NOTES #285

NOTES FROM THE SHADOWS OF COOPERSTOWN

By Two Finger Carney (carneya6@borg.com)

That is now my working title for the book that someday I hope to edit out of the issues from #268 through … well, whenever I stop.

For a subtitle, I’m thinking of “Would Five Burglars Out Be a Fair Description of Watergate?”

This issue begins with a long review of a book just out, Saying It’s So, by Daniel A. Nathan. For editors: please consider running this review (or parts of it) in your publication.

After that, I visit an Induction Day at the Shrine of the Eternals — no, Joe Jackson was not honored, not yet, but you’ve got to like his chances with the Shrine, vs Cooperstown. I’ll then go Fireside, add a postscript on that Witness episode from 1961, pause to share a ruling that we all wish Judge Landis had made, then, thanks to the Spalding Guide that came out after the 1919 World Series, we will take a closer look at some of the things we can look up. The last words this time will be Furman Bisher’s — not from his 1949 interview, but from 1951.

Next issue, I will be reporting again directly from Cooperstown, after another day in that terrific research center they have there.

Reading Nathan’s Saying It’s So has confirmed my worst suspicions. Yes, I think I can spend another five or six months reading books and articles related to the Great Baseball Cover-Up (formerly “Black Sox Scandal.”) There is that much out there. One is tempted to found a monastery devoted to the project: a little gardening, then pore through the microfilm till sundown. Read from the sacred texts at mealtime, entertain traveling pilgrims with their stories from the secular world, where baseball is still played. (If you want to read about the Order of St Abner, see Casey’s Call in the Notes archive.)

At one time I thought I might expand on a line I threw out in #282, about Shoeless Joe Jackson — if he was banned today — being a natural to host Saturday Night Live. You know, feature the music of Chicago (“Does anybody really know what time it is?

Does anybody really care? If so I can’t imagine why, we’ve all got time enough to cry”), bring out Comiskey for a tearful reunion, lampoon Landis in a skit or two. Nah, too easy.

You know you are in for a ride when the introduction to the book has thirty-six footnotes. And the first chapter, 251 more. There are 940 footnotes in Saying It’s So: A Cultural History of the Black Sox Scandal, by Daniel A. Nathan (University of Illinois Press, 2003), an average of over four per page — but who’s counting? Even though I stopped to read many of them, I still finished the book in less than twenty-four hours.

Of course, that is partly because I have been mildly addicted to reading anything I can find on the “Black Sox Scandal” for five months and counting. One thing Nathan’s book made clear to me is that I can probably read for another five months without doubling back — there is that much material out there. A good chunk of those 940 footnotes points readers to books and articles that were new to me.

Nathan does not say how many years of reading and researching he put in, but I’m sure it took a while to produce Saying It’s So. It’s a nicely done project, very informative, and I believe it was worth doing. To its credit, it is not just another retelling of the story of the 1919 Series — that is not what the world needs now, trust me. Nor is it slanted to appeal to baseball fans — it might be received with more enthusiasm by history buffs, especially teachers. (Nathan teaches American Studies at Skidmore College in Saratoga Springs, NY.) Because in the end, Saying It’s So is more the story of the story — examining how the news of the fixed Series was broken to the American public, and then tracing how the story was retold in the decades that followed, right up into the 1990’s.

In the first chapter, Nathan explores “history’s first draft” in the newspapers of the day — mostly those of Chicago and New York, but there is a nice sampling from at least ten other big cities, too. I found very few factual errors in his account of the uncovering of the scandal. He has the letter Crusinberry wrote under Fred Loomis’ name appearing in the Chicago Tribune on September 19, 1920, without noting that it pressured the Grand Jury to finally convene, and more importantly, to widen its scope to include the 1919 Series. He has Cicotte quoted in the Trib after his GJ testimony, saying that he made $10,000 a year, without noting that Eddie received a nice raise for 1920 and deserved $10,000 several seasons sooner.

Nathan quotes so many newspaper accounts and editorials that it starts to feel like he’s piling on. It must have felt that way to the eight men who were targeted, too. He includes many letters written by the public — there is even a poll the Trib conducted, that asked readers to write, in fifty words or less, if the guilty Sox had been punished enough. (After a week, in December 1920 — after the trial and the banishment — 110 favored criminal prosecution, 183 felt no further action was needed.) A few pointed out that worse deeds by others were going unpunished. Looking back from 1932, “the caustic sportswriter-turned-right-wing-crank” Westbrook Pegler wrote,

Nathan feels that the reporters did not “miss” the story, although the rumors of the fix went ignored and dismissed for nearly a year. It is not clear that he realizes how close the fix came to being swept under the carpet “forever” — like most of the scandals that preceded the 1919 WS. Once the scandal broke, of course, the papers jumped aboard and “exploited the Black Sox story for everything it was worth.”

In the second chapter, Nathan describes the role of Kenesaw Mountain Landis in keeping the “Black Sox” out of the news, and the version of the fix as eight crooked players laying down for gamblers, intact. The obituaries of Charles Comiskey and Kid Gleason in 1931 and 1933 added some cement. Reporters like Pegler kept the image of traitors alive, and the story became a kind of cautionary tale for America’s youth, mostly for boys. Nathan highlights John Lardner’s 1938 Saturday Evening Post essay, and does a super job putting the writings of Nelson Algren in context. The story was trying to fade away, but supporters of Buck Weaver and Joe Jackson kept agitating for justice. The country had new heroes — Ruth, DiMaggio, Williams, Musial — and “unwittingly, these men induced Black Sox amnesia.”

At first, I wondered why Nathan paired Malamud’s The Natural with Asinof’s Eight Men Out in Chapter Three. It is because, I found out later, he refers to the novel, in which Roy Hobbs takes a bribe and strikes out — in the movie, he hits one of the most memorable home runs ever seen on the silver screen. Nathan makes some points with The Natural, but his looks at Boyd’s Blue Ruin and Stein’s Hoopla seem more relevant and useful for the subject.

Nathan knew about the CBS-TV episode of Witness that aired in January 1961, but he does not seem to know that Eliot Asinof was listed as its “writer.” He thinks the episode is lost to history, as his best efforts to find it failed. When I read about the Witness episode, I asked for more information on the SABR internet digest, and in about a week a copy of the video was in my mailbox. (It’s now at the National Baseball Library, in case Nathan is still interested.) Nathan is not listed in the current SABR directory. He knows about SABR, because he mentioned its founding and growing membership as a sign of growing baseball interest in the 1970s. I mention this because SABR has been such an important resource for me, putting me in touch with Eliot Asinof and other authors and researchers, Hugh Fullerton’s grandson, and so many others who have referred me to books and articles.

Nathan spends a lot of space on Eight Men Out, and this is not unexpected. He is maddened, as I was, by Asinof’s lack of documentation. Instinctively, a book that is “definitive” ought to at least have a hefty bibliography, no? (Later on Nathan asks an excellent question: Why wasn’t Eliot Asinof the main “talking head” in Ken Burns’ documentary?) Now here is why Nathan’s book could be a problem becoming a bestseller:

How many readers will trope over to their dictionary to look up “synedote”? Exactly. I am not encouraging writers to avoid academic jargon, but plainer English helps sometimes.

In Chapter Four, Nathan mentions “Harry’s Diary” in Veeck’s Hustler’s Handbook, Luhrs’ The Great Baseball Mystery, and a book that has thus far eluded me, John Durant’s 1963 Highlights of the World Series. But he focuses on two classic baseball histories, the dueling volumes of David Q. Voigt and Harold Seymour. He notes Voigt’s confusion of Buck Weaver with Buck Freemen, and his substitution of Weaver for the confessing Jackson, as I did. But Nathan’s presentation of these two baseball history pioneers shows that he is not as familiar with the actual fix and its aftermath as he might be. For example, he assigns Risberg a “ringleader” role in the fix — that title is ordinarily reserved for Gandil and Cicotte. And he has little interest in the 1924 trial in Milwaukee where some important things happened — like Comiskey testifying that Jackson played the 1919 Series to win.

At times, Nathan seems like what is he most interesting in documenting, is that we can never know what happened. He does not dwell much on the “facts” that raise questions or problems that might be better understood by digging harder. Things like whether Jackson asked to be benched before the Series, whether he went to Comiskey to give back the gambler’s money right after the Series, or where that money ultimately went. I am not faulting Nathan for not going off on tangents, but he might have at least mentioned that they are there, and can be further explored.

Somewhere along the way to the end of this book, I got the sense that Nathan has a version of events in mind. Authors or filmmakers who stick to the familiar version of things are “conservative” while those, like Donald Gropman, who take a more critical view and explore different theories, are somehow less close to the truth. I could be wrong. Nathan says he really has no interest in Jackson’s role — he just wants readers to see how the event has been remembered over the years. But if silencing Jackson was a critical part of keeping Comiskey’s role — in the cover-up, not the fix — then avoiding Joe is a problem.

I enjoyed this book and its numerous references to Watergate. But Nathan fails to observe that summing up Watergate as Five Burglars Caught would be laughable, while he seems perfectly comfortable with Eight Men Out.

I do believe Nathan covers most, perhaps all, of the key issues. He does an excellent job painting the big picture, the context in which the events took place. His documentation is sometimes overwhelming — you finish the book: now you feel like reading those 940 footnotes! He pretty much avoids the gamblers, although he does underline better than most authors the anti-Semitic feelings stirred up by the association of Rothstein and Attell in the fix. Kinsella’s novel and the film Field of Dreams lures Nathan into that Iowa cornfield, a place I’ve avoided, but he is demonstrating the power of movies, which, unlike books, make their way into videos and onto millions of TV screens. He does not spend much time visiting web sites. And unfortunately, his book was not able to include the recent works of David Fleitz and William R. Herzog II.

Perhaps the greatest strength of Saying It’s So is the way Nathan shows, and documents, how events and sayings go down in history. And why there will never be a final version of things, why some events are revisited over and over, and how the present changes the way we look back. Nathan has looked at the Big Fix through a thousand eyes, scattered over ninety years, and yet he might have something new to write about it all tomorrow. Such is the richness of this subject, and they way the event has been seen. We all know Satchel Paige advised us, “Don’t look back” — but the events of 1919 and their aftermath are irresistible, and to bend Satchel’s saying a bit, much is to be gained from looking back, over and over and over.

There is the Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, and then there is the Shrine of the Eternals, out on the west coast. The Shrine is where The Baseball Reliquary honors its inductees, at a clip of three a year. I discovered TBR back in the summer of 2001, and wrote about it at length in Notes #247. You could look it up.

Induction Day at the Shrine is a bit different. It takes place indoors, and to guarantee at least one worthwhile speech — something Cooperstown might consider — they have keynote speakers. And, starting with the Induction of 2001, they tape the whole program and make it available to all baseball fans.

I thank Terry Cannon for a review copy of the video of the 2001 Induction. The keynote “speaker” that time around was Dave Frishberg, who spoke while he played piano, tossing out a medley of his hits, including the immortal Van Lingle Mungo. Not crazy about baseball music? Fast forward.

Satchel Paige was inducted in 2001, and while his son (I believe) was on hand to accept the trophy, Amy Essington gave an excellent talk on Satch. I’ve met Amy at SABR Negro League events, and she knows her stuff. Jimmy Piersall was inducted, too, and his stepson accepted, with another worthwhile speech. But the best was last, inductee Jim Bouton bringing down the house as if all these years he’s been studying Leno & Letterman.

The price is $20 ($15 if you’re a member of TBR); send your check or money order to: The Baseball Reliquary, PO Box 1850, Monrovia, CA 91017. You can tell them Notes sent you, but I will get no commission, so it’s really doesn’t matter. Except that maybe I’ll get review copies in the future. For further info, contact Terry Cannon at skpubs@earthlink.net

One postscript: if you have a special interest in Satchel Paige, Jimmy Piersall, or Ball Four — or baseball humor — I really recommend this video. Or pester your library to buy it!

The excerpt above is from my very first steps on the trail back to 1919, in Notes #268. I was looking in every book in my home library for information on Hugh Fullerton, and how the fix was uncovered. Naturally, I looked in my mini-library, The Fireside Books of Baseball.

While it is true that none of Hugh Fullerton’s works made it to the Fireside collection — Isaminger’s interview with Maharg is not there, either — Fireside does not avoid the subject of the fix and the cover-up altogether.

In fact, the very first item in Volume One — right after Franklin P. Adams’ “Baseball’s Sad Lexicon” — is Nelson Algren’s “The Silver-Colored Yesterday,” about which editor Einstein comments, “There are many viewpoints that deal with the infamous Chicago Black Sox scandal. Here is one. There can be none more vivid. Mr Algren’s piece was done in 1951.” As a kid growing up in Chicago, Algren had idolized Swede Risberg. His essay captures the disillusionment of the day — much more powerfully than the “Say it ain’t so” story, which may well be fiction.

In the second volume, James T. Farrell’s “He Got a Raw Deal” memoir of Buck Weaver is reprinted from his My Baseball Diary. In it, Farrell writes:

Farrell interviewed Weaver in the fall of 1954, and I suspect that his notes were among the material that Farrell gave to Asinof, when Asinof set off to write Eight Men Out.

In the hard-to-find Volume Three, Bruce Catton tells a story (from “The Great American Game,” in American Heritage, 1959) he picked up from a sandlot pitcher who made the mistake of trying to sneak a low inside curve past the big-bellied Jackson, who was in his fifties, back on a textile team in the Carolinas. Jackson took him deep, of course, and before touching home, turned and told the youngster, “Son, I always hit them low inside curves.”

Joe shows up again when Sam Crawford walks down memory lane with Lawrence S. Ritter (The Glory of Their Time); and in James T. Farrell’s first World Series eyewitness account (in 1917; there is an account of Buck Weaver’s greatest day in baseball, in that same 1917 Series, defeating John McGraw’s Giants and drawing praise from the losing manager.)

Finally, in the Fourth Volume, Edd Roush has an autobiographical essay, “Rumors Were Flying” — it’s the story he recalled for Murdoch in 1992 (see Notes #284), except that for Murdoch, he supplied the gambler’s name (Jimmy Wigmore) — in 1987, when Fireside IV came out, Roush “didn’t know who he was.”

This 1961 video is one of the least useful clues in learning anything factual about the fix and cover-up. But the reaction to it is interesting. I reported The Sporting News response in #276. Nathan reports sportswriter Joe Williams’ in Saying It’s So. In the NY World Telegram, Williams described the episode as “squalid and spurious” and suggested it was “slanderous.” Williams was especially upset with the portrayal of Comiskey (which did not bother me much.) Williams recalls Commy as “a man of courage and fairness” who “wrecked his team.” Of course, Commy was simply a businessman, who only suspended his suspicious players when he absolutely had to — not a day sooner, and not eleven months sooner, when he could have — and should have, if he was truly courageous and fair.

While The Sporting News was outraged that The Witness had omitted the “fact” that Jackson had asked to be benched before game one, Williams gripes that they omitted the fact that Commy paid the “clean Sox” a $1,500 bonus when the fix was uncovered, the difference between winning and losing Series shares. (The difference was closer to $2,000, and in return, the players had to — I’m pretty sure — sign a public note of appreciation. Commy was doing damage control to his image, that is plain.)

Nathan thinks that The Witness may have aired in January 1961 because the quiz show scandals had whet the public appetite for a good expose. (Since when has that appetite needed any stimulation?) I think it is more likely that David Susskind and CBS were saving a few bucks. They had hired Asinof to research a documentary show on the Black Sox Scandal — Major League Baseball vetoed it, by leaning on sponsors. The Witness was a lame duck, at the end of its run. Why not dress up Asinof’s notes and put Shoeless Joe on the Witness stand? I mentioned before, Asinof is listed as “writer,” but this episode has no other connection to Eight Men Out than Asinof’s byline. And in Bleeding Between the Lines, Asinof distances himself from Witness. And if you ever see the video, it will be clear why he did that.

LESSER-KNOWN RULINGS OF JUDGE KENESAW MOUNTAIN LANDIS

”Regardless of the verdict of juries, no owner that cancels a World Series, or permits the games to be played too late at night, no owner that entertains proposals or promises or threatens to cancel a World Series, no owner that sits in conference with a bunch of crooked TV execs or union-busting experts where the ways and means of screwing up the World Series are discussed, and does not promptly tell the Commissioner about it, will be allowed to remain in professional baseball.

”Of course, I do not know if any of these owners will apply for reinstatement, but if they do the above are at least a few of the rules that will be enforced. Just keep in mind that regardless of the verdict of juries, baseball is entirely competent to protect itself against the crooks both inside and outside the game.”

MR. OCTOBER

In the 1917 World Series, which the Sox won, Joe Jackson managed only seven hits — all singles — in six games. His average, .304. Only two RBIs. Nobody accused him of anything. Lots of players, Hall of Famers, climb onto October’s stage and fizzle. Another Jackson — Reggie — went 2-for-16 in the 1977 playoffs, 2-for-18 in 1982, and in fact has a lifetime .227 for 45 playoff games. That’s Mr October. Of course, he did better in the World Series.

My point? The World Series has always been a pressure-cooker, where stars have struggled while obscure players became national heroes. In a sense, it’s a perfect target for fixers: the pressure can explain away errors, temporary wildness, the strikeout in the clutch.

One theory I read about how the White Sox managed to win Game Three of the 1919 World Series has catcher Ray Schalk — who was furious after Game Two and took out his frustration on Lefty Williams — calling Game Three in such a way that balls were kept away from Risberg. In other words, left-handed batters were pitched inside, right-handed batters away.

But that theory does not hold up. Risberg fielded a grounder from the lead-off batters in the first two innings, en route to a four put-out, six-assist, no-errors day in the field. At bat, Swede went 1-for-2 with a run scored, walk, & hit by pitch. He did fumble a possible DP ball in the second inning, but recovered and got the runner at first. Later, he started a 6-4-3 DP.

I’m looking at a play-by-play of the whole Series, from the Spalding Guide, which appeared in the March 1995 issue of Vintage & Classic Baseball Collector, and thanks once again goes to Bill Dunstone.

I decided to check out Edd Roush’s memory (see Notes #284) about that game-saving catch he made in the Reds’ 4-2 win in Game Two. Sure enough, in the sixth inning, with a runner on third and two outs, and the Reds up 3-0, Happy Felsch smashed a ball high and deep to center. Roush was almost at the fence when he made “a marvelous leaping catch of Felsch’s terrific hit.” Happy was robbed again his next time up, by 3B Heinie Groh, who knocked down his “savage smash” with a runner in scoring position (it was Jackson, who hustled to second after the late-covering pitcher muffed a toss on his hard hit to Daubert), and tossed him out.

I don’t think that’s the hit that was later taken away and charged an error. There was one of those, Jackson (among others) pointed out later — when his performance was questioned. (If the “hit” ruling stood, Joe’s Series average would have been .406, instead of that measly .375.) Game Two seems like good evidence for those who argue that Jackson played hard in the games the Sox won, but let up in the games that were tossed.

Almost everybody agrees that the first two games were tossed. While Jackson did go hitless in Game One — after asking to be benched — he went 3-for-4 in Game Two. And for those who say Jackson was just poking the ball to the opposite field, Game Two has him hitting a Texas leaguer behind second which he hustled into a double; a single to left (behind a single by Weaver, both hit the first pitch, and a rally was afoot); and the hard smash to right that the first baseman knocked down, then threw to pitcher Sallee.

The Spalding Guide has a number of interesting sidebars. One lists “Failures to Advance Runners” for both teams. Felsch led with 12; then Groh 11, Gandil, Kopf & Risberg 9, Collins, Daubert, Neale and Jackson 8, Roush 7. But if you read the play-by-play, both teams made some super plays on defense. So these numbers by themselves do not tell the whole story.

I set that Spalding Guide account aside, then picked it up again. It is a refreshing read, written ASAP after the 1919 Series. The authors enjoyed the “whirlwind” Series, and found the over-all quality satisfying.

In fact, they were relieved that the Series featured no “strike” like the year before, when the players almost sat out a game in protest of their diminished pay (the game started late.) There was a rainy Sunday, but the rest of the 1919 WS was played in Indian summer warmth in both cities, and the SG writers were relieved, because in 1917, “the cold winds of Lake Michigan swept across the playing field and spectators huddled in their thick overgarments while the players vigorously swung their arms enveloped in their heavy sweaters to keep up circulation.” See what I mean about refreshing? — finding the good things about the 1919 Series.

The SG folks are undecided about the best-of-nine experiment. They note it was controversial before the Series, and is still the topic of much discussion. The SG explains the falloff in attendance for the fourth game in Cincinnati as “due to a misunderstanding concerning the sale of tickets.” They also chide the Cincy fans for being too depressed after the Reds lost Game Six, thus failing to clinch the championship.

Above, I mentioned that the SG tracked “Failures to Advance Base Runners” in a table. Well, they also tracked “Runners Advanced,” but game-by-game (so you have to do the addition.) Curious? Jackson went 0-for-4 in game one, but he advanced more runners (2) than any of his teammates. He led his team with 15, and only Edd Roush, with 16, had more (Edd had a big game 8 with 4 RBI and 8 runners advanced.) Second on the Sox? Felsch, 13, then Gandil 10 & Weaver 8. The Clean Soxers, Schalk & Eddie Collins, advanced 5 each. Rookie Pat Duncan of Cincy, someone who never comes up in the story of the 1919 WS, had 13 advances, and the SG credits his unexpected timely hitting (8 RBI) as no small factor in the Reds’ victory.

Jackson’s “13th hit” mentioned above came in the 5th inning of Game 7. SG has Jackson up with one out and runners on first and second. “Rath lost a chance for a double play when Jackson’s grounder hit him on the ankle and bounded away.” (Felsch followed with a “pretty” bases-loaded single to center.) The game was played in Cincinnati; maybe in Chicago, it would have been a hit.

I know that some fans collect the Spalding and Reach Guides, and it is easy to see why. They are great reads. The editors did not fail to mention the “rumors of collusion which really reached public print during the series of 1919.” But they pretty much decided the best team won, and 5 games to 3 reflected the respective strengths of the opponents. They were just happy that there was no squabbling by greedy players about their pay. But of course, as Paul Harvey might put it, they did not know — the rest of the story.

In the summer of 1949, Furman Bisher, battling the sophomore jinx (he’d begun writing sports in ’48), interviewed Joe Jackson at his Greenville, SC, home. Sport magazine ran the article in its October 1949 issue, and it is one of the documents that nobody curious about Jackson can pass up. (I read the interview months ago, but have only referred to it indirectly, in a review of the Fleitz book.)

The interview contains a number of statements which cannot be corroborated, at least not easily, or not yet. For example, Joe tells of being propositioned by a gambler, in front of four witnesses (two couples); he routed the crook, and says the folks who saw it “offered their testimony at my trial.” Joe says he went to Comiskey the night before the Series started and asked to be benched. He added that Hugh Fullerton was present, and Hughie “offered to testify for me at my trial later, and he came all the way out to Chicago to do it.”

Of the things Jackson said that we can look up, there are some problems. He recalls throwing out “five men at home” (and some writers report that), but he was credited with just one assist. He does recalls Cicotte’s deflection in Game 4, which, by some accounts, would have given Joe a second assist.

Curiously, Jackson blames Ban Johnson for “causing the thing to go to into the courts” and for “ruling us ineligible.” He recalls Johnson’s feud with Comiskey, caused by Commy sending Johnson some trout he caught in Wisconsin, which spoiled along the way. Finally, Jackson underlines his success since leaving baseball; “I believe in the Good Book, particularly where it says ‘what you sow, so shall you reap.'”

When Jackson died in 1951, Bisher recalled that interview in his column. You can look it up in The Furman Bisher Collection (Taylor, 1989.) He remembers Jackson as “a plain and simple man, who thought in plain and simple ways.” His weakness, in Bisher’s view, was that he relied too heavily on his friends for guidance. In 1919, he put his trust in bad hands. Bisher feels that Jackson did not realize he was doing anything wrong.

Bisher recalls Joe insisting that he “played my heart out against Cincinnati” that October, and that he recalled his play at bat and in the field in detail.