The Original Curse Part 2

Through it all, Wrigley did most of the talking with Alexander-significantly, with Weeghman in Chicago, Wrigley had the air of Cubs decision maker. Wrigley took Alexander golfing at the Midwick Club, sat with him in the bleachers, and took him to the house of one of the most popular actors in the country, Doug Fairbanks. Finally, it was Wrigley, with Mitch.e.l.l and Craighead, who worked out the bonus. The day after the agreement, the Los Angeles Times Los Angeles Times wrote, "Mr. Wrigley and the star hurler disappeared at once in the former's touring car, and it was thought possible they went to the bank for a bag of gold." wrote, "Mr. Wrigley and the star hurler disappeared at once in the former's touring car, and it was thought possible they went to the bank for a bag of gold."17 Alexander, naturally, wanted to show Cubs fans he was worth all that gold. He didn't want baseball fans' last memory of him to be a holdout. After the April 16 loss to start the season in St. Louis, there was good news: Alexander would not have to report for military duty until April 30, which left time for two more starts. In his next outing, Alexander cruised to a 91 win in Cincinnati and, two days later, Weeghman's trained seals finally headed home to Chicago after a long, bizarre spring.

There was more excitement for the Cubs' home opener than there had been in St. Louis. Craighead advertised the game in the papers, pointing out that Weeghman Park "is the most comfortable ball garden in America. The ladies can wear their daintiest summer frocks without fear of soiling them."18 Dainty frocks wouldn't have been a good idea for Opening Day, though, as cold winds limited the crowd to about the 10,000. Before the game, 450 jackies (sailors were called Dainty frocks wouldn't have been a good idea for Opening Day, though, as cold winds limited the crowd to about the 10,000. Before the game, 450 jackies (sailors were called jackies jackies and soldiers were called and soldiers were called sammies sammies) from the Great Lakes training center "went through with some of the fancy stunts taught on the North Sh.o.r.e and wound up in a 'charge bayonets' att.i.tude while the flag was raised to the pennant pole and the band played the national hymn."19 Illinois governor Frank Lowden threw out the first pitch, joined by powerful federal judge Kenesaw Mountain Landis, who had managed to sneak off the bench for the game. When Lowden uncorked a wild heave, Landis shouted, "Ball one!" There weren't many other bad pitches for the home team-Hippo Vaughn threw a one-hitter and won, 20. Illinois governor Frank Lowden threw out the first pitch, joined by powerful federal judge Kenesaw Mountain Landis, who had managed to sneak off the bench for the game. When Lowden uncorked a wild heave, Landis shouted, "Ball one!" There weren't many other bad pitches for the home team-Hippo Vaughn threw a one-hitter and won, 20.

Two days later the Cubs hosted Grover Cleveland Alexander and Liberty Day at Weeghman Park. Alexander was bent on throwing his first no-hitter, but Hornsby got in the way with a hit in the first inning. Still, Aleck was brilliant, allowing two hits and two runs in a 32 win, the only home game he'd pitch that year. Chilly, wet weather kept attendance down to 6,000, but those who did show were raucous, storming the field after the final out. "[Alexander] went to the firing line amid a thunder of cheers," The Sporting News The Sporting News reported, "was fairly smothered with flowers and ... in a few hours was speeding on his way to join the Army with the plaudits of a cheering mult.i.tude ringing in his ears.... No man has made greater sacrifice than Grover Alexander." reported, "was fairly smothered with flowers and ... in a few hours was speeding on his way to join the Army with the plaudits of a cheering mult.i.tude ringing in his ears.... No man has made greater sacrifice than Grover Alexander."20 Alexander's draft tribulations registered with the rest of his team-mates, especially those who were also Cla.s.s 1A. The draft hung like a fog, obscuring the future for nearly every player on every team. Killefer, for one, had been Cla.s.s 4, because he was married and his wife did not work, but he was recla.s.sified when it was found that he owned land and had earned enough as a ballplayer that his wife was not dependent on his present salary. Killefer was now Cla.s.s 1A, expecting to be drafted. Backup catcher Rowdy Elliott, second baseman Pete Kilduff, and pitcher Harry Weaver could be drafted at any time. Youngsters Turner Barber, Bill McCabe, and Paul Carter also seemed likely to go. The day after Alexander's debut in St. Louis, the lugubrious Cubs, "spent the day speculating what the team would look like after Uncle Sam gets through drafting men for his big-league affair on the other side of the ocean. With the prospects of losing Alexander and Killefer, the star battery, along with Rowdy Elliott and Pete Kilduff, and the possibility of losing another man or two, it didn't look bright for baseball on the north side in Chicago, but it does look bad for the Kaiser."21 THE O ORIGINAL C CURSE: ALECK, KILDUFF, AND E ELLIOTT.

Alexander pitched 26 innings in 1918, and when the Cubs suited up for that year's World Series he was an ocean away. But in a way he is an emblem for the misfortune-call it a curse-that defined that year's North Siders. Alexander's 1918 finale was an indication of how dominant a pitcher he was. But by June, Aleck had been whizzed through basic training (and gotten married), he had earned rank as a sergeant, and his unit, the 342nd Field Artillery of the 89th Division, had crossed the Atlantic.22 By the last week of July, he was at the front. He spent seven weeks in the teeth of German attacks, working heavy artillery and facing relentless bombardment. By the last week of July, he was at the front. He spent seven weeks in the teeth of German attacks, working heavy artillery and facing relentless bombardment.

When he came back to Chicago in 1919, Alexander wasn't the same pitcher, relying more on finesse than on velocity. He wasn't the same person either. The war had changed him. He described the incongruousness of being at the front and then on the mound: "For many weeks, we had been under fire in France, where there was n.o.body to see, no matter what we did. There were no cheers, although we might kill or be killed. And now all the people cheering for me when I stepped out and pitched the ball."23 Exploding artillery rendered him deaf in his left ear. He likely suffered sh.e.l.l shock. In peak condition when he left, he returned subject to epileptic fits and with a serious drinking problem. Exploding artillery rendered him deaf in his left ear. He likely suffered sh.e.l.l shock. In peak condition when he left, he returned subject to epileptic fits and with a serious drinking problem.

Alexander put together one great postwar year, earning the pitching Triple Crown with 27 wins, a 1.91 ERA, and 173 strikeouts for a subpar Cubs team in 1920, but in Chicago he wasn't the pitcher Weeghman hoped he was buying when he laid out that chunk of his $250,000. Alexander managed to pitch until 1930, when he was 43 years old. His wife, Aimee, with whom he had a stormy but loving relations.h.i.+p, would divorce him twice. He could not hold a job because of his drinking, which became an embarra.s.sing problem for baseball. "Certainly, having the man running loose around the country, drinking, carousing, p.a.w.ning his belongings at every opportunity, is not beneficial to the good name of baseball," NL president Ford Frick wrote to Commissioner Landis in 1935.24 In 1939, unable to hold down a regular job during his time out of baseball, Alexander was inducted into the Hall of Fame. "They gave me a tablet up at the Cooperstown Hall of Fame," Alexander said, "but I can't eat any tablet."25 The same year, he would get a job as a sideshow, telling baseball stories at a cheap flea circus in Times Square. "It is a sad picture for those inclined to be sentimental over the ex-heroes with which the field of sports is strewn, and all such had better stay away from Hubert's Museum, Inc., where Old Pete is working these days," one baseball writer noted. The same year, he would get a job as a sideshow, telling baseball stories at a cheap flea circus in Times Square. "It is a sad picture for those inclined to be sentimental over the ex-heroes with which the field of sports is strewn, and all such had better stay away from Hubert's Museum, Inc., where Old Pete is working these days," one baseball writer noted.26 Alexander died in 1947, broke. Alexander died in 1947, broke.

Cursed fortune found two other Cubs who joined the colors in '18. Elliott enlisted in the navy in May and would play only one more big-league season. He bounced through minor-league gigs until, on February 12, 1934, at age 43, he (possibly drunk) fell from an apartment window and later died from the injuries. A collection was taken up by friends to keep Elliott, who was penniless, from being buried in a potter's field.27 Kilduff joined the navy shortly after Elliott and played three big-league seasons after the war. He was traded to Brooklyn for Lee Magee in 1919, a deal that was cursed for the Cubs in its own way (as we will see). Brooklyn won a pennant with Kilduff at second, but the Dodgers sent him to the Reds. They tried, but failed, to find a taker for Kilduff and s.h.i.+pped him to the Pacific Coast League. Kilduff had agreed to be the manager for Alexandria (Louisiana) in the Cotton States League when, on February 14, 1930, he died on the operating table while having his appendix removed. He was only 36 years old.

SIX.

Morality: Max Flack CHICAGO, MAY 11, 1918 11, 1918.

Harry Weaver was on the mound, tall and skinny, all elbows and knees. Max settled into his crouch in right field, glove on his knee, absentmindedly scanning the crowd at Weeghman Park. Another weekend date and another bout of bad weather, which had kept the crowd down to about 6,000. Poor Charley Weeghman. The ticket sellers just could not get a break.

But, hey, Max thought, none of us are getting breaks these days. Once spring training was over and the season got under way, Max fell ill, terribly ill. Some kind of flu, but worse than any flu he'd had before. His temperature shot up over 100, for days on end, and his cough was violent.1 The bug finally pa.s.sed, and once Max got his strength together, he was able to get back out on the field, and just in time. Max knew the Cubs had paid a handsome sum-$15,000-to get Turner Barber from the Baltimore club, and Max was afraid that if he stayed out too long, Barber would push him right out of a job. The bug finally pa.s.sed, and once Max got his strength together, he was able to get back out on the field, and just in time. Max knew the Cubs had paid a handsome sum-$15,000-to get Turner Barber from the Baltimore club, and Max was afraid that if he stayed out too long, Barber would push him right out of a job.

And then what? Max had some training, as a stove maker, but G.o.d help him, he did not want to go back to making stoves. His father had worked at the courthouse back home in Belleville, Illinois, and his brother, Jack, had followed him there. Jack was the janitor, and everyone in the place loved him. He was a tenor, and one thing that could be counted on in the Belleville courthouse was the sound of Jack's crooning voice belting out the latest popular numbers.2 Max could hear Jack singing that sweet, sad song he liked so much: Max could hear Jack singing that sweet, sad song he liked so much: Joan of Arc, they're calling you, From each trench, they're calling you.

Far through the haze comes the sweet Ma.r.s.eillaise.

Can't you hear it calling, too?

The lyrics were tinged with sad coincidence-the song, about the war in France, was a favorite of Jack's. And now Jack was preparing to head to war himself. In a few days, he'd leave for Jefferson Barracks. Max could picture it, the employees of the courthouse gathering around, holding a party for his brother, presenting him with a commemorative watch.3 Aleck had gotten a watch. So had Rowdy Elliott. Now Jack. One group that was surely not complaining about the war, Max thought, was the watchmakers. If Pers.h.i.+ng gets a million men, that's a million farewell watches. Aleck had gotten a watch. So had Rowdy Elliott. Now Jack. One group that was surely not complaining about the war, Max thought, was the watchmakers. If Pers.h.i.+ng gets a million men, that's a million farewell watches.

Max. Mex. Flack. Flach. They called him Max Flack. Back home, his name was Mex Flach. When Max finally got the chance to play pro baseball, he was so excited for the chance that he didn't bother to make certain that they got his name right. They could have called him Otto von Bismarck for all he cared. Max remembered his mother sending him a newspaper clipping, from the Belleville News-Democrat Belleville News-Democrat, saying, "On scorecards and in the newspaper, Mex's last name will be distorted to read something like, 'Flack,' but Mex ... has never taken pains to correct it in his two years of professional baseball."4 And why would he correct them? Max was never quite sure he belonged in baseball, never really felt he was all that good a player. He was not going to complain about a minor mangling of his name. He had snuck in through baseball's back door and probably never would have been in the big leagues if not for the chance he got with Chicago's Federal League team in 1914. He hit .314 (fourth in the league) for the Whales in 1915 and was the hero of the season when he knocked a winning double in front of a ma.s.sive crowd-there were 34,000 on hand, including Mayor Thompson-in the final game of the season, which won the ChiFeds the pennant by one percentage point. But that was the Feds, and honestly, that was not major-league-quality baseball. With the Cubs over the past two years, Max had been somewhat over his head, with averages of .258 and .248.

Max was determined not to go back to Belleville and make stoves, though. His wife, Stella, had just given birth to his first child, Raymond, and Max wanted to provide for his young family. His baseball salary allowed that. He would do anything to provide a good living for them. Anything Anything. He had gone to Fred Mitch.e.l.l and asked him how he could improve, how he could secure his position with the team. Mitch.e.l.l was blunt, told him he was not much of a hitter, but that if he crouched down more, he could squeeze the pitcher's strike zone, draw more walks, and get on base more, where he could use his speed to steal bases. Max was just five-foot-seven, which was an advantage. He took Mitch.e.l.l's advice to heart, and Mitch.e.l.l rewarded him by putting him in the leadoff spot.

Now Max pulled his hat hard over his forehead-his wife always joked that the cap made him look like a little boy selling pink sheets. He smiled and then reminded himself to focus. He was in the middle of a game after all. He was surrounded by Cubs rooters. But he was alone, his head crowded. Mex. Max. Flach. Flack. He absentmindedly watched Weaver on the mound. Wait, how many outs? There's two on. Two out? Top of the third. Who's up? Al Wickland. Wickland can't hit. Weaver pitching. Move in. Too late. Wickland popped a fly ball toward Mex. Focus Focus. He started late but ran in and had time to position himself under it. And. Off his glove. Mex m.u.f.fed it. Two runs scored. The Cubs went on to lose the game, 64.

Max was usually so sure on fly b.a.l.l.s.5 Even without Grover Cleveland Alexander, even in the face of terrible early weather, and even with Flack's unfortunate m.u.f.f that lost a game to the Braves, the Cubs had a very good start to 1918. Rather than sulking over the loss of Aleck, the team seemed energized. Starting with the home opener, and including Aleck's farewell game, the Cubs won nine in a row. Losing Alexander, it turned out, did not crush their pitching staff. Left-hander Jim Vaughn-called, "Hippo" because of his ma.s.sive figure and awkward gait-had come into his own since joining the Cubs in 1913 and entered 1918 with an 8654 record over the five previous seasons. Catcher Bill Killefer would go so far as to call Vaughn an equal of Alexander. "I think Vaughn is as great a left hander as Alexander is a right hander, and I do not say that with any intention of boosting Vaughn undeservingly," Killefer said. "Of course, their styles are different. Alex was a sidearm thrower and Jim delivers his a.s.sortment overhanded. As to the speed and the curves of the two, there is no difference. Vaughn is remarkably fast and has as sharp a breaking curve as Alex. The only shade Alexander has is in control."6 Lefty Tyler, meanwhile, was not far behind Vaughn. He was a "crossfire" pitcher-he threw from one extreme end of the mound and brought his arm across his body. He had control problems early in his career (he walked 109 batters in 165 innings as a rookie with the Boston Braves) but blossomed when Mitch.e.l.l became Boston's pitching coach. He was 179 with a 2.02 ERA in 1916, but when Mitch.e.l.l left to take the Cubs job in 1917, Tyler fell to 1412. Now that he was again with Mitch.e.l.l, though, Tyler was back in form. Spitballer Claude Hendrix, too, was thriving. Hendrix had one good season with Pittsburgh, going 249 in 1912, and had been a star with Chicago's Federal League team, posting a record of 2910 in 1914. But he slipped to 1615, and it seemed Hendrix just didn't have big-league stuff-he was 1828 in '16 and '17 combined. Still, Hendrix had good control. With the Cubs' solid defense and the addition of a smart catcher in Killefer, Hendrix figured to benefit. (Indeed, '18 proved to be one of Hendrix's best seasons.) The Cubs were not winning with just pitching-they were jelling into a very good offensive team, able to win a slugfest as well as a pitchers' duel. On May 2, they beat the Reds, 128, and won again the next day, 98, with a thrilling four-run rally in the bottom of the ninth. The offense produced 4.8 runs per game in the first 20 games, impressive for a team that had averaged just 3.5 runs in 1917. When the Cubs won in Pittsburgh, 62, on May 9, the Tribune Tribune noted, "It was one of the strongest offensive games yet played by the new Cubs and rather opened the eyes of local fans who haven't been accustomed to such rough treatment from Chicago." noted, "It was one of the strongest offensive games yet played by the new Cubs and rather opened the eyes of local fans who haven't been accustomed to such rough treatment from Chicago."7 Flack was solid in the leadoff spot, but it was the hitter behind him-new kid Charley Hollocher-who deserved, and got, credit for the team's early offensive output. But like Flack, many Cubs simply started better than expected at the plate. Left fielder Les Mann hit .316 in his first 117 at bats. In center, 36-year-old Dode Paskert hit .299. In the spring, some wondered whether first baseman Fred Merkle, though only 29, was washed up. Merkle ended such talk when he came out slugging, and Tribune Tribune writer James Crusinberry jokingly began calling him "Mr. Muscle Merkle." By late May, Mr. Muscle was one of the league's top hitters, batting .351 and ably filling the role of cleanup man. The writer James Crusinberry jokingly began calling him "Mr. Muscle Merkle." By late May, Mr. Muscle was one of the league's top hitters, batting .351 and ably filling the role of cleanup man. The Chicago American Chicago American said of him, "His fielding improved and his. .h.i.tting went over the .300 mark and he again looked upon the affairs of life with a cheerful countenance." said of him, "His fielding improved and his. .h.i.tting went over the .300 mark and he again looked upon the affairs of life with a cheerful countenance."8 Though 36 years old, center fielder Dode Paskert was one of the hot-hitting Cubs who carried the team throughout the early part of the season. (CHICAGO H HISTORY M MUSEUM) There was plenty of cheer to go around for the Cubs. Asked early in the season for the secret of the Cubs' success, Mitch.e.l.l responded, "The hitting of Merkle, Mann, Hollocher, Flack and Paskert has been most excellent, especially in the pinches. Killefer's catching has been wonderful, the fielding steady and the pitching great."9 Quipped columnist Ring Lardner, poking fun at Mitch.e.l.l's reputation as a master strategist: "So the mystery no longer exists. But it does seem rather foolish for Mitch to reveal his strategy at this stage of the race, for if the other managers read the interview, there is nothing to prevent their taking advantage of the tip and applying it to their own teams.... All that's required to land on top is five hitters. .h.i.tting most excellent, one catcher catching most wonderful, one team fielding steady and one team's pitchers pitching great. But the other managers evidently didn't think of it." Quipped columnist Ring Lardner, poking fun at Mitch.e.l.l's reputation as a master strategist: "So the mystery no longer exists. But it does seem rather foolish for Mitch to reveal his strategy at this stage of the race, for if the other managers read the interview, there is nothing to prevent their taking advantage of the tip and applying it to their own teams.... All that's required to land on top is five hitters. .h.i.tting most excellent, one catcher catching most wonderful, one team fielding steady and one team's pitchers pitching great. But the other managers evidently didn't think of it."10 The pitching staff got a boost on May 12, when Shufflin' Phil Douglas wired Mitch.e.l.l from Tennessee, telling his manager he had recuperated from his February appendectomy and was ready to report. Four days later, Douglas showed up in Chicago, though he would need a few weeks to get himself ready. Douglas was no star, but he was durable and would give the Cubs a solid fourth pitcher to go with Vaughn, Tyler, and Hendrix. Things were, indeed, cheerful on the North Side.

The perseverance of the Cubs was a comforting story in the spring of 1918, in a city that was in need of comfort. These were stressful, confusing days for Chicagoans, a time of gray areas. America was fighting a war for freedom and democracy but was trampling the First Amendment in support of that war. Citizens were being told of German atrocities, yet Chicago's mayor (pandering to the German vote) had come out as pro-German and antidraft. The federal government was clamping down on vice districts, but the city's police department was loosening the reins on those districts. Inflation had prices skyrocketing, but citizens were pressured to buy Liberty Bonds. Working men were demanding increased rights but in doing so were hindering the war effort. There wasn't much that could be said to be surely right and surely wrong.

One of the great symbols of this moral confusion was the Reverend Billy Sunday, a ballplayer-turned-preacher whose unorthodox style and use of off-color language and violent imagery rankled the religious establishment, even as he drew ma.s.sive crowds across the country. Sunday had no formal training but packed his speeches with energy-he was accompanied by two thunderous pianos and, as a former athlete, would hurl his lithe body all over the stage, turning somersaults and smas.h.i.+ng chairs. He was at his most skillful when he wove the issues of the day into his sermons. That spring, Sunday's travels took him back home to Chicago, and onstage in his ma.s.sive temporary tabernacle on Lake Michigan there was no question what the issue of the day was: the war in Europe.

War fit Sunday perfectly. First, it gave him a suitable backdrop for his primary aim: outlawing alcohol in the United States. Already, 19 states had backed prohibition, and the war was fueling the dry argument. Not only could alcohol ruin American soldiers, but its manufacture took away resources from the war effort. Besides, most American brewery owners were of German descent. The argument that being antibooze was patriotic gained acceptance, and at one point an amendment that would mandate prohibition during the war was slipped into an agricultural appropriations bill.11 These were not the moral arguments that people like Billy and other temperance backers favored, but they were effective. These were not the moral arguments that people like Billy and other temperance backers favored, but they were effective.

The war also paired well with Sunday's fire-and-brimstone style. The violence of war hit Americans psychologically, and Sunday's inflammatory sermons appealed to that violence. Preaching about pacifists, he said, "Do you know what a pacifist is? He is one too d.a.m.ned cowardly to fight and too d.a.m.n cowardly to run. He ought to be stood up against a wall with a firing squad in front of him."12 He said of Germany, "She has used her power to burn cities, sack cathedrals and slay men, murder children, rape women, starve people and inoculate with typhoid and tuberculosis germs. The religion of Germany is the roar of the cannon, the spit of the machine gun, the shrieks of the dying, battlefields drenched with blood. She is happy when she sees these horrors." He said of Germany, "She has used her power to burn cities, sack cathedrals and slay men, murder children, rape women, starve people and inoculate with typhoid and tuberculosis germs. The religion of Germany is the roar of the cannon, the spit of the machine gun, the shrieks of the dying, battlefields drenched with blood. She is happy when she sees these horrors."13 The previous December, in Atlanta, when a German pacifist harangued Sunday during a sermon, Sunday invited him onto the stage and punched him. A fistfight ensued. Some in Sunday's audience piously shouted, "Sock him! Kill him! Lynch him!" The previous December, in Atlanta, when a German pacifist harangued Sunday during a sermon, Sunday invited him onto the stage and punched him. A fistfight ensued. Some in Sunday's audience piously shouted, "Sock him! Kill him! Lynch him!"14 Sunday's sermons were tracked daily in Chicago's newspapers, and given the contradictions between praising G.o.d and executing pacifists, it's little wonder that citizens were having a hard time setting their moral compa.s.ses. Sunday was just one symptom of that problem, which was not exactly a new conflict in Chicago. The city's early-20th-century experience, like that of many major American cities, was marked by a back-and-forth between lax moral standards and sporadic campaigns against immorality. The war only intensified that back-and-forth.

When it came to moral laxity, prost.i.tution was a Chicago specialty, but thanks to the efforts of Mont Tennes, Chicago also was a national gambling headquarters. Tennes was the head of the General News Bureau, but the only news the bureau generally disseminated was horse racing information. After a b.l.o.o.d.y war fought in spurts in 190708, Tennes emerged with control over the racing wires in Chicago and eventually across the country. That meant that in the back rooms of hotels, poolhouses, saloons, and "cigar stores" that never sold cigars, men could bet on races across the country-with 50 percent of the take going to Tennes, who also sold police protection. This made Tennes wealthy.

Attempts to expose Tennes were fruitless. He even managed to best Judge Kenesaw Mountain Landis. In October 1916, Landis was investigating a blackmail scam when he stumbled onto witnesses involved at a low level in Tennes's gambling business. Over the course of two days, Landis pressed several hapless witnesses into revealing the inner workings of the General News Bureau. Finally, Tennes himself showed up in court with his lawyer, Clarence Darrow, who had held a conference with those Tennes underlings who had been so loose-lipped in front of Landis. "As a result of this conference," the Tribune Tribune reported, "the fear of self-incrimination took a strong hold on all the gamblers." reported, "the fear of self-incrimination took a strong hold on all the gamblers."15 Thus ended Landis's confrontation, with no consequences for Tennes. The investigation only fortified the view of the city once expressed by muckraking journalist George Kibbe Turner, who wrote, "Chicago, in the mind of the country, stands notorious for violent crime." Thus ended Landis's confrontation, with no consequences for Tennes. The investigation only fortified the view of the city once expressed by muckraking journalist George Kibbe Turner, who wrote, "Chicago, in the mind of the country, stands notorious for violent crime."16 In the early 1910s, Mayor Carter Harrison Jr. tried to stamp out Chicago's crime and graft, but only until William Hale Thompson was elected mayor in 1915. Thompson reverted Chicago to a "wide-open" form of government, with little oversight of vice districts. A little more than a year after Thompson took office, his chief of police, Charles Healey, fired seven of the city's eight morals inspectors. Healey himself was brought up on charges of corruption, facing allegations that he peddled protection to lawbreaking businesses. (One captain complained that because of Healey's influence "he had not been allowed to interfere with all-night cafes in which whites and blacks danced and drank together."17) Healey's replacement, John Alc.o.c.k, picked up the slack, firing tough-minded morals inspector Major M. L. C. Funk-houser-well liked by foes of vice-in May 1918 on flimsy charges.

But while Thompson was loosening the city's oversight of vice, the war gave the federal government, concerned about the moral standards of soldiers, a stake in the vice struggle around the country. Under pressure from the Anti-Saloon League, the sale of liquor to soldiers was banned. The army confronted the widespread problem of venereal disease in the ranks and went to great lengths to ensure its men stayed clean-either by keeping the soldiers clean themselves with extensive prophylaxis inspections or by hitting them with propaganda, such as camp posters that read "A German Bullet Is Cleaner than a Wh.o.r.e" and pamphlets that wondered "How could you look the flag in the face if you were dirty with gonorrhea?"18 In wide-open cities like Chicago, federal agents bypa.s.sed police and attempted to shut down vice districts, even threatening to take over police forces themselves. Cities across America were undergoing such moral struggles, but Chicago was an especially raucous cauldron, and polarizing figures such as Billy Sunday ensured that it stayed that way. For citizens exposed to this moral back-and-forth, it was increasingly difficult to figure out just what was right and what was wrong.

Boston, though certainly not without its vices, was an older, wealthier city than Chicago and, thus, more morally stable. Or at least the city's advanced age had given it time to find places in which to keep its immorality hidden. Back in 1828, writer and teacher Bronson Alcott (Louisa May Alcott's father) declared Boston "The city that is set on high." Its morality, he said, "is more pure than that of any other city in America."19 That self-image stuck. As morality increasingly became a war issue, Boston prided itself on its cleanliness. At a party on April 20, Boston's ex-mayor John "Honey Fitz" Fitzgerald proudly approached Josephus Daniels, secretary of the navy, with a newspaper clipping citing a study that "showed less vice in Boston than ever before and the best moral conditions in the history of the city." That self-image stuck. As morality increasingly became a war issue, Boston prided itself on its cleanliness. At a party on April 20, Boston's ex-mayor John "Honey Fitz" Fitzgerald proudly approached Josephus Daniels, secretary of the navy, with a newspaper clipping citing a study that "showed less vice in Boston than ever before and the best moral conditions in the history of the city."20 (Fitzgerald would go on to serve in Congress and had a grandson who bore his name: John Fitzgerald Kennedy.) (Fitzgerald would go on to serve in Congress and had a grandson who bore his name: John Fitzgerald Kennedy.) Ma.s.sachusetts pa.s.sed the prohibition amendment in early April, cracked down on bootleggers who sold alcohol to soldiers, and pa.s.sed a law to regulate hotels and lodging houses, keeping them free from prost.i.tution. When the weather warmed, officials at popular Revere Beach (a Babe Ruth favorite) did their best to keep girls pure by "strictly enforcing" the ban preventing men at the beach from lying on their backs, which was apparently too suggestive.21 The city was much more attuned to the repressed, Puritan att.i.tude of the nation than Chicago. All the wrangling over prost.i.tution and venereal disease in the army, for example, was a strictly American problem. French prime minister Georges Clemenceau offered what he thought was a logical solution: He wrote a letter offering American soldiers use of clean, licensed French brothels. Raymond Fosd.i.c.k, with the Commission of Training Camp Activities, showed the letter to Secretary of War Newton Baker, upon which Baker said of the prudish Wilson, "For G.o.d's sake, Raymond, don't show this to the President or he'll stop the war." The city was much more attuned to the repressed, Puritan att.i.tude of the nation than Chicago. All the wrangling over prost.i.tution and venereal disease in the army, for example, was a strictly American problem. French prime minister Georges Clemenceau offered what he thought was a logical solution: He wrote a letter offering American soldiers use of clean, licensed French brothels. Raymond Fosd.i.c.k, with the Commission of Training Camp Activities, showed the letter to Secretary of War Newton Baker, upon which Baker said of the prudish Wilson, "For G.o.d's sake, Raymond, don't show this to the President or he'll stop the war."22 Boston's reconst.i.tuted American League team, meanwhile, got off to an even better start than the Cubs. The Red Sox arrived home from spring training to find snow covering the field at Fenway Park but were offered a day of training at the Harvard batting cage, where Boston baseball legend Hugh Duffy coached. Duffy had spent 17 years in pro ball, posting a record .440 batting average for Boston's Beaneaters in 1894, and would later take over the Red Sox as the manager. Fittingly, the Red Sox were to open the season against Connie Mack's Athletics and featured two ex-A's in the starting lineup-Stuffy McInnis at third and Amos Strunk in center. One of the big unknowns for Boston was its cleanup hitter, and Barrow, after much consideration, finally settled on Hoblitzell. "But when he said that [Hoblitzell] had just the nerve that a cleanup hitter required, he was not scaling any asparagus at any of the other boys," Ed Martin of the Globe Globe explained. explained.23 The other boys were, presumably, relieved not to have any asparagus scaled at them. The other boys were, presumably, relieved not to have any asparagus scaled at them.

John Evers was in the stands at Fenway on Opening Day, but he was no longer with the team as a coach or an infielder-in his place, the Red Sox had acquired capable veteran second baseman Dave Shean, a native of Belmont, Ma.s.sachusetts, from the Reds and brought back well-liked coach Heinie Wagner, who had been fired to make room for Evers. Wagner knew the American League and could help Barrow with strategy. On the mound, Babe Ruth got the nod in the opener and, in front of 10,000 fans, threw a four-hit complete game, driving in two runs for a 71 win.

Carl Mays threw a one-hitter in the second game, barely missing a no-hitter when Shean was too slow to get to a grounder (which surely drew the ire of Mays). In the third game, with Mary Pickford on hand to push for the sale of Liberty Bonds, ex-A's catcher Wally Schang knocked in two in the ninth to pull out a 54 win. With that, the Red Sox-who had rebuilt their roster by sending $60,000 and some good young players to the A's-started 1918 with a sweep of Mack's bunch.

The Red Sox followed that sweep by taking four out of five from the Yankees, including a game on April 23 in which Boston had been held hitless by rookie Hank Thormahlen in a scoreless game until there was one out in the ninth. Strunk finally broke through with a single, when Barrow pulled a telling maneuver. He removed Hoblitzell for Ruth. This was an odd move. Thormahlen was a left-hander and, theoretically, a more difficult matchup for Ruth, also a left-hander. And Hoblitzell was a right-handed cleanup man, not generally a candidate to be replaced by a pinch-hitter. But Ruth pounded a single, sending Strunk to third. Strunk would score to win the game, 10, and sure enough, the notion of subbing in a pitcher for a cleanup hitter now seemed to make some sense-a.s.suming the pitcher in question was Babe Ruth.

The Red Sox were 71. Their new players seemed to fit right in. Their pitching staff looked outstanding-with one out-of-shape and distracted flinger being the only exception. Their one loss of the season to that point was an 114 blowout in which "The Yanks mauled the offerings of Dutch Leonard ... mercilessly."24 It was a bad start to a strange year for Leonard. It was a bad start to a strange year for Leonard.

SEVEN.

Cheating: Hubert "Dutch" Leonard BOSTON, MAY 21, 1918 21, 1918.

Hubert let out a deep breath and rubbed a hand over his stomach. All right, he was carrying around a bit more lard than he should. He knew that. Barrow, Frazee, all the beat reporters, they'd been calling him chunky and portly and all that bunk. Of course, the fans jumped right in and mimicked them. There was no ape like a Fenway ape. Dutch had been hearing it since Hot Springs. Portly portsider. Stocky southpaw. He didn't give a d.a.m.n. He had bigger concerns. Like his own hide. He'd spent most of the off-season getting the vineyards in shape, because if anything was going to keep him out of this h.e.l.l of a war, it was growing grapes, not tossing horsehides for Barrow and Frazee. Dutch's hope was to pitch in the big leagues for a few more years, gain fame, and capitalize on that fame in business. And that business was good, sweet Fresno raisins.

But he needed to be alive to count raisin money, and being alive meant staying out of the war. This was of chief importance to Dutch Leonard. Last winter he'd looked into signing on with the naval yard in Charlestown, and in Mare Island too, figuring he could call himself a yeoman, get a contract to pitch for the team, drive a rivet every now and then, and keep his backside far, far away from the trenches at Arras or Amiens or wherever the fight was today. He would have done it, too, if Sybil-the new Mrs. Leonard-hadn't gotten sick almost immediately after their wedding the previous fall.1 Dutch Leonard was a talented but enigmatic lefty and did not pitch for the Red Sox after 1918. (NATIONAL B BASEBALL H HALL OF F FAME L LIBRARY, COOPERSTOWN, N.Y.) They're not supposed to call farmers, he figured, which was why Dutch had written it right on his draft registration card. "Do you claim any exemption from draft (specify grounds)?" the card wanted to know. Very carefully, and in large letters, he wrote in script, "Farmer."2 They'd had him in Cla.s.s 4 of the draft. But he knew he could, and probably would, be s.h.i.+fted to 1A. Seemed everyone was losing exemptions, getting s.h.i.+fted to 1A-all the married fellows, like Joe Jackson, and some of the farmers, where it was shown that the farm owner was not actually doing the farming, as in Dutch's case. All right, then, he still was not fool enough to march to the gates of Hades to fight Huns. No, no. This war is not for me, thought Dutch Leonard. They'd had him in Cla.s.s 4 of the draft. But he knew he could, and probably would, be s.h.i.+fted to 1A. Seemed everyone was losing exemptions, getting s.h.i.+fted to 1A-all the married fellows, like Joe Jackson, and some of the farmers, where it was shown that the farm owner was not actually doing the farming, as in Dutch's case. All right, then, he still was not fool enough to march to the gates of Hades to fight Huns. No, no. This war is not for me, thought Dutch Leonard.

He glanced over to third base. Fred Thomas. He was 25, a year younger than Dutch. Cla.s.s 1A. Behind him, shortstop Everett Scott. He's deferred, married, kids, Cla.s.s 4, but Scott has money socked away, Dutch thought, enough money so that his dependents aren't really dependent on him. That made Scott a good candidate to move up from Cla.s.s 4 to 1A. Over his left shoulder, at second base, Dave Shean was 34, too old for the draft. At first, Hobby. Doc Hoblitzell wanted to go to the war, but he was doing it with the Dental Corps. He had been distant all spring, like he was already gone. Good riddance as far as Dutch cared-Hobby was batting one-fifty-something. Dental Corps. Dutch had asked Hobby if they needed dentists at the front. Are cavities a big problem for soldiers? Dutch pictured a fellow in a trench in France, with his leg blown off, gus.h.i.+ng blood, screaming for a doctor, and here comes Hobby, saying, "You know, son, we should really take that molar out."

Dutch hadn't expected to be with the Red Sox this year, not until Frazee talked him into it back in February. He was comfortably in Cla.s.s 4 then. That's why he wasn't in shape. On the slab, Leonard had been getting knocked around by a lot of duck-soup teams, but umpires had been giving him a b.u.m deal. He gave out 10 pa.s.ses against Philadelphia and walked 7 Tigers last time out. Umps' fault, not his. Besides, Dutch was worn out, and that was Barrow's fault. Big Ed was riding the boxmen too hard. Dutch's speedball had not been hopping, and there wasn't a lot of break in his slants. He needed a rest. But the Big Baboon Babe Ruth was sick, in the Eye and Ear Infirmary, and Barrow was still too scared to use the young pitchers. There would be no rest.

Ed Miller was in the leadoff hole for the Indians, and Dutch knew that the game was in bad shape when a busher like Miller could make it back into the American League. One of the bugs yelled, "Come on, Lard Pants, even you can get this one out!" Dutch scowled and scanned the crowd. The sky was dark with thunderclouds. Old Jupiter Pluvius had not shown up just yet, but it looked like he was rapping at the door. Place was near empty, not even 2,000 in the cus.h.i.+ons, and Dutch knew on a day like this the only a.r.s.es who showed up were the so-called sporting men of the gambling fraternity. He scanned the first-base bleachers where they sat. From the mound, everyone looked the same to Dutch, pasty-faced and hook-nosed, pa.s.sing sheets of paper around, wearing $2 straw hats, popping peanuts, downing frankfurters and bottles of soda.

Today, Hubert decided, he was going to take a little extra help. He needed it. His arm was tired. Barrow was on him. The fans were on him. Dutch didn't particularly like the taste of licorice and didn't like the way it blackened his teeth, but it was better than slippery elm bark. He chewed the licorice and worked up a nice ball of sticky saliva in his cheek. He readjusted his hat and, as he did, let the blackened spit fly onto his left palm. Working quickly in the pocket of his glove, he kneaded the licorice spit and a bit of dirt into the ball. Dutch stepped to the mound, looked long at Miller, and then nodded to catcher Wally Schang. He wrapped his fingers around the loaded ball, placing the licorice-and-dirt stain comfortably into his palm. He was ready to pitch.

Spitb.a.l.l.s, licorice b.a.l.l.s, slippery elm b.a.l.l.s, emery b.a.l.l.s, s.h.i.+ne b.a.l.l.s, mud b.a.l.l.s, paraffin b.a.l.l.s. In 1918, there was no shortage of ways for pitchers to cheat. Only it wasn't really cheating, not until baseball, after years of discussion and foot dragging on the topic, finally outlawed, "freak deliveries" after 1920. There was a fine for "discoloring the ball," but it was minimal. Still, ball doctoring was unseemly, and no pitcher wanted to be blatant about it. It was not done openly. Reds infielder Heinie Groh later described teammate Hod Eller's approach: "Old Hod had what we liked to call a s.h.i.+ne ball. What it was, he had a file in his belt and every once in a while he'd rub the ball against that file."3 Altering the surface of the ball would give it strange movement on its way to the plate. Altering the surface of the ball would give it strange movement on its way to the plate.

Use of "freak" pitches was so widespread in 1918 that fed-up Was.h.i.+ngton manager Clark Griffith, who had long wanted the pitches outlawed, went on a campaign of "s.h.i.+ne-balling the American League to death," as The Sporting News The Sporting News put it. put it.4 He ordered his pitchers to use every available doctoring method-paraffin oil, tar, talc.u.m, licorice-and withheld their pay until they mastered freak pitches. He figured nonstop freakery from Was.h.i.+ngton pitchers would force the league to do something. He was wrong. The league did nothing. On the bright side, the Senators' team ERA dropped from 2.75 in '17 to 2.14, first in the AL, in '18. That did not much discourage the use of freak pitches. He ordered his pitchers to use every available doctoring method-paraffin oil, tar, talc.u.m, licorice-and withheld their pay until they mastered freak pitches. He figured nonstop freakery from Was.h.i.+ngton pitchers would force the league to do something. He was wrong. The league did nothing. On the bright side, the Senators' team ERA dropped from 2.75 in '17 to 2.14, first in the AL, in '18. That did not much discourage the use of freak pitches.

Dutch Leonard wasn't necessarily a licorice-ball pitcher in 1918 (he would later become one of the "grandfathered" pitchers who were allowed to throw a spitball after the pitch was banned). In fact, it wasn't certain just what kind of pitcher Leonard was. He had burst into the big leagues at 22 with a stunning second season for the 1914 Red Sox, going 195 with a 0.96 ERA, lowest in modern baseball history. But after '14, Leonard didn't much apply himself, routinely reporting overweight, earning a reputation as a late-night carouser and chronic complainer. He went just 1617 in 1917. His slow start in 1918 was no surprise, and it's easy to understand why he, according to Cleveland batters, resorted to smearing b.a.l.l.s with licorice on May 21.5 He had a record of 43 at the time, including a couple of lucky wins. He had allowed 57 hits, 32 runs, and way too many walks (31) in his seven starts. Throughout the start against Cleveland, batters protested to umpire d.i.c.k Nallin that the ball was marked with licorice. All Nallin could do was look at the b.a.l.l.s, toss them aside, and issue limp warnings to the Boston dugout. He had a record of 43 at the time, including a couple of lucky wins. He had allowed 57 hits, 32 runs, and way too many walks (31) in his seven starts. Throughout the start against Cleveland, batters protested to umpire d.i.c.k Nallin that the ball was marked with licorice. All Nallin could do was look at the b.a.l.l.s, toss them aside, and issue limp warnings to the Boston dugout.

As a whole, the Red Sox had gotten off to an impressive start, having swept the A's and going on to win 11 of their first 13 games. But they quickly tired and fell into a 6-game losing streak. By mid-May, pitching depth behind the big four of Babe Ruth, Carl Mays, Leonard, and Joe Bush was a problem. Nick Flatley wrote in the Boston American Boston American, "Lack of subst.i.tute material, more than the beatings, is greying the hairs of Manager Barrow just now.... [For Leonard] a rest would be the best thing in the world, but when there are no other pitchers handy there can be no rests."6 Barrow used only two other pitchers-Sam Jones made two relief appearances, and Weldon Wyckoff made one. Barrow had so little faith in his second-stringers that while letting up 14 hits and seven runs in Was.h.i.+ngton on May 7, Leonard was left in to absorb the pummeling. Barrow used only two other pitchers-Sam Jones made two relief appearances, and Weldon Wyckoff made one. Barrow had so little faith in his second-stringers that while letting up 14 hits and seven runs in Was.h.i.+ngton on May 7, Leonard was left in to absorb the pummeling.

The Red Sox had one pitching advantage: their ace was Babe Ruth, and no player dominated early 1918 quite like Ruth. Short rosters and Hooper's badgering induced Barrow to use Ruth at first base and in the outfield throughout spring training, and Ruth responded by consistently clubbing home runs. Those displays were not forgotten. Barrow used Ruth as a pinch hitter in April, but Hooper pressed Barrow to have Ruth hit more. Barrow resisted, telling Hooper, "I would be the laughingstock of the league if I took the best lefthanded pitcher in the league and put him in the outfield."7 While pitching and batting ninth on May 5, Ruth knocked his first home run. The next day, Hoblitzell sat out with what would become a swollen thumb of historic significance, because the injury forced Barrow to turn to Ruth. On May 6, for the first time in his career, Ruth started a game at a position other than pitcher. Batting sixth, Ruth hit another home run. The next day, with Hoblitzell still injured, Barrow moved Ruth to cleanup. He hit another home run. In one game on May 10, Ruth tallied five hits, including a triple and three doubles. He was. .h.i.tting a league-best .407 by May 20, while still serving as the Red Sox ace pitcher. While pitching and batting ninth on May 5, Ruth knocked his first home run. The next day, Hoblitzell sat out with what would become a swollen thumb of historic significance, because the injury forced Barrow to turn to Ruth. On May 6, for the first time in his career, Ruth started a game at a position other than pitcher. Batting sixth, Ruth hit another home run. The next day, with Hoblitzell still injured, Barrow moved Ruth to cleanup. He hit another home run. In one game on May 10, Ruth tallied five hits, including a triple and three doubles. He was. .h.i.tting a league-best .407 by May 20, while still serving as the Red Sox ace pitcher.

Ruth was obviously a wonder at swinging the willow, but in the minds of many he was a pitcher and that should not change. The Boston American Boston American commented, "[Ruth] was forced to dally around first base while Hobby was on the shelf. He carved a dent in the season's history while doing it, but star pitchers never will flourish under that sort of treatment." commented, "[Ruth] was forced to dally around first base while Hobby was on the shelf. He carved a dent in the season's history while doing it, but star pitchers never will flourish under that sort of treatment."8 Still, Ruth's. .h.i.tting excited fans. Barrow was the manager, but he was a front-office man at heart, and he knew the importance of putting people in the cus.h.i.+ons. Hooper made that appeal to Barrow-fans wanted to see Babe hit, not pitch. "[Ruth] is applauded every time he steps to the plate," reported Burt Whitman in Still, Ruth's. .h.i.tting excited fans. Barrow was the manager, but he was a front-office man at heart, and he knew the importance of putting people in the cus.h.i.+ons. Hooper made that appeal to Barrow-fans wanted to see Babe hit, not pitch. "[Ruth] is applauded every time he steps to the plate," reported Burt Whitman in The Sporting News The Sporting News, "and the simple snare of a spent fly out there in left also draws the plaudits of the enthusiasts. They are all wild about the big fellow; they all want him in every game and Barrow has felt the pulse of the fans and is giving them just what they desire."9 Barrow began playing Ruth in the outfield, making Hooper responsible for teaching Ruth to play the field. Ruth's scorching performance in May was soon derailed by a bout with tonsillitis, commonly-and carefully-treated with silver nitrate at the time. Open a copy of the American Journal of Clinical Medicine American Journal of Clinical Medicine from 1914, though, and find the following note on using silver nitrate with tonsil patients: "Caution: Great care must be exercised that no excess silver-nitrate solution oozing from the swab drops into the throat, lest serious results might follow; for, as we know, cases are on record in which edema of the glottis, severe spasms of the larynx and other spastic affections of the throat, even suffocation, resulted from such accidents." from 1914, though, and find the following note on using silver nitrate with tonsil patients: "Caution: Great care must be exercised that no excess silver-nitrate solution oozing from the swab drops into the throat, lest serious results might follow; for, as we know, cases are on record in which edema of the glottis, severe spasms of the larynx and other spastic affections of the throat, even suffocation, resulted from such accidents."10 With such dire consequences, the Red Sox trainer had no business administering silver nitrate to Ruth's throat. That should have been left to a doctor. Still, the trainer tried, and, sure enough, some excess oozed off the swab. Ruth's throat closed up, he collapsed, and he would spend the next week at the Ma.s.sachusetts Eye and Ear Infirmary. Ruth struggled to speak but kept his sense of humor. When Barrow and Frazee visited his hospital room, where a stream of delivery men had piled up floral arrangements, Ruth pointed out, "The time to get flowers is when you are alive." With such dire consequences, the Red Sox trainer had no business administering silver nitrate to Ruth's throat. That should have been left to a doctor. Still, the trainer tried, and, sure enough, some excess oozed off the swab. Ruth's throat closed up, he collapsed, and he would spend the next week at the Ma.s.sachusetts Eye and Ear Infirmary. Ruth struggled to speak but kept his sense of humor. When Barrow and Frazee visited his hospital room, where a stream of delivery men had piled up floral arrangements, Ruth pointed out, "The time to get flowers is when you are alive."11 Barrow, though, did not keep his humor. He fired the trainer. Barrow, though, did not keep his humor. He fired the trainer.12 Even with their depth problems, the Red Sox shaped up to be the cla.s.s of the league. Entering the year, the White Sox were expected to defend the AL champions.h.i.+p, but Chicago's roster took an irreparable hit in mid-May when outfielder Joe Jackson was b.u.mped up from Cla.s.s 4 to Cla.s.s 1A (after the first draft wave, the government narrowed and simplified its cla.s.sification system, removing many of the marriage exemptions, and local draft boards pushed previously deferred men into Cla.s.s 1A). Rather than wait to be called into the army, Jackson accepted an offer to paint s.h.i.+ps for the Harlan & Hollingsworth s.h.i.+pbuilding Company in Delaware, part of the nationalized Emergency Fleet Corporation, which was building a modern American navy. Losing Jackson, who was. .h.i.tting .354 at the time, was the start of an exodus that pretty much sank the champs' season, leaving inexperienced upstarts such as Cleveland and the Yankees-neither team had ever won a pennant at that point-as the Red Sox's main challengers.

Jackson's move brought attention to a brewing problem. Once he punched in for his s.h.i.+pyard job, Jackson was supposed to paint s.h.i.+ps, which qualified him for a draft exemption on the grounds that he was employed in a field useful to the war effort. It's unlikely, though, that Jackson so much as fingered a brush. See, it so happened that Harlan & Hollingsworth had a compet.i.tive baseball team. In fact, all six of the government's s.h.i.+pbuilding yards had compet.i.tive baseball teams. The s.h.i.+pyards pursued Cla.s.s 1A big-league players such as Jackson, offering hefty wages to top players, plus exemption from army service. The Boston American Boston American reported, "As much as $900 a month has been offered to more than one star player, while propositions of $500 are numerous." reported, "As much as $900 a month has been offered to more than one star player, while propositions of $500 are numerous."13 There was bl.u.s.ter and outrage about the draft-dodging scheme. When Jackson left, Ban Johnson claimed that more than 20 players had been taken by s.h.i.+pyards. Columnist Hugh Fullerton wrote, "The recent movement of the players to the s.h.i.+pyards of private companies, where the majority are to play on ball teams rather than drive rivets, is a sad commentary on the patriotism of the players."14 When two more White Sox players, Claude Williams and Byrd Lynn, jumped to the s.h.i.+pyards the following month, an angry Charles Comiskey said, "I don't consider them fit to play on my ball club." When two more White Sox players, Claude Williams and Byrd Lynn, jumped to the s.h.i.+pyards the following month, an angry Charles Comiskey said, "I don't consider them fit to play on my ball club."15 Brooklyn owner Charles Ebbets, who lost pitcher Al Mamaux to a s.h.i.+pyard, wrote, in a letter to Brooklyn owner Charles Ebbets, who lost pitcher Al Mamaux to a s.h.i.+pyard, wrote, in a letter to Baseball Magazine Baseball Magazine, "I would not care to re-employ any of our men who enter such plants."16 These were empty threats. In 1919, Jackson, Williams, and Lynn were back with the White Sox, and Mamaux was pitching for Ebbets. These were empty threats. In 1919, Jackson, Williams, and Lynn were back with the White Sox, and Mamaux was pitching for Ebbets.

The s.h.i.+pyard lure was strong. The money was good, the compet.i.tion tough, and the war distant. That winter, Leonard nearly signed up with a naval yard team, and for all the struggles he was having by the time the Indians were accusing him of giving his fastball a little licorice, he probably wished he had done so. Leonard did pull himself together, throwing a no-hitter on June 2 and pitching better as the weather warmed. But Leonard had to be thinking about getting out all along. Eventually, on June 22, Leonard signed with the Fore River s.h.i.+pyard in Quincy, Ma.s.sachusetts. Two days later he was moved up to Cla.s.s 1A. He did not play again in 1918, but neither did he go to war.

Which, perhaps, was selfish and unpatriotic, though consistent with Leonard's me-first reputation. But Leonard's choices were difficult. Remember, when Alexander returned from the front, he was a sh.e.l.l-shocked epileptic with an alcohol problem, who died broke. When Leonard died in 1952, he was a raisin magnate, living on 2,500 acres of lush California land. He left his heirs an estate worth $2.1 million.17 Draft dodging and ball doctoring were known problems in 1918, but baseball rarely handled problems head-on. Broad proclamations were quickly ignored (as with the quick re-signing of players who jumped to s.h.i.+pyards), and complicated issues were shrugged off (as with pitchers' use of freak deliveries). Baseball had risen to American sporting supremacy. It had little compet.i.tion. Fans were satisfied with the game as it was. Solving problems meant delving into negatives, and why delve into negatives?

Gambling was one of baseball's great negatives, and the city of Boston was its epicenter. Rumors of crookedness had been cropping up in the city for years, and there was active and open gambling in Boston's ball parks, but the problem was presented merely as one of too much betting in the stands, not as a problem of gamblers influencing players. Baseball was loath to admit that there was interaction between gamblers and the game itself. Rewind to the summer of 1917, though, and find that baseball's gambling problem literally spilled onto the field at Fenway Park.

The scene on June 16, 1917, was surreal-a cool, wet day at Fenway, the Red Sox playing an important afternoon game against the White Sox. Boston was in second place, trailing Chicago by 3.5 games. Ninety-four hundred fans were on hand, including several officers from the French army, in town to help train American soldiers. The pitching matchup was a beauty-32-year-old Chicago s.h.i.+ne-baller Eddie Cicotte against fire-throwing 22-year-old Babe Ruth. The White Sox took a 20 lead in the top of the fourth when rain began to fall, muddying the field. Fans in the right-field bleachers chanted, "Call the game!"

For a game to be official, five innings must be completed. With two out in the fifth and the White Sox winning-just one more out would make the game count in the books-the frustrated chants of "Call the game!" grew louder. Then 300 fans overran the fence and stormed the field. The Globe Globe reported, "Sgt. 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." reported, "Sgt. 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."18 In the mayhem, a fight broke out between Red Sox fans and White Sox players. One fan let out three cheers for the Red Sox and claimed he was attacked by Chicago's Buck Weaver and Fred McMullin for it. White Sox catcher Ray Schalk got into a scuffle with one of the cops. There was a 45-minute delay to clear the fans. The field was soaked, but play continued. The White Sox won, 72. The French officers must have thought baseball a very strange game. In the mayhem, a fight broke out between Red Sox fans and White Sox players. One fan let out three cheers for the Red Sox and claimed he was attacked by Chicago's Buck Weaver and Fred McMullin for it. White Sox catcher Ray Schalk got into a scuffle with one of the cops. There was a 45-minute delay to clear the fans. The field was soaked, but play continued. The White Sox won, 72. The French officers must have thought baseball a very strange game.

If a game ends before it is official, any wager placed on that game becomes null and void-which is why the "Call the game!" chanters were so persistent. They wanted to rescue their losing bets on the Red Sox. Right field in Fenway was notorious as a gambling hub (gamblers were equally active at the home of the NL's Boston Braves). With the Red Sox down, 20, all bets on Boston officially would be losers if the umpire waited until the next inning to call the game. The gamblers attempted a human rain delay.

In a stern column on the subject, James Crusinberry wrote in the Tribune Tribune: Later investigation made it practically certain that the trouble was started by the horde of gamblers that a.s.sembles each day in the right field pavilion and carries on operations with as much vigor and vim as one would see in the wheat pit of the Chicago board of trade. The same condition prevails at the National league park, and although gambling may take place more or less in all big league parks, there is no other city in which it is allowed to flourish so openly....Just why this betting ring is allowed in Boston and not tolerated in other cities never has been explained by the baseball magnates, but it is supposed to carry a political angle which has the hands of the magnates tied. The attention of major league presidents has been called to it in the past and even has brought forth statements from the baseball heads that there was no open gambling. Any one present, however, can see the transactions and hear them plainly.19 Boston gambling had been brought to the attention of Ban Johnson years earlier. In August 1915, when stories appeared about betting at the park, Johnson set out to address the problem. "We stopped gambling there a few years ago," Johnson said at the time. "There is nothing more harmful to baseball than gambling and I think we have it pretty well rooted out. When we started after the gamblers in Boston ... we had all kinds of obstacles thrown in our way. Influential politicians and others tried their best to protect these leeches, but we stopped at nothing and soon had the regulars suppressed."20 Evidently not, because two years later gamblers made a farce of the game at Fenway. Outraged and embarra.s.sed, Johnson began an antigambling crusade in August 1917. He hired Pinkerton detectives, and by August 24 nine men had been convicted of gambling at Boston's two parks, and others were awaiting hearings. Four days later, at Braves Field, police manned the bleacher gates and denied admission to 25 men suspected of being gamblers. The crackdown was swift but utterly lacked teeth. The convicted gamblers had to pay only a small fine, and off they went.

The hubbub around Johnson's fight against gamblers subsided, and when 1918 opened, not much had changed. Fenway was still infested with gamblers. When the White Sox-with Weaver and McMullin in tow-returned to Boston for a late-May series, Weaver was hounded by Fenway gamblers. "Those money changers who ply their trade brazenly in the face of authority at major-league ball games remembered the incidents of last season-one in particular-when they tried to stop a ball game by force, when they stood to lose some shekels on the series with the White Sox," one story in the Daily News Daily News read. "[Weaver] had been booed before in the Hub, but since that incident gamblers who infest the park have paid particular attention to Buck at practically every appearance.... This was the case in the series that ended [May 28]." read.