95. Buck Lai: The Celestial Speed Demon

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

94. Sam "Mayday" Malone: Cheers to a TV Icon

A few weeks ago I finally got around to drawing a card for "Cheers" bartender Sam Malone. Ted Danson's beloved character on the long-running tv show was at one time a relief pitcher for the Boston Red Sox and his former pitching coach named, well, "Coach" was an employee behind the bar in the shows early years. Although I wasn't a particularly devoted fan of the show when it was on, I have always wondered what a "Mayday" Malone baseball card would look like. After a few hours of work at the drawing table I had my answer, but, like I said, Cheers wasn't my favorite show (I was more of a "Rockford Files" kind of guy) so I decided to ask for help with this week's post. Enter Tom Zappala. Tom, besides being a Red Sox fan, is also author of a book - "The T206 Collection - The Players and Their Stories" - of which I own a well-used copy. Tom and his co-authors wrote a nice biography of each and every player featured in the famous T206 tobacco card set and for a fan interested in baseball at the turn-of-the-century, this book is a must-have. So not only was I happy to get some time off from researching a story, but I got to meet the author of a book I particularly enjoy. So with out further chit-chat, I'll let Tom tell you about Sam "Mayday" Malone...

If Sam “Mayday” Malone paid as much attention to honing his pitching skills as he did to booze and beautiful women, he would have gone down in Red Sox annals as one of the greatest relief pitchers in the history of that organization.

One of the most colorful characters to ever don the Red Sox uniform, Sam was drafted as a “bonus baby” in 1966 right out of Sudbury High. Known for his “slider of death” as well as his nasty curve ball, Malone at 6 feet 3 inches tall was a can’t miss prospect. However, he languished in the minors for six years because of poor pitch command and poor judgment outside of the lines.

In 1971 Malone finally put together a decent season in the minors, going 7-2 as a reliever, while being mentored by Pawtucket Red Sox pitching coach Ernie Pantusso. As a result, Malone was finally called up to the big dance in 1972. In his first MLB appearance, he hit the two first batters he faced and then proceeded to strike out the next three.

Over the next six years “Mayday” showed flashes of brilliance, but became a gate attraction because of his off-field antics. The nickname was given to him because one never knew when disaster would strike while Sam was on the mound. A key member of the American League Pennant winning team in 1975, Malone walked over to the Boston Beer Factory in uniform after the clincher, jumped over the bar and became the unofficial bartender for the remainder of the night. Unfortunately, he drank more beer than he served, and was suspended from the playoffs.

For the next few seasons Sam Malone toiled for the Sox. He was released in 1978 after he gave up 4 consecutive home runs in a game and walked off the field while tipping his hat to the crowd that was actually cheering for him, because they had never seen anything like that before!

Malone eventually addressed his drinking, successfully completing a rehab program, and today, although a green tea drinker, is a very successful tavern owner in Boston. Not only does he accommodate patrons and fans with pictures and stories about his MLB days, but he is also one of the most charitable sports personalities in Boston. “Mayday” Malone has raised thousands of dollars for children's charities and elderly causes throughout the city of Boston. His “Mayday Charity Baseball Game” held the first Saturday in May at Fenway draws thousands. Today he is a beloved Boston hero, and his antics during his playing days simply add to his renown.

Tom Zappala is a businessman in the Greater Boston area who has a passion for anything related to baseball history. He has had a particular interest in the T206 collection for about 20 years, focusing on player profiles and backgrounds, and enjoys the hunt for new and exciting information on the lesser-known players. He is also the cohost of a popular talk radio show broadcast in northern Massachusetts and southern New Hampshire. He loves his wife, his four great kids, and his Red Sox. Those things, along with a Grey Goose martini and two baseball-size olives, make life great.

93. Jim Thorpe: A Minor Oversight

Back in 1983 I was in my 8th grade English class when this kid named Brian sitting next to me dropped a copy of Sports Illustrated which he was secretly reading and was cleverly hidden in his textbook. The magazine hit the wooden floor, gathered air beneath its spread-out pages, accelerated and shot across the aisle, coming to a halt under my chair. The teacher was this tall, mustachioed thug who liked slapping us kids around for minor infractions, so I quickly snapped up the magazine so that Brian didn't get caught. I didn't particularly care for Brian, but that teacher was a full-blown dangerous psychotic and it was an unwritten rule that while in his class us kids all looked out for one another. I slipped the magazine in my desk and that sick teacher never noticed. Not only did I save Brian from a beating, but I discovered Jim Thorpe that day. The main article was on the International Olympic Committee giving the long-deceased Thorpe's 2 gold medals back to his children. Jim Thorpe, the greatest athlete of the 20th Century, I learned, forfeited his gold because he played two seasons of baseball in the minor leagues...

After excelling in every sport the Carlisle Indian Industrial School had to offer - football, track, baseball and even lacrosse, Jim Thorpe jumped at the chance to make a few bucks playing low-level minor league baseball in North Carolina. A few of his schoolmates had already accepted offers to play down south and in the spring of 1909 he joined his former Carlisle teammates Joe Libby and Jesse Longdeer on the Rocky Mount Railroaders of the Class-D Eastern Carolina League. Making about $15 a game, Thorpe played most positions in the infield and outfield but mostly was utilized as a pitcher. Rocky Mount was the worst team in the league that year and Thorpe registered a 9-10 record at the season's end, but upon a closer look he didn't have as mediocre a season as it appears. 6'-1" and powerful, Thorpe was raw and sometimes wild but had a few good games including 2 shutouts. In August before a home crowd "The Big Chief" as he was called, pitched both ends of a doubleheader against the Goldsboro Giants, dropping the first but winning the second game.

Rocky Mount was a town that had no love for people of color, even if they played on the towns own baseball team. "Coloreds" (which apparently included Native Americans) were expected to stay out of the downtown area and use a "colored road" outside of town to go from one part of town to the other. Thorpe and his two Carlisle teammates, Joe Libby and Jesse Longdeer, discovered this the hard way when they cut through town on their way to the ball field and were set upon by a local cop. When the officer shoved Thorpe he promptly knocked him out cold. The three ballplayers spent the night in jail and Libby and Longdeer left the team short there after.

Away from the discipline of the Carlisle Indian School, Thorpe seems to have cut loose during the season and he had a few additional scrapes with the law due to alcohol. One story has him wandering drunk downtown and smashing his head through a store window on a $5 bet. Another night he and teammate Marvin O’Gara went at each other in a drunken brawl and Thorpe had to be physically cuffed and dragged to the police station by a team of cops. O’Gara wound up being arrested as well after he was apprehended antagonizing Thorpe through the bars of his cell window.

Thorpe reported to Rocky Mount the next season and during spring training injured his arm. The Railroaders made another poor showing in 1910 but Thorpe's pitching kept the team competitors. Although he wound up with a 10-10 record, 5 of those loses were by a single run. The Rocky Mount team eventually traded Thorpe to the Fayetteville Highlanders near the end of the season. In his only game on the mound for the Highlanders Thorpe was unimpressive and got the loss. Manager Charlie Clancy decided to move the big fellow over to first base and his batting started to get a little better by the time the season ended. Unfortunately Thorpe didn't get along with Charlie Clancy, probably because of his thirst for the nightlife. His propensity towards alcohol fueled mischief followed him to Fayetteville and one time an inebriated Thorpe fought off 5 police officers before smashing his head through another window. Still refusing to submit to the law, the police called in the president of the Fayetteville team to try to calm him down, all to no avail. Finally an officer lassoed Thorpe, tied up the big man and subdued him with chloroform him until he was docile enough to be taken to a hospital.

By all reports he showed promise as a pitcher but needed a lot of coaching, both on the field and off. At the plate he hovered around .250 and had trouble with curve balls, something that would haunt him throughout his baseball career. On the base paths he was pretty fast and stole 11 bases in 1910. For unknown reasons Thorpe didn't return to Fayetteville the following season but concentrated on amateur track and field events. Technically, Thorpe forfeited his eligibility to compete because he accepted money to play baseball.

In 1912 as a member of the United States Olympic Team, Thorpe won 2 gold medals and was declared by the King of Sweden to be the world's greatest athlete. A hero upon his arrival back in the states, Thorpe's new-found fame quickly turned dark fast. Almost at once rumors started to swirl about him playing professional baseball somewhere down south - a no-no if you want to be eligible for the Olympics. While many college athletes played sports for money and kept their eligibility, Thorpe neglected to do what they all had done: use a false name. It wasn't hard to find records pertaining to Thorpe's 2 years in the Eastern Carolina League and there was one guy in particular who helped make sure the story had legs.

Fayetteville manager Charlie Clancy seems to have gone out of his way to make the story of Thorpe's baseball career known. Not only did he volunteer the story to a local reporter, he sweetened the pot with a few seamy stories about the Olympian's taste for the nightlife and even called him "yellow" on the mound because he claimed he would develop a sore arm after 7 innings and would magically be fine the next day. The story was picked up in a few newspapers and that, coupled with an anonymous teammate ratting him out to another newspaper effectively sealed Thorpe's fate. He came clean about playing in North Carolina but claimed he did not know it was against the Olympic rules. Charlie Clancy, for what it's worth, backtracked and tried to redact his story but the dam had burst. His 2 gold medals were swiftly taken away from him.

Jim Thorpe went on to become a household name during the teens and twenties as he played professional baseball with the Giants, Reds and Braves from 1913 to 1919 as well as what passed for pro-football with the Canton Bulldogs, Cleveland Indians, New York Football Giants and Chicago Cardinals. After his athletic career ebbed he struggled to hold a job, the boozing he started in his minor league days finally developing into alcoholism. He died almost penniless in 1953 at the age of 64.

In January of 1983 the International Olympic Committee officially gave Jim Thorpe's 2 children his gold medals back.

I had been wanting to do a Jim Thorpe card for quite a while but it took me a while to gather enough info on that part of his life. 2 books that were really helpful were Kate Buford's "Native American Son" and William Cook's "Jim Thorpe: A Biography." For a much more in depth look at the pre-Olympic baseball career of Jim Thorpe, please go to Brian McKenna's classy and well-researched Baseball History Blog. Don't just stop at the Thorpe article, there are a whole lot of other nice pieces by Brian on there that are very interesting.

92. John Gedsudski: All Hail The Chief

Unlike most of the other fathers in their neighborhood out on Staten Island, John Gedsudski's pop pushed his boy to go farther than just high school. Tadeusz Gedsudski valued a good education and his boy was going to be a college man, and God willing, a lawyer or doctor. Mr. Gedsudski and his wife Zofia were from the old country and fully grasped the opportunity their new country offered not just to them, but to their only son. As far as those two were concerned, the sky was the limit for young Johnny.

Although stocky and but 5'-4" tall, John Gedsudski was a star athlete at Curtis High School, lettering in 3 sports (basketball, football and baseball). Clever with his hands as well as mind, as a Boy Scout he made the coveted Eagle rank in what was at the time a record three years and in school led the debate team to the state finals. His play on the gridiron induced New York University to offer Gedsudski a scholarship and he easily made the varsity squad his freshman year. Besides a full academic schedule (Gedsudski now had the ambition of becoming a lawyer) he supplemented his income by working for a youth program called "The Comanche Club" designed to keep young city kids out of trouble in their spare time. It was his role as leader of his Comanche Club group that he became known as "Chief", a moniker he initially shied away from, but over time it stuck fast, ultimately usurping John as his first name for the rest of his life.

In 1926 "The Chief" just missed being named to the College Football All-American team when he was beat out (by a single vote) by Lloyd Yoder of Carnegie Tech. On the diamond he held down first base for N.Y.U. batting .389 in his first year and .453 his sophomore year. More over, Gedsudski finished both seasons without a single error, the first time it had been done by a N.Y.U. player.

Of course it was only a matter of time before John McGraw of the New York Giants got wind of the stocky young first baseman. In the late spring of 1926 Gedsudski received a hand written note most cordially inviting him to try out for the New York Giants' baseball club at the Polo Grounds.

On the morning of May 23rd, 1926, Chief Gedsudski made the trek up to Harlem and knocked on the clubhouse door at the Polo Grounds. Traveling secretary Jim Tierney showed the young man around the clubhouse and outfitted him in a well-used Giants road uniform before accompanying him onto the field to be introduced to John McGraw.

The Giants in 1926 were a team in transition, some of the older stars who made the team world champions at the beginning of the decade were being replaced or retired and the team now was about half fresh talent handpicked by the Giants' savvy manager. Older first baseman Highpockets Kelly was being moved to second to make room for the rookie phenom Bill Terry, and The Chief, knowing how highly acclaimed Terry was, knew he had a slim chance of replacing him at his natural position.

Tierney and Gedsudski walked across the outfield grass towards the Giants dugout. Deep inside the shaded recess McGraw was studying a newspaper which, upon approach was revealed to be a racing form. A tall, thin man, too old to be a player so probably a coach, stood next to him. "Mr. McGraw, this is John Gedsudski" said Tierney. The stubby looking McGraw looked up slowly and squinted at the two men and suddenly a flash of recognition washed over him and he enthusiastically responded "yes, yes, of course, the N.Y.U. first baseman. Glad you could make it, son."

Far from being the angry, imposing man the newspapers all wrote about, Gedsudski later said that McGraw emanated a sort of casual regality, a powerful man comfortable with his position and secure in the knowledge that he need not lord it over anyone. In this split second between McGraw's greeting and Gedsudski's response, The Chief made a fateful decision - knowing Bill Terry had first base all but tied up, he mentally scanned the Giants line up and noted the weakest spot. The Chief shook McGraw's hand and said: "Pleasure to meet you Mr. McGraw, I am also a left fielder."

McGraw's eyes widened a bit. He turned slightly and nodded to the tall, thin coach who made a note on a folded piece of paper. The Giants starting left fielder was Irish Meusel, a 10-year veteran who was as of late fast showing his age in the Polo Grounds' vast left field. Although his average hovered around .280, his days were clearly numbered. McGraw nodded his square head at the tall, thin coach, and then: "Good. Take a bat and let me see you swing in the cage."

Gedsudski grabbed one of the bats spread out in front of the dugout (one of Frankie Frisch's The Chief later said) and followed McGraw and the tall, thin coach to the batting cage. Without a word, using his beefy hands to communicate, McGraw pulled Ross Youngs out of the box and directed Gesudski to the plate. He swung a few times to limber up and then faced the pitcher. The first pitch was a fastball which he promptly lined into left field. The next pitch was knocked into left center just behind the where the shortstop would be and the next 2 pitches The Chief pounded into the upper deck. Initially nervous, Gedsudski now swung free and easy, peppering the field with his hits. When he swung a missed a few, he remained unshaken and followed those rare misses with towering shots that fell into far-away grandstands.

He was in such a natural groove that it took the pitcher to straiten up and stop throwing for The Chief to realize McGraw had called a halt to the pitching exhibition. The manager talked with the tall, thin coach who finally called out to Gedsudski to grab his glove and go out to left field.

Being a first baseman, Gedsudski of course only had a first baseman's mitt with him. Designed to take throws from the infield, the design of a first baseman's mitt was decidedly different than the type an outfielder would use. Armed with the wrong equipment, The Chief jogged out to left field and stationed himself in front of the blue Arrow Collars sign.

John McGraw himself lumbered out to the plate and hit screaming liners out to Gedsudski whose 5'-4" stocky body struggled to field. Solidly built for a first baseman, he was just not properly constructed to roam the Polo Grounds' cavernous left field. His first baseman's mitt also hampered him as he tried to make running catches - the ball popped out time after time. After about a dozen or so missed opportunities, The Chief could see McGraw stop and look intently at him. After a long moment he waved the tall, thin coach over who shrugged his shoulders and walked slowly back behind the batting cage. McGraw grabbed another baseball and hit a high pop-up to shallow left, just behind the infield dirt. Gedsudski ran his fastest but the ball dropped about a foot in front of him. By the time he recovered and looked towards the plate, McGraw was walking back to the dugout and the tall thin coach was walking out towards him, crossing something out on that folded piece of paper.

It was a long ride back downtown from the Polo Grounds, but The Chief was undaunted. He may have failed his tryout with the mighty New York Giants but he truly was more interested in getting accepted into N.Y.U.'s law school next fall. Sports were fun and rewarding, but more than that they were a vehicle with which he could use to obtain a higher profession in life. Where as his father could hope to do no better than his job as a cutter in the garment industry, The Chief had the goal of becoming a prosecutor for the City of New York. Two months after his tryout with the Giants he was formally accepted into New York University School of Law.

With the need to earn money to support himself while in law school, Gedsudski took a larger role in the Comanche Club's activities. One of the few club leaders who held a driver's license, Gedsudski worked extra hours driving the organizations' converted school bus. The Chief poured himself into his leadership role and taught his boys how to play football, baseball, box and build fires (not actually lawful in Central Park, but Gedsudski was an expert at putting out fires as well as starting them). The first aid expertize the Chief displayed when mending a wounded Comanche coupled with his unwavering honesty in umpiring their sporting events earned the unbending respect of a whole generation of grammar school street toughs. When the sun was too hot or the rain too hard, The Chief would gather his boys around inside the converted bus and tell stories to pass the time. Some, told in his shy, modest way, recalled his past stardom on the football field and the Comanche's never tired of hearing about his brush with the great John McGraw. But it was the fictional stories, told in serialized form, which The Chief made up out of thin air that really fascinated the boys. Some were so good his Comanche's actually wished for a rainy day in order to hear the next installment. One, which he called "The Laughing Man" featured a hideously mutilated superhero accompanied by a wolf, a giant, a dwarf and a strikingly beautiful half European-half Asian girl who spent their time fighting evil Chinese bandits.

Even with his law studies and Comanche Club duties, Gedsudski found the time to fall in love. Mary Hudson was a fellow law student and though both were from very different backgrounds (her family was the Connecticut Hudsons, her grandfather was Pierce Hudson III, founder of the New York and Northeastern Railroad), the two hit it off on an intellectual level. When Mary showed up at a Comanche Club baseball game and playfully demanded a place on one of the teams, her surprise prowess with the bat and speed on the bases not only won over the boys but made The Chief love her even more. Then, as so often happens, Mary and The Chief found themselves in a bit of trouble - Mary was pregnant.

The Hudson's, already biting their tongue at Mary's relationship with the son of recent immigrants who they deemed to be below their daughter's station, now brimmed over with anger and resentment. The contemporary plan of action called for Mary to be sent on an extended vacation (say 6 months in a secluded Swiss resort for women), returning perhaps a few pounds heavier but sans an embarrassing baby and her suitor to be rebuffed and sometimes paid to walk away.

The Chief had other plans.

After many heart filled and some downright inflammatory conversations with Mary, The Chief made the decision to leave law school and take a job beside his father in the garment factory. It wasn't high wages, but it would be enough to raise a family on. They would be married as soon as possible so as to avoid unpleasant rumors. The Chief pledged his love to Mary. One afternoon the boys in the Comanche Club, watching from a far, even saw him get down on one knee before her.

In May of 1928 Mary went to Switzerland and John finished law school.

Upon graduation, The Chief took a position with a small but respectable firm on Long Island that specialized in immigration law. Sometime around 1934 or so, The Chief boarded a train to Jersey City where he waited patiently on the dock for a small boy recently arrived from overseas on the S.S. Bremen. Carrying a Swiss passport, the stocky 6 year-old was quickly processed through Ellis Island and was deposited on the New Jersey shore. The Chief, his tongue twisted like a pretzel trying to speak hastily-learned French, welcomed his son home. On the long train ride back to Long Island, The Chief entertained the boy with the first installment of a new fictional story.

His son, chin resting on his knee, listened intently.

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Thanks to J.D. Salinger.

91. Bullet Benson: A Cup of Coffee with the Senators

From the beginning, the best unplanned benefit I get out of this website is the new people I meet through it. Since the origins of this site stemmed from the sudden death of my Pop and my lack of having anyone to share those stories of obscure baseball players with anymore, the amount of baseball history fans I've met in the past year and a half has just been staggering. Through many of them, I've learned about players that I've never heard of before, which is always a welcome thing. About 2 weeks ago Mark Hornbaker emailed me about a pitcher for the old Washington Senators, Allen "Bullet Ben" Benson. Mark had researched and wrote an article about Bullet Ben and once he gave me a brief description of why this fella was interesting, I knew he had to have his own card and story. Fingers crossed, I invited Mark, a writer by trade, to be the newest guest author here at the The Infinite Baseball Card Set...

A few weeks ago I visited Gary Cieradkowski’s website for the first time. I was extremely impressed with Gary’s baseball stories and his custom baseball cards. I could tell right away Gary and I had something in common. We both like to share stories about ball players most people have forgotten.
I sent Gary an e-mail and told him about a story I just wrote for MASNsports.com, titled Bullet Ben's cup of coffee with the Washington Senators. After Gary read the story he contacted me to tell me he really enjoyed the story. Gary also wanted to know if I would share Bullet Ben’s story with his readers and he would create a custom baseball card of Bullet Ben. It didn’t take me long to reply back to Gary and tell him yes, I would like to share the story with your readers...

Since April 2007, I've been writing stories mostly about Washington D.C. baseball history at Nationals Daily News. A lot of my stories are based off of a date in time in D.C. baseball history. Today's story is about a pitcher, Allen "Bullet Ben" Benson, who made his Washington Senators debut this week in 1934.

What makes this story so different than any of my other stories is the way I learned about Benson. It happened a little less than two years ago when I received an e-mail from a person who wrote the following message to me:

"Mark, I have spent the last 20 years of my life trying to find more information out about my grandfather's career. He played with the Senators in 1934; he got a call up in August of that year, and pitched in two games. His name is Allen "Bullet Ben" Benson. Do you have any info on this subject??"

The person who sent me the message did not give me their name, only an e-mail address. Name or not, I was happy Benson's grandson took the time to reach me. I like to put on my detective hat on whenever I get the chance. After reading his question, I wasted no time in researching Benson's baseball past.

First, I looked his name up at baseball-reference.com. Even though there wasn't much more than the basic player profile there, I did see something that caught my eye. Allen Benson made his major league debut with the Washington Senators on August 19, 1934 and played in his last major league game one week later on August 26. Benson's grandson was right, his grandfather only played in only two games with the Senators. Not much of a story, if you are only interested in big names and big historical events.

For some reason, I kept on searching for more information about this player with the cool "Bullet Ben" nickname. I am glad I did because a half-hour later I found a Web site that listed major league players who were born in South Dakota. It was at this site I found a great deal of information about Benson's baseball career. Below is what was written about him:

"Allen Wilbert Benson was born in Hurley (Turner County), SD, on March 28, 1905 (prior to 2009, his birth date was listed incorrectly as July 12, 1908). He lived there his whole life.

"As a young man, Allen played amateur ball in and around Hurley. He also played with a Sioux City Stockyards team and professionally in the Texas League. In 1925 he was in one game for Waco and, in 1927, he pitched 5 games for Dallas (2-1, 2.74). It was also reported in "The Sporting News" that he appeared in games that year for Waterloo, IA.

"Benson's 1928 season was at Akron of the Central League where he appeared in 14 games with a 4-10 record and a 3.57 ERA. He started out with them again in 1929 (35 games, 12-7, 4.67) and then went to the Minneapolis Millers with whom he was in 3 games (16 innings) with a 0-1 record and an 8.44 ERA. In 1929 he returned to his preferred life on the ranch in South Dakota. "TSN" also reported that he had played in Charlerol, Des Moines, Wilkes-Barre and the House of David for three years.

"In a "TSN" article in August 1934, it was reported that he had to return to baseball because making a living on his land became very difficult under conditions during the Depression. In the summer of 1934 he was with The House of David team (beard and all) and was signed by Washington after the manager of Albany, Joe Cambria, saw him pitch an exhibition in Baltimore. [Benson told the team that he also had an 18-5 record for the amateur team - the Benton Harbor Tourists.] Cambria set up a try out for him where he pitched against the Senators' regular players. Washington management decided that he had sufficient speed, a good curve ball and change up to be inked to a contract.

"He first started a major league game on August 19, for the seventh place Joe Cronin led team and lasted until the 8th inning when he was removed with a blistered finger. When he arrived with the team, he continued to have facial hair. There were reports of his Senators' teammates being upset with his whiskers because they found 'the addition to their ranks of a sideshow curiosity as belittling their profession and take the view this pan should be operated on by a barber if he really is a pitcher and not merely a clown.' Senators' management said he could keep the whiskers, fans were sharply divided and Benson himself was said to be 'undecided ... but seemed inclined to favor retention...'

"Jaded members of the press charged that the signing of Allen was actually as a box office attraction similar to team owner Clark Griffith's employing characters such as Germany Schaefer, Nick Altrock, Al Schacht and Art Shires.

"In two starts that year, Benson pitched 9 2/3 innings and allowed 19 hits, 5 walks and struck out 4 for a 0-1 record with a 12.10 ERA. His son, Donald, wrote in 2004 that all he mentioned about his days with the Senators was 'I was in the major leagues just long enough to have a cup of coffee.' After his less then great pitching performance for the Senators, the beard was shaved.

"His nickname during his baseball years was "Bullet Ben" and in 1935 he made 2 stops to complete his pro career - at Albany of the International League (1-2) and Harrisburg of the New York-Penn league (8-9, 3.07).

After baseball, Allen returned to the Hurley area to farm and 'feed cattle' for more than 50 years. He died on Nov. 16, 1999."

I was very pleased with my findings, so I sent the information to Benson's very grateful grandson. Since that time, I read a very interesting ESPN story, "The Greatest Moments in Baseball Hair History" that was written by Paul Lukas in April 2008. In the story Lukas notes, "1934: Minor league journeyman Allen Benson gets a cup of coffee in the majors, appearing in two games with the Washington Senators. He sports a full beard, making him the first bearded big leaguer in 50 years - and the last one for nearly 40 more". I personally was pleased to find out Benson's cup of coffee with the Washington Senators was truly a little piece of baseball history.

Mark Hornbaker grew up in Darnestown, Maryland, where he was an avid Washington Senators fan. He currently resides in Poolesville, Maryland, with his wife Linda. Mark has been writing about the Nats and the history of baseball in Washington D.C. at Nationals Daily News since April, 2007. He also shares his views on baseball in D.C. at MASNsports.com.

http://www.nationalsdailynews.com/history/

http://www.nationalsdailynews.com/columnists/?blog=mark

http://www.masnsports.com/index_nationals.php

https://www.facebook.com/groups/60009109815/

http://twitter.com/#!/ezmark

89. Fujio Nagasawa: Hats off to the Tokyo Giants

Please excuse the lack of updated for the past 2 weeks, I have been in the process of moving from California to Kentucky and the past weeks have been filled with packing, moving and storing capped off with a severely injured back due to a freak accident when I tried to stop a file cabinet from tipping over while standing one one foot. Live and learn I suppose. Also, if you are interested, on my Facebook page I just posted a card of a certain 1970's Red Sox relief pitcher named Sam "Mayday" Malone and I'm soliciting writers to come up with the story that will accompany it...

This week's card and story is about Fujio Nagasawa and the 1935 Tokyo Giants. You can get the back story on the tour in the story I did about the team's star outfielder Jimmy Horio.

Hailing from the island of Hokkaido in the northern-most part of Japan, first baseman Fujio Nagasawa was the star of his college team from Hakodate Commercial School. After graduating he continued to play ball for the Hakodate Oceania Baseball Club. His talent was such that at the “advanced” age of 30 was recruited to represent Japan against the Major League All-Stars in the winter of 1934.

Led by Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig, the All-Stars wiped the floor with the Japanese team but the Americans came away with the impression that the Japanese players they faced were at a AA level. Nagasawa himself hit .226 in 11 games against major league pitching. With practice against good, professional competition, American sportswriters speculated they would improve quickly. Major Leaguer Lefty O'Doul was on that 1934 team and had previously played on tours that stopped in Japan earlier in the decade. Through his friendships with influential businessmen eager to start a Japanese league, O'Doul suggested sending the Dai-Nippon team to the United States in the spring to play against the American professional teams that held spring training on the west coast. O'Doul was newly named manager of the San Francisco Seals and offered to act as intermediary in arranging other ball clubs to play against the Japanese.

Besides acting as middle-man for the Japanese, the publicity-savvy O'Doul made a few suggestions to the Dai-Nippons - the first of which was to change their name: The Dai-Nippon Tokyo Yakyu Club was just too much of a mouthful for the American public to digest. O'Doul suggested the "Tokyo Giants" and the name has held to this day. Other suggestions by O'Doul was for the Japanese to capitalize on national customs that would be unique to their team when they toured America. Despite the fact that Japanese baseball teams all used English words and numbers on their uniforms, for the tour jerseys would sport the player's number in traditional Japanese kanji characters on their backs and the kanji characters for "Tokyo" would appear on their sleeve. O'Doul instructed them to continue the tradition of tipping their caps and bowing as a group to the crowd before and after a game. Each batter was told to also tip their cap and bow to the umpire before each at bat and even after being thrown out on the base paths runners were to do the same. Another unique aspect of a Tokyo Giants game was their football-like huddle before each inning. Newspaper scribes in America were kept busy debating just what was being discussed during these mysterious huddles. Curious little things like that really made a difference to the American public and the team was awarded with decent-sized crowds and much newspaper publicity.

Among the photographs that accompanied the Tokyo Giants press kit was a much-reproduced photo of Fujio Nagasawa tipping his cap to the home plate umpire. American sportswriters commented favorably on his fielding skills and he batted right around .300 on the 6 month tour. The success of the tour back in Japan led to the formation of the nation’s first professional league and Nagasawa was signed to be the Tokyo Giants first baseman. As the Giants lead off hitter, Nagasawa became the very first batter in the Japanese Baseball League when play began in 1936. Now in his early 30's, Fujio Nagasawa's playing days were coming to an end and the arrival of first baseman Tetsuji Kawakami, soon to be known as "The God of Batting" led to his retirement in 1943. Nagasawa then switched gears and became a successful reporter for the Hokkaido Shimbun newspaper, dying at the age of 80 in 1985.

This card and story stems from the large file of research I have been slowly accumulating on the 1935 Tokyo Giants. Often a footnote in other baseball history books, no volume of its own has ever been published in English. In Japan, baseball writer and historian Yoichi Nagata has written the definitive study of this tour - unfortunately it is in Japanese and no translation has been done of this interesting work. Through a speech he gave at a SABR convention a few years ago, Nagata related how his research uncovered Lefty O'Doul's part in helping the Tokyo Giants create a unique persona through the continued use of the "football huddle" and the bowing and tipping of their caps. I am planning to release the drawings I have done of the 1935 team along with the story of their tour in a future edition of "21".

88. Harry Frank: Who The Heck Was Harry Frank?

Who the heck was Harry Frank? That's exactly what I wanted to know. I stumbled on his name while looking at the record of the Baltimore Orioles from 1919-1925. As some of you might know, the Orioles won the International League pennant 7 years in a row causing all kinds of problems with the other league owners who cried foul. See, the Baltimore Orioles were an independent minor league team, unaffiliated with any Major League ballclub. Baltimore's owner, Jack Dunn, scouted and recruited his own players, mostly from the local Maryland and Pennsylvania countryside. While other minor league teams lost their best players at the end of the season when the big club called them up, Dunn was able to keep his best players and sell them off at his leisure. If the price wasn't good enough, didn't matter to him, they just stayed in Baltimore another year. If a Major League club shelled out the cash, then Dunn would just send his scouts out to, say, Western Maryland and bring back another Lefty Grove. Great if you were an Orioles fan, but lousy if you were in Toronto and your team was finishing second every season with no chance of usurping the Orange swarm. If the Orioles ran away with the pennant every friggin' year, why would fans in Newark, Montreal, Rochester and all the other International League cities care any more? In the end, Jack Dunn was forced to sell off his stars and bust up his dynasty for the good of the league. These transactions created the nucleus of Connie Mack's Philadelphia Athletics dynasty as Baltimore alumni made up a big portion of his 1929-31 pennant winning teams. Lefty Grove, Max Bishop, Joe Boley and George Earnshaw all were important cogs in the white elephant's interruption of the New York Yankees pennant-winning machine.

So back to the old Orioles. I was marvelling at the staggering records the Baltimore pitching staff racked up during those years, Grove had seasons of 25, 18, 27 and 26 wins, Rube Parnham won 28 then 33, Tommy Thomas won 32 in another, Jack Bentley not only led the I.L. in winning percentage but also led the league in batting that season as well! Those teams were just stocked with unbridled talent. And then I saw the name Harry Frank. In 1919, his first season with Baltimore, Frank was 24-6, good enough to be the team's second best after Rube Parnham who won 28 games that year. What makes it all the more impressive was that 1919 was not only Harry Frank's first season with the Orioles, it was his first season in professional baseball! While the International League wasn't the majors, it was the highest level of the minors at that time and all the other teams were stocked with both seasoned veterans and rising stars waiting for an opening spot on a major league roster. Winning more than 20 games in any league was pretty impressive, but to have a stellar record like that in his first season as a professional in the best minor league against first-class talent - well that deserved some further investigation.

To make sure it wasn't a fluke, I looked up 1920. No sophomore jinx here, Frank was 25-12!

Who the heck was Harry Frank?

The first place I looked for Harry Frank was in Fred Lieb's 1955 book "The Baltimore Orioles" where I found this: "...but a little Jewish chap, Harry Frank, playing his first season of pro-ball, was the marvel of the staff, winning 24 games out of 30." And that was it. The other go-to book when it comes to the Orioles International League days, James Bready's "Baseball In Baltimore: The First 100 Years" only mentioned that he was in fact a native Baltimorean. The sports information superhighway, www.baseball-reference.com had his minor league record but absolutely no biographical info except the name "Harry G. Frank."

So this wasn't going to be easy. Spending more time then I should have, since I was supposed to be packing up my studio for the move, I managed to piece together the short but sweet career of Harry Frank.

Harry Gilmore Frank was born on March 4, 1899 to Perry and Emma Frank. Harry was the couple's first born and was followed 6 years later by a sister, Lillie. Perry Frank was a Baltimore City police officer and Emma a homemaker at 2001 Pulaski Street in West Baltimore's Walbrook neighborhood. The Frank's shared the typically narrow Baltimore-style row house with Perry's mother, brother and sister. Although I found no traces to prove it, I can guess that the young Harry grew up playing sandlot ball for one of the many youth athletic clubs that were all over the city at the time. By 1918 Harry was employed as a clerk downtown at the Manufacturers & Traders Trust Company Bank. Although a Sporting News article from 1922 mentions Frank going strait from the sandlots to the International League, he actually played in the Baltimore Interclub League with the New Amsterdam Casualty Company team. Frank became known for his awesome control and while with New Amsterdam he once pitched 8 straight games and allowed but 1 walk. It was just a matter of time before Jack Dunn would hear of the kid and put him in Oriole pinstripes.

To say Harry Frank must have been impressive would be an understatement. The Orioles owner and manager Jack Dunn was in the final stage of assembling the juggernaut that would eventually win 7 strait pennants. With former major leaguers Rube Parnham, Socks Seibold, Ellis Johnson and Red Hill he had a pretty solid pitching staff going into the 1919 season. For a 20 year-old kid with absolutely no professional experience to be given the chance to play on such a team along side major league veterans in the best minor league in the nation, well, that speaks volumes about the natural ability Harry Frank must have possessed.

For his part, the local kid didn't disappoint.

As the Birds tore through the 1919 campaign Frank quickly emerged as Dunn's number 2 starter, right behind the eccentric but effective Rube Parnham. In the August 10th edition of The New York Times, Harry Frank was singled out for his impressive 17 win and 4 loss record to date. Box scores began to make note of his sweeping curve ball that shot outwards and pin-point control. Though his strikeout record wasn't mind-blowing, he walked less than 3 batters per 9 innings. Dunn also felt comfortable enough with the way the rookie worked in a pinch because he used him more and more for relief appearances in addition to his regular starts.

By the time the season ended, Baltimore had won the pennant by 8 games over the defending champions, Toronto. The rookie Harry Frank led the International League in games (48) and had the best winning percentage (.800). Teammates Rube Parnham led in wins (28), Otis Lawry had the best average (.364), Merwin Jacobson led in hits (203) and speedster Fritz Maisel cornered the market in doubles (44) and runs (135). And as a team, the Orioles led the league in batting, runs, doubles, triples, home runs, stolen bases... you get the idea.

With pretty much the same team in 1920, Dunn's Orioles floundered out of the gate and finished the first month of the season in 4th place. Slowly the Birds gained momentum and started climbing. By the middle of July Baltimore was unstoppable, winning 56 of the last 69 games for a princely .812 percentage. The team even tied the existing minor league record by winning 25 strait games. It seems they were helped out a little by their loyal fans who did their best to intimidate the opposing teams with bottle barrages and heckling so severe it made the national sporting pages.

Our boy Harry Frank finished up his second season in pro-ball with a 25-12 record and again led the league with 48 game appearances. Frank established himself as the team's premier relief specialist due to his control ability. Relief pitching was still in its prehistoric stages and no statistic was available for the save. Jack Dunn appears to have been one of the trendsetters when it came to sparing his pitchers when the going got bad. Pitchers were expected to throw all 9 innings and to fail in doing so was look at as a weakness as well as a sure way to not make it to the majors. The high minor leagues were littered with the shells of once promising young pitchers who threw their arms out trying to toss one too many complete games. At a time when most managers simply stuck with their starter come hell or high water, the fans in Baltimore showed their appreciation to Frank and his pioneering role by presenting the hometown boy with a gold watch and chain bearing the inscription: "Harry Frank: The King Of Relief Pitchers."

On September 23rd the New York Yankees came to town on an off day between playing the Athletics and Senators. Major League team commonly made extra money on off days by scheduling exhibition games with minor league teams and the Yankees were no exception. Besides, Babe Ruth was a Baltimore boy himself and was sure to bring in a huge amount of cash at the gate. With the bases loaded Harry Frank was put into the game in the 8th inning and struck out Baltimore's favorite son helping preserve the Orioles 1-0 win over the Yankees.

The champion Orioles were now slated to face the St. Paul Saints, winners of the American Association pennant, in the Little World Series. Baltimore won the first 3 games at Oriole Park but Frank lost the 4th game due to bad fielding and no run support. As the series moved to Minnesota, the press remarked on how the Charm City fans surprised everyone and acted civilized during the home stand. The same couldn't be said for the citizens of St. Paul. The visitors were under siege as soon as they arrived and even leaving their hotel became an ordeal as they had to run a gauntlet of rabid St. Paul rooters. Outfielder Otis Lawry narrowly missed being assaulted when he bobbed and weaved an assailants punches while trying to get to the ballpark. Tempers rose to a fever pitch as the Orioles won 3 strait games to take the title.

As for Harry Frank, it seems he was a bit cocky coming off those two great seasons, as of course he should have been. The Sporting News reported Dunn's young ace as a hold out until the manager assured Frank that the Birds would repeat again in 1921. It seems the young pitcher had grown accustomed to the fat $600 Little World Series check he received in October and wanted a pay raise to make sure he covered the spread in case they didn't repeat in '21. Dunn pushed all worries aside and made an addendum to Frank's contract that he would personally cover a $600 bonus if the team failed to make an appearance in the Little World Series. The Sporting News reported that none of their scribes had ever heard of such an unorthodox contract bonus.

On the surface, 1921 was another steamroller year for Baltimore as the team decimated the International League finishing a staggering 20 games in front of the runner up, Rochester. If one looked under the hood, however, one could see that Dunn's pennant machine was held together with wire and chewing gum. Outfielder Bill Holden bowed out with malaria. Max Bishop was crippled when he tore a ligament sliding into a base and Dunn had to bring outfielder Otis Lawry in to 2nd to cover for him. Local teenage sandlot player Jimmy Lyston filled in wherever needed, most often in the outfield. The bright spot was the pitching staff: Lefty Grove won 25 games in his first full season with the Birds and veteran Jack Ogden won 31 games. Native Baltimorean Tommy Thomas debuted by winning 24 for his hometown team and first baseman Jack Bentley not only won the league batting title with a record .412 average, he also was 12-1 on the mound and led the league with a .923 winning percentage! The Orioles were unstoppable, but what about Harry Frank?

Leading the league in games pitched for 2 years in a row finally took its toll on Frank's right arm. Plagued by injuries he managed only 13 wins against 7 losses. Although he appeared in 36 games, it was mostly as a spot reliever. The Sporting News, reporting on the Orioles woes, mentioned that Frank didn't have the same form after literally pitching his arm off in 1919 and 1920. With Bentley, Thomas and Groves holding down the pitching rotation, Dunn was able to ease up on the youngster and let him work out of the bullpen for most of the season.

In the first game of the Little World Series against the Louisville Colonels, Frank relieved a battered Lefty Grove after he gave up 5 runs in the 3rd inning. Louisville manager Joe McCarthy, taking note of Frank's full wind-up despite men on base, ordered a steal of home, showing up the pitcher on the way to an embarrassing 16-1 win. The Colonels went on to upset the heavily favored Orioles and take the 1921 title. Some whispered that a few of Baltimore's star players, unhappy at Dunn for letting them advance to a Major League club, simply dogged the series. The best shortstop in the minors, and arguably in the whole game, Joe Boley was one of the Orioles who's uneven play aroused suspicion. Boley in fact left the series early and went home to Pennsylvania.

Dunn put the disappointed post-season behind him. Announcing his plans to have Baltimore spend spring training in Winston-Salem, South Carolina, the manager specifically mentioned to The New York Times that "pitcher Harry Frank had signed his contract for next season."

Frank, just like the Orioles, roared back to life in 1922. Maybe Dunn's sparing use of the righty the previous season healed his arm, or perhaps it was his recent marriage that reinvigorated the pitcher. What ever the cause, by the end of June Harry Frank regained his form and was leading the International League in wins. Ending the season boasting a nice 22-9 record he regained his title of league leader in appearing in the most games (45). Again beating out Rochester by 10 games, the Orioles faced off with St. Paul again in the Little World Series. Versatile Jack Bentley continued the lack-luster play exhibited in the previous post-season, to the point of leaving a game instead of playing first base after being taken off the mound. Baltimore fans soured on the star and by the end of the month he was property of the New York Giants. Never-the-less, Baltimore held it together and beat St. Paul 5 games to 2.

Despite being the Orioles number 2 starter and ace fireman, Harry Frank made no appearance in the series. Newspapers make no mention of the reason, but it wouldn't be hard to guess that Frank had re-injured his arm. Of course these were the days before pitch-counts, bullpen coaches and hot-tubs. Pitchers were expected to throw whenever they were asked and playing for a high profile team like the Orioles probably made Frank less prone to complain - Dunn was starting to sell off his best players to the majors and the more ink a player got, the better his chances at being sold.

1923 found Frank working almost entirely out of the bullpen. He scattered 179 innings of work over 49 game appearances. His record was a respectable 9-2 but his ERA ballooned to 4.68, but that might be because of a spike in hitting that year. Despite his past promise, it is evident that by now Harry Frank was not going to make it to the major leagues, especially as a relief pitcher.

As the 1924 season dawned, Jack Dunn realized time was running out on his Charm City dynasty. Each year secret meetings were held by all the other team owners about what was to be done about the endless onslaught from Baltimore. Although Baltimore's attendance had been very good, even Dunn was becoming worried that his fans were getting bored of the constant winning. If he was nervous then what was the other owners going through? The major leagues as well were getting pissy about Dunn's perceived hoarding of talent. Although he let a few players like Jack Bentley, Joe Boley, Lena Styles and Max Bishop slip away to the majors, he made them pay through the nose. What's more, guys like Bentley and Boley broke into the majors well past their prime and after a few great seasons showed their age. No, Jack Dunn could see the storm clouds brewing.

Despite the looming pressure, the 1924 team charged ahead on their way to their 6th strait pennant. The pitching staff was exactly the same as the previous season, except for one: Harry Frank.

Showing the effects of his overuse, Frank managed to get into just 8 games before he was traded to the Jersey City Skeeters along with outfielder Otis Lawry. Lawry had been, along with Frank, the stars of the 1919 Orioles and he was embittered at being traded to a perennial last place team. He disappeared for a while before finally joining the Skeeters and batting .303. Jimmy Walsh had been traded to Jersey before the 1924 season and was now Jersey City's new manager and perhaps Dunn sent old hands Frank and Lawry to help out his former first baseman.

Regardless of how Frank wound up in Jersey City, the fact of the matter was that he was at the end of the line. The Skeeters finished dead last again and Harry Frank posted a 6-12 record. Handed the ball 35 times, he just didn't have the arm he used to and the pin-point control, much commented on in his hey-day, was gone - for the first time in his career Frank walked more batters than he struck out. He went back to Baltimore and never played professional ball again.

What Harry Frank did back home in 1925 is unknown, but he and his wife had a son in 1926, Harry Gilmore Frank, Jr. He surfaces briefly as an umpire in the class D Blue Ridge League in 1928 but 2 years later he is working as an accountant for the Maryland Racing Authority. This becomes Frank's second career and for the rest of his life he works as a race track auditor, first in his native Maryland, then Florida and finally New York. His son Harry Jr left Baltimore's Boy's Latin High School in 1943 to enlist in the army. Wounded in the Battle of The Bulge, Harry Jr received the Bronze Star and 59 years later his widow was awarded his an honorary Class of 1944 diploma.

Frank Sr., the old Oriole pitcher, relief pitching pioneer and Baltimorean, died in Rockville Centre, New York on November 9, 1965, age 66.

Now you know who Harry Frank was.

I just want to give a big thank-you to Jimmy Keenan for adding some great information about Harry Frank, specifically his relief pitching and the item about his being awarded the gold watch and chain by the Oriole fans. Jimmy Keenan wrote a spectacularly interesting book about his family's history with baseball in Baltimore called "The Lystons: The Story of One Baltimore Family and Our National Pastime." It's a massive book and filled with really interesting facts and anecdotes about the city's rich baseball history, but the best part is the largest portion of the book that relates his grandfather Jimmy Lyston's odyssey through all levels of semi-pro and minor league ball from the teens through the 30's. Signed by Jack Dunn off the same sandlots as Harry Frank, Jimmy Lyston played on the famous 1921 Baltimore Orioles team (and I hope Jimmy will grace us with a "guest author" story about his Grandpa here on the Infinite Baseball Card Set). Thanks again Jimmy!

87. Joe Nuxhall: A portrait of The Old Left-hander as a young man

Although it has absolutely nothing to do with this story, today is my birthday. I thought you'd like to know. Yeah, well, anyway...

In 1995, on a whim, I accepted a job offer and moved from Baltimore to Cincinnati, Ohio. I didn't know much about the city or its people at the time, in fact the first thing that came to mind when I thought of "Cincinnati" was that the first professional baseball team in history still called the city home. So I moved to Cincinnati.

What I found there both surprised and amazed me. The people were so friendly and open. I had never traveled much - to be honest, I had never even left the east coast. To have strangers strike up a conversation with you on the street was, well, perplexing. It honestly took me a good 3 months before I relaxed, knowing that the friendliness I encountered on the street was not a ruse to steal my wallet or part of some complex hustle. And boy did that city love their Reds! Until the 1990's, the first pitch of every baseball season was thrown in Cincinnati. Only after the game had begun there could the rest of the major leagues begin their season. I liked that privilege pro baseball conceded to Cincinnati in acknowledgement of their place as home to the first professional team. And the people of Cincinnati appreciated as well. I soon found that Opening Day in Cincinnati wasn't something to sniff at. Those people made a heck of an event out of it! There was a huge parade that started from the city's Findley Market and wound through downtown to the river where the ballpark stood waiting. This wasn't any old parade, mind you, but a parade made up of the folks. Every obscure social group marched, some serious but a large amount humorous. The lawn mower drill team comes to mind (if you've never experienced them, you have no idea what you are missing). Card Clubs marched. Restaurant staffs rode make-shift floats. Anyone who owned a vintage car joined in. Little Leaguers and beer league softball teams suited up in their finest and took up their place in the parade. It seemed like the whole darn city of Cincinnati was marching down Race Street! All the surrounding area's school bands march and although I'm not one for parades at all, I never missed one while living there. It's things like that that really make you feel part of the community.

Which brings me to Joe Nuxhall. To most outside the Cincinnati area, Joe was a footnote to baseball history - the youngest player ever in the major leagues. But to everyone within the signal range of the mighty WLW radio station, Joe Nuxhall, along with partner Marty Brennaman, WAS the Cincinnati Reds. Joe and Marty's enlightened banter behind the mikes really added something special to that storied franchise. Players came and went, but those two guys lent a voice to millions of Reds fans and through years of good teams and bad, gave them something to carry their heads high about. Win or lose, Cincinnati was home to the best team in radio broadcasting.

To this day I still chuckle inside when I remember Marty making fun of Joe's horrible sweater collection. Joe and Bill Cosby must have bumped into each other while frequenting the same twisted sweater emporium. And man, sometimes I'll break out in full laughter thinking about the time Joe, eyeing Marty's trademark perfectly coiffed hair, called him a "poofy-haired fancy-boy" right in the middle of a game! Jabs aside, the combination created the best play-by-play I'd ever heard. Through their voices, you knew exactly what was happening down on the field. To me that's the true sign of a great broadcaster, and Cincinnati was blessed to have not one, but two men who possessed that skill. I remember that for me, like millions of others in the Cincinnati area, whether driving home in their car or sitting with friends in the back yard, the game was not yet over until Joe concluded his post-game show, signaling its end with his trademark phrase: "this is the Old Lefthander, rounding third and headed for home - Goodnight everyone."

So anyway, the whole point of this is to introduce you to a much younger Joe Nuxhall. It's Saturday, June 10th, 1944 and the 15 year-old lefty is facing the mighty St. Louis Cardinals at Crosley Field. How the heck did this kid, just barely in his teens, find himself in this situation?

In the summer of 1943 the Cincinnati Reds, like every team in professional baseball, was hurting for talent. The draft snatched up every able-bodied man in the country. As soon as a scout would get a prospect's signature on a contract, Uncle Sam would come along and call him for his team. Ballclubs sent their scouts all over the country trying to scrape up every draft-exempt player who could hold a bat and had a head to hang a cap on. One sunny Saturday in the summer of 1943, Reds scout Eddie Ries took the trip 20 miles north of Cincinnati to Hamilton, Ohio to look at a local semi-pro pitcher named Orville "Ox" Nuxhall. The 35 year-old Ox told the desperate scout that with 5 kids and a wife to feed, he had no interest in beginning a career in professional baseball - but - his 14 year-old boy "Sonny" did. It wasn't the first time Ries heard about the boy. A friend of his, Hib Iske, was a coach up here in these parts and had been jawwing about this kid for weeks. But still, a 14 year-old? Eddie Ries hopped in his car and headed back to town.

Little did Eddie Ries know, this "kid" wasn't your average teenager. Sonny was a strapping 6' - 3" tall and a healthy 195 lbs. A bit wild, he none-the-less possessed a smoking fastball that averaged around 85 mph. And to make it a little sweeter, this giant of a boy was a lefty. He'd thrown more than a dozen no-hit games for his Knothole League team before he was 13. On Sundays Sonny and his father Ox played on the same local Muni-league adult team, sharing the the pitching duties. No, this wasn't your average teenager.

Every August the Reds held open tryouts to scoop up what ever the scouts missed. With the war taking such a toll on the organization's man-power, this free look at local talent was even more pertinent to the ballclub. Hib Iske loaded up his car with some of his home-grown talent including his star, Sonny Nuxhall. After 15 minutes of pitching batting practice, Sonny impressed Reds manager Bill McKechnie enough to send him on to the next tryout level, a game with the other hopefuls that passed the first cut. The giant teen wiffed 2 or 3 batters before Eddie Ries approached him with the words every kid dreams of hearing: "How'd you like to be a professional ballplayer?"

Although Sonny, Ox and the Reds organization were all on board with signing the kid, it was agreed to wait until that winter's high school basketball season ended. To sign a professional baseball contract would render the teen ineligible for high school sports. It was decided to just let Sonny suit up with the team and pitch batting practice whenever the Reds were home. No contract was needed for that and he could play basketball for Wilson Junior High that winter with a clear conscious. When the season concluded in January 1945, Joseph Henry Nuxhall became property of the Cincinnati Reds. The most unusual facet of the contract was Ox's clause that his boy not be sent into the team's farm system. Due to his age, Ox wanted his son close by and it was agreed that he'd stay with the big club, suiting up on weekends until school ended and pitch batting practice. Once he was out, he'd join the team as a full-fledged Cincinnati Red.

Saturday, June 10th, 1944.

Billy Southworth brought his National League Champion St. Louis Cardinals into Crosley Field. On their way to yet another pennant, the Cards had by far the best team in baseball. Although they continuously lost players to the draft, the vast farm system Branch Rickey set up continued to pump fresh talent into their club. Boasting all-stars like Stan Musial, Walker Cooper, Marty Marion and Whitey Kurowski, St. Louis was on their way to posting an amazing 105-49 league record.

3,510 fans showed up for the game. Bill Lohrman started for the Reds but he faltered in the 2nd, giving up 5 hits before he was yanked. Ed Heusser was rushed in and the Cards jumped him for 4 more hits without retiring anyone. 6 runs had scored before McKechnie threw Buck Faucett in there to turn off the bleeding. He got them out of the inning but Faucett continued to leak runs, giving up one in the 4th, one in the 5th, one in the 6th, one in the 7th and 2 more in the eighth making it 12-0 as the Reds entered the top of the 9th. Cincinnati's bats were useless that day against ace Mort Cooper who had given up only 5 hits. With no chance of pulling off a win that day against the defending National League Champs, Bill McKechnie had his teenage phenom pitch the 9th inning.

Nuxhall said later he was scared and shaking as he took the mound. He had no idea who he was pitching to. The first batter he faced that inning was weak-hitting infielder George Fallon. He worked the count to 3 and 2 and grounded out to shortstop Ed Miller. One away. Pitcher Mort Cooper came up next. Working the count full again, Nuxhall walked him. Man on first, one out. Though Sonny didn't know it, the top of the Cardinals' order was up next.

Lead off hitter Augie Bergamo again worked the rookie to a full count. He swung at the next pitch and popped it up for the second out. One more to go.

These guys were making him work for it, but Sonny was getting them out. This wasn't so bad, was it?

Deb Garms, aging former National League batting champ emerged from the Cards dugout next. Still wild, Nuxhall again pitched the count full before walking him. 2 guys on, but 2 away. Nuxhall looked in at the next batter.

"Gee, that looks an awful lot like Stan Musial..."

Unfortunately for Sonny, it was Stan Musial and he smashed a single that scored Cooper. First baseman Ray Sanders came up next and walked on 4 strait balls. Bases loaded. Slugger Walker Cooper, Mort's younger brother came to bat. After 4 pitches he walked, scoring Garms. Bases still loaded. 2 out. Sonny got 2 strikes past Danny Litwhiler. One more strike would end this all with a respectable 2 earned runs. But the wildness came back and he threw 4 strait balls, pushing Musial home. Bases still full of Cardinals. 2nd sacker Emil Verban came up next and fought the rookie to yet another full count before he found a good one and grooved a single that scored Cooper and Sanders. McKechnie called time and took the kid out.

Reds announcer Waite Hoyt, himself a former schoolboy hurler at 16 when he debuted with the New York Giants, thought the kid looked nervous. That must have been the understatement of the season. He got rocked for 5 runs, but his much more experienced stablemates had given up 13. It wasn't a great debut, but it wasn't that bad, was it? He'd got his butt kicked by the best team in baseball. The guys he faced would go one to win the World Series that year.

For young Sonny, that was his last appearance in the majors for 8 long years. Nuxhall toiled in the Reds farm system perfecting his craft until he finally suited up in a Reds jersey again in 1952. This time Sonny stayed, pitching for his hometown team for 15 of the 16 years spent in the majors. The mainstay of the Reds staff and a real fan favorite, "Nuxy" as he became known, still holds the team record for most wins by a lefty. He also was one of the first ex-players to sit behind the microphone when he retired in the spring of 1967, going directly from the clubhouse to the broadcast booth. Teaming up with Marty Brennaman in 1974, the duo known as "Marty and Joe" spent 30 years calling the Reds games. After suffering ill health for a while, the old lefthander finally rounded third and crossed home plate on November 15, 2007.

I still remember where I was when I heard Joe died. I had moved away by then and was living far away in Hollywood. Sitting in an Italian cafe on Hollywood Boulevard I read a sterile wire service account in the newspaper. The phrase "poofy-haired fancy-boy" came to mind and I laughed out loud. Then I crossed myself and said a prayer for the Old Lefthander.

Out here in California, I still listen to the ballgames on the radio. The ocean breeze that blows into my yard where I'm sitting is a nice compliment to Vin Scully's voice calling the Dodger game. But Vin Scully is no Marty and Joe.

Marty Brennaman still calls 'em back in Cincinnati and hopefully will for a long, long time. God, I miss that. I miss Cincinnati. I miss going to opening day with Todd and Marc. I miss the silly parade and the warm summer nights listening to the Reds with Christian and Vic. I miss debating last nights Reds lineup with Christa and throwing the ball around with Charlie. I miss it so much that I am going back to Cincinnati.

The end of August, I'm going home for good.

86. Teang Wong Foo: The Greatest Story Ever Told (sort of?)

March, 1887
Shanghai, China

No one thought much when the sturdy looking Chinaman in the yellow silk tunic and matching sash approached the men playing a pick-up game of baseball in a clearing just beside the docks. The two teams battling that afternoon were made up of New England sailors from the clipper ship Cyclopes and Navy men from the gunboat U.S.S. Monocacy. Although the crowd was originally filled with the few Americans that knew of and appreciated the game, by the 4th inning a sizable crowd had assembled. The bars of Shanghai's infamous Blood Alley had emptied of all U.S. Navy men who'd come to cheer on their own and hopefully scrap with the clipper men or who ever else looked eligible at the game's conclusion. The clipper's cheering section had grown to include a few missionaries and assorted bookkeepers and clerks from the American companies whose offices overlooked the bustling waterfront. A smattering of Europeans, mainly British and French, sauntered over to see what those curious Americans were up to now. A growing number of Chinese workers paused to look on, talking quietly amongst themselves, lest they be shooed away by the white devils.

The clipper men were leading by 2 runs but now the gunboat sailors had runners on first and second and their best hitter, Boatswain's Mate 2/c Spalding, was at the plate. Boatswain's Mate 2/c Spalding was from Chicago and in the not-to-distant past had played baseball around the windy city and held his own against the best semi-pros in town. When the Chinaman walked directly onto the field and made a bee-line for the pitchers mound, the Americans finally took notice of Teang Wong Foo.

According to Protestant missionary Reverend Herbert Chestnut who officiating at the game, the mysterious Chinaman gestured to the clipper's pitcher for the ball and out of sheer good-naturedness, he tossed the big fellow the ball. Slight laughter wafted from the players and spectators and a cacophony of Chinese voices welled up from the growing group of Chinese who had stopped to watch the curious game.

Foo took the ball without a word. He shifted his braided pony-tail over his shoulder and spat twice on the ground. Looking over his broad shoulders, three times he checked the runners on base. A few cat-calls (which the good Reverend Chestnut refused to record) emanated from the gunboat sailor's bench, bringing howls of laughter from the clipper men on the other side of the field. With a smile, Boatswain 2/c Spalding took up his batters stance.

Foo rocked quickly back on his right leg, curled his left around behind him and then swung his body almost completely around before snapping back and releasing the ball overhand.

There was a sound - some say it was like a train in the distance or the noise a canvas sail makes before hitting the deck - and Boatswain 2/c Spalding wound up in a heap before home plate. The crowd was silent until the sailor jumped up and dusted himself off. Then the jeers started. The clipper men cheered their "relief pitcher" and the gunboat sailors cried fowl, all the while was the incessant jingle-jangle of Mandarin being hollered from the growing Chinese section. Boatswain 2/c Spalding held up his arm to silence the crowd and regained his batting stance before home plate.

The clipper's catcher threw Foo the ball which he caught with his bare hand. Looking in, Foo duplicated his pretzel-like windup and threw another ball past Boatswain 2/c Spalding who didn't even take the bat off his shoulder. Again the crowd erupted in cheers, jeers and Mandarin. Boatswain 2/c Spalding rushed the mound dragging the Reverend/umpire Chestnut by the collar, demanding to see the ball. Standing next to Foo, who now everyone realised was quite large for a Chinaman, about 6 foot, Boatswain 2/c Spalding and Chestnut examined the ball. Besides normal grime and a few scuffs, there wasn't a thing altered on the sphere. Boatswain 2/c Spalding shook his head in amazement and walked slowly back to the plate. The Reverend returned the ball to an apathetic-looking Foo and called for play to resume.

With his former smile replaced by lips tightly closed, a determined Boatswain 2/c Spalding faced Foo. Again the curious wind-up and just like that, Boatswain 2/c Spalding swung and missed the ball. "Strike Three!" cried the Reverend/umpire Chestnut, thrusting three fingers skyward.

Roars engulfed the playing field and coins could be heard clanging as bets were settled in a dizzying array of languages. Boatswain 2/c Spalding shouldered his bat and started back to the bench. Half-way there he stopped, reversed course and headed towards the mound where Foo stood. The gunboat men rose as one and picked up bats, bracing for a fight. The clipper men discussed amongst themselves whether to stick up for "their Chinaman" or sit this one out. The British stood fast, observing, and the French evaporated into the crowd. In the ever larger Chinese section, all was quiet.

Boatswain 2/c Spalding held out his right hand. Foo, his chin slightly raised, handed the ball to him. Boatswain 2/c Spalding pushed it aside, instead shaking Foo's right hand and smiling broadly. Foo's face broke out into a wide grin as well.

The crowd erupted once again. The gunboat sailors put down their bats. The clipper men walked cautiously toward "their Chinaman" with open arms. The British noted the Americans "good show of sportsmanship" and the French reappeared and led the charge towards Foo. The Chinese started throwing firecrackers onto the field.

With Foo surrounded by his new-found admirers, missionary Chestnut translated for Foo. "he is from the village of Uwachu in the province of Kiangton. He learned to throw from need to hunt small birds after he was orphaned as a boy. A local warlord happened to see his skill killing birds with stones and adapted the young boy, elevating him at the age of 10 to be the warlord's Chief Hunt Master."

The crowd pushed closer to hear Chestnut translate and the missionary milked the undivided attention for all it was worth.

"It was in his capacity of the Chief Hunt Master that brought him to Shanghai this day, purchasing provisions for his master in Kiangton."

"I've never seen a ball curve like that!" exclaimed Boatswain's Mate 2/c Spalding. "Ask him if he can do that every time." Chestnut relayed the question to Foo.

"He says he can. He says he developed it that way because after many dead birds the game in his province became wise to Foo's great accuracy with a a stone. He says he trained himself to throw a stone around a tree so he could remain hidden from a bird's sight."

"Amazing!" exclaimed Boatswain's Mate 2/c Spalding. "Let's try something here."

Boatswain's Mate 2/c Spalding ran towards the bench his team had been using and returned with 3 bats. The first bat he erected about 20 feet in front of the pitching mound. He paced off about 10 more feet and started embedding a bat there. Seeing what he had in mind an unnamed Englishman came forward and took the other bat and with a nod from Boatswain's Mate 2/c Spalding, erected it just in front of home plate. Boatswain's Mate 2/c Spalding took a stone about 4 inches round and placed it upon the end of the bat before home plate. He walked briskly back towards Foo.

"Tell him to hit the stone." Boatswain's Mate 2/c Spalding instructed Chestnut. Informed of the plan, Foo kicked the dirt at his feet and the crowd backed off slowly, making a clear shot towards home plate. With that curious motion, Foo twisted around and fired the ball to the left side of the first bat where it abruptly curved right, cleared the second bat and abruptly curved again striking the stone on the bat at home plate.

"Amazing!" exclaimed Boatswain's Mate 2/c Spalding again and again. The way the good Reverend Chestnut relates it, Foo repeated the same throw 3 more times before darkness descended upon the Shanghai waterfront and broke up the crowd. The gunboat sailors, with the exception of Boatswain's Mate 2/c Spalding, headed back to the bars of Blood Alley. The clipper men returned to the clipper ship Cyclopes which was scheduled to depart the next morning for the long trip back to New England. The British and the French headed to their private clubs for dinner, all the while sniffing about how the Americans were always mingling with the Chinese too much for their taste.

The dispersal of the crowd left only the Reverend Chestnut, Boatswain's Mate 2/c Spalding and Teang Wong Foo. Speaking through the Reverend, Boatswain's Mate 2/c Spalding asked for and received Foo's contact address (really only the names of the province his Master had his palace) and promised to be in touch with him. Duly translated by Chestnut, Foo shrugged his shoulders and headed off into Chinese section of Shanghai.

While his shipmates drank and brawled on Blood Alley, Boatswain's Mate 2/c Spalding headed towards Shanghai's main telegraph office. He had an important wire to send to his cousin in Chicago.

02 MARCH 1887
MR. ALBERT GOODWILL SPALDING
SPALDING SPORTING GOODS CO.118 RANDOLPH STREET CHICAGO, ILLINOIS U.S.A. AL - DISCOVERED NATIVE RIGHT-HANDED PITCHER WITH UNRIVALED CURVE BALL FOR YOUR WHITE STOCKINGS. BALL BREAKS 3 FEET. AM NOT INTOXICATED NOR UNDER NARCOTIC INFLUENCE. LONG DETAILED LETTER TO FOLLOW. TEANG WONG FOO, KIANGTON PROVINCE, VILLAGE UWACHU. WIRE REV HERBERT CHESTNUT, GRACE CHURCH, SHANGHAI FOR MEDIATION. -COUSIN THOMAS (BM 2/C U.S.N.)

Boatswain's Mate 2/c Spalding's cousin happened to be THE Albert Goodwill Spalding, part owner of the Chicago White Stockings of the National League. Always one to cover all the angles when it came to baseball, Albert Spalding capitalized on a successful career as a pitching star when he established what would quickly become the world's largest sporting goods outlet.

Upon receipt of the telegram, Albert Spalding immediately set about contacting his foreign prospect. He knew his cousin well enough that despite his propensity towards drink, was quite an astute judge of baseball flesh. Not one to exaggerate, Albert Spalding trusted his cousin implicitly. His own White Stockings, despite the aging superstar Cap Anson at 1st base, were mired in 3rd place behind the Detroit Wolverines. A whirlwind of a pitcher could be the difference between 1st and 3rd place. Besides, imagine the spike in attendance from the addition of not only a Chinaman on the White Stockings, but a damn-talented Chinaman!

After a series of telegrams sent to the Reverend Chestnut, translated and relayed by runner to Foo in Kiangton, Spalding was able to negotiate the terms that would bring Teang Wong Foo to America as a member of the 1888 Chicago White Stockings. Besides the salary Foo would earn as a White Stocking, a modest sum was settled upon to appease Foo's master in Kiangton to compensate for the loss of his adapted son and Chief Hunt Master and Albert Spalding also made a not-insignificant donation to the Reverend Chestnut's Grace Church Mission in Shanghai.

In Albert Spalding's eyes, one major obstacle remained before the was truly comfortable with adding Teang Wong Foo to his roster: White Stocking team captain and superstar, Cap Anson. Known as a hot-head and notoriously racially intolerant, Anson famously made headlines by repeatedly refusing to play against teams that fielded Negro ballplayers. Why, just as recently as this season Anson refused to have his team play against the Newark Little Giants when they sent Negro League star George Stovey out to the mound to pitch against Chicago. Spalding tried to gauge his star player's level of intolerance and whether or not he'd be adverse to playing along side a Chinaman. "I don't care what hue the fellow is" Anson reputedly said "...as long as he is on my team. If he is playing against us, by God I'll holler until he is taken out of the damned game!"

A single article, though slightly embellished and containing a few of the politically-incorrect jabs of the time, appeared in the Chicago Mail newspaper. Calling Foo "a terror in the pitcher's box as has never been known in baseball circles" it goes on to warn the Detroit team of Foo's imminent arrival in Chicago. Things were going smoother than annual contract negotiation with his own Cap Anson. All that remained was the formality of permission to immigrate to the United States.

22 NOVEMBER 1887MR. ALBERT GOODWILL SPALDING SPALDING SPORTING GOODS CO.118 RANDOLPH STREET CHICAGO, ILLINOIS U.S.A.CITING CHINESE EXCLUSION ACT OF 1882 UNITED STATES CONSUL SHANGHAI DENIES PERMISSION OF IMMIGRATION FOR TEANG WONG FOO, CHINESE NATL. -RESPECTFULLY, E.B. HODGES ASST. U.S. CONSUL SHANGHAI

The Chinese Exclusion Act was ratified into law five years previous to all but end the immigration of Chinese to the west coast of the United States. The multitudes of native Chinese, once tolerated because of their hard work ethic and cheap labor, were now seen as a threat to American jobs and no longer deemed useful. Teang Wong Foo was just one of thousands caught up in this unfortunate racist policy of the United States.

Despite a flurry of telegrams sent to his influential friends in Washington, Albert Spalding realized that he would have to do without Teang Wong Foo and his amazing curve ball at least for the 1888 season. Through the Reverend Chestnut, Spalding kept tabs on Foo who did not wander far from his Master's palace in Kiangton. Via clipper ship, Spalding sent a crate of state-of-the-art baseball equipment from his Chicago store, including a complete White Stocking uniform. What Teang Wong Foo or any of his country men in the palace thought of these gifts was not recorded.

Despite leading the National League in batting, the Chicago White Stockings still finished 9 games behind the New York Giants in 1888. It's hard to say how many times Albert Spalding's mind wondered about how many games Teang Wong Foo's curve ball could have won for Chicago that season, but to think it wasn't on his mind would be far from the truth. Albert Spalding, as always, covering all the angles when it came to baseball, had an idea.

It would be the greatest world tour ever attempted to promote the American game of baseball world-wide. Starting in Chicago, Spalding would lead a 2 teams of major league stars west to California, then across the Pacific to Hawaii, New Zealand and Australia. The tour would then head north-west stopping in Shanghai, China. Before the expedition boarded the steamship to continue on to Europe, Albert Spalding intended to increase his wards by one more - a Chinaman by the name of Teang Wong Foo.

Spalding was playing the odds that amongst all the fanfare surrounding the tour, the addition of one more of those exotic ballplayers wouldn't be noticed. Perhaps he was planning to hide him as a valet or porter, we just don't know for sure. What is known is that the appropriate telegrams were sent and arrangements were made for Foo to meet the group when they arrived in Shanghai January 9th, 1889 on the steamship S.S. Salier.

But alas, it was not to be. After successful baseball exhibitions in Australia and New Zealand, Albert Spalding ran up against something he had absolutely no control over - the weather. A late-season typhoon followed by a succession of inclement rain storms postponed the S.S. Salier's departure for 2 weeks. In the meantime the tour's European facilitators warned against delaying or missing the Italian and French dates - too many Royal spectators were scheduled to attend and it would look bad for a bunch of sportsmen from the United States to cancel on them.

With a heart-felt dread, Albert Spalding cancelled the China leg of the trip and the S.S. Salier set a course for Ceylon, en route to Egypt and Europe.

What happened to Teang Wong Foo after January of 1889 was never documented. A check of immigration records reveal no Chinese national by that name ever coming to these shores and it would have been unlikely he found a way to circumvent the Chinese Exclusion Act before its 1943 repeal. It goes without saying the name "Foo" does not appear in any records of the old National League. In fact the only real public record of the whole Teang Wong Foo incident is the single article in the Chicago Mail. Albert Spalding of course went on to great financial success with his sporting goods and publishing empire. His White Stockings were renamed the "Colts" in 1890, then briefly became the "Orphans" before finally taking on their current moniker of the "Cubs" in 1903. The fate of Boatswain's Mate 2/c Spalding, besides his earning a Spanish American War campaign medal, honorable discharge from the Navy in 1910 and his death at the age of 82, is unknown. Through church records we find that the Reverend Herbert Chestnut left Shanghai in 1892 for a remote mission near Hangkow in the Yangtze Valley and was one of the many missionaries that went missing during the Boxer Rebellion of 1899-1900. His name appeared on the Rebellion Memorial Wall of Grace Church in Shanghai until it was removed by the communist government in the 1950's and the church destroyed to make room for a cultural center and soccer training complex.

Thanks for indulging me with this fun little story. The seeds of it began with a small article David MacDonald wrote in issue 20 of The National Pastime. In it MacDonald quotes from the actual Chicago Mail newspaper article from 1887 describing the imminent arrival of one Chinaman named Teang Wong Foo on the Chicago White Stockings. The article, riddled with the tasteless racial stereotypes of the time, was obviously a hoax. However the tie in with Albert Goodwill Spalding's real 1888-1889 World Tour and notorious racist Cap Anson was too good to pass up! I contacted David McDonald about the story and he told me it was found while researching something else entirely. Seems like we find a lot of other really great forgotten stories that way. Hope you enjoyed it and a special thanks to David MacDonald for taking the time to talk with me and for writing that neat little story in the first place.