111. Buck Weaver: Innocent, But Still Guilty

Out of all the Eight Men Out, Buck Weaver is the only one who elicits any kind of sympathy from me. Weaver was a product of his age, upholding the turn of the century version of the unwritten "no snitching" code that so many of today's inner-city youth hide behind when it comes time to stand up for what is right. Buck was no different - he failed the test when it came time to speak up and stop the fix his teammates put in motion back in September, 1919. For this he never stopped paying the price, forever banned from the game he loved...

Besides being a pretty good hitter, “Buck” was an outstanding fielder, to the point of being the only third baseman Ty Cobb would not steal against. As far as I'm concerned that speaks more volumes about The Ginger Kid than any statistic found in the Baseball Encyclopedia. One of the most popular men to ever play for the White Sox, Weaver apparently knew of, but refused to participate in the fixing of the 1919 Series. It was this knowledge that was used against him and he was banned along with the other seven crooked ballplayers after the 1920 season. Even his stellar batting and errorless play in the series wasn’t enough to save him.

Weaver spent 1921 proclaiming his innocence to the point of deluding himself into believing he would be absolved of his part in the fix and be let back into the game. While the other banned players formed the "Ex-Major League Stars" and attempted to tour the mid-west, Weaver refused a lucrative contract to play with them and flatly refused to have anything to do with his former teammates. One afternoon in Chicago Weaver was asked by Risberg and Felsch if he would join their team that day to which Buck haughtily replied “Nothing doing. I’ll be back in the majors soon and you guys will still be semi-pros.” At this point he still believed he would be back on the White Sox. Throughout the summers of 1921 and 1922 newspapers in the mid-west featured stories about Weaver and his supposed appearances with a variety of semi-pro teams but these turned out to be just rumors. He was home in Chicago with his wife patiently waiting to be reinstated. It wasn’t until the following year that Buck came to the realization that Judge Landis’ ruling was indeed binding.

Weaver now needed to make a living and he began hiring himself out to semi-pro teams. In July he swallowed his pride and briefly reunited with Cicotte, Jackson and Risberg on the Bastrop, Louisiana ball club. He also played that summer with a team called “Sorg‘s Ice Creams” from Reedsburg, Wisconsin. He reportedly hit .369 that season and played against Happy Felsch who was roaming the outfield for the Twin Cities Red Sox.

1925 found Weaver in Arizona where he was recruited to play in the outlaw Copper League. This rough and tumble semi-pro circuit was made up of wild west mining towns and was a haven for black-listed ballplayers. Weaver’s team, the Douglas Blues, was managed by the crooked Hal Chase and featured Chick Gandil at second base. Gandil soon jumped the team for another in the league but the following year Weaver became the Blues manager and was joined by Lefty Williams. Weaver coached the Blues to a losing record and wasn’t helped by Lefty’s desertion mid-season to join the rival Fort Bayard club. To cap it off, Buck also severely injured his ankle that season and didn’t return to the Copper League in 1927. The reasons went unreported, but there was talk of Chick Gandil pulling strings to keep Weaver away because of their disagreement over the 1919 fix. Weaver still told anyone who would listen that he was clean while the other seven were guilty, most recently that winter in Chicago when he and the other Black Sox were called to testify in court once again. Gandil must have been seething every time he had to face Weaver’s team and now he felt the self-righteous Buck had double-crossed him again.

Weaver was an extremely popular figure in the Windy City and his presence in uniform on a ball field was sure to attract a crowd. While the other Black Sox generated a mix of mostly negative reactions when they played after 1920, Buck seemed to always get a warm welcome and no place was more friendlier than the Chicago area. Spring of 1927 brought the much-heralded return of the Ginger Kid to the area’s sandlots when he signed on with the Hammond, Indiana Hammonds. As the Hammonds made the league circuit a few opposing teams threw a “Buck Weaver Day” in honor of the popular third baseman. The Hammonds played against other top-notch Chicago area semi-pro clubs like the Logan Squares and Duffy Florals as well as Negro league teams such as the Chicago American Giants.

Moving over to the rival Duffy Florals, Weaver finished out his playing days by switching over to shortstop and managing the Floral’s for the ‘28 and ‘29 season. At the age of 41 Buck fronted a team called “Buck Weaver’s Cooney’s” which was financially backed by one of Al Capone’s associates named Duke Cooney. The team played through the 1933 season and Buck wound down his playing days with another self-named semi-pro club, “Weaver’s West Side Colonels.”

While all the other Black Sox left Chicago for good after 1920, Weaver remained there for the rest of his life. He worked for the city of Chicago, installed elevators and eventually went into the drugstore business with his brother in-law. A fellow by the name of Charlie Walgreen approached Buck with an offer to combine their drugstores into a city-wide chain but Weaver declined. Walgreen’s became, well, WALGREENS, and Weaver’s store went under during the depression. The once fun-loving third baseman devolved into a bitter, disgruntled man, always decrying his punishment by Judge Landis and proclaiming his innocence in the 1919 fix. At the age of 65 the Ginger Kid suffered a heart attack and died alone on a Chicago sidewalk. His numerous letters to the commissioner’s office and the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown never once received a response and the one man who rightfully should have had the best chance at reinstatement was left overshadowed by all the publicity generated by Shoeless Joe Jackson’s deluded supporters.

110. Fred McMullin: The Forgotten Black Sox

To continue with my series on the 8 disgraced Chicago White Sox, I bring to you the mysterious Fred McMullin. Often overlooked and only given the briefest of mentions in books and articles dealing with the 1919 scandal, McMullin is unique in that unlike his teammates, his post-Black Sox baseball career was very brief. Material to piece together his later life was scant to say the least but I was able to gather enough to write-up a modest summation of what happened to this mediocre utility player...

Rarely used utility infielder McMullin is said to be a part of the fix because he accidentally overheard the plan. This is not true. Fred had a sound baseball knowledge and as such he was the Chicago’s advance scout and he may have gave the rest of his teammates a deliberately flawed report on the Cincinnati pitchers they were about to face. McMullin received $5,000 for his part in the fix, which was only 2 at-bats and no time in the field.

After being kicked out of organized baseball McMullin returned to Los Angeles where he had been a star ballplayer before his time in the majors. He was a well-liked fixture in the local baseball scene and many could not believe he had anything to do with any illegal doings back east. Through his brother-in-law he secured a job at Universal Film Studios and played on the company’s baseball team. The Los Angeles area was a hotbed of winter semi-pro leagues and many major and minor leaguers as well as Negro league stars came out west to play in the warm weather. McMullin was a popular player until the major leagues found out about his participation in games against “honest” ballplayers. After the Philadelphia Phillies fined their star outfielder Irish Meusel $100 for playing against McMullin, the disgraced ballplayer resigned from Universal’s team.

McMullin for his part didn’t seem to grasp the magnitude of what he and his buddies had done in 1919 and continued to try to visit former friends and teammates when they played in the Pacific Coast League. After being ignored and rebuffed time and time again, McMullin got the picture and while calling his treatment by organized baseball a “persecution,” he none-the-less steered clear of his former acquaintances. Unlike the other 7 Black Sox, McMullin did not attempt to play under an assumed name or hire himself out to semi-pro town teams as a ringer. The former White Sox simply and quietly resigned himself to a life outside of baseball and drifted through various careers - carpenter, salesman, office manager and then of all things - a Deputy Marshal of Los Angeles County.

For the rest of his life Fred McMullin never proclaimed his innocence nor applied for reinstatement and for that matter never made any statement what-so-ever about his role in the 1919 fix. He died in Southern California at the age of 61 in 1952.

109. Chick Gandil: After The Black Sox

For better or for worse, the story of the 1919 World Series and the 8 Chicago White Sox banished from the game has taken on a mythical quality in the last 90 some-odd years. Countless books have been written about every angle of the scandal, major movies feature the eight in all their glory and even a few misguided congressmen have wasted the taxpayer's time trying to somehow use the laws of the country to reinstate Shoeless Joe Jackson half a century after his death. For me, I never had any romantic misconceptions regarding the Black Sox. With the exception of Buck Weaver, those remaining seven were dirty ball players who sold their souls for cash. To me, banishment from the game was a just punishment.

But that's not what I want to write about. Authors much more talented than me have already covered the scandal. What I am more interested in is what happened to those eight after they were thrown out of the game in 1920. Earlier I featured stories on Happy Felsch and Eddie Cicotte's post Black Sox careers and to continue with that series I bring to you the infamous leader of the scandal, Chick Gandil...

Chick Gandil was the mastermind behind the fixing of the 1919 World Series. Described by his contemporaries as a “professional malcontent”, Chick was a thug of a ball player, even being suspended during the 1919 season for punching an umpire. He was a juvenile delinquent and after dropping out of high school he ran away from home, working his way south and west, all the while scratching out a living as an itinerant ball player and boxer. By 1907 the 20 year-old found himself in Cananea, Mexico working as a boilermaker in a copper mine and playing first base for the company team. Entering professional ball the following season, Gandil had 9 years of big league experience under his belt at the time of the fix.

He made the most money out of all the players, pocketing some $35,000, nine times his regular salary. After being turned down for a raise in 1920 he left the game and went west, spending most of his earnings. Later he and a few of the other Black Sox formed a touring team called "The Ex-Major League Stars" which disbanded after Gandil knocked out a few of Eddie Cicotte's teeth in an argument over money.

Since playing against any of the banned players would jeopardize a ball player's standing with organized baseball, Gandil and the other Black Sox had to look far and wide for a league that would let them play. The Copper League in Southern Arizona and New Mexico was one such haven.

Formed in the early 1920's, The Copper League was made up of rough and tumble mining towns and the play as well as the fans were as rowdy as could be expected from frontier wild west towns. The infamous Hal Chase, generally described as the greatest first baseman of all time, migrated to the league after his forced retirement from the majors. It was in his capacity as manager of the Douglas Blues in 1925 that he extended offers to all of the out of work Black Sox players. Lefty Williams, Buck Weaver and Chick Gandil accepted offers to play. Along side those three who were implicated in the 1919 world series fix was former New York Giant Jimmy O'Connell who was thrown out of baseball for trying to bribe members of the Philadelphia Phillies in 1924.

Gandil began his Copper League career as the second baseman of the Douglas Blues. A first baseman in the majors, Gandil moved over to second because Hal Chase was holding down the position in addition to his role as team manager. From the start Gandil brought his agitating and combative attitude to the team. Near the conclusion of the season he abruptly left the Blues and joined the Fort Bayard Veterans team. The following season he signed with the Veterans again and was joined by Jimmy O'Connell. The two black-listed ballplayers were constantly at odds with each other , apparently mostly instigated by the bully Gandil who rode O'Connell about the quality of his outfield work. By the end of June Gandil was forced to leave the team after O'Connell, fed up with the tough older man's bullying, chased the former boxer out of the Fort Bayard ballpark with a baseball bat.

Chick landed on his feet however and was quickly snapped up by the Chino Twins. Chino was actually an amalgamation of two towns, Santa Rita and Hurley, hence the name "Twins." Chino was the name of the mining concern that employed most of the people in the region, the Chino Copper Company.

Gandil soon became the Twins' manager as well as first baseman. When the season ended he stayed on in Chino working for the copper mine. It was also during the off-season that Chick traveled back to Chicago to give further testimony about fixing games during the 1917 season.

For 1927 the Twins were supposed to be featuring Buck Weaver and Happy Felsch but neither former Black Sox joined the team by the time the season began. Rumors circulated that Gandil had forced the popular Weaver out of the league because of his testimony which was counter to what he and Swede Risberg had said regarding the '17 season. What ever the reasons, the Twins had a terrible first half of the split-season, managing just 8 wins against 18 losses. Chick batted a lofty .481 and somehow was able to turn the ball club around in the second-half and finished up 21-10, gaining them a seat in the championship series against Fort Bayard.

But then just as the series was to begin, Chick disappeared. For unknown reasons he left not only the team but the whole region of the country. After giving up on the game Gandil began working as plumber and settled in the Napa Valley of California. He spent the rest of his life denying the White Sox threw the World Series saying that the team played their best to win.

Stay tuned because I will be featuring the remaining 5 Black Sox ball players and their post-pro ball careers. I would like to give credit where credit is due for some of the sources I will be using in this series. Besides first hand contemporary newspaper articles, the following 3 sources were indispensable:

After The Black Sox: The Swede Risberg Story by Alan Muchlinski. Simply excellent chunk of research that shines a light onto the later years of Swede and his former teammates who he played against.

Outlaw Baseball Players in the Copper League: 1925-1927 by Lynn Bevill. A M.A. thesis published online that is the best source I've found that really explains the role of the Black Sox in the Copper League but also does a great job at telling the story of the towns and how the league operated.

Blacksoxfan.com No list of sources would be complete without a big thanks to this site dedicated to the Black Sox. The authors downloadable pdf of every existing outlaw and semi-pro game featuring a member of the Black Sox is just a monumental achievement and unbelievably helpful in tracking the movements of the eight men.

108. Ted Williams: The Kid's First Year in San Diego (Redeux)

One of my favorite cards (and one of the early fan-favorites) I did early on was this one of Ted Williams as a San Diego Padre. Back then, over 2 years ago, my drawing style was much simpler than what it has evolved to over time and I always wanted to re-draw that old card of Ted in a more detailed style like I currently use. Well, that time has come and I coupled it with a more filled-out story about his first season as a pro ballplayer with San Diego back in 1936...

In the Spring of 1936 Ted Williams was just about to step onto the first rung of his life-long dream. His father was a professional photographer and part-time rummy while his mother was a soldier in the Salvation Army, tirelessly ministering to San Diego's boozers, hookers and single mothers. By the time Ted was a teen his Dad had left the picture, unable to put up with his wife's evangelical charity work and becoming more and more preoccupied with his drinking. His mom would disappear for long stretches being the Salvation Army's "Angel of Tijuana," and while Ted's older brother Danny used this time to hone his skills as a juvenile delinquent, the younger Williams concentrated on baseball and hitting in particular. Since his father's last name was Williams, no one knew that the youngster was actually half-Hispanic since his mother's family was from Mexico. This spared Williams from any distracting racism in his early baseball career.

While still a student at Herbert Hoover High the big league scouts from the Yankees and Cardinals came knocking but there was one problem: Ted’s over-protective mother thought he was too young to leave home. Ted and his Mom came to a compromise and they agreed to a tryout with the hometown San Diego Padres at the conclusion of the school year.

The Padres team Williams was trying to join for the 1936 season was led by former Chicago White Sox spitball pitcher Frank Shellenback. Frank was in his second year as a manager and his team was a nice blend of mature, seasoned ballplayers like Herm "old Folks" Pillette and Archie "Iron Man" Campbell and up-and-coming youngsters Bobbie Doerr and Vince DiMaggio. The Padres played in the Pacific Coast League, back in 1936 classified as a AA league, the equivalent of today's AAA, the highest level of the minor leagues.

The day of Williams' tryout, Shellenback was pitching batting practice and had the skinny kid step into the cage. According to Bobby Doerr, future teammate of Williams with Boston and now in his 2nd year with the Padres, the older San Diego players were miffed by this reed-thin kid taking up their precious time in batting practice. After Williams grooved a handful of Shellenback's offerings, including 2 or 3 that sailed out of the ballpark, the veterans' grumbling turned to wonder asking each other "who is this kid?"

Shellenback knew talent when he saw it and for $150 a month Ted Williams became a professional ballplayer.

Shellenback decided to use the new kid during a June 22nd exhibition game against a Navy-Marine Corps all-star team. In his only at-bat he singled and scored a run. A few days later, on June 27th, Williams got to pinch-hit during a regular season game against Sacramento. Facing Henry Pippen, the Kid went down on three strikes right down the pike - he didn't even swing.

On July 3rd Shellenback put the the kid into a game against the Los Angeles Angels as a relief pitcher and he immediately got shelled off the mound. At the plate however, the punk kid hit a double and a single in 2 at-bats. Williams was used sparingly by Shellenback but the veteran manager kept the youngster close on the bench, making sure he payed close attention to all aspects of the game. The Padres regular outfielders "Chick" Shiver, Vince DiMaggio and Syd Durst were backed up by Vance Wirthman but over the long season injuries to Durst and Wirthman enabled Williams to get some game experience but when each man returned the Kid went back to the bench. Shellenback for his part had no qualms about Williams' talent - he just wanted to bring him along slowly. Don't forget, the Pacific Coast League was essentially AAA level and Ted Williams was still in high school.

In the beginning of September, with the Padres competing for the pennant, left fielder "Chick" Shiver abruptly left the Padres to become the Georgia College football coach. Leaving in the middle of the night, Shellenback had no choice but to insert Williams into the regular lineup. In his first game as a regular Williams slugged a triple and double in 3 tries, fielded every ball that came his way flawlessly and was written up in the local paper for making 2 catches "hard enough to satisfy the most exacting test."

While many picked the Padres to quickly bow out of the pennant race, Williams' bat and glove work helped carry the team to the Pacific Coast League playoffs. In the 2 weeks he was the Padres starting left fielder the Kid hit .305 with 6 doubles, 2 triples and 7 RBI's. By the time San Diego faced the Oakland Oaks in the first round of the playoffs, Williams had moved up in the batting order from the 8th spot to 3rd. In the first game of the series Williams hit his first home run as a professional but the Padres eventually lost the playoffs to the Oaks in 5 games.

Didn't matter anyway, it was time for Ted to return to Hoover High for his senior year...

65. Shoeless Joe Jackson: What's In A Name?

Yeah, I know, I already posted this story a while back, but wait - there's a reason... after much prodding and more than a basketful of emails, I finally got around to finishing my trilogy of Joe Jackson's minor league odyssey. So, if you think you can remember all you need to about my story on Jackson's first year in pro ball with the Greenville Spinners, just go one down to the next entry. An don't just stop there - this week is a double heaping of Southern Hospitality, Joe Jackson style as I posted the story of his 1910 New Orleans season as well. Enjoy!

One of 8 kids, Joe Jackson was born into extreme poverty. At the age of six Joe took his place alongside the rest of his family in one of the sprawling textile mills that dotted the rural South Carolina landscape at the turn of the century. Because of the need to contribute money to the family he never had time for proper schooling and much to his shame remained unable to read and write for the rest of his life. The one bright spot in Jackson's grim life of industrial-age toil was baseball. Showing great skill at an early age, by 13 Jackson was playing outfield for the Brandon Mills men's ballclub. South Carolina's textile leagues had an impressive amount of talent playing on the various mill teams and for Jackson to make a mark amidst all this talent was quite impressive.

He quickly became a local legend and during games his brothers would roam the stands passing a hat taking donations after Jackson made another impressive play of timely hit. Word soon spread of his talents and in 1907 the Brandon Mills team was playing an exhibition game against the Greenville Spinners of the Carolina Association. Their manager Tom Stouch was shocked and dismayed when a young player on the team seemed to get on base every damn time he got up to the plate. In the field he dazzled as well. By the end of the game Stouch knew the kid had what it took to play professionally and the next year Jackson inked his "X" to a contract for the staggering sum of $75.00 a month to play for the Spinners.

Although he was brimming with ability he was still raw around the edges. On a few occasions he was caught trying to steal bases already held by his own teammates, but he was the local boy and the fans of Greenville readily embraced him. He had done what most of them were unable to do - escape the drudgery of the textile mills. The 1908 team featured two other players destined to play in the big leagues, Ezra Midkiff and Scotty Barr and along with Jackson the Spinners quickly made it to the top of the 6-team league. Jackson played the outfield but was also brought in to pitch on occasion. He had a tremendous arm but retired as a pitcher after he broke the arm of an opposing batter and the rest of the league refused to hit against him. It didn't matter, he made his mark elseware. His speed and skill in the outfield led fans to dub his mitt "a place where triples go to die." He belted the ball at a .400 clip for most of the summer. Locals noted that the sound his bat connecting with the ball made had such a unique sound that they could tell it was Joe Jackson even if they were blindfolded.

It was during a Sunday double-header against the Anderson Electricians that Joe Jackson earned his nickname.

Finally earning a decent salary, Jackson treated himself to a well-deserved new pair of spikes. While playing in the first game of the double-header the unbroken-in shoes gave him blisters. By the end of the game he was in terrible pain and begged Stouch to let him sit out the second game. A Sunday double-header back then was the place to be for a small rural community and Jackson was the great attraction. Stouch couldn't let him sit out the game, everyone would not only be disappointed but there was always the potential for violence. People took their baseball seriously back then.

So with great pain, Joe Jackson made the fateful decision to remove his brand-new spikes and took the field in just his stocking feet. All went well for most of the game until the top of the seventh when he smacked a triple and slid stocking feet-first into third. An angry Anderson fan, seeing Jackson called safe at third base and noticing his stocking feet cried out "you shoeless son-of-a-gun, you!" A sportswriter overheard it and a timeless nickname was born.

Jackson hated it. Already sensitive about his inability to read or even sign his own name, he felt the nickname made him look even worse, bringing to life the image of a back-woods bare-foot illiterate. He spent the rest of his life trying to explain the circumstances around his moniker, telling the story over and over again that he never played ball bare-foot and it was but one game in his whole career that he took the field in his socks.

Shoes or no shoes, it was obvious to all that Jackson didn't belong in the minors for long. Manager Tom Stouch wrote to Connie Mack of the Philadelphia Athletics letting him know about the potential of two of his outfielders, Joe Jackson and Scotty Barr. Mack must have been impressed by the description Stouch wrote because in mid-August he dispatched one of his players on the disabled list to Greenville to take a look. "Socks" Seybold sat in the stands as the Spinners played the Charlotte Hornets and watched as Jackson belted a double, triple and home run. He noted that the kid also had a rifle for an arm. He quickly telegraphed Mack who in turn sent his assistant Sam Kennedy to verify Seybold's claims. Further assured by Kennedy, Mack signed Jackson who was batting .346 at the time and Barr, who was batting .299 as well as posting a 12-6 pitching record.

As soon as the Spinners season ended, Scotty Barr hopped on the first train to join the Athletics but Jackson hesitated. He'd never left the Carolina's and Philadelphia was as far away from Greenville as the moon. He was embarrassed by his illiteracy and because of it did not even know who the heck Connie Mack or the Philadelphia Athletics were. Manager Tom Stouch had spent a lifetime trying to get to the major leagues and even though he played in but 4 games he assumed it was every ballplayer's dream to get the call. With this in mind he decided to personally deliver Jackson to Connie Mack and at the end of August, 1908 Tom Stouch and "Shoeless Joe" Jackson boarded the overnight sleeper to Philadelphia.

Many of the photographs I used for reference were found on the valuable website called "The Shoeless Joe Jackson Virtual Hall Of Fame" at www.blackbetsy.com Not only is it a great resource on the life of Joe Jackson, but the staff are extremely helpful, a fellow named T.W. over there was extremely patient fielding my questions a few months ago when I was working on a Jackson angle for this site.
 

106. Joe Jackson: Southbound and Down

One of the most popular posts I've written was THIS ONE on Shoeless Joe Jackson and his first season of professional baseball with the Greenville Spinners. It was during that 1908 season that Jackson was saddled with the "Shoeless Joe" nickname he hated so much. This week I'd like to continue the saga of Shoeless Joe Jackson's early days...

We last left Joe Jackson in late August, 1908 as he and his Greenville manager Tom Stouch boarded the overnight sleeper to Philadelphia in order to join Connie Mack’s Athletics. Though Stouch’s prized protegee took some convincing to make the trip to Philly, the Greenville manager woke up the following morning sure Connie Mack would love this rookie. But there was only one problem: that prized rookie wasn’t on the train! Stouch searched high and low for Jackson but by the time the train stopped in Philadelphia a confused and empty-handed Stouch showed up at Shibe Park. Connie Mack handed the confused manager a telegram sent from Charlotte the previous night:

AM UNABLE TO COME TO PHILADELPHIA AT THIS TIME. JOE JACKSON.

It seems Jackson slipped off the train in the middle of the night as it stopped at Charlotte, North Carolina. Undaunted, Mack sent “Sock” Seybold back down to Greenville to fetch the kid and on August 25th he was in an A’s uniform in Shibe Park.

The local press made much of the unknown busher, comparing him to the great Ty Cobb and lavishing a generous heaping of praise on him before he even had his A’s cap on. In his first game he had an RBI single and made a few outstanding catches and throws in the outfield that sufficiently sated the press corps and the evening papers were full of enthusiasm for the young find.

The Tigers came to town next for a four game series and Philly fans couldn’t wait to see how their new boy measured up against Cobb. His new teammates also talked amongst themselves about this superstar in the making and when bad weather delayed the Detroit series by two full days, the downtime enabled the newspapers to whip-up the story of the wonderboy from Greenville into a media tsunami.

But when the skies cleared, Joe Jackson was nowhere to be found. He’d slipped away again, headed due south.

Jackson always maintained he was homesick, but his disgruntled teammates, left short-handed for 2 double-headers in 2 days against the powerhouse Tigers, let the press know they thought the kid a coward, unable to face his show down with the great Cobb. Jackson returned to the team again in early September but just as before, fled south once more before the season ended.

In retrospect, cowardice probably had little to do with Jackson’s desertion of the Athletics - embarrassment and bullying did. Since he couldn’t read nor write, Jackson was at the mercy of the other players who could and rather than let his illiteracy become known he tried to cover it up, the result of which only made it worse. There is one story that Connie Mack caught the busher sitting alone at breakfast with almost a dozen fried eggs on his plate. A shocked Mack asked the boy how he expected to play ball after such a feast and Jackson sheepishly explained to his manager what happened. He actually wanted two eggs for breakfast, but since he could not write a “2” he made 2 slash marks on his breakfast order card which the kitchen interpreted as an 11. It was incidents such as this, compounded on the resentment of his abandoning the team that led to teasing by the other A’s. It didn’t help any that the “Shoeless Joe” moniker followed him up to Philadelphia.

The Athletics held their 1909 training camp in Savannah, Georgia and Joe Jackson tore up the ball all spring. Although Mack was sure Jackson’s skills were up to the major league level, he wisely acknowledged that mentally the ballplayer was just not ready. So when the Athletics broke camp to head north, Jackson stayed behind, the newest member of the Class C Savannah Indians of the South Atlantic League, affectionately called the “Sally League”.

More comfortable playing in the south, Joe smashed the ball at a .450 clip in the beginning of the season and started to be called the “Ty Cobb of the Sally League.” Here in Savannah, the sportswriters were less ruthless than back in Philly and the crowds didn’t heckle him - here back down south Jackson was amongst his own people. The Indians had a mediocre team in 1909 and would finish the season with a losing record. Jackson for his part played splendidly, leading the league with a .358 average, 19 doubles, 12 triples and couple of home runs. He swiped 32 bases and his arm and fielding skills impressed even the most jaded observer. The sportswriters spent columns and columns of space praising the young star and he was named the center fielder of the Sally League All-Star team. One paper wrote of him: “Jackson is a sensation in all departments of the great American game, and that’s saying a whole lot.” It was obvious a player of Jackson’s talent had no business playing around in the Sally League - this boy was a big leaguer.

But the sure-bet big leaguer also seemed to have a problem with authority and a propensity towards strange, immature acts. Sometimes he didn’t show for batting practice or miss games completely. His manager in the first half of the season was Bobby Gilks who seemed to know how to handle the budding star. Under Gilks, Jackson was given a long leash and as long as he produced on the field he was left alone. But with the Indians stuck in the lower half of the standings, Gilks was fired and the new manager, Earnest Howard, didn’t understand how to harness the young Jackson. Hurt by the loss of Gilks, Jackson moped around the clubhouse and sulked openly.In one bizarre instance, he and a teammate left the game in the middle of an inning and took seats in the stands, sharing a bag of peanuts. The Savannah management fined the hell out of him for that stunt, but it didn’t seem to put a stop to his immaturity.

At the end of the season Mack brought Jackson north again to ease him into the Athletics clubhouse. The A’s were in a pennant race with the Tigers and Mack used the uneasy busher very sparingly. He didn’t play well at all and managed an anemic .176 in a handful of games. The teasing was relentless as well.

It was supposedly during this period that one of the most famous Jackson stories took place - while standing on third base a fan called out “hey Joe - can you spell cat?” to which Jackson spat back: ”Hey mister - can you spell shit?”

The kindly Connie Mack was sympathetic to Jackson’s plight and offered to pay for a tutor to teach him how to read and write, but the ballplayer refused. But even the saintly Mack had his limits and Jackson was approaching the breaking point. His behavior became more and more erratic, sometimes showing up late to the park, then skipping practice and sometimes whole games. Then Mack found out his new outfielder went to a burlesque show instead of a game and that was the end of Jackson’s stay in Philly.

107. Joe Jackson: The Big Easy

This is the third and last post on the minor league career of Shoeless Joe Jackson. If you missed the previous entries, HERE is the first on his season with Greenville and HERE is the story of his 1909 season in Savannah.

After a second attempt to bring Joe Jackson up to the Philadelphia Athletics, Connie Mack resigned himself to the fact that the sure-hit superstar in the making was just not mentally able to cope with life in the big leagues. At the same time, he couldn’t simply trade the kid to another big league team because of the chance that it could come back to haunt the A’s one day. The only logical option was to lend him to another minor league club down south and hope that another year marinating in the minors would be the right prescription to make Jackson ready for the big time.

Jackson reported to the training camp of the New Orleans Pelicans in March, 1910. Arriving there he found his old Greenville teammate Scotty Barr, who had been called up at the same time to the A’s and had just been released by Mack.

The Pelicans played in the Class A Southern association and had a working agreement with Cleveland (at this time called the “Naps”). Joe’s manager from Savannah, Bobby Gilks, was now a scout for Cleveland and the two were reunited again down in New Orleans.

Realizing that he was probably never going to play for Connie Mack again, Jackson set himself to becoming a mature ballplayer. Besides disciplining himself to show up for practice and to work as a member of a team, Jackson also developed a make-shift training routine to strengthen his body. Holding the heaviest bat he could find, Jackson would hold it out at arm’s length and keep it raised for as long as he could keep a hold on it. Then he would do the same with the other arm. To sharpen his eyesight he came up with the strange regimen of closing one eye and staring at a lit candle until the flame became out of focus and then he would repeat with the other eye. How this was not harmful I have no idea, but Jackson swore that it strengthened his eyesight and helped him keep a pitched ball in clear focus.

As in Savannah, the local press was much kinder to Jackson and the fans less caustic in their comments. Coupled with his new-found maturity, Jackson commenced to eating up the Southern Association pitching. Once again he led his league in batting with a .354 average and his skillful base running helped him steal 40 bases. The Pelicans were a much better team than Savannah and they won the pennant that year and once again Jackson was selected for the league all-star team. The New Orleans Picayune called Jackson a “star of the first magnitude” and no one argued differently. After another brilliant year down south, there was no way around it - Joe Jackson was bound for the big leagues.

Since Jackson’s former Savannah manager Bobby Gilks was now a Cleveland scout, it was probably him who put the bug in the ear of the big club to sign this kid right now. Connie Mack, who still owned the rights to Jackson, consented to a trade. After a confusing round of side-trades and money exchanging hands, Jackson became property of Cleveland. Finally mentally and physically up for the challenge, Joe Jackson was big league bound for good.

105. Eddie Boland: Major League Recycling

Let’s play a game: It’s 1943 and you’re the owner of a cellar-dwelling major league baseball team. What good players you’ve managed to scrounge up for your team have been drafted into the service and won’t be back for the foreseeable future. The Cuban players you imported to fill their place all scurried back home when they realized as residents of the U.S. they too were liable for the draft. As you contemplate your lot in life, you gaze out your office window which happens to look onto the magnificent baseball stadium that is named after you. Two semi-pro teams are warming up to play a game while your big league team is on the road (probably losing, you think to yourself). You notice the crowd. There’s over 10,000 fans in the stands and this isn’t even a major league game - in fact most sports fans have no idea who these players are. Trying hard not to think of your own team and to avoid the temptation to check the scores, you settle down to watch this baseball game below.

Right away, three players catch your attention and you follow their play during the course of the game:

Player A is a 23 year-old right handed pitcher. Over the course of 9 innings he strikes out 3 and gives up a single walk. Besides a spot of trouble in the 3rd inning where he gave up 4 hits, he scatters 5 hits harmlessly across 9 innings of work. Not a strike-out power-pitcher, he lets the batters hit the ball harmlessly to his fielders. This player is not currently in organized ball and is available to be signed immediately.

Player B is a 35 year-old right fielder. Over the course of the game he hits a single and a double in 4 at bats and commits an error when he misplays a fly ball. Asking around you find he once played for Philadelphia 8 years ago and in 38 games he hit just under .250. This player is not currently in organized ball and is available to be signed immediately.

Player C is a 31 year-old catcher. He smashes an RBI triple and a home run in your cavernous ballpark that was so impressive the entire crowd of 10,000 stood as one and cheered wildly. Looking at the crowd you can see he is the most popular player on the field. This player is not currently in organized ball and is available to be signed immediately.

Now all of these players are available to be signed to your team ASAP. In fact, they would love the opportunity to play in the big leagues. As a veteran appraiser of athletic ability, you can spot major league talent like no one else and you decide to offer a contract to one of those three men you watched today. Which one would it be? Washington Senators’ owner Clark Griffith was put in this same position as he watched those 2 teams play in his stadium in 1943 and was faced with the exact choice of ballplayers I offered above.

Griffith chose to sign Player B. But before we find out about Griff's pick, let‘s take a quick look at the 2 players he passed up:

If you picked Player A, you decided on Johnny Wright. He was the young ace of the Homestead Grays, one of the two teams playing that day. He was selected to pitch in the East-West All-Star Game that year as well as finish the season with a 31-5 record against all levels of competition. He would go on to be signed by Branch Rickey along with Jackie Robinson to break the color barrier in 1946. Although his major league career wasn’t terribly successful, he only got his chance after serving 2 years in the Navy during the war so he was not at his prime as a player. In 1943, he was.

Player C was the indomitable Josh Gibson. Although he might have been slowing down a touch at age 31, Gibson was still an unbelievable slugger whose home run totals in Griffith Stadium usually surpassed the home run total hit in that stadium by the entire Senators team. His average for the 1943 season was an astonishing .474 and the next year it was .345. Along with Satchel Paige, Gibson was the most popular black baseball player in 1943 and his presence on a major league team would bring in a huge amount of fans just to see him play.

But to Griffith, Player A and Player C have a major flaw: Wright and Gibson are black. While Griffith had to have realized that their talent was better than anyone on his roster, he was not a brave man and being the first to integrate the majors was not something he could bring himself to do. Upholding a sinister unwritten ban on blacks was more important than fielding a winning team his fan base could be proud of. No, Griffith looked over the field that day and decided on Player B: Eddie Boland.

Eddie Boland was a 35 year-old ex-pro ballplayer from New York City who was playing outfield for the Brooklyn Bushwicks that day in 1943 against Wright, Gibson and the Homestead Grays. Boland had spent 8 years toiling in the minor leagues and had a cup of coffee in the majors with the Philadelphia Phillies in 38 games spread over 2 seasons where hit just under .250. Stuck in the high minors with Buffalo, Boland called it quits after the 1938 season and went home to New York where he took a job with the Department of Sanitation.

Back in the 1920’s-40’s the metropolitan area was a hotbed of sizzling semi-pro ball clubs, some equalling the level of a AAA minor league team. The New York City public servants such as the police, fire and sanitation department all fielded highly competitive ball clubs chock-full of major league castoffs.

Boland played for the best of the city servant teams, the Department of Sanitation, and his skills so renown that he also played for 4 other top-draw semi-pro teams. His extra-curricular schedule for 1943-44 was kind of hard to believe:

Thursday: night game for the Stamford (Connecticut) Pioneers
Friday: night game for Cederhurst, Long Island club
Saturday: day game for the inmates at Kings Park prison
Sunday: double-header day games for Mt. Vernon plus a night game with Cederhurst again.

If you weren’t counting, that makes a total of 6 games a week. Boland was definitely in playing shape if nothing else. So while he was no where near as talented as Wright, let alone Gibson, Boland was a decent prospect considering the depleted talent pool to choose from.

When the Senators approached him with a contract, initially Boland balked - his job at the Department of Sanitation was much more steady than restarting a big league career at age 35. Eventually he agreed to play the outfield for Washington, but only during his annual vacation from his job and with one major stipulation - that he be free to participate in the annual game between his Sanitation team and the New York City Police Department in the Polo Grounds in September.

So while other garbage men took their late summer vacations at the Jersey Shore or up in the Poconos, Eddie Boland spent it roaming the outfield for the Washington Senators. In 19 games he batted a respectable .271 with 4 doubles and 14 RBI’s. Not bad for a guy that was, as the the sportswriters of the day liked to say, was "literally picked off the scrap heap."

The next season Boland decided to give in to the temptation of professional ball again and played for Buffalo in the International League but the war ended and he was out of pro ball again after 1947.

While the white press made much out of the signing of Boland, kind of a rags-to-riches, feel-good underdog story, the black press had a conniption over it. It was bad enough that the majors brought up sub-standard talent to keep the leagues going, and sure it was really tough to stand by and watch as teams like the Senators imported foreigners to fill their depleted rosters, but Boland’s signing was just too tough to take. Here was 2 whole leagues (the Negro National and Negro American Leagues) filled with at least 2 dozen can’t-miss major leaguers and the Senators go and sign up a has-been semi-pro garbage man?

It was a slap in the face to black Americans and the outrage it caused helped spur on the movement to get the major leagues to integrate. In the late summer of 1944, that moment was barely 2 years away...

Now Wouldn't That Look Good On The Wall?

While trying to decorate my house, I had a 24" x 36" poster printed with 90 of my favorite cards on it. I made a few extra and if you are interested in one (unframed) they are $135 each and I can sign it as well if you want (I always feel funny doing that, but people ask!). Send me an email and I will let you know about availability (info@cieradkowskidesign.com)

104. José Méndez: Beating The Reds Black & Blue

Before I start off this week's story, please let me thank ESPN's Jim Caple for the beautiful article he wrote about my cards. I don't think I could have envisioned a nicer write-up on my work and Jim was a really great guy to talk to, which I discovered while being interviewed for the article. Anyway, here's this week's ballplayer, a guy I've gotten quite a few requests for - José Méndez.

When the Cincinnati Reds disembarked in Havana in early November, 1908, they expected a nice, leisurely vacation and nice, easy exhibition games against the locals. Baseball was an American game and hell, they were The Cincinnati Reds of the National League. Though they finished in 5th place, the Reds were tried and true professionals - Hans Lobert’s .293 average was 6th best in the league and he finished in the top five in hits, triples, games played, total bases, singles and stolen bases. No, they weren’t a great team, but they were National Leaguers, surely more than a match for the island competition they were going to face in the 11 exhibition games over the next 2 weeks.

The first game they played was on November 12th against the Havana Reds. Luis Padrón gave up seven hits to the Reds and lost 3-1. Three days later they were slated to meet the Havana Reds’ rival club, the Almandares Blues.

12,000 fans packed into Almandares Stadium to watch the Americanos play their Azules. No one recorded what the Cincinnati players thought when the Blues’ pitcher took his warm-up pitches before the game, but it must have made them lick their lips. The skinny fella that stood on the mound that day was barely 5’-8” tall, black as coal and his own teammates called him by the unflattering nickname “Congo”. Surely this was going to be an easy win.

The only problem was this skinny kid was José Méndez, perhaps one of the top 5 greatest pitchers of all time.

Raised on the sugar cane plantations in Cardenas, Méndez became a skilled carpenter as well as talented clarinet and guitar player. Some say he had quite a voice as well. He was discovered playing semi-pro ball and the Almandares club signed him in 1906 where he promptly went 9-0 and was the top pitcher in the Cuban Winter League. Méndez had a blinding fast rising fastball, and if that wasn’t good enough, he also threw a wicked curve. Both these pitches were helped out with Méndez’s unique physical traits - he had extra long arms and attached to them were equally long fingers - these gave him an extra spin on the ball as he released it.

Méndez followed up his rookie season with a 15-6 record and this is where he stood as he faced the Cincinnati Reds that day.

To start off the game Méndez retired the side in order. Facing Cincinnati rookie Jean Dubuc, who would go on to a successful 9 year career in the majors, Almandares scored a quick run to make it 1-0. For the next 8 innings Méndez and Dubuc dueled each other, matching zeros on the scoreboard. But unlike Dubuc, Méndez hadn’t allowed a hit - he was pitching a no-hitter.

As the ninth inning commenced, Méndez got two out when Reds second baseman Miller Huggins, the future Yankees manager, hit a weak grounder between first and second. Méndez and first baseman Regino García went for the ball but neither could make the play. It was a cheap single but Huggins made it to first and the no-hitter was busted. Méndez bore down and got the next batter to end the game.

It wasn’t a no-hitter, but heck, a 1-hitting a major league team wasn’t something to sniff at!

Smarting from the embarrassing loss to an unknown black Cuban, the Reds won their next exhibition game 8-0 against the Havana Reds. Cuban sports pages at the time opined that the Havana club didn’t field their best players that day, but a win is a win and the big leaguers needed it. On November 19th Cincinnati faced Almandares again and lost 2-1 as Andrés Ortega held them to just 3 hits.

The following afternoon the Reds took a break from the Cubans and took on some of their countrymen, the Brooklyn Royal Giants, a Negro league team. If they thought they would be any easier than the Cubans, they were sorely mistaken as Brooklyn beat the heck out of them 9 to 1. The Reds were only able to get 6 hits off the Royal Giants and the great Pete Hill hit a home run, a rare feat in the cavernous baseball stadiums they played in down in Cuba.

After a day off, a desperate Cincinnati Reds team jumped all over the Havana team and won 11-4.

The next afternoon, November 23rd, brought the Americans back to Almandares Stadium and they were defeated by the Blues for the third strait time, 4-3.

Then on the 25th Cincinnati got by Havana again 5 to 1. The Americans now had 3 days off to regroup. So far their record stood at 4 and 4 against 2 Cuban League teams and 1 Negro league squad. In the past, visiting major league ball clubs could usually sleepwalk their way through an exhibition series in the islands, but now, something was different.

I’m sure the Reds weren’t all that excited to arrive at Almandares Stadium again on the afternoon of the 29th, but things started off well for them because by the 3rd inning they were up 3-0 over the Blues. Then that damn little Cuban kid came walking out of the bullpen.

José Méndez took the ball and proceeded to throw 6 shut-out innings against Cincinnati. Although the Reds won the game, Méndez had now racked up 16 innings without the big leagues being able to score. The Cuban public went bananas. The local sports writers predicted before the series that the home teams would hold their own against the Americans, but what was unfolding before their eyes was beyond their wildest dreams.

The next day Cincinnati was to face the Havana Reds again but before the game began the Americans protested about the umpiring of the games thus far. The Cuban newspapers took note of this and called it what it was - a cheap excuse. Havana proceeded to best the Reds 6-4.

There was another break in the series and the Americanos had a few days to pick up the broken pieces of what was supposed to be their playing-holiday in the sun. And it was going to get worse. Almandares was next on the schedule.

In what was beginning to seem like deja-vu all over again, Jose Mendez shut out the Reds 3 zip and now had an incredible 25 CONSECUTIVE scoreless innings of work against a major league team!

The next day Cincinnati finally found an opponent they could trounce - the amateur Vedado Tennis Club - and slapped them around 13-3.

Inspired by this easy win the Reds defeated Havana 4-1, but now they had to head over to Almandares Stadium again. There the Reds were wrapping up a win going into the bottom of the ninth ahead 6 to 3 when the Blues tied it up. Mercifully for the Reds, the game was called due to darkness the following inning.

The last game of the series was against the Blues again and of course, José Méndez got the ball for Almandares. In the first he had his scoreless inning streak ended but he held the Reds to 9 harmless hits and won again 6-2.

The Reds slinked home and José Méndez traded in the nickname “Congo” for the much more regal moniker of “El Diamante Negro” or “The Black Diamond”. His Cuban fame preceded him to the U.S. where he pitched splendidly for the Cuban Stars, All Nations, Chicago American Giants and Kansas City Monarchs for over 20 years. New York Giants manager John McGraw famously said he would be worth $30,000 to his team, if only he were white. Among the other marquee big league talent he bested was Christy Mathewson, Eddie Plank and Chief Bender. Towards the end of his career he was made manager of Kansas City and led the Monarchs to Negro National League pennants in 1924, 1925 and 1926 as well as the Colored World Championship in 1924.

Much of the Cincinnati Reds series highlights were gleaned from Gary Ashwill's great baseball research blog, Agate Type. Ever the groundbreaking baseball archaeologist, Gary uncovered all the games played by the Reds down in Cuba in 1908 and their results. As far as I know, until his research no one ever published a full account of that trip.