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)
#329 MAY 8, 2004
UNLIKELY TRILOGY
The three items in this issue are linked by the word improbable. Of course a perfect game defies the odds; that is the subject of my last piece here, and it's a rerun from the summer of 1999, making it, technically, a summer re-run -- I guess.
And given what you now know about Ban Johnson -- last issue's main man -- how likely would you say it was that he commended Buck Weaver and Fred McMullin in the fight (literally) against gambling? Well, like that perfect game, this happened, too. Never mind that it was a few years before that October.
But the main feature here is the National Police Gazette, and this is improbable because I've been trying for what seems like a year or more to find the darn thing.
* * * * *
Hope to see some Notes readers in Cleveland at the Seymour Medal Conference (a SABR event) May 14-16. I've been to one Seymour before, and the result was one of my favorite issues of Notes, #189 (you can look it up in the Archive).
And I know I'll see many more of you in Cincinnati, July 14-18, at the national SABR convention. The panel I've assembled has the potential to spark discussion well beyond the 85 minutes we have been allotted, and I'm glad it will be on Day 2 (at 11 AM), so there will be a few days to keep it going.
I've been to two SABR nationals before, 1993 in San Diego, and 1994 in Pittsburgh. Those events made Notes #22 and #106 respectively, and you can't look them up, because they were pre-internet. (One of these days I need to get more of the old issues into the Archive. They were really fun, and usually contained cartoons and various bits of line art and other stuff.)
I want to recommend a new SABR book (another recommendation comes later in this issue), The Fenway Project, edited by Bill Nowlin and Cecilia Tan. Bill contributed to this issue of Notes and I contributed to The Fenway Project, and you can look that up either on pages 131-132, or in the Notes Archive, #262. You don't have to be a Red Sox fan to enjoy TFP, which is a collection of accounts of a single game, by SABR members. I was hoping that this idea would be repeated annually, and perhaps now that we see what a great idea is it -- it will be. But maybe not.
THE NATIONAL POLICE GAZETTE
I knew that the National Police Gazette had a strong interest in sports, especially boxing, from reading about it on the internet. I knew that the Gazette was not disinterested in baseball, because I'd seen photos of Christy Mathewson and John NcGraw on its cover. And I knew the Gazette reported all sorts of crime, because I had read a book that gleaned the best features of the NPG from the 1880s and 90s.
All of the above made me hopeful that the Gazette's coverage of the Big Fix just might contain some tidbits carried by no other publication. At best, the New York City-based NPG would lean on their local contacts and come up with statements made by Abe Attell -- there was a time he was threatening to blab, before Rothstein's message (and his lawyer, Fallon) got to him. Maybe one of the Gazette's staff knew some lawmen who were on Rothstein's payroll, or who were racetrack pals with Nate Evans, and had some inside dope on the Fix. At worst, the Gazette coverage would be so bizarre that no reputable paper would bother with it. The Gazette had peaked back before 1900, and by 1920 had faded away, eclipsed by the sensational "yellow journalism" of Hearst and others.
Only Collyer's Eye proved to be more elusive than the National Police Gazette. I followed lots of different leads to dead ends. For a while, it looked like I might need to travel to the New York City Public Library and look through the NPG there. (I believe the Gazette is available on microfilm and even via ProQuest to some subscribers, but only through 1905.) Then a tip from my local librarian Bob Quist led me to the University of Notre Dame (via the internet) and with boxing as a main clue, I eventually found a curator who offered to go thru the Gazette and send me copies of its coverage of the Fix in 1920-1921. I gladly reimbursed them for copying and postage (and threw in a tip because they either undercharged or didn't charge at all for their time. Would that all libraries could afford to do this!)
Speaking of ProQuest, using that tool I learned a few more things about the Police Gazette: Thomas Edison read it, and mentioned it in a famous questionnaire he constructed in the twenties; other subscribers included Charlie Chaplin and Tom Mix. And then there were the barbershops -- but I'll save that for the end.
The Big Fix Coverage
Richard K. Fox was still the president and editor of the Gazette when, on Saturday, October 16, 1920, it carried its first story about the Fix (Cicotte "confessed" on September 28). On the cover there was no hint of the scandal -- no headlines at all -- just a kneeling Ruth Roland ("one of the best-known girls of Los Angeles") strumming on her old banjo, wearing a one-piece wool swimsuit that would be rejected today by Sports Illustrated, for not revealing nearly enough. Which is also not a bad description of their coverage of the Fix. On page 13, there are eleven photos of White Sox players. The caption includes their names and their positions, and this: "All of the players on this page, with the exception of Faber, Schalk, Eddie Collins and J. Collins, were indicted for 'throwing' games in the World Series of 1919 to Cincinnati." A reader skimming through could easily mistake the photos for a typical yearbook team roundup. Only the words indicted and 'throwing' taint the page.
A week later Dainty Ann Pennington (a success in George White's Scandals of 1920 -- baseball had no monopoly on exposes) was the cover girl. On page 6, a squib notes that Comiskey is "Out $200,000" -- the estimated "market value" of the players who were indicted. (Jackson and Felsch were both valued at $50,000, as was Weaver. In fact, McGraw had offered that much for Buck.) Cicotte and Williams were priced at $35,000, even though Lefty was younger and on the rise. Risberg and McMullin, $15,000. More interesting, perhaps, was the ad selling fake diamond rings for $18.75 -- pay the first $4.75 to the postman when he delivers it!
In the same October 23 issue (page 10) is news of the "new tribunal" which will run baseball -- the Cubs' William Veeck, Comiskey, Pittsburgh's Barney Dreyfuss and John McGraw signed a letter urging the abolition of the National Commission -- which would spell the end of Ban Johnson's czardom. The final standings of the 1920 season follow. (An ad on this page warns readers not to marry until they read private lessons on "sex force" -- the "priceless truths" were selling for just $1.60!)
And then on page 14, the Gazette filled more than half the page (and these were large pages -- my copies are 10" x 15.5") with descriptions of the careers of the "Indicted World Series Players." Here readers learn that Cicotte was noted for "good generalship, coolness and fine control"; Joe Jackson and Babe Ruth were the only players to clear the roof of the Polo Grounds' grandstand; Buck Weaver was "the best third baseman in the field." After listing the batting and fielding averages for each of the eight players in the 1919 Series, the Gazette repeats what was fast becoming history: the "Black Sox" tossed the thing by letting up in the clutch; Jackson's hitting was not "pinch hitting" (meaning, in the clutch); and the Gazette goes on to list a variety of outs made by various Sox with men on base.
Here's something not seen before: "Felsch and Gandil also failed to deliver at other roseate situations for the Sox." Yes, roseate is a word -- don't challenge it in Scrabble, but it is OK to question it in a sports column. More: "It was on the defensive that Jackson and Felsch also got in their fine 'Italian' hand work." (Well, this was long before DiMaggio.) "They played fly balls at certain stages as if they were still on their school teams." Felsch did make some awful muffs -- he claimed they were not on purpose -- but Jackson's play was not ever, as near as I can tell, very obviously bad -- and was often quite good. I'll make just one comment about this sort of generalizing -- it seems to include a lot of "it must have been played this way," and it rests on the highly questionable assumption that all eight suspect players were doing all they could, in every game, to tip things Cincinnati's way. If it was only that easy -- as easy as the "Proof Testers" which (for $2.50 prepaid) tested the strength or "proof" of any distilled liquid, from 1 to 200 proof, guaranteed perfect.
The October 30 Gazette had two gals on its cover, modeling the new lady's garter at Neptune Beach, CA -- but just one story on the Fix -- "Muscles Exposed Players in the Baseball Scandal." Mike Gibbons, "Famous St Paul (Minn.) Wizard" (of the wrestling ring), declared it was "impossible to 'let down' in any sport" -- "he tried it once, but his opponent was wise to him." I might have Gibbons all wrong, but his argument seems to be that athletes train so much that their muscles simply will not permit them to "let down" ... and if they do, their teammates who are playing on the square will be suspicious. At that point Gibbons hastily leaves baseball behind and discusses muscles and wrestling. An ad nearby says you can get your money back if you are not satisfied with the photo-handle art knives (Woman in Daring Poses) -- two steel blades and a bail for your watch chain, for just 75 cents! -- but if you bought this issue of the Gazette to catch up on the scandal, you were out of your dime.
Skipping ahead, it is now a cold December 4 in New York, but the NPG continues to feature California girls on its covers -- "there are suits of every style" -- and their coverage remains better than the reporters' reporting on baseball. The big story in this issue is that "Peace Again Reigns in the Major Leagues" -- Ban Johnson's "Loyal Five" owners have given in and accepted Kenesaw Mt Landis as Commish, while the eleven opposing clubs agreed to drop the Lasker Plan for a civilian board of control.
In the tug-of-war between Ban Johnson and Charles Comiskey, Commy has come out on top -- this time. And the Gazette takes the opportunity to praise Commy for what he's done for baseball. "The measure of his honesty was found in his quick decision to disrupt his club when it had another pennant in its grasp." Never mind that he could have done this before the Fix was executed, or right after the Series, instead of waiting until indictments were handed up -- the very last minute.
Some criticism was cast his way because he had not taken action when the first suspicion of crookedness ... was conveyed to him. This criticism was unjust and unmanly, for neither Comiskey nor any other person has a right to condemn his fellows and deprive them of their chief means of livelihood until positive proof of wrongdoing is produced. When Comiskey obtained that proof he took action in a way that will cause his name to be linked with the greatest figures in baseball as long as the sport endures.
Fortunately, right beside this ending is an ad for General Tonic Tablets ($3 per 100) and this is called strategic placement by the marketing folks, methinx. Also nearby is an ad for an X-Ray Kathodoscope ("everybody wants it") so you can "see your best girl and all she's doing. No one knows. You see everything." The Gazette might have tested this product before accepting the ad, and done a bit of probing into what Commy knew and when he knew it, before canonizing him. I believe the criticism was hardly unmanly; Commy was at the center of a huge cover-up, which almost succeeded. All of his statements left the door open for his players to return, if they were found innocent. When Landis condemned them and took away their livelihoods (without "positive proof of wrongdoing" in most cases), Commy was, I believe, shocked. But my dream team of lawyers got them off the hook!
Two more "Favorites on the Coast" on the cover of the February 19, 1921, Police Gazette. Inside, only the note that the new Continental Baseball League -- "in defiance of organized baseball" -- was going to offer contracts to seven of the eight White Sox players under indictment. So ordered President Andy Lawson of his secretary. No contract for McMullin, sorry. But if Fred bought this issue, he could send for a free circular that would tell him how to learn boxing in your own home by mail. For the other players, the lucky horseshoe ring might have been a good investment -- $4.95 and a seven days trial.
The March 12, 1921, issue was a slight departure -- no bathing beauties on the cover, but two actresses touring with Sinbad, a comedy which had a prosperous run on Broadway. Inside, just a squib on page 7, promising that the trial would begin March 14 for the eight indicted Sox players, Hal Chase, and four gamblers. Judge Dever: "I'm going to clear up everything for this trial, and I want it known that I will not entertain any motions for delay." Of course, there was a delay, and if Dever was going to clear up everything, maybe another judge should be found.... Speaking of trials, prohibition was on, but if you missed your favorite flavors, you could buy bourbon, rye or brandy extracts ("non-intoxicating") by mail -- a trial bottle for a buck. Or you could order from an Ohio sanatarium, a new home treatment -- morphine ("no pain, sickness nor loss of time").
The Gazette left the legal squabbling that went on -- right through the trial, really -- the next thing NPG readers knew, it was all over and the Sox were acquitted. The August 20 issue with this announcement had yet another seaside cover girl (Marion Aye). The few inches devoted to the "not guilty" verdict described the courtroom celebration by the players, their friends, the court officers, jury, and spectators: "hats were thrown into the air and the crowded courtroom vibrated with the noisy rush of the inmates to and fro." Apparently the players, each in turn, "stepped up to the box and shook the hands of the jurors, expressing their thanks." Readers who were skeptical might have finished that squib, then clipped the ad, "Be a Detective -- big pay; easy work. We show you all."
But this is baseball, where it ain't over till it's over, not today, and not in 1921. The next issue (the Gazette came out Saturdays) lured readers with a banner promising "great Sport Pictures and Feature Stories This Week" -- not to mention yet another swimsuit cover. This time it's a west coast miss who had come east for the stages of New York, wearing, apparently, just a one-piece striped suit and matching towel. Page 11 has the bad news for baseball fans. Say it ain't so, Judge! "Landis Bars Whitewashed 'Black Sox' from Baseball."
The famous Landis verdict is reprinted in full. Landis was a PR genius, of course, and would often have prepared statements printed and ready to give reporters -- often in place of his own liable-to-be-misquoted declarations. The Judge had been raked over a few times by the press before he ascended to his "high commissioner" post. Anyway, this is why his verdict is usually identical from source to source, I think.
The Gazette simply comments, without lamenting, "Which would seem effectively to close forever the doors of major league baseball to the men who brought dishonor to the national game." More accurately, to those who were caught. "Judge Landis' stand" was described as having unanimous support. Amen. Gazette readers may not have been surprised by this news, not on August 27. But they would be surprised if they responded to the ad for jazz silk handkerchiefs -- because these were in fact miniature pairs of lady's silk bloomers. "Causes a laugh a minute" -- you can't make this stuff up, you know.
It seems safe to say that there was never another magazine quite like the National Police Gazette. Its early decades featured artwork that was state-of-the-art (wood-carvings), and fantastic, amazing tales that were bizarre and often true. By 1920 it was tamer, no longer led the newspaper league in boxing, and was floundering to find the niche that remained forever elusive. I miss the Gazette, and I hardly got to know it. But I'm not alone. Here is a poem from Edgar's Guest's "Just Folks" column in the Washington Post; it appeared a few years after the coverage above, on July 24, 1924. Enjoy.
The Modern Barber
The old-time barber used to be a genial sort of cuss;
He gathered up the gossip and he'd give it all to us.
His language wasn't polished, and some epithets he'd use
To strengthen his opinions or to decorate the news.
He'd snip and talk, and talk and snip, and now and then he'd let
Use see the ladies' pictures in the old Police Gazette.
The old-time barber didn't need an education vast,
'Twas enough to know the fighters of the present and the past;
And in the baseball season he could get along right well
With the home team's printed schedule and a yarn or two to tell.
Then, as we waited for our turn, we never had to fret,
We could look at all the ladies in the old Police Gazette.
But now the old-time barber and his shop have passed away;
Men no longer talk with freedom when they visit him today.
For the womenfolk are sitting round the room in every chair
And the modern barber's busy bobbing many a matron's hair.
Now it's Vogue and the Pictorial, his waiting patrons get
Instead of that old favorite, the pink Police Gazette.
The modern barber's had to learn a line of talk that's new;
The language of the prize ring and the diamond will not do.
Now he snips and chats of fashions, weddings, dinner parties, teas;
And tells 'em who's been in to get their tresses bobbed for these.
There is never talk of prize fight or a horse race or a bet
For his shop is now a parlor, where there's no Police Gazette.
(Copyright 1924, Edgar A. Guest)
FRED'S FINEST HOUR
Poor Fred McMullin. The guy batted .500 in the 1919 World Series, 125 points better than Shoeless Joe. Caught up in those nasty rumors, his indictment was dropped. Apparently McMullin, who was close with Risberg and Gandil, eavesdropped his way into the Fix, overhearing its mention in the locker room, and insisting on a cut. (McMullin may also have heard of the plot from gambler Billy Maharg, who, according to Algren in Southern Review, was a drinking buddy of McMullin's.) McMullin scouted the Reds before the Series, but had just two at bats himself; the solitary out he made ended Game Two.
It is fun to imagine Fred getting news during the Series that the Fix was off. The other guys could just play to win. But poor Fred -- he was the team's scout. "Uh, did I say Ruether was an easy out and play him in? OK, I meant deep, play him deep in left, Joe, OK?" Think this might be why Fred saw no further action after at bats in Games One and Two?
But Fred McMullin has gone down in baseball history as one of those demonic Eight Men Out anyway. Let's take a moment and flash back to Fred's finest hour in baseball.
Last month I acquired a copy of The New Biographical History of Baseball -- a very ambitious 2002 project by Donald Dewey & Nicholas Acocella. There, I read in the entry for McMullin about his "most conspicuous moment on the diamond at Fenway Park in 1917" when Fred & Buck Weaver (3B & SS at the time) took on -- ready? -- gamblers, who had "invaded the field" to try to force a forfeit that would protect their bets. (Well, it's cheaper than bribery, unless you get a heavy fine.) The story in D & A's book says Ban Johnson praised the dynamic duo for defending the integrity of the game, and I'd love to see that little testimonial.
This story was news to me, and to Bostonian/ist (I just coined that word) Bill Nowlin, too, and so he looked it up at his local library. He tells us that the event took place on June 16, 1917, in the first meeting of the year between the Red Sox and the visiting White Sox. The front page story in the next day's Boston Globe was headlined, "Fans Crowd on Fenway Diamond." The sub-heads read: "Try to Prevent Game Going Into Fifth Inning; Failure to
Proceed Would Save Rain Checks and Bad Bets." Edward F. Martin's story ran like this:
"As a protest against continuing the game after the fourth inning about 300 fans at the Boston-Chicago American League contest at Fenway Park yesterday afternoon scaled the bleacher fence behind first base and invaded the field, so that it was necessary for the umpire to call time pending the dispersal of the remonstrants by the police. The climax to shrieks of 'call the game,' which had been raising since early in the previous inning, came with two Chicago men out in the fifth inning. With one more gone the fans would lose their rain check privilege and it was to head this off that they took possession of the playing field.
"Sergt. Louis C. Lutz and five patrolmen from the Boylston-st. station
were powerless against the mob, which drew many recruits from the left field bleachers. With the aid of two mounted policemen, the squad finally drove the invaders off the field into the grandstand and bleachers.
"The Chicago management asserted that Umpire McCormick should have forfeited the game to the White Sox because of insufficient police protection. Umpire Tommy Connolly said that he would have done so had he been behind the plate. It began to rain while the Chicago team was batting in the fourth and a
cry of 'call the game' steadily grew in volume until, when the White Sox
came to bat in the fifth, it seemed as if every man in the bleachers was
shouting.
"Anyway it could be seen that there was trouble brewing in the fifth. The cry of 'call the game' increased when Schalk, the first man, came to bat. He flied to Walker and as Cicotte grounded to Barry and Shono [Shano] Collins stepped to the plate, over the fence the crowd came. It was from that part of the first base bleachers where the so-called sporting men congregate daily that the first cries of 'Call the game' were heard, and it spread like wildfire.
"There was a delay of 45 minutes before play was resumed. It never should have been continued as the grounds were in an unfit condition. During the intermission there were a lot of interesting goings-on under the stand, the Chicago players, it is alleged, figuring in several mixups. Augustine J. McNally of Norwood alleged that he was assaulted by Buck Weaver and Fred McMullin of the Sox, who deny it, and Ray Schalk, in language not of the parlor, is said to have questioned the courage of a patrolman from the Boylston-st. station, who was willing to show him, using Ray as the subject, that he was game enough.
"The trouble might have been avoided had there been policemen stationed
on the grounds. Those who were on duty were not on the playing field as they have been in former years and unquestionably the psychological effect of the presence of the men in blue about the field would have deterred the invaders from scaling the fence.
"At the time the trouble started the game had already been protested, Manager Rowland having filed objections just as the exercises began because Jack Barry, in supplying his lineup, had given the name of Jones and Wyckoff, who were not in uniform."
Bill Nowlin: "One might have thought the game was a blowout that the gamblers and fans wanted to stop at all costs. It was not. Chicago had scored once in the first and once more in the fourth, off Red Sox pitcher Babe Ruth. The score was but 2-0. The game, finally resumed, saw the White Sox score another run in the top of the sixth, and Boston score twice in the bottom of the eighth. The 'moist and muddy exhibition' was not definitively out of sight until Chicago scored four times against "the big Baltimore boy" [Ruth] in the
top of the ninth. Final score, 7-2."
ProQuest yielded a follow-up article from the Washington Post of June 19. Augustin McNally (who lost a vowel and his middle initial between the Globe account and this one) sued Weaver and McMullin, charging them with assault. The players were ordered to appear in court the next day, but it was arranged for them to wait until the Sox made their next trip to Boston. "McNally alleged that he was struck by the two players during an intermission caused by rain."
Not news to Notes readers: Ban Johnson was very much opposed to the gambling element being present in ballparks, but had trouble getting cooperation from the club owners, especially Boston's. Here's a snippet from my book on this:
In a letter dated May 16, 1921, to D.T. Green, a Pinkerton representative in Boston, Ban Johnson recalled how three or four years earlier the Pinkerton Agency had given him a list of sixty gamblers. Johnson forwarded the names to the team presidents in both leagues, telling them to bar them from the parks. "No action was taken by them." Johnson himself had thirty-three of them arrested and prosecuted, and obtained thirty-three convictions, all of them gamblers who had operated in American League parks. (Wray & Stockton) He recalled receiving no cooperation, especially from Frazee & Haughton [the two Boston presidents]. (BSS/AL Papers)
So how ironic is it that Ban Johnson winds up commending -- for duty above and beyond, in the ongoing combat against gamblers -- two of Commy's players whom he would condemn less than four years later?
I have not found much more out about Fred McMullin, but I did learn a few things. Fred played some ball after the trial out in California. When he heard that his presence on a diamond jeopardized the eligibility of every other player in the games, he immediately quit, without protest, even though he could have argued that in the end, he was never even indicted. Not even Buck Weaver, whom no one ever accused of playing crooked, could say that.
Fred then apparently had a successful career as a US Marshall, and you can read about some of his exploits, in the L.A. Times, via ProQuest. Maybe to get that job, Fred presented a letter of commendation by Ban Johnson, which told of his heroism in the war against the evil empire of gambling, on a rainy day in Boston back in June of 1917.
BOOK RECOMMENDED
I thoroughly enjoyed Roger Angell's book A Pitcher's Story on David Cone. But then, I almost always enjoy reading Angell, first in The New Yorker and then when his stuff is collected for books. This is a book that even Yankee-haters can enjoy. It was fun for me for lots of reasons, mostly because I followed Cone as a Met in the days when they were winning, and in the days when they were winning just a little less than my Pirates. Takes me back.
And I enjoyed the Yankees in the Cone years, despite their pinstripes and all they stood for. They were fun to watch, and that eclipsed my bias as a National League fan brought up to always say damn Yankees. It took a while to get into Angell's book on Cone, then it was a quick read to the end. Below is something I wrote on Cone myself.
From the NOTES Archive: #195, August 1, 1999
WHEN DAVID BECAME GOLIATH
One of the things about baseball that endears it to writers is that the event can be missed, but written about almost endlessly. I never saw Babe Ruth's "called shot," yet I can plan to write a whole book on the topic (it would include four pages of this issue of Notes.)
I missed David Cone's perfect game on July 18th, too, but does that mean I cannot headline the event here? Of course not. I missed Ted Williams at the Fenway Midsummer Classic, and I missed some late-inning Blue Sox excitement when I left early, and those misses are fuel for this issue, too.
But back to David Cone. I first learned of his perfecto driving home after my second heat-dodging, air-conditioned movie at a mall that weekend (Star Wars), on a car radio newscast. No details, just the bare bones: 27 up, 27 down for Coney.
If I was a Yankee fan, my VCR would have recorded the event, and upon my arrival home, I would have basked in the delicious monotony of those nine straight one-two-threes.
If I was a Mets fan, I likely would have groaned -- one more no-no by an ex-Met. Surely Seaver and Gooden and Cone had terrific seasons with the Mets, the Mets who let Nolan Ryan get away!
If I was an Expos fan, I might curse Interleague Plague a little. (I was wondering how many of the Expos had faced David Cone before. I think I can look that up.)
But for this event, I was merely a baseball fan, and so I tip my cap to David Cone. There is no such animal as an easy perfect game, the odds are always astronomical.
When I later learned that it was Yogi Day at the Stadium, and that Don Larsen was on hand for the occasion, the phenomenon became even more phenomenal. To be "pitcher perfect" with echoes of 1956 in the air -- this is just one more time when baseball writes a script that Hollywood would have to reject as too unreal. It is more Twilight Zone than actual occurrence. It is the stuff of sandlot daydreams, of fiction and of fantasy.
Except, of course, that it happened. For this one game, this David became Goliath, an unyielding giant smiting all batters in his path, sling-shotting his way to glory. Amen.