Field one day and impressed manager Casey Stengel enough so that he was hired to pitch batting practice. The Dodgers sent Nahem to the Clinton Owls in Iowa where he finished the 1937 season with a nice 15-5 record. In the off-season he finished up law school at St. John’s. Being a New Yorker and a Jew already made Subway Sam stand out amongst his teammates but being a spectacle-wearing college-educated lawyer really separated him from the pack. He was also known to read the classics like Balzac in the dugout and his views on the integration of baseball put him at odds with the majority of his peers. Sam felt that many were against allowing blacks into the white leagues simply because there were only so many roster spots as it was and with integration there would be even fewer opportunities for the more marginal players. At a time when most in the low minors kept their heads down and did not make waves, Subway Sam was an idealist who believe people deserved more and he dedicated himself to try to make it a reality.

At the end of the 1938 season Sam made his debut with the Dodgers, a 6-hit complete game victory. Sam toiled in the back waters of professional baseball finally getting the call back to the big show after being traded to the Cardinal organization. Sam pitched in 26 games for St. Louis, mostly in relief and ended the year with a 5-2 record. The next year he was traded to Philadelphia where he appeared in 35 games record. The next year he was traded to Philadelphia where he appeared in 35 games and posted a 1-3 record for the dreadful Phillies. Serving in Europe during the war he was manager of the OISE All-Stars, a team made up of semi-pro and Negro league players. Sam joined the great Leon Day making a formidable one-two pitching staff that faced Patton’s 3rd Army team in front of over 50,000 G.I.’s in Nurnberg’s Zeppelin Field. Patton’s team was stocked with former major league stars like Ewell Blackwell, Harry Walker, Johnny Wyrostek, Benny Zientara and Bob Ramazzotti but behind the pitching of Subway Sam and Leon Day the underdog OISE All-Stars emerged the winners of the 1945 G.I. World Series.

Coming back from the war, Sam practiced law during the week and pitching on the weekends with the Brooklyn Bushwicks. Although termed semi-pro, the Bushwicks had a huge following and boasted many future and former major league players on their roster. It was while with the Bushwicks that Sam participated in a little-known baseball “world” series. A prototype of the current pre-season series held today, The Inter-American Tournament was held in Caracas, Venezuela and featured one team from Mexico, Cuba, Venezuela and the United States. The Bushwicks, who rarely ventured outside Brooklyn, were invited to represent America. Facing such Latin stars as Chico Carrasquel and Bobby Avila, Sam was the ace of the Bushwick’s staff, winning 3 and losing 1 as the American team won the month-long series with a 9-3 record. Subway Sam had the honor of winning the championship game, a 7-6 win over the Cuban team. After returning to the States, Nahem had one more trip to the majors when he went 3-3 for the Phillies in 1948.

After retiring from baseball, Sam Nahem went out west to the Bay area and put into practice his long held views of social equality. Subway Sam became a union organizer and tirelessly worked to better the conditions of the members of the Oil, Chemical and Atomic Workers Union. Sam organized strikes and participated in negotiations even after he retired from his position.

Subway Sam died at the age of 88, leaving behind the story of one of the more interesting guys ever to wear spikes.