Bill Stern’s Favorite Baseball Stories

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Text originally published in 1949 under the same title.

© Papamoa Press 2017, all rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted by any means, electrical, mechanical or otherwise without the written permission of the copyright holder.

Publisher’s Note

Although in most cases we have retained the Author’s original spelling and grammar to authentically reproduce the work of the Author and the original intent of such material, some additional notes and clarifications have been added for the modern reader’s benefit.

We have also made every effort to include all maps and illustrations of the original edition the limitations of formatting do not allow of including larger maps, we will upload as many of these maps as possible.

BILL STERN’S

FAVORITE BASEBALL STORIES

Illustrated by Louis Glanzman

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Contents

TABLE OF CONTENTS 3

FIRST INNING 4

SECOND INNING 24

THIRD INNING 41

FOURTH INNING 55

FIFTH INNING 61

SIXTH INNING 90

SEVENTH INNING 115

EIGHTH INNING 135

NINTH INNING 147

REQUEST FROM THE PUBLISHER 165

FIRST INNING

SOME EIGHTY YEARS AGO WHEN THE GAME OF BASEBALL first began to grow in popularity as the national pastime, there lived a 12-year-old youngster by the name of Bill, in the city of Cincinnati. This place was a hotbed of baseball at the time, for it boasted the greatest team in the land—the famed Red Stockings, who in 1869 created an amazing record of 57 games without a single defeat. All Cincinnati hailed its baseball heroes: the Wright brothers, Asa Brainard, Fred Waterman, Charlie Sweasy, Doug Allison, Andy Leonard, Cal McVey and Charlie Gould. But to young Bill, they were more than just heroes—they were gods! In his heart was born a great dream: to become a professional baseball man, to play someday for the Cincinnati Red Stockings!

As Bill grew older, he dreamed and lived baseball. He’d haunt the Cincinnati ballpark. At every opportunity he worked out with the team. He practiced for hours on end until he developed into a fine catcher. He became so good, that his ability attracted the attention of professional ballplayers. His father, who was a judge, objected to the boy playing ball and spending his time in the company of professionals. At that time, baseball was a tough, rough game and the men who played it were a hard-boiled lot. However, Bill’s father thought that baseball was going to be just a passing fancy with his son and didn’t put his foot down. But one day, young Bill was given a trial with the Cincinnati Red Stockings and so impressed their manager that he was offered a contract to play major league ball—to catch for the team at $800 a season! Bill rushed home bursting with the news.

Dad! Dad! It’s happened! I was offered a contract to play with the Red Stockings! Think of it, Dad—isn’t it wonderful? It’s my big opportunity for success!

But Bill’s father failed to greet the news with elation. He stood up, his face flushed, and angrily roared: No son of mine is going to become a professional baseball player! I have other plans for you. You’ll be a lawyer—maybe even a judge like me—but you won’t be a base-ball player. That’s no future for you. I forbid you to do it!

But Father, pleaded the boy, "this is major league baseball. I may become a famous catcher. The manager said I had the ability—there’s nothing I want more than to become a ballplayer!"

I forbid you to do it! shouted the father and stamped out of the room. That night young Bill sat alone debating what to do. His young heart tempted him to pack and run away from home, to defy his father’s stern command. All night he tossed in his bed, unable to sleep. At last his mind was made up. He would leave home, but not until the day after, for on the morrow he was scheduled to catch in an important game. But after that game, he’d pack up and get out—for good.

On the following day, Fate intervened. For in that game, Bill suffered an injury to his throwing arm. Weeks of torture followed, months of doctor’s care. His throwing arm was dead, and so were his baseball dreams. His whole world crashed about him. There was nothing to do now but become a stuffy lawyer just as his father wished.

As the years drifted by, Bill looked back upon his baseball dreams and considered himself a failure.

But I don’t think Bill was such a failure after all. As a matter of fact, in time, he won the highest judicial honor in the land, for he became the Chief Justice of the United States Supreme Court.

It might also be interesting to mention that history always will remember him as the 26th President of the United States—William Howard Taft.

BELIEVE IT OR NOT, TWO LATIN-AMERICAN COUNTRIES ALMOST went to war because of a baseball game! It all began back in 1940 when Venezuela’s best club played the top team from Santo Domingo, in a contest that was billed for the world championship. The game was played in Cuba.

It was close, for both teams had good men. Both teams considered victory a matter of national honor, and defeat a matter of national disgrace.

Venezuela won, but its victory was somewhat clouded by the fact that the game ended on a close play and by an umpire’s decision. The players of defeated Santo Domingo howled in fury. They yelled that they had been robbed!

Well, such good old-fashioned howling happens in almost all close championship games, but in this one it was different. For the Venezuela outfit considered itself the best of all baseball teams, and to prove it, dignifiedly offered to replay the game.

But Santo Domingo refused and instead of shutting up, their protests increased. For days, Santo Domingo citizens continued in speech, press and even over the radio, to make disparaging remarks about Venezuelan sportsmanship and Venezuelans in general.

For a while, Venezuela ignored the pointed insults, and once again offered to replay the game—but Santo Domingo continued its barrage of insults.

That proved too much for Venezuela to take! Rallies were staged in public squares and the citizens of Venezuela demanded action.

For days, Venezuela was in a turmoil, with its national anger mounting by the hour. Finally, the government severed diplomatic relations with Santo Domingo. But even that was not enough for the injured pride of the Venezuelans. They demanded that their country declare war upon Santo Domingo. It almost happened!

However, in those critical hours when the Venezuelan government was debating the possibility of going to war with Santo Domingo, cooler heads prevailed, conflict was avoided. But for quite a while there were no diplomatic relations between Venezuela and Santo Domingo, as a tense and dangerous hostility remained between the two countries. And it all happened because of a baseball game!

YEARS AGO, WHEN THE IMMORTAL BABE RUTH WAS AT THE height of his glory as the greatest big league baseball star in history, the New York Yankees had a chunky little batboy who simply worshipped him. That batboy yearned to become a big league ballplayer, and Babe Ruth fed his ego by encouraging him to stick around and learn all the baseball he could.

That obscure batboy grew to love Babe Ruth with a fierce loyalty. He was almost a slave to all the great man’s wants. That batboy followed Babe Ruth wherever he went. He ran errands for him. He shined his shoes. He was his messenger boy, his valet; he was the keeper of Babe Ruth’s bats. That batboy probably would have given his life gladly, too, if the great Babe Ruth had asked for it. That was how much that batboy loved and worshipped Babe Ruth.

At the height of his fame, Babe Ruth was quite a wild character. He gambled. He stuffed himself with food at all hours of the day without any regard for training rules. Many of his escapades made headlines, as did his home runs. But to that batboy, the great Babe Ruth could do no wrong.

One afternoon, before a ballgame, Babe Ruth decided to have a slight snack. He told his loyal batboy to go fetch him a couple of hot dogs and some soda pop. That batboy rushed away to do Babe Ruth’s bidding. He brought back a dozen hot dogs and a dozen bottles of soda pop. And Babe Ruth ate all those hot dogs and drank all that soda pop. Of course, no one knew about this except Babe and the batboy.

That afternoon, the million-dollar ballplayer, Babe Ruth, came down with a bellyache heard ‘round the world. He collapsed, and had to be rushed to a hospital. Headlines all over the world blazed with the shocking news that Babe Ruth was dying. When the Yankees’ manager found out who had fed Ruth all those hot dogs and soda pop, he promptly fired that unhappy batboy.

Well, Babe Ruth recovered and went on to even greater glory. That unhappy batboy never did become a big league ballplayer. Rut in time, that batboy did become a famous motion picture actor. You know him now as William Bendix.

However, the strangest part of the story is that William Bendix, who many years ago loved and worshipped Babe Ruth, was the Hollywood actor chosen to play the part of Babe Ruth in the motion picture story of his fabulous life—The Babe Ruth Story.

HOW CAN A BASEBALL PLAYER BEST HOPE TO BE REMEMBERED?

One good way would be to play himself right into baseball’s Hall of Fame at Cooperstown. Another method might be to create an unbeatable diamond record—as Babe Ruth’s home runs, or Cy Young’s pitching victories.

However, there’s still another way for a ballplayer to be remembered long after his active days are over—and that is by the simple process of catching some baseball fan’s fancy!

If you ever travel on the Missouri Pacific railroad, on the main line between Kansas City and Denver, you’ll pass railroad stops labelled Miller—Admire—Allen. Just names of whistle-stops, and yet, behind them lies a most interesting baseball story.

It began many years ago, in the city of Chicago. There, almost any afternoon, a poor youngster could be found in the bleachers, rooting his head off for the famed old White Stockings of Charley Comiskey. To the boy, every man on that old Chicago White Sox team was a hero and a god. Before and after the games, he would haunt the ballpark for a special glimpse of his idols—and if one of them stopped and talked to him, he’d be completely happy for days.

The years went by, and as is the way of all baseball flesh, the famous players of the old Chicago White Sox faded and disappeared from the diamond. It didn’t take long for the fickle fans to forget them as new stars arose. But there was one person who always remembered the nine men who had played on that Chicago team of old: Miller, Admire, Allen, Bushong, Comiskey, Bapp, Helmick, Wisley and Delevan. And this fan who remembered had been the kid who used to watch the games from the bleachers.

In time, he perpetuated their names in his own particular manner. For as the years went by, that boy in the bleachers became an important official of the Missouri Pacific railroad—and he had nine towns in Kansas named after those players of the old Chicago White Sox.

That’s why if you ever take a trip on the Missouri Pacific railroad you will come across nine train-stops named Miller, Admire, Allen, Bushong, Comiskey, Rapp, Helmick, Wisley and Delevan—the old Chicago White Sox batting order. A fitting and amazingly permanent memorial to nine once-upon-a-time big league baseball players!

NOT SO LONG AGO A STRANGE BASEBALL STORY DRIFTED OUT of Pennsburg, Pennsylvania. A baseball game between two teams of the Twilight League ended in stark tragedy when a bolt of lightning crashed upon the ball-field and snuffed out the lives of two men. The two were playing the outfield for the Pennsburg team, and both were running to field a batted ball when a bolt of lightning struck them down, killing both instantly. Nothing quite like it has ever happened in baseball.

Come to think of it, there have been many strange endings to ballgames that never showed up on the scoreboard.

The recent stark tragedy that took place on a field in Pennsylvania reminds us of another. This happened many years ago, around the turn of the century. The two crack semi-pro baseball teams of Willmar and Benson of Minnesota engaged in a furious battle. For nine innings, those two baseball teams battled without scoring a single run. In the first half of the tenth, Benson scored a run. But the Willmar team refused to give up. At the start of the last half of the tenth inning, Thielman, the Willmar pitcher, cracked out a single. The next Willmar batter, a ballplayer named O’Toole, smashed a terrific drive into the outfield. The crowd roared in a frenzy of excitement. Here was the ballgame, if both Willmar players could score. Thielman, the Willmar pitcher, utterly exhausted by the tight game that he had pitched for ten innings, nevertheless gritted his teeth and ran as fast as he could to second, rounded the base and legged for third with his teammate’s spikes pounding behind him in wild pursuit. The Willmar pitcher just about managed to stagger into third where he collapsed, with his teammate, O’Toole, close on his heels. Unable to pass Thielman, the Willmar pitcher who had collapsed on third base, his teammate O’Toole lifted him in his arms and half carried and dragged him to home plate. Curiously enough, the umpire allowed the two runs, thus giving the game to the Willmar team. But Thielman, the Willmar pitcher never knew that he had won the ballgame. When the exhausted pitcher was carried across home plate by his teammate, he was dead of heart failure. A dead man helped win a baseball game!

ANOTHER STARTLING STORY OF THE DIAMOND IS THE INCREDIBLE tale of the dead man who played baseball.

Bruce Campbell was the envy of a million baseball hopefuls when at the age of twenty-one, he established himself in the big leagues as an outfielder. Playing for the Cleveland Indians one afternoon Bruce Campbell began to suffer with a fierce headache. His skull ached so he could hardly see the field but he somehow man-aged to finish the ballgame. That night, Campbell’s headache became even more severe, and Bruce went to see a doctor.

After the doctor had given him a thorough examination Bruce got the bad news. He had become a victim of the dread disease—spinal meningitis! Bruce Campbell now faced a tougher battle than any he ever knew on the diamond. Paralysis began to spread over his body. His life was slowly ebbing away. The doctors gave up hope. Bruce Campbell was dying! His pain-racked body could stand no more punishment. Campbell opened his eyes and tried to whisper something but no sound came. His eyes closed, his hand fell limp and all was still.

No pulse, no breath—Bruce Campbell had died! Frantically, the doctor began to work over the dead ballplayer. And then—the flicker of an eyelash—the weak throb of a pulse. A miracle came to pass. Bruce Campbell was literally brought back from the dead.

Thirty days later, the once-dead player left the hospital and went straight back to the diamond, to play big league ball!

THE TRADING OF BALLPLAYERS HAS CREATED SOME STRANGE and curious deals. Pitcher Joe Martina was acquired by the New Orleans Pelicans for a sack of oysters. First-baseman Jack Fenton was bought by San Francisco for a box of prunes. But the pay-off on all screwy diamond deals came when Buzzy Wares reported for spring training with the St. Louis Browns at Montgomery, Alabama. Wares was left behind by the Browns as payment for use of the ballpark.

YOU MAY NOT BELIEVE IT, BUT SOME OF THE MOST STARTLING trades in baseball have nothing to do with common sense.

Years back, the St. Louis Browns cracked the headlines with a sensational trade. It was a deal that saw the St. Louis Browns send their star .355-hitting outfielder, Heinie Manush, and their star pitcher, Al Crowder, who had just won eighteen games with a near-cellar ball club—to Washington, for a faded outfielder named Goose Goslin, who was hitting only .288.

When the news of that trade hit the headlines, it stunned the baseball world. It wasn’t even a fair swap to trade Heinie Manush for Goose Goslin, since the once-famous Goose was all washed up. A Manush-for-Goslin deal seemed goofy but with Al Crowder, one of the league’s leading pitchers tossed in—well, it all seemed incredible!

It came about because a millionaire major league club owner got peeved.

At the time, Phil Ball, a multi-millionaire, was the owner of the St. Louis Browns. One morning, when Ball happened to be in the neighborhood of Heinie Manush’s hotel, he decided to drop in and have a friendly little chat with his famous outfielder. He walked into the hotel lobby and rang the room where lived the famous ballplayer. The hotel operator sweetly cooed:

Sorry, sir, but Mr. Manush was rather tired this morning and is having breakfast in bed. He doesn’t want to be disturbed for an hour.

When the club owner heard that, he blew his top.

Breakfast in bed! screamed Phil Ball. Breakfast in bed! I’m a millionaire ten times over. I own the ball club. He works for me. He has breakfast in bed—and can’t.

Fuming with rage, the club owner stalked from the hotel.

That was the end of episode number one. That afternoon, came episode number two. Still furious about Heinie Manush, club owner Phil Ball took several prominent guests to the ballgame, and sat them in his own private box, close by the first-base line. That afternoon Al Crowder was pitching for the St. Louis Browns. Ball was pleased because The General was his best pitcher and he wanted his friends to see the best.

Early in the game, pitcher Al Crowder became vexed at the umpire’s decision on an important pitch, and in a blind fury, he took the ball and flung it into the stands. It struck the rail in front of Phil Ball’s private box, and all, including the amazed club owner, ducked in fright.

A moment later, Phil Ball, burning with anger, left his friends, marched straight to his office and put in a long distance call to Clark Griffith in Washington.

When Griffith answered the phone, Phil Ball quickly said:

Hello, Griff. Do you want Heinie Manush and Al Crowder?

Old Clark Griffith, always a shrewd baseball trader, quickly realized that something was wrong. Without any surprise in his voice, he replied:

Well, I don’t want your players particularly—but to help you out—

The St. Louis Browns club owner roared into the phone:

I just don’t want them any more. I want to get rid of them—both of them. You can have them—what’ll you give?

Clark Griffith gulped in surprise and slowly said: Well, you can have Goose Goslin— Clark Griffith was going to name several more players in addition to Goslin, and toss in maybe about $50,000. But he never got a chance to finish his offer, for Phil Ball said:

Goose Goslin! Did you say Goslin? Okay, it’s a deal—Goslin for Manush and Crowder.

Thus, pure spite became the motivating force behind one of the most startling trades in baseball history.

CURIOUS AS IT MAY SEEM, LEFTY GROVE—ONE OF THE greatest southpaw pitchers of all time—was once traded for a wooden fence! It happened when Grove was just beginning his baseball career with the Martinsburg club of West Virginia. Seems the club was badly in need of a wooden fence around its ballpark, and when Jack Dunn of the Baltimore Orioles approached them concerning Lefty Grove, the Martinsburg club owner set the pitcher’s price as the price of a wooden fence for his ballfield.

DID YOU KNOW THAT WISE OLD PENNY-PINCHING CONNIE Mack of the Philadelphia Athletics once actually bought a ballplayer on the installment plan? Only Connie Mack could have done it and yet, what a baseball story it made.

Years ago, Jack Dunn owned the Baltimore Orioles of the International League, and won pennants with monotonous regularity. His star and pet was a pitcher named Lefty Grove. Then one day Dunn made an unpleasant discovery. He found that the Baltimore fans had become so sated with victory that they were staying away from the ballpark in droves. To bring some excitement back into the game, Jack Dunn decided to get rid of his star pitcher. He placed him on the market and asked the then fantastic sum of $100,000!

Dunn’s price-tag was greeted by all the big league clubs with a hearty horse-laugh. Who would be fool enough to pay $100,000 for a minor league ballplayer who might prove a bust in fast company? But there was one baseball gentleman fool enough to want to pay that price. He was none other than old penny-pinching Connie Mack. However, there was a hitch to the transaction. Sure, Connie agreed to pay $100,000 for the pitcher, but he didn’t have the money.

Tell you what I’ll do, said Mack to Dunn. I can’t give it to you in a lump sum, but I’ll pay $600 in cash, on account, and sign an agreement for $10,000 a year. What’s more, I’ll go on paying whether Lefty Grove stays sweet or turns sour on me!

Jack Dunn agreed to the curious bargain, and so, for $600 in actual cash, Mack bought himself a pitcher. How all the wise guys of baseball roared with laughter at that installment-plan transaction! But Connie had the last laugh. All Lefty Grove did was to win a total of 300 big league games! For almost a decade, he toiled on the mound for Mack, and three times he pitched the Athletics to a pennant. Down through the years, as Lefty was making baseball history, Mack, true to his word, met the yearly installments due until he had paid out the full debt. When Lefty Grove had aged, and his remarkable pitching arm had lost most of its skill and speed, wise old Connie Mack sold him to the Boston Red Sox for $125,000-and not on the installment plan either!

WHO EVER HEARD OF BUYING A WHOLE BASEBALL TEAM just to secure the services of one player? Yet that most curious baseball deal was actually made, a feat of the legendary old-timer, Chris von der Ahe, owner of the