The Original Curse Part 4

A: Well, I had a ticker across the street and I sent the boys over to see the ticker, and they came back and reported that the Reds had won the game. So that night, n.o.body comes and sees me. The next morning, Chase comes in and sees me. He says, "It was a tough break we had, Jim; we tried awful hard." I says, "Yes, the gamblers are satisfied you tried, both of you." He says, "Put them checks through." I put them checks through my bank, the Old Colony Trust Company. In a few days, them checks came back, one of the checks came back-Magee's check came back and the other check went through. So I says to my brother, "What are you doing Sat.u.r.day?" He says, "Nothing." I says, "Drive me to New York." So I take the machine and drive to New York. At that time, Cincinnati was playing Brooklyn. ...

[Two days later] I go up to the hotel and we all three met. Magee says, "There is Matty going across the room. Look out he don't see us." So we walked down Seventy-First Street to West End Avenue, and down West End Avenue to Sixty-Fifth Street, and there we talked the thing over. I says, "What are you going to do?" He says, "Well, the best I can do is send you reports of different games we are going to fix. You can do business on them." I says, "That don't satisfy me." I says, "I don't gamble on baseball myself." He says, "That is the best I can do." I says, "If you don't take this check up immediately, I will take it up with the club." Chase and Magee got a little ways away and talked the thing over among themselves. They says, "Why not stay here in New York today? We are going to play New York and that game is fixed." I says, "I don't gamble on baseball." They talked the thing over. He says, "I will tell you what I will do, Jim. You go back to Boston and we will send you half of that check, and the other half when we get home to Cincinnati." I says to Chase, "Will you stand good for that check and make Magee pay it?" He says, "Yes." I says, "I will take your word, Hal."

Q: When Magee was talking to you about this gambling, for how long, if it all, did he say it had been continuing on his part?

A: I asked the boys down at Sixty-Fifth Street how long this thing was going on. They said, "Oh, it has been going on in the Cincinnati Club for two years."1 This was the actual, word-for-word testimony of Jim Costello, a well-known Boston gambler who had been subpoenaed as a witness in a lawsuit filed by Lee Magee in 1920. The circ.u.mstances were unusual. Magee had been the second baseman for the Reds in 1918, and in July of that year Magee and his Cincinnati teammate-first baseman Hal Chase-visited Costello's poolroom with the proposal to throw a game against the Braves the following afternoon. The fix failed, though, and Magee did not settle his debt to Costello. Magee was traded to Brooklyn after the 1918 season and to the Cubs in the summer of 1919. Costello, finally ticked off over not having been paid, hit Magee with a court order and took his story about the bet to baseball officials. He even took along the crossed-out Old Colony Trust check as proof. Not only did Costello have evidence against Magee and Chase, but he had an added nugget: the pair told him that, among the Reds, game fixing had been going on for two years.

When Cubs president Bill Veeck (the father of the Bill Veeck who discovered Harry Grabiner's diary) was shown the evidence against Magee, baseball tradition dictated his next move. He confronted Magee, who confessed, and in February 1920 the Cubs abruptly released Magee without public explanation. This was just the baseball way. Problem players-whether drinkers, gamblers, or fighters-did not have their problems brought before the public. They were simply shuffled along with closed lips. To protect the greatest-game-in-the-world image, baseball never acknowledged that its players were even capable of transgressions.

The problem for the Cubs-and baseball-was that Magee refused to follow the script. If he had, he would have accepted his release and gone off to find work with some minor-league team, never again speaking of the incident. But Magee insisted that, when he and Chase visited Costello, he had intended to bet on the Reds, not against them, and that Chase had double-crossed him. As Magee saw it, the Cubs had terminated his contract without just cause. He wasn't going to go quietly. Magee sued the Cubs.

This created a difficult tangle. Baseball had to do whatever it could to win the case-the right of owners to release players at any time, for any reason, was a crucial power for the magnates. But, in doing so, baseball had to acknowledge that gambling was the reason for Magee's release, that gamblers and players easily crossed paths, and that players had attempted to throw games. Worse, baseball had to call Costello to the stand. The game worked so hard to keep gambling in the shadows, but Magee's suit brought to light a voice from those shadows.

Costello's testimony doomed Magee's case, and the jury needed just 45 minutes to find in favor of the Cubs. But to get that win, baseball allowed the first crack to show in the barrier that had s.h.i.+elded the public from the problem of players mingling with gamblers. That barrier already had been trembling beneath the weight of suspicions about the honesty of the 1919 World Series, but it would not be utterly demolished until months later, in 1920, when Veeck would receive word that a CubsPhillies game had been fixed-which led to the uncovering of the previous year's Black Sox conspiracy. (Funny how the Cubs always seemed to be on the periphery of the juiciest gambling scandals of the era, isn't it?) But at the time, Costello's testimony went largely overlooked. The magnates celebrated the verdict and took the opportunity to pat themselves on the back. The National League issued a commendation to the Cubs for "forcing into the full light of publicity its reasons for the discharge of player Lee Magee."2 The commendation failed to mention that the Cubs had intended to keep the reasons for Magee's discharge secret and that the Magee issue would have been swept neatly under the rug, as usual, if not for the fact that Magee had filed a lawsuit. Magee was subject to the full light of publicity, but the Cubs hardly forced it. The commendation failed to mention that the Cubs had intended to keep the reasons for Magee's discharge secret and that the Magee issue would have been swept neatly under the rug, as usual, if not for the fact that Magee had filed a lawsuit. Magee was subject to the full light of publicity, but the Cubs hardly forced it.

What the magnates also did not want to mention was the fact that, in the summer of 1918, a couple of players could walk into a poolroom and attempt to fix a game. They surely did not want to mention that neither the players nor the gambler seemed to find this circ.u.mstance all that unusual. And, of course, they completely shrugged off Costello's suggestion that the Reds may have been throwing games as far back as 1916.

The game that Chase and Magee attempted to fix in Boston took place on July 25, just as the 1918 season was crumbling and the game's leaders were looking for one last boost from Was.h.i.+ngton. It was the day before Baker granted baseball the September 1 extension, and both leagues were mired in War Department purgatory. No one knew how much longer the season would continue, if at all-if you were gamblers like Chase and Magee, why not try to make one last big score?

All around baseball, players were taking the game lightly. In Chicago, the first-place Cubs tentatively left for a trip east, unsure whether they'd actually play any of the scheduled games. Some players didn't even show up for the trip. Lefty Tyler left the Cubs to return to his farm in New England. Bill Killefer went home to Michigan for a fis.h.i.+ng trip. Charley Deal quit to go into government service. After Baker's extension was announced on July 26, Tyler, Killefer, and Deal returned to the team, but the games were a farce. A 71 win over the Braves was, according to the Boston American Boston American, "a fitful, absentminded game [featuring] many b.o.o.b plays."3 Players were understandably distracted. But, make no mistake, it wasn't the integrity of baseball itself that concerned the players. Nor was it worry over the progress of the war or anxiety about the dwindling recreational choices faced by Americans in wartime. It was money. Players were understandably distracted. But, make no mistake, it wasn't the integrity of baseball itself that concerned the players. Nor was it worry over the progress of the war or anxiety about the dwindling recreational choices faced by Americans in wartime. It was money.

In the wake of Baker's ruling, a number of questions were left unanswered, and they all seemed to concern money. Would players be paid for the whole season or only through September 1? What would happen to multiyear contracts? Would there be a 1919 season? And the big question: was there time to play a World Series? That was most important, for players and magnates alike. As Colonel T. L. Huston had called it, the World Series was a "financial orgy." Owners made bushels, as their teams played in front of packed houses with jacked-up ticket prices, and the National Commission got a cut of the receipts too. But the World Series mattered most to the players. The winners' share for the 1917 World Series had been almost $3,700, which was as much as some players made in a whole season. This year, with the members of the top four teams in each league sharing in the receipts, more players than usual were especially concerned about the playing of the World Series.

The money question dominated when the Cubs arrived in Boston to play the Braves on July 27, just two days after Costello's encounter with Chase and Magee. A heat-and-humidity wave had hit the East Coast, and the dead-tired Cubs had lost 8 of their previous 11 games, allowing the Giants to pull within 2 games of first place. Manager Fred Mitch.e.l.l called a meeting. His players admitted that, in addition to being fatigued, they were worried about salaries. The following day, Tribune Tribune writer I. E. Sanborn scolded some of the Cubs for their pecuniary focus. He wrote: "While all the rest of the world is wrapped up in the monster game between democracy and autocracy, 'over there,' some of the ball players cannot see beyond the wings of the American dollar bill. With the nation's pastime about to be interred for the duration of the war their minds are centered on wringing the last possible nickel out of it before the blow-off." writer I. E. Sanborn scolded some of the Cubs for their pecuniary focus. He wrote: "While all the rest of the world is wrapped up in the monster game between democracy and autocracy, 'over there,' some of the ball players cannot see beyond the wings of the American dollar bill. With the nation's pastime about to be interred for the duration of the war their minds are centered on wringing the last possible nickel out of it before the blow-off."4 Sanborn later expanded on that notion, saying that the Cubs' only motivation was to have the World Series played so that they could collect the extra pay. "Some of them," he wrote, "go so far as to declare that if there is to be no World's [Series] they will quit right away." Sanborn later expanded on that notion, saying that the Cubs' only motivation was to have the World Series played so that they could collect the extra pay. "Some of them," he wrote, "go so far as to declare that if there is to be no World's [Series] they will quit right away."5 If the Cubs were looking for a bright side, Mitch.e.l.l was the wrong guy to ask. He didn't see a rosy outlook. "Big league baseball will be run much less expensively after the war," Mitch.e.l.l said. "New contracts will be drawn and ball players will be forced to play for smaller salaries than they now get.... Contracts which have two and three years to run probably will be void after Sept. 1. When these contracts are drawn after the war men who have been receiving fabulous salaries probably will have to accept big cuts."6 For all the questions around baseball's future, it seemed certain that when the game did return after the war it would be on a much different basis, without the fabulous salaries. And, yes, the salaries in 1918 were fairly fabulous. That might not square with the a.s.sessment of Eddie Ainsmith-who, remember, had noted that most players bet in that era to make up for "the little we were paid." But Ainsmith was comparing salaries across eras, putting his paycheck up against those that came decades later, after free agency drove up contract values in baseball. At the time, ballplayers did pretty well for themselves. Ty Cobb was the game's highest-paid player and had made $20,000 in 1917. Grover Cleveland Alexander was the highest-paid Cub in 1918, at $12,000 per year. Ruth had signed for $7,000. When writer Eliot Asinof wrote to exReds pitcher Dutch Ruether, inquiring as to his salary in 1919, Ruether wrote back sarcastically, "My salary was a huge $8,400 per season."7 According to the Department of Labor's consumer price index, Cobb's '17 salary of $20,000 would work out to $330,000 in 2008 dollars. Ruth's $7,000 in 1918 was the equivalent of about $98,000 nine decades later. Aleck would have been making $168,000 (before the $10,000 spring bonus, that is). According to the Department of Labor's consumer price index, Cobb's '17 salary of $20,000 would work out to $330,000 in 2008 dollars. Ruth's $7,000 in 1918 was the equivalent of about $98,000 nine decades later. Aleck would have been making $168,000 (before the $10,000 spring bonus, that is).8 These were not astronomical incomes by today's standards. But against other 1918 professions, baseball players' salaries put them firmly in the upper middle cla.s.s. A typical bartender made $3,000. A union bricklayer in Chicago made $1,700. A coal driver in Boston made $1,560. And teachers were woefully underpaid, earning an average of just $630, or what would be $8,800 in 2008 money.9 (Some things never change.) (Some things never change.) But, from the start of the war in Europe back in August 1914, there was a problem with money, and players were finding that their fabulous salaries were not going as far as they had before. They were not alone. Across America, the dollar was losing value. The war had created such an immense demand for basic necessities at home and for the Allies in Europe that the domestic supply chain could not keep up. The United States was providing Britain, France, and Italy with everything from wheat and lard to coal and clothing. Herbert Hoover's Meatless Mondays and Wheatless Wednesdays were not enough to stem the overwhelming demand. Meanwhile, credit policies were relaxed to help fund the purchase of Liberty Bonds, leading to an increase in the amount of cash printed. Prices soared. Inflation hammered the economy. Overall, 1918 registered the second-highest single-year inflation rate in U.S. history, at 17.26 percent. The only worse year was 1917, when inflation was 17.80 percent. (The inflation rate in 2007, by way of comparison, was typical-2.85 percent-and even the severe inflation of 1980 was only 13.58 percent). In fact, it was this problem that spurred the government to begin measuring inflation rates and cost-of-living indexes. A report released in August 1918 showed that from August 1914 until June 1918, the cost of living in America rose 50 to 55 percent. Food prices rose 62 percent. Clothing was up 77 percent. The price for a pair of men's overalls, the report stated, rose 161 percent.10 Money was a problem, for everyone in America. But ballplayers had reason to be particularly concerned. After all, someone who was a chauffeur or bartender before the war could be a chauffeur or bartender after the war. No one could say whether ballplayers could be ballplayers again once the war was over.

The details of the game that Lee Magee and Hal Chase attempted to throw are dosed with irony. Costello claimed Magee and Chase had the Reds' scheduled pitcher, Pete Schneider, in on the fix, but Schneider went to Mathewson before the game and asked to sit out. Matty inserted s.h.i.+ne-baller Hod Eller, who threw a great game and would have won a 21 decision except that, with two out in the ninth, Magee made a wild throw that allowed the tying run to score. The score was still 22 in the 13th inning when Magee (who had been 0-for-5) hit a routine grounder that took "a crazy bound and hit [shortstop Johnny Rawlings] on the nose for a knockout blow."11 Rawlings, his face b.l.o.o.d.y, was taken to the clubhouse to have his broken nose set and later came out wrapped up in adhesive tape. One of the Reds wisecracked, "What battle were you in?" Rawlings, his face b.l.o.o.d.y, was taken to the clubhouse to have his broken nose set and later came out wrapped up in adhesive tape. One of the Reds wisecracked, "What battle were you in?"

It wasn't humorous for Magee, because the bad bounce put him on first base. With Rawlings out and their roster already depleted, the Braves moved outfielder Roy Ma.s.sey to shortstop, putting pitcher Art Nehf in center field and another pitcher, Hugh Canavan (who had also manned the outfield against the Cubs on the day of the slacker sweep in Chicago), in left. The next batter, Edd Roush, took advantage of the makes.h.i.+ft outfield, knocking a deep hit between Nehf and Canavan. Magee did his best to foul up the works by running slowly, but with two pitchers in the outfield it was impossible for Magee to move slowly enough not to score. Thus, it was Magee himself who scored the winning run that cost him his $500 bet with Costello and, eventually, his career.

Though Costello's testimony indicates that Magee led the plot to throw the game in Boston, it's no surprise to find Chase with a hand in the fix. This was the hallmark of his career. Chase was a very talented and popular player, dubbed "Prince Hal" almost from the start of his career in 1906, with the New York Highlanders (later renamed the Yankees). An excellent hitter, Chase was best known for his fielding, where his speed and athleticism made him, arguably, the greatest ever to play first base. For all his talent, though, Chase racked up a suspicious number of errors-402 in 1,815 games at first base, or one error for every 4.5 games. Compare that to Fred Merkle, who was not a great fielder but made only one error every 6.1 games. Or Red Sox first baseman Stuffy McInnis, an excellent fielder, who made an error every 12.5 games. And yet, when McInnis was asked, in 1942, who was the best first baseman he ever saw, he said, "Without question, Hal Chase."12 In 1910, Chase was accused by Yankees manager George Stallings of "laying down." Stallings was right-Chase was loafing because he wanted Stallings's job. Chase got it and got what he was really after: more money. "It is understood that his [managerial] duties will bring him a fat increase in pay," the New York Times New York Times reported. reported.13 Chase struggled as a manager, though, and the Yankees brought in Frank Chance to run the team. But Chase did not give up his habit of laying down. Early in the 1913 season, Chance visited the press box after a game and asked two reporters, "Did you notice some of the b.a.l.l.s that got away from Chase today? They weren't wild throws; they were only made to look that way. He's been doing that right along. He's throwing games on me!" Chase struggled as a manager, though, and the Yankees brought in Frank Chance to run the team. But Chase did not give up his habit of laying down. Early in the 1913 season, Chance visited the press box after a game and asked two reporters, "Did you notice some of the b.a.l.l.s that got away from Chase today? They weren't wild throws; they were only made to look that way. He's been doing that right along. He's throwing games on me!"14 The reporters didn't print Chance's accusation, fearing a libel lawsuit. Still, even bringing up Chase's suspicious play was a dangerous break from baseball protocol for Chance. Gambling players were not to be discussed-they were to be swept under the rug. Sure enough, two days after Chance's outburst, the Yankees traded Chase to Chicago, and the game-throwing accusation was never mentioned again. Problem solved. The reporters didn't print Chance's accusation, fearing a libel lawsuit. Still, even bringing up Chase's suspicious play was a dangerous break from baseball protocol for Chance. Gambling players were not to be discussed-they were to be swept under the rug. Sure enough, two days after Chance's outburst, the Yankees traded Chase to Chicago, and the game-throwing accusation was never mentioned again. Problem solved.

In 1918, suspicions around Chase oozed into plain sight. If Costello's testimony is to be believed, the failed July 25 fix was not an isolated incident. Magee and Chase were also planning a game-fixing spree during Cincinnati's August trip to New York and Brooklyn. Everyone seemed to know something was odd about the Reds, but none dared call them crooked. "The Reds ... can beat anything in the whole league if they wish to go in and do their best," The Sporting News The Sporting News wrote. "In every defeat, the Reds looked stronger than their conquerors, and it was infuriating to the fans to see games dubbed away by blunders mixed with pop flies and failure to take advantage of the hits.... They blunder so often and so maddeningly!" wrote. "In every defeat, the Reds looked stronger than their conquerors, and it was infuriating to the fans to see games dubbed away by blunders mixed with pop flies and failure to take advantage of the hits.... They blunder so often and so maddeningly!"15 It was especially maddening for manager Christy Mathewson, a legendary pitcher and one of baseball's best-liked figures. He knew about the game fixing. "We all knew," Roush would later recall. "But Matty, he wouldn't do anything about it."16 Matty certainly knew about Chase in 1917. That summer, pitcher Jimmy Ring approached Mathewson and told him that Chase had offered him a bribe to throw a game. Ring turned him down, but when the Reds wound up losing, Chase still paid Ring. After Ring told Mathewson his story, though, the manager did exactly what was expected of him: nothing. Matty certainly knew about Chase in 1917. That summer, pitcher Jimmy Ring approached Mathewson and told him that Chase had offered him a bribe to throw a game. Ring turned him down, but when the Reds wound up losing, Chase still paid Ring. After Ring told Mathewson his story, though, the manager did exactly what was expected of him: nothing.

We'll never know the full extent of gambling that took place in baseball before the 1919 Black Sox, because there was such a culture of silence on the subject among players, among owners, and among managers. But something was different for Mathewson in August 1918, something that made him break with tradition. His job seemed to be in danger-an on-field fight between Magee and Greasy Neale on August 5 in Brooklyn seemed to confirm the feeling that Mathewson had lost control of the team. In addition, Matty had been under pressure all year to go to France with the YMCA to teach soldiers baseball, but he had consistently ducked the issue.

Finally, Mathewson decided to join the army as an officer with the chemical warfare division. He would leave at the end of August, and he'd leave the Reds behind. Mathewson was only 37, so it could have been that he wanted to rescue his reputation before he left and show that the Reds' problems were not his fault. Or perhaps the prospect of going to war gave him some sort of psychological liberation. But, on August 6, Mathewson did something unusual for a manager-he suspended Chase for "indifferent playing," a common euphemism for throwing games.

Even without Ring's accusation, it would have been obvious to any manager that Chase was up to no good. According to The Sporting News The Sporting News, "Prince Hal's fielding lapses, more frequent this year than formerly, have exasperated the other players.... These mishaps have hurt the team's chances and caused more or less friction between Chase and the pitchers." TSN TSN also pointed out, "In the East recently things got so bad that opposing players would yell at him, 'Well, Hal, what are the odds today?'" also pointed out, "In the East recently things got so bad that opposing players would yell at him, 'Well, Hal, what are the odds today?'"17 Mathewson collected testimony against Chase from Ring, Heinie Groh, Neale, Mike Regan, and Sherry Magee (no relation to Lee). Giants pitcher Pol Perritt testified that Chase had approached him, asking him to throw a game. Mathewson collected testimony against Chase from Ring, Heinie Groh, Neale, Mike Regan, and Sherry Magee (no relation to Lee). Giants pitcher Pol Perritt testified that Chase had approached him, asking him to throw a game. That That was bold-attempting to collude with an opposing pitcher on a fix. Giants manager John McGraw confirmed that Perritt told him about the conversation with Chase. McGraw did, however, add that if Chase were exonerated of the charges, McGraw wanted him on the Giants. was bold-attempting to collude with an opposing pitcher on a fix. Giants manager John McGraw confirmed that Perritt told him about the conversation with Chase. McGraw did, however, add that if Chase were exonerated of the charges, McGraw wanted him on the Giants.

When Chase's case was heard in January 1919, he did beat the charges. NL president John Heydler (who took over after Tener's resignation) found that, with Mathewson in France and unable to testify, there was insufficient evidence to support Chase's banishment. Chase was reinstated and signed by McGraw that spring.

Chase was crooked, and his case shows pretty clearly that baseball had a gambling problem in 1918-and well before. Chase is often cited as an inspiration for the Black Sox scandal, because, as the logic goes, players who watched the NL whitewash Chase's suspension felt safer doing some of their own game fixing. But Chase was not the only gambler in baseball in 1918. He was just the only one who got caught. It's likely that there were other Hal Chases who managed to stay out of the spotlight. Chase was, like most, driven by the dollar. But he was more willing than most to bend his morals in the name of finances. Shortly before his death, Chase (who always maintained he never bet against his own team) said in an interview with The Sporting News The Sporting News: I wasn't satisfied with what the club owners paid me. Like others, I had to have a bet on the side and we used to bet with the other team and the gamblers who sat in the boxes. It was easy to get a bet. Sometimes collections were hard to make. Players would pa.s.s out IOUs and often be in debt for their entire salaries. That wasn't a healthy condition. Once the evil started, there was no stopping it and the club owners were not strong enough to cope with the evil.18 As Donald Dewey and Nicholas Acocella wrote in their Hal Chase biography, The Black Prince of Baseball The Black Prince of Baseball, "For all the glamour attached to his profession, Chase never lost sight of the fact that ballplayers were hired help whose contracted pay was as much a brief security against the day they were jettisoned as it was an acknowledgment of their present usefulness.... For Chase, baseball and money were inseparable."19 With inflation putting unprecedented pressure on the money players did have, and with the sport expected to fall dormant the following season, baseball and money had never seemed so inseparable as they were in 1918. Not just for Hal Chase. For all players.

TWELVE.

Labor: Charley Hollocher POLO G GROUNDS, NEW Y YORK, AUGUST 5, 1918 5, 1918.

It was hot at the Polo Grounds. It had been hot all week, hot all summer, hot in every city across the country. The mercury was tapping 91 in New York, which would have been bad enough, but the humidity was awful, worse, even, than anything Charley had felt back home in St. Louis, where they knew something about humidity. The game hadn't even started, and Charley's uniform was nearly soaked with sweat. He must have lost 10 pounds in perspiration just walking through the city this afternoon, and a skinny fellow like Charley Hollocher didn't really have 10 pounds to lose. It was so hot and humid that in midtown Manhattan he had seen lines of men, five deep in spots and winding around whole city blocks, waiting just to get into the bathhouse. He had heard that almost a half million people were on their way to Coney Island's beaches today.1 Charley couldn't imagine any island able to jam half a million people on the beach alone. There weren't any islands like that in St. Louis or even in Chicago. Charley couldn't imagine any island able to jam half a million people on the beach alone. There weren't any islands like that in St. Louis or even in Chicago.

No place was comfortable. The few Cubs who had ventured to sit in the stagnant dugout were crowded around the watercooler. Charley's other teammates were all back in the clubhouse trying to stay cool. It wasn't Charley's place to go and knock the older players out of the watercooler spots, and he didn't feel comfortable staying in the clubhouse. The game would be starting soon, and Charley had to get his arm warmed up. He was supposed to be out on the field, practicing, working. But here he was standing around, practically alone, being broiled by the sun.

Still, heat and all, Charley was just where he wanted to be. Playing ball, in the big leagues. That was the good life for a young man, his father had always told him. Ballplayer, a real living. The kind of work other men looked up to. Charley had always felt there was some envy in his father's tone when he spoke that way, as if he wished he were the ballplayer, as if maybe Charley didn't appreciate the opportunity as much as he should. Charley could understand. His father-Jacob Hollocher-had grown up on a farm near St. Louis, and from the time he could stand, Jacob was helping his stern German father in the field. When Charley's father was still just a kid, he left the farm and went to work for his older brother, Joseph, in a dry-goods store in Bonhomme Towns.h.i.+p. Then Charley's dad settled into the life insurance game as a young man and, well, he had been at it for more than 20 years now.2 Life insurance was good, solid work, Jacob would say. But there was no excitement, no pep. When Jacob Hollocher would tell his son he wanted him to be a ballplayer, Charley knew what he was really saying: don't be an insurance broker. Life insurance was good, solid work, Jacob would say. But there was no excitement, no pep. When Jacob Hollocher would tell his son he wanted him to be a ballplayer, Charley knew what he was really saying: don't be an insurance broker.

It was easy advice to follow, because baseball came naturally to Charley. His father would push him to practice, but going all the way back to his days at Central High, it was as if Charley did not need practice. His. .h.i.tting was something he had worked on, cutting down his swing, making consistent contact, from his first pro games at Keokuk in 1915, right through all 200 games he'd played in the previous year with Portland in the PCL. Charley's talent was there. It was just that sometimes his brain seemed to interfere. Charley had a tendency to put too much pressure on himself, and when he did that he would bungle and dub. He had done it at Keokuk, had done it in his first stop as a pinch hitter in Portland. But he hadn't done that here in his first year in the big leagues. He was free and easy in Chicago-so free and easy that the rest of the team, even the older guys like Merkle and Paskert, seemed to take after him.

So his father's message had sunk in. Charley loved his job. Milton had gotten the message, too, but Charley always knew his little brother was impatient. Milt wanted to play ball, in the big leagues, but he wanted it immediately immediately. He had followed Charley to the minors that spring and played 28 games out in Spokane. But Milton pretty quickly got an itch for some real adventure and decided to go to war, even though he was only 19 and not even eligible for the draft. But that was Milt. Impatient. He quit baseball, hurried himself into a marriage, and, just like that, got a new line of work: he signed up with the marines. He had been writing to Charley from Parris Island, telling him about the life and work of a soldier.3 Charley read the letters with great interest. He had been placed in Cla.s.s 1A, so, soon enough, he'd give up his job as a ballplayer and become a soldier himself. Probably would not be much different from his job now, anyway. At games throughout the season, it seemed players were always surrounded by soldiers. Charley read the letters with great interest. He had been placed in Cla.s.s 1A, so, soon enough, he'd give up his job as a ballplayer and become a soldier himself. Probably would not be much different from his job now, anyway. At games throughout the season, it seemed players were always surrounded by soldiers.

From left, Fred Merkle, Rollie Zeider, Charley Hollocher, and Charley Deal stand in front of the Cubs dugout. Though Hollocher was far younger than most of his teammates, he seemed to set a positive tone for the Cubs. (CHICAGO H HISTORY M MUSEUM) Charley, leaning on the dugout rail, waved to one of the jackies sitting in a box. "How was the cigar?" Charley asked. The other day, Charley had won a prize from the jackies on hand for Sailors Day. The player who got the first hit, it was announced, won a box of cigars. It was an awkward presentation. Charley had hit an inside-the-park home run, hustling all the way. He was winded. The last thing anyone would want, panting and sweating under a hot sun, was a batch of cigars, and all the grat.i.tude Charley could muster was a breathless "Thank you." Besides, Charley didn't touch tobacco. He didn't meddle in the stuff other men on the team did-smoking, drinking, chewing tobacco, playing poker and c.r.a.ps, staying out until dawn. So Charley had opened the cigars and pa.s.sed them out to the sailors in the crowd. He'd gotten a warm ovation for his efforts.4 Now one of the sailors he'd met was back. "Oh, it was a fine cigar," the jackie said. "You should have at least kept one for yourself. Don't tell me you never smoke."

"No, it's true," Holly said. "Never smoke. No booze, either. Something about it. I don't quite know. Things like that give me these strange stomach pains."

Charley shrugged and patted his stomach, smiling up at the jackie.

July had been a funk for the Cubs. They'd gone 1814, their worst month of the season. They were tired. They were unsure about the future. They'd lost their momentum. Throughout the month several Cubs who had been performing far above their abilities slumped their way back to more pedestrian numbers. On July 4, Fred Merkle was. .h.i.tting .347, Dode Paskert was. .h.i.tting .320, and Leslie Mann was. .h.i.tting .317. All three were among the National League leaders. Just three weeks later, though, Merkle was down to .310, Paskert was at .296, and Mann fell to .281. Hendrix, after an 113 start, went 23 in his next five outings. Douglas evened out too-his record dropped from 51 to 84.

But, through it all, Hollocher never stopped hitting. He hit .376 in April. At the end of May he was at .324. End of June: .310. And while it seemed that every other Cub was free-falling through July, Hollocher actually b.u.mped up his average to .312, among the best in baseball. For the Cubs, this was a pleasant surprise. Hollocher had shown hitting potential in the minor leagues and in spring training, but it was his fine fielding, not his bat, that seemed to secure his future. He had batted just .229 in his first minor-league season, with Keokuk in '15. He improved to .289 for Rock Island the next year and was at .276 for Portland in '17. When he reached Chicago, though, he simply seemed to find hits. He was one of the hardest batters in the league to strike out, and he excelled as the number-two hitter in Chicago's lineup, behind leadoff man Max Flack.

Hollocher's consistency and ebullience rubbed off on his older teammates. He did not miss a game, even after the magnates-who were coping with the shortened season that had been decided on after Baker's ruling-began compacting the schedule, squeezing in as many doubleheaders as they could during a brutally hot August. The Cubs, for example, played 10 doubleheaders in the month, and under those conditions managers had to rest their players frequently. But not Hollocher. In the Tribune Tribune, Crusinberry wrote, "[Hollocher] has struck such a merry stride he has inspired confidence in all of the others. As a result, they are going at top speed in every inning of every game."5 Once August hit and the magnates finally settled the rest of the season, the Cubs and Hollocher reclaimed that merry stride. Just in time, too, because the team was in New York to face the Giants, who had overcome player losses at nearly every position to pull within 3.5 games of the Cubs, heading into a crucial 5-game series. But if there was a hallmark of the Cubs' 1918 season, it was the way they were consistently able to rip through the defending NL champion Giants. This key series in early August would be no different. Hippo Vaughn tossed a one-hitter in the opener, not letting a batter past second base in an easy 50 win. The second game of the series-Sailors Day at the Polo Grounds, with a box of cigars for the batter who notched the first hit-showed what a mess the Giants' pitching staff had become in the absence of regulars Jess Barnes, Jeff Tesreau, and Rube Benton. Starter Pol Perritt was knocked around for three runs in the first three innings, and the best reliever McGraw had handy was Ferdie Schupp. The Cubs battered him for 14 hits and 8 runs, giving Lefty Tyler an 111 win.

On a warm August 3 afternoon, the Cubs and Giants split a doubleheader in front of 25,000 fans. But warm turned hot. Temperatures topped 90 for four days, and a record was set on August 7, when thermometers in New York registered 102 degrees. It was especially humid on August 5. "Furnace is right," the Tribune Tribune reported, "for the mercury went up without making even the express stops, and the humidity hugged the century mark all day, making a mammoth stew pot of the Polo Grounds." reported, "for the mercury went up without making even the express stops, and the humidity hugged the century mark all day, making a mammoth stew pot of the Polo Grounds."6 This would be a key game for the Cubs, because by now the Giants had fallen 5.5 games out of first. A win would almost seal the pennant. Fred Mitch.e.l.l had an idea-he would use the heat to his advantage. Hippo Vaughn was to start against the Giants' Fred Toney, a matchup that tickled fans, because in a head-to-head matchup the previous summer Toney and Vaughn had both thrown no-hitters through nine innings, with Vaughn and the Cubs finally losing in the 10th. There would be no no-hitter for Vaughn today, though, because Mitch.e.l.l entered the game planning to pull him after five innings, before the heat could wear him down. Then he'd insert Paul Carter for two innings and Douglas for two more. This would be a key game for the Cubs, because by now the Giants had fallen 5.5 games out of first. A win would almost seal the pennant. Fred Mitch.e.l.l had an idea-he would use the heat to his advantage. Hippo Vaughn was to start against the Giants' Fred Toney, a matchup that tickled fans, because in a head-to-head matchup the previous summer Toney and Vaughn had both thrown no-hitters through nine innings, with Vaughn and the Cubs finally losing in the 10th. There would be no no-hitter for Vaughn today, though, because Mitch.e.l.l entered the game planning to pull him after five innings, before the heat could wear him down. Then he'd insert Paul Carter for two innings and Douglas for two more.

When the Cubs were at the plate, Mitch.e.l.l wanted to exploit a known weakness of Toney's: fielding. Toney had been a notable player in 1918, and not because of his talent. He went 2416 for the Reds in 1917 but became a pariah after he was arrested for attempting to dodge the draft. Facing nonstop virulence from Cincinnati fans, Toney started 610, and the Reds traded him. Typical of McGraw's acquisitions, Toney got back on track, notching a record of 5830 over the next three and a half years. Mitch.e.l.l, though, knew that Toney struggled to field bunts. After the Cubs fell behind, 30, Chicago's batters began bunting, sending Toney scampering all over the infield. The Cubs did not score, but the bunts had Toney drenched in sweat. With two outs in the eighth, the tactic paid off as the Cubs rallied for five runs off Toney and won, 53. The Cubs left the Polo Grounds with a 6.5-game lead. The pennant was all but theirs.

Hollocher's steady fielding, hitting, and enthusiasm helped pull the Cubs out of their July rut, but the roster was boosted by reinforcements. In the wake of the work-or-fight order, the Pacific Coast League had broken up, and Mitch.e.l.l plucked a pair of useful players in the aftermath: infielder Charley Pick and right-hander Speed Martin. Pick, who had been playing for San Francisco, was a decent hitter, but in his only full big-league season, with the Athletics in 1916, he had committed 42 errors in 108 games at third base. With the more sure-handed Charley Deal at third, Mitch.e.l.l inserted Pick at second base, where the Cubs had lost Pete Kilduff to the draft and had been trying to get by with Rollie Zeider and Bill McCabe (a pair who combined to hit .216). Pick was lacking in the field but hit .326 in 29 games with the Cubs. Martin, signed from Oakland, also had value. With Hendrix and Douglas sliding, Mitch.e.l.l needed another right-hander. Martin served well. Tall and thin, his nickname was ironic-he mostly used curveb.a.l.l.s delivered from a variety of arm angles, as well as a s...o...b..ll. "Pick and Martin are delighted to be with the Cubs," Oscar Reichow wrote in the Daily News Daily News. "It is not often that many players join a ball club in time to 'horn in' on a World's Series as they have."7 After the Giants series, it seemed inevitable that Pick and Martin would, indeed, horn in on the World Series. If it was played, that is. As August pa.s.sed, the question of whether baseball would put on a World Series continued to go unanswered. Players would have until September 1 to find useful work, and Baker had given baseball that much time to settle its business affairs. But just how to finish the business was a puzzle. The pleasant unity the magnates had shown in making their final plea to Baker and Crowder at the end of July didn't even last till August 1. Ban Johnson, sticking to the letter of Baker's revised ruling, proposed a plan to end the season on August 20 and play a World Series that could be over by September 1. But again, the magnates coalesced into factions. Johnson got no support from the National League (even good friend Garry Herrmann panned Ban's plan), plus a thumbs-down from Clark Griffith, Charles Comiskey, and, of course, Harry Frazee. When AL leaders met in Cleveland on August 3, Comiskey delivered a rousing speech that swayed the other magnates to vote against Johnson's August 20 arrangement and support finis.h.i.+ng the season on Labor Day (September 2), with a World Series starting on September 4. The NL agreed.

Johnson, not accustomed to being so freely defied, issued a statement: "If the club owners wish to take a chance on acting contrary to the ruling of the War Department, that is their business."8 That brought a scathing rebuke signed by Frazee, Griffith, and Comiskey, accusing Johnson of bungling the work-or-fight situation and adding something like an AL magnates' declaration of independence: "From now on, the club owners are going to run the American League. We criticise [sic] Mr. Johnson merely as an official. We have nothing against him personally, but from now on we intend to take a hand in the management of the league. His rule or ruin policy is shelved." That brought a scathing rebuke signed by Frazee, Griffith, and Comiskey, accusing Johnson of bungling the work-or-fight situation and adding something like an AL magnates' declaration of independence: "From now on, the club owners are going to run the American League. We criticise [sic] Mr. Johnson merely as an official. We have nothing against him personally, but from now on we intend to take a hand in the management of the league. His rule or ruin policy is shelved."9 A week later, though, Comiskey and Griffith said they did not authorize the statement. A week later, though, Comiskey and Griffith said they did not authorize the statement.10 This is what a mess the game's leaders.h.i.+p had become. Even the anti-Johnson faction had factions. This is what a mess the game's leaders.h.i.+p had become. Even the anti-Johnson faction had factions.

But Johnson was right. Baseball's owners were taking a chance defying Baker. It was a reasonable guess that the War Department would allow two teams an extra 10 days to play out the champions.h.i.+p. Players, though, were not willing to abide by guesses. They wanted Baker's written approval. "It may be all right for the magnates to a.s.sume the government will not object to a world's series after Sept. 1," one Cub told the Tribune Tribune. "They won't be taking any chances, because no penalty will be imposed on them. The players are the ones who will get it in the neck if the work or fight order is not obeyed, and I for one am going to obey it."11 All haggling and convulsions about the World Series caused a stir among the two league leaders-the Cubs in the NL and the Red Sox in the AL. Through it all, though, Hollocher was a touchstone. He just kept hitting. When the Cubs left the Polo Grounds, having won 4 of 5 from the Giants, Hollocher had hit in seven straight games. Arriving in Pittsburgh to play a one-day series-one of the odd contortions of the newfangled schedule-Holly had hit in 11 straight. Over a 6-game, four-day series at home in Chicago, Holly kept playing and hitting, running his streak to 18 straight. In a doubleheader against Philadelphia on August 17, Hollocher tallied five hits and pushed his. .h.i.tting streak to 20 games.

This should have been a big story. But there was bigger news in Chicago on August 17, and Hollocher's run was pushed to the inside pages of the newspapers.

While Hollocher was pus.h.i.+ng his. .h.i.tting streak to 20 games on Chicago's North Side, down in the Loop high drama was playing out in the Federal Building courtroom of Judge Kenesaw Mountain Landis. The biggest court case of 1918-the federal government's arrest and trial, on charges of sedition and undermining the draft, of 100 members of the radical Industrial Workers of the World labor union-was coming to a sudden close. Indeed, it may have been the biggest case in the history of the American courts, believed to be the largest group of defendants ever tried before a federal jury. The estimated cost of the trial, which began with jury selection back on April 1, was $1 million. By the time it was over, more than 30,000 pages of records had been typewritten, and stenographers had entered 7.5 million words into the court log.

The trial of the Wobblies-the nickname of the IWW-had loomed over Chicago throughout the spring and summer. It was expected to be a tense affair, especially after Landis was a.s.signed the case. Few judges were as far away from the IWW on the political spectrum as Landis. The Wobblies were strongly antiwar and differed from the mainstream labor movement, headed by Samuel Gompers and the American Federation of Labor, in that they were not looking for moderate, incremental improvements to the condition of workers but for a wholesale overthrow of the wage system as it existed. The AFL had actually been very supportive of the war effort and had leveraged the overall shortage of labor into widespread improvements for its members. The IWW, though, pushed its members to resist the war. This was not a stance appreciated by Landis, who had been making strongly pro-war speeches around Chicago and had a son, Reed Landis, serving at the front as one of America's first fighter pilots.

But Landis had been surprisingly respectful and even indulgent when it came to the Wobblies. At the start of the trial, Landis, a chewer himself, made a tobacco concession to the largely foreign-born and generally rough-hewn defendants. "I think we will have a row of spittoons moved in tomorrow," he said. "We must not deprive these men of their comforts."12 Landis listened to complaints about the food that the IWW defendants were being served and ordered them to be well fed. He also ordered they be given razors and a place to shave each day. Over the course of the trial, Landis allowed about 70 of the defendants out of jail on their own recognizance. Landis listened to complaints about the food that the IWW defendants were being served and ordered them to be well fed. He also ordered they be given razors and a place to shave each day. Over the course of the trial, Landis allowed about 70 of the defendants out of jail on their own recognizance.

The case presented by the government, though, was not so kind. Federal prosecutors presented the IWW as an extremely violent organization bent on the overthrow of the U.S. government. Prosecutors freely mixed truth and fiction. The Wobblies were antiwar and sought to fight against the war through the sabotage of industry. An IWW tract read during the trial described the use of sabotage: "It may mean the destroying of raw materials destined for a scab factory or shop. It may mean the spoiling of a finished product. It may mean the destruction of parts of machinery or the disarrangement of a whole machine.... In the case of wars, which every intelligent worker knows are wholesale murders of workers to enrich the master cla.s.s, there is no weapon so forceful to defeat the employers as sabotage by the rebellious workers."13 The government wove in actual words and pamphlets from the Wobblies with grotesque exaggerations. It was charged that IWW was plotting to replace President Wilson with Kaiser Wilhelm, that they were funded by Germany, that they were planning to invade Arizona with the help of Mexico, that they had plotted with the Irish rebel group Sinn Fein in b.u.t.te, Montana, that they were run by the Russian Bolsheviks. No actual evidence of any of these plots or a.s.sociations was presented, but merely mentioning them in court helped the government accomplish its real aim in the case-to make the Wobblies look so scary that no one could sympathize with them.

It worked. Though many around the country supported the goal of workers' rights, the labor situation was tricky during wartime. Even unions that were members of the AFL were subject to public scorn, because strikes threatened to slow down production to support the Allied armies. And there were plenty of strikes across the country. Around Boston at least 10 groups were on strike in August alone-shoe cutters in Brockton, followed by shoe lasters in Brockton, Bridgewater, and Rockland; city workers in Lawrence; General Electric workers, twice, in Lynn; blacksmiths in Watertown; operators of the Middles.e.x & Boston Street Railway; bellboys in Swampscott; employees of E. A. Henchley and Co., makers of life rafts, in Cambridge.

But Wobblies were different from East Coast strikers, who had specific and reasonable goals. Wobblies were plain scary scary to many. The union's headquarters were located at 1001 W. Madison Street in Chicago-that's why the trial was now before Landis's court-but the Wobblies were not a strong presence among Chicago workers. The rank-and-file IWW generally worked in mining and logging companies of the West and were almost always unskilled laborers. Some measure of the Wobblies' scary reputation was earned. Violent outbursts between employers and the IWW were common (often initiated by employers), but in big cities those violent outbursts were just distant legends, taking place in far-flung locales such as Colorado, Arizona, and Was.h.i.+ngton. The IWW trial brought those tales to life in Chicago. There was fear that the city would become the scene of Wobbly vengeance. On April 14, a to many. The union's headquarters were located at 1001 W. Madison Street in Chicago-that's why the trial was now before Landis's court-but the Wobblies were not a strong presence among Chicago workers. The rank-and-file IWW generally worked in mining and logging companies of the West and were almost always unskilled laborers. Some measure of the Wobblies' scary reputation was earned. Violent outbursts between employers and the IWW were common (often initiated by employers), but in big cities those violent outbursts were just distant legends, taking place in far-flung locales such as Colorado, Arizona, and Was.h.i.+ngton. The IWW trial brought those tales to life in Chicago. There was fear that the city would become the scene of Wobbly vengeance. On April 14, a Tribune Tribune editorial warned, "Farther West, on the coast, there is a different idea of the I.W.W. There people know what the virtual terrorization of a town by the incursion of violent revolutionaries can be.... The indulgent humor of this region is not found where the I.W.W. has been felt as an applied force and where it is not known solely as a ludicrous vagary, pink whiskered and long haired." editorial warned, "Farther West, on the coast, there is a different idea of the I.W.W. There people know what the virtual terrorization of a town by the incursion of violent revolutionaries can be.... The indulgent humor of this region is not found where the I.W.W. has been felt as an applied force and where it is not known solely as a ludicrous vagary, pink whiskered and long haired."14 This was not unjustified alarmism. Bombs linked to labor-some to the IWW, some to other unions-were being found all over Chicago. In January, a girl was arrested at Union Station, armed with 50 pounds of dynamite and a loaded automatic pistol. Known as "Dynamite Girl," she had IWW connections and, according to the Tribune Tribune, "With the great I.W.W. trial coming up next month, the police saw a possible motive in the efforts to bring contraband explosive to Chicago."15 (Dynamite Girl was actually anarchist Ella Antolini, 18, who was sent to a Missouri prison, where her cellmate was famed anarchist Emma Goldman.) In March a bombing campaign that was part of the strike against the Lyon & Healy music company led to murder indictments for union officials. Also in March, a bomb had been found in the Federal Building office of attorneys Frank Nebeker and Claude Porter, who would be prosecuting the IWW trial. It was the second bomb found in the building in the previous two months. In April a man believed to be an anarchist or a Wobbly was arrested for making bombs in his South Side home. In July, as part of an internal dispute in the Cobblers Union, a bomb on the North Side exploded at 1:00 (Dynamite Girl was actually anarchist Ella Antolini, 18, who was sent to a Missouri prison, where her cellmate was famed anarchist Emma Goldman.) In March a bombing campaign that was part of the strike against the Lyon & Healy music company led to murder indictments for union officials. Also in March, a bomb had been found in the Federal Building office of attorneys Frank Nebeker and Claude Porter, who would be prosecuting the IWW trial. It was the second bomb found in the building in the previous two months. In April a man believed to be an anarchist or a Wobbly was arrested for making bombs in his South Side home. In July, as part of an internal dispute in the Cobblers Union, a bomb on the North Side exploded at 1:00 A.M A.M., driving hundreds of locals into the street. There was paranoia when it came to domestic terrorism, but it was rooted in daily headlines. The presence of the IWW made Chicagoans nervous.

The climax of the IWW trial came with the testimony of the union's leader, ma.s.sive, one-eyed organizer "Big Bill" Haywood. On the stand, Haywood lobbed his own sensational accusations, including the claim that lumber bosses were getting black workers hooked on cocaine and heroin so that they'd become addicted and agree to work for low wages. Haywood stridently denied the government's a.s.sertion that the Wobblies supported the kaiser and made a pretty good point in response: if the IWW was antiwar, how could it be pro German? "I regard the German socialists as more responsible for the war than any other body," Haywood said. "They refused to vote for the general strike against the war. If they had refused to fight in August 1914, this war would never have been.... I have learned to despise autocracies of all kinds and that includes governmental autocracies. Germany today is the worst autocracy in the world."16 Haywood's testimony ended August 13. Four days later, as Hollocher hit in his 20th straight game, the trial jolted to a stop. The prosecution made its final argument, and the defense, in a move that sent a wave of surprise through the courtroom, declined to present a final argument. Just after 4:00 P.M P.M., with the trial having dragged over four and a half months, the jury retired for what was expected to be a proportionately long deliberation. But they returned in just 65 minutes. All 100 defendants were found guilty. "It had been feared by court attaches that, were the 100 convicted, there would be a riot in court," the Tribune Tribune reported. "Instead, there was a dead, almost breathless silence." reported. "Instead, there was a dead, almost breathless silence."17 Shock fell over the room. Haywood, in a move to calm his disciples, praised Landis and agreed that the IWW had gotten a fair trial. If there was outrage over the guilty verdict, it would apparently be expressed another time.

THE O ORIGINAL C CURSE: CHARLEY H HOLLOCHER.

Charley Hollocher batted .316 as a rookie, fourth in the NL, and by the end of the year he seemed destined to become one of the greatest shortstops the game had known. But Hollocher's story would take a strange, tragic turn.

By 1923, Hollocher was in his prime. He was team captain, coming off a year in which he had hit .340 for the Cubs and, incredibly, struck out just five times in 592 at bats. At spring training in California, though, he suffered an attack of the flu. He went back to St. Louis and was examined by Dr. Robert Hyland, who sent Hollocher to a specialist. Hollocher never explained what was wrong with him but later said, "They advised me that I would ruin my health if I played baseball that season."18 Still, Bill Killefer, who was by then manager of the Cubs, persuaded Hollocher to rejoin the team. Hollocher hit .342 in 66 games but continued to have stomach pain. Finally he left a note saying, "Feeling pretty rotten, so made up my mind to go home and take a rest and forget baseball for the rest of the year. No hard feelings, just didn't feel like playing anymore. Good luck." Still, Bill Killefer, who was by then manager of the Cubs, persuaded Hollocher to rejoin the team. Hollocher hit .342 in 66 games but continued to have stomach pain. Finally he left a note saying, "Feeling pretty rotten, so made up my mind to go home and take a rest and forget baseball for the rest of the year. No hard feelings, just didn't feel like playing anymore. Good luck."19 And that was it. Holly left. And that was it. Holly left.

He returned for 76 games in 1924, but his stomach still hurt, and he quit for good. He worked at a number of odd jobs around St. Louis and spent a year as a scout for the Cubs. But he did not play ball again. Hollocher might have been a hypochondriac, might have had a legitimate but undiagnosed stomach condition, or-as has been more recently speculated-might have been suffering from depression. The latter reasoning makes sense in light of what later became of Hollocher.

On August 14, 1940, at age 43, Hollocher, who had been complaining to his wife about abdominal pains, slid into the front seat of his car and parked in a driveway near Lindbergh Boulevard in St. Louis County. He took off his sungla.s.ses and took out his members.h.i.+p card for the a.s.sociation of Professional Baseball Players. He pulled out his new shotgun-so new that the tag was still attached-scrawled out a note, and placed it on the dashboard. The note read: "Call Walnut 4123, Mrs. Ruth Hollocher." He then put the barrel of his shotgun to his neck and pulled the trigger.20

THIRTEEEN.

Death: Carl Mays FENWAY P PARK, BOSTON, AUGUST 10, 1918 10, 1918.

Carl leaned back on the bench in the corner of the home dugout, watching George Mogridge hurl for the Yankees. Another southpaw, and everyone in Beantown knew what that meant: the Red Sox would not score-they could not beat lefties at all-and they would lose. Carl's arms were folded against his chest. The heat wave had pa.s.sed, and now it was a chilly Sat.u.r.day at Fenway, maybe 60 degrees. Fans wore overcoats. Carl's teammates were not bothering him, which was customary. Carl was pitching the second game of that afternoon's doubleheader against New York, and most players steered clear of the boxman on the day he was pitching, leaving him time to get his focus. But the truth was Carl's teammates steered clear of him even when he was not pitching.

It was OK, though. Carl had other worries on his mind.

Babe Ruth was coming to bat, and Carl heaved a sigh when the crowd went into the usual convulsion of cheering. After the run-in with Barrow in the beginning of July, Ruth's temper had cooled, and he was now pitching his turn in the rotation and playing the outfield when he was not on the slab. And even Carl had to credit him-Ruth had been performing quite well. Still, Carl had never liked the man, though they'd been acquainted for a long time. He hadn't liked Ruth when they both joined the Providence club in 1914, hadn't liked him when they came up to the Red Sox together later that year, hadn't liked him when they were battling for a spot in the pitching rotation as rookies in 1915, and did not like him now that they were big-league stars. Carl could not explain why. Ruth was big, loud, and brash; he did not seem to care a whit about anything except satisfying whatever desire happened to grab him at that moment. What baffled Carl was that people seemed to love love the big ape for it. Ruth would do something childish-steal a car, eat two raw steaks, punch a man on the train, fight with Barrow-and he'd get that dumb grin on his moon face, and everyone would laugh and say, "Oh, Babe." the big ape for it. Ruth would do something childish-steal a car, eat two raw steaks, punch a man on the train, fight with Barrow-and he'd get that dumb grin on his moon face, and everyone would laugh and say, "Oh, Babe."

Maybe this was the reason Carl disliked Ruth. Babe was popular. Carl was not. One thing Carl knew was this: there is such a thing as popularity. We all know people who are popular without being able to explain why they should be. We also know people who are not popular, and yet they may be even more deserving of respect. Popularity does not necessarily rest on merit. Nor is unpopularity necessarily deserved. It was long ago made very apparent to Carl that he was not one of those individuals who were fated to be popular. It used to bother him some, for he supposed there are none of us who wouldn't prefer to be well thought of.1 Maybe it was the death of his father that was behind his persistent unpopularity. Carl was just 12 when William Henry Mays, a stern Methodist minister who had moved the family from Kentucky to Missouri, was returning from a day of preaching, got caught in a rainstorm, got sick, and died. After that, it seemed, Carl never learned how to get in good with other men. It's a bad outlook for a boy of 12 to have a dead father. Everywhere he went in the years following his father's death, he was immediately disliked. When he was with Boise, Idaho, he didn't have a pal on the club until the season was half over. When he went to Portland, Oregon, he got the same cold shoulder until the fellows understood him better. But when he came East and joined the Providence club, he got a still bigger dose of the same unpleasant medicine, and that began to get on his nerves.2 It was OK, though. Carl had other worries on his mind.

Maybe, it's true, he should not belittle the other men when plays were bungled behind him. But Carl didn't stand for failure. That could be attributed to his uncle Pierce-who actually wasn't Carl's uncle. In 1913, when Carl was 21, he signed with Portland. One afternoon Pierce Mays showed up at a game. He approached Carl, wondering if they were related. Maybe, they concluded, there was a distant relation. But Carl