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)
#286 FEBRUARY 8, 2003
WHISTLEBLOWERS
The title this time around refers to the leadoff piece, "A Rube Goldberg Climax," in which I try to give credit where it is due to all those who finally pulled off the Un-Cover-Up. Today, these folks could be gathered together for a group shot that might appear on the cover of Time, "Men of the Year." Looking back at 1919, you can see that whistleblowers never had it easy. They were up against powerful figures, and the establishment of baseball was interconnected with politics, the legal system, and the press. It took a group effort. And it does not take much imagination to see that if only a few of the links in the chain of events was removed, the fix might still be happily buried.
There are a number of "peanuts and Cracker Jack" scattered in this issue, too. Someday, I hope, it will all be organized better.
"A Minor Mystery Solved?" is worth looking up (below) -- it involves that inexplicably low attendance for Game 7 of the 1919 Series. As I go to press, all I know about the source, Tom Swope, is that he was a longtime writer for a Cincinnati newspaper. I am counting on SABR friends to corroborate this one.
I turn things over in "Box Seat View" to someone who was close indeed to the action that fateful October -- J.G. Taylor Spink was one of the official scorers. But his view of things after seem especially relevant.
Since last time, I have heard from Daniel Nathan, author of Saying It's So, reviewed in last issue. I am hoping he will join in this series as other authors have. Especially if they can add important nuances or facts to my exploratory pieces, or if they find mistakes. (There are some corrections in here, too.)
It has occurred to me that when I do a bibliography for my book (think positive), besides listing lots of people in the Acknowledgements, and lots of books and articles in the Bibliography, I will also need to list more than a few web sites. It is hard to imagine this series being written at all without the internet and e-mail. Even the books I've purchased were found on line. Not to mention the SABR-L. Anyway, thanx again to all who helped (again) to make this issue come together.
A RUBE GOLDBERG CLIMAX
In describing exactly how the Cover-Up of the fix of 1919 became uncovered, most sources do not even try to figure it out. So it is not unusual to read, "toward the end of the 1920 season, a grand jury was convened in Cook County, and after three White Sox players confessed, indictments were handed down." More responsible writers and researchers will do their best to talk about the "chain of events" or "chain reaction" that blew off the lid. But I believe it was more like a Rube Goldberg cartoon -- a series of complicated contrivances that produced a simple result.
From the day Comiskey was convinced that some of his players were laying down in the Series -- and this was very early, because the first two games confirmed all the rumors he'd heard -- he seemed to be doing his best to simultaneously collect all the evidence he could, and to suppress that evidence. He must have felt relieved when the Sox started playing to win, and certainly the fix was easier to hide because they did win three games. But it seems clear that Comiskey had enough evidence right after the Series to act. And he did: he withheld the Series checks of the eight players whom he had heard -- from gamblers and reporters, and probably Gleason and Schalk -- were involved.
Ban Johnson was probably convinced early on, too. Just as Joe Jackson has been hamstrung by that "Say it ain't so" fable, Ban Johnson has gone down in history famous for his reaction to the early suspicions of the fix reported to him (by Comiskey or Grabiner, take your pick), via Heydler: "That's the yelp of a beaten cur." (There are four or five variations, just as there are multiples for the Jackson encounter with the little boy.) In Johnson's case, the saying underlines his skepticism, which would explain his lack of interest in investigating the rumors.
But in fact, he started his investigating right after the Series. The previous October, the owners rejected his request for funds for an investigation of a Series fix. This time, he would not ask, he just did it. And he did it walking a tightrope -- the National Commission was falling apart, and if he stepped on too many toes, and blew a whistle on a fix that he could not prove, he would lose his chance to name the new czar. But if he could prove Comiskey's team was crooked, a strong opponent would be sidelined in the struggle for power. And some sources feel Johnson was ready to purchase the Sox, at a bargain price.
There were other investigations, too, but the two which mattered were Comiskey's and Johnson's. A race was on: if Commy and his men could reach potential witnesses first, they could pay them off and keep them silent. If Johnson could find them first, he had ammunition.
Some sources believe that the big salary increases Commy gave the seven returning "suspects" (Gandil would not be back) for the 1920 season may have been partly hush money, but it may also have been done to prevent his players from being so vulnerable to gamblers again.
So the 1920 season began, as if nothing happened. And it almost ended the same way. No one can say if Ban Johnson would have let it end peacefully; he might have, if it meant his being the czar or controlling the new power structure. As it turned out, he did not have to blow the whistle himself. Here is how the lid came off.
Hugh Fullerton and other reporters knew about the fix from the start of the Series. But their editors would not let them blow the whistle -- naming names, that is -- because of lack of hard evidence, and fear of libel suits. Fullerton pushed hardest, and was rewarded with the scorn of the baseball establishment. Major league baseball owners, by 1919, had a way of handling rumors of fixed games: they buried them as deeply as possible. Even when the evidence seemed to be unambiguous -- the Hal Chase case -- MLB preferred to close its eyes. And it worked. No need to alarm the paying fans. Players who were untrustworthy could be let go quietly. Yes, isn't that better than a public hanging?
Then, on August 31, 1920, lightning struck. Gamblers were super-active, with huge amounts going down on an otherwise insignificant game between the Cubs and Phils. There was nothing at stake here, these were both second-division clubs. Word got to Cubs' owner William Veeck, and he yanked the Cubs' starter, Claude Hendrix, and sent out Pete Alexander to win one. Pete won 27 times for the Cubs that summer, but not on August 31. He might not have been the best substitute for a game with lots of money riding on it; old Pete had some ties to gamblers himself, having once roomed with boxer Billy Maharg, one of the men at the center of the fix in October 1919. Maybe Veeck should have offered Pete more than $500 to win.
Detroit owner Frank Navin called Ban Johnson with reports of gambling activity in his city on the Cubs-Phils game. (Funny how the owners back then all seemed to know gamblers.) Johnson passed this along to NL Prez Heydler. There was a month left in the season, and the AL race was tight -- Cleveland, New York (Ruth was swatting like no one had ever swatted before), and -- those damn White Sox!
On September 4, Veeck went to the papers with the charge that the Cubs-Phils game of August 31 was fixed. There. Now it was out in the press.
The same day, Ban Johnson received a phone call from Judge Charles MacDonald to meet him at once at the Edgewater Beach golf course. [This account is from Eugene C. Murdock's biography of Johnson.] When Ban arrived, the judge inquired if the charge that the August 31 game was crooked was sufficiently serious for the grand jury. "Most decidedly it is," Johnson replied. "Then," MacDonald announced, "I will lay the matter before the Cook County Grand Jury." [Murdock cites Seymour's The Golden Age for this dialog.]
On September 7 came the announcement: the Cook County grand jury will be convened to look into the Cubs-Phils fix.
But the hearings did not begin until September 21 or 22. In the meantime, Jimmy Isaminger of the Chicago Tribune had been chomping at the bit to go public with what he and Ring Lardner learned about the fix from Abe Attell, thanks to Kid Gleason, earlier that summer (in July.) His editor, Harry Woodruff, made him hold back -- no evidence, libel laws. But now Woodruff gave Crusinberry a green light to do something. He wrote a letter, then asked a prominent Chicago businessman, Fred Loomis, to sign it. It appeared on the front page of the Trib on September 19. The Trib supported the letter with more columns. The effect of the pressure stirred up made the grand jury decide to widen its scope, and take a look at baseball's gambling problems -- especially that big one left over from last October.
Crusinberry testified, and it became a whole new ballgame. The information from Attell implicated Rothstein and others. Gleason had told Crusinberry about telegrams he received during the Series from all over the country, and Havana, about the fix. Gleason had given that evidence to Comiskey. (He might as well have shredded it.) Crusinberry, in a 1956 interview, took full credit. Assistant State's Attorney Hartley Replogle had told him "If I hadn't been a witness, the whole case would have been whitewashed."
Comiskey and Johnson testified. Comiskey accused Johnson of trying to wreck the White Sox, and pointed to Johnson's stock in the Cleveland team. The AL race was still neck and neck. Johnson fired back, and by all accounts, it got ugly. Johnson reported everything he had turned up. Comiskey cited his own investigation, but oddly enough, he apparently contributed little to the hearings.
On September 24, Giant pitcher Rube Benton testified for a second time, and mentioned that Hal Chase tipped him off about the crooked 1919 Series, and that he won $3,800 on the tip. Bill Burns was implicated. Things were warming up.
In Eight Men Out, Asinof has Judge MacDonald calling in Comiskey and Replogle to ask them whether the hearing should be put off a few days -- let the pennant races end. Austrian advised Commy that the "risks of delay were simply too great." Commy had to stay clean.
Then another bolt of lightning. In Philadelphia, James Isaminger cornered Billy Maharg and his interview was front page news all over the country on September 27. He named names and dates and places. Eight White Sox players were named, including Joe Jackson, Eddie Cicotte and Buck Weaver.
There are varying accounts of what happened next. On the morning of September 28 -- it was an off day for the Sox, and they were in town -- Kid Gleason went to Comiskey and asked if Commy wanted him to call in Eddie Cicotte. As the pressure from the grand jury has mounted, Gleason has seen Cicotte look increasingly agitated. Ready to crack. (Another account has Cicotte volunteering himself.) In any case, Eddie reported to the office of Alfred Austrian, Commy's lawyer. After sweating for an hour in an anteroom, Eddie broke down when he finally talked with Austrian (and Gleason?) Austrian took him to Commy, who told Eddie to tell it to the grand jury. After Austrian had Eddie sign away his immunity, he delivered him to the hearings.
Most sources agree that Austrian was working mainly on behalf of his client -- Charles Comiskey. He told the players not to worry, that they would be taken care of, that the grand jury was out to put away the gamblers. But the players all signed away their immunity, while the gamblers knew enough not to.
That afternoon, Jackson either heard about Cicotte or was called in by the Sox. Or, he called Judge MacDonald to proclaim his innocence (Asinof) but was told by the judge that he knew Jackson was in on the fix. Hungover and confused, Jackson went to Alfred Austrian. He wanted to tell what he knew. Austrian advised him. Asinof: "To deny your involvement will prejudice the grand jury. Do you understand that?" Joe wanted to stay out of trouble. He testified. He said he let up some. And then he said he played every game to win. In the newspapers the next day, no one reported the latter. Whatever Joe said, it went down as a "confession."
With Cicotte's confession, the dam that held back the fix from shocking the country, burst open. In the days that followed, there would be more player confessions in the headlines. Cleveland would finish two games ahead of Chicago to win the American League pennant. The grand jury hearings continued as the World Series was played out. It concluded on October 22, and the indictments of eight White Sox players and a number of gamblers are handed down by Judge MacDonald -- Ban Johnson's choice to be baseball's savior, and new commissioner. But on November 12, the owners select Judge Kenesaw Mountain Landis.
But this ain't over till it's over. Over the winter, the grand jury papers and the signed confessions vanish. Most sources agree that Rothstein and Comiskey teamed up to make this happen. Rothstein must not be implicated. Comiskey is still hopeful that his players can be cleared, and play for him again. For a time, it appears that there will be no trial. The players who had confessed repudiated their statements and asked to be reinstated. Spring training will soon begin.
But Judge Landis squashed their hopes, placing them on an ineligible list until they are cleared. Ban Johnson undertook a tremendous project, trying to re-collect enough evidence for a trial. J.G. Taylor Spink of The Sporting News, a Johnson supporter, put Johnson in touch with St Louis gamblers. Ban needed Sleepy Bill Burns to be a star witness in the trial, but Burns was in hiding. According to Spink, Johnson bought a trunk and gave it to Mrs Burns, so she could make a trip to Mexico. And that's how Johnson found Burns' hideout.
The trial began on June 27, 1921, and ended August 2. All players and gamblers were acquitted of the conspiracy charges. Without any confessions, and scant evidence, the charges were difficult to prove -- a longshot. The players celebrated into the night, but the next day, Judge Landis' verdict came down. All players charged were banished. They could apply for reinstatement, but the rules for that made it unlikely that Landis would change his mind.
Landis' ruling would be criticized as harsh and unfair to players who may have done nothing to actually throw the Series of 1919, who had never confessed to anything. But no one could doubt the ruling's effectiveness. Baseball had been sliding down the path that destroyed boxing and horse racing, but Landis' verdict, and the amazing slugging of Babe Ruth, had turned things around and restored the faith of fans. There would be more reports of thrown games, thrown before and after the 1919 Series, but Landis was careful to keep them from becoming anything like "the Black Sox Scandal."
"THIS TOWN AIN'T BIG ENOUGH FOR BOTH OF US!"
"Since Western League days Ban Johnson had made his headquarters on the twelve floor of the Fisher building in Chicago. While this office with its several anterooms was the center of official action, a cozy spot on the first floor might well have been called the 'nerve center' of the American League. This ornate barroom was known at first as 'Danny's,' but later when it came under the management of John V. Burns, it was called the 'J.V.B. Club.' A passageway ran from the northeast corner of the main room to another little room with a long table. There were scattered chairs and couches, sufficient to accommodate a dozen people. 'It was in this little room,' wrote Taylor Spink, 'that the American League was created out of the brains of Charles A. Comiskey and Ban Johnson, and it was there the league's great battles were fought and won in the early days of the loop.'" [The Spink quote is from TSN, December 3, 1942.]
When I asked on SABR-L for confirmation that Ban Johnson was living in Chicago in 1920, Dick Thompson promptly sent me the above, which is from Eugene C. Murdock's biography of Ban Johnson. I reviewed parts of that book in #278.
"The Black Sox Trial," I have noted before, can be seen as a reflection of the struggle between the feuding Charles Comiskey and Ban Johnson. Bill Veeck Jr. speculated that Johnson wanted to wreck the Sox so he could purchase them himself for cheap.
A MINOR MYSTERY SOLVED?
I may be repeating myself by saying this, but by now I have read so much from so many different sources on the fix and cover-up, that "facts" that show up in just one source automatically raise suspicions. Even if they show up in two sources, I check to see if the later source is just quoting the earlier.
Yet, I found one item in the "Black Sox" file in Cooperstown's library, that had the ring of truth -- even though I have seen it cited nowhere else. I will try to find out more about the author of the column, Tom Swope, on the SABR-L. I do not even know in what paper his column "I Recall" appeared. But on October 24, 1935, Swope wrote about 1919's Game Seven.
To refresh memories: the Sox, down 4-1 in the best-of-nine showdown, won Game Six, preventing the Reds from clinching the championship at home. Game Seven was also in Cincinnati. Over 32,000 fans turned out for Game Six -- the first two games in Cincy drew around 30,000, too. Yet Game Seven's attendance was only 13,923. How come?
The weather was perfect -- warm and sunny. There had been traffic problems the day before. There were also rumors flying that the Reds were tossing games, so the Series would go nine and bring in more money for everybody. Asinof mentions both of these in Eight Men Out. Most sources skip over the question. Harvey Frommer guessed that the Reds' fans were so disappointed with their team's showing in Game Six, that they decided to stay home. But think about it, this was the first time the Reds were in a World Series, and their fans were rabid.
Earlier in my research, I discovered that the Reds sold the Series tickets in an unusual way. Fans could purchase three-game strips, for the games that were guaranteed to be played in Cincinnati -- Games 1, 2 and 6. I speculated that perhaps there was a nice discount for those who bought the strips, but maybe the single-ticket price for Games 7 was set too high.
But then I found Tom Swope's column. It begins with a nice description of the Reds' owner (and swing vote on the National Commission) Garry Herrmann. Garry was a party animal, it seems, and he was having one hell of an Oktoberfest. (Herrmann had been influential in reviving the World Series after the Giants just said no in 1904, and it was Herrmann's idea to try best-of-nine in 1919. With his team still up 4 games to 2, Herrmann partied well into the night on October 7.
And the next day, he slept in. Game Seven would not start till 2 PM. Why rise before noon? According to Swope, Herrmann not only slept later, but bathed and had a manicure. And he may not have done all this is his own room, because people had been looking for him. Why? Because in his suitcase, Herrmann had all of the tickets for Game Seven.
At just about the same time Herrmann realized this, he was found by his son-in-law, Karl Finke. There was less than two hours before game time, and practically all of the 13,923 tickets were sold in a frantic effort in that short span. Presumably, the game might have been delayed a little, but no one reported that.
Again, Tom Swope's version is not corroborated (yet.) But it seems totally believable. It is clear to anyone rooting around in the 1919 scene that there was a lot of drinking going on. It is not much of a strain to imagine Herrmann and Ban Johnson emptying pitchers of Cincinnati suds, and while they may not have had a victory to celebrate, they both must have been very much relieved that the White Sox had not laid down again in Game Six, as they had in Games 1, 2, 4 and 5. It is also pretty clear that everyone had by then heard the rumors of the big fix being in, and those four losses served up by the Sox' aces, Cicotte and Williams, made the rumors believable. So yes, Garry and Ban, old friends on top of the world -- Garry's team still in good position, Ban chortling over Comiskey's problems -- had a lot to celebrate.
And I believe I did see at least one other source that chalked up the low attendance to "problems involving ticket sales."
In 1919, reporters were not out to embarrass club owners. More likely, they drank along with the "magnates" and would no more report an owner drunk and disorderly (for example -- I'm not talking about Garry Herrmann here), as they would write about their own peccadillos. And if they tried, there were editors to remove anything potentially libelous -- or scandalous. "The media" had not yet developed its sharklike interest in blood, the kind that flows from celebrities when they are caught with their pants down (sometimes a figure of speech, sometimes not.)
So even if reporters knew that Garry Herrmann had slept while his suitcase full of tickets went unsold -- no one would want to embarrass him by putting that in print. Unfortunately there was no good cover story, either. Which left historians to wonder: what was wrong with those Reds' fans? Why did they practically boycott a Game Seven? Reds fans of America -- you are off the hook.
Because of Prohibition, reporting that Herrmann slept in because he was partying with alcohol the night before would have been a real problem. According to my trusty World Book Encyclopedia, "during WW I, the prohibition leaders strengthened their cause through the food-control bill. This bill carried a section prohibiting the manufacture of distilled liquor, beer, and wine. No whiskey was manufactured after 9/8/17. No beer was manufactured after 5/1/19. On July 1, 1919, under the wartime act, no more intoxicants were sold. No saloon in America could operate legally after that date." Speakeasies sprung up everywhere. Prohibition was repealed in December 1933. The article by Tom Swope -- I repeat -- appeared in October 1935.
FROM THE E-MAILBOX
From Steve Olsen, Ann Arbor, MI:
The Shoeless Joe saga has a mythic, folkloric aura to it now, generated by fictitious accounts, speculation, movies and hot stoves. Some of these venues have grown to have lives of themselves through the great artistic efforts of authors (Kinsella) and moviemakers. It is hard to separate this fiction from the scattered facts about the subject. Most people of present generations have formed opinions based on the fiction, which paints a largely sympathetic picture of Jackson.
I applaud your effort to gather facts and present them in a coherent manner so that opinions may be formed based on truth.
From what I have read of the facts available, do I think Jackson innocent? I'm afraid I still can't say for sure. However, I now see him more closely resembling the fictional Joe; the simple, gullible, unsophisticated ballplayer who, not quite understanding how he got into the thing, tried to make it right to the extent of his ability. He was going against an owner's cover-up and a commissioner's effort to sweep it all under the rug, with no real means to refute any of these more powerful people. He told his truth when offered the chance, but was conveniently lumped into the larger group which was banned as an example by baseball management.
I do think that the body of evidence now tips the scales in my mind in favor of Joe, especially given today's standards of "extenuating circumstances." I also think that he has certainly served a sufficient 'lifetime' sentence.
WWWALKING IN CYBERSPACE
While researching recently in Cooperstown, Tim Wiles tipped me off to a web site where you can look up thousands of photos from the archives of the Chicago Daily News. It is really easy to navigate, and the quality of these old B & W photos is amazing. Lots of old ballplayers, but I bet you won't stick with baseball.
www.memory.loc.gov/ammem/ndlpcoop/ichihtml/cdnhome.html
And for you Nelson Algren fans: www.nelsonalgren.com/
I bet some of you occasionally leave your computer and read actual books. I recently sent for the catalog of Bobby Plapinger, which is huge. Find info by e-ing baseballbooks@opendoor.com
The Fifteenth Cooperstown Symposium on Baseball and American Culture is coming right up -- June 11, 12 and 13 in C'town. Co-sponsored by SUNY-Oneonta and the National HOF & Museum, this year's keynote speaker is Neal Conan, host of NPR's Talk of the Nation. It's too late to submit papers, but if you want more info on attending, contact Alvin Hall, al.hall@po-box.esu.edu
CORRECTIONS
In Notes #283 ("Notes from Cooperstown"), I mentioned that I had seen a review of a book of fiction by Charles Brady, Seven Games in October. Since it was in the "Black Sox" file, I thought that it was about the 1919 Series -- all but one game. However, upon further review, I can report that this 1979 novel is not at all about 1919. The villain kidnaps the family of the Dodgers' all-star shortstop, and unless he tosses the Series -- well, the plot goes on from there. (In case you're wondering, Joe and Katie Jackson never had any children of their own.)
In my review on Daniel Nathan's Saying It's So last time, there was an ironic typo. I somehow managed to mis-spell a word that I looked up in the dictionary! It's synecdoche. I believe Steve Olsen gets credit for reporting this one to me first. OK, be honest, how many of you thought synecdote was a real word? My hand is in the air.
BOX SEAT VIEW
I spent a good amount of time, my latest trip to Cooperstown, with the book Judge Landis and 25 Years of Baseball, a kind of classic now, by J. G. Taylor Spink (Thomas Y Crowell Co, NY, 1947.) It's a toughie to find (my local library is still searching, and I hope they come up with it, I'd like to read the whole thing.)
Spink became the editor of The Sporting News, which was founded by his uncle, in 1914. When you're in charge of "the Bible of Baseball," you have a godlike perspective. So Spink's take on the events of 1919 were of interest to me. Spink was also close to Ban Johnson; he frequently clashed with Judge Landis.
Not only did Spink have a great view of the 1919 Series, he was one of its official scorers. Spink, like Fullerton and others, saw the odds drop before the Series, and smelled the fix. He says he went to Ban Johnson right after Game 1 (no wonder he was sore when Heydler & Commy woke him up); Fullerton had already gotten to Johnson. Spink has Commy going to Heydler at 2 AM after Game 2, then Heydler going to Ban about 4 AM. Spink prefers the "yelp" saying.
Spink mentions the post-Series interview given by Ray Schalk, in which he stated that Cicotte crossed him in Game 1; Schalk later denied saying that, almost certainly on instructions from his team. Spink attributes the famous TSN editorial that contained anti-Semitic slurs while blasting the gamblers, to Earl Obenschain, "our editor at the time."
Spink gives Ban Johnson (not Landis) major credit for uncovering the fix and cleaning up baseball. The anecdote about Ban buying the trunk for Mrs Maharg is found in this book. When scandal broke, the AL voted to prosecute. Johnson asked Landis what he intended to do. Landis replied, "Nothing." This set Ban off on his crusade, more determined than ever. Landis did not really do nothing -- he announced that the players indicted would not be able to play ball again unless they were cleared.
Spink: "Jackson was one of the few players that I got to know well and I always felt that he was unwittingly taken into the alleged Black Sox ring." Spink reports with some delight how angry Landis was when TSN ran that 1942 interview with Jackson.
Now here is something I had not seen elsewhere. Spink writes that Felsch and Jackson brought damage suits in Milwaukee vs. Comiskey, charging "a conspiracy against them by the defendant [Comiskey] and unknown persons." Spink speculates that Landis may be one of the unknowns. Then in another suit, Jackson sues for $19,000 back pay, and Risberg joins in. Ray Cannon, who represents the players, was a former congressman from Milwaukee.
I am guessing that the courts combined the two separate suits. But wow! You almost wish that the players forgot about the back pay, and pursued the conspiracy in the courts. There was just one trial, as we know. Spink: "Judge John J Gregory at first ruled against Comiskey, but later the court ordered amended petitions filed in the cases of Felsch and Risberg to make more definite their charge that a conspiracy existed to keep them out of baseball." Papers were never served.
Finally, Spink notes that in 1920, the second-place money won by the White Sox was withheld by the league presidents and later by Judge Landis. When Felsch and Jackson lost their suits in Milwaukee -- it was 1924 now -- Landis finally decided to divide the $4,800.53 among the "Clean Sox," wherever they were to be found. Not much slipped by the eagle eye of J.G. Taylor.
DOUBLEHEADER
The information above (in "A Rube Goldberg Climax") about Jimmy Crusinberry's role in the final un-coverup was found in an article from Sports Illustrated, September 17, 1956 -- written by Crusinberry. If that date looks familiar to researchers, it should -- the very same issue of SI carried the famous Mel Durslag interview with Chick Gandil. For those keeping track, Crusinberry likes "the yelp of a whipped [not shaken, not stirred, not beaten] cur" as Johnson's reaction to Heydler.
Crusinberry also likes the version where Gleason initiates the beginning of the end. (Of course, Jimmy was in debt to Kid for having invited him to that debriefing of the drunken Attell at Dinty Moore's.) He has Cicotte called to Austrian's office and then made to wait and sweat an hour in an anteroom.
DID YOU KNOW?
In August 1993, the Court of Historical Review in San Francisco reviewed the facts and found Joe Jackson not guilty.
* * * * *
Hugo Friend, the judge in the 1921 "Black Sox Trial," was born in Prague, Czechoslovakia (as it was known then.) He died April 29, 1966, at the age of 83. (In Bleeding Between the Lines, Asinof describes his interview with Friend; see "The Eliot Asinof Factor" in #276.) Friend broke the intercollegiate broad-jump record in 1905, and was on the US Olympic team in 1906.
* * * * *
According to Joe Williams in his World Telegram column, April 10, 1934, Attell says he gave Cicotte $10,000; Weaver was not involved in the fix at all (said Attell); and Rothstein paid, in the end, $125,000 to pull off the fix -- with $15,000 of that going to pay for the stolen confessions.
According to a Joe Williams column in 1960, Ford Frick's primary concern with that Witness episode, ultimately aired on CBS in January 1961, was with its "outrageous abuse of truth in the name of dramatic license." Read more about The Witness in that Asinof article in #276; Jackson confesses. The Witness episode was originally scheduled to be telecast in the fall of 1960; Commissioner Frick protested. TSN suggested that pressure on the sponsors caused the postponement, but Joe Williams wrote that it was moved because CBS was negotiating a TV deal with MLB.
* * * * *
A very lengthy account of the fix by Alan Hynd can be found in True Detective, November or December, 1938. The copy in the Cooperstown library is readable, but the month on the cover was illegible.
* * * * *
If you have back issues of American Heritage, look up the June 1960 issue for an article by Lewis Thompson and Charles Boswell. Nothing new. They like "crying of a whipped cur."
* * * * *
Jury selection for the "Black Sox Trial" took over two weeks. I believe back then it was very unusual for a woman to serve on a grand jury. Hugo Friend ruled any reference to the missing confessions inadmissible. The jury deliberated for two hours and 47 minutes after the trial before ruling "not guilty."
* * * * *
Small World Dept: Carl Zork, one of the St Louis gamblers indicted for the fix, once managed boxer Abe Attell. Ban Johnson promised immunity to Billy Maharg for his help in finding Sleepy Bill Burns. Sport Sullivan knew Chick Gandil since 1912. David Zelser was a brother-in-law to the Levi brothers; this trio of gamblers were from Des Moines. Zelser was a longtime friend of Abe Attell. (See 1919blacksox.com)
* * * * *
Commy's lawyer, Alfred Austrian, architect of the Cover-Up, graduated from Harvard in 1891. (Ibid.)
* * * * *
Jean DuBuc, one of the players banned in the aftermath, was allegedly the one who gave Sleepy Bill Burns the telegram, confirming that the fix was on. (He said this to the grand jury.) DuBuc left for Canada before the 1921 trial. As a scout, DuBuc is credited with signing Hank Greenberg. (Ibid.)
* * * * *
In 1980, a banned player named Ray Fisher was reinstated by Commissioner Bowie Kuhn.
* * * * *
If the winning share for the Series in 1919 was $5,207.11, and the losing share was $3,254.36, then Comiskey should have paid his "Clean Sox" $1,952.75, instead of $1,500.
* * * * *
On September 28, 1919, eight gamblers were indicted: Hal Chase, Burns, Attell, Brown (Nate Evans), Sullivan, Zelser, Ben Levi, and Carl Zork. At the arraignment, February 14, 1921, no gambler showed up in person.
* * * * *
Judge Landis was familiar with Justice, Chicago-Style. So on March 12, 1921, months before the trial, he made it clear that the eight ballplayers under suspicion would not necessarily be reinstated if they were found not guilty
IRRITATINGLY INCOMPLETE
In Joe Jackson's Cooperstown file is a fragment of an article that appeared on the sports page of an unknown newspaper in 1989. I know the year because of a reference to Bart Giamatti, the short-lived Commish. The title of the article is missing, along with the by-line. There are two fragments, actually, one with five more column inches, but not the top. "E-Copier."
The article is essentially an interview with relatives of Joe Jackson. One of them (and her son) recalled the Witness TV show as grossly inaccurate and extremely insulting to Jackson's bearing. (It was -- CBS should have been taken to court.)
"Jackson's sister, Mrs Trammell, said on the phone, 'I don't discuss it. He never mentioned it to me, and I never mentioned it to him.'"
Joe Bartram, grandson of Joe's brother David, was born after Joe passed on. But he "well remembers childhood conversations" with his grandfather. "Uncle Joe died in my granddaddy's arms. My granddaddy told me that when he was on his deathbed, Uncle Joe said 'I'm going to meet the greatest umpire of them all, and He will find me innocent.' And then he said, 'Goodbye, good buddy,' and died."
"Bertram continued, 'I don't care what kind of person you are, when you're getting ready to die, the truth's going to come out.'"
"Bartram's position is a result of his own research into published material on the event of 60 years ago, and his conversations with Joe's brother." [Emphasis mine.]
Bartram is convinced that Joe rejected the fix. When his friend Lefty Williams brought him $5,000, he tried to take it to Comiskey. He got only as far as "someone in Comiskey's office" (Grabiner.) The author of the article cites Asinof's book and movie in support of the theory that Jackson told Gleason before game one that he did not want to play; and that he waited for hours to see Comiskey after the Series on a "personal" basis.
"Bertram believes when White Sox secretary Harry Grabiner went to see Jackson after the 1919 season to get him to sign a new contract, 'Uncle Joe gave him the $5,000 and never saw it again." [Emphasis mine.] Follow the money!
The column concludes: "It is universally accepted [!] that Jackson was betrayed by Comiskey's lawyer. Told it was something else, Jackson signed a waiver of immunity. Also Jackson's damaging statements to the grand jury were made because the lawyer told him that would be best for him, that the state was after only the gamblers, 'not the players.'"
I've sent a copy of this fragmented article to the Shoeless Joe Jackson Society, hoping they will recognize it and tell me its source. And maybe they know more about the 60 years of research accumulated by Joe's great-nephew.
RIGHT-THING-FOR-WRONG-REASON DEPT.
I have been fond of quoting T.S. Eliot (Murder in the Cathedral), "the greatest treason is to do the right thing for the wrong reason," for over 35 years. I have been wondering how to work it into this series. The problem is, there are not that many people doing the right thing in this story.
But the White Sox have saved me. For $68 million, they are removing Comiskey's name from their ballpark. At first, I thought it was the influence of Notes. But they're doing it for the cash.