Notes from the Shadows of Cooperstown
Observations From Outside the Lines |
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NOTES FROM THE SHADOWS OF COOPERSTOWN
Observations from Outside the Lines
By Two Finger Carney (carneya6@borg.com)
#282 JANUARY 9, 2003
REVIEWING
This issue -- not totally devoted to the Cover-Up -- is largely a collection of reviews. Of a book, some articles, a CD of baseball poetry, a recent decision by MLB (to move the annual big league exhibition game away from Cooperstown's Hall of Fame Weekend), and finally, of a day in my life.
The book is by the late Jack Kavanagh, a SABR historian who wrote a neat little biography of Joe Jackson. Next issue, I will include a summary of the cases both for and against Jackson, and I will be asking for those who are undecided on the issue, to tell me which side they judge stronger. So, prepare to be sworn in for jury duty.
Two of the articles reviewed are essays I've been anxious to see, one by an author I usually enjoy, Wilfrid Sheed; the other, an interview with Shoeless Joe Jackson in The Sporting News in 1942.
One of the e-mail contributions asks an interesting question, about the usefulness of the novelist's takes on the events of 1919-21. History can help writers of fiction, that is for sure; but can fictionalizations of events really help to shed light on the history? You make the call.
I am prepared for another foray into the research files at the National Baseball Library in Cooperstown -- weather permitting -- so I might have, next issue, some nuggets I've mined there.
There's also a little piece in here about the Hall of Fame question. Assuming that Pete Rose is reinstated into baseball, with or without restrictions on his freedoms (to manage, coach, or even scout), will the spotlight shift to Shoeless Joe? I think it most definitely will, Ray. I got to wondering if the lifetime bans on the players from the distant past were lifted (because they are all deceased), should Buck Weaver rate a shot at Cooperstown ahead of Joe? Buck played in just nine seasons, and while he was perhaps the best third baseman in baseball in 1919-1920, he was just coming into his own. His shortened career is not really Hall of Fame. Some would say the same of Jackson, but that .356 is awfully hard to overlook. Like Pete's hit record, Joe's rank of third-best all-time creates a pressure, that makes fans want to put controversy aside. I know a lot of fans would prefer to see Joe in ahead of Pete. Won't happen.
JACK KAVANAGH'S TAKE
Lately, I've been reading books, then making contact with their authors, if possible, for clarifications or follow-up questions. This time, I read a book about Shoeless Joe Jackson that was written by someone I knew, the late Jack Kavanagh.
I met Jack through SABR, of course. He helped me with the historical details of my Addie Joss play, and when I started writing Notes, I turned to Jack several times for help in debunking or verifying baseball legends. He had been SABR's vice-president before the one time we met, at the 1993 National in San Diego (he urged me to run for office in SABR, but I was still too new.) Jack received SABR's highest honor, the Bob Davids award (SABR's version of Lifetime Achievement) in 1996; after he died, SABR paid tribute to Jack by naming a youth research award in his honor. I wish I had gotten to know him better.
So when I saw that Jack had written a book for the Chelsea House "Baseball Legends" series for young people, Shoeless Joe Jackson (in 1995), I couldn't resist.
Less than fifty pages and full of photographs, Shoeless Joe is nevertheless a fine read -- for kids of any age. Kavanagh does not "dummy down" or over-simplify the story he tells. And he provides a chronology, stats, and a nice "Further Reading" page.
Kavanagh describes Jackson's involvement in the fix as "in dispute." In a photo caption up front, Kavanagh notes that Jackson admitted "that he had accepted a $5,000 bribe," and that "he maintained that he had played to win."
The best case that can be made for Joe Jackson is that he was betrayed by his friend and roommate, Lefty Williams. Supporters of this theory contend that the gamblers would not give the players the money they wanted unless Jackson, the team's best player, was part of the plot. Knowing how close Williams and Jackson were off the field, they took the pitcher's word that his buddy was in on the plan and never met with Jackson.
Kavanagh thinks it "inconceivable" that Jackson did not know of Williams' plotting. Looking at Jackson's performance in the Series, he suspects his 0-for-4 in Game One, and 1-for-4 in Game Four, but does not mention Jackson's peg home, deflected away by Cicotte, which might be evidence he was playing that one to win. Kavanagh does not know, his description is full of "perhaps" and "might have" -- as it should be.
He has Jackson refusing to take the $5,000 from Williams after the Series, and trying to give the cash to Comiskey the next morning. He notes the theory that Williams, feeling guilty for using Jackson's name in the plot (thus making him a target of gamblers, if he did anything to stop the fix), gave Jackson half of his $10,000 payoff, to make amends.
Kavanagh calls Asinof's account in Eight Men Out "harsher" than his own. "Asinof contends that Jackson agreed to join the plot but then suffered a guilty conscience." Hence, he asks to be benched, tries to tell Comiskey about the fix right after the Series, and later makes the offer in a letter, to which Comiskey "never bothered to reply."
If you like conspiracy theories, you will enjoy Kavanagh's description of Jackson's last days. "In 1951 he was scheduled to make an appearance on national television, then in its infancy. In addition to presenting his side of the Black Sox scandal, he was eager to let people know that he had not been a failure after he left baseball." His fatal heart attack came just weeks before he was to appear on TV. Was it really natural causes? (That's my note, not Jack's. Just stirring things up a bit.)
Kavanagh concludes that Jackson may yet "be enshrined" in Cooperstown, if his "supporters can convince the baseball world that he was truly a wronged man." Until then, "the legacy of Shoeless Joe Jackson will continue to fascinate and puzzle those who cherish the game of baseball."
THE PRESSURE OF BEING NUMBER THREE
If Joe Jackson was not baseball's third-best all-time hitter, behind Cobb and Hornsby, few people would care about his membership in Cooperstown. (If Pete Rose had not passed Cobb as the all-time hit leader, he'd be getting little support from fans outside Cincinnati.) It just feels wrong that Joe is out, given his credentials, while Comiskey (for example) is in.
If the Rose case demonstrates anything, it is that baseball fans are, after all, a forgiving bunch. As Americans, their long-term memory is slightly impaired, too, so that helps. Once Pete is in, there will be a shift of pressure on MLB to deal with Joe.
Then baseball can take the easy path, forgive Joe for whatever wrongs he may have done, say he's done his (life)time, and let the voters decide. Frankly, I would much prefer MLB to suggest that the "justice" meted out in 1921 by Judge Landis may not have been all that just, in certain cases. Let's restore the reputations of Jackson, Weaver, and others, who were never given a chance to clear themselves.
In Jackson's and Weaver's cases, the "not guilty" jury verdict in 1921 is not a point in their favor. The 1924 jury verdicts (for Joe) are. So is his performance afield in the 1919 Series. The key is Jackson's speaking up to his club before the Series (which at least made them watch him closely), and his repeated attempts to tell Comiskey what he knew, after. Commy knew a lot about the fix, maybe more than anyone else -- and he said, under oath, Jackson played the Series to win.
"SAY IT AIN'T SO" -- ANOTHER LOOK
Jack Kavanagh thinks, as many others think, that the most likely "Say it ain't so" story is James T. Farrell's, and not the one reported by Hugh Fullerton. Farrell's is his own eyewitness account, in My Baseball Diary, and has a fan calling out to Jackson and Felsch, as they walked under the Comiskey stands one last time, "It ain't true, Joe." Other fans, men and boys, picked up the cry. "Farrell's account has the ring of historical truth."
Asinof quotes Farrell's account in Eight Men Out.
Because Fullerton's much more famous account is served up as a kind of punchline, after he describes Joe Jackson as a fallen idol who "sold his honor," it is easy to think that when Joe is asked to "Say it ain't so" -- the "it" refers to Joe's being part of the conspiracy. It ain't necessarily so.
It seems to me that Fullerton might have had something else in mind. Joe Jackson had just left the courtroom. He had testified that he took money and did not play his best baseball in some games, but he also said that he played every game to win, at bat and in the field. That's what he claimed the rest of his life. Nevertheless, he knew of the fix. What fans had hoped to hear from Jackson was something that would refute Eddie Cicotte's story. Instead, Jackson confirmed that the fix was in. And that may be what "it" meant, in "Say it ain't so."
Put another way, Fullerton removes the last shred of hope that this ugly story about the 1919 Series is false, by having Joe Jackson, whom he knows to be a truthful man, confirm it.
How does Fullerton know Jackson is truthful? Perhaps he was with Comiskey when Jackson told him of the fix, the night before Game One. We have (so far) only Jackson's word for that. Perhaps he heard from Gleason that Jackson asked to be benched before Game One, "so there could be no doubt" he was not involved. None of the play Mathewson judged suspicious involved Jackson. Or he may have heard that Jackson tried to see Comiskey right after the Series, and offered to come to Chicago that November. Remember, Comiskey and Fullerton were close; by one account, Commy has Hugh help with the post-Series "investigation" by checking with all his contacts.
If Comiskey believed Jackson innocent -- something he said under oath in the 1924 trial -- would Fullerton have a different view? Could he? Fullerton had put his faith in Comiskey, and really believed Commy would clean house before the 1920 season. But he did not, only Gandil was gone; the rest received raises. Part of the raises being hush money? Or perhaps Comiskey realized how underpaid players were more easily the prey of the underworld.
Fullerton's reputation was restored, even as he ruined Jackson's, to save -- for a while -- Comiskey's.
FROM THE E-MAILBOX
Merritt Clifton, on the SABR-L, January 4, 2003:
Offline, Gene Carney recently invited some discussion of Joe Jackson and the other 1919 Black Sox, which got me to suspecting that an interesting sociological study could be done involving the iconic status of various ballplayers, including Pete Rose, as indicators of American, Japanese, and Latin American attitudes and values.
I suspect that the players favored or disfavored most by the public (sometimes simultaneously) tend to represent archetypes more than they do themselves, and that these archetypes are far more involved in creating public image than actual on-the-field
accomplishment.
Joe Jackson was a paradox in that he was a white Southerner, reputedly a member of the Ku Klux Klan, who was nonetheless embraced as a hero of the left for supposedly challenging the bosses on behalf of the working class.
Oddly, the left scarcely noted several players of apparent
"left" orientation who were more-or-less chased out of the game for being different. Bill "Spaceman" Lee and Curt Flood were the closest approaches to celebrity among these guys--but then, none were stars of Jackson's magnitude.
Ty Cobb, of similar outlook and values to Jackson in most
respects, represented the hated establishment. Babe Ruth both overthrew the establishment and became the establishment.
Pete Rose in many respects represents a throwback to earlier values and attitudes, including in style of play--and in getting tossed out of baseball for betting on games.
Jackie Robinson was a similar throwback, except that he was
a black groundbreaker and did not gamble on games. I wonder to what extent his Cobb-like style of play helped to gain his
acceptance--would a Ruthian black home run hitter have been accepted as readily? Robinson won over Cobb, it appears, precisely because he did resemble Cobb.
Robinson was nearing the end of his relatively brief career
before the Mays-Aaron-Robinson-Banks generation of sluggers reached stardom, and Larry Doby never hit quite enough home runs to give anyone an inferiority complex.
Other examples coming quickly to mind: Dick Allen, feared and hated with very little evident reason, as a suspected scary black militant, only a few years before Reggie Jackson came along, displaying a similar outlook in many ways, and became an All-American hero. Rod Carew, who married a white woman and got standing ovations everywhere he went. Half a generation earlier, he might have been lynched. I have seen some essays exploring this topic as regards attitudes toward Mickey Mantle and Roger Maris, Sadaharu Oh and Shigeo Nagashima, and Willie Mays and Henry Aaron, but I have not seen anyone produce data about what various ballplayers tend to symbolize, to whom and why, and overall the topic seems very much under-examined.
Indeed, off the top of my head, it seems to me that the
novelist Robert Coover did the most looking into it, entirely in
fictional form.
[In my reply, I asked Merritt the source for Jackson's membership in the Klan. He could only recall seeing somewhere a study done that listed all ballplayers who had been in the KKK -- whose membership was not always as secretive as it was later and is.]
* * * * *
From Jeff Kutler:
I have enjoyed your last couple of discussions of the Shoeless Joe and Pete Rose issues, and particularly about the ownership complicity back in 1919. I wonder if you are familiar with -- or if you think one can learn anything from --
well-researched novelizations of the Black Sox case. Are these any stranger than the "facts" people are coming up with to support their pro and con positions?
In one book, "Hoopla" (1983, St. Martin's Press), the author, Harry Stein, cites numerous nonfiction writers and biographers as providers of "source material" for his fictionalized treatment, including Asinof, Gropman, Al Stump and Ring Lardner. Personally, I think "Hoopla" is a fabulous book; Stein writes it as a dual memoir, interweaving two first-person voices: a New York sportswriter named Luther Pond, and a baseball player named George D."Buck" Weaver. Besides zeroing in on the events of 1919, the book paints what seems to be an accurate picture of how sports gambling was rampant, and how the World Series that year was but a tip of an iceberg. The Pond character began to put the hidden facts together after an off-the-record leak from Detroit Tigers pitcher Dutch Leonard; Lardner, Ty Cobb
and others also served as sources for his reporting.
The Weaver character, in a chapter called "1921" recounting the grand jury inquiry, included this exchange between Buck and his attorney, Tom Nash:
"It sounds to me," [the lawyer] said, "that you're in this mess only because you refused to squeal on your friends. Is that it?"
"Yessir. I am no squealer and never have been. You could ask anyone."
"You know what the state's attorney's going to say, don't you Buck? That it was your duty to the game to tell what you knew. What do you say to that?"
"Duty to the game!" I had never heard such a shovelful of palaver yet! "Lots of other people besides me knew that the series was on the bum," I said. "Including Comiskey! And some of them scribes. One of them I told him myself, by the name of Luther Pond. Go ask him."
Then there is this telling passage about other Black Sox players lacked their own legal representation and had effectively put their trust in Alfred Austrian:
"They were all counting on Austrian, which was like letting chickens sleep with a fox. It was Austrian that got Knuckles and Shoeless and Williams to go to the grand jury in the first place, same as he tried to do with me. And it turned out that before doing so, he had told each of them what to say, and what to leave out, and then he had got all of them to put their john hancock on a paper saying that later on it could all be used against them.
"The reason that Austrian was sneaking around in such a way was pretty clear to me and Nash [Buck's lawyer]. Him and Comiskey wanted to fix it up that us deck hands would be the goats, while the big pokes would never even get mentioned."
There is another novel, "Blue Ruin" (1991, W.W. Norton), by Brendan Boyd. Boyd adopts as his narrator the gambling operative Sport Sullivan, who shows up in "Hoopla" and other accounts. I haven't read this one, but according to an article in USA Today Baseball Weekly (Aug. 23, 1991, which also notes that the author supported lifting the ban on Shoeless Joe), it reflects the reality that "since betting swelled fan interest and gate receipts, management did little to control the problem."
[In my reply, I mentioned to Jeff that it was Boyd's "Blue Ruin" that got me interested in the 1919 Series in the first place. I might have mentioned "The Celebrant," which is the only place I've found the seven plays identified as suspect by Christy Mathewson.
[I have added "Hoopla" to my on deck circle of reading. In the exchange with Merritt Clifton, he recommended a biography of Hal Chase by Lynn Bevill; that's on deck, too.
[Over the holidays, thanx to my daughter, I've obtained my own copies of the books by Asinof, Frommer, Gropman, and Evans & Herzog; Fleitz' work and Harold Seymour's, are on their way. For those who are interested in building your own library, do check out half.com -- a copy of "Hoopla" might go for 75 cents (less than the postage)!]
A DAY IN THE LIFE
Today -- Monday, January 6 -- was a little like most of my days since I got hooked. I usually do not check e-mail before going to work, but today I had to send a list of books, articles and files to Claudette Burke, of the Research Department of the National Baseball Library. This Friday, weather permitting, I will visit Cooperstown and explore what they will have waiting for me when I arrive. Sometimes I think I should have been a librarian.
Mid-morning at work, I check my e-mail. A note from Arlene Marcley, executive assistant to the Mayor of Greenville, SC, urges me to write my book, and directs me to a photo of Joe Jackson comparing bats with Babe Ruth, on the NY Daily News web site's photo archive.
After work, I stop at the Utica Public Library, where I have three book titles that they will track down for me over the next week or so. I ask about an article, and in minutes they produce the August 1990 issue of GQ, and I photocopy the five-page piece by Wilfrid Sheed, one of my favorite authors. "One Man Out ... Too Long" is the title.
After a few stops, I'm home, where the US mail has delivered two articles I had requested from Steve Gietschier of The Sporting News. One, a long interview with Joe Jackson in 1942, I have been trying to track down for months.
Checking e-mail again, Mike Nola directs me to two articles in the Denver Post -- Mike seems to know when anybody processes a word about Joe Jackson in the media. I had some time and checked out both articles. One is on the "If Rose, Why Not Jackson" issue; the other, a debunking of "Say it ain't so." Having just written some about that famous saying, I decide to write a note to the author of both articles, directing him to Notes.
Somehow, Barb and I have managed to team up on a very nice chicken dinner, read the paper, and watch some Jeopardy! Before heading to my upstairs office/library, I read both the Sheed article and the TSN interview.
During the day, I've only discussed Joe Jackson and 1919 once, when I ran into a friend at the library. But Joe and Company seem to be on my mind in odd moments, while I'm driving, for example, or when I'm trying to get to sleep. Lately, I find myself scribbling notes after the lights are out, in my kitchen. Some are even legible the next day. Others are useless.
When I'm into something, I write right after dinner. Tonight, I'll get in a few hours. I try to write something every day. Lately, bothered that Joe Jackson died a few weeks shy of a guest shot on national TV, I've been thinking how today, if he was with us, he would be a natural for Live, from New York! It's Saturday Night! With guest host Shoeless -- Joe -- JACKson!
HAPPILY EVER AFTER
Early on in my research, I read that The Sporting News, baseball's Bible at the time, drew some flack from MLB for running a feature on Joe Jackson in 1942. (To be specific, it was September 24, 1942.) Of course, I had to know what was so upsetting to the Powers That Were.
Having read the article, I can only guess. MLB must have objected to the portrayal of Joe Jackson as a happily retired, successful, contented man, without bitterness, and with an apparently clean and at-peace conscience. Fixers aren't supposed to live happily ever after. Didn't anyone show Jackson the script? Oh, yeah, he can't read! Ha, ha.
When Joe Jackson first left Greenville to play ball, he found it rough going. It was hard being a southerner in the big northern cities ... ignorant farm boy! ... hard being known to be unable to read or write ... but that moron sure can hit! ... Joe bailed out at one point, and had to be coaxed back to the top. When baseball slammed the door shut on Joe Jackson, he still had some playing time in his legs, and played as much as he could, wherever he was welcome. Finally, he was Greenville's again, and in 1942, at age 54, Joe summed up his philosophy in these words: "to live in a house by the side of a road and be a friend to man."
The interview is long, and made the front page. It was written by Carter (Scoop) Latimer, the sports editor of the Greenville (SC) News. Besides photos from Joe's career on the diamond, we see Joe sitting on his home's doorstep, behind the counter at one of his liquor stores (he was unable to consume sugar or alcohol), smiling as he breaks an egg into a pan in his kitchen, and, finally, chatting with Scoop by his fireplace. It is a warm, fuzzy, feel-good interview. No wonder MLB was ticked.
Regarding his role in the Series fix, Joe points to his performance. "The Supreme Being" -- and not Landis -- "to be my judge." Though not bitter, Joe still has contempt for the "Say it ain't so" story. "A fabricated scoop," writes Scoop. "If I had been guilty of 'laying down' in the Series, I wouldn't be so successful today," Joe pleaded, "For I'm a great believer in retribution. I have made a lot more money since being out of baseball than when I was in it -- the good Lord knows I am innocent of any wrong-doing."
If you are curious to know Joe's all-time team, how he saw Ted Williams, and much more, this article is worth looking up. I had read somewhere that Jackson had "the strongest arm" in baseball, and the TSN commentary clears that up. At the Tim Murnane benefit game, at Fenway Park in 1917, Joe won a trophy for throwing a baseball 396'8". (Babe Ruth threw that day, too, for Boston, defeating a team of AL All Stars.) Oh yes, one more thing. One of Joe's favorite pastimes in 1942 is teaching kids to play ball. I's guess none of them ever asked, It ain't so, is it?
THE SPOTLIGHT ON THE DOORSTEP
The first time I ever did research in Cooperstown, I was struck, going through Addie Joss' file, by how much was written about him when he was stuck on the Hall of Fame's doorstep, compared to after he was elected. (Joss died young, in 1911 -- an All Star benefit game was held for his family in Cleveland that summer -- after pitching just nine seasons; he was finally elected in 1978, an exception to the ten-year rule.) Wilfrid Sheed's article, "One Man Out ... Too Long," (GQ, August 1990) is an excellent example of what I call the spotlight on the doorstep. For the last decade or so, the light was on Pete Rose. In 1990, it shone brightly on Joe Jackson. And still does.
Research, it ain't, but Sheed is an entertaining writer, almost on the level of Roger Angell. Never mind that he fails to even mention poor Buck Weaver, just enjoy the ride, the phrases he turns, the images. And enjoy the "photo" of the bronze plaque with Joe's likeness, the plaque that would be his -- if only. (It lists his achievements, and ends with "Banned for life after 1919 Black Sox Scandal." Which is, of course, true.)
Regarding Joe's role, Sheed writes "He had, for one thing, motive to burn: a skinflint owner, a failed business back home [huh? In 1919?], expensive tastes (suits, hats and shoes -- for which he was a regular Imelda [well, what do you expect, with that nickname?] -- and even a chorus girl on the side), and a general paranoia toward owners, reporters, and even his fellow players." I wonder if a GQ editor tossed in the chorus girl.
Did Joe "take the money, and screw the gamblers by playing his best anyway"? Sheed does not know. "He may have been, as his first defenders insisted, simply too dumb to know what he was doing." He goes on "there is no enigma like stupidity" and does state that we really cannot say for sure how smart Joe was. "We know that his dumbness was not just a northern invention, because the neighbors back home had noticed it, too. But was it merely verbal?" Was it merely illiteracy?
"The best evidence that Jackson did at least something for his money would seem to be his own insistence to the grand jury that he'd had a lousy Series, whatever the numbers said. But nothing is that clear in the Bertolt Brecht world of Chicago justice, circa 1920."
Sheed takes a look at the Hall of Fame charter, written in 1938, "a curious document that seems to have been directed expressly at him." Of the six qualifications, four involve morals: integrity, sportsmanship, character, and contribution to the team. "A couple of sportswriters voted for Jackson in the first election -- and the heavens didn't fall." The HOF "acknowledges your achievements, the way having your face on a stamp does." Sheed has no "feebleminded sympathy" for Jackson but wants him in. "The museum is missing a Rembrandt."
HALL OF FAME WEEKEND -- SHORTENED
Since 1940, the annual Induction ceremony in Cooperstown has been accompanied by an exhibition game between two major league teams. That streak will end this summer. Hall of Fame Weekend will not feature the Monday afternoon game -- instead, the annual exhibition game will be played in June.
Needless to say, this change has caused some ripples of protest in Cooperstown and its shadows. Those upset feel that this takes something special away from the HOF Weekend; yes, it was just a game, but it was often attended by the old Hall of Fame players who were in town, joined by the newest addition(s). So what if minor leaguers did the pitching, and the big names made early cameo appearances only? It was a fun day, connected with the festivities of the days before.
On the bright side, MLB and the Players Association did not squelch this exhibition altogether -- and they might have. At best, this is a temporary scheduling glitch (somehow linked to interleague play, I believe), and will be resolved next year. But who knows? Maybe the influx of 10,000 fans in June, a slower month (because many schools are still in session), will be a success that rates repeating.
I haven't seen the NY-Penn League schedule for 2003 yet, but the Monday after Father's Day -- the date of this summer's HOF exhibition -- is usually Opening Day/Night for NY-P teams. The only club affected, really, will be Oneonta's. A rude eclipse?
I've attended just two of these affairs at Doubleday Field. One was in 1980, when the World Champion Pittsburgh Pirates took on the Chicago White Sox. Willie Stargell put a couple balls in orbit, so did smiling Manny Sanguillen, and the crowd ate it up. I went again in 1996, and my notes from that sunny day were reprinted in Notes #243. You could look it up.
The meaning of the game is probably not readily grasped by MLB or the MLPA. Cooperstown is remote, and many of the fans drawn by the exhibition game live five or six hours from the nearest major league ballpark. Minor league fans can be just as rabid as those in the big cities, and the Cooperstown games sell out quickly these days.
There is another good reason to continue the tradition. It means that over a hundred ML players each summer are more or less forced to visit the National Baseball Museum. A forced history lesson can be a good thing. Often reporters roam the Hall with the players, and I don't recall ever reading that any player was less than impressed. I remember one exhibition being turned into an intrasquad game, when the Cincinnati Reds "couldn't make it." The rumor was that they really wanted to rest up, more than to please another crowd. Ironically, their manager was Pete Rose, and supposedly he made the call. Put that on his plaque?
A .278 CD
I've reviewed a few CDs in Notes before, but they were musical CDs. The Los Angeles Bards: Live in Pasadena is a CD filled with baseball poetry. Here is how I arrived at the .278: nine different poets had their ups; I rated each from "out" to "home run." with "double" being a midpoint. I tallied ten total bases, out of a possible 36: .278.
When I was writing baseball poetry myself -- back before the Selig Strike of 1994-95 -- I found it hard to get feedback. Most people feel poems are personal things, subjective things, frail things, not to be tampered with. If they fly over a head, well, the head just wasn't tuned in. Fortunately, my poems came under the scrutiny of the editors of Mike Schacht's Fan Magazine, and I could easily see that my stuff indeed could be improved by others. I became a fair critic of my own stuff. Maybe that is why I remain a fearless critic of the poetry of others.
Let me first applaud the only poem I rated a four-bagger. It was not just read, it was performed by Philomene Long. "Marcus Aurelius at a Dodger Game: Kirk Gibson Up To Bat" is the title, and yes, the at bat Gibson is up for is the famous limping HR to win Game One of the 1988 Series. The poem is a conversation between two fans -- one of them, the philosopher M. Aurelius. Is "the pursuit of the unattainable, madness?" You make the call, as Gibson's familiar at bat plays again in slow-mo. This poem just stood out as major league, as no other poem did.
I called ground-rule doubles for the poems of Joel Lipman, whose Chicago barroom/brothel duties in the early seventies included delivering Joe Pepitone to the ballpark on time; and for those of Joan Jobe Smith, a former cocktail waitress recalling Ted Williams' tongue in one ditty, and Steve Bilko in another.
I gave Chef Guillaume a single for even trying to make a poem out of the theological question, "How Does God Fit Into Baseball?" No, really, He fits inside the ball! And the last hit went to Eloise Klein Healy, for two short ones that would have been fine poems even if they were not about baseball ... or were they? Again, you make the call. And to be fair, listen to the poems a couple of times, in different places.
The poems of the other four in the lineup were not awful, but they just seemed too ordinary. Very meaningful, no doubt, to the writers, but I just didn't care about anecdotes from beer ball, growing up in Nebraska, Opening Day in Rochester, NY, in the forties, or the first game someone saw in 1951. It is quite possible that someone else would rate one of these a grand slam. But I doubt it.
To purchase the CD online, go to www.henhousestudios.com
I hope this CD succeeds wildly and is the first of many more.