The Glory Years of the Detroit Tigers: 1920-1950 9780814335925, 0814335926

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WILLIAM M. ANDERSON

THE GLORY YEARS OF THE

DETROIT TIGERS 1920– 1950

WITH A FOREWORD BY DAN DICKERSON

The Glory Years of the Detroit Tigers

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The Glory Years of the Detroit Tigers

1920–1950



william m. anderson



with a foreword by



a pa i n t e d t u r t l e b o o k



Detroit, Michigan

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dan dickerson

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© 2012 by Wayne State University Press, Detroit, Michigan 48201. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced without formal permission. Manufactured in the United States of America. 16 15 14 13 12    5 4 3 2 1 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Anderson, William M. (William Martin), 1938– The glory years of the Detroit Tigers : 1920–1950 / William M. Anderson ; with a foreword by Dan Dickerson. p. cm. — (Painted turtle books) Includes bibliographical references and index. isbn 978-0-8143-3589-5 (cloth : alk. paper) — isbn 978-0-8143-3592-5 (e-book) 1. Detroit Tigers (Baseball team—History. 2. Detroit Tigers (Baseball team—History— Pictorial works. I. Title. gv875.d6a56 2012 796.357'640977434—dc23  2011047214

Grateful acknowledgment is made to the Leonard and Harriette Simons Endowed Family Fund for the generous support of the publication of this volume. Designed and typeset by Ashley Muehlbauer Composed in Minion Pro and Myriad Pro Frontispiece: Aerial view of Briggs Stadium and downtown Detroit, late 1930s. (Detroit News Archives)

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For George Michael, photograph historian and preservationist extraordinaire

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contents

Foreword by Dan Dickerson Preface 1. Spring Training When Dreams Are Entertained 2. Franchise Stars

ix xiii 1 55

3. The Supporting Cast

143

4. Moments of Glory and Notable Games

239

5. The War Years

327

6. The Old Ballpark Where Legends and Memories Were Made

391

Conclusion

447

Bibliography

449

Index

453

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Dan Dickerson

foreword

The room above the garage in our house is affectionately called the “baseball room.” It’s a place where old copies of the Baseball Register sit on a shelf next to Bill James Baseball Abstracts, biographies, and baseball encyclopedias. And it’s a place where I can put some of my baseball memorabilia on display. One of my prized possessions hangs on a wall in that room: a gift from Ernie Harwell. It’s a picture of him as a young broadcaster with the Atlanta Crackers, conducting an interview with manager Paul Richards— recording it, which was quite a production back then. While Ernie stands in an aisleway next to Richards, a tall microphone stand between them, an engineer sits in front. His recording equipment takes up about four seats’ worth of space. This was an event. I love that picture. It captures everything I love about old black-and-white photographs. Especially black-and-white photographs of baseball. I guess it’s because of their timeless quality. For me, they have this incredible power to draw you in and instantly transport you to a place from long ago. Most baseball players from years past live on as a collection of numbers on a page. That’s how we know them—until you see a picture. Then they come instantly to life, as does the world they lived in. The old

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become young again. And it sparks the imagination: What was it like to live then? What were fans like? What were the ballparks like? How good was the baseball? I can get lost in time looking at old baseball photographs. And that’s why I love this book. What Bill Anderson—one of our foremost chroniclers of Detroit Tigers history—has done with this book is extraordinary; it is something to be treasured. Bill has meticulously gone through some of the greatest collections of baseball photographs and picked out the very best featuring our beloved Tigers. He draws us in through those pictures, takes us back in time, and then—often in the players’ own words—tells us all about the people in those pictures. He has vividly brought to life three decades that stand as some of the most memorable in Tigers history, seasons that featured some of the biggest names and brightest stars Tigers fans have ever known. I don’t think “labor of love” even begins to describe this project. Not only has Bill combed through the Detroit News sports photo archives, he has mined the archives of the three Detroit daily papers of the day, as well as The Sporting News, to capture the feel of the era, to bring the games and the players to life, in real time. This truly was a remarkable era in baseball and in Tigers history. One world war had just ended. By the end of the era another had started, and— after exacting a terrible toll—ended. More than five hundred major leaguers served in World War II. The second player drafted was none other than Tigers Hall of Famer Hank Greenberg. And in the pages of this book, you will find Greenberg’s impassioned letter to the Detroit News vehemently denying reports he was “a man who didn’t want to go.” Others come to life through the letters they wrote during the war. The dead ball era officially came to an end, and offenses exploded—with power—in the 1920s and 1930s. The color line was broken two years after the war ended when Jackie Robinson debuted in April 1947. For the Tigers, the era brought four pennants, their first two world championships, and—incredibly—five MVP awards in the space of eleven years. Hall of Famers abounded. All the big names are here—from Cobb to Heilmann, Gehringer and Greenberg, Newhouser and Kell. We learn about the surprising managerial style of Ty Cobb—and the lasting relationship he forged with one of the truly great hitters in baseball history: Harry Heilmann. Through Bill, Heilmann tells us Cobb changed his hitting style completely in 1921, giving him x  Foreword

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confidence and a new swing. And a career .296 hitter went on to hit .366 for the rest of his career, which just happens to match Cobb’s career average. What Bill does so well is remind us that while it always helps to have some superstars—whether it’s Verlander and Cabrera, or Newhouser and Greenberg—it’s the supporting cast that makes the team. And that’s why it’s so fun to read about Fats Fothergill, Bobo Newsome, Heinie Manush, Virgil Trucks, Schoolboy Rowe, Rudy York (a true star—just for a shorter period of time), and Gee Walker, the 1920s or 1940s versions of today’s Jhonny Peralta, Carlos Guillen, Doug Fister, Ryan Raburn, and Ramon Santiago. The pictures draw you in and remind you that this was the era before the zoom lens. We see third base coach Del Baker bringing a runner into third, surrounded by a semicircle of a half-dozen photographers, none more than fifteen feet away. And we wonder where the pitcher stood when he backed up third. We see the terrified face of a heckler, who realizes (in a nearly empty ballpark) that perhaps he crossed the line riding Tigers pitcher Dizzy Trout. We relive the ticker tape parade following the 1935 World Championship. And in my favorite chapter, we are taken behind the scenes at the ballpark where I grew up. Beautiful images of Navin Field, Briggs Stadium, Tiger Stadium. Different names, but the same ballpark, home to the Tigers for almost ninety seasons. I had the privilege of being part of the ceremonies to close the ballpark, and you could just feel the emotion throughout the game and the postgame ceremonies. That ballpark meant so much to so many, and these pictures take you right back to the memory of your favorite seat: in the center-field bleachers, the upper deck in right—especially the overhang in foul territory—down the line in left, or maybe a seat partially blocked by a post in a sold-out game. And Bill has found pictures that take you to places you could not go—the umpires’ room, the press box, and the clubhouses, where the carefully hung uniforms from a 1940s-era Tigers team await the players’ arrival. Bill Anderson has written a wonderful book, capturing an era of great change in the world and great moments in Tigers history. His meticulous attention to detail and tireless research has produced a collection of photographs that won’t be found anywhere else, laid out in a highly readable format, which allows us to really get to know these players, often in their own words. This book is a gem. Enjoy. Dan Dickerson

Foreword  xi

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p r e fac e

My inspiration for this new, focused history of the Detroit Tigers originated with a phone call I received from my friend George Michael in December 2008. Michael, a name familiar to many people interested in sports, had recently resigned as the anchor of the George Michael Sports Machine NBC weekly television show emanating from Washington, D.C. We shared an interest in collecting baseball photographs; he in particular was the foremost expert on sliding images. George had an agenda in calling me. He and his good friend John Rogers wanted to pursue acquiring the sports photo archives of the Detroit News, and George called to ask if I would consider helping by opening the door for a conversation with the management of the newspaper. So I joined the Rogers-Michael team and a process began through which John acquired the entire collection and digitized all of the photographs for the Detroit News. I was rewarded for my role with the opportunity to spend considerable time examining the thousands of negatives that had captured the photographic history of the Detroit Tigers. While having the time of my life, the vision and framework for a new book leaped into my mind. I knew immediately that I wanted to write a history of the team concentrating on three decades beginning in 1920, for the vast majority of the

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great players were active during this thirty-year span and are thought of as an era, representing the glory years of Detroit Tigers history. During this exciting time, Detroit won the American League pennant four times and its first world championship, followed by a second ten years later. Baseball history recalls great moments when teams, because of repeated success, became dynasties—the New York Yankees are the ultimate example. Detroit had won three pennants in a row in the American League’s first decade but played poorly in the ensuing fall classics and have never been considered a dynasty. The team’s sustained success beginning in 1934 and stretching through 1937 may represent the closest this ball club has come to achieving the status of a dynasty. Detroit won back-to-back pennants in 1934 and 1935 and defeated the Chicago Cubs in the 1935 World Series. They finished a distant second in the two subsequent years; if they had not lost Hank Greenberg for most of the 1936 season due to injury and if ace pitcher Schoolboy Rowe had not been sidelined with a sore arm in 1937, they might have given the Yankees a far greater challenge. Adding to the Tigers’ woes was the loss in 1937 of their fiery manager and catcher, Mickey Cochrane, when he was struck in the head by a pitch in May; he never played again. Although the great Ty Cobb’s best years were behind him in 1920, he remained a formidable player and force. These years saw the development and rise to stardom of Harry Heilmann, Charlie Gehringer, Hank Greenberg, and Hal Newhouser, all of whom made significant contributions to the team and were later inducted into baseball’s Hall of Fame. The team also acquired the talents of future Hall of Famers Mickey Cochrane for four years in which he hit .313, Goose Goslin for four years in which he hit .297, and George Kell, obtained early in 1946, who batted .325 over seven seasons with Detroit. In an eleven-year span, the American League’s Most Valuable Player Award went to a Detroit Tiger five times: Greenberg in 1935, Gehringer in 1937, Greenberg in 1940, and Newhouser in 1944 and 1945. Beginning with Cobb in 1907, Detroit had an amazing tradition of producing great hitting outfielders. The Georgia Peach claimed his last AL batting title in 1919 (his .401 average in 1922 was only good enough for second place), but others carried the torch of excellence forward. During the “glory years,” Tiger hitters won the AL batting championship seven times: Heilmann in 1921, 1923, and 1925, Manush in 1926, Heilmann again in 1927, Gehringer in 1937, and Kell in 1949. Hal Newhouser is the team’s only pitcher to ever be inducted into the baseball shrine at Cooperstown. If we agree with Connie Mack’s well-known principle that pitching is 85 percent of the game, then Detroit’s historical lack xiv  Preface

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of great hurlers likely accounts for its record of success. That considered, five pitchers among the top ten all-time winners (counting wins while with Detroit) hurled from 1920 to 1950: George Dauss (221), Hal Newhouser (200), Tommy Bridges (194), Dizzy Trout (161), and Earl Whitehill (133). Of course the “glory years” were not realized just because of the big names in the era; Detroit had a valuable supporting cast that included Johnny Bassler, Al Benton, Tommy Bridges, George Dauss, Bob Fothergill, Pete Fox, Barney McCosky, Bobo Newsom, Marv Owen, Billy Rogell, Lynwood “Schoolboy” Rowe, Dizzy Trout, Virgil Trucks, Bobbie Veach, Gee Walker, and Rudy York. Many factors influenced the rise of baseball’s popularity, but certainly the team’s success and the presence of star players drew increasing numbers to Navin Field and Briggs Stadium in an era of great ballpark expansion in Detroit. The first one-million-season gate was achieved in 1924; that record attendance was surpassed eight more times during the “glory years,” reaching 1,821,204 in 1949. The photographs in this volume provide an incredibly illuminating view of Tiger baseball during this memorable era. The vast majority come from the unparalleled archive of the Detroit News. Through this lens, we see the faces of the leading characters in this story. This was a time when players willingly cooperated with photographers; they were artists who used great imagination in creating and preserving intriguing and interesting moments. Baseball has changed dramatically in this regard; players largely determine whether and how they will be photographed. This was a time before long lenses; photographers had to get close to the action, sometimes in harm’s way and in the way. When you examine the images in the chapter dealing with spring training, you will surely be amazed to see photographers lying down on the grass to shoot players running out of the clubhouse and leaping over the cameramen. How about the incredible shot of a star player like Hank Greenberg, who was willing to jump over what might be called a limbo stick so that a group of photographers could film a unique kind of photo? Have you ever looked at old baseball photos and wondered whether the fielder jumping up to catch a ball was in a real situation or just posed? Bill Kuenzel was the dean of the Detroit News staff of photographers and there is an image included that shows how this was done. Photographers did neat things with groups of players that most of us who love baseball enjoy. Think about the excitement players and fans felt when World War II ended in 1945. Spring training in 1946 must have been an unforgettable experience. Certainly the photographers sensed this historic Preface  xv

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Opposite page: This image shows William Kuenzel, Detroit News director of sports photography, shooting Pete Fox to imitate the Detroit outfielder leaping to make a catch. Kuenzel had to lie on the grass in order to achieve the correct angle and make the image look real, May 14, 1939. (Detroit News Archives)

time. The war released a host of returning soldiers back to their respective teams so that the ranks in spring training swelled that year. Notice how Detroit News photographers brought together all of those competing for a particular position. The following two photographs are placed here to give you a sneak preview of what is in store as you view the creativity of photo-journalism during this era. I’m confident you will appreciate the near total cooperation of the players and how together they preserved the visual history of Tiger baseball during its glory years. The love of the game is intricately tied to memories of what we have directly experienced and the stories we have preserved in our minds. The Detroit Tigers have a great new ballpark that opened in 2000, but until the championship season in 2006, its short history held only memories of a losing team. But with that exciting season a new chapter of Detroit Tigers history began unfolding with new stars in a new twenty-first-century winning tradition and with it memories for a new generation of Tiger loyalists. Many of us had a difficult time letting go of the old place for it was hallowed ground and encased cherished memories. I vividly remember being asked by the editor of Michigan History magazine to write a feature story in 1999 about Tiger Stadium in its final season. A supportive Tigers media relations office allowed Lloyd Wallace, sports editor and photographer of the Ludington Daily News, and me to get on the field shortly after lunch and before a September home game. Long before conducting several scheduled interviews, I spent my precious time moving from one section of the old stadium to another, sitting, standing, and reflecting—and remembering. As I walked the warning track end to end, I thought about who had run to the wall and onto this very spot and my mind flashed—Cobb, Heilmann, Crawford, Kaline, Manush, Fox, Stanley, Horton, Doby! But then I thought: “But what about all the others, the other great outfielders in the American League, the Cardinals in 1934 and 1968, and the Cubs in 1935, 1945, and 1984, and the All-Star teams in 1941, 1951, and 1971, and so many more?” More recently and during the time I carefully examined the negative archive of the Detroit News, I discovered a gold mine of images taken of Navin Field and Briggs Stadium and my heart beat faster. I knew immediately that here was a terrific opportunity to employ this history of the “glory years” to take readers on a vicarious tour of that grand old baseball cathedral and, thanks to inventive photographers, open doors where fans were rightfully prohibited—the locker room, the umpire’s room, the press box, and more. xvi  Preface

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An enterprising photographer captured an unusual perspective: his colleagues photographing a close play at third and helping the viewer realize how close the cameramen got to the play as they form the backdrop for Coach Del Baker signaling the runner to slide, August 12, 1935. (Detroit News Archives)

xviii  Preface

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Modern camera technology provides today’s photographer with many advantages, including reach, penetration, and capturing actions, but those who practiced the art during this Tigers’ “glory years” generated a big negative on glass or acetate and, when developed, a high-resolution print of wonderful quality. Though the photographs are an essential part of this history, I wanted this book to be more than a picture book by telling a compelling story filled with a host of prominent and interesting characters. Detroit was a big baseball town, and many scribes throughout the country viewed the city as one of the very best baseball venues. The city had three daily newspapers, the News, Free Press, and the Times, all of which employed a stable of writers assigned to the Tigers. There is now a considerable body of published literature on the star players and the team’s history, but if a writer’s intent is to transport the reader back in time and in a sense experience its spontaneity, then the accounts written by these beat writers are a critical source. Thus I have relied heavily on the Detroit newspapers and The Sporting News, known then as the “Baseball Bible.” Every author owes a load of gratitude to those who have made contributions and supported the project from start to finish. My list of names comes quickly to mind. George Michael planted the seed and introduced me to John Rogers, who has supported my dream to the hilt and became a friend anyone would envy. These two friends have made this book possible. Bob Houlihan, Director of Photography at the Detroit News, has been an ally for my work throughout this endeavor. Wayne State University Press has published two editions of my book The Detroit Tigers: A Pictorial Celebration of the Greatest Players and Moments in Tigers History and when I approached Kathryn Wildfong, editor-in-chief, about my idea for a new book she couldn’t have been more encouraging, and her counsel and support have been invaluable. It is always a rewarding experience to work with the professional team at Wayne State University Press. I appreciate the strong assistance provided by Jennifer Backer, Carrie Downes Teefey, Emily Nowak, and Maya Rhodes. I am indebted to Dan Dickerson, the voice of the Tigers, for contributing the foreword and sharing his perspective on this historic era in Tiger’s history. The award-winning baseball author Peter Morris has generously provided guidance. Hal Humiecki, president of Titan Photo Lab in Troy, showed immediate interest in my project, and his company produced most of the high-quality black-and-white prints that illustrate this book. As with most Preface  xix

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other writing projects, I have relied on photographer Russ Miller to digitize all of the images in preparation for publication. I am grateful for his expertise and readiness to help me. When I discovered the need for a few additional digitized images “late in the ball game,” I turned to photographer Jeff Kiessel and he came to my aid. I also want to express appreciation to the Walter P. Reuther Library (represented by Elizabeth Clemens) for providing use of a key photograph. During the course of my research I read hundreds and hundreds of columns written by baseball scribes who worked for the Detroit newspapers. Their style and use of language were often uniquely descriptive and captured the essence of fans’ interest in a bygone era. Knowing that my paraphrase would diminish their delightful flavor, I am indebted to Michael Brown and the Detroit News, Jody Williams and the Detroit Free Press, and Shawn Schrager and The Sporting News for allowing me to reprint selected columns that I so wanted to use. Dennis Anderson loaned me a large stack of scrapbooks containing every Tiger clipping from all three newspapers during much of this era. I also accessed The Sporting News on microfilm from the Society of American Baseball Research. All of these were invaluable during the research phase of writing this Tiger history. Writing for publication, especially when it involves a book manuscript, is an intense undertaking during which many other activities get pushed aside. My partner in life, Anna Marie, has continued to love me in spite of my being chained to the computer. God bless you, my dear. William M. Anderson Ludington, mi February 28, 2011

xx  Preface

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Spring Training When Dreams Are Entertained

one

Spring Training Sites during the Glory Years

1920

Macon, Georgia



1921

San Antonio, Texas



1922–26

Augusta, Georgia



1927–28

San Antonio, Texas



1929

Phoenix, Arizona



1930

Tampa, Florida



1931

Sacramento, California



1932

Palo Alto, California



1933

San Antonio, Texas



1934–42

Lakeland, Florida



1943–45

Evansville, Indiana



1946–

Lakeland, Florida

Hope is a good thing. Fortunately all major league teams—their owners, management, and players—all approach spring training and a new season

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Manager Steve O’Neil and infielders gather around to discuss the rundown play between first and second bases. Left to right: Pinky Higgins, O’Neil, Hank Greenberg, Eddie Mayo (#3), Jimmy Outlaw, Billy Hitchcock, Johnny Lipon, and Skeeter Webb. Spring training at Lakeland, March 2, 1946. (Detroit News Archives)

certain that they will play better and win more games. If the team was a contender in the last campaign, the cry of “Wait until next season” begins the expectation after the last out has been recorded. Players and sometimes other club personnel are drunk with optimism when spring training begins. All four starters in the Tiger rotation predicted they would win 20 games in 1922—none did. On rare occasions, a player forecasted a fine personal season and was able to follow through. Virgil Trucks spent a couple of years in the navy during World War II and came to spring training in 1946 brimming with confidence: “I’m shooting for a real year. I want a season something like 20 and 5 or 18 and 4 or something like that. What’s more, with any kind of decent breaks I don’t see any reason why I can’t have one.” Trucks had been a flame-throwing strikeout hurler, and like all fire-balling pitchers, he relied on his great fastball. Soon to be thirty years old and with developing maturity, he realized he must pitch smarter: “What I really need more than anything else is a good change of pace pitch, and that’s what I’m really working on this spring. It’s coming along okay. If I can perfect it, my fast one should look faster than ever by comparison.” Trucks won 14 and lost 9 with a fine ERA of 3.23 in 1946. When a season ended, club officials and a returning manager knew the holes that needed to be filled. The solutions were readily evident—make a trade, retain a promising rookie, and hope that some aging veteran would   c h a p t e r o n e

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rebound with one more productive season. Teams never have enough pitching and the gaps are often inadequately filled by rookie prospects. Although managers know that spring training games are not at all equivalent to regular season games, too often these field bosses in their hunger for a young pitching phenom overrate the likely success of a rookie hurler. The same wishful thinking distorts the appraisal of a player’s superior minor league season into blissful hope that the level of effectiveness will carry over into the big show. Thus, when managers were off the mark in their evaluation of a player’s readiness to compete coming out of spring training, the assessment of pitching was often exaggerated. When the Tigers replaced easygoing manager Steve O’Neil with allbusiness Red Rolfe, the team acquired a manager prone to critical analysis

Tiger players arrive to begin spring training at Henley Field on February 20, 1946, Lakeland, Florida. Left to right: Rip Radcliff, Birdie Tebbetts, Hal Manders, and Pat Mullin, with Virgil Trucks in front. (Detroit News Archives)

Spring Training When Dreams Are Entertained  

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Outfielders Dick Wakefield (left), Hoot Evers, and Pat Mullin, March 4, 1947. (Detroit News Archives)

Manager Steve O’Neil plays pepper with three young pitching prospects: Billy Pierce (left), Ted Gray, and Art Houtteman, February 25, 1947, at Henley Field. It appears that O’Neil needed to enroll in a weight reduction program so he could be a role model for his players. (Detroit News Archives)

  c h a p t e r o n e

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Tigers skipper Steve O’Neil gathers his troops for an orientation speech at spring training in Lakeland, March 1, 1948. Left to right in the back row: Al Benton (with hat off ), Billy Pierce, Vic Wertz, Johnny Groth behind him, unknown, Art Houtteman, George Vico, O’Neil, unknown, and Ted Gray with feet on chair. Seated in the front row, left to right: Dick Wakefield, unknown, and Eddie Mayo holding bat. The photo was taken inside the clubhouse. (Detroit News Archives)

of the team’s weaknesses. When his appointment was announced in late 1948, Rolfe said: “The strength of our pitching staff has been grossly over exaggerated. . . . We don’t have the kind of staff everybody thinks we have. We need a good reliever. We can use another starter. I hope we can make some trades this winter and I’m willing to give up some outfield strength to make a deal for either a pitcher or a second baseman.” During 1920–50 many young hurlers were brought to spring training so that management could take a good look at them, sharpen their skills, and determine who was ready to go north with the big club. Most were judged to need more experience and seasoning. Lack of control was by far the most common shortcoming. In 1930 the Tigers hired former big league catcher Roger Bresnahan primarily to work with the team’s young pitchers. Near the end of the 1930 spring training camp in Tampa, Bresnahan seemed quite impressed with his stable of young hurlers and especially with left-hander Phil Page: “I guarantee before two years are up, Page will be an exceptionally good pitcher. He has speed, a cross-fire, and a change of pace. He hasn’t the best curve ball in the world, but he’s working on it every day, and it is getting better. As soon as he develops the curve a little more, Page is going to win a lot of games. With the stuff he has, he should within a few years be good for 25 victories a season.” In three years with Detroit, Page appeared in twenty-five games. He finished his big league career with Brooklyn, appearing in just six games and compiled a total record of 3-3. Spring Training When Dreams Are Entertained  

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In 1925 a young pitcher named William Moore was invited to spring camp in Augusta. He signed a major league contract and pitched in relief in his one-game major league career. What a debut and benedictory performance all rolled into a fraction of an inning. He threw twelve straight balls while walking three batters and forcing in two runs. As manager Stanley “Bucky” Harris anticipated his second season at the helm in 1930, he recognized the Tigers’ need to improve the catching position. He invited Bill Steinecke and Tony Rensa, two young receivers, to spring camp, and after close observation became more than a little excited about their potential. “They are the best two young catchers I have seen, judging from what they have shown,” claimed Harris. “Both look good at bat, both have speed and both are aggressive. They are good receivers. What they will do in major league competition is something else again, but I will be greatly disappointed if they don’t show well.” Imagine a trivia contest with money on the line and the host asks you to name two hotshot Tiger rookie catchers in 1930. These less than household names must have greatly disappointed the Tiger skipper. Rensa earned his way onto the Detroit roster in 1930 but got into only 20 games with a minimal 37 at bats, which he converted into a .270 batting average. His six-year career was limited to a very part-time role in which he participated in 200 games. Steinecke never reached the big league; his marginal skills froze him in the minor league ranks. Fred Hutchinson, the amateur star pitcher from Seattle, and Owen Carroll, former ace of the Holy Cross College nine, were two of the most sought after and acclaimed rookie pitchers the Tigers ever signed. Hutchinson had one year of professional experience when he won 25 games for San Diego, and Carroll was perhaps the most celebrated collegiate pitcher of the era. Both became credible pitchers, but their success was far from immediate. Most media commentators observed that all of the hoopla created unrealistic and frustrating expectations. There were also plenty of position players who were lauded for greatness as the next superstars. During spring training in 1930, The Sporting News columnist Sam Greene wrote glowingly of Elias Funk: “Funk is a fixture in Detroit’s outfield.” Playing in 140 games, Funk was a fixture for only one season—1930. Most of the time managers were cautious in making ambitious predictions about how their teams would perform in the upcoming season. They commonly couched their forecast by recognizing the competitiveness of other clubs (making their ultimate success even more remarkable   c h a p t e r o n e

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The Tigers are being filmed as they leave the Henley Field Clubhouse and run out to practice, March 1, 1948. Outfielder Pat Mullin is leading the pack with catcher Harv Riebe on his left followed by Art Houtteman (left), Lou Kretlow, Vic Wertz, and Dick Wakefield. Johnny Lipon is running behind Houtteman, and Kretlow and Jimmy Outlaw are trailing Wertz and Wakefield. (Detroit News Archives)

Spring Training When Dreams Are Entertained  

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These four players are working on hand-eye coordination during spring training in Lakeland, March 5, 1948. Left to right: Hal Daugherty, John McHale, George Vico, and Vic Wertz. (Detroit News Archives)

  c h a p t e r o n e

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Detroit players demonstrate full cooperation with photographers as they jump over the cameramen on their way to begin another practice session during spring training at Henley Field, March 7, 1949. Manager Red Rolfe is standing watch on the far left while Pat Mullin clears the man with the movie camera. Players trailing behind the catcher with his head down and strung out along the white chalk line are Eddie Mayo (left), Art Houtteman, Lou Kretlow, Paul Campbell, Jimmy Outlaw, and Johnny Lipon. (Detroit News Archives) Spring Training When Dreams Are Entertained  

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Virgil Trucks (left) is engaged in another version of a hand-eye coordination exercise conducted by coach Dick Bartell, March 5, 1949. (Detroit News Archives)

  c h a p t e r o n e

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First-year manager Red Rolfe always emphasized mastery of the fundamentals of baseball. Here he coaches one of the basics as first baseman Paul Campbell has just flipped a ball to pitcher Marv Grissom, who is about to cover first base, March 3, 1949, at Henley Field, Lakeland, Florida. (Detroit News Archives)

Spring Training When Dreams Are Entertained  

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Particularly during this era, catchers were not known for their foot speed. Coach Dick Bartell is timing three receivers in a short wind sprint. Left to right: Harv Riebe, Aaron Robinson, and Bob Swift, March 4, 1949. (Detroit News Archives)

or their failure more understandable) and offered caveats expressed by “ifs.” Probably the biggest “if ” during this era involved Schoolboy Rowe: would his ailing arm come back so he could throw hard and return to the sparkling form shown in 1934? This mighty “if ” and spring training optimism lingered for years as both Rowe and his managers held out hope. For good reason, all players overstate their condition, and pitchers are the worst prevaricators. How many times did Rowe claim his arm never felt better? Although star pitcher Hal Newhouser experienced a sore arm less often than Rowe, his optimistic attitude was typical of most pitchers. “I feel wonderful,” announced Newhouser. “I truly believe I’m in the best physical condition of my career. And I trace it all to the golf I’ve been playing down here for the past three weeks. It has helped my legs, my mind and even my arm.” Despite all of the observation, scouting, and knowledge, the Detroit Baseball Club made three horrendous decisions in grossly undervaluing talent among young recruits during the glory years. They brought Carl Hubbell to spring training camp in 1926 through 1928 and released him when they ran out of options to send him down again. Sam Greene captured the “take” on Hubbell during spring training in 1928: “Hubbell is about due to stick. He looked good with the Tigers at Augusta in 1926. . . . One thing   c h a p t e r o n e

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against Hubbell is his slight physique, but pitchers of even frailer frame have been known to last in the majors [e.g., Billy Pierce].” In another issue of The Sporting News, Greene stated that Hubbell’s pitching form reminded old-timers of Rube Waddell (he was pretty good too!). After Hubbell was released he later signed with the New York Giants and had a brilliant career, winning 253 games and a place in the Baseball Hall of Fame. Rick Ferrell failed to impress management though he had just completed a fine season with Columbus in 1928. Commissioner Kenesaw Mountain Landis determined that the Tigers had manipulated his contract and declared him a free agent. The St. Louis Browns signed him for $25,000, a large amount, indicating his value on the open market. Again through Sam Greene, Detroit columnist for the Detroit News, we catch a very casual

Manager Robert “Red” Rolfe was fundamentally sound when he starred as a third baseman for the New York Yankees and considered it critical to be able to lay down a good bunt. Pitchers were often called upon to drop down a sacrifice bunt; here he has assembled his hurlers for a lesson on bunting. Watching left to right and leaning on bats are: Ted Gray, Marv Grissom, and Saul Rogovin. (Detroit News Archives)

Spring Training When Dreams Are Entertained  

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Coach Dick Bartell is hitting balls to the fielders during spring camp in Lakeland, March 3, 1949. (Detroit News Archives)

After showing them how, manager Red Rolfe (leaning on the batting cage) is supervising bunting practice with coach Dick Bartell, demonstrating the technique while pitcher Marv Grissom gets one down. Stubby Overmire (standing behind Grissom), Hal Newhouser (kneeling), and Saul Rogovin (leaning on a bat) watch the drill, Henley Field, 1949. (Detroit News Archives)

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Talented but lackadaisical Dick Wakefield (right) was coach Dick “Rowdy Richard” Bartell’s special project and he rode the young outfielder with a whip. This is an exercise Bartell called the “high low game,” intended to sharpen Wakefield’s concentration. The coach and his pupil are working out at Henley Field, March 5, 1949. (Detroit News Archives)

glimpse of Ferrell. “The Tigers have another catcher—Rick Ferrell—in San Antonio, but he will be released before the team comes out of the South. Ferrell . . . has not shown enough this Spring to convince [manager George] Moriarty that he is as good as [Pinky] Hargrave or [Ed] Phillips.” The other two “better prospects” had very brief and undistinguished careers on the big stage. In 1948 Detroit traded twenty-one-year-old southpaw Billy Pierce to the Chicago White Sox for catcher Aaron Robinson, not convinced of Pierce’s potential and mistakenly believing that the short right-field stands would be an inviting target for the left-handed hitter they had just acquired. Hubbell and Ferrell both enjoyed Hall of Fame careers while Pierce chalked up 211 career wins. Aside from the advantage of potentially having a highquality catcher for eighteen years, the thought of injecting two premier left-handed pitchers into the starting rotations at different times is indeed a tantalizing fantasy to entertain. Though some managers didn’t verbalize their quandary, not wanting to sound indecisive, those who did admitted the challenge involved in paring down the considerable list of players who were always invited to spring training. Mickey Cochrane, seen by most as a tough-minded leader, spoke candidly about the anxiety and perplexity he felt in cutting players, both young recruits and older veterans hoping to hang on for Spring Training When Dreams Are Entertained  

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Henley Field in Lakeland, Florida, has a long history of serving as the Tigers’ spring training site beginning in 1934. When the Tigers weren’t in residence, the field was used by many amateur teams. (Detroit News Archives)

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one more season. Inviting lots of players to spring camp gave a manager the opportunity to consider a larger contingent, but it also had a negative side because it restricted the chances for some players to show their stuff. In his first season as field boss, Bucky Harris delayed cutting the spring training roster as long as possible, allowing himself the maximum time to make evaluations. “It will be hard picking the regulars this year,” stated Harris. “There are too many good ones out here and I hate to make snap judgment on them. I don’t want to let a good man get away and a lot of study will be needed before deciding on this year’s futures for several of them.” During another season he seemed to simplify the explanation, stating: “The players pick themselves.” Farm director Jack Zeller also had a major voice in making decisions on which recruits should be farmed out. He made young players nervous when he showed up near the end of camp. This bad news official acquired the name “The Man with the Railroad Tickets.” The informality that sometimes went along with spring training also provided a glimpse of the unexpected. During exhibition games the host team always had a professional umpire behind the plate but frequently recruited an amateur to assist on the bases. We know that a local person umpired in Phoenix, and thirty-nine-year-old hurler Walter “Boom-Boom” Beck, trying to catch on with Detroit, patrolled the bases at Bosse Field in Evansville in 1944. An even greater surprise was the good umpiring done by chief groundskeeper Neal Conway. He performed so well that he considered a change of occupations. Informality can also be exhibited with casual behavior. Every year without exception, the club announced when pitchers and catchers and the rest of the squad were required to report for spring training. And every year a few players were tardy—holdouts who elected to boycott a portion of the exercise, others who were in the habit of being late for most everything else, too, and then an occasional player who went AWOL. In late March 1943, twenty-twoyear-old rookie first baseman William Lafayette McClaren skipped camp and headed home for Dallas. Different than some others, he mailed a note to manager Steve O’Neil before he departed Evansville. “Sorry to run out on you but I have to go home on urgent business,” wrote the young recruit. “I may be able to come in later, but if not I wish you and the team every success.” McClaren had played for O’Neil at Beaumont during the previous season. In most respects, the drill of spring training baseball is traditional and repetitious. Teams go south and west seeking a warmer climate in which the players work into shape, hone their skills, observe new players in action, Spring Training When Dreams Are Entertained  

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Head Tigers groundskeeper Neal Conway surveys the condition of the playing field. Henley Field was named for Clare Henley in 1942. (Detroit News Archives)

reemphasize fundamentals the manager deems important, and simulate regular season games. The degree of rigidity and seriousness varied with managerial style. Steve O’Neil, who piloted the Detroit ball club from 1943 to 1948, ran a looser operation than many of his peers. Known as the jolly Irishman, O’Neil knew how to relax. Like a few Tiger players, namely Bob “Fat” Fothergill, Boots Poffenberger, Virgil Trucks, and Bobo Newsom, O’Neil had a persistent weight problem. When he joined the big club as a coach in 1941, he weighed in at 222. It was soon discovered that none of the uniform pants could accommodate his girth, and a local tailor was summoned to make the biggest pair bigger. Later when he became manager and while the Tigers held spring training in Evansville in 1944, big Steve must have been a little surprised to find a note attached to a pair of his socks that had been sent out for laundering that provided a female’s name and phone number. Demonstrating excellent judgment, he did not respond to the invitation. During the 1920s, 1930s, and 1940s, the Detroit Tigers trained at ten different sites. They trained at Augusta, Georgia, for five years because Ty Cobb was manager and his home was in that city. They moved around frequently because club officials thought their players would get bored going to the same place year after year. The community and facilities at Lakeland, Florida, were factors that made that location a good choice for the Tigers, and the presence of other nearby major league teams was a scheduling advantage.   c h a p t e r o n e

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The Tigers trained at Tampa, Florida, just once, in 1930. Here a photographer has lined up all of the infield candidates. Left to right: Hank Greenberg, Billy Rogell, Marty McManus, unknown, Charlie Gehringer, Dale Alexander, Mark Koenig, and unknown. (Detroit News Archives)

Spring Training When Dreams Are Entertained  

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Bobby Veach is sitting on a reindeer in a lighter moment during spring training in Macon, Georgia, Detroit’s second spring training site during this era. Veach could hit, compiling a .311 batting average over his twelve seasons with Detroit. Though his career was beginning to wind down in the 1920s, he had two of his best seasons in 1921 and 1922 when he accumulated over 200 hits each year. (Detroit News Archives)

Detroit’s brain trust gathers for a photo in 1934 during spring camp. Left to right: Wish Egan, Cy Perkins, Mickey Cochrane, and Del Baker. (Detroit News Archives)

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Manager Mickey Cochrane watches Schoolboy Rowe loosen up at spring training camp in Lakeland in March 1934. (Detroit News Archives)

In the early years, the Tigers played primarily minor league teams and a few preseason tune-ups against only one major league team. Then during the war years, baseball commissioner Landis decreed that teams had to train north of the Potomac and Ohio rivers; Detroit chose Evansville, Indiana, down on the Ohio River. As field boss, the manager determined how spring training operated. The head groundskeeper and his crew formed the advance party and usually arrived a few weeks ahead of the next contingent, which included the manager, the traveling secretary, and other staff. Pitchers and catchers were in the next wave, as they were required to report early. They were often joined by a few volunteer position players who wanted to get a jump on training. A week or ten days later the rest of the invites showed up, but there were nearly always some holdouts who stayed away and occasionally one or two tardy players. Players were given specific dates by which they were expected to arrive. Like all people, some didn’t show up on time; the most extreme were those judged to be AWOL. Two pitchers during this period of Tigers history had well-known reputations for tardiness: rookie Elwood “Boots” or “The Baron” or “Puffy” Poffenberger and “Bobo” Newsom. Their behavior was legendary. Ironically the two most prescribed styles of managing the spring training experience were represented by Ty Cobb’s leniency beginning in 1921 Spring Training When Dreams Are Entertained  

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and Red Rolfe’s demands in 1949. Cobb set out to revolutionize thinking about how to conduct spring training. His first decision involved abolishing morning practice, a time-honored standard. According to Cobb, the body wasn’t ready for strenuous exercise at 9:00 a.m. as the muscles were not “fully brought out of retirement.” He permitted players to sleep in as long as they wanted with the daily practice session beginning around 1:00 p.m. and lasting three or four hours. He was concerned that no man overworked: “If any player shows signs of fatigue, that player will be through for the day: players will work only as hard as their physical condition will permit, never more. All of which is also wisdom for doctors agree that fatigue is poison to the system and extremely harmful and that too much exercise is far worse than no exercise whatever.” Known for his aggressive and combative nature, this managerial philosophy surely shocked the media and his players. We do know that Cobb placed limited value on spring training. “If any player can assure me that he can hit .350 if he misses early spring practice I will give him permission to stay away until the morning of the first game of the regular season,” said Cobb. “I played ball for 15 years and I know players thoroughly,” continued the Tiger skipper. “I know what I wanted and what they wanted and I know just what ball players will do and what they should do. I am simply keeping in mind all the things that benefited me and I am sure the same methods can benefit others.” Prior to becoming a manager, Cobb established his own rules and basically showed up for spring training with his team when he was ready. On the other end of the spectrum was Red Rolfe, who began his tenure in 1949. Rolfe had a brilliant career as a Yankee third baseman and intended his players to emulate his personal dedication to fundamentals. Rolfe played by the book, was highly disciplined, played hard, and was a manager’s dream. He was determined to instill his attitude into his new team. From the first day at Lakeland, Rolfe announced his training rules: daily practice at 10:00 a.m. sharp and curfew at midnight. “As far as the curfew, I’m insistent on that one too,” reported Rolfe. “But it will take care of itself. When we get through working, I have a hunch that every one of them will be only too happy to be in bed by midnight or long before.” The new manager believed the Tigers were basically a slow group of ballplayers. Rolfe knew he couldn’t change a plow horse into a racehorse, but he believed there were ways to increase speed even if in small increments. In detailing practice plans, Rolfe related: “We’ll run for a few days. But it won’t be simply jogging around the ballpark. I want the players to   c h a p t e r o n e

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Lined up for a photo op, these Tigers are taking a break before an exhibition game with the Cincinnati Reds at Portsmouth, Ohio, on April 14, 1938, en route back to Michigan. Left to right: Roy Cullenbine, Dixie Walker, Charlie Gehringer, Hank Greenberg, Rudy York, Pete Fox, Don Ross, Billy Rogell, Tommy Bridges, and George Gill. (Detroit News Archives)

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Pete Fox is waiting to hit while Carl Fischer (far left) and owner Frank Navin watch batting practice at Lakeland in 1934. (Detroit News Archives)

develop speed. I want them to be able to get away to a fast start. That’s why I plan to start a series of sprint races. They’ll run to first base and we’ll try to show them how they can get away fast and run the distance in faster times than they ever have run it before. I want the accent on speed. To get it, the accent will be on work. And that’s what every player will do.” The “easy informality” of previous spring training camps that Lyall Smith, Free Press sports director, had observed was radically different in 1949. In no uncertain terms, Rolfe laid down his expectation: “I want no one in here [the clubhouse] unless he comes in to change a shirt.” Perhaps more than any other fundamental skill, Rolfe stressed executing good bunts. He let everyone know the priority he placed on bunting, skillfully demonstrated how to drop down a bunt, and drilled his players on it over and over again. And when he was dissatisfied with the result, they practiced bunting some more. Being athletes, it was only natural that baseball players enjoyed playing golf. In general managers included a restriction against playing golf in their spring training rules. But there were exceptions. Ty Cobb stood with the anti-golf attitude; after issuing an edict against playing golf that apparently some players ignored, he confiscated all of the golf clubs he could find. He later relented and authorized pitchers to play the game. Manager Bucky   c h a p t e r o n e

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Stanley “Bucky” Harris wearing a headset is standing next to the Hearst News production truck as a cameraman films Detroit’s spring training at Tampa, Florida, in 1930. (Detroit News Archives)

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The on-deck hitters are lined up and ready to take their cuts in batting practice at League Field, Lakeland, Florida, 1934. Left to right: Elden Auker, Izzy Goldstein, Vic Sorrell, Collier (first name unknown), and Hank Greenberg. (Detroit News Archives)

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A line of Tigers are off and running; wind sprints were part of the standard drill during spring training. This photo was taken at Augusta, Georgia, in 1924. (Detroit News Archives)

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In truly modest surroundings, this is presumably a pitcher receiving a rubdown from the trainer while his assistant stands at the ready with the solution, Augusta, Georgia, 1925 at spring camp. (Detroit News Archives)

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A pepper game during spring training at Augusta in 1925. The players are unidentified. (Detroit News Archives)

Harris liked to be on the links and brought his clubs to Phoenix during his first spring training as field boss. Although he saw some benefit to playing the game, he retained some reservation about his decision to allow team members to play the game. “Golf helps a player in training,” claimed Harris. “I think it is a good thing until the season opens. During the playing season it is not so good except on off days. The trouble is that certain players become addicts. They will sneak off early in the morning and play four or five hours and when they come to the ball park they are all tired out and unable to give you their best. But, as part of a training program it is fine. It exercises muscles that are not exercised on the ball field and it breaks the monotony of training.” Harris took a revolutionary step to counter what he perceived as the monotony of spring training. While at the 1929 camp in Phoenix he introduced the use of the medicine ball and playing volleyball after batting and fielding practice ended. Like other managers he tried to prohibit pitchers from cutting loose with their fastballs and snapping off curveballs too early in the spring training regime. This was difficult to curb because hurlers full of spring confidence were eager to hear a catcher’s mitt pop when they fired their heater to a battery mate. Veteran ace Earl Whitehill exhibited this defiance of common sense by starting out throwing his Spring Training When Dreams Are Entertained  

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patented curveball the first day in camp. With no reservation he said: “Your arm is as good as it feels and mine feels as good as it ever felt in August.” In many years, the Tigers established the bad habit of starting slowly out of the gate. New manager and recent Tiger third baseman George Moriarty thought he understood a preventive solution to keeping his team fresh so that when the bell rang they would come out swinging. He worked hard to get his team in superior condition but did so slowly, especially with the pitchers. In addition, he had influenced the spring training schedule to allow his team to remain longer in the warm climate of the South, believing as others did that getting the players back to the cold weather too soon was a detriment to early performance. Tiger managers varied as to how rigidly they enforced spring training rules. Steve O’Neil probably assumed that playing poker involved gambling, which he strictly prohibited. Those caught would have a $500 fine imposed. “You know what it will cost and if you play you will be fining yourself,” promised O’Neil. It is easy to identify the intense, aggressive, and fiery managers who have led the ball club. Many have observed that Mickey Cochrane came to his managerial role from the Ty Cobb mold. But as we have seen, Cobb initially took an uncharacteristically casual approach to conditioning his players for the season ahead. Cochrane had clear expectations but saw the downside of treating his training sessions like two-a-day football practices. In his inaugural season as manager Cochrane instructed his players that they were expected to be in at midnight and up no later than 9:00 a.m., and they could only eat one steak per day. Practice would commence at 10:30 in the morning beginning with calisthenics and lasting for about three hours. He believed that would prepare his team physically for the long season ahead: “It has been my experience and observation that you can keep a group of fellows hustling through one session, but if you call them back for another one on the same day, they are going to do a lot of loafing. They’ll be running off and hiding behind the grandstand and scoreboard. I know, I use[d] to do it myself.” Some players become spring training projects. Harry Rice, the main player acquired in the big trade that sent Heine Manush to St. Louis, could run but manager Moriarty thought he could be even better. While at spring training at San Antonio in 1928, the Tiger skipper made Rice his personal project. Moriarty, himself a fine base stealer who led the American League in 1927, began tutoring Rice on the craft of running the bases. Beyond his   c h a p t e r o n e

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When the Tigers held spring training in San Antonio, Texas, in 1927 they traveled to Laredo to play an exhibition game. These are the Mexican bleachers at the ballpark. (Detroit News Archives)

Spring Training When Dreams Are Entertained  

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Above left: Just like factory whistles, a bell called the players to work at their spring training facility in Phoenix, Arizona, in 1929. Bucky Harris, the field boss, is poised to ring the bell. (Detroit News Archives) Above right: In this photo shoot, it appears that Harry Heilmann glanced at the camera and missed the throw during spring training in 1929. (Detroit News Archives)

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Charlie Gehringer leaps to mimic a high throw to third base while working out at the team’s spring training camp in Phoenix, 1929. Gehringer would have a giant season in 1929, leading the league with 215 hits and batting a robust .339. (Detroit News Archives)

Spring Training When Dreams Are Entertained  

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John Stone is hitting a very large rubber ball during spring training in Phoenix and wishing major league pitches looked that big. Stone, then just in his second big league season, would develop into a highly regarded young outfielder that could hit. (Detroit News Archives)

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The minor league ballpark at Phoenix where the Tigers held spring training in 1929. (Detroit News Archives)

favorite pupil, he emphasized the importance of stealing bases and his team heavily practiced that phase of the game. An even bigger challenge was the mission of lighting a fire under highly regarded prospect Dick Wakefield and getting him to concentrate on improving his ability to play the outfield. Early in his professional career, Wakefield was farmed out to Beaumont in the Texas League and O’Neil was sent to manage the Exporters and expressly to tutor Wakefield. After some startling early success in the majors and a stint in the military during World War II, Wakefield stayed on the roster as a Tiger outfielder and later went to spring training with Red Rolfe in 1949. The team remained disappointed that Wakefield had not reached his expected potential and he became a project for the new regime. Wakefield’s situation was complicated by the presence of several very promising young outfielders—Johnny Groth, Vic Wertz, Hoot Evers, and Pat Mullin. Typical of Wakefield, he went water skiing in the Lakeland area and fell and wrenched his back. When Rolfe learned of his mishap, there was no sympathy from this driving taskmaster. “He will have to be ready to go,” Rolfe stated. “If he isn’t ready, then somebody else will go for him.” In addition, Wakefield came to camp sporting 221 pounds, his heaviest playing weight yet. With clear purpose in mind, Rolfe’s first selection to his coaching staff was Dick Bartell, a loud and aggressive former ballplayer. He understood Spring Training When Dreams Are Entertained  

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his role as management’s enforcer. Unfortunately for Wakefield, Bartell became his personal coach. With both weight reduction and increased agility in mind, Bartell introduced his own version of what he called the high and low game. According to Lyall Smith’s description of the drill, “Bartell tosses it [the ball] to this side and that, over the player’s head, between his legs and elsewhere to the accompaniment of much weaving [and] bobbing. It sounds simple, but it actually is a hard muscle-bending chore. Bartell tied Wakefield up in knots and had the sweat cascading off him in torrents before he finally called it quits.” Wakefield was everything that Rolfe wasn’t, and it takes little imagination to suggest that the manager’s patience had grown very thin with this big outfielder. Toward the end of spring camp, he issued a rather harsh edict: “He’ll have to play a lot better than he has so far. He’ll have to hit at least .300 to play for me.” On a lighter side, it is amusing to read the accounts of newspaper sports commentators and recall how much freedom of language they enjoyed. Nicknames and characterizations had long been a practice in baseball, but the descriptors used by the press are funny. Here is a sampling: Charley Fuch—“the partly bald right-hander up from Buffalo”; shortstop Bill Akers—“the Beaumont Beauty”; pitcher “Shot Gun” Sam Gibson (presumably he was wild); William McKinley Hargrave—“Hargrave is a red-headed tobacco chewing youngster”; Eddie Phillips—“gray-haired catcher”; pitcher Charles Sullivan—“the Carolina fox hunter”; rookie catchers—“the young maskmen”; pitcher Haskell Billings—“be-spectacled pitcher”; pitcher Elon Hogsett—“the Indian southpaw” and “the Cherokee lefthander”; Tony Rensa—“a much improved backstop of the hustle and chattering type.” During the 1920s there were very few minor league teams owned by major league clubs. This situation caused big league teams to enter into numerous working agreements with minor league clubs. Every year the big club would bring up a batch of minor leaguers who had been farmed out the previous year to a variety of minor league franchises. At times major league rules required that a player clear waivers before he could be sent down to a minor league team. When Cobb became manager he hired Dan Howley as his assistant; Cobb was impressed with his ability to develop pitchers. Howley terminated the relationship when he had the opportunity to become the manager of the Toronto ball club in the International League. Cobb and Hawley continued their strong relationship and Toronto became the favored destination for Tiger farm hands. In   c h a p t e r o n e

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essence Toronto became a Detroit Tiger training academy where highly regarded prospects like Charlie Gehringer were groomed under the tutelage of Professor Howley. The benefits favored both parties; one time Howley asked Cobb for a couple of pitchers. To attract additional recruits, the Tigers occasionally held tryout camps during spring training. In one instance they selected two players who then joined the team for spring training. To accommodate wishful fathers, Detroit entertained ongoing requests to give a former ballplayer’s son a look-see. Bobby Veach sent his son Clifton to camp, and Russell Ford, former Tiger emery ball hurler, recommended his nephew Wyman, whom manager Moriarty accommodated. Neither made the grade. Among the ten different spring training sites, the conditions varied greatly and in extremes. Based on an account in The Sporting News, the last year Detroit held its camp in Macon, Georgia, must have been the all-time worst. The description seems a little farfetched, but even allowing for exaggeration the conditions must have been awful: “It included games on farm lands, ankle deep in mud; games in freshly ploughed fields where players turned ankles and strained ligaments; games on hillsides and in valleys; games in hamlets that could be reached by prairie schooners only; games and games such as major league clubs had not heard of for years and years. At times the club was snowed in; at times the players had to spend all their time in Pullmans because no hotel was available. They ate where and when they could, poor food, never intended for digestive apparatus. Such, in brief, was the training season of 1920, and may the likes of it never again pass the major league horizon.” San Antonio represented a big step up in 1921 with its marvelous climate and appealing historical sites. The players stayed together in a hotel and its management decided to locate their rooms around an open courtyard. New manager Cobb vetoed that plan, not liking the fact that as many as four men shared a room; he wanted to scatter rather than concentrate the players. That change was accommodated but the playing field presented larger issues. The ball field had just been constructed within the bounds of the large municipal Brackenridge Park, which included a series of recreational areas. The playing field lacked a solid base and the infield was spongy and extremely soft; feet sank ankle deep in mud. Tiger management had sent Navin Field custodian Emil Halsman to help prepare the field, and though he replaced much of the soil it failed to make much of an improvement. In addition, there were pecan trees in the outfield that the fielders had to negotiate when pursuing a ball. Spring Training When Dreams Are Entertained  

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Players are working out with a medicine ball at Tampa and Hank Greenberg, wearing his cap Ken Griffey style, is in the middle bent over at the waist. (Detroit News Archives)

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Players did lots of stretching in the early days of spring camp. Shown here at Tampa in 1930 are, left to right: Chief Hogsett, Bill Steinche, Frank Barnes, Merton Nelson, Tony Rensa, and Hank Greenberg. (Detroit News Archives)

Manager Bucky Harris hits fungoes to his players at spring training in 1929. (Detroit News Archives)

Spring Training When Dreams Are Entertained  

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In an accident waiting to happen, the Tigers are playing volleyball with their cleats on. At least one Detroit player was stepped on and injured. Hank Greenberg (not wearing a hat) is on the other side of the net in the front row left. (Detroit News Archives)

Bucky Harris assembles his 1930 coach staff for a photograph at Tampa. Left to right: Jean Dubuc, Roger Bresnahan, Harris, Benny Meyer, and Wish Egan. (Detroit News Archives)

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Speedy outfielder Jo-Jo White demonstrates a hook slide in the field’s sliding pit. White was recognized as being the most skilled at sliding on the club. Watching the demonstration are Gee Walker (left), Chet Morgan, Dixie Howell, Dixie Parker, manager Mickey Cochrane (pointing), and Heine Schuble. (Detroit News Archives)

A cement wall surrounds the playing field at League Field in Lakeland, Florida. (Detroit News Archives)

Spring Training When Dreams Are Entertained  

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A stretching exercise led by one of the players, March 1936. (Detroit News Archives)

For the next five years Cobb took his team to Augusta, and in 1922 he provided first-rate living quarters for his men. The players and other personnel resided in two attractive colonial mansions and had free rein to order whatever food they desired; they were also provided a wide variety of amusements. Pianos and Victrolas were available and a quartet was organized. In 1929 the Tigers took their club out West for spring training for the first time, selecting Phoenix, Arizona, as its preseason site. In the past a small entourage, mainly organizational staff and the manager, departed from Detroit and the players traveled independently from their homes to the training camp. This year, given the vast distance to Arizona, the advance party led by new manager Bucky Harris included a number of players who left Detroit by train about a week prior to the official opening of camp. Their route west took them to St. Louis, where more players joined the troop and then proceeded through Texas in three reserved Pullman cars, stopping at San Antonio to pick up three pitchers. Apparently Phoenix had been courting the Tiger organization for some time. The promise of great weather ensured uninterrupted practices and the anticipated larger game attendance would increase gate receipts. Had they arrived with Neal Conway, jaws would have dropped at the sight of   c h a p t e r o n e

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their playing field. The locals had leveled off a piece of desert and attempted to plant grass but not a blade had appeared. Conway, the legendary chief groundskeeper, thankfully had arrived a month ahead of time and miraculously transformed the field. According to Detroit News sports writer H. G. Salsinger: “He used a combination of red top and Australian rye and produced the only green infield in the Arizona State League.” In 1934 the Tigers began what would later become a long tradition of playing their home Grapefruit League games in Lakeland, Florida, at League Field. Lakeland residents adopted the Tigers into their community family and became die-hard fans. The ballpark was renamed Henley Field in 1942, though the team’s presence was interrupted by World War II. When they returned in 1946, the ball yard had been neglected. More significantly, a wind storm had destroyed a portion of the grandstand and blown the press box off its perch above the grandstand roof. The facilities doctor, Neal Conway, arrived in town on January 6 that year and his crew reconstructed the damaged and missing pieces and put the playing field in big league condition. Many earlier spring training ball fields were minor league parks with short fences all around, but League Field was a big yard, bigger than Briggs Stadium and all other major league parks. The left-field fence was a modest distance of 340 feet from home plate but then jutted out sharply, reaching 520 feet in dead center. Although the right-field fence was erected at a more friendly distance, it still called for a mighty poke to clear the 390-foot barrier. During that first spring training season in Lakeland, manager Cochrane had a sliding pit constructed down in the left-field corner. Cochrane expected every player to practice sliding every day. Typical of segregation practice in the South, a section at the end of the bleachers was set aside for Negro fans. Unfortunately the baseball press chose not to comment on this and other discriminatory practices that were commonplace in Lakeland at the time. With the commissioner’s restriction on training camp sites and travel beginning in 1943, Detroit selected Evansville, Indiana, on the north side of the Ohio River. The team used Bosse Field, a classical brick structure built in 1915 and the home of the Three-I League club. Manager Steve O’Neil and others found the park a fine facility; their positive impression was captured in baseball scribe Dale Stafford’s column in which he wrote: “In Bosse Field the Tigers have one of the finest parks to work in of any major league club. It is a spacious, well-drained ball field with excellent facilities for training a baseball team.” Spring Training When Dreams Are Entertained  

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The start of another day of spring training practice at League Field, March 8, 1937. Out in front leading the way is Mickey Cochrane (left), and spreading out at the front are Coach Del Baker (catcher’s mitt), unknown, Elden Auker, Joe Sullivan, Birdie Tebbetts, Ray Hayworth, and Tommy Bridges. This photograph provides a good exterior view of the clubhouse. (Detroit News Archives)

February 28, 1944 Dear Clair [Berry, Detroit’s traveling secretary]: I received a letter from [Jack Zeller, the Tigers’ general manager] telling me to get in contact with you about my transportation to Evansville. I can’t make [a] reservation for Pullman, so I will come on a day coach. I have planned to take the route through Memphis, Tenn. I would appreciate it if you would send me the money for my train fare. It will cost me $32.82. Sincerely yours, Zeb Eaton [a young right-handed pitcher who won 4 and lost 2 in 1945] (Author’s collection.)

February and March weather produced a wide range of temperatures in 1943; sometimes it was so cold that the ground was blanketed with snow. But for the most part practices were held on schedule. Tiger personnel stayed at the McCurdy Hotel located on the river, two miles from the ballpark. Riding a bus or walking were the two alternatives to get to the field as there were   c h a p t e r o n e

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Above: This is an amazing shot of players willing to participate in an unusual request of some photographer. Leaping over the stick are (left to right) Hank Greenberg, Mickey Cochrane, Birdie Tebbetts, and Dizzy Trout during spring training in 1937. (Detroit News Archives) Left: The Tigers are out for a morning stretch before starting the day’s practice session, from which the manager is not exempt. In the front row, starting on the right, are Tommy Bridges, manager Mickey Cochrane, Mark Christman, and Elden Auker. (Detroit News Archives)

Spring Training When Dreams Are Entertained  

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When teams broke spring camp they began the trek back north, playing exhibition games along the way against a mixture of major and minor league teams. Because of its destination, Detroit often played Cincinnati en route. Due to inclement weather in Dayton, the team was forced to work out in a gymnasium on April 12, 1940. Dizzy Trout is seen throwing in the foreground, Archie McKain (#28) is the left-hander throwing, and coach Bing Miller (#31) is on the far right. (Detroit News Archives)   c h a p t e r o n e

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Manager and All-Star catcher Mickey Cochrane demonstrates for promising young receiver George “Birdie” Tebbetts at spring camp in 1937. (Detroit News Archives)

Spring Training When Dreams Are Entertained  

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Above: Running is one way to keep warm; most of these Tigers are wearing a heavy coat because the baseball commissioner had decreed that all spring training camps had to be conducted north of the Mason-Dixon Line. During 1943 through 1945, Detroit trained at Bosse Field in Evansville, Indiana. This photograph of Dick Wakefield (left), Hal White, Hal Manders, Tommy Bridges, manager Steve O’Neil, and Al Unser was taken in 1943. It was cold. (William M. Anderson) Opposite page: Detroit signed this recruit catcher and brought him to spring training a couple of times yet remained unimpressed. “[Rick] Ferrell was with Columbus in the American Association in 1927, but he has not shown enough this Spring to convince [manager George] Moriarty that he is as good as [Pinky] Hargrove and [Ed] Phillips,” wrote Sam Greene, columnist for The Sporting News. Ferrell challenged the system, going directly to commissioner Kenesaw Mountain Landis and claiming that he was being held back for unexplained reasons. After the commissioner investigated, he decided that Detroit was manipulating young Ferrell’s contract and he was declared a free agent. He signed with St. Louis for a $25,000 bonus, which was a large sum at the time, and began an illustrious eighteen-year major league career, resulting in selection to the Hall of Fame. After retiring as an active player he became a Tiger coach and a long-tenured executive. (Detroit News Archives)   c h a p t e r o n e

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no cabs in Evansville, a reflection of how automobile manufacturing had been diverted to war vehicle production. Waiters in the McCurdy Hotel dining room must have enjoyed worrying their ballplayer guests by telling them that when the Ohio River floods, the overflow did not rise above the second story of the hotel. Before the first training session began in 1943, Detroit invited thirty players to a tryout camp at Bosse Field. In addition to O’Neil, his two coaches, and scout Wish Egan, Hal Newhouser and Dizzy Trout were also involved, presumably because there always would be pitchers among the aspirants.

January 28, 1944 Mr. L. E. Fisher 248 Grove Ave. Dayton, Ohio Dear Mr. Fisher: Note your son will find it possible to report to Manager Steve O’Neil at the McCurdy Hotel, Evansville, Ind. on March 10th. It will simplify matters to have him pay his transportation and secure a refund from Clair Berry, traveling secretary, on his arrival. Have him ask for the latter at [the] hotel for his room assignment; he will also be given an allowance of five dollars per day for meals. He will need baseball shoes, glove, woolen sweat shirts, jockstrap and cotton stockings to wear under his baseball socks, which we provide, together with belt, cap and uniform. Assuring you he will be given every consideration by Mgr. O’Neil and the coaches, I am Very truly yours, Jack Zeller General Manager Young Mr. Fisher didn’t make the grade, but his case illustrates how the Tigers, strapped for players, looked everywhere for prospects and those exempt from the draft. (Author’s collection)

Opposite page: Tiger managers and coaches had several opportunities to assess the talents of young lefthander Carl Hubbell but never decided he was ready to pitch at the major league level so kept sending him back to the minor leagues. Finally they ran out of options and released him after having him at spring training in 1928. Hubbell soon signed a contract with the New York Giants, where he went on to win 253 games and election to the Baseball Hall of Fame. (Walter P. Reuther Library, Wayne State University)

Spring Training When Dreams Are Entertained  

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Spring training baseball was always popular entertainment in Lakeland. The grandstand and bleachers at League Field would accommodate 1,000 spectators and on this day, March 22, 1937, a full house was on hand. (Detroit News Archives)

Besides pulled muscles and sore arms, managers were constantly beset with the bad news of yet another injury, some so serious that the services of a key player would be lost for a significant portion of the upcoming season. Many ballplayers were hunters and believed that the exercise of hunting helped get them in shape for the next season. One year, Tiger ownership learned that outfielder Barney McCosky had been hit in the face with bird shot while hunting. Miraculously he escaped permanent damage to his eyes. During the off-season Schoolboy Rowe had to feel jinxed. After experiencing two car accidents when other drivers crashed into him following the 1936 season, Rowe ran into the back of a truck, resulting in a broken nose and lacerations. “I guess I’m the luckiest man alive to escape that one,” proclaimed the Tiger hurler. During spring training in 1946 highly touted Detroit outfielder Hoot Evers broke his right thumb and left ankle on one play in an exhibition game. As he ran to second and began his slide to break up a double play, Evers raised his right hand and the throw from the infielder hit him in the thumb and his spikes caught the bag in an awkward manner, snapping a bone in his ankle. A key player was lost for eight weeks. Three years later another highly prized rookie, twenty-one-year-old Art Houtteman, drove his convertible into a five-ton fruit truck in Lakeland as he returned to the hotel from a dance. His life hung in the balance for   c h a p t e r o n e

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With spring training in full swing, manager Mickey Cochrane decided to give one of his talks, laying out his expectations. In the back row, left to right, are Vic Sorrell, unknown, Hank Greenberg, Dizzy Trout, and two more unknowns. Sitting on a bench in front of Greenberg is Johnny Gorsica (holding catcher’s mitt), and to his left are Tommy Bridges, Del Baker, and Cy Perkins. Wish Egan is sitting on the floor in front of Bridges, and Schoolboy Rowe is the big guy on the left clutching his knees. (Detroit News Archives)

Manager and catcher Mickey Cochrane is ready to receive a warm-up pitch from Tommy Bridges. (Detroit News Archives)

Spring Training When Dreams Are Entertained  

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An inside fold of this “Player Roster” for 1945 lists fifty of the Tigers’ major and minor league players who are in the armed services. (Author’s collection)

several days before his recovery began; he missed several weeks of the new season. Looking back on early injury experiences during spring training recalls how manager Ty Cobb was hobbled for several days. During batting practice one day the bat flew out of a pitcher’s hands and struck the manager, not the way a youngster wants to impress. Some years later teams used a structure covered with canvas to protect a batting practice pitcher from balls hit sharply back up the middle of the diamond. In a practice session at Evansville in 1944, Paul Richards hit a line drive that ricocheted off the canvas and struck pitcher Boom Boom Beck in the jaw. Much more bizarre, as well as an accident waiting to happen, was manager Bucky Harris’s innovation in 1929: he had Tiger players participate in volleyball games wearing spikes. In one of those games, catcher Pinky Hargrave stepped on the foot of pitcher George Smith, nearly severing a couple of toes.   c h a p t e r o n e

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Franchise Stars

two

The issue of who should be considered star players is sure to evoke debate and disagreement. Here the distinction is reserved for those who have been inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame. In both this chapter and the following one, “The Supporting Cast,” the order of introduction is based sequentially on the year the players debuted with the Tigers franchise. ty cobb

Tyrus Raymond Cobb is naturally the lead-off man for this chapter, having begun his long major league career as a Detroit Tiger in 1905. He is the brightest Bengal star of all time. When the new decade began in 1920, Cobb was beginning his sixteenth season; he was thirty-three years old and had played in 1,928 games. Because he was known for his blazing speed, some observers felt he had slowed down a bit by 1920. If he had that was surely the only noticeable change. Most important, Cobb had not mellowed with age and experience. He remained a fierce and fiery competitor whose personality changed dramatically when the umpire called out: “Play ball!” His competitive spirit drove him to excel and fueled his aggressive and confrontational behavior.

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His incredible human will may have been his greatest asset for it allowed him to overcome odds and painful injuries, feed on challenging situations, and envision greatness and winning with astounding confidence.

Ty Cobb was recognized for his intelligence; he continually tried to think of ways and opportunities to gain a completive advantage. He was tricky and conniving, and his opponents needed to be on guard for his penetrating ability to exploit the slightest mannerism or clue. A story from Oscar Ruhl’s Sporting News column in 1950 illustrates that Cobb was always paying attention.

cobb made sarge bagby button his lip

One of the most amusing incidents in Steve O’Neil’s career occurred 30 years ago when the present Red Sox pilot was catching for the Cleveland Indians, who were heading for their first American League pennant. “Jim Bagby was our ace—a 34 game winner that season,” recalled Steve. “And I guess he won a couple of World’s Series with the Brooklyn Robins. . . . Anyway, Ol’ Jim, whose nickname was Sarge, had more varieties of pitches than Heinz has pickles. And he generally used every one of them at some time or other during a game. On this day, we’re playing the Detroit Tigers, always a tough club, even as now, with the immortal Ty Cobb making them a little tougher. At a critical situation late in the game, The Georgia Peach (Cobb) is at the plate and Sarge is having his troubles getting the ball by him. Finally I run into a situation where Sarge is shaking me off on every pitch. I run out of signs. So I walk out to Bagby and say, ‘Sarge, what is it you want?’ Sarge mumbles something. So I say, ‘Give it to me again, Sarge.’ This time it sounds like ‘Ade-way.’ Being rather bright for my age, I say ‘Fade-away—Christy Mathewson’s famous pitch?’ And Sarge nods. But I’m curious as to why Sarge says it through clenched teeth. So I asked him if he had lockjaw or was practicing to be a ventriloquist. ‘No,’ snapped the Sarge, ‘but I ain’t takin’ any chance on that Cobb reading my lips.’” (Originally published September 13, 1950; permission granted by The Sporting News.)

Cobb’s last year in a Tigers uniform when he could concentrate solely on being a player, 1920, turned out to be an off-year for the great outfielder as   c h a p t e r t w o

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he compiled an uncharacteristic .334 batting average, his worst offensive performance in eleven years. Cobb’s confidence and iron will produced a very independent attitude and a continuing challenge for all who sought to manage his behavior—owner Frank Navin, manager Hughie Jennings, the umpires. Ty Cobb did not believe in spring training and became very recalcitrant about even participating. When he did, he habitually showed up late and got away with it because he was the big star and management elected to appease him rather than confront a volcanic personality. Once Cobb realized there would be no repercussions for this behavior, he took increasing liberties. Fortunately, the Georgia Peach always stayed in shape and his consistently outstanding performance seemed to demonstrate that he didn’t need any tune-up at spring training. Clearly

Ty Cobb (left) signs a new contract with Detroit as owner Frank Navin looks on. Cobb was a superb businessman who demanded and commanded a big salary, which he invested wisely. He became a wealthy man. (Detroit News Archives)

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Manager Ty Cobb poses with political candidate William Jennings Bryan. Although Cobb did not win another batting championship during his last six years with Detroit, he was runner-up twice. (Detroit News Archives)

the tolerance margin management afforded Cobb must have irritated his teammates and caused resentment for “the star” who was given prima donna treatment. It is alleged that the press heard some of the grumbling, but in general they chose not to expose the specifics or the offended players. Cobb’s approach to physical exercise and honing playing skills seemed to work well for him as he spent very little time on what is now called the “disabled list.” Luck of course is the other big variable, and Cobb recognized his good fortune. Cobb’s 143 hits in 1920, his second lowest total in twelve years, reflected a season inflicted with injuries that limited his playing time to 112 games and 428 plate appearances. He suffered his first really serious injury on June 7 when he and outfielder Ira Flagstead collided while chasing a fly ball, resulting in a torn tendon in his left knee. After a month’s rehabilitation, Cobb returned to the lineup but soon experienced another collision though of lesser consequence. The Sporting News columnist Sam Greene reminded readers of Cobb’s propensity to come on strong in August and September, meaning, don’t count the Georgia Peach out of the batting race. “Tyrus is a dangerous guy,” claimed Greene. “He must be considered as long as he has a leg to carry him to the plate.” This troubling season prompted rumors and speculation that Cobb would soon retire for everyone knew that this great player could not tolerate average performance given how high he set the bar for himself.   c h a p t e r t w o

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Rumors were also circulating that Frank Navin was contemplating a change in managers. The 1920 season had been a bad year for manager Hughie Jennings: the ball club finished seventh with a dismal record of 61-93, the second worst mark in the twenty-year history of the franchise. Navin considered various candidates, some of whose names became public. When Cobb’s name surfaced he responded negatively, stating: “It would worry me to death.” Obviously wanting to establish that 1920 was a fluke, Cobb said he intended to have another career year in 1921, even mentioning his goal of hitting .400. While Frank Navin searched for the right man to lead his team, Cobb was playing barnstorming games in California and being paid $1,000 for each one, a princely sum on top of his $20,000 salary from the Detroit Baseball Club. Navin decided that his best choice was his star player, and Ty Cobb changed his mind about not wanting to manage the team. His appointment was announced in December and the response seemed surprisingly positive all around. H. G. Salsinger, the sports editor for the Detroit News, in a column for The Sporting News, extolled Cobb’s many virtues that would likely make him a successful field leader. In his appraisal he noted Cobb’s intellect, ambition, knowledge of the players, ability to give praise, and magnetic personality. In his recognition of Cobb’s understanding of human nature, Salsinger wrote: “He knows when to pet them and when to scold them.” According to Salsinger, most of the Tigers’ players favored Cobb’s appointment, believing that he could make the team a winner. Salsinger chose not to write about what might be Cobb’s shortcomings as a manager, but his closing paragraph spoke loudly to an Achilles’ heel that the Georgian would not be able to suppress: “He [Cobb] indicated that when he declared he would take the team only on [the] condition that certain players he regarded as dissatisfied shirkers shall be sent elsewhere.” While Cobb remained on the West Coast he did some player scouting, and Navin authorized him to use his judgment if he saw a prospect he wanted to sign. That happened; the new skipper executed a trade and the Tigers acquired pitcher Bert Cole. According to Cobb, “[Cole] is a left-hander with a right-hander’s brain.” In an interview with Salsinger, Ty Cobb revealed how he intended to manage the team. “During my 15 years in the American League I have studied managers as well as players and am convinced that the best managers are those who do not rule with an iron hand,” said Cobb. “The ball player of today is of a different type than the player of what they called the good old days. There was a time when an iron hand was needed to govern ball players but that time has passed. Encouragement and advice are the best policies in this day and generation.” Franchise Stars  

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Ty Cobb flies into Boston catcher Roxie Walters to score a run in the fourth inning of the first game at Navin Field, August 3, 1922. Cobb came home from first base on Bobby Veach’s single, and the throw to the plate beat Cobb, but in the collision Walters dropped the ball. The Tigers won both games, 7–0 and 7–4. (Detroit News Archives)

In one of his first actions, Ty Cobb determined to change a weakness attached to the Hughie Jennings regime—a manager who was unable to handle and develop his pitching staff. Since the early days in team history when Detroit won three successive American League pennants and boasted a strong starting rotation, the franchise had suffered through a long drought in its overall pitching performance. Detroit simply relied on outscoring their opponents, which did not prove to be a winning strategy. Cobb rehired former pitching coach Dan Howley, who was considered an excellent handler of pitchers and in whom the new pilot had complete confidence. When Howley left the team to manage Toronto in the International League, his special relationship with Cobb continued. The Tiger   c h a p t e r t w o

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manager sent his better prospects, including Charlie Gehringer, to Toronto and Howley gave Cobb first dibs on other excellent recruits. When the Tigers went to San Antonio for spring training in 1921 under Cobb’s tutelage, the new manager installed his casual approach. He soon learned, however, that what worked for Cobb didn’t necessary work for other players without his level of personal discipline. For most players, stating an expectation of hitting .400 in an upcoming season would have been laughable and crazy, but not for Tyrus Raymond Cobb. Cobb had plenty of reason to be motivated, and his offensive performance soared back up to .389 in 1921. He continued his batting prowess with a .401 average the following season. His example and leadership generated the highest team batting average in baseball history at .316. Six of the eight regulars hit over .300 while shortstop Donie Bush hit .281 and second baseman Ralph Young finished with a .299 batting average. Harry Heilmann, the league’s batting champ, hit .394. After his 1922 team reeled off an 11-3 streak early in the season, Cobb believed he had finally gotten his club to buy into his strategy for winning. “It took a long time to sell the players an idea but I have finally sold it to them,” claimed Cobb. “They all see things just as I do and they are going ahead and fighting their way to success. We have enough talent and now have the proper fighting spirit. We are out to win and although I do not predict anything, I do promise that the Tigers always will be found fighting from now on. That is the lesson I have been trying to teach and that is the lesson the boys have learned and it explains our recent success.” A sampling of a few notable games during Cobb’s six-year tenure as Detroit’s manager provides some flavor of his fortunes as field boss and attendant expectations for team success. In a late September 1921 game at Washington, Cobb became angry when the home plate umpire called his pitcher, Red Oldham, out on strikes with the bases loaded. In the next inning Cobb was called out trying to steal second, the fifteenth time he had been caught stealing, and again his temper flared. As he exited the field following the game, he lit into umpire Billy Evans and after the verbal confrontation escalated, Cobb challenged Evans to a fight, which the umpire accepted. During the fisticuffs, Cobb cut Evans’s lip and the two wrestled in the cinder turf until security broke up the fight. Apparently they shook hands and called it quits. Consequently Cobb was suspended for the final two games of the season. Before an April 26, 1924, game in which the Tigers swamped the visiting Chicago White Sox 16–7, a thousand college men met at the Hotel Statler to Franchise Stars  

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commence the celebration of the tenth annual Intercollegiate Association Frolic. The principal speakers were baseball commissioner Kenesaw Mountain Landis and Ty Cobb. Following the luncheon the collegiate delegation paraded to Navin Field, led by several bands. In the pregame ceremony both Landis and Cobb wore academic garb and the commissioner presented the Tiger manager with an honorary L.L.D. degree. Landis explained to the crowd that the degree stood for “League’s Leading Demon.” After playing on the road for the better part of the previous month and a half, the team came home for an extended twenty-one-game home stand with a solid 24-17 record. Following a losing record after the first two series, the Yankees came to town and the Tigers made inglorious history in game 3. With New Yorkers coming to bat in the ninth frame and leading 10–6, reliever Bert Cole hit Bob Meusel in the back and he rushed the mound. The umpires and some of the Yankee players restrained the big outfielder before he could take on the Tigers’ pitcher. Manager Cobb came running in from center field and Babe Ruth went after Cobb, barking that Tigers pitchers were headhunters. Both dugouts emptied with police and spectators joining the fracas. Jacked-up spectators threw punches at policemen and each other in what writer Sam Greene called a “full-fledged riot” in his story for The Sporting News. Realizing he would never be able to clear the field and gain control of the situation, home plate umpire Billy Evans ruled that Detroit had forfeited the game, the first such pronouncement in modern baseball history. League president Ban Johnson indefinitely suspended Cole and Meusel and called the melee “one of the most disgraceful in the entire history of baseball.” This unfortunate affair upset a lot of people and caused considerable public comment. Taylor Spink, the editor of The Sporting News, wrote a long editorial in the paper, liberally spreading the blame to multiple contributors and stating: “we can truthfully say that it was a most disgraceful affair and that baseball is deeply chagrined because of it.” Overall he believed that there was too much “braggadocio” and verbal intimidation about dusting the hitter off and too great a tendency to retaliate. Bert Cole, Bob Meusel, and Johnny Bassler were mentioned by name: “It is time that catchers like Bassler curb their conversation to the opposing players.” All of the attitudes Spink criticized were encouraged by managers like Hughie Jennings, John McGraw, and Ty Cobb, who wanted teams with aggressive and fighting spirit. A month after this blowup Sam Greene’s sub-headline in The Sporting News read: “Cobb Has Team Imbued with Winning Spirit and Fight.”   c h a p t e r t w o

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Ty Cobb enjoyed his greatest day offensively on May 5, 1925, at Sportsman’s Park when he collected six hits in six times at bat including three home runs, a double, and two singles, resulting in five runs batted in and four runs scored. His exceptional day set a then modern record with sixteen total bases, and his three home runs in a game matched an existing record. The next day, Cobb hit two more over the fence to eclipse a record held by three others, including Babe Ruth. His five home runs in two successive games established a new modern-day baseball record. At this stage of his career, Cobb produced new all-time records every season; on May 6, 1925, he exceeded Honus Wagner’s record for most extra-base hits. On August 30, 1925, the Detroit Baseball Company vetted its greatest star, honoring him with a Ty Cobb Day to celebrate the twentieth anniversary

This is a special moment for these kids, having their picture taken with a star and when Ty Cobb’s countenance truly looked like the Georgia Peach. (Detroit News Archives)

Franchise Stars  

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Two young boys seek Ty Cobb’s autograph on their Detroit Tiger programs. Cobb was known as a very willing signer. (Detroit News Archives)

of his career with the Bengals. On a beautiful Saturday afternoon 21,000 of the Tigers’ faithful were present to honor “The Man.” Before the game commenced Cobb stood by one of the gates and shook hands with many of the entering fans. Right on cue, the team carried forward the spirit of the occasion, posting a 9–5 victory over the Philadelphia Athletics with Cobb chipping in with two hits and scoring two of the team’s runs. Then there was a unique game played on August 16, 1926, that went down in the record books as a no contest: after ten innings neither the Chicago White Sox nor the Detroit Tigers could score a run. Rookie Sam Gibson squared off against Sox ace Ted Lyons and they matched slants in almost identical fashion, each hurling a three-hit shutout. The game was called after ten innings to give both teams time to catch an eastbound train. Cobb’s teams claimed two third-place finishes and a runner-up standing in his six years at the helm. Their best run came in 1924 when the team finished third just six games behind the champion Washington Senators with an 86-68 record. Being the center fielder and a manager who gave lots of directions and often protested the calls of umpires, Ty Cobb earned a reputation for delaying games and stalling. Clark Griffith, owner of the Washington Senators, sent a letter of protest to league president Ban Johnson accusing Cobb of dilatory practices and the issue hit the Washington newspapers.   c h a p t e r t w o

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Ty Cobb earned a reputation as a combative ballplayer who didn’t take any prisoners. A fiercely competitive player as well, Cobb walked on the field and declared war. That justified reputation discolored his humanity when he was off the diamond. This letter illustrates the other Cobb, a star of immense proportion who took the time to write a letter encouraging a fan to send his photograph again with a promise to sign it. (Author’s collection)

Franchise Stars  

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When Ty Cobb retired following the 1928 season and after twentyfour years of major league baseball experience, he left holding more records than anyone in baseball history then and since. A number of his personal records have since been surpassed, but his lifetime batting average of .366 is locked down forever. Cobb had lots of natural talent, but through determination and hard work he made himself a superstar performer. “Cobb couldn’t hit a lefthanded pitcher with a shovel when he broke into the American League in 1905. He had left-handers pitch to him in practice and he practiced so long that eventually he could hit a left-hander better than a righthander.” H. G. Salsinger, Detroit News. (Detroit News Archives)

Not surprisingly, this charge set off Cobb and when the Tigers were back in D.C., he wrote an open letter to Griffith. Cobb stated that Griffith had been the slowest player in the game when he played and the originator of the delayed game. “Now don’t you think you are a prevaricator and inconsistent?” asked Cobb.

“The Umpire” H. G. Salsinger In this piece written by H. G. Salsinger, a Detroit News baseball scribe, published on February 22, 1929, he shares a story told by former Tiger third baseman George Moriarty while he was umpiring a game between Detroit and New York. George Moriarty, who succeeded Ty Cobb as manager of the Detroit Tigers, was a former teammate of Cobb’s and when Cobb was elevated to manager Moriarty was an umpire in the American League. Cobb got the reputation among umpires of causing unnecessary trouble, long delays in games and frequent disputes. The umpires carried no love for Cobb because of his tactics on the field and Moriarty carried none for personal reasons. The two had

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been enemies before Moriarty departed from Detroit as a player. In one game in New York where Cobb was directing the Tigers against the Yankees and where Moriarty was umpiring, Cobb called for time out from center field and came tearing in. Things were breaking badly for Detroit that day and Cobb had frequently interrupted play to make protests. Moriarty walked briskly out to meet Cobb who was sprinting in from center, coming directly at Moriarty. Cobb reached the infield at about the same time that Moriarty reached the pitcher’s box. Moriarty, pointed at Cobb with his forefinger, yelled: “One peep outa you and—” but Cobb did not even glance at Moriarty. He did not hesitate. He kept right on sprinting. He dashed past Moriarty, looking straight ahead. He ran up to Johnny Bassler, who was catching, and said: “Try that change of pace.” Having delivered his message he turned on his heel and sprinted back to center-field, leaving Moriarty bewildered and perplexed, standing near the pitcher’s box. “I’ll have to give him credit for that one,” said Moriarty recently as he related the incident. (Permission granted by the Detroit News.)

In his seminal biography of Ty Cobb, Charles Alexander mentions two occasions during the 1921 season when the Tigers manager disciplined players in a very embarrassing manner. In sliding home veteran Bobby Veach missed the plate and Cobb berated him on the spot. In another game, pitcher Dutch Leonard failed to lay down a bunt and after two failed attempts Cobb sent up a pinch hitter. One can imagine the hostility Veach and Leonard felt as they walked back to the dugout and took a seat as far away from the manager as possible. The published accounts of games during Cobb’s managerial tenure are replete with similar incidents of a demanding and aggressive field boss who could not tolerate inadequacies of any kind. In the closing days of the 1922 season, Detroit finished a series with the Senators and the opposing pitcher was young Ray Francis. After six innings Francis had held the Tigers in check and Cobb used a common Cobbian tactic—unnerve the hurler. Ratcheting up his verbal tirade, Cobb accused him of throwing a bean ball and threatened reprisal if he did it again. Unintimidated, Francis whistled a fastball near Cobb’s head, knocking the Georgia Peach to the ground. As Sporting News columnist K. W. Hall reported it, Cobb rose to his feet and “dashed toward the pitcher’s box, but did not find Francis shrinking back. The Washington hurler came hustling right up toward the plate to meet the Franchise Stars  

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In commemoration of his twenty years with the Tigers, the team held a special day for Ty Cobb on August 30, 1925. As part of the pregame festivities, Cobb shook the hand of a considerable number of admiring fans. (Detroit News Archives)

Georgian and the umpires who sensed a clash, intervened in time to prevent trouble.” Cobb admired the guts and fighting spirit of the youngster: “Got to hand it to the kid; he didn’t weaken at any stage. That’s the spirit that makes winning pitchers. I could use that fellow on my club.” Ray Francis pitched for the Tigers in 1923. Cobb’s explosive nature frequently unleashed a burning desire in him to become physical during a confrontation. A sour relationship with Howard Ehmke is highly illustrative. Ehmke was a good pitcher for Detroit during a prolonged period of team pitching weakness but regardless of twice being the team’s best starting hurler, he could never satisfy his manager. Cobb didn’t like him, and although he won 17 games in 1922, he was traded to Boston where he racked up a career-high 20 victories in his first season with the Red Sox. Bad blood ensured a confrontation. When Boston came to town for the first time in 1923, Ehmke was on the hill for the second game on May 18. Ehmke and his mates prevailed in an extra-inning affair, and during the contest he hit Cobb with a fastball. After the game, Cobb waited for Ehmke near the clubhouse and the two got into a heated verbal exchange. “There are various stories about the scrap, which would put most ring encounters to shame,” wrote K. W. Hall for The Sporting News. “Some say Cobb scored a couple of knockdowns and others that Ehmke was able   c h a p t e r t w o

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to outpoint the Georgian until wrestling entered into the fracas and then it was the other way until the peacemakers won the decision.” Players apparently became more open in expressing displeasure with how Cobb treated them. Assuming it was accurately reported, Cobb’s tendency to bawl out players in the presence of the team embarrassed and aggravated the victims. It was alleged that team morale suffered. It seems reasonable to assume that after awhile some players will begin to emulate their manager’s behavior, including arguing with umpires, which was a regular occurrence with Cobb. Hall reported in The Sporting News that Tiger catcher Larry Woodhall received a suspension for calling the umpire names during an Independence Day game in Cleveland. “Larry denies that he called [Clarence “Pants”] Rowland any thing that he is not and thus he feels that he is being punished for telling the truth,” wrote Hall. During Cobb’s last season at the helm, Bob Fothergill was thrown out of a game in Washington, the first ejection he had ever received in a major league game. This infraction led to a ten-day suspension. When Cobb was unhappy with a player he levied harsh penalties. Typically managers issued fines for rule infractions, but Cobb penalized players for unsatisfactory performances, too. Calling the pitching of veteran hurler George “Hooks” Dauss indifferent, Cobb dished out a $25 fine. At the same time, the manager became dissatisfied with the pitching of Lil Stoner so he sent him home to await his shipment to another organization. After calming down, Cobb had Stoner sent to a farm club and he returned to the rotation the following season. Early in the 1925 season Cobb decided that two of his starters, Rip Collins and Ray Francis, had broken training rules. Cobb suspended Francis and imposed a $400 fine, and Collins got hit with a $100 ticket. Francis’s stiff sentence came as a result of his not being able to hold a five-run lead against the Browns. Along with being suspended and fined, he was sent back to Detroit before the series was over. Although it appears that no one has yet catalogued all of the games in which Cobb was ejected or suspended, his altercations with umpires and players were common occurrences. His frequent protests held up games and surely aggravated umpires, making him a prime target for the thumb. For example, in typical fashion, Cobb argued over a called strike in a July 1925 game and was tossed. In the aftermath, league president Ban Johnson suspended Cobb indefinitely. He missed five games including a long series with the New York Yankees before being reinstated. Cobb seemed ready to quit and Navin seemed equally ready for a change. Late in the calendar year Cobb provided the owner with his letter of resFranchise Stars  

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ignation; he seemed resolved to go out while still playing at a respectable level. His exit and high-profile presence caused observers to register their opinions regarding Cobb’s managerial career. The greatest player in baseball, fueled with incredible determination, believed he had the ability to produce a pennant winner. After six years at the helm he was disappointed with the result. The Detroit News reporter Sam Greene concluded that Cobb had failed as manager in a column he had written for The Sporting News. After lauding his exceptional skills and performance as baseball’s greatest player, he provided a detailed assessment of Cobb’s shortcomings as a manager. “Cobb’s great zeal made him the greatest ball player,” claimed Greene. “The same quality handicapped him as a manager. As a leader of the Tigers he was unsuccessful because he tried too hard. He tried to direct every play, either from the outfield or the sidelines. He desired to take the game entirely in his own hands and run it strictly according to his own ideas. Since many of these ideas were built for Cobb and since there was only one Cobb, they obviously wouldn’t work. Instead of winning the cooperation of the Tigers, Cobb earned their resentment by trying to do their thinking for them. Cobb also criticized severely. . . . It was not his fault that Nature did not endow him with the managerial temperament and personality.” In its lead editorial, The Sporting News recognized that Cobb’s departure represented the end of an epochal period in baseball history. Its declaration summed up Cobb’s impact in a single sentence: “The majors have lost the greatest human asset they ever possessed.” The accusations of former players Charles “Swede” Risberg and Dutch Leonard changed the course of Cobb’s career and threatened to tarnish his legacy. Both claimed that Cobb and, in Leonard’s case, Tris Speaker had been involved in impropriety. Risberg claimed that Tiger pitchers had been paid off as a reward for influencing the final standings in the American League. Leonard charged that the two managers had fixed a game with Cleveland on July 24, 1919. Ultimately commissioner Kenesaw Landis exonerated both players, stating: “These players have not been, nor are they now, found guilty of fixing a game. By no decent system of justice could such [a] finding be made.” That event surely caused Cobb to rethink his plans; he soon secured a contract to play for the Philadelphia Athletics. When the A’s came to the Motor City to play their first series at Navin Field, the city and Tiger fans were eager to welcome him home. May 10, 1927, was proclaimed Ty Cobb Day, which included a luncheon honoring their hero and during the pregame festivities the Georgian was presented with a new automobile. “I   c h a p t e r t w o

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Ty Cobb voluntarily left the Detroit Baseball Club after the 1926 season, thinking he was going to retire. But an injury had shortened his 1926 season and a threatened scandal motivated him to sign a contract with Connie Mack’s Athletics. When Philadelphia played its first series at Navin Field, his former team sponsored another Ty Cobb Day and presented him with a new automobile, May 10, 1927. (Detroit News Archives)

am glad to be back here, even if I do appear with the visiting team,” said Cobb. “I will always have a soft spot in my heart for Detroit fandom and my many fine friends here who have done so much for me.” The occasion fired Cobb’s competitive spirit as he enjoyed a fine reunion at Navin Field, getting a hit in every contest and batting .377 over the course of the fourgame series. Two years later he would retire for keeps, leaving the game the holder of ninety records and with the generally recognized status of the greatest player of all time. hughie jennings

Hugh Jennings had a sparkling career in the 19th Century Senior Circuit playing at a high level while the old Baltimore Orioles won three consecutive National League pennants. He finished his long playing career with a .312 lifetime batting average and earned induction into the Baseball Hall of Fame in 1945. His hallmark season came in 1896 when he batted .398 with 208 hits and stole 70 bases. Known for his leadership abilities, the Detroit Baseball Club first hired him to manage their team in 1907 and he led the Tigers to three straight AL championships. Instant success would be almost a curse for Jennings as he never reached those heights again over the next Franchise Stars  

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eleven seasons yet finished in the first division seven times. This history of the Tigers focuses on just his final managerial season, which was one of the worst in franchise history. The team went back to Macon, Georgia, for its annual spring training, inheriting a decade-long tradition of weak pitching yet propped up by a potent offense driven by the outfielders. Short of a major trade to alter the circumstance, the team invited thirty-four players to spring camp, including fourteen pitching candidates, nine of whom were considered recruits and some of whom were sandlot amateurs. The abbreviated list does not include any household names or even any that a trivia expert would recall. Those who would see major league action in 1920 included Plateau Cox (3 games), John Glasier (8 games), and Frank Okrie (21 games), with a combined record of 1-2. In a story about spring training, a Sporting News columnist provided a report on rookie Cox that made him sound like he was bound for stardom: “He has the smoke of Walter Johnson, wonderful breaking curves and the stamina of an army mule.” Recognizing and assessing baseball talent remained for most a mysterious game of chance. The Tigers’ pitching shortage must have reminded management of former manager Bill Donovan’s decision in selecting current hurler Red Oldham, who would toil for Detroit during five seasons and compile a 34-44 record. Donovan had been authorized to choose a pitcher from the staff of the Providence Club and selected Oldham over Carl Mays and Babe Ruth. Jennings was discredited for his ability to develop pitchers but received recognition for his record of building offensive firepower. Because there is a huge mental aspect to pitching, Jennings’s irascible nature was considered detrimental. “If Hugh had the same knack of developing pitchers that he has in developing fielders and hitters he would be unbeatable in baseball,” stated H. G. Salsinger. “The red-headed leader was a great hitter himself when he played shortstop and he was one of the trickiest batters that ever faced a pitcher,” continued Salsinger. “He was also a sensational fielder and so it is quite natural that he should develop flashy fielders and great hitters.” To fill the pitching void the Tigers hired Jack Coombs as pitching coach, a former hurler who had won 159 games and racked up a 31-9 record in 1910 pitching for the world champion Philadelphia Athletics. Jennings delegated complete authority for the pitching staff to Coombs; he would select the staff and determine the respective roles of each pitcher. If the newly employed pitching coach read The Sporting News, the headline for February 19, 1920, must have made him blanch at the expectation: “Detroit Sees Jack   c h a p t e r t w o

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Coombs as a Moses.” The Jennings-Coombs team portended to be a good combination of personalities with the skipper being a forceful leader while the coach offered a calm philosophical demeanor. Coombs apparently got off to a good start with the pitching staff, but it is unclear whether Jennings truly stayed in the shadows. The season began miserably with the Bengals dropping the first thirteen games before they finally recorded a win on May 3 at home against Cleveland. They played better for a time given that they couldn’t have played worse, but then a month later hit another dreadful skid, losing seven successive games. On June 11 their record stood at 14-33 with a losing percentage of .299. With the rest of the league assuming that the Tigers’ season was over,

Following five excellent years with the National League Baltimore Orioles, in which his team won three consecutive pennants, and an interlude with other lesser clubs, Hughie Jennings became the manager of the Detroit Tigers in 1907 and proceeded to lead the Bengals to three straight American League pennants, a feat no other Tiger manager has ever achieved. (Detroit News Archives)

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the vultures were circling, offering to purchase the only performing players: Bobby Veach, Donie Bush, and Harry Heilmann. Amid this downward spiraling environment rumors were thick that Frank Navin would make a change in field leadership. About this time left-hander Red Oldham quit the team in Cleveland and returned to Detroit, upset because he claimed that Jennings had called him a name that no gentleman would stand for. He also insisted that his contract specified that his supervisor was Jack Coombs, not Jennings. When he arrived in Detroit he arranged a meeting with Navin. The Tiger owner denied Oldham’s contract stipulation, but they patched up relationships and the disgruntled hurler returned to duty. The Tigers were a mess and in need of new blood so Navin sent the pitching coach on a scouting mission to visit various minor league cities looking for prospects that could potentially fill the holes in Detroit’s roster. When sports writer H. G. Salsinger offered his assessment of the Tigers’ sad situation, he couldn’t find much to praise, noting weaknesses in all areas of their game. Salsinger covered every dimension of performance including brain power, of which he wrote: “as far as intellect is concerned, the team absolutely cannot class.” Jack Coombs’s scouting trip resulted in the signing of several new recruits; the shortstop he found must have especially pleased the big boss. Salsinger broke the story: “Frank J. Navin, the club’s president, last week bought a new shortstop, a snifty fielder with a mighty throwing arm. He is now playing in the bushes of Northern Michigan, but three scouts who looked him over unanimously agreed he is the most promising infielder they have gazed upon this year. Mr. Navin is keeping the name of his new find a secret for the present.” The dark clouds over this team had not dissipated yet. When Detroit played the Chicago White Sox at Navin Field on June 30 they trailed the visitors 12–0 at the end of four innings. A dismayed pitching coach borrowed a glove and took the hill. Jack Coombs hadn’t pitched for two years but, believing the situation called for drastic action, he went in to stop the bleeding. The crafty coach had nothing left in his right arm except the ability to spot the ball and turned in an amazing performance, limiting the White Sox to five hits and two runs over the last five innings. A greatly impressed Salsinger concluded his Sporting News column writing: “This illustration by Coombs should have awakened the Tiger staff. It was a glorious lesson, but, like other lessons, it probably will be booted, for at booting balls and ideas and plays our sleepy Tigers top the field.”   c h a p t e r t w o

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Tiger brass decided to reveal the name of the shortstop phenom Coombs found in the north woods of Michigan. He was twenty-two-year-old Dave Claire, who was playing for the Ludington Mariners in his first year of professional baseball. The announcement stated an expectation that young Claire would take over the shortstop position from Donie Bush. The scouts were exuberant about his talent, believing he ranked with the best short fielders in the American League. Did Frank Navin ever become jaded with these glowing appraisals of young recruits like Cox and Claire and many others? Detroit called up Dave Claire in late September and put him in the lineup as the starting shortstop. His very brief trial lasted three games; in seven at bats he made one hit, a single. The Tigers did not invite him to spring training in 1921. Near the end of the season, the always challenging attitude of starting pitcher Dutch Leonard surfaced again. He quit the ball club and went home to California. He and others would be a handful for any manager and illustrated the fragmented chemistry of the team. His indifferent effort while pitching convinced some players and the manager that he was encouraging the team to release him. Leonard also insisted that he should decide who the catcher would be when he pitched. Mercifully the season finally ended on October 7, 1920, with the Tigers entrenched in seventh place, thirty-seven games behind the pennantwinning Cleveland Indians, the team’s greatest separation from the leader in its history. With the handwriting on the wall and a war-weary spirit, Hughie Jennings submitted his resignation, which represented a milestone in franchise history considering his early leadership success, the presence of Cobb, and his long tenure. Jennings’s departure caused the editors of The Sporting News to editorialize, for this was a big event in baseball. The editors observed: “There never was a man in a prominent position in baseball probably who has had more panning than Hugh Jennings has been given in the past ten years, and yet who was better liked as a personality. Jennings himself was as much of a paradox as his dual standing with his critics. A genial agreeable fellow off the ball field, on it he was an irascible intolerant handler of players under him if most accounts are to be believed. . . . Let us be charitable enough to say that Hughey had enough to contend with to crab a saint. There always has been a lot of temperament on his ball club, to put it mildly, and handling the job was a good deal like putting a bunch of assorted wild animals through a circus act.”

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harry heilmann

The Californian Harry Heilmann left a major mark in baseball history as a slugging outfielder; his sometimes used moniker was “Slug.” Starting in 1921 he won the first of four American League battling titles, feats accomplished in alternating years through 1927. During the in-between years he finished fourth in 1922, tied for fifth in 1924, and finished fourth again in 1926. He ended his seventeen-year career with a .342 lifetime batting average, good for seventh best all-time. For twelve seasons, Heilmann and Cobb were teammates and at the core of an explosive offense. With Cobb’s .366 lifetime batting average and Heilmann’s superb lifetime average, they rank as the most potent left- and right-handed batting tandem in baseball history. In 1913 Heilmann got his start in pro ball first with Portland in the Pacific Coast League for just two games, then was quickly sent down to Portland in the Northwest League, a Class B circuit. Drafted by the Tigers, he vaulted all the way to the major league roster in 1914 and played in 67 games while hitting an unimpressive .225. That first trial earned him a return ticket to the minors; he spent the entire 1915 season back in the Pacific Coast League playing for San Francisco. Having confirmed his potential, Heilmann rejoined the big club and this time he stuck. Considered a big guy, Heilmann stood 6’1” tall and weighed 195 pounds. Hughie Jennings tried him at first base, probably because he was slow afoot, but he didn’t field that position very well. Ultimately it was determined that right field was his best defensive spot. His skills improved as a flyhawk although never to a high level, and his arm was rated as being average. Well liked and congenial, Heilmann became a popular teammate, and his sunny disposition attracted people in his off-the-field activities. Blessed with a sense of humor, Heilmann was regarded as a funny person. In a game at Navin Field on May 2, 1923, a fan upset with a call made by umpire Red Ormsby threw his hat out onto the playing field, a common gesture at this time used to express either joy or disgust. Heilmann, wanting to have a little fun, retrieved the hat and presented it to the home plate umpire, stating: “You win the derby.” He should have known that a player never shows up an umpire; the humorous Mr. Heilmann received a four-game suspension. Like many outstanding hitters, Heilmann was often asked by the press whom he considered the toughest pitchers to hit. Heilmann consistently singled out two hurlers who gave him trouble: Walter Johnson and Wil  c h a p t e r t w o

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In an interview published in Baseball Magazine in 1923, Harry Heilmann discussed in depth his approach to hitting including the kind of bats he used: “In general I favor using a heavier bat in the spring and bat some six ounces lighter in the fall. Changing to a lighter bat helps a batter emerge from a slump. Hot weather usually means faster pitching, and a lighter weight bat is easier to swing and therefore better adapted to pitching of that type.” (Detroit News Archives)

Two great hitters, Rogers Hornsby (left) and Harry Heilmann, enjoy some time together when the games are more relaxed—spring training in Phoenix, Arizona, in 1929. (Detroit News Archives)

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Harry Heilmann takes a cut and drives the pitch in batting practice, 1927. Heilmann was considered to be in a class with Babe Ruth because of the power he generated behind the line drives that came off his bat. He was nicknamed “Old Slug” because he was a heavy hitter who consistently drove in a lot of runs. During one stretch, he knocked in over 100 runs in seven straight seasons. (Detroit News Archives)

liam Jennings Bryan Harriss. Identifying the “Big Train” as troublesome was understandable, but Harriss requires explanation. Better known as “Slim” because of his 6’6” height and slender frame, Harriss pitched for the Philadelphia Athletics most of his career and enjoyed his best season in 1925 when he won 19 games. He finished his career with an undistinguished record of 95-135. Apparently the big right-hander had a high leg kick, of which Heilmann said: “I felt that I had to push his foot out of the way of my bat in order to swing.” He referred to Harriss as “old foot in the face.” Perhaps because his easygoing nature had become a trademark, a gang of hoodlums began to ride Heilmann during a time he was regularly playing first base toward the end of the 1920 season. “Slug” countered by asking a group of his friends to sit in the same area and learn the identity of these abusing spectators. His intelligence team found out they were taxicab drivers.   c h a p t e r t w o

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After the game Heilmann and his buddies visited the local cab station and the jeering and harassment stopped. While editorializing in his Sporting News column, H. G. Salsinger wrote: “This act of riding ball players is as ridiculous as it is cowardly”; concluding that these “fans” should be ejected. Although all batters that hit for high averages have occasional slumps, they also hit consistently and enjoy extended streaks. On May 17, 1925, and over a month into the season, Heilmann was hitting .494. He hit in 20 or more consecutive games several times and had many notable games. A sampling should include October 4, 1925, when he demonstrated the ability to hit under pressure and finish strong. Trailing Tris Speaker on the last day of the season, Heilmann collected six hits in nine trips to the plate to capture the batting title and drove in six runs as Detroit swept both contests from St. Louis. Detroit honored this great and popular player with Heilmann Day on August 9, 1926. On this Sunday afternoon, forty thousand adoring fans packed Navin Field to pay tribute. He received a new automobile, a diamond stickpin, and a police dog. One wonders if Heilmann considered having his new dog sit with the taxicab drivers. In a June 28, 1927, doubleheader with the St. Louis Browns, “Slug” went on a tear, cracking five hits in eight at bats including three triples and contributing mightily to the team’s two victories. In typical fashion, Heilmann came on like “gangbusters” to snatch the batting championship from the leader, Al Simmons, on the final day of the 1927 season. In the first game he went four for five with two doubles and a home run to drive in six runs in an 11–5 win over Cleveland. He could have sat out the second contest but gamely said: “I’ll be in there swinging.” And swing he did—pounding out three hits in four plate appearances, including a double and a home run, netting three more RBIs. In essence Harry Heilmann was a one-dimension ballplayer but he was marvelous at what he did best. Possessing exceptional upper-body strength, he could drive a ball like a bullet. One player noted that he hit everything hard. Over and over writers used the word “smash” to describe the force of Heilmann’s drives. In a game against the Browns in 1927, the scorekeeper had just put a zero up at the end of a half inning and this slugging outfielder smashed a drive that knocked the zero off the scoreboard. He hit lots of low-trajectory hard line drives, which undoubtedly accounts for the large number of doubles he made. Heilmann ranks twenty-sixth all-time in hitting two-base blows with a career total of 542. Because of his slow foot speed, Heilmann didn’t get many leg hits, but he could hit right- and left-handed pitching with equal success. Franchise Stars  

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During the Tigers’ glory years Harry Heilmann caught fire, winning the AL batting crown four times. He readily acknowledged the influence of manager Ty Cobb. “I have given Ty Cobb credit for making me a successful hitter,” said Heilmann. “There is no doubt Ty understands batting and he also understands teaching.” In 1921, Cobb’s first year as manager, Heilmann nosed out his mentor to win his first batting title. Their season-long head-to-head contest caused The Sporting News to editorialize that Cobb had prevailed: “Truly great is Cobb, and there is none greater. Let baseball pay him deserved tribute.” Yet, we know that the great one was truly proud of and happy for his teammate when it was finally determined that Heilmann was the champion. They had become the best left- and right-handed hitting combination in baseball history; Cobb finished his career with the best ever lifetime average of .366, and Heilmann’s career average stands at .342. Heilmann is shown here in his last season in the Motor City, 1929, when he hit .344. (Detroit News Archives)   c h a p t e r t w o

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From a variety of sources but most important from Heilmann himself, there is convincing testimony that his manager Ty Cobb helped him become a better hitter. For some reason Heilmann felt that his first manager, Hugh Jennings, didn’t like him, which probably influenced his self-confidence. But with Cobb he developed a solid and lasting relationship. “Ty was the one who taught me to hit with my feet together,” recalled Heilmann. “He stopped my overstriding and got me to swing the bat above my beltline. He jumped my average from the low .300s to almost .400. He did the same with the whole ballclub. It’s one instance where you can absolutely prove that a manager definitely was able to pass on his own skill to his players.” Nothing seems to demonstrate the strength of the Heilmann-Cobb relationship better than attitudes expressed after their head-to-head race in 1921 for the batting crown. Going into the final two days Heilmann was a few points ahead and his boss was serving a suspension. Unfortunately for “Slug,” he went one for nine while Cobb sat with his average protected. Heilmann assumed that his slippage coupled with Cobb’s maintenance had cost him the title. He reportedly said: “Well, Ty, I want to congratulate you on again becoming the batting champion. I am glad it was you. I was pulling for you and you came through. You are the best batsman the game has known.” But Cobb wasn’t at all ready to accept the crown, knowing both would need to wait until the official averages were determined. When the official statistics were announced, Heilmann stood first in rank with a .394 average and Cobb trailed with a .389 mark, good for runner-up. “I am glad Harry won, really glad,” said a proud manager. “He’s a grand chap; one of the best that ever played baseball. More than that, he is a great hitter and he deserved to win. I pulled for him all year and I am honestly pleased that he got top honors.”

t h e g r e at r a c e f o r t h e b at t i n g c h a m p i o n s h i p



d at e

heilmann

cobb



April 20

.600

.267



April 27

.513

.317



May 11

.521

.388



May 18

.465

.395



May 25

.425

.411



June 1

.436

.408



June 8

.440

.401

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June 15

.431

.394



June 22

.414

.396



June 29

.418

.388



July 6

.409

.394



July 13

.432

.394



July 20

.429

.390



July 27

.431

.389



August 3

.423

.388



August 10

.417

.387



August 17

.407

.381



August 24

.403

.392



August 31

.398

.395



September 7

.403

.390



September 14

.398

.394



September 21

.398

.394



September 28

.395

.390



October 2

.394

.389

(Baseball Magazine, March 1923.)

Heilmann was the subject of numerous in-depth interviews about his approach to hitting and was invited to write articles on the same interest. In readily giving much credit to Cobb, he admitted that he had not adopted all of his mentor’s ideas. Known as a free swinger, Heilmann had a tendency to go after pitches off the plate. He preferred to stand deep in the batter’s box and his stance utilized a crouch. He liked to use a Cobb model bat weighing 40 to 42 ounces, particularly in the early part of the season. “I am strongly opposed to trying to guess what the pitcher is going to throw,” stated Heilmann. “If you guess wrong you are badly crossed up. Be ready for any offering he may serve.” Once he hit his stride, Harry Heilmann along with Rogers Hornsby were considered the best two right-handed hitters in baseball; Heilmann was considered the best in the junior circuit. heinie manush

Born in 1901 in Tuscumbia, Alabama, Henry Manush quickly acquired the familiar name of Heine. He grew up in California and his skill on the ball   c h a p t e r t w o

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field was noticed by a scout who signed him to a professional contract as a teenager. Heine got his first sustained start playing for Edmonton in the West Canada League in 1921 when he batted .321. Detroit purchased him after the season and he was optioned to Omaha, where he had a breakout minor league season with a .376 batting average generated by 245 safeties. Though he was expected to be a hitter, any young outfielder trying to break into the star-studded troupe of Ty Cobb, Harry Heilmann, Bobby Veach, and Bob Fothergill had a daunting challenge ahead of him. Later when the aging Veach was traded, another young flyhawk named Red Wingo entered the picture and for one season hit the ball with authority, again providing stiff competition for a berth in the outfield. So, young Manush found himself on the big team during 1923 yet relegated to a part-time playing status and just 308 at bats. In his limited role, he made a strong impression, hitting .334 and raising the level of management’s regard. Manush got a good look at the stable of veteran outfielders and realized what he was up against in trying to crack the lineup on a regular basis. That year Heilmann led the majors with a .403 average, followed by Cobb (.340), Veach (.321), and Fothergill (.315). Instead of building upon his solid first season, 1924 proved a disappointment all around for Manush. His main asset of being able to hit consistently slipped badly with a .289 average even though he played more. He did have his moments when he flashed brilliantly, signally a talent that had not yet crystallized. On July 16 in Boston he tripled with the bases loaded and made a great running catch to practically seal the victory. Two days later at Fenway Park he contributed mightily in a lopsided Detroit victory with two extra-base hits including a grand slam home run. When the team went to spring training in 1924, Cobb instituted an unusual practice routine for his outfielders. Convinced that his outfielders’ poor ability to field ground balls had cost the Tigers several games the previous season, he had these men fielding grounders on the infield. Manush was a big man at six feet tall and two hundred pounds. Despite his size he had respectable speed but ranked as an average fielder. He was judged to be lackadaisical in his work ethic and didn’t show the energy a coach or manager would expect in a young player trying to make his mark—a label to be avoided like the plague. He did form a friendship with Harry Heilmann and played on Heilmann’s barnstorming teams following the major league season. His tough assignment of becoming a regular was again emphasized by the three main guys who patrolled the outfield for Detroit in 1925. Heilmann Franchise Stars  

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Heinie Manush was a homegrown outfielder who joined the big club when the outfield corps in Detroit excelled year after year, making it difficult to break in and gain a regular spot. He was held back by his less than impressive fielding. Sam Greene of the Detroit News offered a critical appraisal in his column written for The Sporting News. “Before this year [1926], Manush always impressed as something of a slipshod outfielder,” claimed Greene. “It may have been because he did not have the opportunity to play regularly and strike his stride. At any rate, he always seemed to lack something in covering the outfield. He had the speed but his judgment of fly balls was off color. All that has changed since Manush became the regular center fielder of the club. He is one of the best fly-getters in the league. He ranges far to either side and can go back or come forward for difficult drives.” (Detroit News Archives)

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again led the way, capturing his second AL batting title with a .393 average. Cobb finished fourth at .378 and newcomer Wingo had his career year, compiling a batting average of .370 to rank fifth in the American League. This threesome set a major league record with a combined batting average of .382. It is not surprising that Manush spent a lot of time on the bench; he got to the plate just 277 times while producing a modest .303 average in this era of great hitters. Ty Cobb was out of action in early June 1926 and Heine Manush took over his center-field post. When Cobb returned to the lineup he most often played left field, leaving the most demanding outfield position to his heir apparent. The great one played in only 79 games that season, his least since joining the Tigers in 1905. Manush responded to the challenge of covering a lot of ground in center field and played very regularly because his fielding skills had improved. And in his case, success in the field transferred to success at the plate. Manush went on a tear in 1926, finally demonstrating the hitting prowess others believed he possessed. He closed out the season with a rush and brushed aside Babe Ruth, his primary challenger, with six hits in nine at bats on the final day of the season to finish with a .378 average, six points better than the Bambino to win the batting title. Again, the Tigers sported a tremendous hitting

Despite batting .321 over five seasons with Detroit, Heinie Manush was traded following the 1927 season in what turned out to be a big league mistake. Manush hit over .300 in eight other seasons and closed out his seventeen-year career with a .330 lifetime batting average. In 1926 he won the American League batting crown with a .378 average. The year he was traded to the St. Louis Browns, Manush replicated his season’s best with another .378 mark. Like Heilmann, he credited assistance received from his manager, Ty Cobb: “Cobb was the best teacher of hitting that I have ever known, and others agree with me in that opinion. But I can not believe that Cobb or anyone else could ever teach a mediocre hitter how to become a great hitter.” (Detroit News Archives)

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outfield for Heilmann and Fothergill tied for third in the AL race with identical averages of .367. Like Heilmann, Manush gave considerable credit to Cobb for his improved hitting ability. “Cobb was the best teacher of hitting that I have ever known, and others agree with me in that opinion,” reflected Manush. He “was a natural coach. He took an interest in other players who were willing to listen to him, and was always dropping hints on how they stood at bat, their swing and the way they gripped the handle of their bats. He was a keen observer and understood more of the true science of batting than any other player.” When the New Year began, Manush seemed more fired up than ever before; he reported to spring training in Augusta before the pitchers and catchers. He worked hard and entered the season in great condition, ready to play hard. But he never got untracked for his new manager, George Moriarty. At age twenty-five the future looked bright for this rising star. However, his batting performance took a sudden nosedive in 1927 with a subpar mark of .298, ranking him fiftieth in the batting race. Had he duplicated his outstanding season in 1926, the Tigers may have been in the hunt for the American League flag in Moriarty’s first season as skipper. Manush surely left many scratching their heads, wondering whether 1926 had been a fluke or whether this seemingly talented hitter would rebound and sustain a record of offensive excellence. The Tigers’ field boss had gotten a taste of a pennant run; it must have convinced him that his team was close and that adding one more dependable weapon in the lineup could put his squad over the top. Other explanations for the trade Moriarty and his boss engineered are hard to fathom. In December 1927 Detroit completed a seven-player swap with the St. Louis Browns that in essence involved trading Heine Manush for outfielder Harry Rice. A Sporting News columnist liked the trade, rationalizing its merits by pointing out that Rice had a better arm, was faster, and was a surer outfielder. He also told readers that Rice was a good hitter. Hindsight tells us that this trade ranks among the five worst player transactions in franchise history. Rice played two full seasons for Detroit, compiling a .302 batting average. The Tigers sent him to the New York Yankees in 1930 after playing in 30 games and he was out of the big leagues after two more seasons with a lifetime batting average of .299. Manush finished his seventeen-year major league career in 1939. He had a huge year for St. Louis in 1928, collecting 241 hits and batting .378, losing the batting title by a single point. In his career, Manush hit over .300 eight   c h a p t e r t w o

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times and had more than 200 hits in four seasons. He joined baseball’s Hall of Fame in 1964 with a lifetime batting average of .330, a mark that would place him third all-time in Detroit franchise history. charlie gehringer

Given Charlie Gehringer’s exceptional skills and sustained performance, it is hard to think of him as a fledgling rookie striving to sharpen his skills and demonstrate that he belonged in a major league infield. Our fixed view of Gehringer is that of a second baseman who played effortlessly and flawlessly. Gehringer could run, had a strong, accurate throwing arm, and had a sweet, fluid swing. Many referred to him as a natural. All that talent and more, but he had to pay his dues by serving an apprenticeship in the minors and produce enough in the show to dislodge more experienced middle infielders. Tiger officials recognized that this kid was something special, but he was a raw, inexperienced amateur who needed to be developed. Signed while a student at the University of Michigan, Gehringer was invited by the Tigers to spring training in 1924 and Cobb dispatched him to London in the Mint and Ontario League for his first professional experience. Based on his good start, the team recalled him and he appeared in his debut game as a fielding replacement on September 22, 1924. Two days later he replaced second baseman Leslie Burke during a game with the White Sox. He got his first hit and scored his first run in two plate appearances. The following day he made his first major league start and responded with three hits in five at bats. In his debut season, Gehringer played in five games and made six hits, accounting for a .462 batting average. He went to spring camp again in 1925, but to no one’s surprise he was optioned out again, this time to the Class AA Toronto Maple Leafs for a year of seasoning under manager Dan Howley. He had a great year, racking up 206 hits with a .325 batting average. During Ty Cobb’s tenure as manager the deficiencies with the infield and pitching plagued the team’s ability to be a contender. Now heading into the 1926 season, he expected to insert young Charlie Gehringer as his regular second baseman. “If Charlie Gehringer should fail to come through, we have Frank O’Rourke to fall back upon and we know from experience that O’Rourke can fill the bill,” reported Cobb. “Gehringer, however, at this time, looks like a million dollars and I believe he will do. Did you notice his batting? He has a wonderful stance at the plate. He learned a lot Franchise Stars  

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about hitting while with Toronto last year.” Yet two weeks later, Cobb had reservations about his million-dollar second sacker. Cobb then stated his preference for beginning the season with his veteran O’Rourke with the expectation that the rookie would eventually become the regular. In his column for The Sporting News, Sam Greene reported: “It is because of his inexperience that Gehringer will be absent from the opening day line-up. Cobb fears that a mistake before the big crowd might unnerve Gehringer or shatter his confidence. With his scant experience, Gehringer might easily be discouraged.” Greene devoted a lot of copy to this decision to justify the manager’s decision while lifting up the regard that Cobb had for his gifted rookie infielder. “There can be no mistake about Gehringer’s mechanical gifts,” continued Greene. “In practice and exhibition games, he has shown that he can do everything a second baseman is supposed to do. The only trouble is his lack of confidence and fire and Cobb has set about to cure it.” After just twelve games Gehringer got his chance when O’Rourke came down with the measles. The rookie started at second base against the Chicago White Sox on April 28 but had a difficult season debut, committing two costly errors and going hitless. But that didn’t send him to the bench and he began playing regularly. The Detroit News beat writer Greene observed that Gehringer was improving and seemed “to be overcoming his natural shyness and gaining confidence in himself.” After sheltering him from the big opening-day crowd at Navin Field, Cobb didn’t attempt to protect his nerves when the team visited Yankee Stadium in July. Gehringer responded like a skilled veteran, whacking two triples in the second game of the series and stroking his first big league homer the next day. Just as Cobb had predicted, Gehringer took over the second base position for the great majority of games. In his first big league season he got to the plate 459 times and hit for a .277 average. When George Moriarty became the Tigers’ new manager in November 1926, he sized up his team for the press and was high on his young second baseman: “Gehringer is fast developing and I regard him as an exceptional prospect. He has one or two faults at bat, but I am sure he will overcome them.” With his respectable rookie season and the manager’s high regard, Gehringer expected to be the starting second baseman in 1927. Managers value experience, and during the off-season the team acquired veteran Marty McManus, who had achieved a batting average of .298 over six full seasons in a trade with the Browns. The acquisition of McManus was destined to make Gehringer a utility player as Moriarty brimmed with confidence.   c h a p t e r t w o

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Charlie Gehringer had a sweet swing. He is shown here lashing out a line drive in a September 2, 1935, game versus the Chicago White Sox. “Show me a left-handed sandlotter and I can almost tell you whether he comes from Detroit,” said Casey Stengel. “If he comes from Detroit he will swing like Gehringer. Those kids go out to the ball park and watch Charley swing and then copy his style. They swing like him, but they are not him, and who is?” (Detroit News Archives)

“No team has ever won a pennant without a good combination at second and short,” claimed the new Detroit manager. “Look them over if you will. There have been pennant winning teams that were weak at first or third base . . . but all of them had strength around second base. We are going to have that this season in [Jackie] Tavener and McManus. I think they will be the best second base combination Detroit has ever had.” The twists of fate are unpredictable, and when McManus experienced a hitting slump Gehringer got a second chance to claim the keystone base. While Gehringer performed well McManus contracted a fever and was sent home. After a respite, McManus returned and displaced Jackie Warner, the regular third baseman. That season became a turning point in Gehringer’s career, as he established his credentials with a .317 batting average and set the stage for years of greatness. If Ty Cobb thought he was going to change Charlie Gehringer’s personality and make him into an aggressive fireball that writer Sam Greene envisioned back at the start of the 1926 season, he failed. Few players are so universally characterized as Charles Leonard Gehringer. He may have changed appreciatively as a player but his personality remained a constant and everybody saw him in a stereotypical way. He was naturally quiet, reserved, modest, and straight-laced. He never got tossed out of a game in his nineteen-year big league career. But apparently Gehringer could give Franchise Stars  

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Everything about Charlie Gehringer was smooth, and because his fielding seemed so automatic they called him the “Mechanical Man,” a moniker Gehringer didn’t like because it implied that fielding for him was effortless; he knew different. No one appreciated Gehringer’s skills more than the Tigers’ pitching staff. Larry Lajoie was also the standard from which later second basemen were judged, but Tiger pitcher Elden Auker became convinced Gehringer was better even though he hadn’t seen the great Indians’ second sacker play. “Who is this Lajoie I hear these old fossils talking about?” asked Auker. “But before I’ll believe that he could play second base with Gehringer I’ll have to see him do it. I don’t care what those old timers say. Gehringer is the best second baseman that ever drew on a glove.” (Detroit News Archives)

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an umpire a look that was more punishing than verbal abuse. “When an umpire boots one and all of us do that once in a while—Gehringer never says a word,” recalled umpire George Moriarty. “He just looks at the umpire. But he puts so much into that look that the umpire often wishes he’d use words. I don’t know any other player who can make an umpire’s hair curl without even opening his mouth.” He was a listener and an observer and a gentleman. We know he didn’t like the labels of “the “Silent Son of Fowlerville” and the “Mechanical Man,” for both sold him short as someone who didn’t talk and misrepresented his effort and focus in fielding his position so competently. Until people got close to him, most were unaware of his wry sense of humor. He rarely fell into a slump and when his bat grew quiet it didn’t last long. On one such occasion, a baseball writer queried him about his hitting drought: “Have you any idea what you are doing wrong: Do you feel all right up at the plate?” “I feel all right going up there,” said Gehringer. “I don’t feel so good coming back.” His perceived reticence and lack of color limited the attention the media paid him. Clearly Gehringer thought that being colorful was a lot of bunk. Gehringer was a teammate of Gee Walker, a player known for his color. Once in a game when Gehringer occupied third base and Walker second, the “Walker Man” wandered too far off the bag and the “Quiet Man” led off from third, hoping to draw a throw that would rescue Walker. That is what happened, but after several throws in a run-down play, Gehringer was tagged out. When Charlie got back to the dugout he was heard to mutter: “Well, if that’s color, they can have it.” Gehringer didn’t say much about himself, but others said a lot about him. Starting in the 1932 season and extending through 1938, Gehringer and shortstop Billy Rogell comprised Detroit’s keystone combination and worked well together. They led the league in double plays in 1933 and were second best in 1935 and 1938. Rogell had great appreciation for his partner: “When you are playing along side a fellow like Charley every day you don’t have to look for him. . . . it’s sorta painted on your mind. . . . You know he is there.” He could cover so much ground that several players recognized how he helped out Hank Greenberg when he played first base. Gehringer’s ability to anticipate where the ball would be hit particularly impressed Greenberg. “Of course he wasn’t slow by any means,” stated Greenberg. “But the main thing was he’d be where the ball was hit—practically before the batter even swung at the pitch. He made everything look so simple it used to make me mad.” Gehringer claimed the toughest ball to field was one hit right at him: “That looks easy to the crowd, but you can misjudge such a ball without Franchise Stars  

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Opposite page: After a brief apprenticeship in the minors, Charlie Gehringer came up to stay in 1926. By spring training that year, Ty Cobb knew that this rookie was special. “If Charley Gehringer should fail to come through, we have Frank O’Rourke to fall back upon,” stated Cobb. “Gehringer, however, at this time looks like a million dollars and I believe he will do. Did you notice his batting? He has a wonderful stance at the plate. He learned a lot about hitting while with Toronto last year.” The following season Gehringer reached the coveted .300 mark, launching a career of consistent exemplary hitting; twelve of the next thirteen years he would be at that level. His pinnacle season arrived in 1937 when he won the league’s batting race with a .371 average and received the Most Valuable Player award. This future Hall of Fame member played nineteen years with an accumulative batting average of .320. (Detroit News Archives)

half trying. You can get a much better idea of the flight of a ball if you’re a little to one side and can get the angle. When it’s coming straight at you, there are no angles to judge.” Gehringer’s exceptional fielding ability and his modest demeanor impressed nearly everyone. Catcher Billy Sullivan would one day be Gehringer’s teammate, but his telling observation was made while a member of the Indians’ ball club. “Look at Gehringer,” he said. “He has just made a play that no other player could make. But instead of acting cocky he walks back to his position like a guy who has just flunked his exams. What a guy!” When second baseman Bucky Harris took over the reins of the Tigers in 1929, people wondered what this meant for Charlie Gehringer. The new manager quickly settled that issue, saying: “I am going to keep him at second base. You don’t think for a minute I’d be daffy enough to remove the best infielder in the league from the line-up. He’s a star now and he’s getting better all the time. Unless something happens, he’ll be one of the most valuable players in the league—possibly ranked with the all-time greats.” We don’t think of Gehringer as a base stealer perhaps because of his persona, but he had good speed and was a smart runner who led the league with 28 steals in 1929. Yankee shortstop Tony Lazerri respected Gehringer for his ability on the base paths. “He had plenty of speed but along with it he has judgment,” said Lazerri. “He can hook to the right or left of the bag. And he doesn’t give you time to make up your mind which way he is going to slide. And he is pretty smart at tagging a base with his hand. Again he might slide straight into the sack. Everything is about right when Gehringer starts his steal. He times [the] pitcher’s throw and starts as fast as any man on the club. He knows all the angles of running bases and uses ’em.” Watching Gehringer hit was surely a clinical experience for those wanting to improve. At least two Tiger rookies, Barney McCosky and Roy Cullenbine, closely copied Gehringer’s batting style—his stance, his crouch, his beautiful fluid swing. A line-drive hitter who struck the ball hard was just as potent against either left- or right-hand hurlers. Bucky Harris and others believed that Gehringer’s tendency to hit so many line drives right at fielders reduced the level of his offensive performance. “If he ever finds . . . the groove for safe hits . . . he’ll be ranked as one of the greatest hitters in the game.” Good hitters and good pitchers are often asked who they consider their toughest opponent. Gehringer named George Earnshaw, a righthander, and two southpaws, Lefty Grove and Rube Walberg, all members   c h a p t e r t w o

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of the same Philadelphia Athletics staff in the 1930s. Gehringer ranked in Bob Feller’s top five tough outs: “He won’t swing at bad balls and when he gets you in the hole you have your choice of either coming in with a fat pitch or walking him. He’s one player I hate to see coming up to the plate when a hit will break up the ball game.” Lefty Gomez had Gehringer at the top of his least-wanted hitters to face. “Toughest guy in the league to pitch to because he’s a great hitter,” said the Yankee left-hander. “He’s dangerous with or without a man on base. He won’t swing at bad balls. He is the hardest man in the league to outguess because he’s generally doin’ that to you.” Red Ruffing didn’t like to see Gehringer coming up either: “I will say that Gehringer is a very unpleasant man to pitch to under any circumstance.” As player-manager of the Chicago White Sox, Jimmy Dykes had a dual perspective of Gehringer’s ability to hit. His assessment illustrated how difficult it was to defend against this high average batsman. “He’s a natural and he’s awfully tough,” claimed Dykes. “He hits ’em where they’re pitched. He isn’t trying to pull outside balls to right field. You can’t play him for one spot. He’s as likely to hit down left field foul line one time and down right field foul line the next time.” Gehringer enjoyed a monster year in 1937, winning both the batting title and the Most Valuable Player Award. He hit .371 for the campaign with 209 hits, 133 runs scored, and 96 runs batted in. He had many multiple-hit games, and in one stretch in August he rapped out 14 hits in 24 times at bat. He had two games in mid-August that were phenomenal. On August 11 in a game the Tigers won 11–8 over the White Sox, Gehringer went three for four, hitting two doubles and a three-run homer to score three runs and drive in six. Three days later while Detroit was mauling the Browns 20–7 in the second game of a doubleheader, he had a perfect game, getting five hits in five tries. He homered in the first and second innings and then added a double and two singles, all of which produced four runs scored and six more RBIs. “He’s the greatest player in the major leagues today,” proclaimed Mickey Cochrane. As the season progressed the Tigers second baseman drew increasing attention and lots of questions from the media. They wanted to know how closely he tracked the batting title competition. With typical modesty, Gehringer said: “I don’t keep check on my progress. Right now I don’t know where I stand in relation to the other fellows. Every season I start out with hope of being able to make 200 hits and to drive in 100 runs. That is my goal and I try to attain it without paying much attention to whether I am doing better than the other fellows.”   c h a p t e r t w o

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Along with Gehringer, Hank Greenberg, Gee Walker, and Pete Fox were all hitting well in 1937, but the top offensive guns on the team were pulling for Charlie. “Everybody on the club wants him to win [the batting title],” said Walker. “Somehow I just gotta hunch that nothing will stop Charley this year. He’s getting some breaks this year that he never got before. Not only that, but he’s getting better if a guy as good as Charley can get better.” Even baseball writer Stuart Bell of the Cleveland Press was championing Gehringer for the MVP Award. He thought Gehringer was the obvious choice even though the Tigers would not win the AL flag: “The most valuable player in the American League is Charley Gehringer, of the Detroit Tigers who will not win the pennant. Gehringer is leading the junior loop in batting and on top of this he is the best infielder, not only in the American League, but in baseball.”

Charlie Gehringer is presented with the keys to a new automobile, a gift from a cereal company for winning a popularity contest as the best second baseman in the major leagues, August 17, 1938. Gehringer played a crucial role in the doubleheader at which he was honored as Detroit defeated the Chicago White Sox in the first game 4–3 and won again in the second contest 3–2. In each game, Gehringer drove in the winning run, an eighth-inning triple in game 1 and a ninth-inning single in game 2. (Detroit News Archives)

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Following his Hall of Fame season in 1937, a large gathering of admirers assembled in Detroit to pay tribute to this great player. This was one occasion where Gehringer couldn’t just be a listener and observer for he was required to make a “speech.” Although he didn’t like his reputation as a non-talker and thought it misrepresented the real Charlie Gehringer, his remarks that evening played off his perceived quiet-guy disposition. After the assembly gave him a standing ovation, he began his comments, saying: “You scared me when you all stood up. I thought you were going to walk out. I’m in need of a pinch hitter tonight if I ever was. It’s been said in the American League that I never say much. I have no intention of establishing any precedents here tonight.” Gehringer assured the audience that the Tiger organization had treated him well and that he looked forward to wearing a Detroit uniform for another dozen years. He closed out his playing career while serving as a coach in 1942 and then wore a suit and tie as a Tigers executive into the 1950s. He joined the elite at Cooperstown in 1949. hank greenberg

Hank Greenberg, a product of the Bronx, didn’t sign with the hometown New York Yankees because he knew his advancement would be blocked by superstar first baseman Lou Gehrig. Ironically, after mastering that position with the Tigers he was asked to become an outfielder and give way to a younger player that didn’t seem adept at playing any position except first base. When Greenberg joined the Tigers’ organization as a recruit first sacker, “awkward” and “clumsy” were the two words most often used to describe his footwork and mobility around that base. Bucky Harris, his first big league manager, thought third base might be better suited to the young slugger, but after a few games that notion was abandoned and Greenberg returned to first base. With his hallmark determination, Greenberg improved to a more than acceptable level of competency. This early experience in his development illustrated what became obvious to most observers: Greenberg was ambitious, hardworking, determined, eager to learn, and driven by high professional goals, ethnic and religious prejudice directed at him, and competition. During management’s search for the best position fit for Greenberg, Bucky Harris said: “I’d like to be able to use Greenberg’s power. It would be swell if we could put him in at third.” Knowing his manager’s leanings, Greenberg asked: “Why doesn’t he give me a chance to fight for the job [first base]? I don’t care how good this   c h a p t e r t w o

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[Harry] Davis is. I am willing to battle him for the position. Why doesn’t Harris give me a chance?” In another ironic occurrence, the managers selected Lou Gehrig as the American League All-Star first baseman and Hank was left off the team. “Wouldn’t it be funny,” said Greenberg, “if I suddenly started pounding the ball all over the place and was named the most valuable player in the league this [1935] season? That would be a laugh on the managers, eh? The most valuable player and left off the AllStar team.” And that is precisely what happened. Proud and intelligent, Greenberg set his sights high—he wanted to be one of the greatest baseball players of all time. His career was dramatic, filled with big events. 1. He wanted to be a great player and he made it happen. 2. He enjoyed several monster seasons. 3. His opportunity to excel was curbed by two serious injuries occurring within seven months of each other. 4. His career was shortened by the equivalent of four years because of military service during World War II. 5. After being chosen the Most Valuable Player as a first baseman in 1935, he was pressed to become an outfielder and in 1940 won his second MVP Award while playing outfield. Stanley Frank wrote an article for the Saturday Evening Post in 1941 titled “Hank Made Greenberg.” He sought out others who were willing to talk baseball with him. Eager to learn and improve, he asked for advice and he listened. When he got promoted to the big club, farm director Jack Zeller provided counsel that young Hank took to heart. “I hear them saying you are a guess hitter and that you strike out too frequently,” noted Zeller. “They’ll probably say the same thing about you when you get to Detroit and I just want to tell you not to let those things discourage you. If you bat in runs, the percentage always will be on your side. What difference is there between a strikeout and a pop up to the infield if nobody scores on them?” Anxious to hear the critique of Rogers Hornsby, one of the all-time great hitters, Greenberg asked: “What am I doing wrong?” With his usual candor, Hornsby replied: “You’re a guess hitter.” In the early days of his career, Greenberg resented being called a “guess hitter” and on this occasion flatly denied its validity: “I’m not. I don’t make up my mind beforehand what the next pitch is going to be.” Undeterred, Hornsby shot back: “You’re still a guess hitter. You take too many strikes. A great hitter like you ought to hit every ball that’s over. You ask Mike and see what he says.” After hesitating, Greenberg slowly Franchise Stars  

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Opposite page: The spotlight of media attention always shinned on Hank Greenberg, and most of the fans wanted a piece of him, too. Greenberg had a tendency to slump early in the season, and when he broke out he came on with a rush— or as manager Bucky Harris said: “He’ll be a hurricane from then and until the end of the race.” During one of his longer droughts, he turned down a fan’s request for his autograph, saying: “You don’t want mine . . . not after me striking out three times against those semi-pro pitchers of Washington. Wait until I hit a couple of homers.” (Detroit News Archives)

said: “Cochrane agrees with you.” As he matured and became a seasoned and great hitter, what Greenberg resented most was the charge that Del Baker, known as one of the best sign stealers and for his ability to read a pitcher’s tell-tale mannerisms, was tipping off the big slugger so that he knew what was coming. Greenberg felt if that claim were believed it would diminish the great offensive success he had achieved. After a time and with a greater sense of confidence, he readily admitted being a “guess hitter” by thinking like a pitcher and guessing what he would throw depending on the count and his knowledge of Greenberg’s capabilities and tendencies. Given his ambition, Greenberg pondered what he wanted most to achieve: being the home run king, being the batting champion, or driving in a lot of runs. This caused him to query others as to which hitting approach would help him most to achieve the goal. “Do you think I ought to shorten my swing?” he asked Gehringer. “Do you think I’ll be of more help to the club if I cut down on my power and don’t strike out so often? Or do you think I am of more value the way I am?” “You won’t look so good but you’ll get more extra base hits and drive in more runs than you would if you cut down on your swing,” advised Gehringer. “You’ll have to take the jeers.” When he consulted Harry Heilmann, the conversation turned to the type of bat to use to produce the desired results. Hank’s comments clearly reflected an earlier conversation he had with Hornsby and the Rajah’s influence. “You don’t have enough handle on that bat,” assured Hornsby. “You ought to use a line-drive bat, one with a thicker handle. If you do, you’ll ‘get a piece’ of more balls and will not strike out so often. And you’ll hit a lot of balls over the heads of the fielders that will be too far in for the outfielders to catch.” This great hitter’s advice gave Greenberg a great deal to think about; he decided to focus on raising his batting average and concentrate on driving in runs. “I have come to the conclusion that runs batted in are more important to base a request for more salary than home runs,” stated Greenberg. He noted that fans like home runs and they are “nice to look at and all that, . . . but they don’t pay off as much as runs batted in.” But before the 1935 season began Hank sang a different tune called “long ball.” After considering who the long hitters were in the American League and that Babe Ruth was over the hill, Greenberg believed that the opportunity to be the dominant slugger was open to a new champion. This confident Tiger let it be known that he would be a candidate: “With that left field screen removed at Navin Field, I should be able to boost my total. There’s plenty of room for a slugger in our league and with the study I have made of batting stances and various other things, I think I have a good a chance as anybody else.”   c h a p t e r t w o

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Greenberg was a dead-pull hitter and his line drives were often ripped over and through the left side of the infield. On September 21, 1938, the Tigers were playing the Athletics at home and Greenberg hit a screaming line drive down the line that third baseman Bill Werber tried to snare. The ball hit his glove with such force that he was taken to the hospital for X-rays to determine if his thumb was broken. Someone engaged Greenberg in a conversation about whether ballplayers were made or born excellent athletes. He expressed his opinion with confidence: “I made myself a ballplayer. I had certain weaknesses that other fellows didn’t have. I know that. But I wanted to be a ballplayer worse than anything else in the world. So I worked until I became one.” As Greenberg’s first manager beginning in 1930 and then as rival manager of the Washington Senators in 1935, Bucky Harris had a unique perspective of this rising star. “He’s the greatest object lesson baseball offers any young player coming up today,” said Harris. “For no other player I know worked harder against obstacles than Greenberg. And the mere fact that he is winning his spurs now only goes to show the makeup of the fellow. Many another guy would have quit. But Hank is a fighter and he wouldn’t let anything stand in his way of making good in the majors.” For many players there is one season that stands out as their career year. In Greenberg’s case he had five career years: 1935 when he won his first Most Valuable Player Award as a first baseman; 1937 when he came within two runs of breaking Lou Gehrig’s single season RBI record; 1938 when he fell three short of breaking Babe Ruth’s milestone record of 60 home runs; 1940 when he won his second MVP Award, this time as a slugging outfielder; and 1946, his first full season after the war, when he led the American League with 44 home runs and 127 runs batted in. His back-to-back banner seasons in 1937 and 1938 deserve special attention. Greenberg’s ambition to drive in lots of runs was dramatically fulfilled in 1937 as he reached the pinnacle of his career performance with 183, 100 more than what would be considered a good season for most players. As of 2010, Greenberg’s 1937 output stands third highest in baseball history. Greenberg was quick to recognize his good fortune as the clean-up hitter to have some superb table setters ahead of him. Here is how he assessed the top of the Tigers’ lineup: Let’s take Jo-Jo [White]. He’s a waiter. A pitcher has got to get the ball over for him. If he does Jo-Jo’s likely to hit it. And if he doesn’t Jo-Jo’s going to walk. All right, the pitcher walks Jo-Jo. Up comes Mickey [Cochrane].

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What does he do? Does he swing for the fences and try to score Jo-Jo? No. He waits too. He’s one of the best waiters in the business. The pitcher has got to get the ball over or he won’t swing at it. And if he does swing he usually gets a well-placed hit that moves Jo-Jo up to third. Now we have Mickey on first and Jo-Jo on third. What does the pitcher find next? He finds Charley [Gehringer] up there. And Charley is the greatest hitter I ever saw. They tell me Cobb was greater because of his fire and that inner something, but I don’t know about that. Charley has more natural ability than any hitter I ever saw and I’ll have to see Cobb with my own eyes before ranking him above Charley. . . . When Charley gets on base I come up—a big swinger who is liable to break my neck striking out or knock the ball to hell and gone. With a hit I can score one, two or three runners. Sometimes I can score one by flying out or even by grounding out.

Hank Greenberg ranks as the greatest slugger in Detroit Tiger history. Because of military service and injury in 1936, he had only seven full seasons with Detroit but led the league in runs batted and home runs four times. “A batter should bear down hard with men on bases,” said Greenberg. “Of course, the pitcher bears down too, but he has plenty on his mind. I have only one thing on my mind. That is to hit and hit hard.” On another occasion he related what he thought owner Walter Briggs’s expectations were. “Mr. Briggs seems to want me to go after the batting leadership and the runsbatted-in record and I’ll try to do what he wants me to do,” reported Greenberg. “But you know how it is. If my batting average drops and I am among the leaders in home runs, I’ll probably start teeing off in spite of myself. I’d be telling you a lie if I said I didn’t like to knock that ball a mile.” (Detroit News Archives)

In this memorable year, Hank played in 154 games and drove in runs in 99 games. He plated two runs in 30 games, three runs in 9 games, four in 6 games, and five in 2 contests, and on October 1 he slugged two three-run homers. With the table set, home runs produce a lot of runs in bunches. In 1937 he hit 40 round-trippers, his best effort to date. During that season he had two grand slams and connected nine times with two runners aboard. Aware that he always seemed to experience a midsummer homer slump,

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Rookie Hank Greenberg swinging hard during his first spring training in Tampa, Florida, 1930. Just nineteen years old, Greenberg was being baptized in a major league setting and he responded well. Knowing that Greenberg would be cut, baseball scribe Sam Greene had already sized up this young man’s potential in The Sporting News: “Greenberg, particularly, has the marks of a prospective star, and when he is sent away he will go with a Tiger option attached.” So often Tiger personnel and media representatives had been overly enthusiastic about a young prospect in predicting great things to come only to have the budding star fall far short in reality. But in this case Greene recognized greatness in the bud. In just seven full seasons in a Detroit Tiger uniform Greenberg won the Most Valuable Player Award twice. He was more than a big slugger for he compiled a .319 lifetime batting average and learned to be a fine defensive player at first and left field. (Detroit News Archives)

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Greenberg assured: “I’ll get hitting them again. Home runs don’t worry me although I like to get them, naturally. I don’t worry so long as I can keep driving in runs whether they’re triples, doubles, singles, home runs, walks or errors. Getting those runs home is the thing with me. I don’t care how I do it.” His longest streak for driving in at least one run in a game reached nine games and he was once shut out over five consecutive games. Greenberg surely thought he could build off his great season in 1937, but he got off to a miserable start for an All Star the next year. Home runs, hits in general, and RBIs came slowly, and by mid-May he sported a subpar .281 batting average, had driven in just 11 runs, and hit only 7 home runs. Not only was his home run production down but all except one had been solo shots. By June 1 his homer total reached 12 but the same pattern persisted—there was no one on base when 10 of these shots cleared the fences. This frustrating drought continued into the second week of June. As his hitting woes wore on, Greenberg said: “Now I know how a pitcher felt when I used to get three out of four. I know how they felt when they go home . . . and worry . . . and don’t sleep. . . . They made a hero out of me. . . . Now I make heroes out them. The h—— of it is,” Greenberg continued, “I know what I’m doing. I’m overstriding at the plate . . . that makes me lunge at the ball. Ordinarily I have only a short stride when hitting. I want to come out of the slump all at once. . . . That can’t be done. . . . I guess I’m pressing like they do in golf.” His manager’s advice involved cutting down on his swing and just meeting the ball. “He should forget home runs and runs batted in and that sort of thing,” claimed Cochrane. “Base hits are the thing with men on bases. Don’t try to kill the ball.” The Detroit Free Press sports writer Charles P. Ward believed that Hank’s innate competition with fellow slugger Rudy York was a contributing factor. Although they were great friends, Greenberg set high goals and after his near record number of runs driven in he wanted to remain the champion. Ward wrote that with his powerful bat, York had the potential to clear the sacks if he batted in front of Hank or, if Greenberg didn’t produce, mop up after if he followed the slugger in the lineup. According to Ward’s analysis, York’s capability caused Greenberg to press all the more, a clear impediment for breaking out of a batting slump. After recognizing that York was nonchalant about what worried Greenberg, Ward wrote: “Hank would not be the player he is if he didn’t have the competitive spirit he has.” Even after Greenberg broke out and started hammering the ball, he was constantly reminded of York’s big bat right behind him in the batting order. Franchise Stars  

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On August 29, 1937, the Tigers entertained the New York Yankees at home. The Yankees were always the best visitor draw and 40,750 customers packed Navin Field. Rowdy fans engaged in several fistfights; the baseball writer Doc Holst surmised that their aggressiveness had been fueled by too many beers. Greenberg and Chet Laabs both homered for Detroit in this game although the Bronx Bombers prevailed 7–4. The overexuberant fans who were causing a ruckus got to arguing about whether Greenberg or York was the better home run hitter. “So many straw hats came into centerfield on Laabs’s home run that Head Ground[s]keeper Neal Conway had to do some personal picking up,” reported Holst. “Neil [sic] had a score of straw bonnets piled up to his chin. To not delay the game more than necessary, Neal scurried into the lower bleachers where fans promptly grabbed them back for a second throw.” Back in February manager Mickey Cochrane had predicted that the Greenberg-York tandem would outslug the bombers from New York— DiMaggio and Gehrig. Being confident and a little cocky, he said: “What’s more, if the price is right, I’ll bet on it.” Though the Tigers finished a disappointing fourth, sixteen games off the pace of the pennant-winning Yankees, Greenberg’s great run at Babe Ruth’s season homer mark sustained the interest in the 1938 season. When he drew even with Ruth’s pace in 1927 by hitting numbers 32 and 33, the countdown toward destiny began in earnest. From then on, Hank’s pursuit became the center of attention in Detroit’s baseball world. As if he needed reminding, Greenberg was forever being told verbally and in print precisely where his home run count stood in relationship to the ghost of the Bambino’s Mount Everest record. And the mounting pressure and expectation were indescribable. When the race began on July 27, Greenberg recalled his situation in 1935 when he had struck 30 home runs as of July 1—a great start that would cause a slugger to contemplate the potential for overcoming the Babe. But a chagrined Greenberg noted that his mighty swing failed him, producing four homers in August and just two in September. By the end of August 1937 Hank thought he was a “10–1 shot” for breaking Ruth’s tall record. He spoke of the obstacles: more and more intentional walks, tough ballparks, and being hit by pitchers. “I guess they’re dusting me off a bit, too. I’ve been hit twice in the last couple of games,” he said. He frequently reminded the media that this was a tough challenge: “Anybody who beats that mark will be doing something. But you will notice that I’m not bunting nowadays. I’m in there swinging.” Although he never suggested he wasn’t swinging for the fences, Greenberg did not allow his tremendous pursuit   c h a p t e r t w o

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Hank Greenberg crosses home plate after hitting home run number 58 on September 26, 1938, in the third inning of the second game of a doubleheader with St. Louis at Briggs Stadium. Why is Gee Walker not at home plate congratulating Greenberg on his tremendous feat? Greenberg hit homer number 57 in the first inning. Both blows were hit off starting pitcher Bill Cox and each came with one man on base. Hank now had five games left to either tie or break Babe Ruth’s single season record of 60 home runs. (Detroit News Archives)

of the record to blind his responsibility to the team. “Just this week, against the Yankees, Charlie Gehringer tripled with two out,” stated Hank. “Well, there’s no doubt about what I have got to do in a spot like that. I must bring Charley home as sure as I know how. So I shortened up my swing and hit one over the infield.” Amid this grueling battle and obsession for home runs, Greenberg maintained his respect for teammate Rudy York. “I might crack it this year or York might murder it next year,” projected Greenberg. “Don’t forget Rudy. He’s not a Singler Midget. And he can powder that ball.” Every great hitter has a pitcher or two who gives him trouble and they are not always the best hurlers in the league. Buck Newsom was the regular nemesis for Greenberg, and his propensity to rub it in really got under his skin. Newsom’s braggadocio would irritate a saint. In an interview with Detroit Times baseball writer Bob Murphy, Hank Greenberg revealed his pent-up hostility toward Newsom and the joy he felt on July 22, 1937, when the Tigers drove this loudmouth out of the box in the second inning after Hank had smashed a two-run homer off Bobo in the first frame. That Newsom put the bird on me one time this season like I’ve never had it before. He’s always been tough for me because he has a sidearm delivery. And he’s just wild enough that I’m always afraid he is gonna Franchise Stars  

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Hank Greenberg didn’t shy away from admitting he would continue to pursue Babe Ruth’s season home run record after falling three short of establishing a new mark. “Sure, I’ll be in there swinging for Ruth’s record next year,” said Greenberg. “It’s not humanly possible to come that close and not think about ways and means of beating it.” A creative photographer enticed Greenberg to sign his name to an early 1939 resolution. (Detroit News Archives)

crack me in the back of the head if I try to dig in and take a toehold on one of his offerings. There was one day this year when he fixed me for life. As I recall, it was a Sunday. I know there was a crowd of around 35,000 present. Newsom struck me out the first three times. He wasn’t content with that. Although he was losing he had to yell over: “Thank goodness, Greenberg, they’ve still got you on the club. I can strike you out when all other signs fail.” I can see that clown even now. The third time he struck me out he walked up and offered his hand. I refused to shake. The crowd booed me and I help[ed] make a hero out of Newsom. After I had struck out three times, Newsom came up and lined out a single. He was shaking with laughter when he got to first base. He stretched out his hand again. I had to shake it this time. Newsom said   c h a p t e r t w o

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to me: “That’s the way you’re supposed to hit in this league, Greenberg.” I was so mad I could have chewed that guy into bits when I came to bat the next time. I took a toehold and stepped into one. I thought it was a sure home run. But the outfielder backed up to the fence just enough to catch it. Newsom laughed some more. That was the most uncomfortable day I ever spent in baseball. Yes, I know what you’re about to say. It was worse than any day Dizzy Dean ever struck me out. Greenberg had been quickly reminded of the trouble he had hitting Dean in the 1934 World Series. Greenberg and his mates may have had their way with “Loud Lewie” on July 22, but it didn’t change his irascible behavior one iota. Now pitching for the St. Louis Browns, Newsom assured his manager, Gabby Street, he could chalk one up in the win column before he took the mound on August 21, 1938, in Detroit. “Mr. Briggs may think he owns this ball club but he doesn’t,” said Newsom. “Old Buck owns those Tigers.” Before the game Newsom met Greenberg in the runway leading to the clubhouse and Bobo told the Detroit slugger that he was fortunate not to face him every game: “You would be trying to set a record for loud fouls instead of home runs if you were.” Hardly intimidated by this brash talker, Greenberg promised he would hit a home run off of him that day. The quick-witted Newsom said he would shake Greenberg’s hand if that happened. In the seventh inning, Greenberg connected and drilled one into the pavilion for his forty-second home run. And just as Newsom promised, he was standing at home plate when Greenberg arrived and he shook his adversary’s hand. At the end of August Greenberg had amassed 46 home runs with 32 games remaining, 23 of which would be played in Briggs Stadium featuring what the press called the “leftfield shooting gallery.” The final month began on a sour note as Greenberg toiled through a number of homerless games, finally breaking the slump on the ninth with his forty-seventh homer. Then he broke loose at home. On September 11 he connected twice, numbers 48 and 49; he struck number 50 the following day, hit number 51 on September 16, and exploded with two more on September 17. In this historic game with New York, Greenberg went two for four, numbers 52 and 53 putting him five days ahead of Ruth’s record pace and tying the record of Jimmy Foxx for the most games in a season when a player hit two home runs, this being the ninth time for Greenberg. The home field onslaught continued when Hank belted number 54 on September 21 and drove in six runs. Two days later he set the record for two homer games when he smashed numbers 55 Franchise Stars  

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and 56. It seems amazing given how much fans love home runs that only 13,500 were on hand for this game at Briggs Stadium. There was still time but it was getting late. In the second game of a doubleheader with St. Louis, Greenberg powdered homers in the first and third innings to push his total to 58 and marking the eleventh time he had hit two in one game. Detroit and Hank closed out their season in Cleveland and the homer well went dry. On the last day of the season Greenberg and his teammates faced Rapid Robert Feller on a day when his weapons were firing bullets; he set a major league record by striking out eighteen Tigers. Greenberg’s quest fell three homers short of the mountain he sought to climb, though his feat left him forever in rare company. If one ignores the records made in the steroid era, Greenberg remains tied for third best all-time with Jimmy Foxx and Ryan Howard. Walks, intentional or not, significantly reduced the opportunity to take a mighty cut. With 119 free passes Greenberg topped the league in 1938; Ruth walked to first base 138 times in 1927, the year he set the record. Greenberg must have taken great pleasure in knowing that he had hit the most home runs—ten—against his once hometown Yankees. The shadow of teammate Rudy York was ever present in most of Hank Greenberg’s career and even more dominant as the 1940 season approached. Like young Greenberg, York had fielding deficiencies, but unlike Hank, he lacked the determination and ability to adjust and grow. He, too, was a bona fide slugger who had plenty of natural batting talent and Detroit had to find a place for him in the lineup. Had York played much later he would have been the ideal choice for the designated hitter. The Tigers put heavy pressure on Greenberg in negotiating his new contract, knowing that this businessman could be persuaded by the opportunity to earn extra money. Ultimately the two parties reached an agreement, each getting what they demanded and an All-Star first baseman would then learn to be a left-fielder. “Mr. Briggs has met my salary demands and I think I should do anything he asks,” stated Greenberg. “I don’t know how well I will play the outfield, but I do know one thing—I’ll do my darndest to become the kind of outfielder the Tigers are seeking.” The 1940 season and this challenge would mark another turning point in Greenberg’s career. Some doubted his ability to make the shift, but those who appreciated Greenberg’s persistence, competitiveness, and work ethic knew he would make the grade. Dan Daniel, a baseball writer for the New York World-Telegram, stated: “The conversion of Greenberg into an out  c h a p t e r t w o

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Hank Greenberg rounds third after hitting his forty-third home run in the fourth inning, September 26, 1946. He launched his forty-fourth homer in the eighth; both shots came with the bases empty in a three-hit game, helping the Tigers defeat the St. Louis Browns 6–3. His home run total of 44 topped the American League; Ted Williams finished second with 38. (Detroit News Archives)

fielder will not work. York will be traded by June 1. Hank [is] too old to do a thing he could not have done in first division style when he came up.” Manager Del Baker disagreed: “We have promised Hank that we will go down the line with him and he has promised that he will go down the line for us. I don’t see what more could be asked. I think you’ll see a pretty good outfielder out there next summer when Hank gets on to all the tricks of the trade.” Several other managers were asked to share an opinion and most expressed that the switch was worth the gamble. “Greenberg is to be commended for his excellent spirit,” said Red Sox manager Joe Cronin. “He is the type of player that can adapt himself to the outfield. . . . If he gets so he can play the outfield, it should aid his hitting, which is hard to improve upon.” There have been plenty of instances in which the team moved a player to a strange position and their hitting fell off while they wrestled with the challenges of change. For the Tigers’ new left-fielder, 1939 had been an off-year given his personal standard. He became a more than average outfielder and his offensive numbers rebounded in an admirable manner: he hit .340, his second career best, and led the junior circuit in home runs and RBIs. As the offensive leader of the team, Greenberg contributed significantly in Detroit’s capture of the American League pennant. His strong overall performance earned him his second MVP Award, an impressive feat considering he had just assumed a new role in the field. Franchise Stars  

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Hank Greenberg had to make numerous adjustments during his twelveyear major league career, none greater than his long absence from the ballpark during World War II. His military service cost him the equivalent of four whole seasons during some remaining very productive years. Just like in 1938 when he chased Ruth’s home run record, Greenberg’s induction into the military in 1941 gained the attention of the media. Highly paid and high-profile baseball players came under great scrutiny at a time when thousands of ordinary people were being drafted and sent off to places of danger. He didn’t receive any special treatment in the draft process and precisely followed the rules, though some people were openly suspicious. Given this man’s integrity, pride, and character, he became weary of the heavy press coverage of his situation. Some were certain that his well-known flat feet would get him off while others seemed especially interested in his prospects of forfeiting an alleged $50,000 salary for a private’s pay of $21 a month. As with other matters, Greenberg was not bashful in expressing his sentiments: “It will be a relief to get in the army and have all this bother over with.” When the American entry into the war expanded, teams were losing good ballplayers with alarming frequency. But in 1941, losing one of the game’s greatest stars was staggering to his ball club. Manager Del Baker’s statement about what it meant to have Greenberg drafted by the army was a simple truth: “Nobody is going to replace Greenberg. If you or the public or any one else has any idea of replacing Greenberg, then dismiss them.” Within a nine-month period Hank Greenberg’s professional baseball career was abruptly interrupted by two injuries. During the second game of the 1935 World Series in a collision at home plate, Greenberg’s wrist was fractured and he naturally missed the rest of an exceptional moment in Tigers history. His injury healed and when he returned to action in April 1936 in the twelfth game of the season, another similar incident occurred at first and his wrist was broken again. This time he sat out the rest of the year. Later when Hank reminisced about his career, he revealed the fear he had when the 1937 season began and the paranoia he felt about the potential for yet another injury. But this great ballplayer mastered all of the impediments on his way to enshrinement in baseball’s Hall of Fame. mickey cochrane

As half owner, Walter O. Briggs provided the cash, and Frank Navin bought an All-Star catcher from the financially strapped Philadelphia Athletics in December 1933 to launch a new era of winning baseball in Detroit. The

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Tigers paid the A’s $100,000 and threw in a young catcher to acquire the services of twenty-nine-year-old Mickey Cochrane as the player-manager of the team. The 1934 season would include nine managers who were also eligible to be players, but Cochrane was the only one without any managerial experience. But he did bring the experience of playing on three championship Athletic teams and stated he would pattern his leadership style after that of the venerable Connie Mack. Different than previous managers, Cochrane assumed the role of the team’s public relations agent and went right to work meeting people in Detroit and attending to a heavy speaking schedule. All new managers talk about how they are going to energize a team and ensure that the franchise and fans have a hustling team. But Cochrane went further in his commitment— he would transfer his own well-recognized fighting spirit to the players. “You men are in the advertising business and appreciate the value of color in advertising,” Cochrane observed to an assembly of businessmen. “We appreciate it on the diamond and I do not mind telling you that in the last five or six years there has been very little color on the so-called Tigers. They have been more like pussy cats that have been out all night in a downpour. It will be my job to inject color, dash and spirit into the club.” One can imagine that in the “Q and A” portion of his presentations Cochrane was asked what he thought of the abilities of his players. The press naturally asked the same question repeatedly. The Tigers had a bunch of hot young prospects who were graduates of farm teams and people were anxious to hear the new manager’s assessment. Speaking of twenty-three-year-old Hank Greenberg, he said: “I like that big fellow. . . . For a first-year man Greenberg had a remarkable season. . . . Besides, he is a great hustler. We need his type on the ball club and I figure that he will be in there.” Cochrane seemed to know a lot about this troupe of rookies. Gerald “Gee” Walker was also part of the dialogue. “I like Walker as a player and like what I have seen of him personally,” reported Cochrane. He certainly had been told that the young outfielder was temperamental because he related his experience with other similar players and suggested that too much restriction of their spirit contributed to the wrong behavior: “I am sure that we will have no difficulties and that Walker will do us a lot of good.” “How about Schoolboy Rowe?” was another inquiry that came up numerous times. “Since I found out I was to be the Tiger manager, I have been thinking a whole lot about that young fellow. I regard him as one of the greatest pitching prospects in the game. . . . If his arm is right again, he should be a big winner.” Tommy Bridges had been in the Tigers’ starting rotation for the previous two years Franchise Stars  

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Opposite page: Mickey Cochrane was a complete player. In an era when catchers tended to be weak hitters, he stood out, ending his thirteenyear career with a .320 lifetime batting average. Many people believed that Cochrane’s catching skills and ability to work with hurlers made Detroit’s pitching staff much more effective. Recognized as one of the best catchers of all time, Cochrane demonstrated great skills behind the plate. “Catching became an art with Cochrane and he was the artist,” said the Detroit News baseball writer H. G. Salsinger. “With him every pitch was a stroke of the brush that could help produce a new flawless painting, or spoil a canvas. He was, all things considered, the best mechanical catcher in baseball history. He handled bad pitchers better, caught foul flies more expertly, blocked runners more surely, and tagged runners more securely than any other catcher you can name, but catching meant a great deal more to Cochrane; the mechanical execution was only secondary.” (Detroit News Archives)

so Cochrane had hit against him and knew what he had. “I think he has as much stuff as any pitcher in the league, except Bump Hadley of St. Louis,” said Cochrane. “I am sure we can count on him to win his share of games.” Owner Frank Navin was a conservative, serious, and an in-charge kind of leader, but he made it abundantly clear that Cochrane would run the team and without interference. Many compared his disposition and style to those of Cobb, as he exhibited an intense competitive spirit and absolutely hated to lose. Competitive to the core, Cochrane often fell into a rage when he or his team failed to perform. Like Cobb, he would set the example and model the winning spirit he expected. A superb catcher with remarkable speed and agility, he was described as “a shortstop in catcher’s gear.” In an interview Cochrane said: “In my book, you‘re either out or you’re safe. You win or you lose. You aim for the top, and if you miss the top—well, then you’re not as good as you ought to be.” Two days after signing Cochrane, the Tigers obtained Goose Goslin from Washington and parted with John Stone, a fine young outfielder. Navin made the trade at the strong urging of his new manager. Cochrane coveted Goslin because he “has a first-division complex.” Every invitee to spring training in 1934 knew immediately the mind-set of their new field boss because Cochrane’s orientation speech was direct and bristling with candor. “The trouble with you has been that you figured you couldn’t win,” claimed Cochrane. “That’s been going on for years. How many games did you drop last year by low scores? Plenty. Maybe more than any other team in the league. Why? Because you figured you couldn’t win. If you’d had any confidence in yourselves, you’d put on a bit more pressure, you’d land in the first division. You’ve just got the idea that you belong in the second division and that’s why you’ve been there so long. You’re going to start thinking the other way from now on. You’re the best team in the league and you might as well realize it. You’re going to win the pennant and anybody that isn’t willing to help can get away somewhere else.” The team got off to a fast start, winning six of the first eight games, but then their fortunes turned and just as quickly started losing when they dropped eight in the next eleven contests. Cochrane received his first lesson in being a big league manager during the early weeks of the season. At the beginning of the season he announced that any player getting caught off base or who failed to run out a hit would be fined $10. Well the first guilty party turned out to be old number 3, the Tigers’ catcher! In the eighth inning of his fourth game at the helm, Cochrane hit a low line drive that he thought   c h a p t e r t w o

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had been caught; instead it was trapped and he failed to run. Sporting News writer Sam Greene must have been tickled when he reported: “The players held a council and Fred Marberry was appointed to inform Mickey that he had been adjudged guilty of laxness on the bases.” As could be expected, the boss paid the fine. Goose Goslin, the other new big gun in Detroit’s attack, got off to a miserable start. In a game with Cleveland on April 28, the Goose hit into four consecutive double plays and was soon entrenched in a batting slump. He appeared to be pressing, perhaps due to feeling he needed to demonstrate the value of the trade that brought him to the Bengals. Except for Gehringer, the whole lineup struggled to hit, including the manager. At one point, Cochrane benched himself. During this time when Gehringer was carrying the offense freight, Detroit played a three-game series with New York and the Tigers’ second baseman collected nine hits in ten times at bat. Cochrane, too, felt the pressure of a new manager who had announced bold expectations and he continually juggled the lineup. Certainly he must have worried whether Rowe’s arm would come back to form for he seriously considered sending him back to Beaumont. But he stuck with him, and on May 27 the big right-hander went the distance for the first time in the season, defeating Boston 7–2. Even more important, the team started hitting. Goslin got untracked, starting a long hitting streak on May 4 that eventually extended to thirty straight games. When the team began an eastern road trip in mid-June, Cochrane’s snarling Tigers were in first place, an early pace-setting position that a Tigers team had not attained in the previous ten years. A stunning comefrom-behind 12–11 win over the Yankees on July 14 illustrated the competitive fire of this new Tigers team. New York broke out quickly with four runs in the first inning and with their ace hurler, Lefty Gomez, on the mound, the Tigers’ prospects didn’t look good. The Bronx Bombers built their lead to six in the third inning. Detroit finally touched Gomez for its first tally in the bottom half of the inning, but New York countered with three more runs in the fourth to open up an eight-run lead. The Tigers kept clawing and closing the gap until they trailed 11–8 going into the ninth. In dramatic fashion the home team pushed across four runs to claim the victory. Sam Greene captured the transformational essence of the 1934 Tigers: “But this is a different Tiger team that Cochrane has assembled, and infused with belligerence.” Baseball writers often credit and speculate about dynasties in franchise history, the most obvious being the championship record of the New York Yankees. The Detroit Tigers made their longest championship run during   c h a p t e r t w o

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the Cobb-Jennings years, winning three consecutive American League pennants, 1907 through 1909, but they fell flat during those World Series competitions. In the context of the team’s history one could argue that the first four years that Mickey Cochrane managed may have come closer to a Detroit Tiger dynasty than any other period. In 1934 they won the AL flag, and although they were defeated by the Cardinals in the World Series, they fought through to the seventh game. The team brought home all the laurels in 1935, claiming the first world championship in team history. They finished a distant second in 1936 and the following season, but there were big extenuating circumstances. Had they not lost both Greenberg and Cochrane for most of 1936, this team would have given the Yankees a much stiffer challenge. These were glory years for the Tigers in spite of the

Managers are public relations agents and are aware of special guests seated at the rail, most often in the owner’s box. Here manager Mickey Cochrane has gone over to chat with Michigan governor Frank D. Fitzgerald, who was at the ballpark to watch the Tigers take on the Red Sox, August 22, 1935. An exciting pennant race always attracted highprofile spectators. (Detroit News Archives)

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Farmer Mickey Cochrane adds a bull to his seventeen head of Aberdeen Angus cattle, a gift from William E. Scripps, May 26, 1936. The bull was presented by Sidney Smith (left), manager of Wildwood Farms of Lake Orion. The tall gentleman to Cochrane’s right is Graham Bodwell, manager of Cochrane’s Mardon Farms. (Detroit News Archives)

Great Depression. In early 1936, Detroit’s starting lineup featured five Hall of Fame hitters in Mickey Cochrane, Charlie Gehringer, Hank Greenberg, Goose Goslin, and Al Simmons. The team had multiple players selected to American League All-Star teams: Bridges, Cochrane, Gehringer, Greenberg, Rowe, Walker, and York. In even more distinguished company, three of these stars were selected as the league’s most valuable player—Cochrane in 1934, Greenberg in 1935, and Gehringer in 1937. Attendance soared as never before with its first million-season gate in 1935 and an attendance that set a new record of 1,072,276 in 1937. For the five years of Cochrane’s tenure attendance averaged 940,374. Aside from their success as a team and the MVP awards of individual players, there were many exceptional highlights during the Cochrane years. In 1934 Schoolboy Rowe set a record by winning 16 games in a row; in 1937 Hank Greenberg set the all-time team record for runs batted in with 183 while his offensive partner, Charlie Gehringer, enjoyed a career season, hitting .371 and outdistancing the field to win the batting championship; and the next season Greenberg thrilled the baseball world with his gallant chase of Ruth’s home run record. For all the glory that Cochrane and his crew of stars created, a dark cloud hovered over Black Mike in the last years of his playing and managing career. It gathered in 1936 and the first signs appeared in June. In the third   c h a p t e r t w o

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After being acquired in a trade and appointed manager, Mickey Cochrane (left) had a very early request of the owner— acquire Goose Goslin. Cochrane had great respect for the Goose and knew his presence would help instill a winning spirit. “The Goose is the kind of player who can win a pennant for you and the World Series after you win the pennant,” said Cochrane. “He’s getting along in years, I’ll admit, but he’s good enough. I want him. He’s a money player.” After Detroit won the American League pennant in 1934, owner Frank Navin was asked to identify the key factors in the team’s championship season. Not surprisingly he mentioned Cochrane’s leadership, the performance of the Tigers’ infield, and Schoolboy Rowe’s string of 16 consecutive wins. “But if I were to name one single factor, it would be none of these,” claimed Navin. “It may sound strange, but the thing that to me, was the greatest single factor, happened before we had played a single game. It happened on the morning of the opening game in Chicago when ‘Goose’ Goslin, his nose broken a day or so before in Cincinnati, left a hospital bed against the doctors’ orders and reported to Mickey ready to play. . . . Old ‘Goose’ showed the spirit necessary for a winning ball club. He wouldn’t let a broken nose, two swollen and discolored eyes keep him out of the opening game. And when the rest of the fellows saw this sort of spirit they became imbued with it, too.” (Detroit News Archives)

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inning of a Tigers’ blow-up victory of the Philadelphia A’s at Shibe Park, Cochrane connected for an inside-the-park grand slam home run. Shortly after reaching the dugout, he collapsed. “I don’t know what happened,” stated a worried Tigers manager. “I . . . [was] suddenly seized by a dizzy feeling. Then my heart started beating at a rapid rate, and I thought I was going to die.” After being treated by the Athletics’ team doctor, Cochrane felt well enough to travel with the team to Washington. He had another attack there but stayed with the team on its trip to Boston. But after being examined by physicians in Boston he returned to Detroit and entered Henry Ford Hospital. The cause was attributed to hyperthyroidism; some speculated that he had suffered a nervous breakdown. The latter condition was certainly conceivable; Cochrane was high-strung and tense with all the pressure he was under. Frank Navin’s death following the World Series surely could have affected him as well. Navin’s death led to a reorganization of the team’s front office and Cochrane became vice president, taking on many of the responsibilities of the former owner. Even more important, Cochrane had lost a very good friend in whom he had often confided. After a two-week stay in Henry Ford Hospital, Cochrane flew out West to rest and recuperate on a friend’s ranch in Wyoming. When he returned to Michigan, owner Walter O. Briggs released a statement reporting that Cochrane would rejoin the team for a series in New York on July 15. However, Cochrane was not physically ready to resume his role. Coach Del Baker continued to more than share the role in managing the club as his boss still suffered from dizziness. Cochrane tried to play sparingly in September, but it was a lost season after his collapse in early June. Cochrane returned to the lineup in 1937 and his team got out of the gate fast, winning seven of its first nine games. Then as so often happens, the Cochrane boys went into a tailspin, losing all but three in the next eleven contests. They were four games over .500 on a tragic Tuesday in late April. Cochrane was in a upbeat mood, his team had started to click, he was hitting the ball well, and on this day, April 25, the “Big Fellow,” as he liked to call Schoolboy Rowe, was on the hill. Then in the fifth inning Cochrane lost sight of a riding fastball hurled by Yankee pitcher Bump Hadley that struck him in the head, fracturing his skull. The headline of H. G. Salsinger’s story in the Detroit News read: “Minds on a Man in a Hospital: All Flag Dreams Vanish.” Mickey Cochrane lay in a life-threatening situation. Once again, Coach Baker would be his surrogate field boss, but his empathy was strong for he, too, had suffered a beaning years earlier. “A fractured skull is always a   c h a p t e r t w o

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serious matter and we must concede that Mike is in a serious condition,” reminded Baker. “But my own experience tells me that all we can do is wait for nature to get in its healing work and to hope that a blood clot does not develop meanwhile. That is the danger, I think.” Cochrane survived, but he had played his final big league game and would never be quite the same directing the team from outside the white lines. Before the Cochranes took a recuperative trip to Europe later in the season, Mr. Briggs inked Cochrane to a two-year contract through 1939, a confident and compassionate statement of support. Baker finished the year as skipper, and Mickey returned to begin a new campaign in 1938. Just like old times, Mickey went to spring training determined to get in shape; he dove into the practice sessions as though nothing had

Manager Mickey Cochrane (center) and his two coaches—Cy Perkins (left) and Del Baker, who would eventually succeed him in 1938. Perkins was an old buddy back when Cochrane and he played together with the Philadelphia Athletics. (Detroit News Archives)

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happened in 1937. At least at this juncture he had made up his mind to quit playing. “I’m through,” said Cochrane. “I won’t even get in there as a pinch hitter any more. I’d be taking a foolish chance if I went back as a player now.” The season was filled with disappointments and frustrations as this once great team struggled. A year earlier Cochrane had believed he needed one more quality outfielder and Briggs went along with the acquisition of Cochrane’s old friend Al Simmons at a price tag of $75,000. Although Simmons had slowed down he still hit a highly respectable .327, but he didn’t mesh with the chemistry of this team. So before the next season started Simmons was dispatched to Washington at the marked-down price of $15,000. “I’m glad that it’s all over and I feel greatly relieved,” said Cochrane. “I made a mistake on Al. It was a boot on my part and I’m willing to admit it now.” After the 1937 season the Tigers engineered a big trade with the Chicago White Sox. Cochrane rightfully believed his team needed more pitching so they packaged Gee Walker, Marv Owen, and Mike Tresh and swapped them for pitcher Vern Kennedy, outfielder Dixie Walker, and infielder Tony Piet. Kennedy had been a 21-game winner in 1936 but had won only 14 the following season. The kingpin in Detroit’s package was Gee Walker, a huge fan favorite who was coming off his greatest season in which he hit .335 and drove in 113 runs. Tigers fandom went berserk. Cochrane admitted that if Kennedy didn’t shine, he was going to take a lot of grief. The new hurler racked up ten wins by midseason, enough to gain a spot on the All-Star team despite a high ERA and strong run support. The rest of the year was a different season for Kennedy as he managed just two more victories and ran his loss column up to nine. With Kennedy’s trouble, Cochrane’s pitching staff collapsed. The frequently sore-armed Schoolboy Rowe was sent back to Beaumont with a hope and a prayer that he would recover. The team never jelled as a winning combination and during stretches played below .500. Improving to two games over the break-even mark represented their high-water mark while Cochrane was in charge. On July 21 they bottomed out eight games under .500. The decision to change field leadership was made after being bombed by the Red Sox 14–8 on August 6 in Detroit. Briggs announced Cochrane’s dismissal the next day: “I sincerely regret the termination of our baseball relationship from the personal standpoint and because of the contribution which Mickey Cochrane gave to Detroit and to our club.” After Cochrane had been hit in the head and his future rested in limbo, a baseball writer asked Donie Bush, a highly regarded former Detroit shortstop   c h a p t e r t w o

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and then manager of a minor league team, about his recollections of Black Mike. Having played with Ty Cobb for many years, the comparison was inescapable for Bush: “And that’s why I always admired Mickey Cochrane. He was the Ty Cobb of the present generation—a fellow who fought every minute of every game—taking chances, throwing his body into plays at the plate, and carrying the battles to the other fellows at all times.” But now this warrior had sheared his sword into a plowshare. goose goslin

Soon after being hired in December 1933 to lead the Detroit Tigers, new manager Mickey Cochrane made his first move to bolster his club for the upcoming season. Detroit traded a fine younger outfielder, Jonathon Stone, to the Washington Senators for veteran fly chaser Leon “Goose” Goslin. Washington must have assumed that the twenty-eight-year-old Stone would keep developing and have a longer productive career because the departed Goslin was then thirty-three. Ironically, both closed out their big leagues careers following the 1938 season. Although Goslin was never selected for an All-Star team, he brought tremendous experience, having played on three Washington World Series teams, and was an established star. He won the batting crown in 1928 with a .379 mark, was a lifetime .300 hitter, and had driven in 100 or more runs during eight seasons. Washington’s Griffith Stadium was Death Valley for home run hitters and the Tigers likely expected the left-handed hitting Goose to become more of a long ball threat at Navin Field with its short right-field fence. In his first two seasons at the helm, Cochrane made just two big acquisitions—Goslin for 1934 and beyond and Al Simmons for 1936 and however long. In each case he thought he knew what he was getting. “It’s true Stone is much younger than Goslin, but in this case experience should offset Goslin’s age,” said Cochrane. “Goose is a ‘money player’ and that’s what this club needs. We have a lot of young players, but they never have had the advantage of a ‘winning spirit.’ Goslin will help to supply that and he should be of great value to us.” Cochrane’s characterization was shared by many others. Here was a veteran player who performed best when the chips were down; everyone loves a player who has the confidence and fighting will to come through when the team needs him the most. When the “ducks were on the pond” the manager wanted the Goose up at the plate. Goslin was happy to be joining the Tigers. He predicted a strong team performance, stating his new club would finish no lower than third in the Franchise Stars  

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Before batting gloves, taping the handle of a bat was common. Here Leon “Goose” Goslin has devised a unique method to carefully wrap tape on the handle of his bat. (Detroit News Archives)

standings. As he saw it, Detroit would fight it out with Washington and New York for the American League pennant. With a one-of-a-kind crystal ball he said: “I look for Tommy Bridges and Schoolboy Rowe to each win as many as 20 games for us.” (Bridges won 22 and Rowe 24.) The difference in the field dimensions between Griffith Stadium and Navin Field had not escaped his attention. “I always liked to hit at Navin Field and am happy over the chance of playing half my games there,” Goslin said. “I’ll get my share of base hits. Don’t worry about me.” Always talkative, Goslin was a very positive guy and good copy. He liked to have fun and pull pranks on other players, including the visitors. New York ace Lefty Gomez once told the Goose that he was nursing a sore wrist and Goslin asked to see it. “Yep, just like the one I had,” pronounced   c h a p t e r t w o

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Doctor Goslin. “You’d better not twist that wrist much or you’re liable to be laid up for months”—a situation that would have been great for Detroit and the rest of the competition. A gullible Gomez bought the diagnosis until a teammate familiar with Goslin’s playfulness set him straight. Kids loved the Goose and he reciprocated with his affection. Goslin played left field and the lower deck became the seats of choice for young fans. Many Detroit sports writers were aware of this relationship and frequently mentioned it. One wrote: “Goose Goslin wishes the ‘Yea Goose’ gang in left field did the official scoring. He could not make an error because the youngsters worship him. He is truly King of the Kids. They give him a hit on a double play.” Although he stayed in good condition and never admitted that his playing career was waning, Goslin did reveal his future aspiration to be a manager and was sensitive about being called old. He didn’t hesitate telling the press how he would operate. “If I sent a pitcher in there and he proved in the first two pitches that he was wild, out he would come,” insisted Goslin. “I wouldn’t care how much he protested.” His focus revealed that pitchers who didn’t throw strikes really irritated the Goose. “I’d get the hurlers so sore at me or so afraid of me that they’d throw that ball over the plate rather than run the risk of taking my verbal abuse for not doing so.” Maintaining that age is all in one’s head, Goslin proclaimed: “If I paid any attention to all I read and hear about my ‘aging legs’ and ‘fading form,’ it would have got me down long ago. But I don’t. Let the fans and the papers say what they will, it won’t bother me. I used to be upset by those things but no more.” The Goose could laugh at himself, too. In an August 1935 game he was on first base when the bases were loaded and he tried to steal third. Apparently thinking the runner on third, Gehringer, had scored and those who occupied the sacks were running, Goslin took off. Owen, the batter, saw the problem and tried to protect Goslin; he swung at the pitch, sending a single into center. “It’s a lucky thing Owen hit that single through there or I’d have run Gehringer down,” said Goslin. “And the Goose would have been cooked and I don’t like to look like a chump, not at my age.” Goslin played for Detroit for four seasons; his last was 1937 before he joined the Washington Senators for the third time. He was a key factor in the two pennant-winning seasons and forever remembered as the hero who delivered the clutch single in the ninth inning of game 6 to drive in Mickey Cochrane with the winning run and secure the team’s first world championship in 1935. During his first three years with Detroit he averFranchise Stars  

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Goose Goslin had a wonderful relationship with fans and he accommodated their desire for his attention. When it was known that Goslin would not be returning to the Tigers after the 1937 season, Bud Shaver, a baseball writer for the Detroit Times, received a very touching letter from two sisters. “Dear Mr. Shaver: Please use this money to buy something for dear Goose Goslin. We hope lots of kids send some more in so you can buy him something nice. Tell him we hope he comes back to Detroit to see us kids often, because he is our best friend. Maybe you could buy him a gun. He likes them. Yours truly, Delores and Joyce Freeman. P.S.—Our cousin, Glenn Forcier, is only 20 months old, but he is sending 25 cents too.” Shaver made a phone call and learned that Delores was eleven years old and her younger sister just three. Bud Shaver found this letter so special that he wrote a longer letter to the two girls and shared a story about how the Goose loved children and how much he appreciated their kindness toward him. He quoted a statement that Goslin had made to him: “When kids cheer for you they mean it and you know it. They don’t change. They aren’t like some grown-ups who pat you on the back and boo you the same day. That’s why I love kids and not many grown-ups.” (Detroit News Archives)

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Goose Goslin’s tenure with Detroit lasted only four years but he was a key cog in the team’s championship years in 1934 and 1935. His game-winning hit in the sixth game of the 1935 World Series will always be a special moment in franchise history. In three of his four seasons in Detroit he drove in 100 or more runs. (Detroit News Archives)

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aged over 110 RBIs a season and departed with a four-year batting average of .297. Age did catch up to the Goose; he played in only 79 games in his final season with Detroit and wrapped up his eighteen-year career in 1938, getting into just 38 games and settling for a .158 batting average in that final year. A great hitter, Goose Goslin left baseball with a lifetime batting average of .316. hal newhouser

Aloysius “Wish” Egan became the most famous Tigers scout in history with an impressive list of signees. But seventeen-year-old Harold Newhouser remained his greatest catch and the greatest pitcher in franchise history. All young athletes who are signed to professional baseball contracts have standout amateur careers and lead scouts to think that this one could be the player they’ll tout in their résumé. Newhouser’s sandlot record was eyepopping: at the young age of fifteen he pitched a team called the All-City Stars to the league title, winning 10 straight games. In his first American Legion game he struck out 24 and for the season hurled two no-hitters with a record of 14-2 as his team won the state title. In 1938 he won 17 in a row and pitched the Roose-Vanker Post squad to the national semifinals. He gave up only 11 earned runs all year for an unheard-of ERA of less than .025. The big league scouts came in droves but Egan had been following this lad for years and had developed a trusting relationship; he won out. Signed after the season, Newhouser was sent to the Alexandria club in the Evangeline League in 1939 where he showed well. Detroit then moved him up to their top farm team, the Beaumont Exporters. Beaumont finished dead last in the Texas League that year, and though Newhouser lost 14 games to go with only 5 victories, he recorded a 3.83 ERA. Newhouser began his professional career with two already developed strong pitches, a blazing fastball and a sharp breaking curve. Because of his exceptional pitching skills and potential, Newhouser was put on a fast track. In his first pro season he had pitched in 34 games at the minor league level and would never return to those ranks. Anxious to see this outstanding prospect against big league competition, management introduced him on September 29, 1939, in a game with Cleveland. In a five-inning game shortened by darkness, Newhouser was credited with his first career loss, giving up three hits and three runs while striking out four, unleashing three wild pitches, and walking four. He also had his first complete game under his belt. Although nervous and obviously wild, the kid displayed some   c h a p t e r t w o

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Hal Newhouser is showing how he grips his devastating curveball. His veteran teammate Roger “Doc” Cramer compared him to another future Hall of Fame pitcher, Lefty Grove, in terms of temperament: both hated to lose and had the ability to get tough in the pinches. “Newhouser is just as ordinary a loser as Grove,” said Cramer. “He has a great pitch—a curve ball, whereas Grove’s best was his fast ball.” Cramer knew that the fire in Newhouser’s gut became hot when men were in scoring position. “Talk to any batter and he’ll tell you that Newhouser is two different pitchers entirely—the tough one when he’s working with none on and the extra-tough one when men are in scoring position. That’s a sign of pitching greatness.” (Detroit News Archives)

noticeable stuff. “Just to give you an idea of what I really think of him, I’d gladly make a trade with Detroit,” said Tribe manager Oscar Vitt. When asked whom he might offer in return, Vitt said: “You can mention anyone but Feller.” Showing a lot of confidence, Baker put this nineteen-year-old in the starting rotation and in a route-going six-hit performance against Washington, Newhouser earned his first career victory. Though he had not yet learned to control his pitches, this was not uncommon for a hard thrower. In this contest he walked six. The youngster had thrown some great games in the minors but had come up empty in the win column. This one meant a lot to him. “I never thought it [the drought] would be over,” said Newhouser. “I’ve even pitched three one-hitters in the minors and one game went into the tenth a no-hitter. [Dick] Bartell kept telling me that such things had to end, but when you’re 19 years-old I guess time seems longer.” To remember his first big league win, he asked his teammates to autograph the game ball. The stage got bigger in his next outing on May 7 when he faced the mighty New York Yankees. Baker pulled him in the ninth but he pitched well, giving up eight safeties but only one earned run to claim his second major league win. Again, he issued six free passes. Wish Egan was elated. “I knew that kid was game the first time I saw him pitch in the American Franchise Stars  

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Tigers ace hurler Hal Newhouser is awaiting the beginning of a spring training practice at Henley Field in Lakeland, Florida, March 3, 1947. He is wearing a rubberized suit under his uniform shirt, often used by pitchers because it induced perspiration as hurlers worked at getting in shape. Record wise, Newhouser had an off year in 1947, winning and losing 17 games yet he pitched in tough luck while compiling a stingy 2.87 ERA. (Detroit News Archives)

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Legion,” said a pleased super scout. “[The] first time I watched him he found himself with men on first and third and nobody out. What do you think he did? He glared at the guy on third and he glared at the guy on first. Then he reared back and poured that ball in there. He got the next three men in order. Only a game kid will come up to a challenge like that kid did.” Newhouser was receiving a lot of attention and observers were being impressed. While the Tigers took batting practice on a day when a game against the Athletics had been canceled, Philadelphia outfielder Al Simmons decided to watch. “I’ll probably be pinch hitting against this fellow so I might as well have a look at what he’s got,” Simmons said. After Newhouser had snapped off several dandy curveballs, he remarked: “Say, that fellow must have that ball educated. It jumps like a jackrabbit.” The catcher, Birdie Tebbetts, joined the conversation, stating: “That boy is going to win a lot of ball games for us. . . . They don’t hit this boy very hard.” Opposing managers were also forecasting a good future for the young left-hander. “That big Newhouser can’t miss being a great pitcher,” claimed Red Sox skipper Joe Cronin. And St. Louis manager Fred Haney had the same strong opinion: “Newhouser has that high hard one across the letters and pitchers who have that are always tough. They last a long while too, as a rule. I think Newhouser may develop into quite a pitcher.” Whereas most young hurlers learn their trade toiling in the minors, Newhouser served his apprenticeship at the major league level. In first two full seasons his earned run average was elevated and approaching five runs a game. Until his breakout year in 1944, he compiled a four-year rookie record of 34-51 as he struggled to acquire command. Despite a less than stellar record, Newhouser was selected for the 1942 All-Star game but was disappointed that Joe McCarthy didn’t use him because he had pitched too recently: “I had a nice time going to New York and hearing the bands play in the Polo Grounds. But, after the game started, I spent most of the time in the bullpen. I wanted to pitch.” Even more surprising, he was picked again in 1943, clearly a testimony to his great potential and tools. He would be selected four additional times but was left off the roster in 1945—this was as unexplainable as his first two selections. Newhouser became a tough-luck pitcher during May and June 1943 when between May 6 and June 17, he won 3 and lost 4 despite giving up only 13 runs in his four losses. The run support was miserably low during this stretch, just 18 in 7 games. O’Neil remained a Newhouser fan. He was ecstatic after the left-hander stopped New York in Yankee Stadium 3–2 on 4 hits while fanning 14. “He’s Franchise Stars  

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“Prince Hal” Newhouser is ready to let it fly en route to a complete game shutout of the Philadelphia Athletics on August 20, 1945. Roger Cramer and Roy Cullenbine stroked home runs to provide much of the needed punch in a 4–0 victory. With this commanding performance Newhouser notched his twentieth victory of the season. Though Newhouser seemed to have can’t-miss tools, it took him awhile to harness his abilities. During his second year of pro ball, general manager Jack Zeller went scouting in the Texas League looking for a quality lefthanded pitching prospect. He asked an official associated with the team in Houston if he had any recommendations and received the following response: “There’s the best lefthander down here [at Beaumont] that I’ve seen in ten years or more. His name is Newhouser.” (Detroit News Archives)

really hot this year,” bragged the Tigers manager. Lack of control of both his fastball and breaking stuff as well as his temper would test Newhouser and those around him for several seasons. He walked over 100 in less than 200 innings in three consecutive seasons, 1941–43; his worst season was 1941 when he walked 137 in 173 innings. Many people spoke of his volcanic temperament. His outbursts when teammates made errors alienated him and allegedly lowered team morale. A couple of incidents during the 1943 season left a lasting and sour memory with the team. While playing Boston, Dick Wakefield misplayed a routine fly ball that dropped for a double and scored the runs that defeated Newhouser and Detroit. Once back in the clubhouse Newhouser caustically said: “Well, that $50,000 prize blew another one for me.” Players also remembered the day when Newhouser, the relief pitcher, failed to hold a lead and Detroit lost in the tenth inning. Like others, he took out his anger on things he thought he could break; this time he smashed a case of empty pop bottles. He was a hard loser and some contended that his temper fueled a fighting and competitive attitude that made him bear down in tough situations. His manager was encouraged by the progress being made in 1943. “He seems to have found himself,” said O’Neil. “I mean by that Harold has mastered an unfortunate disposition. He now believes that he can get the ball over the plate. He used to get angry   c h a p t e r t w o

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with himself. Control was all that he needed—he had everything else. Yes, I think he is through with those wild streaks. If he is he should become one of the greatest.” All that had been forecasted for this talented left-hander flashing across the face of baseball in 1944. This was his career season, and it would have been a career year for 99 percent of those who have ever pitched in the majors. He greatly cut down his walks per nine innings, allowing 102 free passes in 312 innings, and he harnessed his anger. Surely winning consistently was a big motivator and confidence builder. “This is my year—I know it,” he claimed. Newhouser had matured, too, and he was listening to the advice given him. He recognized the help he had received from veteran

This is not a scene one would see in twenty-first-century major league baseball. Hal Newhouser is the only Detroit Tigers pitcher ever to be inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame and the winner of 207 career victories. In four of five years beginning in 1944, he led the American League in wins and worked an average of over 300 innings per season. (Detroit News Archives)

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catcher Paul Richards. Newhouser had developed a slider to add to his repertoire: “He [Richards] spent a lot of time with me on it and he also gave me some advice on when to use it and against whom to use it.” The catcher’s influence went beyond pitching skills and strategy—he helped the still young hurler change his attitude: “Richards helped me get a new slant. He convinced me that the breaks will even up if a fellow only keeps giving his best.” Newhouser and his slightly older sidekick, Dizzy Trout, became a nearly unbeatable combination as they piled up win after win. Along the way they became the Yankee killers, each conquering Goliath six times in this remarkable season. In a tight pennant race O’Neil went to the victory well repeatedly when he needed a win, bringing both aces in as relief pitchers in between starts. A sixteen-inning struggle with the Yankees at Briggs Stadium on June 1 is illustrative. Trout came in to start the ninth with the score tied and, after retiring the first two hitters, put the go-ahead run on first with a walk. O’Neil went to the pen again, this time bringing in Newhouser, who hurled 7.1 innings of shutout relief, which allowed his mates to finally score the winning run in the bottom half of the sixteenth inning. These two All-Star hurlers nearly pitched their team to a pennant in 1944, winning 56 games between them, 29 from Newhouser and 27 from Trout. Their total represented 64 percent of the team’s victories and carried Detroit right down to the wire before finally being nosed out by the St. Louis Browns by a slim margin of one game. Placed in historical perspective, the tandem of aces surpassed the old record of 55 wins established in 1920 by Jim Bagby and Stanley Covaleskie. Now in a groove, Newhouser came back with another league-leading performance during Detroit’s world champion season in 1945. With the new season about to begin one could expect that Newhouser would be riding an emotional high considering his blockbuster year in 1944. The fire in his belly that spilled out in uncomplimentary ways also drove his dogged determination to win every game he pitched. “Imagine the ball club losing 66 games last year—and one of them, just one—costing us the championship,” stated Newhouser. “It’s enough to disturb anyone’s sleep.” This was vintage Hal Newhouser. When asked if there was a game he had lost that lingered in his memory, Newhouser quickly responded: “There was a game on Aug. 22 in New York that keeps haunting me. The defeat came after I had beaten the Yanks six straight. They beat us 9 to 7. At the end of the fifth, we trailed, 9 to 0, and I was yanked. It was my worst day.” Although he had great moments like his one-hit victory over the Browns   c h a p t e r t w o

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on May 6, 1945, he scuffled a bit during the opening months of the season. However, in June, Newhouser took off winning seven in a row and had a winning record of 12-4 on June 28. In a season when Hal paced nearly every category of pitching excellence, many hitters knew they were overmatched. An unnamed Chicago White Sox player said: “Fast ball, fast curve, slow curve, slider—he throws ’em all and you have one guess. And when I say fast ball, I’m talking about a pitch that sings—‘Try and touch me,’ as it goes by.” Newhouser notched his 25th victory on the last day of the season. He topped all measures of pitching greatness, but his leagueleading 8 shutouts and 1.81 ERA punctuated his dominant performance. These terrific season performances earned him the Most Valuable Player Award in 1944 and 1945. He averaged 20 victories a season over a four-year stretch and had his second-best season in 1946 when he led the league again, posting a 26-9 record with a dazzling 1.94 ERA. No doubt Newhouser came of age during the war years, but the diluted level of talent would continue to taint his greatness in the minds of many. In his biography A Tiger in His Time: Hal Newhouser and the Burden of Wartime Ball, David Jordan seeks to place his subject in the pantheon of baseball’s greatest pitchers: “On the testimony of the numbers and of his contemporaries, Newhouser is one of the top left-handed pitchers of all time—certainly within the top 10—and the dominant southpaw of his era. His career was curtailed at a relatively early age by the affliction in his left arm and shoulder, but in his prime he had blinding speed, an awesome curveball, and a baffling change of pace. Once he learned control, of his pitches and of himself, he was a master on the mound.” george kell

Detroit needed a third baseman to replace the aging Pinky Higgins, and general manager George Troutman put together a deal on May 18, 1946, with Connie Mack to acquire twenty-three-year-old George Kell in exchange for Detroit outfielder Barney McCosky. As third sacker Kell had hardly caused much of a stir, fielding his position well but hitting modestly, .268 in 1944 and .272 the following season. McCosky, five years older, had broken into Detroit’s lineup with a bang, hitting .311 with 190 safeties in his rookie season, 1939. The next year was even more impressive when he led the league with 200 hits and compiled a .340 average. Although his average started to slide down from his career best, he hit .324 and .293 before spending three years in the military. When he returned to the Tigers in 1946 he fell into a Franchise Stars  

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slump and was hitting only .198 but Mr. Mack liked him. Kell, on the other hand, was off to a good start and after 26 games was hitting at a .299 clip. The change of scenery would be a blessing for each player as Kell hit .327 for the rest of the season and McCosky found new life in Philadelphia, hitting .354 over 92 games. At the time of the trade, Philadelphia was finishing up a short two-game series and the two players exchanged locker rooms although neither played for their new team on May 18. Players at this time readily accommodated photographers and the Detroit News published a photograph of McCosky in street clothes touching the Old English D on Kell’s new uniform. With Boston in town on Monday for a doubleheader, George Kell made his debut playing in both games and going one for three in each. Perhaps thinking the Tigers’ acquisition of Kell wasn’t anything to get excited about, Free Press editor Lyall Smith didn’t even mention the new third baseman in his account of the two games. H. G. Salsinger, an equally read beat writer of the Detroit News, was clearly impressed: “Kell, at the age of 23, faces a future that should establish him as one of the game’s best third basemen, come who may. He is fast, quick, alert, aggressive. He has an excellent throwing arm. He is intelligent. In a day when good shortstops are plentiful and good third basemen a rarity, Kell stands out. He may stand out even more with added experience.” Kell had made a couple of sparkling plays that elicited Salsinger’s high praise.

Bob Tales Bob Murphy When bitter disappointment comes, and all the world suddenly seems to have dropped from under you, that’s when class will tell. And it can be said of Barney McCosky, who is switching from a world’s championship team to the last-place Athletics, that he really showed the type of athlete and gentleman he is last Saturday afternoon at Briggs Stadium. I have never seen a professional athlete appear more mentally distressed than Barney after Steve O’Neil broke the news of the trade that sent him to Philadelphia in exchange for Prof. Georgie Kell. Barney made no effort to hide his disappointment. But he took the news like a real man, and when a photographer approached him and asked if he wouldn’t go to the dressing room and pose handing over his uniform to Kell, Barney went along and acted the scene with a smile. I know a lot of baseball players who probably would have hit the same photographer

Opposite page: This unique photograph illustrates the level of film-making technology in 1947 as a crew captures Hal Newhouser’s pitching delivery at Briggs Stadium. (Detroit News Archives)

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Opposite page: Third baseman George Kell was a great infielder who finished his fifteen-year career with a stellar .971 fielding average and committed only 168 errors in 1,795 games. In 1946 Tigers coach Frank Shellenbach, a big admirer of Kell, said: “Right now I’d call George the number one third baseman in our league. . . . George has a great pair of hands and a fine arm—as fine as you’d want to see on a third baseman. Why, I can’t remember a bad throw he’s made since he joined us.” (Detroit News Archives) Above: May 18, 1946, became a momentous day in the career of twentythree-year-old George Kell, shown here entering the Tigers’ clubhouse for the first time. Detroit traded popular outfielder Barney McCosky to the Philadelphia A’s to acquire Kell. In one of the team’s greatest trades, Kell blossomed in Detroit, becoming a regular .300 hitter and an American League All-Star. (Detroit News Archives)

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Although not a home run threat, George Kell specialized in hitting line-drive doubles, leading the AL in 1950 and 1951. He enjoyed his best years in Detroit, hitting over .300 in every full season before being part of a big trade with Boston in June 1952 in the midst of the Tigers’ first year when the team finished dead last in the standings. (Detroit News Archives)

with a chair for even suggesting such a picture. There will be thousands and thousands of people pulling hard for McCosky in the years ahead—except, of course, on those days when he will be bucking his old mates. McCosky was a very popular Tiger and in an amazing lack of sensitivity, the team gave Kell his uniform number—21. Murphy’s column was originally published on May 21, 1946. (Permission granted by the Detroit News.)



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Future Hall of Fame member Earl Averill was nearing the end of his playing career when Detroit acquired him in a trade with Cleveland on June 14, 1939. “We’ll have some explaining to do in Cleveland, Earl’s very popular,” assured manager Oscar Vitt. “He’s a fine player and very easy to handle, doing what he’s told without question. He was late reporting and got off to a slow start. He’ll help Detroit.” In his two years with the Tigers he played in 151 games as a part-time outfielder and hit .267, far below his lifetime batting average of .318. (Detroit News Archives)

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By early June, George Kell had Steve O’Neil raving about him. The young third baseman was hitting consistently and had not committed an error since joining the team. “There is a youngster who will eventually go down as one of the greatest third basemen of our time,” predicted O’Neil. “Right now I’m thinking of fellows who really covered third base like a blanket—guys like Ossie Bluege and Jumping Joe Duggan. This Kell kid is going to be as good as them. He just can’t miss.” After a reporter mentioned that he had not committed an error in thirteen games, O’Neil responded: “That’s nice but statistics could not tell how good Kell is. He’s got a spirit that really is contagious. If ever a boy played like he enjoyed the game thoroughly there he is. Why he’s just a born infielder. Watch how he gets the jump on any grounder. Notice how he is moving in the right direction the instant the ball is hit. Reflexes? Why that’s Mr. Reflex himself. Young lad, too. Detroit doesn’t have to worry about [the] third base spot for at least 10 years.” O’Neil, almost in an emotional lather, then turned to offer his appraisal of Kell’s hitting ability. “He’ll hold up more than his end in that department too,” assured the field boss. “He’s an aggressive type at bat. That’s what I like about him. He’s not hoping for a base on balls and taking pitches near the plate. He’s really up there to hit.” Kell’s hitting in 1946 after he arrived in Detroit represented an astounding surprise given his very average production in Philadelphia. In a 15–1 blowout of the Cleveland Indians on September 20 he collected six hits in seven at bats. For the season he cranked it up to .323 to finish fourth highest in the American League. In summarizing some of the best individual Tiger players’ accomplishments, the Detroit Times baseball writer Leo MacDonald naturally began with Hal Newhouser and Hank Greenberg, both of whom had enjoyed exceptional seasons: Newhouser was the winningest pitcher and Greenberg the home run king. Lest Kell’s fine season be overlooked, MacDonald wrote: “Kell’s brilliant performances, afield as well as at bat, [are] sensational since the young man from Arkansas is but a big league sophomore, a complete nobody with Philadelphia last season. If not already, he promises to become the league’s outstanding third sacker, probably the best in the majors.” After a great new beginning in the Detroit infield, Kell more than duplicated his previous season’s output, batting .320, getting 188 hits, and driving in 93 runs in 1947, far surpassing any previous mark. Kell was achieving the kind of recognition that O’Neil and others were forecasting; he made the American League All-Star in five consecutive years. Calling 1948 the worst season of his career, Kell suffered two serious injuries, the second of

Opposite page: The Tigers shelled out $75,000 to purchase outfielder Al Simmons from the Chicago White Sox after the 1935 season. Greenberg had broken a wrist during the World Series and Mickey Cochrane, now vice president and manager, could not have anticipated that his big slugger would break it again early in the 1936 season. At the time of Simmons’s acquisition Cochrane said: “I’m buying Simmons as pennant insurance. . . . I’m convinced Simmons has enough ability left to clinch the pennant for us this year.” Like Greenberg, the two-time batting champ was a big RBI man. He and Cochrane had been teammates on those great pennant-winning A’s teams managed by Connie Mack. In his only season with the Tigers, Simmons rebounded nicely, driving in 112 runs and batting .321, but he had slowed defensively and somehow negatively affected team chemistry. With relationships impaired, Cochrane felt forced to move him out, admitting that he had made a mistake. “That’s the toughest job a manager has,” confessed Cochrane. “How I hate to tell a player [in this case a friend] he’s through with the club.” The Tigers sold Simmons to Washington for a bargain price of $15,000. (Detroit News Archives)

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which occurred on August 29 when a sharply hit ball took a bad bounce at Yankee Stadium and struck him in the jaw, causing a fracture. This injury canceled the rest of the season. In this injury-impaired year, Kell played in only 92 games but managed a .304 batting average. When he came to spring camp in 1949 Kell pronounced himself healed and physically fit to new Tigers manager Red Rolfe. Reporting early, Kell said: “I just dropped in today to see if anybody else was lined up to take my place on third.” With reassurance, Rolfe replied: “You’re our man. Don’t worry about that. Don’t get hurt, that’s all I ask.” After Kell became a leading hitter, pitchers started dusting him off. When this happened with increased frequency in 1949, Kell became angry. “They’re knocking me down and I don’t like it,” he said. Kell had been hit by an errant pitch from Vic Raschi in 1949 that kept him on the sidelines for three weeks, making him all the more leery of the number of deliberately thrown balls whistling by his upper body and head. With a .353 league-leading batting average, Kell broke a bone in his right foot running out a bunt in late June; eleven days later he was back in the lineup contributing 3 hits to a 7–6 Detroit victory. By mid-August with the Tigers still in the hunt, Red Rolfe paused after a game to talk about his talented third baseman. What Rolfe said sounded like a tape-recording of sentiments expressed by former manager Steve O’Neil. “This guy has championship spirit,” said Rolfe. “Then too, he’s been the steadiest article we’ve had all season. That’s what makes a team a contender— guys like Kell who are in the game every pitch. Now if we only had a few more with Kell’s fire. A great competitor is simply having a great season. That sums up Kell.” And a great season he had: he won the batting title by less than an eyelash over the great Ted Williams with a .343 average. He had his greatest season in 1950, leading the AL with 218 hits and 56 doubles, good for a .340 batting average. He also had his career best in runs scored and runs batted in. Traded several times, Kell finished his fifteenyear career in 1957 with a .316 lifetime mark. In his autobiography, Hello Everybody, I’m George Kell, this Hall of Famer stated that “getting traded to Detroit was the best thing that ever happened in my career.”

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The Supporting Cast

three

Every competitive team has a core of key players who are determining factors in a ball club’s ultimate success; I have chosen to label them the franchise stars of this era. Just below on the ladder of importance is another rung of quality performers, not Hall of Fame stature yet critical pieces for a winning combination. The rest of a winning team is made up of good players who contribute mightily because of outstanding defense or their special gift of speed, and streak hitters who occasionally get hot and spark a winning stretch of victories. Equally important are players who have career seasons that raise aspirations but are really way out of character. This unexpected level of success was illustrated by pitcher Herman Pillette in 1922. During a time when quality pitchers were in short supply, Pillette led the pitching staff with 19 victories but the next year he led again with 19 losses; these two seasons summed up his major league career. So it is the performance of this slice of Tigers players that this chapter seeks to capture, ace hurlers like Tommy Bridges and Schoolboy Rowe, a bunch of outfielders headlined by Bob Fothergill, slugging first baseman Rudy York, and a fixture at shortstop named Billy Rogell. These three decades also produced some very memorable characters that attracted loads of attention from the media, not always because of their athletic skills but

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much more because of their unusual and entertaining behavior. This easily identifiable cast includes Gerald “Gee” Walker, Paul “Dizzy” Trout, Louis “Bobo” Newsom, and Cletus Elwood “Boots” Poffenberger (with many other names soon to be revealed). howard ehmke

During Howard Ehmke’s career in Detroit he worked for Hughie Jennings and Ty Cobb, two managers who were ineffective in handling their pitching staff. Late in his tenure, Jennings, recognizing his shortcomings, hired Jack Coombs as his pitching coach and assigned him to run that critical part of the team. Coombs survived one season. When Cobb succeeded his former field boss, he brought in Dan Howley, a former catcher, to coach the pitchers. Although their relationship was strong and enduring, Cobb was incapable of really empowering his friend. During Cobb’s six-year tenure as manager, a weak infield and less than great pitching plagued the team’s success. In 1921, his first year, Howard Ehmke complied the best record for Cobb’s pitching staff, finishing at 13-14. Not a single starter had a winning record that season. Most experienced baseball personnel consider a solid infield critical to success; without it teams lose games they should win. Cobb’s infielders, particularly at second and shortstop, were woefully weak and an ongoing concern. H. G. Salsinger of the Detroit News, who was writing the columns about the Tigers for The Sporting News at this time, sharply criticized the middle of Detroit’s infield. In July 1921 he wrote: “The Tigers were weak in supporting pitchers not alone by making their errors at critical moments, but in failing to get gettable balls.” In the final month of the season with the team struggling, he again provided his assessment: “Detroit is far from being a good baseball team. . . . It is a miserable fielding team, an impossible combination in running bases and a team that discounts fairly good pitching by poor and stupid fielding.” Ehmke supposedly had good stuff but was temperamental and sensitive. He found it especially difficult to cope with the criticism that Jennings and Cobb administered. He often seemed nervous, perhaps because he feared failure and its consequence. Most people who saw him throw recognized he had plenty of potential. Salsinger thought he had the makings of a great pitcher. During practice one day, Ehmke wanted to make a good impression on his new manager and started warming up while Cobb watched. After just a short time he began cutting loose and Cobb told him to take it easy. Ehmke informed his boss that he had been working out in California for   c h a p t e r t h r e e

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the previous four weeks and was game ready. For a relatively short period of time both were in harmony but it didn’t last. He began as an over-the-top hurler and then discovered his effectiveness increased when he used an underhand and cross-fire motion like that of Carl Mays. He was a work in progress and because of his impressive live ball many were offering advice; perhaps too much advice was confusing him. His 17 victories in 1922 matched his best career output with Detroit, but his relationship with Cobb had seriously deteriorated. When the manager started fining a pitcher for a poor performance and sent another home, Ehmke was also on Cobb’s short list of ineffective hurlers. Cobb’s disappointment materialized quickly and Howard Ehmke was peddled to Boston in a six-player trade on October 30, 1922. In August, The Sporting News editor had presented a photograph of Ehmke on the front page and its caption read like an editorial: “Ty Cobb, manager of the Detroit Tigers is said to have become peeved at Howard Ehmke and about made up his mind to either trade, sell or send to jail this capable pitcher. It sounds like an old story this thing of a Detroit manager falling out with his pitchers; reminds one of the troubles Hugh Jennings had with that Detroit pitching staff. Ehmke, they say has been ‘indifferent.’ That may be, but the records show he has worked like a pack horse and that his percentage of wins equals that of his team as a whole. Cobb’s affections seem temporarily centered on one pitcher, Herman Pillette, and they may rest there as long as Pillette can stand the gaff. In the meantime there have been hints that Ehmke and others will be put on the auction block. Bids will run pretty high for Howard Ehmke, for managers in general consider him a pretty effective piece of pitching machinery, and there are some team leaders in the American League who calculate that this alleged temperamental pitching person won’t be so hard to handle under different methods.” Ehmke responded well to his new environment, becoming a 20-game winner in his first season with Boston and backed that performance up with 19 wins in 1924. b o b “fat ” f o t h e r g i l l

The Baseball Encyclopedia records that Bob “Fat” Fothergill stood 5’10½” tall and weighed 230 pounds; most of his photographs show a pretty hefty guy. Today other players or the press could not and would not hang a nickname of “Fat” on a ballplayer. Given our image of Fothergill’s physique it is easy to assume that he was a slow and cumbersome player when in fact he possessed good speed and frequently played center field for Detroit because The Supporting Cast  

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Opposite page: Howard Ehmke was a quality pitcher who didn’t get along with his manager, Ty Cobb, resulting in his being traded to Boston. Ehmke responded to the new and perhaps friendlier environment. In 1923 he won 20 games and chalked up 19 victories the following season. Throughout his career, he won and lost games with equal frequency: 7575 in his six years with the Tigers and 166-166 for his fifteen-year career. (Detroit News Archives)

he was such an excellent outfielder. He even stole nine bases in 1927 and stole home at least once. But most of all he was a “good-old country hitter,” and had he been with a number of other teams, his batting achievements would have climbed considerably. In his era, Detroit’s exceptional outfield was nearly impossible to crack for a young player regardless of ability. As a result his seasons were partial ones even after management knew this guy could hit. Discounting his rookie season in 1922 when he played in only 42 games and his final one in 1930 when he was traded early in the year, Fothergill averaged 106 games a season. In 1924 he got into 54 games and played in 71 the following year. He never secured a full-time regular role on a consistent basis despite batting over .300 every year he wore a Tiger uniform. For his nine years in Detroit he compiled a .337 batting average. Lots of players liked Babe Ruth, and the Bambino was one of Fothergill’s favorites, maybe because he, too, was rotund. In a column recounting Fothergill’s career for the Detroit Times, Bud Shaver recounted an exchange between the two big men. As Fothergill walked by the Yankee dugout Ruth said: “High Swifty.” “Swifty,” responded Fothergill, “because I’m so fast on them bases, Babe?” “Naw,” exclaimed the Babe, “because you look like you escaped from a packing house.” When the Tigers were on the road, Heilmann and Fothergill roomed together. “Bob liked to hit and he liked to talk about hitting,” remembered Heilmann. “When we were on the road he put me to sleep almost every night with verbal home runs, triples and doubles. I’d be willing to bet he spent many a night swinging a bat and hanging out the clothes in his sleep.” Fothergill hit many hard line drives called “ropes” or “clothes lines,” thus Heilmann’s reference to the fat man’s dreams. Heilmann also claimed that his roommate loved the game so much he would have played for nothing. Fothergill finished his career with Boston in 1933, and less than five years later he died at age forty-one. Tigers coach Bing Miller suggested what he considered an appropriate epitaph: “Here lies a man who could hit.” earl whitehill

Before there were farm systems owned by major league clubs, young prospects got their start on independent minor league teams, which sold off those who proved attractive to big league teams. Earl Whitehill grew up in Cedar Rapids, Iowa, and signed his first professional contract with Des Moines in 1919. After playing with Birmingham for two years, Whitehill was purchased by Detroit   c h a p t e r t h r e e

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Robert Roy Fothergill began his big league career as a Tiger, hitting .322 in 1922, his debut season. He maintained that high-level performance for the next seven years; he was traded to the White Sox after 55 games in 1930. Over his eight-plus years with the Bengals, Fothergill batted .337, third best all-time among Detroit hitters after Ty Cobb and Harry Heilmann. “Bob would play for nothing if they just would let him hit every game,” recalled Heilmann. Fothergill signed hotel registers with his initials—R.R.F. After he led the team with 114 RBIs in 1927 he claimed that his initials stood for “Runs Responsible For.” (Detroit News Archives)

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As this photograph suggests, Bob Fothergill had an abundant girth; his nickname was “Fat.” It doesn’t appear to have bothered him much because he intended to keep on eating. When Don Honig interviewed Charlie Gehringer for his book Baseball When the Grass Was Real, Gehringer related a story about how Frank Navin tried to use Fothergill’s weight against him at contract time. Fothergill came to his meeting with Navin wearing an overcoat in order to conceal his weight and the boss countered by turning up the heat before inviting this outfielder into his office. “ ‘Why don’t you take your coat off, Bob?’ Navin asked. . . . ‘No, it’s okay,’ ” responded Fothergill. “Well, Navin just kept him there, talking, and Fothergill must have felt like he was in a steam bath. But he wouldn’t take that coat off. Finally Bob said, ‘Let’s get this over with.’ I don’t know what he signed for that time, but I’m sure it wasn’t for the figure he had in mind, he was so anxious to get out of there.” (Detroit News Archives) The Supporting Cast  

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Earl Whitehill was considered the ace of the Tigers’ staff through much of his ten-year tenure with the team. During nine of those years he held a place in the starting rotation and either tied (one year) or led the team in wins over six seasons while accumulating 131 victories. He twice won 17 games and logged 16 victories three times. Traded after the 1932 season in which he won 16 games, Whitehill enjoyed a career year with Washington in 1933 with a 22-8 record. Given that many pitchers are temperamental, their being upset can cause them to lose command. “Some people seem to believe that a pitcher is most upset when a close game is lost through somebody else’s fielding errors,” said Whitehill. “I’ll admit that the loss of such a game is disappointing, but it doesn’t bother me so much as a game that I know has been lost simply through my failure to pitch good ball.” (William M. Anderson)

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following the 1921 season. They left him with the Barons during 1922–23 and called him up in September 1923. Once in a while a new recruit makes a big splash in his debut, but that was not the fortune of this young left-hander. Detroit had a big and seemingly sure lead in a game played on July 15, 1923. Manager Ty Cobb thought this was an excellent situation for his new pitcher to get his feet wet. With Detroit leading 8–0, Whitehill entered the game and promptly allowed two runs to score. He held the Senators scoreless in the eighth inning, but the situation fell apart quickly in the ninth when he yielded three hits and two walks. Before the next reliever could control the damage, seven runs crossed the plate and Washington won the game 9–8. Whitehill had many better days, becoming a consistent winner for the Tigers in his ten-year career with Detroit. In the nine years that followed he never failed to win less than 11 games and twice topped out with 17 victories. He must have had a rubber arm because Whitehill was always ready to deal again. This sturdy left-hander was a workhorse in the starting rotation, pitching 2,172 innings over his tenure with Detroit to rank among the top ten all-time in innings pitched. When interviewed by writers for Baseball Magazine he spoke freely about his pitching philosophy. “Baseball is twentyfive percent ability, twenty-five percent knowledge and fifty percent luck,” claimed Whitehill. “The secret of successful pitching is to keep ahead of the batter.” He disagreed with the notion that control was all-important, contending that a little wildness was not necessarily a fault. Perhaps Whitehill was offering an alibi for his tendency to be wild and issue so many free passes. Whitehill was considered temperamental and did not get along well with either Cobb or George Moriarty. In an interview he revealed his contentious relationship with his first Tiger manager. “We had some hot discussions on pitching science when Ty Cobb was a manager of the Tigers,” said Whitehill. “It’s an open secret, or rather no secret at all, that Ty and I didn’t hit it off very well. Not that he cared. The personal dislikes of a great many people weighed very little with Ty. One thing I’ll say for him, if you talked back to him, he respected you more than if you merely kept silent and took everything he handed out. Ty was a fighter himself, and respected other fighters.” Just like hitters who find it difficult to get into a groove early in the season, the same unexplainable forces can derail a pitcher. Earl Whitehill began the 1930 season in a miserable rut, piling up a losing record of 2-7 on June 3; at the end of the game on June 4 his record stood at 2-8. But then his fortunes turned 180 degrees and he started to win and win and win. Before the string ran out he had won eleven in a row to tie the existing Detroit record held by Jean Dubuc and George Mullin. The Supporting Cast  

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Ty Cobb had bruised the feelings of a number of pitchers who had toiled for him during his six-year tenure as the Tigers field boss. In this pitcher’s case Cobb probably leaned on him with firmness but his respect remained. “He’s the best pitcher in a Tiger uniform,” said Cobb. “Later on he will be the best pitcher in the American League.”

After his playing career, Harry Heilmann became a popular radio announcer for the Detroit Tigers and was a wonderful storyteller. He wrote columns for newspapers and The Sporting News. His columns included several baseball stories and the one that follows here recalls an encounter with Leo “The Lip” Durocher haranguing Detroit pitcher Earl Whitehill.

A Jockey Unhorsed—and It Was Leo Whitehill, pitching for the Tigers at Yankee Stadium one afternoon, was at his very best. Leo Durocher, then a utility player with the Yankees and the loudest bench jockey in the league, was giving Whitehill what is commonly known as “the business” all through the game and giving it to him good. In the ninth inning the Yankees managed to get two runners on base after two were out and Miller Huggins [their manager] looked up and down the bench for a pinch-hitter, finally selecting a right handed reserve outfielder. As he started to the plate, Whitehill called for time, walked to the Yankee dugout and said to Miller: “Please Mr. Huggins, send up Durocher. He’s been yelling all afternoon how he can hit me, so please send him up. For your sake and for mine, give him a chance to prove it.” Huggins switched to Durocher and the loquacious Lip had to go to bat. Here is what happened: First pitch—Right behind Durocher’s ear . . . Ball one. Second pitch—Side arm curve ball through the middle. Durocher ducked the pitch . . . Strike one. Third pitch—Behind Lip’s ear again . . . Ball two. Fourth pitch—Another side arm curve ball . . . Strike two. Fifth pitch—Fast ball right through the middle . . . Strike three, called. As Whitehill walked off the field, he yelled to Durocher: “No wood in that bat, eh, Lippy.” (Originally published on April 11, 1951; permission granted by The Sporting News.)

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tommy bridges

Thomas Jefferson Bridges, better known as Tommy, began as a Tiger farm hand pitching in a Class C league for the Wheeling Stogies in 1929. Advanced to the next higher level the following year, Bridges garnered an unimpressive 7-8 record, but his 20 strikeouts of Springfield batters on July 3, 1930, got the parent club’s attention and he received a late season call-up. The Tigers used him in a couple of relief appearances and then on August 25 Bridges got his first start. With just 41 professional games under his belt, the youngster was getting his baptism by fire. Amazingly, Bridges survived for 8 2/3s innings but it was a wild ride. Bridges always had a tendency to be wild, fighting to control his phenomenal curveball. Stage fright added materially to his tendency to be away from the plate. Behind almost every batter in his starting debut, he walked the lead-off man in five innings and in two frames began by walking the first two batters. He allowed seven hits along the way but kept pitching out of what seemed like every-inning jams. Other than in the fourth, he held the Browns scoreless until the ninth when they made him pay for his lack of control. In that inning of reality, Bridges walked four and allowed two hits, which accounted for the four tallies St. Louis made. In all, the young want-to-be major league pitcher gave up 12 passes but registered his first big league win, 7–5. Though Bridges stood 5’10”, people referred to him as little Tommy Bridges because of his slight build; he weighed only 155 pounds. When he joined the big club in 1930 he was put on a diet for the express purpose of beefing him up. In his first full season he lost a ton of games, finishing the campaign with an 8­­­-16 record. Bridges built off that learning experience and quickly developed into a front-line pitcher. He won 14 in 1932, and his 13–0 victory over Washington on August 5 became a memorable date in Tigers history. Relying on his fastball—he had a dandy—Bridges retired the first 26 batters, one away from perfection. With a weak-hitting pitcher due up next, manager Walter Johnson sent Dave Harris up to pinch hit. Bridges threw one too many fastballs and Harris broke the spell with a clean single into left field. He retired the twenty-eighth hitter on a fly ball. Numerous Senator ballplayers felt bad as they, too, had been pulling for Bridges once the ninth inning began. “I could have murdered him when he hit that ball,” said Joe Judge. “When I was with Boston and Bob Burke had a no-hit game in his hip-pocket in the ninth inning, I went up and waved at three of them,” assured Earl Webb. “It’s no use taking a record like that away from a guy just for a base hit.” But consistent with his character, Tommy Bridges didn’t The Supporting Cast  

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Opposite page: During an era when most catchers were valued for their defensive skills and considered weak offensively, Johnny Bassler could also hit. In his seven years with Detroit he reached the .300 mark four times and compiled an overall average of .308. (Detroit News Archives) Above: These two players, Birdie Tebbetts (left) and Dizzy Trout, were excellent interviewees for radio announcer and former Detroit star Harry Heilmann during spring training. Both were talkers and Trout was a comedian, shown here in March 1937 entertaining the other two gentlemen. Following his baseball career he became a popular after-dinner speaker. (Detroit News Archives)

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Every successful big league pitcher’s repertoire includes a curveball, but there are several varieties and have been called by various names. Some curves come in flat and break that way while others curve down and away— called a hook. The slider, a sharp breaking curve thrown hard like a fastball, once was called a nickel curve because of its short, quick break. A round house curve is a slower, sweeping curveball. For Tommy Bridges, the curveball was his signature pitch, known throughout baseball for its dominant action. Bridges, a six-time All-Star, was the winning pitcher in the 1939 game, hurling two and one-third innings while allowing two hits and striking out three. First baseman Frank McCormick said later that Bridges had the best curveball he had ever seen until he faced Bob Feller. He led the league in strikeouts in 1935 and 1936 and ranks among the top strikeout pitchers in Detroit history. Manager Mickey Cochrane, who caught Bridges, raved about his stuff yet remarked: “But more than that, Tommy Bridges is such a great guy. He’s an alert and intelligent baseball player. He never has uttered a complaint about anything—always dependable and always a fine gentleman.” (Detroit News Archives)

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express bitterness or complain. “If they can get a hit off of you, then you don’t deserve a no-hit game,” Bridges said. “It wouldn’t be worth anything if you didn’t earn it. Harris was sent up there to hit and he only did what he was suppose[d] to. I’m sorry I couldn’t get him out.” In a classy manner, Senators manager Walter Johnson, a former great pitcher, went to the Tigers’ locker room to congratulate Bridges. “You pitched a fine game, Tommy,” said Johnson. “Congratulations. You had a lot of stuff all through the game. It was great work.” Dave Harris retired after the 1934 season and became an Atlanta policeman. He never forgot that special game. “Sure I felt badly when I made that hit,” recalled Harris. “I tried to hit all right because that is what I was being paid to do. That is what Walter Johnson, the Washington manager, had sent me up to do. But I was sure as hell wishing I’d hit that ball right at somebody.” When reminded that Bridges respected his professionalism in not just giving him an out, Harris replied: “That’s the worst of it. I’d feel better if Tommy wasn’t such a grand guy.” When misfortune occurs, people are prone to say, “It wasn’t supposed to happen.” That assumption was working overtime for Tommy Bridges in 1933. He again won 14 games, two of which were heart-breaking gems. On April 23 Bridges held the St. Louis Browns hitless into the eighth inning. After Bridges had retired the first two batters, Sam West lined a single into right field to ruin another dream. A masterful Bridges got the remaining outs in the ninth for a 2–0 Detroit win. A month later Bridges faced the Washington Senators and again rolled through their lineup, retiring 22 batters, then with one out in the seventh inning, first baseman Joe Kuhel drove a Bridges pitch over the right-field fence for a home run. Unperturbed, he went right on setting down hitters, but in the ninth manager Joe Cronin sent up a pinch hitter named Dave Harris. Bridges pitched too carefully and gave Harris a free pass, but he secured the final out and preserved his third one-hitter in less than five collective months in two baseball seasons. Beginning in 1934 Bridges became a star pitcher in the American League, winning 20 or more games for three consecutive seasons and selection to All-Star teams six times in seven years. Over his seventeen-year career in Detroit he earned 194 wins, sixth best in team history, and his 33 shutouts ties him with Hal Newhouser for second best ever. Along with featuring supreme examples of a fastball, curve, and change, did skinny Tommy Bridges have a trick pitch? Later in his career more and more batters thought he was throwing a spitter because his ball broke so sharply. Some have written without reservation that his wet one could water the grass on its way toward home plate. In one repeated story, Bridges had the Senators down 1–0 in the The Supporting Cast  

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eighth when Stan Spence strode to the plate. Bridges threw three straight breaking balls, each one outdoing the previous one. Spencer yelled: “Spit ball!” Umpire Bill Summers walked to the mound and asked: “You throwin’ a spit-ball?” A stoic pitcher countered by asking: “Are you accusing me of violating the rules, Mr. Summers?” As the umpire turned to walk away, Bridges smiled and said: “Hey, Bill, wasn’t that last one a heller?” Most of the time little Tommy Bridges didn’t need a spitter; when his stuff was working he was nasty. After going 0 for 4 one day, future Hall of Famer Al Simmons said: “He’s the toughest pitcher in the league. He is that because he has a Hell of a hook, a Hell of a fast ball and a Hell of a change of pace.” On that particular day, White Sox player-manager Jimmy Dykes shared the same opinion: “When a pitcher throws a baseball as Tommy Bridges did today, then it’s bad news for any and all hitters. . . . He’s the best right-hander in the league.” schoolboy rowe

When a person’s given name is Lynwood one might expect that it would be shortened in usage, but in Lynwood Rowe’s case he was given a second first name—Schoolboy—that really stuck in people’s minds. Occasionally his moniker took on the derivative “Schoolhouse” and his manager referred to him as “The Big Fellow.” He became extremely popular with the fans and seemed to genuinely enjoy the up-close relationship he had with his admirers who made his nickname a term of endearment. A story was told of a breathless fan running up to the Schoolboy and asking: “Hey, Hank, will you please autograph this?” “Certainly,” responded Rowe with a big grin. “Ol’ Hank always autographs things for the fans.” After signing “The Big Fellow,” the organization started him off at Beaumont in the Texas League, a high place for a first-year professional rookie. But oh how he showed the Tigers that he was ready for that level of competition. He won 19 games, had the lowest earned run average in the Texas League, and with 10 home runs demonstrated he could swing a bat, too. They brought him to big league camp the following season and kept him on the major league roster when the 1933 season began. Wasting no time with this hot prospect, Bucky Harris gave him his first starting assignment on April 15. He had a storybook beginning, shutting out the Chicago White Sox on six hits. Rowe would learn, however, that it wasn’t that easy every game. In the second game of a doubleheader with Philadelphia, Rowe was on the mound when A’s catcher Mickey Cochrane dropped down a bunt   c h a p t e r t h r e e

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Tommy Bridges bunts in the fourth inning in a game against the Philadelphia Athletics, June 10, 1941. The umpire is Ed Rommel and catcher Frankie Hayes is about to flip his mask off. Before there were designated hitters, pitchers were expected to be proficient bunters especially if they were weak hitters. In Bridges’s case, he needed to be an excellent bunter for his lifetime batting average was .180. (Detroit News Archives)

toward third, and in his long hurried throw Rowe injured his arm. When the media pressed Harris for a prognosis he was unable to predict when Rowe would pitch again. “We want him of course, right away, but I would rather that he stay out for the rest of the season [than] aggravate the injury which might ruin one of the greatest pitching arms in baseball,” Harris said. “I am content to take my time with Rowe, much as I want him in action again.” No one is certain as to how severely this early misfortune injured Rowe’s arm and psyche, but it did set off a continuing saga of an on-again, off-again sore-armed pitcher that must have driven his manager to the wall. As the future would tell, management became convinced that the Detroit Tigers would go only as far as Rowe would take them. After compiling a 7-4 record at the time of the injury, Rowe went home to rest his injured wing for the remainder of the season. Shortly after reporting for spring training in 1934, the young right-hander began to complain about a sore arm and didn’t pitch until the tenth game of the season; he lasted just three innings while being pinned with the loss. During most of the month of May, Cochrane used him in short relief and occasionally as a starter where his performance was unimpressive. Given that the medical examinations did not show evidence of a lingering injury, Cochrane began to suspect that Rowe’s problem was psychological. Finally Black Mike told The Supporting Cast  

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Baseball history is filled with disappointments, and the story of Lynwood “Schoolboy” Rowe ranks among the saddest. Big, strong, and athletic, this young hurler seemed to have it all, a fine arsenal of pitches and superb control. Manager and catcher Mickey Cochrane liked him a lot, calling him the “Big Fellow.” His potential brilliance was cut short by a persistent sore right arm that he injured early in his career fielding and throwing off balance of a bunt dropped down by then Athletics catcher Mickey Cochrane. Others attributed his chronic soreness to overdeveloped muscles caused by his competition in a variety of sports while an amateur and resulting in stiffness in his shoulder. Expectations soared after he won 24 games and 16 in a row in 1934, and he followed that with 19 victories in each of the subsequent two seasons. Rowe had become the horse to ride. The Detroit News baseball writer H. G. Salsinger stated what was on everybody’s mind: “As Rowe goes so go the Tigers.” No doubt the pain was real but so was the psychological agony and increasing paranoia. Particularly after the 1936 season, Rowe’s condition became a constant topic in the sports pages of all three Detroit newspapers and speculation was rampant. Close observers including his manager began to question his will, even suggesting that he was lazy and out of shape. Rumors circulated that the Tigers had hired agents to tail Rowe and report on his extracurricular activities. These rumored allegations caused the Tiger organization to issue a public statement of denial. The Schoolboy’s impressive early career started to unravel in 1937 when a sore arm limited him to just 10 pitching appearances. When the Tigers left on a road trip in mid-May, Cochrane left Rowe behind to work on his own. The newspapers reported that he had been suspended. When asked to explain, Cochrane curtly replied: “Something had to be done to wake him up. I don’t like to do such things and frankly I did not want the story paraded in the newspapers. I was anxious to save Rowe and everybody concerned embarrassment, but someone broke it and that’s that.” Rowe did make a comeback, but his performance never reached the heights of his early years. (Detroit News Archives)

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Rowe that if he wasn’t ready to take his turn in the rotation he would be sent back to Beaumont to recover. That seemed to shake “The Big Fellow” and his season began to turn around. On June 15, 1934, the Schoolboy won his fifth game to push his record over the .500 mark, 5-4, and that game launched a record-tying 16 victories in a row, culminating with a win over Washington on August 25, earning him a record of 20-4. When Rowe defeated the Senators on August 14 for his fourteenth consecutive win, he had 5 hits in 5 times at bat and drove in 4 runs in the 7–4 victory. He finished the regular season at 24-8 and had captured the attention and acclamation of major league baseball. Sam Greene, the baseball writer for The Sporting News, composed a feature story on Rowe for the publication’s August 30 issue. At this moment Rowe was riding the crest of baseball excitement over his amazing feat and Greene suggested that the Schoolboy might have the magnetism to carry on the Ruthian mania. Babe Ruth was nearing the end of his brilliant career and Greene sought to draw comparisons—both men had gregarious personalities, were fan friendly, and were capable of swinging the big bat. The last point of comparison was certainly a stretch, but Rowe certainly didn’t hit like a typical pitcher. He compiled a lifetime batting average of .271 and hit over .300 in both 1934 and 1935. Rowe was used as a pinch hitter and his manager didn’t pinch hit for him in crucial situations. And he could hit the long ball. When his arm problems persisted, there was lots of speculation about converting him to an outfielder.

After winning his sixteenth straight game on August 25, 1934, at Griffith Stadium, Schoolboy Rowe went after the major league record in his next start four days later against the Philadelphia Athletics. Every issue of The Sporting News carried an editorial page, and the Schoolboy’s quest for added glory was considered so significant that the editors elected to feature his attempt to establish a new record of pitching greatness in its lead editorial on September 6, 1934. Manager Mickey Cochrane stayed with Rowe into the seventh inning, trying to give him every chance to win his seventeenth consecutive game, but the big right-hander got shelled, surrendering 12 hits and 11 runs in a 13–5 defeat by the Athletics.

One Schoolboy, Lessons for All Schoolboy Rowe, the young Detroit pitching giant, failed in his attempt to surpass the consecutive victory record of Joe Wood, Walter Johnson, and Bob

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Grove, after tying their mark of 16, but he established a few other facts that it might be well for the followers of the game to consider: First, the inherent honesty of baseball; second, the willingness of fans to turn out when they are offered unusual attractions; third, the great possibilities that rest in the mighty right arm of the Schoolboy; fourth, the mental strain a player and a club suffer under extraordinary circumstances.

There are some amusement enterprises that would not have hesitated

to exploit to the limit such a performance as Rowe was giving and which would have felt no scruples in seeing that the Schoolboy did not stop at 16 victories and certainly not so abruptly and so decisively. However, baseball isn’t conducted that way. It would have been simple enough for the AthletOpposite page: June 3, 1938, a sad day for Schoolboy Rowe, management, and the Tiger faithful. Rowe is cleaning out his locker, having been optioned to Beaumont. He had appeared in only four games and Detroit was looking for another solution for his ailing arm. Rowe was considered such an important property that the club issued an official statement. “After talk[ing] with Rowe and after full consideration given to doctors’ reports as to remedies, we felt that the warmth and dry climate of Beaumont should greatly help his arm [regain] its former effectiveness,” stated owner Walter O. Briggs. “We hope that this will become a fact and when it does we shall recall him.” In response to media requests for a statement, Rowe said: “I hope to be back up here soon after the warm weather down South has done its work. The Detroit Base Ball Club always has treated me squarely, and I do not believe this release means the end of my baseball career.” Rowe did make a comeback, contributing significantly to the team’s successful pennant drive in 1940 when he won 16 games and lost only 3. (Detroit News Archives)

ics to have taken things easy on August 29. The A’s are not going any place; apparently they are doomed to finish seventh in the American League race and one more loss would not have meant anything to them. But instead of adopting such an attitude, they followed an opposite course and probably played over their heads against the Schoolboy. Fans throughout the country mourned with Rowe when he failed to achieve the record, but they know that no “spots” were picked for him, that he took all clubs and games in his regular turn and that the opposition always bore down against him. It is unfortunate that he was unable to go on to greater heights, but his failure has proved that in baseball, no one’s success or failure is artificially manufactured and that, every game is played on its own merits.

Hopeful that Rowe would break the record and that they would be present

to see him do so, 33,318 fans squeezed into Shibe Park for the performance— the biggest paying crowd that ever jammed the stands there, even in the days when the Athletics were champions. Attendance on most days at Shibe Park this year has been small and the record crowd is all the more remarkable as a consequence. However, it only goes to show what baseball can do when there is something “special” offered and that the game still has big drawing power.

Rowe has ascended the scale of fame quickly—no other pitcher in his sec-

ond year in the majors ever reached such heights—and a long and successful future lies ahead of him. The Schoolboy, we believe, is of the type that won’t get lost in the mazes of the Hall of Fame. He appears to have a level head and to be able to keep both feet on the ground. If he does and continues to give such brilliant exhibitions with his arm and bat as he has this season, the best years of his life are yet to come and those who predict that some day he may take the place of Babe Ruth in the hearts and affections of the fans may see their predictions come true. The benefit to the game that would result from such a happy transmigration of power—from the Babe to the Schoolboy—would be incalculable.

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Above: Pete Fox was notoriously slow getting his offensive ability in gear, but once he got in stride his batting average quickly began to climb. Fox developed in the Tigers’ minor league system and played for the big club for eight years before begin traded to the Boston Red Sox. He hit for an overall batting average of .302 during his tenure with Detroit and had his career season in 1937 when he rapped out 208 hits, generating a .331 average. Yankee ace Vernon “Lefty” Gomez held Fox in high regard. “Pete Fox has been developing as much as any man in the league,” Gomez said. “An inside fast ball to Pete is like deliberately handing him a base hit, double, triple or home run on a platter. Can’t give Pete anything good to hit at.” (Detroit News Archives) Opposite page: Gerald “Gee” Walker (left) and his manager Mickey Cochrane share a pleasant moment because as the “Walker Man” once said: “I’d drive any manager nuts.” Cochrane had heard about the stress Walker had caused his predecessor, Bucky Harris, but he intended to give this young colt a fresh start: “He’s a good ball player if handled right and I want him to know he is starting clean, out of the dog house.” Despite their mutual vows their relationship became fractured due to Walker’s continued laxity on the bases, which sometimes led to embarrassing blunders. He could hit, had great speed, and was aggressive, but his poor instincts caused him and his managers frequent headaches. After Cochrane sat him down with a ten-day suspension he tried again to reform his actions on the field. He started the new season announcing his resolve: “I’m gonna play ball this year. No more yellin’ and ribbin’ other players. No more clownin’. I gotta make good. We’ve got a good ball club and a good manager. I want to help and I know I can if I get a chance to play and mind my business.” (William M. Anderson)

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When he wasn’t in the manager’s or his own doghouse, Gee Walker displayed a warm and happy disposition. When fans or opponents tried to get under his skin he would grin at them. Detroit fans loved him and threatened rebellion when he was traded to the Chicago White Sox in December 1937. When the Detroit Times baseball scribe Bud Shaver began his five-part series on Walker following the blockbuster trade, he sought to explain the deep affection fans held for the “Walker Man.” “Fans love him because he gives expression to the rebellion that smolders in all of us,” wrote Shaver. “He kicks over the traces, tangles the harness, breaks the dashboard, but manages to haul home the cart without dumping apples or its horrified occupants. He is the eternal scape-goat who always winds up on top, grinning like a monkey to the plaudits his pranks provoke.” (Detroit News Archives)

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Never considered a great defensive player, Gee Walker could run down a drive and make a spectacular catch. It was as a hitter that Walker made his mark. In seven years in a Tiger uniform he batted .300 or better five times. Because he was often given time-outs and banished to the bench, Walker missed a lot of games. During his seven-year tenure with the club he averaged just 113 games a season. In 1936 he played in 136 games and batted .353. The following season, his last with Detroit, he played in 151 games, collected 213 hits, scored 105 runs, drove in 113, had the longest hitting streak of 27 games, and finished with a .335 average. For his years with Detroit he compiled a .317 batting average. (Detroit News Archives)

Gee Walker is attempting to keep his hands and arms warm on a cold home opener in Detroit, April 24, 1934. The near freezing temperature held back the crowd as only 24,000 hardy souls were on hand, but they saw a good game as the Tigers prevailed 7–3. Mr. Walker fared well, too, going 2 for 4 with 2 stolen bases. (Detroit News Archives)

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Clowning around like posing with a monocle was standard behavior for Elwood Cletus “Boots” Poffenberger. This characteristic would have been overlooked by management but his propensity for being AWOL could not be repeatedly tolerated regardless of one’s perceived talent. He had been fined, suspended, and sent home, but when he walked off the mound, disgusted with himself during a March 1939 exhibition game, manager Del Baker had seen enough and Boots’s career in Detroit’s organization was over. Billy Rogell had asked to be his roommate, apparently hoping he could influence a change in his behavior, and he expressed regret when Poffenberger’s termination became public knowledge. “Too bad about that kid,” said Rogell. “He had the makings of a good pitcher. I’m sorry to see them send him away even if he doesn’t stay on the reservation. He has a lot of stuff—enough to win more games than 100 Sunday school teachers. I think they ought to let him run and insist only that he keep in good condition to pitch. I think if they did that the guy would win 15 ball games for us. Fifteen ball games would mean a lot in a pennant race. I don’t think he will win for anybody who tries to keep a check rein on him.” (William M. Anderson)

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Although denying that they were under any mental strain when they

entered the second game of the double-header behind Rowe, as he attempted to run his string of successive victories to 17, the Detroit Tigers and the Schoolboy himself were laboring under inhibitions that prevented them from functioning with their usual co-ordination and freedom from tenseness. They feared to take the chances that had become second nature with them in other contests; they bore down too hard at critical moments; while the other team, with nothing at stake, enjoyed a mental and physical relaxation that enabled it to take advantage of all its opportunities.

Even though Rowe lost the chance to achieve the new mark, the disap-

pointment may have been a good thing for the Tigers. The ending of the suspense should steady their nerves, make them a better team when they face another crisis and impress upon them that one game does not decide a series or a championship, for on the morrow their luck may change.

The Schoolboy was able to return to his regular tasks comforted by the

knowledge that he had at least matched the best efforts of three of the greatest pitchers ever to perform in his league, and strengthened by the wholehearted support of millions of fans throughout the country, who are eagerly looking forward to his appearance in the next World Series. (Permission granted by The Sporting News.)

Schoolboy Rowe had it all—great fastball, overhand curve, magnificent control, changeup, crossfire. “Sensational” was a word frequently used to describe his pitching ability. He was the best athlete on the team, could really hit, was popular with everyone, and was an all-around nice guy. Rowe followed up his banner year with 19-win seasons in 1935 and 1936, and then his ailing arm failed again. The following season he pitched in just 10 games, starting only twice. In many ways this was a very rough time for the Schoolboy. Some close to him began to suspect that he had a sore arm complex. He obviously worried about his arm and his confidence must have eroded. Cochrane openly charged Rowe with avoiding exertion, which management believed contributed directly to his ongoing arm problems. As the Schoolboy’s situation spiraled down it struck bottom when he was suspended. “He hasn’t been any help to us for a month now and we’ve stopped his pay until he is in shape to pitch and earn it,” said Mr. Briggs. In a few days Rowe was reinstated, but he did not return to form as treatments and examinations from doctors did not provide a clear path for recovery. Finally in July, The Supporting Cast  

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management decided to wait no longer: Rowe had to take the mound and demonstrate that his problem was more than mental anxiety. They started him on July 15 against New York. He threw ten pitches while facing five hitters and gave up four hits, three of which were doubles, before making a very early exit. In a game in which the Philadelphia A’s were pounding Detroit pitching, Cochrane decided to test Rowe’s arm again on July 23. He entered the fray in the seventh inning with his team trailing 10–4. He gave up five runs on five hits and departed with a painfully sore right arm. This time manager and coaches were convinced that the Schoolboy was suffering from a physical injury and Cochrane sent him home to Arkansas for the rest of the season. Rowe’s sore arm had become a constant subject of conversation and press coverage. In 1937 the Detroit Times presented a five-part series written by Bud Shaver on his up and down trials. The one titled “What’s Wrong with Rowe?” set the tone for this extraordinary media attention. The every-year plight of Schoolboy Rowe sounded like a broken record: “I can’t go to today because of stiffness or pain or now I’m ready.” The Schoolboy was always promising another comeback. After another aborted attempt to get the Big Fellow going in 1938, Cochrane sent him back to Beaumont. He had pitched only 21 innings that season. This hard-to-accept demotion breathed new life into a downcast former star. He hurled in 20 games for the Exporters, compiling a 12-2 record with a fine 2.27 ERA. After his encouraging year in the Texas League, Rowe returned to the show in 1939 and was used primarily as a starter, winning 10 and losing 12 with an inflated 4.99 ERA. He had lost his heater and, likely fearing further injury, threw it only occasionally. That meant he had to overhaul his repertoire. “When Schoolboy takes speed off his pitches he is just nice to hit,” Mickey Cochrane had claimed. “It is only when he is fogging them in there and throwing his fast curve that he is effective. He always is experimenting with slow stuff. His really fine change of pace became almost worthless because he threw it too often and at the wrong time. A change-of-pace, or ‘slow-up’ means nothing unless the pitcher has the hitter cocked for a fast ball.” Whether his arm strength returned or human will supplanted reservation is an unanswered question, but the big right-hander found enough in the tank to wage a remarkable comeback in 1940. It could not have come at a more opportune time for Detroit needed every win to capture an unexpected title in 1940. The 1940 Tigers outlasted the Cleveland Indians by one game and Rowe contributed a huge 16 victories. The season began on a familiar note for the Schoolboy, uncertain whether his once prized wing would respond and he proceeded cautiously. New manager Del Baker ad  c h a p t e r t h r e e

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opted his predecessor’s tough-love approach and laid it on the line for his struggling pitcher. “I had to keep after him,” Baker said. “I wanted him to bear down all the way but he wanted to ‘horse around’ as soon as we gave him that lead. I barked at him so much that it got under his skin. Once he told me to shut up, and I told him he might as well get use[d] to me riding him because I was going to ride him all season.” He pitched one more full-season for Detroit, and then in 1942 Rowe was sold to Brooklyn. He spent four more years hurling for the Philadelphia Phillies but his days of glory were over. pete fox

Although not a power hitter, Pete Fox must be ranked among the better hitting outfielders in franchise history. In his eight years with the club he compiled a .302 average. A line-drive hitter, Fox had quick hands that allowed him to drive the ball sharply. During a hot streak in which he eventually hit in 29 straight games, Fox talked about his success in an interview with the Detroit Free Press writer W. W. Edgar. “It’s just a matter of getting the breaks, that’s all,” claimed Fox. “I always could hit. But for a long time I was hitting ’em right at the fielders. Now my luck has changed and I’m getting all kinds of hits.” He showed the Tigers he could hit early on when in his third year of pro ball at Beaumont he led the Texas League with a .357 average. Beaumont won the pennant that year and he joined the big club in 1933 along with fellow Exporters Schoolboy Rowe and Hank Greenberg as one of the best minor league graduating classes in history. Everyone agrees—players, managers, and coaches—that playing regularly is an important factor in hitting success. So when Fox was given a chance to be an everyday player he responded. However, he was a notoriously poor spring hitter, which often relegated him to the bench and caused him to press, knowing if he didn’t come through, he would likely be out of the lineup. Being a regular made him relax. “I noticed it right away,” said Fox. “I wasn’t tightening up when I stepped to the plate. As a result I was swinging with a free motion and not worrying about the results. I wasn’t saying to myself, ‘You got to hit. They’re expecting you to hit and you better come through.’” Fox was more than a one-dimensional player; he could run and field his position with great skill. Indicative of his natural speed, he had 13 triples in his freshman season in the majors. He twice stole over 20 bases and he could go get ’em in the outfield. Cochrane soon recognized that Pete Fox The Supporting Cast  

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Above left: Boots Poffenberger, also commonly known as the “Baron,” received a call-up to the big club in 1937 because the preferred rookie pitcher had just suffered a sore arm. After a while he joined the starting rotation and made a good impression, winning 10 games. The Tigers were high on young Poffenberger and predicted an exciting future for him. But his lax, carefree, and sometimes defiant attitude pulled him down. The following season he earned a 6-7 record and by early spring 1939 he was gone. “This kid has real potential” was the universal judgment of Poffenberger, yet he sadly squandered his opportunity. His last professional experience came in 1947 with the Hagerstown Owls, a Detroit affiliate. Apparently the Tiger organization just couldn’t forget this guy’s potential. (William M. Anderson) Above right: The differences in height and wing span are demonstrated by 6’4½” Schoolboy Rowe and 5’10½” Cletus Poffenberger during spring training at League Field, Lakeland, Florida, March 1938. (Detroit News Archives) Opposite page: Always a character who loved to make people laugh, Dizzy Trout could be a screwball. After his playing career ended he became a very entertaining after-dinner speaker as his playing days were filled with fantastic stories. In 1943 The Sporting News reported a wild claim perpetuated by the “Dizzy” one. Rumor had it that Trout had witnessed Hal Newhouser eat a five-pound junk of roast beef and when confronted, Dizzy verified its validity. Apparently wanting to share an even bigger and more far-fetched story, he said: “I saw him eat 14 steak sandwiches, three barbecued chickens and finish off with 14 bricks of ice cream on one occasion. When he finally asked for the check, I said: ‘Can’t you eat any more,’ and he said: ‘Yes I can, but I don’t want the people in here to get the idea that I’m a hog.’” (Detroit News Archives)

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Young recruit Paul “Dizzy” Trout shows off the start of his windup for a photo at spring training, March 12, 1937, at Lakeland. When the Tigers broke camp, Trout would be on his way to Toledo as he worked his way through Detroit’s minor league system. Trout had a durable arm, winning 161 games in his fourteen seasons with Detroit and pitched a lot of innings. His high-water mark came in 1944 when he won 27 games in a masterful season-long performance. He had a simple philosophy: “If a pitcher gets the small hitters out, the big ones won’t hurt him a heck of a lot.” (Detroit News Archives)

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Despite his sense of humor and crazy behavior at times, Dizzy Trout had a temper and was a competitive player. Like many pitchers he had his ups and downs, and 1942 certainly marked a low point in his career when he lost 18 games despite a respectable 3.43 ERA. In a September game that year Trout drew the starting assignment against the Philadelphia Athletics and a fan sitting in the front row started jeering at him almost with his first pitch and kept it up inning after inning. When Trout finished the sixth he walked over to the rail and grabbed his adversary and acted as though he planned to hit him. His teammates pulled Trout away and he went back to the bench; manager Del Baker told he was done for the day. Refusing to leave, Trout walked out to the mound to start the seventh inning and was greeted with a chorus of boos. He thumbed his nose at the spectators, which prompted the home plate umpire to eject him. Dizzy Trout received a suspension by the Tiger organization. (William M. Anderson)

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Above left: Pitcher Fred Hutchinson, the high-priced kid from Seattle, Washington, and manager Del Baker are photographed at the youngster’s first spring training camp, March 1939. Hutchinson’s potential was described in sky-high superlatives and nearly every introductory story mentioned how much it had cost Detroit to land him. “Hutch,” as he was later called, had a hot temper but he kept that under control as a kid pitcher despite the pressure that came with his lofty notoriety. (William M. Anderson) Above right: This is the statement that Del Baker submitted for reimbursement to the Tigers for expenses incurred when he traveled to Seattle to sign Fred Hutchinson. (Author’s collection)

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was his best flyhawk playing the sun field (right field). He always ran on and off the field and hustled all the time. “I wish everybody could be like Pete,” said Cochrane. “Whether he is getting good breaks or bad breaks he is always the same. He hustles all the time, tries for everything and never offers alibis.” In Detroit’s first world championship season, Fox was a big contributor, scoring 116 runs and batting .316. He hit .385 with 10 hits in the World Series. The Tigers had a set outfield of Fox, Jo-Jo White, and Goslin for two pennant-winning seasons, but Cochrane, believing his team needed additional firepower, acquired his old teammate Al Simmons. In addition Detroit had another good outfielder in Gee Walker. When Fox again started slowly he was benched. After he got back in the lineup he injured a finger and Walker took his place in right field. Walker started hitting and eventually compiled his career best batting average. It turned out to be a lost season for this fine player as he became a substitute and played in just 73 games. Fox came back as a regular the next two seasons, and then in 1940 he reverted to being a part-time outfielder, after which he was traded to Boston. Although he did not set any records in the major leagues, Pete Fox could revel in a day he wouldn’t trade with any ordinary player. On June 30, 1935, in a doubleheader with St. Louis, Pete Fox was almost unstoppable. He made 8 hits in 11 times at bat, which included 2 home runs and a double, and drove home 9 runs and scored 8 times. gee walker

There is good reason to crown Gee Walker one of the most popular Detroit Tigers of all time. Walker came on the big league scene an unharnessed, unbroken colt full of reckless energy and youthful zest. He played three seasons in the minors before making his debut with Detroit in 1931. Walker was much more than a wild colt for he had substantial ability, which he demonstrated early in his minor league career. The twenty-one-year-old outfielder played for Wheeling in the Middle Atlantic League in 1929, hitting .373 and swiping 33 bases in 81 games. Promoted to Evansville the following season, he pilfered 50 bases and hit .378 in just 84 games. Great speed is a tremendous asset for an athlete, but young men in particular can become intoxicated with going fast and it made young Mr. Walker feel unlimited. This Mississippi speedster knew all about the daring abandon with which Ty Cobb scorched the base paths and he sought The Supporting Cast  

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to follow in his blazing footsteps. Several scribes and at least one of his major league managers recognized that Cobb had become Walker’s role model. This “pedal to the metal,” freelance, and undisciplined style of running the bases led to loads of grief for Gee Walker and his frustrated managers. Walker built his popularity on the bases, always capable of doing the unexpected and taking jaw-dropping risks. He was always prancing off the bases, threatening to take off in a mad dash for the next base. He, too, frequently got picked off or killed a rally with his uncontrolled eagerness to make the nearly impossible happen. But there were occasions when he brought the house down with daring exploits that a normal runner wouldn’t even consider. And the fans loved it. There was more to Walker than his reckless and irresponsible reputation on the bases. He could hit, and given his supreme confidence he often came through in clutch situations, driving in runs in dramatic fashion. And the fans loved it. He had a gregarious and sunny personality. He loved people and unhesitatingly interacted with the fans and others he had never met. Except on rare occasions, he almost always wore a smile, and when fans were upset with his out-of-control behavior, he would grin at them. One day while the Tigers took their pregame warm-up, Walker came out and shagged flies in his bare feet. On another occasion he had painted his fingernails pink. And his loyal legion loved it. All members of the media are drawn to players who are colorful because they make good copy and are a story waiting to be told. Gee Walker was prime time, and the media brokered his flare to a very large following. In a long column written in 1937, the Detroit Times sports editor Bud Shaver captured the essence of Gee Walker’s incredible appeal to Tigers fans: “Fans would love Walker for his entertainment alone, but there is more to his popularity than that. There is rapport, or affinity, between Gerald and the fans the likes of which has not existed since Babe Ruth, and probably not then. Walker delights them by doing the things they would like to do but never quite [bring] off. Besides, he has become a swell ball player and his popularity is bulwarked on all sides. Walker became a star the hard way. He set out from the first to be a star, before he even had learned his trade as a ball player. Managers, teammates and baseball writers told him it was impossible; predicted disaster. He was trying to fly high before his wings were dry they warned him. He would only wreck himself and his really fine equipment. They advised him to take his time, to learn to be a ball player before he tried to be a star and a showman. Walker grinned his defiance, lowered his head   c h a p t e r t h r e e

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to charge the challenge. It was inevitable he would, Walker being Walker. Gerald not only accepted challenges, but climbs the fence to find them.” This untamed torch-carrier was called “The Man without a Head,” “The Mississippi Hard Head,” “The Iron Head,” and, most commonly, the “Walker Man” by the press. If Walker had had a publicist with a clipping service, that firm would have supplied their client with an incredible record of recognition in print media. Walker was always a hot topic, and they covered him like a very notable personage. When Walker was enjoying his career season in 1937, the Detroit Times devoted extra-special attention to him. The sports writer Leo Macdonell arranged to interview Walker on a regular basis and then presented an ongoing column under Gee’s byline—“Gee Whiz!” Given his fun-loving nature, Gerald Holmes Walker had a delightful sense of humor. In a column with a dateline New York, July 28, Walker wrote about the fate of hurler Jake Wade and the Tigers in an eleven-inning loss to the Yankees. Detroit chased the Bronx Bombers all season while they piled up a total of 102 wins, and the Bengals settled for second place, 13 games back, when the season closed. Wade, known as the Whistler, was a character himself. Walker liked to kid his teammates and he began his column having fun at Wade’s expense: “Jake Wade, an old hunter from down in the Carolinas, thinks the only way to catch the Yankees is to put salt on their tails. Well, I dunno. Wade’s the guy who went out one evening in ’Frisco to see them close the Golden Gate.”

“Gee Whiz!” Cochrane’s Trip Gives Walker Big Kick On May 25, 1937, Mickey Cochrane was hit in the head by a pitch thrown by Bump Hadley of the New York Yankees and suffered a serious concussion. He underwent a long recovery of rest and being away from the team. Later in the season Cochrane and his wife traveled abroad as part of his rehabilitation. Gee Walker’s column was published in the Detroit Times on September 15, soon after Detroit took three straight games from the Chicago White Sox, their chief contender for second place in the American League. WASHINGTON, Sept. 15—I get a big kick out of Mickey Cochrane taking a trip for “peace and quiet” on a boat through the Mediterranean Sea, where pirate ships are blowing whales and sardines out of the water. After the season, I think I’ll go to Shanghai for a rest—or back to General

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Above left: The Tigers were so high on young Fred Hutchinson that they kept him on the big league roster following spring training. They used him in 13 games in which he compiled a record of 3-6 before deciding that he needed more seasoning. Here he is being escorted to the mound by veteran shortstop Billy Rogell (left) for his first big league appearance in relief of starter Japhet Lynn, May 2, 1939, and what a wakeup call it was. Hutchinson entered the game with two out in the sixth inning and the Yankees leading 12–0. He retired the third out in that frame and recorded one out in the seventh before heading to the showers for what must have seemed like an eternity. Between those two batters he retired, Hutch gave up four hits, five walks, and eight runs. Surprisingly, New York’s standout catcher Bill Dickey remained impressed with the young right-hander. “He just lacked control,” Dickey said. “He looks like a comer to me.” (Detroit News Archives) Above right: In 1939, his first year in the Tiger organization, Fred Hutchinson was farmed out to Toledo in the double A International League where he won nine games and loss nine. When he was optioned to Toledo, manager Del Baker said: “I think Hutch will do himself some good with the Mud Hens. It’s what he needs, a team where he can get in some work and regain his control.” (William M. Anderson)   c h a p t e r t h r e e

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The traveling man, Louis Bobo Newsom, was full of bluster but, as he showed in Detroit, he could back it up. Detroit needed starting pitching in 1939, and a big trade was negotiated with St. Louis, resulting in Newsom’s becoming a Tiger. Big trades often evoke lots of comment, and Nats owner Clark Griffith readily shared his opinion for he knew Buck well. “It’s like an election, of course, you’ve got to wait until all the returns are in; but Newsom is a good pitcher—a very good pitcher. He should help the Tigers.” But Indians manager Oscar Vitt didn’t share Griffith’s optimism. “Newsom can’t pitch for a good ball club,” claimed Vitt. Many people had fixed opinions regarding Newsom because he was always on the move and very outspoken. When Bobo read or heard what Vitt had said, he did not remain silent. “What’s this Vitt know about it?” Newsom asked. “How can he tell? I ain’t never been on no good club.” Whatever the motivation, Newsom experienced a revival, winning 17 games for Detroit and giving him his second 20-victory season. (Detroit News Archives) The Supporting Cast  

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Opposite page: After two strong seasons, Bobo Newsom’s fortunes diminished in 1941, a year in which he led the league in losses with 20. Newsom looks on in disgust as his pitching rival Joe Dobson circles the bases after hitting a home run and helping the Red Sox pound old Bobo in a 9–1 rout on June 2, 1941. (Detroit News Archives) Above: Bobo Newsom signals that the Tigers surrender. In the second game of a doubleheader on August 19, 1941, the Yankees shelled the home team 8–3. Al Benton started and Dizzy Trout tried to provide some relief, but between the two hurlers they were rocked for 16 hits. Newsom, known for his sense of humor and lack of restraint, shows the white flag to the enemy. (Detroit News Archives)

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Above left: In a two-for-one deal consummated in December 1932, Detroit acquired two pitchers from the Senators, the main acquisition being Fred “Fripo” Marberry (shown here) for Earl Whitehill. Known as an outstanding relief pitcher, Marberry had also been used as a starter during his ten years pitching for Washington. Following a down year, he rebounded effectively in a Tigers uniform, winning 16 games in 1933 and 15 more in 1934 while being employed as a starter in many of his appearances. (William M. Anderson) Above right: Dan Howley caught for the Philadelphia Phillies in 1913 and became Ty Cobb’s pitching coach in 1921. The two had a strong relationship. When Howley became manager of Toronto in the International League, Cobb would often option young recruits there, trusting Howley’s ability to develop talent. Howley would let Cobb know what his players’ needs were and frequently made him aware of promising rookies. Howley later became the manager of the St. Louis Browns and Cincinnati Reds. (Detroit News Archives)

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Motors. So far the present trip [the team is on the road] has been very pleasant, folks. What’s to come, only time will tell. Our fight now is to hold second place, which we are confident that we can do after taking three straight from the White Sox. Were Dykes [Sox manager] and his buddies weeping when we left Chicago? Just showers of weeps, my good friends. Honestly, they figured they were going to [take] three games from us at Comiskey Park. Just another story of counting your chickens before they come out of the shell. I feel sorry for the Sox—oh, yes. We can use that 500 smackers per very nicely. That’s the difference between second and third place [money], you know. I want to buy a Christmas present for an umpire. (Permission granted by the Detroit News.)

Because of his erratic base running and propensity to assume great risks, Gee Walker spent an inordinate amount of time in the manager’s doghouse and forfeited his considerable ability to contribute to his team’s success. As a result of his frequent base-running blunders, he acquired a well-known reputation for silly and stupid mistakes that trumped his ability to hit. Over time these bonehead plays became chronicled and were frequently recalled by the press, particularly before his breakout season in 1936. The most notable litany read like this: When he broke into the big time, Walker joined a squad managed by Bucky Harris, who was known as a patient boss. But this rebel rookie broke down his understanding manager with his long leads and hell-bent desire to reach the next sack. His infractions included swinging away after being told to bunt. Even more blatant was Walker’s failure to run out a ground ball to short; instead, he ran toward third base en route to taking his position in the outfield after committing the third out. Harris immediately pulled him out of the game and sent him to the locker room. This bold rookie had an established practice of taking too big a lead and getting picked off. That tendency would make any manager upset, and it was a big part of the growing disgust that Harris felt. Although he was not naturally defiant, Gee Walker took a stubborn stand when the manager required all of his position players to purchase sunglasses. “Harris said I better buy them,” recalled Walker. “Well, I was out of the lineup for a while, and I guess the fans must [have] sent me 400 pairs of sun glasses. Finally I got it straighten[ed] out with Bucky.” With patience exhausted, Mr. Stanley Harris suspended and fined Walker after observing that benching him did not produce positive results.

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Although it took awhile, Walker became motivated to change his approach to the game. After his run-ins with Bucky Harris and the hiring of Mickey Cochrane, Walker wrote to his new boss openly admitting that he had had problems with Harris and vowing to change. Cochrane assured his young outfielder he would receive a new beginning. “We’ll start from scratch,” replied Cochrane. Cochrane recognized Walker’s potential but became annoyed with his foolhardy manner. At his wits’ end after a June 30 game at Sportsman’s Park, which the Tigers lost 4–3 when Walker was responsible for two outs in one inning, Cochrane suspended Walker for ten days without pay and sent him back to Detroit. The eighth inning started with the score tied and Hank Greenberg on first. Walker grounded to Harland Clift, and when the third baseman’s throw to second was low, both runners were safe. Walker wandered off first and was trapped in a rundown, causing Greenberg to head toward third. A Browns’ infielder then made a play on Greenberg, cutting him down while Walker advanced to second. Moments later he strayed again and was erased at second. An exasperated Cochrane said: “He cost us the ball game. It isn’t his first offense, either. I’ve tried talking to him, but he won’t listen. I’ve been as patient as I could be. Now I am going to try a different method and see how it works.” After mentioning a number of issues he had with Walker, the manager said he was hoping to get his attention by suspending him: “I am tired of arguing with him. I’m not going to let him wreck this ball club. It’s unfair to the other players, who are hustling all the time, straining every nerve to win.” According to Cochrane, Walker ignored signs to bunt, instead trying to emulate Cobb and chop the ball over a drawn-in infielder, a behavior that had irritated Harris as well. This time Walker didn’t alibi, stating, “I had it coming. What else is there to say? Mickey is absolutely right. He’s the boss and if a fellow can’t play ball for him he deserves to be suspended.” During the 1934 World Series with the St. Louis Cardinals, Walker was sent up to pinch hit for Jo-Jo White with the Tigers trailing 2–1. Walker came through with a single that drove in the tying run. Knowing Walker’s habit of taking too big a lead, manager Cochrane and the next hitter sent a message to first base coach Cy Perkins: “Keep that guy on the bag if you have to lasso him.” Perkins relayed the instruction, but as Walker taunted Rip Collins, the Cardinals’ pitcher whipped a throw over to the first baseman and the Walker Man was caught napping. Cochrane was so angry he proceeded to strike out. When Walker returned to the dugout he knew his manager was steamed. “Now don’t bawl me out,” he pleaded to Cochrane. “I put you back in the ball game. I’m a good base runner.”   c h a p t e r t h r e e

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Once when Walker inhabited first base and Al Simmons was on third, the opponents elected to intentionally pass Marv Owen. Walker attempted to steal on the second wide offering, which of course resembled a pitch out and he was nailed sliding into the bag. When a member of the press asked him to explain what he was thinking, Walker just smiled and said: “There was nothing unusual about that play. The pitcher wasn’t expecting me to steal was he? Where was Simmons? If he had been awake over there on third base, he could have scored while they were throwing me out. That’s the thing I was trying to do. But Al didn’t move and now I’m made to look silly.” Gee Walker remained a fighter, determined to make good. When Bucky Harris sent him back to the minors after a brief trial in 1931, Walker told Harris—“I’ll be back. You can’t keep me off the team.” That indomitable spirit sustained him every time he was punished, but it would be wrong to assume that all of the criticism just rolled off his back. After his careless mistake in the 1934 World Series, Walker hurt. In a tearful expression, he said: “No one tries any harder than I do. But somehow I never seem to do things right. I’m a good ball player, darn it. Maybe I make some mistakes in base running, but I’m trying to score, ain’t I. Doggone, why don’t the writers let me alone?” His emotion covered up his rationality, for on balance the press treated him with great consideration despite his foibles. There were times when he had a reserved seat on the bench and his gloom signaled a wounded warrior. When asked about his less than sunny disposition he would quickly reveal how he felt: “I’m in the doghouse. I just practice. I don’t play. I’m what you call an ugly duckling with this brood, I guess. But if they ever give me a chance to play regularly, I’ll show ’em I can play ball in this league. I know that.” Over time and upon reflection he admitted that his decision to try to steal second when a batter was being intentionally walked was a major league mistake. “I can’t explain it and nobody else can,” said Walker. “It was the dumbest play I ever heard of. There’s just no excuse for doing what I did.” His reformation began in 1934, but his best intentions deserted him several times in that campaign. He began the year with a mighty pledge. “I’m gonna play ball this year,” promised Walker. “No more yellin’ and ribbin’ other players. No more clownin’. I gotta make good. We’ve got a good ballclub and a good manager. I want to help and I know I can if I get a chance to play and mind my business. I hit good this Spring and feel like I’m goin’ to have a good year. I’m going to bow my neck. You’ll see a different Walker this year. Wait and see if you don’t.” In a forthright confession, Walker stated: “Yeah, I guess I’ve been pretty bad. I’d drive any manager nuts.” The Supporting Cast  

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As has been stated, his infractions continued and the Walker Man spent a goodly portion of the next two seasons assigned to the bench, getting into an identical 98 games each year yet maintaining a .300 batting average. In 1935 he led all American League pinch hitters with a .462 batting average. In a conversation between two Tigers players, one advised the other, saying: “I wouldn’t get out of the lineup if I were you. If you get out Walker will keep you out for good.” He became a regular in 1936, playing in 136 games while collecting 194 hits, scoring 105 runs, driving in 93, and batting an impressive .353, good for sixth best in the circuit. Walker affirmed his seriousness again during spring training in 1937. “I use[d] to look at baseball . . . [as] just a lot of fun,” said Walker. “But I paid for it. And believe me, sitting on the bench ain’t no fun, especially when you sit there for three years like I did. I’ll never be back on it again and you can bet on that, for I’m settling down to be a ball player while I still have a chance. Mickey Cochrane gave me a chance to be a regular last year and I ain’t going to muff it this time with any crazy stuff.” The following season Walker played in nearly every game and his production was even greater: 213 hits, 105 runs scored, 113 runs batted in, a career-high 18 home runs, 23 stolen bases, and a .335 batting average. Walker opened the home campaign by hitting for the cycle and launching a twenty-seven-game hitting streak. He made the AllStar team, but a late injury canceled out a career opportunity. Walker had numerous big games that season. In a doubleheader played at Navin Field on Saturday, August 8, the Tigers won both contests with Walker leading the way. In the first game he went 4 for 5 and drove in 7 runs with 3 doubles and a home run. In the second game he had a single and another home run in four plate appearances. Gee Walker had also changed some opinions regarding his running of the bases. “In case you haven’t noticed it, Gerald Walker has become one of the Tigers’ best base runners,” wrote Charles P. Ward in September for the Detroit Free Press. “He has stolen 22 sacks and has been picked off bases on only rare occasions.” Despite the new Mr. Walker, he hadn’t completely sacked his flare for the unexpected and dramatic. With the Tigers trailing the A’s 8–7 in the bottom half of the eighth inning on July 21, 1936, Detroit managed to load the bases with no one out. Owen worked the count to three and one and then hit into a double play while Goose Goslin scooted home to tie the score. Then while the first baseman made a lazy toss back to the pitcher he failed to notice that Walker was streaking around third. Before the hurler Harry Kelley threw home, the Walker Man had crossed the plate with the winning run for a Tiger victory.   c h a p t e r t h r e e

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Hank Greenberg takes a swing during batting practice at League Field in Lakeland, Florida, in 1941, the season he would leave for a long hitch in the military. Watching Hank’s drive soar into the outfield are coach Merv Shea (left) and manager Del Baker. (William M. Anderson) In this letter dated August 17, 1938, Merv Shea, former Tiger catcher, is writing to manager Del Baker asking to be considered for a coaching position. The next year, Baker hired him and Shea stayed on the coaching staff until his boss was fired following the 1942 season. Dear Friend Del: Your letter received and I appreciate it very much. I thought I might be able to see you on the first when you play the Yankees, but it so happens that they have booked an exhibition game for us on that date. I received a letter from Jack Zeller today, and he told me that you had turned my letter over to him. He said as far as he is concerned you are the man to pick your own coaches. He told me to see you when you came east, but as I explained we have an exhibition game booked on the one day that I would have had the opportunity of seeing you. He wished me the best of luck and I appreciated his promptness also. If you named me one of your coaches you could rest assured that I would do everything possible to help you make the club a pennant contender, and I know you and I are the best sign pickers in either league. Our corresponding will not be known to anyone but ourselves. I would appreciate hearing from you soon. Wishing you the best. Sincerely Your Friend, Merv Shea (Author’s collection)

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Vice president and manager Mickey Cochrane dropped a bombshell on Tiger fandom when the press announced the trade of Gerald “Gee” Walker and Marv Owen to the Chicago White Sox on December 2, 1937. Detroit needed another effective starting pitcher and Cochrane thought that Vern Kennedy, who had won 21 games in 1936 (left), could be the hurler he was seeking. Detroit also received a capable outfielder in Dixie Walker (right). Gee Walker, who was the most popular Tiger player, nearly had a cult following and fans howled bloody murder. Cochrane knew this would be the response and he counted on Kennedy’s success to quiet the protests. The new pitcher got off to a fast start, winning 10 games by the halfway mark but then faltered badly to finish the season with a 12-9 record. After losing his first three games the next season he was shipped to St. Louis. The new Mr. Walker performed credibly in 1938, his first season in a Tiger uniform, hitting .308, but he, too, was sent away the following year in an ill-advised trade, for Dixie Walker flourished in Brooklyn. In seven seasons he hit over .300 and won the National League batting title in 1944. He became Brooklyn’s most beloved player and a folk hero known as “The People’s Cherce [Choice].” Gee Walker hit .305 his first year with the White Sox but never reached that level again. (William M. Anderson)

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In 1937, just his second season and one in which he played on limited basis, George “Birdie” Tebbetts was making an impression as a promising young receiver. When Detroit went to Fenway Park, Red Sox manager Joe Cronin got a look at young Mr. Tebbetts and he spoke of him in glowing terms. “He’s the best looking kid I’ve seen come up in the big leagues since I’ve been playing up here,” stated Cronin. “He’s going to be a great catcher some day, mark my word. He can catch, he’s got fire, and he’s got a good arm. On top of that he can hit the ball.” Overall Tebbetts struggled at the plate, but he did develop into the team’s first-string catcher and one of the better receivers in franchise history. He hit .260 over his nine years with Detroit. (Detroit News Archives)

The Supporting Cast  

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Above left: Walter “Hoot” Evers was another talented prospect from whom many expected greatness, but his career became stymied by several serious injuries and interrupted by military service during World War II. Once he returned from the military and beginning in 1947 he put together three solid seasons, culminating in his best performance in 1950 when he hit .323 and drove in 103 runs. (Detroit News Archives) Above right: Before the advent of farm systems, major league teams sent representatives out to scout independent minor league teams, looking for good prospects they could purchase. Over the 1921–22 winter Detroit paid $10,000 and traded eight minor league players to Portland of the Pacific Coast League to acquire Herman Pillette and another young pitcher. Pillette was a twenty-seven-year-old rookie when he made the Tigers roster coming out of spring training in 1922. His case illustrates how starved manager Ty Cobb and the Tigers were for pitchers; Pillette had compiled a 13-30 record with Portland the previous season. But in nearly magical fashion, this tall right-hander blossomed. In 1922 he led the staff with 19 victories. The following year he won 14 games and lost a league-leading 19 games and exited Detroit after the 1924 season with a 1-1 record. In 1925 he was back with Portland and experienced another disastrous season with 11 wins and 26 losses. (Detroit News Archives)

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Above left: Finding a position that Rudy York could play proficiently became a long-term project for managers Mickey Cochrane and Del Baker. They tried him at third base, catcher, and in the outfield without being satisfied with his fielding ability. Then in 1940 owner Walter O. Briggs used his negotiating power to persuade All-Star first baseman Hank Greenberg to become the team’s left-fielder, freeing up his vacated position for York. The switch worked well, and Detroit stacked the middle of its lineup with two premier power hitters. York went on to become one of the foremost sluggers in franchise history and paced the American League in homers and RBIs in 1943. York was a well-liked teammate, someone easy to get along with. “I never have seen a fellow like him in baseball or a young player with a greater personality,” said pitcher Elden Auker. “Success and newspaper publicity have not had the slightest effect upon his natural modesty.” (Detroit News Archives) Above right: “I believe [Jake] Wade is destined to become a great pitcher,” proclaimed Tiger coach Del Baker in 1937. “Once he overcomes a tendency to be wild he will arrive. He has everything else and already shows signs of his greatness.” Nicknamed the “Whistler,” Jake got crosswise with the veteran players on the team when he claimed that his teammates were a stuck-up bunch. When the press asked Baker to comment on Wade’s statement, he replied: “Jake seems to be doing enough talking for everybody” and kept on hitting fungoes. But leave it to the “Silent Son of Fowlerville” to provide the quote of the day. “Everybody has known for years that I am a stuck up guy,” said Charlie Gehringer. “Especially where pitchers are concerned.” Time would tell that Baker’s early confidence about this young hurler was not well placed. Wade lasted three years with Detroit and compiled a record of 14-17 and finished his major league career with 27 wins and 40 losses. (William M. Anderson)

The Supporting Cast  

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  c h a p t e r t h r e e

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Cochrane mellowed, too, in his nearly fixed opinion of Gee Walker. “Walker is a good player if he can be harnessed properly,” admitted the Tiger skipper. “And I am counting heavily on him.” Surprisingly, Gerald Walker’s greatest advocate in the Tiger organization was the staid and ultraconservative Frank Navin. From bits and pieces of evidence it appears that Mr. Navin thought that Mickey Cochrane was too hard on Walker and apparently once told him to give the frisky outfielder his head. On another occasion Navin chuckled and said: “That Walker isn’t satisfied to reach the base. He wants to leave ’em dead on the field.” Although Walker had managers Harris and Cochrane pulling their hair out at times, some other managers were ready to take the troublesome Walker off the Tigers’ hands. When Cochrane suspended Walker in 1934, Yankee manager Joe McCarthy said: “I’ll gladly take him. They say he’s crazy on the bases but you can’t be crazy on the bases without getting on.” Frank Navin adamantly proclaimed: “I’ll never let Walker go. Why I never saw a player who had more natural talent. Do you think I’ll trade him off and let him make me look like a sucker later on? No, sir. Walker stays with this club.” Walker’s turnaround in the 1936 and 1937 seasons was so pronounced and his career journey so intriguing that Bud Shaver of the Detroit Times wrote a five-part series featuring Walker. I wonder how his teammates and Mickey Cochrane felt about how the press was making Walker a folk hero. Then on December 2, 1937, Mickey Cochrane, who served as both field boss and vice president, dropped a bomb when the club announced that Gee Walker, Marv Owen, and minor league catcher Mike Tresh had been traded to the Chicago White Sox for pitcher Vern Kennedy, outfielder Dixie Walker, and second baseman Tony Piet. Uproar swept the Tiger fan kingdom. The beloved Gerald Walker was gone, and a bitter and sustained protest followed. The local press was flooded with angry letters and emotion smothered any thought of reason. In an inexcusable human relations faux pas, the Tiger organization failed to personally inform Walker that he was being traded. While sitting in his room, his wife called him after hearing the announcement. Stunned by the unexpected news, he went downstairs and bought a newspaper that confirmed his wife’s report. Responding to a phone call from the Detroit Times writer Bob Murphy, Walker said: “I hate leaving Detroit. I sho’ like the town and the folks over there. I’d kinda come to call it home.” His mind then searched for the reason the trade was made. “Who’s gonna play third base? Why they’ve gone and traded the best third baseman [Marv Owen] in baseball to the Sox.

Opposite page: During the 1920s managers tended to have just one coach. Manager George Moriarty (left) and coach Frank Shaughnessy pose for a photograph in 1928, Moriarty’s second and final year at the helm of the Tigers. Moriarty played third base for Detroit for seven years beginning in 1909. Known as a weak hitter, once he got on base was a threat to steal including a propensity to light out for home. After serving as an American League umpire he succeeded Ty Cobb as pilot of the Tigers in 1927. (William M. Anderson)

The Supporting Cast  

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I was plenty puzzled when I heard they let me go. Now I sho’ nuff don’t understand it.” An emotional Walker shared how this trade affected his whole family: “It’s tougher on the wife and kids than it is on me. We’ve made a world of friends over there, the kind of friends you want to keep. . . . But somehow I wonder if fans anywhere will ever be as kind to me as they were in Detroit. I made a lot of mistakes in Detroit. But I kept trying to improve, and I know in my heart for the past three years, I’ve given everything I had.” Despite his great disappointment, Walker remained thankful to the Tiger organization and told Murphy that he planned to phone Walter Briggs. “I’m not gonna say anything nasty to Mr. Briggs,” assured Walker. “I’m just gonna thank him for past favors and wish him and his ball club all the luck in the world. You know what hurts most inside is I won’t be there the day they dedicate the new stadium. I’m gonna tell Mr. Briggs that, too. I’ve been thinking and dreaming a lot about that new stadium.” Then with a stiff upper lip, he recognized that life and his career would march on. “I reckon you’ve got to get use[d] to things like this in baseball,” he said. “An[d] since I’m leaving Detroit I’m glad the next stop is in Chicago. I’ll give Jimmy Dykes all I’ve got. And I’ll play just as hard against the Tigers as I played for them.” Gee Walker never flew under the radar, and no other Tiger trade garnered so much media attention. The interest in this troubled transaction took on a life of its own. Bob Murphy understood perfectly that the Walker Man was good copy and he went back for more commentary from the wounded soldier. In another interview Walker became more retrospective, finally attempting to rationalize his base-running woes. Referring to the Tigers coach Del Baker, he said: “I’m gonna miss old ‘Bake’ more’n I can tell anybody. . . . Yeah, the toughest part of leaving Detroit is parting with old ‘Bake.’ Bake has done plenty for me, both on the field and off. I claim he is the smartest man in baseball today—and that goes for all of ’em. They had me room with ‘Bake’ one year. Said they wanted to quiet me down. Well, it was the greatest thing that ever happened to me. ‘Bake’ showed me how I would have to conquer my own unruly disposition before I could hope to conquer anything else. I learned heaps from old ‘Bake’ about life and about baseball.” Baker’s uncanny ability to call pitches because he allegedly could read a pitcher’s subtle techniques had become an accepted understanding among many opposing managers and players. Like the pitcher possessing a reputation for throwing an illegal spitball, Baker never admitted that he was especially gifted in his proclaimed ability to tip off a hitter as to what the pitcher was about to   c h a p t e r t h r e e

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throw. Whether or not he could make the determination, the widespread belief caused lots of consternation in the minds of hurlers and managers. Walker being Walker could have enjoyed the opportunity to perpetuate the aggravation or at the moment of his departure decided he didn’t give a rip so he confirmed this unusual capability of his mentor Del Baker. “Won’t I have the laugh on old ‘Bake’ now, though,” snickered Walker. “I’ll be able to tell the Sox all his secrets of signal snatching. . . . One thing wrong with all this is I won’t have old ‘Bake’ out there to help me. He signaled me many a pitch that earned me a base hit. He’s helped me just as much as he helped Hank, and never let anybody tell you he hasn’t helped us both plenty.” Although he had a reckless streak when he got to first, Walker did steal a lot of bases and obviously took pride in his ability to run and exploit a situation. With maturity he readily admitted that at times his daring attitude cost him and his team, yet he felt compelled to justify his approach. Walker believed that getting a big lead was critical for stealing a base. His known tendency made him a target for all pitchers and he too often paid a price during his early years in the American League. Perhaps he ultimately became more strategic about his long leads; according to his wife, who monitored his record, he had only been caught off base once in 1937, his most recent season. Not willing to concede his fundamental belief, he told Murphy: “Well, here’s the way I figure it. The difference between getting thrown out at second or being safe is the LEAD YOU GET OFF FIRST. . . . Dykes has already told me I can run bases any way I want, so long as I get on. I still say it makes sense to try to get that extra lead off first.” Not everyone shared the emotional reaction of fans who clearly thought this was a stupid swap of players. The sports writer Bud Shaver, also of the Detroit Times staff, elected to take a more objective view of the decision and shared his assessment with the headline—“An Appeal to Reason: New Tigers Deserve Chance.” Shaver immediately noted how excess emotion blinds reason and regretted that only a slim minority supported the merits of Cochrane’s decision. “As usual, I am on the side of the wretched minority, largely because the deal requires no defense,” wrote Shaver. “Cochrane has a perfect right to make it, just as the mob has a perfect right to howl about it.” He recognized that the fandom loved Walker and he had become an idol: “Because fans love him for what he is, he could do no wrong. Because they love him they dress him with more baseball value than he actually possesses. As a box office attraction he is without peer.” It must have been apparent to any reader of the Detroit newspapers’ sports pages that the press was going to miss the Walker Man at least as The Supporting Cast  

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much as the ball team was. Shaver’s unconditional statement confirms the value of athletes who possess colorful personalities and behavior. “If anyone has a right to indignation over the deal it is the Detroit sports writers,” stated Shaver. “Our richest source of baseball copy is being taken away from us with no satisfactory substitute supplied.” Shaver reserved the obvious key consideration in this trade for the latter part of his article. The Tigers needed pitching and Cochrane liked the prospects for right-hander Vern Kennedy, who had won 20 games in 1936. And Shaver told his readers that “you can’t buy quality pitchers.” Cochrane knew he would take some heat for the decision to trade Walker, but he was confident of his reason for parting with the popular flyhawk. “We had to bolster our pitching because of the possibility Lynn Rowe never will come back,” claimed the Tiger manager. “We had to sacrifice some power to get a good pitcher, and in Dixie Walker we get a good ball hawk and steady .300 hitter. Kennedy, I believe, will win 18 or 20 games for us, we must build for future season, and we have the young players to build with.” The riled-up fan base even convinced ownership that it, too, needed to weigh in. Treasurer Spike Briggs (who was also the owner’s son) issued a statement supporting Cochrane’s decision. The Tiger field boss knew that the beginning of the following season would prompt a renewed and even louder outcry. “I may have to wear earmuffs out there on the coaching line next summer, but until I am proved wrong I will continue to think the deal a good one from the Detroit standpoint,” said Cochrane. Lee Macdonell of the Detroit Times called Cochrane’s move courageous; Charles Ward of the Detroit Free Press stated that the criticism of the Tiger manager was unfair; and H. G. Salsinger of the Detroit News told readers that “the Tigers took a long, long gamble.” Seemingly everybody felt compelled to express an opinion, including the always reticent Charlie Gehringer, who was quoted saying: “Walker and Owen will be missed but Kennedy should make up for their loss with some good pitching.” Joe Williams and Daniel McDaniel, sport writers for the World Telegram, also entered the editorial fray. Noting the Tigers’ need to replace the contributions of Schoolboy Rowe, Williams did not overpredict what Kennedy would bring. After Kennedy’s so-so year in 1937, Williams offered: “Behind the hard-hitting Tigers, he may do better—much better.” McDaniel remained convinced that Walker was still the same old Walker: “While Mickey Cochrane is afraid to go home and face the music, he really experiences some measure of relief through the realization that next   c h a p t e r t h r e e

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Hughie Jennings managed the Tigers for fourteen years, but after his mound corps that pitched his team to three straight pennants faded away, he had difficulty developing quality pitchers. For the 1920 season he enlisted the assistance of the once great hurler Jack Coombs to take charge of the pitching staff. Coombs had just experienced the short life of a big league manager when one’s team does not win. He began the season managing the Philadelphia Phillies in a year they finished in the cellar. Coombs lasted 62 games in which his club only managed to win 18 ball games. When he pitched for the Athletics Coombs was regarded as one of the great pitchers of his time, once winning 31 games, so he came to the Tigers with plenty of experience as a winning hurler. However, when Jennings was ousted at the end of the season, Coombs left town, too. (William M. Anderson) When the 1940 season began, Detroit would have been considered a dark horse candidate at best when pundits were picking a pennant winner. This infield comprised of Rudy York (left), Charlie Gehringer, Pinky Higgins, and newcomer Dick Bartell played a very important role. York and Higgins were steady performers, Gehringer came back to have his final productive season, and shortstop Bartell proved to be a sparkplug and enjoyed an unexpected solid season. (Detroit News Archives)

The Supporting Cast  

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Jack Coombs began his one-year Detroit coaching tenure at spring training in Macon, Georgia, in March 1920. Coombs (far right) is shown here with the team’s pitching staff in Macon. In his column for The Sporting News, H. G. Salsinger, Detroit News reporter, said there were high hopes that Coombs could make a difference. “At this early stage of the game there is a strong impression that the Detroit Club has made a good move in signing Jack Coombs to a contract,” wrote Salsinger. “The recruit pitchers have absolute confidence in him and confidence in Coombs promises to give Detroit its first bang-up pitching staff.” (William M. Anderson) Left to right: outfielder Doc Cramer, third baseman Pinky Higgins, outfielder Dick Wakefield, and first baseman Rudy York, September 20, 1944. These four provided the main weapons in the team’s attack. (Detroit News Archives)

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Summer Jimmy Dykes and not he will have to contend with brainstorms of the inimitable Gee. To catalog all stories of Gee’s freakish doings would take a book.” Cochrane’s prophecy was right; the wrath did not go away. Vern Kennedy needed to deliver to justify the wisdom of Walker’s exit and it didn’t happen. Following a 12-9 record in 1939 in which he slipped badly in the second half, he began the following season with a 0-3 record and was traded to the St. Louis Browns. Some writers speculated that the onus of validating the merits of trading offense for pitching weighed heavily on Kennedy, making him feel unappreciated. Gee Walker left with a seven-year Tiger batting average of .317, but he would never produce as he had in 1936 and 1937. He played through the 1945 season with the Chicago White Sox, Washington,

With Charlie Gehringer’s retirement and the departure of others for military service, manager Steve O’Neil shuffled his lineup. These were his regular infielders in 1944 (left to right): third baseman Pinky Higgins, shortstop Joe Hoover, second baseman Eddie Mayo, and first sacker Rudy York. (Detroit News Archives)

The Supporting Cast  

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Rookie outfielder Dick Wakefield (left) consults with fence buster Rudy York, June 11, 1941, while Pat Mullin walks behind the two players. (Detroit News Archives)

Cleveland, and Cincinnati but only compiled a .300 batting average in one of those seasons. He finished his fifteen-year career with a lifetime batting average of .294 and stroked 1991 hits. c l e t u s e lw o o d p o f f e n b e r g e r

During the mid-1930s the Tigers’ fortunes rode the arms of Tommy Bridges and Schoolboy Rowe. With a perennial sore arm, the Schoolboy continued to be a question mark. Cochrane always had him penciled into the starting rotation, but in 1937 he was an early causality and was attempting to rehabilitate his valuable right arm with trainer Denny Carroll and a Dr. Ferguson.   c h a p t e r t h r e e

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Injuries provide opportunities for budding prospects and Detroit put out the call to Beaumont for a young hurler. Yet fate determined that the number one candidate to fill in for Rowe also developed a sore arm and farm director Jack Zeller went to Plan B. The Tigers called up right-hander Cletus Poffenberger, who, along with some behavior baggage, was considered a little different. Zeller added: “But, he wins games.” Off to a great start, Poffenberger had already racked up nine wins in the Texas League and was pinned with only one loss on the strength of a commanding 2.50 earned run average. In his first season as a professional in D ball he won 16 and lost 15. While pitching for Charleston in Class C the previous season he went 16 and 12 with a sterling 2.75 ERA. He came to the majors as a control pitcher with a sneaky fastball. The twenty-three-year-old hailed from Williamsport, Maryland. Poffenberger brought a couple of nicknames along with his colorful personality. He answered to the moniker “Boots” inherited from an ancestor, and others often referred to him as “Baron” because his name sounded German when he was principally of Dutch descent. His unique behavior encouraged a collection of descriptive handles affixed by the media. It began with being called “the Baron of Sauer Kraut” and “Poffy.” The Baron had a two-year major league career with the Detroit Tigers, and the first was much more staid and productive than his second. The second season became increasingly bizarre and tumultuous and the nicknames unmercifully piled up. Cletus was a complicated person who acted out his emotions and attitudes in strange ways, especially for a raw rookie attempting to make the big time. He had ability, but it was never clear if he was motivated to capitalize on his considerable skills. Many saw his potential, yet he seemed incapable of staying focused, bearing down, and keeping his mouth shut. Early on Poffenberger drew the attention of the former Tiger star Harry Heilmann. “They tell me the kid has control and a sneaky fast ball,” stated Heilmann. “It’s just hopping fast, a lot better than a good many of the socalled fast ball pitchers in the league. And he not only has control, but knows how to pitch. He’s one of those guys who doesn’t care if he is pitching in Beaumont or the big town. Nothing bothers him, I mean. The ideal pitching temperament—there’s a little bit of Dizzy Dean and Buck Newsom in him. He likes to stop those fancy hitters.” Others said he reminded them of the unpredictable-predictable Rube Waddell. So if he was a mixture of Dean, Newsom, and Waddell, it was a recipe for the strange and unusual, and in 1937 his persona remained mostly unexposed. The Supporting Cast  

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Bud Shaver made a call to his sports writer counterpart in Beaumont to get the lowdown on the new Tiger hurler. What he learned was that the Baron was considered eccentric and would occasionally disappear during the season. The Free Press writer Charles P. Ward announced that “Poffy will be a welcome addition to the color squad of the Tigers.” But in all fairness, Poffy was in a league of his own. After Ward listed the other Tigers he considered colorful, he mentioned that in the future, rookie pitcher Paul “Dizzy” Trout would join this cadre of colorful players. As he would find out, Trout would move up to the front row with his crazy antics. It didn’t take Coach Baker long to get a read on Poffenberger, calling him the “boy with the million dollar arm and 10 cent head.” Being short and stocky, he was asked if he had ever played football and he responded: “No, it’s too rough for me. Besides, I was one of those smart guys who quit high school in my second year.” Somebody said or wrote some disparaging remarks about Poffenberger’s pitching ability, after which he sat in the Tigers’ dugout grumbling about what he considered totally unfair coverage of him. “Why, it is just plumb screwy to say that I can’t throw a ball where I want it,” claimed Poffenberger. “I just aim it up there and pow! In she goes. Why, I can pitch a ball anyplace I want to. When I throw a ball I know just where it is going.” Coach and former catcher Cy Perkins formed an early and favorable opinion of the recruit chucker: “He has a sneaky fast ball and a good curve and plenty of nerve. It looks as if he’ll do.” Poffenberger had a fine inaugural season. He got off to an ideal start when he came in relief of starter George Gill on Sunday, June 11, 1937. He entered the game in the third inning and induced the first batter he faced to hit into an inning-ending double play. Poffenberger pitched the final six innings, allowing three singles and just one run in winning his first big league game. Ray Hayworth caught the youngster in his debut and said: “I really was surprised. He’s got a fast ball that’s a dandy.” Doc Holst of the Detroit Times covered the game and wrote: “He is no ordinary gentleman, this Poffenberger gentleman.” As he piled up victories, Boots had a number of memorable games. In his next outing, Poffenberger followed three other pitchers to the mound, including starter Bridges. He relieved in the ninth frame after Washington had scored seven runs to tie the score and immediately retired the final out of the inning. Then he shut out the Nationals over the final six innings, allowing three scratch hits to again claim the victory. Acting manager Del Baker was highly pleased. “I think he deserves a starting chance,” stated Baker. “He   c h a p t e r t h r e e

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sure pitched fine ball out there yesterday. He’s got heart and he’s got stuff. It’s what you call a live fast ball. It jumps—breaks fast. And it comes from the box like a shot. Boots uses little windup—he just shoots it out startlingly like. Hell, I can’t explain it. But, he’s got what it takes or else I’m a prophet.” Naturally the press wanted Poffenberger’s reaction. He humbly said: “Oh, I don’t know. I just pitch like any kid. I like to pitch—I like to play baseball.” After performing well in relief roles, he joined the starting rotation. He won his first complete game on July 11, permitting Cleveland just five safeties and two runs. Bob Feller pitched his first complete game of the season and hurled a two-hit masterpiece yet ended up the losing pitcher because of the inventive tactics of Gee Walker. The ninth inning began with Feller walking both Gehringer and Greenberg. Walker grounded to third, forcing Greenberg out at second and leaving runners at first and third. Batting next, York grounded to second for a tailor-made double play. The second baseman flipped the ball to the shortstop Lyn Lary for the force out but Walker charged the bag and stood upright, preventing the shortstop from making the throw to first. During that delay, Gehringer raced home with the winning run. “I coulda kissed that Gee Walker out there when that run scored,” said Poffenberger. “He mighta got his brains knocked out.” When Detroit played at Griffith Stadium in Washington on August 8 the game became a Poffenberger Day and lots of friends, family, and supporters came from Williamsport and Hagerstown, Maryland, to celebrate the Baron. In a mini ceremony at home plate his admirers, including the mayor of his hometown, vetted him with praise and several gifts including a new shotgun. Poffenberger went the distance in a rain-shortened fiveinning game with Tigers, handing the Senators a 5–1 loss. Boots had an impressive first season with Detroit, winning 10 and losing 5 with a 4.65 ERA while pitching in 29 games. When a Nationals scout was bragging about the players he had signed, manager Bucky Harris asked: “Where were you when Poffenberger was running around loose in Maryland?” Mickey Cochrane needed an effective reliever and believed that the Baron had more of the right temperament and tools than any of the other candidates. Poffenberger, however, preferred to start and win ball games, and he remained in the rotation when the new season began. Reflecting on his first-year experience, Poffenberger recognized he was a wet-behind-the-ears freshman in 1937 and probably consumed a little too much alcohol. “I was just a young kid making more money than I ever made before in my life and I figured I had to spend it quick,” he said. “I spent a lot of it on beer. A pitcher can’t spend a lot on beer and be happy. The Supporting Cast  

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Opposite page: In a year in which Bobo Newsom emerged as the ace of the Tigers’ pitching staff, three of these hurlers along with Hal Newhouser made up the rest of the rotation. Left to right: Schoolboy Rowe won 16 and lost only 3 for the league’s best winning percentage; Al Benton, used primarily as a reliever, pitched in a career-high 42 games and saved 17, also best in the AL; John Gorsica won 7 and lost 7 in his first big league season; Tommy Bridges had begun to slip but hung on to win 12 games and continued his wizardry in striking out 133 batters in 197.2 innings. September 21, 1940. (Detroit News Archives)

Especially on this club. You know that Del Baker watches the pitchers closely and whenever he sees one sweating a lot, he decides he’s been drinking too much beer and he makes him chase fungoes until he is kicking his tongue around. He liked to killed me a couple of times last year.” Initially it looked as though he would build off his fine rookie year and perhaps realize the potential so many thought he possessed. He got his first starting assignment on April 29, 1938, and held the White Sox to one run in a 5–1 Tigers’ victory. In his next turn, Poffenberger checked the Red Sox on 6 hits and earned his second straight victory, 4–1. With a 1.00 ERA the future looked bright. He was hit hard in his next outing but bounced back with two consecutive wins including a nifty four-hitter versus Boston on May 29. After that season’s high-water mark, the year began to unravel for Boots, eventually becoming a performance disaster. Rudy York became the regular catcher and liked the stuff that Poffenberger showed but was mystified that the young hurler could not replicate what he had just thrown. After catching him York said: “Poffenberger doesn’t really know what he is throwing half the time. He just rears back and blows that ball in there. You call for a curve or you call for a fast ball and he throws you what he thinks is his curve or fast ball.” York considered some of the Baron’s curveballs on par with those of Bridges, the recognized master, and noted that some of his fastballs just dove in the strike zone. “There are times when that little squatty guy has something,” assured York. When Poffenberger first joined the team in June, he proclaimed: “I am just a young punk from a small town and I don’t know what the hell it is all about. Boy I can blow that apple in there and when I get smartened up a bit, I’ll give those batters plenty to worry about.” Poffy came to camp puffed up by his success in 1937 and it brought out the worst in him, not that management hadn’t seen enough to raise some eyebrows and necessitate some corrective conversations with this free spirit. Early on he started popping off and the tendency grew. Poffenberger claimed to receive little satisfaction from beating the lower division teams; he wanted to whip the Yankees and the Red Sox. “You know last year I was kind of timid about pitchin’ against New York, but I ain’t no more,” said Poffenberger. “From now on I’m goin’ to charge ’em and keep chargin’ ’em. If I charge ’em I’ll beat ’em. I got it all figured out.” With the Red Sox, he wanted revenge. This sentiment was aimed in particular at manager Joe Cronin, who had reportedly said some uncomplimentary things about the Baron. Before he faced Boston on May 4, 1938, he proclaimed: “I’ll charge those people and mow them down. That   c h a p t e r t h r e e

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Joe Cronin once made a monkey of me and now I’ll make monkeys of his monkeys. I’ll charge them tomorrow and I’ll win that ball game. Chalk up No. 2 for Baron Popoff of Sauerkraut.” And he delivered on his promise with a six-hit win over the Beaneaters. After beating Washington three times in 1936, the Baron boasted that he owned that team and they were his cousins. In a game he pitched against the Nationals he lasted just four innings, being driven from the hill after giving up five runs and eight hits. “So we’re cousins, eh?” asked manager Stanley Harris. On July 15 Poffenberger absorbed his fifth loss in a rainabbreviated game with New York. Still super-confident, he predicted he would win 25 games the following season. The Supporting Cast  

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Twenty-three-year-old rookie hurler Dizzy Trout (left) won nine games in his first season with the big club. His photo companion here and sometimes roommate, Schoolboy Rowe, was trying to revive his career in 1939 following two injuryplagued miserable seasons. Far from his earlier glory, Rowe won 10 games against 11 defeats. (Detroit News Archives)

In 1934 these two pitchers formed one of the all-time great tandems in Tiger history. Tommy Bridges (left) won 22 games and his partner, Schoolboy Rowe, contributed 24 victories to Detroit’s successful bid for the pennant. (Detroit News Archives)

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H. G. Salsinger, a baseball writer for the Detroit News, wrote a regular column named “The Umpire.” What follows is an excerpt from the column originally published on July 22, 1938.

Pinky Higgins (right) is enjoying a reunion with his first manager, Connie Mack, September 27, 1944. Higgins broke in with the A’s and had his best two offensive seasons with Mack’s team. (Detroit News Archives)

the umpire

Every major league club has at least one player who qualifies for the role of problem child. Most of the clubs have more than one. Several managers insist they have 23 and when a manager has acquired 23 problem children he has achieved the ultimate. Under major league rules he is limited to 23 players from May 15 until Aug. 15 and therefore, he cannot have more than 23 prob-

The Supporting Cast  

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Third baseman Marv Owen (left) and Rudy York, the man without a position, accommodate the photographer with great smiles during spring training, March 15, 1937. That season would be Owen’s last before being part of an unpopular trade with the White Sox. York, on the other hand, was just getting started with the Tigers. Management knew he could hit so they experimented with where to position him in the field. York whacked 35 home runs, a career best in his first real season of play. Even more impressive, he hit 35 balls over the fences in just 375 at bats for a league best—a home run every 9.3 times at bat. (Detroit News Archives)

Two proclaimed wonder boys get together for a photograph, September 3, 1949. Dick Wakefield (left) had been signed earlier for a big ticket as a “can’t miss” recruit, but by 1949 his ascendancy had taken a nosedive. Johnny Groth (the shorter player on the right) had graduated from a great season at Buffalo where he made the International League All-Star team and led the circuit in hits and runs scored. His manager at Buffalo, Paul Richards, tried to tone down the expectations as some were predicting he was another Joe DiMaggio. (Detroit News Archives)

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lem children for three months. . . . Each manager rates his problem children and Cletus Elwood Poffenberger has, since the June day in 1937 when he joined the team, held the distinguished rating of No. 1. He has had the field fairly well to himself. Once or twice a challenger appeared but Mr. Poffenberger soon squelched him. He held all challengers to his position in contempt. The fact that Mr. Poffenberger has continued on the Detroit payroll is a tribute to his ability. Mr. Cochrane, the manager, frequently referring to Mr. Poffenberger’s erratic behavior, always add[s]: “And he ought to be a great pitcher.” Mr. Poffenberger may not have enough stuff to become a great pitcher but he should at least be a first-class pitcher and one capable of winning 16 to 20 games a season. His short arms, his quick delivery, his competitive vigor, are outstanding assets. Combine them with a jumpy fast ball and a curve ball that is still being developed and you have a pitcher who should be capable of going out there and winning plenty of games for you. (Permission granted by the Detroit News.)

Cletus Elwood Poffenberger just couldn’t stay out of trouble during the 1938 season, and as he experienced less and less success on the mound he acted out his frustration in unacceptable ways. It all started in spring training when he was reprimanded for violating undisclosed training rules. In light of what happened next, his spring training transgressions were minor annoyances. On June 6 against Boston he complained of being tired in the fourth inning and Cochrane was more than annoyed: “There must be something wrong with a guy who gets tired after sitting down for four days.” In the next frame, Poffenberger asked to be taken out of the game. “His uniform was soaked with perspiration and he plainly showed the effects of over-indulgence,” said Cochrane. The team moved on to Philadelphia and opened the series on June 7. Poffenberger disappeared after the game, a serious infraction that caused the manager to impose a curfew and stringent morning rules: players had to check in with the hotel clerk before midnight and be in the dining room for breakfast by 9:30 a.m. or pay for their meal. The Baron remained AWOL the next morning, and when he finally showed up at Shibe Park, Cochrane was waiting for him. When the manager confronted his wayward pitcher, Poffenberger refused to answer his questions and insisted he wasn’t talking to anyone. With that attitude, Cochrane slapped him with a $100 fine. Since this was the first curfew ever imposed by Cochrane, the players naturally knew that the Baron was responsible for the new restriction and

The Supporting Cast  

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they weren’t happy. Cochrane told the press: “I couldn’t let Poffenberger get away with it.” “Mickey’s the manager,” Poffy said. “Maybe I had it coming—I guess,” said a less than contrite Poffenberger. Poffenberger was relegated to the bullpen for awhile and although not a coach, reserve catcher Ray Hayworth sought to shape up Mr. Poffenberger by assuming authority. “You are the biggest busher I ever saw,” barked Hayworth. “Your name ought to be Joe Bush.” His erratic behavior defied explanation. When the team went east and opened a series in Washington on July 19, Poffenberger professed that he had reformed. “I’m through with that disappearing stuff,” he claimed. He received permission from Mickey Cochrane to visit his mother and family in Williamsport, Maryland. “That’s the best way. I’m growing up now—I can’t afford to be running away like I did before. Besides, it worries Mr. Cochrane. And I don’t want to worry Mr. Cochrane.” The very next day he was the starting pitcher, and in a rainy affair he performed and behaved badly. In one instance when a ground ball was hit to first baseman Hank Greenberg, he didn’t even attempt to cover first, literally giving the runner the base. Cochrane sent him back to Detroit “for not fielding his position, for not putting his heart into his work and for walking out of the box. I couldn’t let him get away with that stuff. He’d wreck the club and it is bad enough as it is.” Shortly after he was notified that he was to return to Detroit, Poffenberger disappeared. Instead of taking a train to Detroit he defied orders and went home to Williamsport. Cochrane told the media that Poffenberger would be suspended and likely fined. When he finally returned to Detroit, the Baron was summoned to a highlevel meeting involving owner Walter O. Briggs, his son Spike, and Cochrane. Surprisingly, Poffenberger’s suspension was lifted and he was reinstated. This mixed-up young pitcher was used sparingly after the blow-up in Washington. Cochrane tried him again on July 30, but he was hammered by the Athletics. Soon thereafter he was optioned to Toledo on twenty-fourhour recall, but the call never came and Poffenberger’s career with Detroit was history. He finished his abbreviated 1938 season with a record of 4-6. A young man with a good arm and plenty of potential squandered what might have been. dizzy trout

For a long period of time, many ballplayers were given nicknames and they were all free game. Paul Howard Trout’s fit him like a glove. In 1935 the Terre   c h a p t e r t h r e e

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Haute club in his home state of Indiana held a tryout camp and about five hundred hopefuls showed up. Wanting to make a strong impression, this young hurler really cut loose while others, concerned about injuring their arms, held back. Some thought he was crazy throwing so hard and called him dizzy. He did impress and received a contract to pitch professionally in the Three Eye League. A reporter covering the tryouts referred to him as Dizzy Trout and the nickname was born. Trout seemed to have been born with a sense of humor, and he was wired differently—crazy, weird, funny, and a natural-born clown. It is easy to assume that he was a Dizzy Dean copycat, and like those considered colorful, he received lots of attention from the press. His first real introduction to the Tiger organization came in 1937 during spring training at Lakeland; by then his circus routine was full blown. The writer W. W. Edgar started calling him the “hilarious Hoosier” as he went around spring camp stating: “My name is Trout but I ain’t no sucker.” In Florida, where lots of retirees live and others reside during the warm winter months, pitching horseshoes is a favorite pastime for older men. Trout, after watching an old gentleman score a double ringer, said: “Hell that ain’t nuthin’ mister. You ought to see me pitch them equine slippers.” Trout then proceeded to back up his seeming braggadocio. He threw six consecutive ringers and then pitched six shoes at once with four of them perfectly catching the post. “Any time you want to know anything about pitching them things, just drop ’round to the hotel and I’ll be glad to show you a few tricks. And you really ain’t seen nuthin’ until you see me pitch baseball,” assured Trout as he walked away. When manager Mickey Cochrane arrived at camp one day he found this hotshot rookie taking batting practice. “Get out of there,” Cochrane barked. “We’re not paying good money for pitchers only to have them get their brains knocked out. Get over here in the bullpen and let’s see how you can pitch. I don’t care about how you can hit.” Trout laughed at his manager’s reaction and asked the team’s number one catcher to put on his mitt, saying: “Better get set Mike because I’m gonna blow one at you.” Just like he had back in Indiana, Trout let his good fastball fly and evoked the same response; Cochrane warned him to take it easy. “Hell, Mike, don’t worry about that. I ain’t never had a sore arm in my life and I’ve been throwing ’em plenty fast. Just you worry about the other fellows. My arm will be all right. I’ll be the answer to your pitching problem.” Cochrane was impressed with how hard his kid pitcher could throw. About a week later he started an exhibition game against the Gashouse Gang from St. Louis. When this intrepid pop off walked by the Cardinals The Supporting Cast  

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Dizzy Trout (right) admires his Texas League Most Valuable Player Award as Buck Newsom looks on, June 2, 1939. Trout pitched the Beaumont Exporters to the Texas League pennant and postseason championship by winning 22 games in the regular season in 1938. (Detroit News Archives)

dugout, he stopped and said: “How do you hill-billies feel with shoes on? Must feel kinda’ funny, eh?” Well this brash rookie had no idea what he had unleashed because he had just invited an All-Star team of bench jockeys to slay him. The dizzy one got so angry that he threw down his glove and marched to the plate, announcing his readiness to take on whoever was ready. Cochrane had to pull his pitcher out of the game. His propensity to clown around had a darker side, demonstrating a temperament that once unleashed often went out of control. It would take years to get this side of his nature controlled. In his next start facing the Cincinnati Reds, he again exploded when he started walking hitters in the ninth inning. He threw wildly to first base, permitting two runs to score. “I was so mad,” he   c h a p t e r t h r e e

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After signing what was then considered a monster contract in 1941, Dick Wakefield was sent to learn his trade in the professional ranks with the Winston-Salem Club in the Class B Piedmont League. Jack Atz, his first manager, submitted a glowing report to general manager Jack Zeller: “That kid has everything. He has ability and personality. Everybody in the league is crazy about him. Why, the other night at Portsmouth he won a game with one of those fence-busting hits of his and the crowd cheered him for beating the home team.” The next season he was promoted to Beaumont and he continued to shine, winning the Texas League batting championship and the Most Valuable Player Award. “Last year when I had him at Beaumont, I was convinced that Dick was a natural hitter who couldn’t miss in the big leagues,” stated manager Steve O’Neil. Hal Newhouser shared the assessment: “Wakefield was born with requisites of a great hitter.” Inserted into the regular Tiger lineup in 1943, Wakefield made a legitimate run for the batting title, finishing second with a .316 average. After being inducted into the military and completing flight school, Wakefield was discharged and rejoined the team in July 1944 and started hitting like a house afire. In a shortened personal season of only 78 games he batted .355. He reentered military service in 1945 and never again achieved the level of performance he had displayed in 1943–44. Given his casual carefree approach to the game in general, some believed he had squandered his considerable talent. (Detroit News Archives) The Supporting Cast  

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On their way north to play an exhibition game, Tigers pitchers line up for a photograph. Some would be cut before the season began. Left to right: Japhet “Red” Lynn, Archie McKain, Tommy Bridges, George Gill, Paul Trout, Fred Hutchinson, Bob Harris, Floyd Giebel, Roxie Lawson, Harry Eisenstat, Schoolboy Rowe, Al Benton, Vern Kennedy, and George “Slick” Coffman. (Detroit News Archives)

A non-supporting cast of Washington Senators. All of these players were once members of the Detroit Tiger organization, including four who were destined to become inductees in the Baseball Hall of Fame. May 16, 1938. Left to right: Jonathon Stone, Al Simmons, Goose Goslin, Bucky Harris, Chief Hogsett, Ray Phebus, and Rick Ferrell. (Detroit News Archives)

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Here is the pitching staff of the 1934 pennant-winning Detroit Tigers. Left to right: Vic Sorrell, Carl Fischer, Schoolboy Rowe, Fred Marberry, Elden Auker, Luke Hamlin, Tommy Bridges, General Crowder, and Chief Hogsett. (Detroit News Archives)

The Supporting Cast  

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“Find me a better shortstop than [Billy] Rogell and I’ll get him,” stated Frank Navin in 1935. Rogell had great range and a strong arm and, according to the Detroit Free Press scribe Charles Ward, he was “a smart hombre.” He was a scrappy player who knew out to avoid being taken out when he was the pivot man at second base. “The only time they have a chance to knock me down is when I have to take a low throw,” said Rogell. There were lots of shortstops labeled “good glove no hit” guys, but this one provided offense as well. In 1933 and 1934, he hit .295 and .296, respectively, and often came through in the clutch. He had a highly unusual concern for his feet and took off his shoes while on the bench. “I like to have my shoes tight but if I keep them on for a full game, my feet begin to burn,” explained Rogell. “So I just take my shoes off a couple of times and let the dogs cool off.” (Detroit News Archives)

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explained. “I saw two fellows at first base where only one was standing and threw to the wrong fellow.” “He likes to have fun,” wrote the Detroit Free Press baseball scribe Charles Ward. “And he likes to holler. He can’t sit on the bench two minutes at a stretch without yelling something at somebody.” At a later spring camp, Trout rode his motorcycle around the bases. As he roared by his manager he yelled out: “How am I doin’, Mickey?” Unamused, the skipper yelled back: “You’re doing so well that you can keep right on going to Toledo.” He spent the 1937 season at Toledo, winning 14 and losing 16. The next year he pitched most of the season for the Beaumont Exporters and really came into his own with a 22-6 record and was named the Most Valuable Player in the Texas League. Going into the 1939 season, if the Tigers’ prospects for being first in victories were not in the cards, their potential for being first in color and laughs seemed more than likely. The team already had two of the league’s biggest clowns in Dizzy Trout and Boots Poffenberger when general manager Jack Zeller announced the hiring of former Beaumont bat boy Willie “Shorty” Ash, a thirty-six-year-old comedian. If that wasn’t enough of a “laugh-in team,” word leaked that the Tigers were interested in acquiring the services of Louis “Bobo” Newsom. Considering that possibility, Charles Ward wrote: “Traveling with such a club would be like living in a funny paper.” But Paul Trout reported for spring training as a different person. He insisted on being called Paul Trout. Leo Macdonell of the Detroit Times reported on the conversation the press had with Mr. Trout: “Aren’t you the Dizzy who used to make funny faces and pitch horseshoes and all that sort of stuff?” “I told you my name is Trout—Paul Trout. That must be some other person of whom you speak,” replied Mr. Trout. Paul Trout gave great credit for his transformation to his Toledo manager Fred Haney, who took him aside and helped convince him to be more serious about his career. Schoolboy Rowe was his roommate at Beaumont, and he, too, had a major influence on Trout. He taught him how to throw a changeup but, more important, the need to quit being such a clown. “To make a long story short, Schoolboy Rowe helped me a lot with good advice,” Trout said. “He impressed me with the thought that it would be well to cut out the playboy stuff and be my age. He drilled that into me for four weeks up in Arkansas and touched it again driving down here to camp.” He told the press: “I do not boast—anymore. Maybe that Dizzy did two years ago, but that was another guy.” In the past he was always more than ready to pose for a   c h a p t e r t h r e e

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photograph doing something silly but not anymore. “If Del [Baker] orders me to pose I’ll pose. But otherwise that picture is out. I’m all through with that clown stuff.” Best of all he also looked like a different pitcher. Baker was impressed with his fastball and thought his curve had improved. He believed Paul Trout had a bona fide chance to stick with the major league club that year. Trout stayed with the big club for the next four seasons but did not distinguish himself. He averaged 34 assignments per season in a combination of relieving and starting. He had his first double-digit win season in 1942 but lost 18 games to go along with his 12 victories. He showed signs of what he would become at times, and in 1941 when some other starters were faltering, Baker proclaimed: “If some of those fellows don’t look out, Trout will have one of their jobs.” Trout attributed his improved pitching to his ability to control his temper, but he hadn’t completely mastered his tendency to be explosive. Trout started a game against the A’s at Briggs Stadium on September 11, 1942, in which a fan seated in the front row started taunting him in the first inning. Finally after he retired the Athletics in the sixth inning, Trout walked over to the railing and grabbed the fan and cocked his right fist. His teammates intervened immediately. Baker ordered him to the showers but he refused to go and walked out to the mound to start the seventh inning. His appearance was met with a shower of boos and he thumbed his nose at the spectators. At that point the chief umpire ejected him from the game and he subsequently drew a five-game suspension. Dizzy Trout was a classic late bloomer. When the 1943 season began, Trout was twenty-eight years old and had yet to enjoy a winning season. In his breakout year he tied for most wins with twenty and shutouts with five. Super scout Wish Egan had influenced the Tigers to purchase Trout from Indianapolis and his confidence had just been validated. “He was big and strong and had a good arm,” reminded Egan. “I was sure that some day he would be a great pitcher. I never changed my mind.” Dizzy’s success caused him to set personal goals for 1944: he wanted to win 20 games again and to demonstrate that he was a good hitter. After he won his twentieth game on August 20, he raised the bar of ambition, then wanting to win 30 games and break George Mullin’s Detroit record of 29, in addition to helping his team nearly win the pennant. He made a valiant attempt, racking up 27 victories and taming the Yankees six times, but his team finished one game short of winning the flag. In this spectacular year, Trout ranked first in the American League with a 2.12 ERA, first in games started and completed, and first in innings pitched and shutouts. The Supporting Cast  

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He was not as dominant in 1945, but his 18 wins contributed greatly to Detroit’s pennant-winning season. Trout started game 4 pitching masterfully in a 4–1 Detroit victory while allowing only 5 hits and no earned runs. O’Neil used him again in game 6 in a relief role and he worked 4 2/3s innings before surrendering the winning run in an 8–7 loss. For the series he pitched 13 2/3s innings with a 0.66 ERA. Paul Dizzy Trout would pitch six more full seasons for Detroit before being traded to the Red Sox in June 1952. His career numbers with Detroit rank him among the winningest hurlers in franchise history. In a retrospective mood, Trout once said: “It all depends what’s in a man’s mind, how good he will do.” fred hutchinson

Opposite page: On what became a historic day in baseball history, Lou Gehrig took himself out of the Yankee lineup, breaking his record streak of 2,130 consecutive games played. Ever a gentleman, Gehrig poses with red-hot hitting Tiger rookie Barney McCosky, May 2, 1939, on the dugout steps at Briggs Stadium. (Detroit News Archives)

Born and reared in Seattle, Fred Hutchinson developed into a fine amateur pitcher on the sandlots and in high school though he always wanted to be a catcher. He impressed the ivory hunters and signed a contract following his secondary school education to pitch for Seattle in the Pacific Coast League in 1938. To begin one’s professional career at the top rung, a double A minor league, was remarkable but not as amazing as the record he achieved in his first year in pro ball. Hutchinson won 25 and lost 7, pitched 290 innings, registered a 2.48 ERA, and won the Most Valuable Player Award. No wonder the big league scouts came running to look over this young sensation. The workload of a professional pitcher is dramatically greater than anything an amateur ever experiences, and to hurl nearly 300 innings the first year without injury told every scout that this kid had a very good arm. Tigers manager and former catcher Del Baker went on a mission to sign this great-looking prospect. He outmaneuvered the competition and likely offered the best compensation package: his team purchased the eighteenyear-old hurler for $55,000 and four players. The Tigers brought this young man to spring training in 1939 so they could begin to size up their prize acquisition and start his big league development. For at least a year, every article written about this phenom included the price the Tigers paid the Seattle Rainers for Hutchinson: it ranged from $55,000 (apparently the correct figure) to $85,000, often including the phrase “for the expensive rookie.” He was touted as another Christy Mathewson. So what did this rookie sensation have in his arsenal? Based upon scouting reports and what the Tigers said in Lakeland during his first spring training camp, Hutchinson came armed with intelligence, poise, a reputation for excellent control of his stuff, an ability to change speeds, and an unimpres  c h a p t e r t h r e e

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The Supporting Cast  

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With red hair and freckles and a given name of Absalom, this player could not escape being called “Red.” Red Wingo patrolled the outfield for Detroit over five seasons, mostly on a part-time basis, but he did have one truly memorable year. In 1925 he was given a regular assignment and batted .370 for the season, fifth highest in the American League. (William M. Anderson)

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The Tigers’ lineup for their home opener versus the Cleveland Indians on April 23, 1948. Left to right: Neil Berry, Eddie Mayo, Hoot Evers, Dick Wakefield, Vic Wertz, George Kell, George Vico, Bob Swift, and Fred Hutchinson. Cleveland won handily, securing an 8–2 victory behind the six-hit pitching of Bob Lemon and raking Hutchinson for six runs in less than six innings, including four drives that reached the seats.(Detroit News Archives)

Right-hander Al Benton ranks as the best relief pitcher of this era, but he yearned to be a starting pitcher. “Benton has everything it takes to be a good relief pitcher,” said catcher Birdie Tebbetts. “He has speed and a good curve. What’s more, he can get his curve and fast ball in the strike zone when he has to. I look for him to come through in great style for us next season [1940].” He was used as a spot starter but never became a consistent member of the starting rotation. In 1941 he achieved a record of 15-6 with a 2.97 earned run average and a bullpen position on the All-Star team. (William M. Anderson)

The Supporting Cast  

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Above: The Tigers did not reveal the amount of Dick Wakefield’s signing bonus, but the press speculated that the young outfielder had received $45,000 after a bidding war among several suitors. The signing warranted a photograph to capture the event with the principals: Wakefield (left); his mother, Frances, who signed the contract because her son was only twenty years old; and owner Walter O. Briggs. The organization issued an official statement regarding the event: “This is to announce that Dick Wakefield, sensational sophomore from Michigan [University of Michigan], has today accepted terms and is signed to a Detroit contract.” The Tigers considered him a great prospect, certain that he could hit big league pitching, but recognized he needed work on his fielding and throwing. “Dick will try hard,” assured Mrs. Wakefield. “He’ll work. He loves the game. The Detroit officials have been very gracious to us and I hope my son doesn’t disappoint them.” (Detroit News Archives) Opposite page: Detroit sandlots proved to be fertile ground for professional baseball prospects during these decades and scout Wish Egan secured most of them for Detroit. These three youngsters were among his best pitching finds. Left to right: Art Houtteman, Billy Pierce, and Ted Gray. On this opening day, April 19, 1949, the Tigers entertained the Chicago White Sox, who had secured Billy Pierce in an earlier player transaction, perhaps the worst trade in franchise history. (Detroit News Archives)

The Supporting Cast  

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sive fastball. His lack of what was considered a big league fastball would remain a lingering question mark. After a time, baseball people called it a sneaky fastball. “It’s a sneak ball,” said American League umpire Steve Basis. “It comes in from nowhere and then cuts a corner.” Former Tigers hurler George Uhle and then manager of the Buffalo Club saw Hutchinson pitch in a spring training game and liked his poise and delivery. “No one would suspect that he is 19 years old and that he’s been pitching professionally no more than one season,” reported Uhle. Many contemporaries believed that the tremendous media attention and continual ballyhoo put lots of pressure on Hutchinson to perform up to his monster billing. H. G. Salsinger nailed the problem when he wrote: “He was damned by over-praise.” Fred Hutchinson disagreed. Admitting that the pressure was getting to him would be interpreted as a sign of weakness by some, and pitching in the big league was a pressure-packed business. Whatever he felt, Hutch, as he became known, dismissed his lauded potential as being a factor in his less than phenomenal start in the Tigers organization. But for a pitcher known to be able to spot the ball, he experienced uncharacteristic wildness in a number of early appearances. Hutchinson apparently suppressed what would later be known as an explosive temper because his early observers commented on his maturity that belied his age and that he seemed unruffled in tense situations. Baker continued to make supportive statements and expressed his confidence in the young right-hander. “He is coming along fine and I am elated with his showing,” said the manager. “If he continues to improve, as I expect he will, he should become an outstanding big league pitcher. With all of the fanfare attached to his coming up to the majors, the boy has had a tough time. He has good sense, balance and pitches smartly.” Del Baker kept him on the big club when the season began and introduced him to the New York Yankees in the sixth inning of a game that had gotten away from the home team. In all, Baker summoned five hurlers to the hill, and all except George Gill, who finished, took a beating in a 22–2 laugher at Detroit’s expense. Young Hutchinson pitched one-third of an inning in the sixth and one-third of an inning in the next frame and found out how different the hitters were in the American League compared to the Pacific Coast circuit. He pitched to 10 batters, allowing 4 hits, 5 walks, and 8 runs while retiring two Yankees. Two days later he departed for Toledo, where he posted a 9-8 record. Recalled in July, he was used in a starting role when he went the distance in his two assignments and won both games. He finished his first sojourn in the majors with a record of 3-6.   c h a p t e r t h r e e

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His manager remained positive and encouraged. “He’s on his way now. All that publicity was what ruined him in the spring,” said Baker. “Freddie wouldn’t let on that it was bothering him, but he was pressing just the same. He’s still walking a few, but he’s not wild anymore. No, his fast ball still isn’t anything to curl a batter’s whiskers, but there’s something on it and no mistake. . . . I’m beginning to understand how he won those 25 games for Seattle last year.” When Hutchinson reported for spring training in 1940 and answered a continuing stream of questions, he displayed the maturity and smarts that people had noted right from the beginning. He talked about how little he had learned in his first professional season because success came easy and everything seemed to go his way. “But last year when I was getting my ears pinned back I had to learn,” stated Hutchinson. When he was asked if what he had learned would help him in the present season, Hutch said: “There is a possibility that while I was learning things about the batters they also were learning things about me.” Again he started the season with the major league club but when it came time for Baker to reduce the roster to twenty-five, Hutchinson was shipped to Buffalo and placed under the coaching of Steve O’Neil. Everyone was pulling for Hutch and saying the right things. “By next year, he’ll be back in the majors—and then watch him go,” promised O’Neil. In his short stint with Detroit, he basically repeated his first-year record, winning 3 and losing 7. In 1941 Fred Hutchinson was the Most Valuable Player in the International League with a sterling record of 26-7 pitching for Buffalo. He missed the next four seasons while serving in the navy during World War II. Once discharged, he rejoined the Tigers and became a fixture in the starting rotation for the next six seasons. His career season came in 1947 when he won 18 games. bobo newsom

There are a number of major leaguers who are known as journeymen because they were well traveled in their careers. Louis “Bobo” or “Buck” Newsom reigns as the king of the journeymen. In his long twenty-year career he pitched for eight teams, including five times for Washington, three times for the St. Louis Browns, and twice for Brooklyn and the Philadelphia Athletics. He is one of the very few pitchers to win and lose over 200 games; he finished with a career record of 211-222. His glory years were 1938 through 1940 when he won 20 or more each season. He gave up a lot of hits and walks and struck out a lot of hitters—2,082—to rank fifty-seventh all-time. The Supporting Cast  

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Opposite page: Although George “Hooks” Dauss was on the back end of a distinguished career during the Tigers’ glory years, he continued to be a mainstay in the rotation. He won 21 games in 1923, the third time he topped the coveted 20-win mark. His nickname announced his best pitch—a fine curveball. Dauss was exceptionally durable, hurling for fifteen years in a Detroit uniform and amassing 221 victories, a team record that has stood for ninety-four years. Given his productive longevity, Dauss ranks among the team pitching leaders in most other measures. (Detroit News Archives)

Detroit needed pitching in 1939, and management engineered a ten-player trade to acquire his services from the Browns in May when he had won three of four decisions. Detroit officials had been eyeing him for some time, and when their desires increased in 1939, it drew the attention of the press. Jack Zeller, then general manager, did not deny the interest but reported that it was conditional: “We feel that we can use Newsom if the terms are right but we do not need him badly enough to warrant wrecking our ball club in order to get him.” The same day Zeller made that statement Bobo shut down the Tigers in St. Louis 5–3 for his third victory. The next day he walked over to the visitor’s locker room and put on a Detroit uniform. Typical of this brassy and cocky player, he immediately told manager Del Baker that he wanted to pitch on three days’ rest, a day less than the normal pitching sequence. Newsom had openly expressed his desire to play for the Tigers, but he had publicly expressed similar wishes about playing with other teams before, especially when dissatisfied with his contract terms or when his parent club was scuffling. Newsom was a smart guy and undoubtedly recognized that pitching for a team with a potent offense would improve his victory total. “You know there are some things that hurt you. I am going to do big things for the Tigers, because I like to play with the Tigers,” he said in response to a statement made by Cleveland manager Oscar Vitt that he wouldn’t win pitching for Detroit. Newsom called everyone Bobo including himself. “Detroit is too good and has too many fine hitters to be hanging around down there [sixth place] in the standings,” he said. “They need good pitching and they’re going to get it if Bo-Bo has to go in there every day.” Baker put him right to work in starting a game against his former team in Washington on May 17. When he was announced, local fans booed him, which only made him more determined to make good. He pitched valiantly only to lose 4–1 when the Senators scored 4 runs in the first frame, 3 of which were unearned. A disappointed Newsom said: “Ain’t saying nuthin’ though, but we had chances for four double plays in that first inning. . . . I ain’t a-kickin’, remember that. We’ll get ’em again—specially that Washington gang. I can always beat them. Oh, and wait until we get to Cleveland. Bet that Vitt’s mad, what I said about him. It still goes. Oh, that first inning and what should a-been double plays.” A couple of months later the Tigers’ infield defense collapsed and Newsom must have thought about his good luck. In the span of four games Detroit players committed 21 errors, and in the doubleheader on July 16, the day before they played errorless ball for Newsom, the team made 12 miscues in an ugly double loss.   c h a p t e r t h r e e

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The Supporting Cast  

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During the off-season, Detroit acquired twenty-five-year-old slugging first sacker Dale Alexander from Toronto for cash and players. Alexander’s name was so ordinary others had to discover some other characteristic to distinguish him as a player. In his case a Sporting News columnist referred to Alexander as “the knock-kneed first baseman from Toronto.” Alexander first joined the team at spring training in 1929 along with new Tigers manager Stanley “Bucky” Harris. Before he arrived in Phoenix, the press wanted to know Harris’s assessment of the team and who he was likely to start at all of the positions. He knew the value of Harry Heilmann and had him picked to play first base, but he was hearing a lot about this new guy Alexander. “Everybody tells me that Alex is so good that you can’t crowd him off,” said Harris. “I hope he is. My mind is open to conviction on the subject. I have been planning to start Heilmann at first base because he is such a strong hitter and drives in so many runs that we need his punch. However, if Alex is better I’ll be that much more pleased.” Alexander became the sensation of spring camp, and Harris did change his mind though he had lingering questions about his ability to field his position. Ironically that was the only rap on Heilmann, too, as a first baseman. Bill O’Hara, business manager of the Toronto Leafs, visited the Tigers’ camp and offered some assurance that Alexander would not be a liability at first. “Alexander . . . will field better than most people think,” said O’Hara. “He is so big that he looks awkward. But the point is, he is effective.” The new first baseman paid big dividends for the Tigers’ offense leading the league in hits, batting .343 and driving in 137 runs. He hit well over .300 in the next two years, but when he slumped starting the 1932 season he was traded to Boston primarily because of his poor fielding. (Detroit News Archives)

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Above left: Another excellent graduate of the Beaumont “finishing school” was right-handed submarine hurler Elden Auker. He graduated to the Tigers in 1933 after winning 16 games for the Exporters. From 1934 through 1938 Auker pitched in Detroit’s starting rotation and averaged nearly 15 wins a season. He achieved his career best in 1935 when he compiled an 18-7 record. In a game in Philadelphia played on September 7 that year, Auker retired 21 batters in a row before Jimmy Foxx broke up his perfect game with a two-base hit. In the subsequent World Series with the Chicago Cubs, manager Charlie Grimm expressed concern about Auker because his batters were not accustomed to hitting against a pitcher who threw underhanded. “Because the series will be short they will not get much opportunity to study Auker’s style, and for that reason I rate him the biggest threat on the Tiger mound staff,” said Grimm. Two years later in an August 25 game with the White Sox, Auker accomplished an unusual feat: he pitched a complete nineinning game and not a single batter made an out by hitting a ball to an outfielder. That had occurred three other times in baseball history in 1899, 1908, and 1911. (William M. Anderson) Above right: Detroit claimed Alvin “General” Crowder off waivers from the Washington Senators in 1934 to strengthen its pitching staff. Crowder brought a 4-10 record with him, but he contributed 5 wins to the Tigers’ total in their pennant-winning year. If he had anything left based upon his past record as a three-time 20-game winner, this was a bargain acquisition. The thirty-four-year-old veteran became a major factor in Detroit’s first world championship in 1935, winning 16 games. Crowder was notoriously reticent, and in the days leading up to the World Series he was approached for interviews because he had experience pitching for Washington in the 1933 fall classic. After delaying the press while he gathered his thoughts, Crowder said: “You know I ain’t a fella to brag. But if I get a chance to get into one of them there ball games, the Cub batters are going to have the funniest looking baseballs to hit at that they ever hit at any time that they have been in the baseball business.” He of course said more, considering his thoughtful preparation, but concluded with this: “Now I ain’t kiddin’ myself that that’s the best statement I ever made for the press. It ain’t as high sounding as some of the others I’ve given you during these last several months.” And the General delivered—in game 4 of the series, he pitched a complete game five-hitter to defeat the Cubs 2–1. (William M. Anderson)

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Above: Dick Bartell came over from the National League to join the Tigers in 1940 to strengthen its shortstop position. There were questions about his physical condition, but no one wondered what the team got in terms of attitude and spirit. “He is a holler guy of holler guys,” claimed the Free Press baseball writer Charles Ward. “He is the bossiest player the Tigers have had since the days of Mickey Cochrane, and Richard is a newcomer to the club—not the vice president and manager.” He would give orders to any player, whether the star or a utility man. There were plenty of times he yelled at a teammate; his strong direction to Bobo Newsom is illustrative. “Back up that plate,” barked Bartell. “Buck, get the hell up there and back up that plate—that’s where you belong.” Rowdy Richard, as he was called, was feisty and combative. His aggressive behavior encouraged opponents to flatten him. “There were fellows on our club that went out to get him but they never could,” assured Casey Stengel. “They tried sliding high when Bartell was covering the bag, but he knows how to protect himself. He’s plenty nimble. I’ve seen one of our fellows go down to second with the intention of cutting Bartell down and end up with Bartell sitting on his head.” Detroit jelled during the season and surprised many observers in winning the 1940 pennant. “Something has made a big difference in Detroit and I’ve got to think it is Bartell,” said Cleveland manager Oscar Vitt. Dick Bartell is shown here taking batting practice at Crosley Field before the beginning of the 1940 World Series. (William M. Anderson) Opposite page: When Detroit acquired Roger “Doc” Cramer in December 1941 in a trade with Washington, he was thirty-six years old and a highly regarded veteran who had batted .300 or better seven times. Seemingly ageless, he continued to hit quite well while playing for Detroit over the next six years before retiring as an active player to serve as a coach in 1948. Though he stroked over 2,700 hits in his career, it was his superb fielding that drew even greater acclaim—he had a great arm. Baseball writer H. G. Salsinger of the Detroit News insisted that Cramer was “the best throwing outfielder in the game.” There are a considerable number of people who continue to lobby for his selection as a member of baseball’s Hall of Fame. (William M. Anderson)

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The Supporting Cast  

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Eddie Mayo drives one out during batting practice at Henley Field in Lakeland during spring training in 1947. The ondeck hitter is Hoot Evers, poised with a couple of bats over his shoulder. Detroit drafted Mayo from Louisville in the American Association following the 1943 season. Although he had played 119 games at the major league level over three seasons, Mayo had served a very long apprenticeship before gaining a regular post as the second baseman for the Tigers in 1944. In a midseason 1945 interview with Lyall Smith, the Free Press sports editor commented on Mayo’s ascendancy to a position of recognition for his superb play. “Don’t say I’m there yet,” pleaded Mayo. “Just say it took me 14 years to play ball with the team I’ve always wanted to play for in the way I’ve always wanted to play.” Back before the season began, reporters had questioned manager Steve O’Neil about which players he could count on given the continuing drain of baseball talent to the military. “For one, I know our double-play combination of Skeeter Webb, shortstop, and Eddie Mayo, second base, will be one of the league’s slickest and most dependable.” He gauged that correctly for Detroit’s keystone combination made the second most double plays in the league in 1945. Mayo was considered a terrific fielder; the press used the word “brilliant” to describe his defensive play. “He is a marvel, most improved player in the league,” said St. Louis Browns manager Luke Sewell. The crowning moment in Mayo’s career came after the 1945 World Series when he won the Most Valuable Player Award given by The Sporting News. (Detroit News Archives)

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Not only did Detroit acquire a quality starting pitcher in Newsom, but he infused a new noisy, loud, extravagant, and colorful atmosphere in the clubhouse and dugout. What a personality! The press loved him and had a field day because he provided both headline baseball news and great copy. They wore out their imagination thinking of new descriptions of him: “Loud Louis,” “the one-man circus,” “pop off,” and “old showboat” are representative. He had many arguments with umpires, made lots of ambitious predictions, and was extra-sensitive about his contracts. “Although Louis Norman makes plenty of noise while on one of his holdouts, he usually comes into camp with no harm done to anybody,” wrote Charles P. Ward of the Free Press. “Louis Norman holds out because the newspapers then carry big and gratifying headlines saying: ‘Buck Newsom a Holdout!’ After he has read enough of these headlines, has enjoyed a little extra vacation

A lineup of some of the important members of the supporting cast stand on the Navin Field dugout steps, June 11, 1921. Left to right: Johnny Bassler, Donie Bush, Bobby Veach, Bert Cole, Dutch Leonard, and George Dauss. (William M. Anderson)

The Supporting Cast  

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Three Tigers expected to contribute strongly to the team’s offensive attack are pictured on the field before an exhibition game in Phoenix, Arizona, in 1929. Left to right: Harry Heilmann, Harry Rice, and Roy Johnson. (Detroit News Archives)

and thoroughly satisfied his own ego, Newsom will go to camp confident in the knowledge that upon his arrival the newspapers will carry headlines, to wit: ‘Buck Newsom Ends Holdout!’” “I can’t shut up, so I just talk to everybody,” admitted the noisy one. “It doesn’t do no harm.” He relished pitching in front of big crowds and against the best teams; the bigger the stage the better for this showman. “There are two things about Newsom you always can depend on,” claimed his former Browns manager, Fred Haney. “He’ll go to bed early the night before he pitches, and he’ll really put on a strut for you the night after he pitches—especially if he wins.” He never held back saying what he had on his mind and wasn’t bashful of self-aggrandizement. After winning his ninth   c h a p t e r t h r e e

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game in 1939, the last six with his new team, he spoke like a pitcher with an overflowing ego: “I’ll tell you that the Tigers have got spirit. They used to be a dull ball club—no color. Look at them now. I don’t like to say anything about myself. Don’t tell the fans that I got three hits. Bo-Bo can hit ’em, can’t he? Never mind that, though. Just say I pitched one of the Newsom specials.” After getting three hits in a 12–3 victory over Washington in 1940, Newsom suggested that maybe he should become an outfielder. Apparently one of his hits was a fluke or what some players called a wounded duck or a dying quail. His teammate and fellow hurler Tom Seats said after listening to Bobo bragging: “The first two were all right, but when you hit that last one I thought a covey of quail would come out of your bat.” His new surroundings and hitters like Gehringer, Greenberg, and York reenergized this thirty-two-year-old right-hander and he enjoyed a fine year, winning 17 while losing 10 in his partial season with Detroit. It became even better the following year as an inspired Buck Newsom pitched with skill and determination and led the pitching staff in a courageous performance. But it didn’t start very well. Old Bobo was staging another of his contract holdouts and staying back home in Hartsville, South Carolina. And the boss was not happy. “Do we always have to have a Baron Poffenberger in the camp?” asked manager Del Baker. “I haven’t heard a word from Newsom. I don’t know where he is. Furthermore I don’t—,” deciding not to complete his thought. This was the perfect storm for those who covered baseball and for the newspaper business. Every day these gentlemen from the print media asked about Newsom’s whereabouts. A couple of days later, Baker had an update to share. “I spoke with Newsom on the phone this morning and he told me he was starting for camp at once,” Baker said. According to what Baker learned, “He was detained by urgent business. He didn’t say what the business was but I should think that the most urgent business a pitcher could have would be the business of pitching.” Newsom drew the opening day assignment but he wasn’t the ace he would soon become, losing 5–1 when he allowed 7 hits and 3 earned runs while his teammates muffed two plays and failed to produce much offense. On his next start, April 25, he evened his record with a victory over these same Browns, launching a record-seeking run. He rang up 13 straight wins before faltering and finally absorbed his second loss on July 28 at the hands of the Philadelphia Athletics. Earlier in July he had earned selection to the American League All-Star squad and pitched three terrific innings, limiting the senior circuit batsmen to one hit, one walk, and no runs. Detroit won the 1940 AL pennant in a squeaker, besting the Cleveland The Supporting Cast  

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Indians by just one game. Newsom pitched heroically in the World Series winning two and then losing the seventh game in a punishing 2–1 loss. Newsom reached the pinnacle of his fame following the series, for he had pitched masterfully, allowing the Cincinnati Reds just 4 runs in 26 innings of pressure-packed work. His final season in Detroit represented a major drop-off after three stellar years. He never found the groove and his colorfulness didn’t seem so appealing while only winning a dozen games and ranking first with 20 defeats. There were moments when old Buck would buck up and show flashes of past brilliance. In early May he was slated to start against the Yankees, a team he traditionally loved to beat, but this time he complained of tightness and “fire” in his right arm and stated, “I’m through.” Somehow he sucked it up and went to the mound. Nine innings later he had hurled a gem, a three-hitter, and his mates supplied lots of support in a 10–1 victory. His battery mate, Billy Sullivan, offered some advice: “If I were a manager I would pitch Newsom only on the days when he says he is sick . . . because anytime he’s pouring complaints all over the locker room you can lay a bet that Newsom will give a star performance.” Because of his earlier performances and his status as a star pitcher, Newsom had been in a strong bargaining position at contract time. Owner Walter Briggs had been generous, but when his star fell in 1941, general manager Jack Zeller demanded a substantial pay cut and Bobo became a stubborn holdout. As the stand-off continued, Newsom became increasingly vocal, expressing a clear feeling of resentment. His statement to H. G. Salsinger summed up his disappointment: “In this game you’re a hero one year and a bum the next and who knows it better than Old Bobo.” In short order, Old Bobo was on his way back to Washington.

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Moments of Glory and Notable Games

four

In the last two decades of these glory years, Detroit won four American League pennants and two world championships within a dozen years— no other timeframe in franchise history has ever produced this record of winning big. As the 1934 season approached many of the pieces were in place that would position Detroit for a powerful two-year run for the pennant. The core players who would be instrumental in its success had been developed in the team’s minor league system. Detroit had created a five-team farm system by 1932 and had relied earlier on working agreements with multiple independent farm clubs. Charlie Gehringer had been signed in 1924 and was farmed out to London, Ontario, in 1924 and Toronto the following season before joining the big league roster full-time in 1926. Tommy Bridges spent 1929 at Wheeling and 1930 at Evansville, where he caught management’s attention and they brought him to Detroit late in the campaign. The Tigers acquired shortstop Billy Rogell from St. Paul in the American Association after he hit an impressive .336 in the 1929 season. Hank Greenberg, Pete Fox, and Schoolboy Rowe formed the nucleus of the Texas League champion Beaumont Exporters managed by Del Baker in 1932. Fox was the league’s batting champion, Rowe had the top earned run average, and Greenberg

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led the circuit in runs scored and home runs, earning him the Most Valuable Player Award. Then Frank Navin, with financial assistance from minority owner Walter O. Briggs, applied the clincher in buying Mickey Cochrane and trading for Goose Goslin. In these two transactions, the Tigers acquired two future members of the Hall of Fame and spiritual leaders, setting the stage for exciting action. The season unfolded slowly; many of the offensive cogs were not hitting and the slump persisted through April and much of May. The team hovered around .500 during this slow start. Cochrane and Company started to roll in June, picking up steam as the season progressed. By the first of July they had attained a record of 40-26. The pace dropped off a bit in July but then broke loose in the dog days of summer: the Tigers amassed a 14-game winning streak and played at a .793 winning clip throughout the month of August. They finished the final month of the season with a thirty-day record of 18 victories and 10 losses. They outdistanced the Yankees by 7 games while winning 101 against 56 losses, a .656 winning percentage. Although the Bengals did not run away with the flag, they held a winning advantage over all other clubs, took over the lead for good on August 1, and ran in front for 97 days. Like a true championship team they played as well on the road as at home. The St. Louis Cardinals had a harder fight in the National League pennant race, going right down to the end before the Red Birds prevailed with a two-game margin over the New York Giants. In at least one dimension, the two opponents were much alike. Both teams were wired with a fighting spirit and made up of largely competitive men who hated to lose. The St. Louis Gashouse Gang consisted of a bunch of colorful characters, rough-and-tumble types, and even though the Tigers were more regular in behavior, this World Series would be a war of wills. t h e 1934 w o r l d s e r i e s

After a twenty-five-year lapse in world championship competition, the Tiger faithful were charged and ready for the 1934 World Series: the opening game at home unleashed a tidal wave of excitement and eager anticipation. The gates opened at 9:00 a.m. on October 3, 1934, for a 1:30 p.m. game: twenty thousand fans were lined up on the connecting streets waiting to purchase tickets and gain admission to the bleacher sections of the ballpark. Some of the most avid fans had spent a restless night trying to sleep on the concrete   c h a p t e r f o u r

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to ensure their place in line. There were even mothers with children who maintained the vigil. At 7:00 a.m. a group of men estimated to be around fifty tried to muscle their way to the front of the line at the Cherry Street bleachers gate. As the time for opening the ticket windows and gates neared, anxious fans became increasingly aggressive, pushing and shoving as they attempted to better their positions in line. By 10:00 most of the bleacher seat tickets had been sold and the crush of people worsened. It took the work of mounted police to maintain some semblance of order. With people everywhere, parking lot operators who were charging as much as a dollar were having a difficult time allowing drivers to wend their way through the masses. The Detroit News writer George Stark observed: “Half of Detroit and Michigan it seemed was determined to get inside Navin Field.” One man who had gotten into line early the previous day fortified his resolve with frequent swigs from a large bottle and fell fast asleep. He slept so soundly that when the gates opened the line moved ahead unbeknownst to him. Those who purchased reserved seats in the pavilions had been required to pick up their tickets by midnight and very few reserved seat tickets at $3.30 each remained available on game day. “One of the concessionaires who was doing a rushing business was a young woman selling banners and noisemakers in front of the Trumbull Police Station, across from Navin Field,” reported George Stark. “In addition to her stock, she was carrying a baby about six months old. She put the child on the sidewalk every time she had to make change.” The challenge of managing the anxious throngs of people was not restricted to those who sat in the cheap seats. Reserved ticket holders became impatient and upset with the delays getting through the turnstiles on the Michigan Avenue side of the stadium where five women fainted as overeager patrons pressed against the turnstiles. Club officials admitted that mistakes had been made and promised to make corrections for game 2. The opening game attendance swelled to 42,505 customers, including Babe Ruth and Will Rogers. The problems of crowd control and getting people into their seats caused a delayed start of game 1. The opening game pitted Dizzy Dean, the best pitcher in baseball who had won thirty games against Alvin “General” Crowder, who had won five games for Detroit after being acquired late in the season. The thirty-five-year-old Crowder had been a dominant pitcher over the previous several seasons with Washington and had hurled in the 1933 World Series. The Detroit News baseball writer Charles P. Ward opened his account of the game with a statement that candidly revealed Moments of Glory and Notable Games  

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Opposite page: During the year following a season when the Tigers won the American League pennant, the ball club staged a special ceremony to raise the pennant flag before a game. On July 24, 1936, Detroit had two special banners to hoist: the 1935 pennant flag and the 1935 world championship flag. A band leads the parade toward the centerfield flagpole with Tigers and visiting Boston Red Sox players following. After the flag raising, Tiger players “marched” over to the commissioner’s box to receive their championship medals, diamond rings, and watches. (Detroit News Archives)

how the home team stumbled: “Mickey Cochrane’s vaunted Battalion of Death infield yesterday played ball like four guys who had been sentenced to face a firing squad.” Neither team scored in the first frame, but third baseman Marv Owen provided a hint of what was to come when he booted the second ball hit to him. After Crowder had retired two Cardinals with a base hit sandwiched in between, Dean grounded to short but Gehringer dropped Rogell’s throw, putting runners on first and second. Pepper Martin grounded to Owen and his throw pulled Greenberg off the bag and the bases were loaded with Cardinals. Ernie Orsatti singled and the two lead runners scored. The Tigers went out quietly in the home half of the inning. St. Louis upped its lead to 3–0 after Rogell squandered a tailor-made double play by throwing the ball into the Cardinal dugout. Greenberg’s fumble of catcher Bill DeLancey’s grounder permitted Rip Collins, who had reached second on Rogell’s throwing error, to score a third unearned run. Detroit scored its first run in the third inning when Gehringer singled to cut the Cardinals’ lead. But from then on the margin of victory became larger. In the top of the fifth, Joe Medwick homered to make the score 4–1. Cochrane elected to pull Crowder after five innings of work and brought in Fred Marberry, his number three starter. That decision backfired; the Red Birds made quick work of the reliever, scoring four runs and sending Marberry to the showers after retiring only two batters in the sixth inning. Elon “Chief ” Hogsett became the third Tiger hurler and he slammed the door by holding the Cardinals scoreless the rest of the way. Detroit scored single runs in the sixth on Goslin’s hit and another in the eighth when Greenberg homered to finish the scoring in an 8–3 St. Louis victory. The postgame review was filled with critiques by players and the baseball press. “I feel alright about today’s game,” said Cochrane. “Those errors were the result of over-anxious play. I am confident that the infield, which fell apart today, will be okay tomorrow.” Gehringer, too, remained confident but like his boss and others said there were no alibis—it was a case of players being nervous. “The infield was jittery at the start of the game,” admitted the Tigers’ second baseman. “I thought after the first couple of muffs the jitters would work out of us but it took longer than that. But by the end of the game I’m sure all the boys had their feet on the ground and that the jitters were gone.” Despite their disappointing loss, the Tigers remained confident and ready to do battle. “We’ll claw these Cards to bits before the Series is over,” proclaimed Goose Goslin. “The Detroit fans have been very loyal. They   c h a p t e r f o u r

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were out there today and expected a great deal of us. Well every player on the club knew that and as a result was a little over anxious. That accounts for the misplays. The Cards came into the Series on a crest. They are mighty confident. But after we’re through with them tomorrow they won’t be that way. Yes, I’m sure we’ll win the Series.” Dizzy Dean, of course, had something to say, too. He said he felt lucky because his mates only scored one earned run off Crowder and he personally didn’t have his usual stuff: “My curve wasn’t breaking as it should and my fast one was only about as fast as Schoolboy Rowe’s fast one when the Schoolboy is right.” And the Schoolboy agreed that Dean wasn’t at his best. “He looked tired and it seemed to me that he didn’t have much stuff after the third inning,” thought Rowe. “I mean he wasn’t as good today as Moments of Glory and Notable Games  

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Old Glory joins in saluting the world champions and winner of the American League pennant in 1935, July 24, 1936. The rooftop advertisement below reads: “BET TER STEAK SANDWICHS—BET TER GRILLED ON A HOT BUN.” (Detroit News Archives)

Major League Baseball used pennant day, July 24, 1936, as the occasion for commissioner Kenesaw Mountain Landis to present the American League’s Most Valuable Player Award to Hank Greenberg. Greenberg had broken his wrist earlier in the season and looked forward to pennant day with great anticipation. “My wrist will not be too sore for that ceremony,” said Greenberg. “It’ll be the happiest moment in my life. I only wish I could play in the game.” (William M. Anderson)

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This souvenir program was given to attendees as they entered Navin Field on pennant day, July 24, 1936. Owner Frank Navin died shortly after the 1935 World Series. Spike Briggs, son of owner Walter O. Briggs and a club official, said: “There is one thing that mars the day for all of us, that is that Mr. Frank J. Navin, my father’s partner, did not live to see this day.” (Author’s collection)

Moments of Glory and Notable Games  

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Above: Ty Tyson made Detroit Tiger history on April 19, 1927, when he broadcasted the first Tiger game over radio station WWJ. His broadcast introduction became household words as remote fans heard him say: “Hello boys and girls, this is Ty Tyson coming to you from Navin Field,” over and over again. Tyson is shown at the microphone for a game on August 26, 1935. He was joined in the booth by Harry Heilmann; these two were the voice of the Tigers until Van Patrick became Heilmann’s partner in 1949. Tyson retired from radio broadcasting in 1942 but came back for one final season in 1951 when sickness forced Heilmann to relinquish his broadcasting responsibilities. (Detroit News Archives) Right: Tyson’s letter to Walter O. Briggs dated October 12, 1944. (Author’s collection)

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Moments of Glory and Notable Games  

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Above: When opposing managers or the media talked about Detroit’s power and ability to score runs they were referring to these two thunder sticks—Rudy York (left) and Hank Greenberg, May 26, 1938. Batting fourth and fifth in the order meant these two could clear the bases in a hurry. In 1937 Greenberg finished second in the league in home runs, in 1938 he hit 58 round-trip shots to lead the league, and in 1940 his 41 circuit blasts again topped the AL. York, his protection in the batting lineup, hit 35 balls over the fences in 1937 to rank fifth, 33 in 1938, which was good for fourth, and his 33 home runs in 1940 was third best in the American League. (Detroit News Archives) Opposite page: Bobo Newsom holds up two fingers to indicate his remarkable feat of winning two games in one day, September 25, 1940, when he notched victories 20 and 21 of the season. In the first game of the doubleheader Newsom became the fourth pitcher manager Del Baker used. He pitched scoreless baseball during the ninth and tenth innings to record a 10–9 victory over Chicago. In the second contest he started and pitched a complete game, allowing 8 hits and striking out 7 to register his win number 21 of the season, 3–2. (Detroit News Archives)

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he has been or could be. Give that lanky fellow a few days’ rest and he’d be a world beater.” Not to be outdone with the cocky confidence of the Dizzy one, Rowe promised he would beat the Cardinals. Better directions, immediate assistance for those appearing to be lost while looking for their seats, and extra police all mediated the crowd problems of game 1. A much smaller assembly of all-night ticket seekers were present for game 2 on Thursday, October 4. Babe Ruth came back for game 2 and Dizzy Dean, his closest rival for attention, sought out Henry Ford for an autograph on a baseball. Dizzy and Paul Dean visited Greenfield Village before the game and stayed so long that a police escort was needed to get them to Navin Field by game time. Cochrane held back his ace in the first game and used a lesser pitcher to face Dizzy Dean. Cardinal manager Frankie Frisch rolled the dice in a similar move by starting Bill Hallahan, clearly his weakest starter with an 8-12 record, to square off against Schoolboy Rowe, Detroit’s number one hurler in game 2. The Cardinals scored single runs in the second and third innings to take a 2–0 lead; Detroit got on the board when Rogell and Pete Fox doubled, cutting the lead to one. From there on, Schoolboy Rowe was masterful, pitching the game of his career. He retired 21 batters in a row and over the last nine innings allowed just one hit. In the bottom of the ninth, Detroit still trailed 2–1 when Cochrane sent pinch hitter Gee Walker to the plate. The Walker Man singled to center to tie the score but then repeated an agonizing tendency—he got picked off first. The scored remained deadlocked until the bottom half of the twelfth when the Cardinals reliever Bill Walker walked Gehringer and Greenberg in succession and Goslin singled to drive in the winning run in a 3–2 Tigers victory. According to outfielder Jo-Jo White the Tigers were glad to hit the road, admitting that the pressure would shift to the Cardinals and because some of the team liked hitting in Sportsman’s Park. St. Louis Browns’ manager Rogers Hornsby offered an encouraging opinion to the press. “I still believe it is going to be a terrific battle, but the Tigers will win. Mickey is making a good move in starting Bridges Friday. He’ll beat those fellows, for I don’t think they can hit his curve.” Cochrane had chalked up the opening game defeat to nerves and errors and was obviously thrilled with Rowe’s performance and the clutch win in Thursday’s contest. Before he boarded the train for St. Louis, the Tiger manager was feeling very positive about his team’s chances. “We have not begun to hit yet,” said Cochrane. “We’re due to break out soon. Then watch the fun.”   c h a p t e r f o u r

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During this era there were no days off for travel. The Tigers rode the train to St. Louis Thursday night, ready to play the next afternoon. On Friday, October 5, 34,073 Cardinal loyalists eagerly awaited the umpire’s call to play ball. This day, the other half of the Dean pitching family would take on what the older brother would derisively call the “Pussy Cats.” Paul Dean had enjoyed a fine season in winning 19 games, including a no-hitter on September 21. Often called “Daffy,” Paul received lots of counseling from his older brother, including the basic formula for winning games. “When you’re in trouble kid, fog ’em through or plow ’em through and that’s all you need,” claimed Diz. Well, it sure worked in game 3 on October 5 as Paul Dean held Detroit batters in check with a gutty eight-hitter while allowing only one run in capturing a 4–1 victory for the Gashouse Gang. He pitched tough in clutch situations and needed to, for the younger Dean allowed five hits, walked five, and plunked one batter, all in the first five innings as he was in and out of trouble. Grantland Rice syndicated for the Detroit News and in his colorful writing style described the troubled waters that Daffy successfully negotiated: “Stepping from one deep pit to another it was fog and plow, fog and plow, with a fast one that whistled by Tiger bats where one safe blow might have changed the entire complexion of the game. . . . This twenty-one-year-old kid was cooler in the pinches than an iceberg riding the northern seas.” The Tigers couldn’t buy a hit when they needed one the most. They had the bases loaded twice and two abroad on another occasion, each time coming up empty. In all, they left 13 runners stranded. The Cardinals reached Bridges for 8 hits and all of their 4 runs. As in the first contest, Chief Hogsett finished up and pitched four flawless innings. Detroit finally broke the scoring drought with a harmless run in the ninth. “We didn’t hit today,” said Cochrane. “But we’re bound to start soon. Tell everybody back home for me that we’ll be swinging in there tomorrow. . . . Auker will stop ’em.” Elden Auker, a submarine hurler, had finished just his second major league season with a fine win-loss record of 15-7. His pitching opponent was Bill Walker, winner of a dozen games with a stingy 3.12 ERA. This was the game Cochrane had been waiting for as his explosive offense finally broke out of its dormancy. This Detroit team had scored 958 runs in the regular season, a whopping 116 more runs than the runner-up New York Yankees. Auker pitched courageously while giving up 10 hits and 4 runs of which 1 was unearned. The Tigers pasted five Cardinal pitchers for 13 hits with only Goslin and Auker left out of the hit column. Detroit had two big innings, scoring three in the third and five in the eighth. Greenberg Moments of Glory and Notable Games  

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led the way with four hits including two doubles in five at bats that drove in four runs, and in the big eighth inning he stole home. They scored a bunch of runs yet left 11 runners stranded in their 10–4 victory. Though Detroit evened the series at two games apiece, the high-profile Dizzy Dean drew top billing in a bizarre way. Sent in to pinch run, Dean failed to slide into second and when Rogell tried to complete the double play, his throw toward first caught the runner in the head and dropped him in his tracks. There was great concern that St. Louis might have lost its biggest star, but by the next morning Dean was back to his old self and full of it as usual. “They can’t hurt me by hitting me on the head. I’m going to pitch alright,” he said, referring to comments that he would be out there “fogging and plowing” on Sunday. “I’ve been dying to get at the Tigers. And I’ll beat ’em, too.” Rogell felt bad that his throw had struck Dean: “The play was too fast for me to see Dizzy blaring into second standing up.” This win in convincing style really jacked up the Tigers and their fiery manager. Cochrane shouted to his players: “You teed off today. From now on we’ll be a mighty tough ball club to beat.” Goslin was even more over-the-top with his enthusiasm: “I’m saying right now that I don’t think the Cards will win another game. . . . We’re on our way, brother. We’re on our way.” Just as he had assured, Dizzy Dean took the mound on Sunday, October 7, 1934, for game 5. Tommy Bridges, who had pitched four innings in a losing cause on October 5, was coming back on short rest. Dizzy’s courageous comeback packed in the largest crowd of the three games played at Sportsman’s Park—38,536, all eager to send those Michiganders a message. Most expected Cochrane to use Rowe and match up ace against ace but instead he chose 22-game winner Bridges. “Bridges can beat Dean and Schoolboy Rowe can close out the show at home tomorrow,” affirmed the Detroit skipper. Managers and vocal players are always wired to expound assertive and assuring statements. This time Bridges made Cochrane a prophet. Just as Rowe had pitched brilliantly in game 2, Bridges hurled a gem. Grantland Rice, writing for the Detroit News, captured the perfection of the curveball artist from Tennessee: “Bridges never gave a base on balls, where Dean peeled off three passes. He was never in a hole or a tough spot at any stage. He had Cardinal batters—and this Cardinal crew can hit— feeding from the tips of his fingers as he tied them up in true lover’s knots from round to round.” Both pitchers allowed 7 hits, but Detroit plated 3 runs and St. Louis managed only one tally. Gehringer, Greenberg, and Fox drove in the runs, Charlie’s on a solo blast in the sixth inning.   c h a p t e r f o u r

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The praise for Tommy Bridges as a person was universal. On Sunday, September 7, 1941, the team held a Tommy Bridges Day to honor a beloved player and man. Spike Briggs, the owner’s son, is making a presentation to Bridges as his teammates and family look on. Left to right: Manager Del Baker, Bridges’s daughter and wife; the two players standing behind the man in the dark suit are first Pinky Higgins and then Charlie Gehringer, and coach Bing Miller, the man with little hair is further down the line. The Free Press sports editor Dale Stafford originated the idea of inviting fans everywhere to contribute dimes to buy gifts for Bridges. The response was tremendous: 26,000 sent in money. The contributions were used to purchase a new Buick, a gold wristwatch, $1,700 worth of U.S. Defense Bonds and, a Springer Spaniel. Bridges was up to the occasion as Detroit’s starting pitcher on the day he was honored. He threw a nifty six-hitter to defeat the Cleveland Indians 4–1. A grateful Bridges said: “Nothing in the world could have made me feel more happy. I wish I could throw a party for each of these fans who helped stage this event.” The letter of appreciation he sent to Stafford was published in the Detroit Free Press. Bridges closed his letter of thanks stating: “To receive this further honor, on a day set aside in my name, seems to me a distinction which I have not merited, but which nevertheless I shall value long after I have ceased to represent as a player, the best baseball city in America.” (Detroit News Archives)

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On June 25, 1938, Charlie Gehringer hit a home run into the upper deck at Briggs Stadium, tying a team record set earlier by the New York Giants for hitting home runs in 14 consecutive games. It was the only bright spot in a 9–3 defeat by the New York Yankees. The Tiger hitters and the number of home runs each hit during this record-setting stretch are, left to right: Rudy York (7), Hank Greenberg (7), Gehringer (4), Chet Laabs (3), Billy Rogell (1), and Don Ross (1). They and the rest of the team did not hit a homer the next game. (Detroit News Archives)

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Pinky Higgins (#6) doffs his cap to acknowledge the standing ovation he received after hitting his third home run of the game and driving in the winning run in a 10–7 victory over his old team, the Boston Red Sox, May 20, 1940. Higgins homered in the fourth and sixth innings off Boston ace Lefty Grove and connected again in the decisive seventh frame. The Tiger hero is being escorted by Hank Greenberg (#5), and those identifiable in the dugout awaiting his arrival are, left to right: Birdie Tebbetts, Bobo Newsom (pointing), Charlie Gehringer (#2), Schoolboy Rowe, and Bruce Campbell (hand on dugout roof). The third baseman’s three homers drove in seven runs. (Detroit News Archives)

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George Kell (left) congratulates Hal Newhouser as they leave the field and after the left-hander had outpitched 25-game winner Bob Feller by hurling a 3–0 shutout on September 22, 1946. Newhouser pitched masterfully, allowing just three hits while striking out nine and facing just two hitters over the minimum. This victory gave Newhouser 26 for the year, tops in the American League. (William M. Anderson)

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Although Dean stated he had no lingering side effects from being struck in the head the day before, Grantland Rice found that hard to believe: “His old plow and fog ball wasn’t working at certain spots. No human being, from Dizzy Dean to Stalin, Hitler and Mussolini, can be socked on the head with a speeding baseball and still be at his best.” The Tigers had to feel they were in the driver’s seat heading back to Detroit, needing only one more victory to win the world championship and with a rested Schoolboy Rowe waiting in the wings. But in the opinion of Charles Ward, reporter for the Detroit News, Rowe wasn’t Rowe in this decisive contest. All of the conditions were precisely what Rowe said he liked: warm weather, a big crowd, and an important game. The Schoolboy said that someone had closed a door on his hand and he had gone to a hospital for an X-ray. By this time everyone was familiar with Paul Dean and his ability to pitch, and he would be Rowe’s opposing hurler in game 6 on October 8. The combination of a double by outfielder Jack Rothrock and a single from Joe Medwick produced a run for the Cardinals in the opening frame. Detroit countered in the third, scoring an unearned run to knot the score at one all. This was a game marked by contrasting moments of fielding excellence and mediocrity. St. Louis opened up its lead to 3–1 in the fifth inning with the second run being unearned because of another Detroit error. The Tigers closed the gap in the next inning, scoring an unearned run themselves. Amid all of the sloppy fielding there were numerous sparkling plays made by both teams. If there was a game-breaking moment for the Tigers in this crucial contest, it occurred in the third inning when Mickey Cochrane was accidentally spiked by Dean in a play at first. What mattered most was that the spike wound caused Cochrane to limp throughout the rest of the game, and on an attempted sacrifice he was called out at third on a close play. According to Ward, that controversial call cost the home team three runs. Paul Dean was a bulldog again, pitching tough in critical situations and working his way out of jams. His single in the seventh inning provided the needed margin for a 4–3 St. Louis win. Sounding a lot like Cochrane, Red Birds manager Frankie Frisch spoke with great confidence following this Cardinal win: “It’s all even now any way you look at it except that we are still going and the Tigers are stopped. Each of us has won three games. Bridges beat Diz and Paul beat Rowe, so that’s a standoff but the Tigers have had two chances to beat Paul and they were not good enough.” This was the kind of World Series the media loved—two evenly matched heavyweights tied after six contests and ready to come out swinging in Moments of Glory and Notable Games  

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the tenth round. But game 7 was a blowout, an 11–0 whitewash, as Dizzy Dean throttled the Tigers on six scattered hits. St. Louis put the game away with a big seven-run third inning, but as it turned out, they only needed one run to seal their victory and the World Series championship. Detroit didn’t get a hit until the fifth when Greenberg led off with a single as Dean was in complete control. Cochrane used six pitchers and the first four all yielded runs. “The collapse of the Tiger pitching staff might be blamed for the Tigers’ defeat, but it hardly deserved the blame,” wrote Charles Ward for the News. “The cause of the setback was a four letter word meaning trouble for batsmen. The Word is Dean.” Yet a wild sixth inning is likely what most people recall first about this deciding game of the 1934 World Series. With a Tiger fan base highly agitated by the drubbing given their beloved team, combative Joe Medwick stroked a long drive off the center-field fence and slid hard into third baseman Marv Owen for a triple. The force of Medwick’s slide knocked Owen down and they were entangled. Owen stepped on Medwick in the process and the Cardinal started kicking Owen with his spikes. Umpires intervened but when Medwick took his position in left field a near riot erupted when angry Tiger supporters threw everything available at the embattled outfielder. The game was halted for seventeen minutes before commissioner Kennesaw Landis asked Frisch to remove Medwick from the game. That is what it took to quell the hostility of the crowd. After the game Mickey Cochrane entered his team’s clubhouse and sat down for a moment’s reflection. Then he got up and marched over to the visitor’s locker area and congratulated Frankie Frisch. When he returned to the Tigers’ lair, he said: “Well, it’s been a tough Series. Dizzy was good today. He had a lot of stuff and we couldn’t stop him. But while we were taking a beating we took a good one.” The defending American League champions were sluggish coming out of the gate in 1935, losing their season opener at home and, after winning and losing a couple, fell into a six-game drought, giving them a 2-9 record after their loss to Cleveland on April 27. However, the next day turned out to be a turning point in the season. “We must get started soon or we’ll be out of the race,” said Cochrane. “I’m going to start Sullivan tomorrow. I hope he can help us.” Left-hander Joe Sullivan gave Cochrane what he asked for—a route-going performance in which he scattered 11 hits and permitted the Indians 3 runs while his teammates tallied 5. During one stretch he held Cleveland scoreless for 6 innings; he also drove in the winning runs with a bases-loaded single. “We’re out of our spin now,” assured the Tigers manager.   c h a p t e r f o u r

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“We’re going to start moving upward.” Three weeks later they had climbed out of the hole and reached .500 with 13 wins against 13 setbacks. By the first of June the Bengals were two games over the break-even point. Before the Tigers started to run later in June, former manager Bucky Harris shared his candid opinion of the 1935 team. He predicted they would finish third. “In the first place they haven’t the same spirit they had last year,” stated Harris. “The old spark is missing. And with that spark gone, the Tigers are just a good ball club, not a great one.” Harris also added that although Mickey Cochrane was still the best catcher in the AL, he had slowed down. After reading Harris’s comments, Cochrane had a response: “So our spirit is lacking, eh! Well, show me another ball club that got away to the bad start we did then came right back into the thick of the pennant fight. Just show me one!” Now that his pitching had come around, Cochrane believed his team could avoid another long losing streak because he had two ace pitchers in Rowe and Bridges. Cochrane expected his troops to be hustling and fighting to win every game, and when they weren’t he let them have it. Once the team reversed its miserable start and won with much greater regularity, he thought they had become cocky. An 8–4 loss to the Red Sox when his team had 14 hits but left 10 on base really set him off. In a postgame session he announced: “Failure to run out your hits is a finable offense on this club. And tomorrow some of the boys are going to be reminded of that fact. I don’t mind being beaten in a real ball game, but when we throw away runs as we did this afternoon— well, I am not going to stand for it.” The players got another taste of their boss’s fighting spirit after they dropped back-to-back games in mid-August to New York, each by a single run. After the closed meeting and Cochrane’s tirade, old General Crowder provided a succinct summary of the reprimand Cochrane administered: “I just love to hear Mike cuss. Brother, we just heard somethin’ classical. It’ll do us a lot of good. See if it don’t.” Beginning on June 30 when Detroit beat St. Louis 11–6, the Bengals reeled off 10 straight victories to go 13 games over .500. After the Tigers shut out the Red Sox on two successive days in late August they made a believer out of manager Joe Cronin. “The only way for the Tigers to lose the pennant is for all of ’em to drop dead,” said Cronin. “There’s no use kidding ourselves, Detroit has a great ball team.” Although confidence was building, Cochrane respected the capabilities of the Yankees’ pitching staff. “This is strictly a pitchers’ race,” he said. “The club that gets the pitching will be the club to beat.” The Tigers skipper was proud of the way his team came back after that slow start and he respected their hustle—at least most of the time. Moments of Glory and Notable Games  

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Above: Tigers manager and catcher Mickey Cochrane has just been struck in the head by a pitch thrown by Yankee pitcher Bump Hadley, May 25, 1937, as New York catcher Bill Dickey sees Cochrane fall to the ground. Cochrane would later say that he lost the pitch. The sound the ball made when it struck his skull left an awful imprint on the memories of those who were nearby. “The misfortune to Mickey Cochrane caused by Hadley’s throw was purely accidental, I am convinced,” said coach and interim manager Del Baker. “I was coaching at third base and happened to see the play. I thought I saw Mickey duck and then the next second he was on the ground. The ball evidently took a sail. . . . I only hope that Mickey will recover speedily. We want him for himself and we need him for the ball club.” (Detroit News Archives) Opposite page: Trailing 2–1 going into the ninth inning at Griffith Stadium, Hank Greenberg hit a lead-off home run to tie the score. Marv Owen and Pete Fox came through with back-to-back singles, putting the go-ahead run on third. Pitcher Schoolboy Rowe was next in the order and he delivered his third hit of the game, driving in the eventual winning run to register his record-tying sixteenth straight victory on August 26, 1934. The Schoolboy is shown here pitching in this memorable game in which he allowed nine hits but just two runs. (William M. Anderson)

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Moments of Glory and Notable Games  

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Above: Manager Mickey Cochrane was counting on these three starting pitchers to knock the Cardinals out of their nest in the 1934 World Series. Elden Auker (left), Schoolboy Rowe, and Tommy Bridges accounted for 61 victories during the regular season but they were 3-3 in this fall classic. (Detroit News Archives) Opposite page: J. L. Hudson’s landmark store at 1206 Woodward Avenue in Detroit pays tribute to the 1934 American League pennant winners. (William M. Anderson)

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“The Battalion of Death,” left to right: Charlie Gehringer, Hank Greenberg, Billy Rogell, and Marv Owen. This is the most famous infield in Tigers’ history and they received their distinguishing name in 1934 because of their superb all-around performance and their deadly hitting ability. Together they drove in 462 runs— Greenberg (139), Gehringer (127), Rogell (100), and Owen (96). (Detroit News Archives)

t h e 1935 w o r l d s e r i e s

The Tigers opened up a nine-game lead over New York during the first week of September, but Cochrane worried about a let-down and complacency. “If they want to, they can go out and clinch the thing and ease the pressure,” Cochrane said. “But if they get careless, get to believe they’re good and all that sort of stuff, we may find ourselves in a hell of a battle before the season closes. That’s why I say it’s entirely up to the fellows themselves.” As the season progressed into September, Cochrane’s mentor Connie Mack conceded that Detroit would win its second consecutive pennant: “At the start of the season I didn’t figure they could repeat their victory. But here they are again and nobody will stop them now. They are a great team.” They clinched the pennant on September 21 when Elden Auker shut out the St. Louis Browns, but what worried Cochrane occurred in late   c h a p t e r f o u r

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September when the team played poorly, losing 9 of their last 12 games to close out the season with a three-game lead over the Yankees. Detroit won 93 games, leading the league in batting and fielding averages, runs scored, and complete games pitched. Tickets for the impending World Series games were in hot demand; the team reported receiving 5,000 requests an hour. At one point before the first game they had received over 420,000 requests for reserved tickets. When asked how he expected his team to fare in the upcoming World Series, Cochrane gave the only acceptable response a manager can give. He stated optimistically and with confidence: “We will win.” Cochrane began his prognostication by stating forthrightly that his 1935 squad was better than the team he had led the previous year. “They’re steadier,” said Cochrane. “They

This expansive view of Sportsman’s Park in St. Louis is taken from the right-field corner during game 4 (October 6) of the 1934 World Series. The Tigers 10–4 victory evened the series at two games apiece. (Detroit News Archives)

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Baseball commissioner Kennesaw Mountain Landis is conferring with besieged Cardinal outfielder Joe Medwick (facing the camera) and his manager, Frankie Frisch (#3), October 9, 1934. In an attempt to restore order with an uproarious crowd wanting to “lynch” Medwick for kicking Tiger third baseman Marv Owen, the commissioner directed Frisch to pull the Cardinal outfielder out of the game. Certainly the drubbing the Tigers were given by the Cardinals in the seventh game of the 1934 World Series, 11–0, also had the home fans worked up. (Detroit News Archives)

Jo-Jo White (left) and Billy Rogell accommodate a photographer during the 1934 World Series. White, like third baseman Marv Owen, was completely handcuffed by the Cardinals’ pitchers. Manager Mickey Cochrane had the weak-hitting center fielder in the lineup because White was a great defensive player. (Detroit News Archives)

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play with more assurance, confident in every play they make. . . . You’ve seen them out there. Nothing is too difficult to try and they’re making plays that seem almost impossible. That’s heart-breaking to the other club. But it’s the sign that our gang is sure of itself, a more matured ball club, one that feels it can win and there is none of that old doubt this year.” In 1935 Detroit again had the privilege of kicking off the World Series at its home field. There is a celebratory atmosphere on the field before the opening game at home, and the manager is in high demand by seemingly everyone. Those who pursued his autograph were part of the mix though at the low end of the pole. On this occasion they came in droves, forcing the Tiger manager to seek refuge in the clubhouse. With a kindly spirit, Cochrane said: “They mean well but I hope none of them comes out to the catcher’s box and asks me to sign something when the game gets underway.” Cochrane decided to give his 19-game winner, Lynwood Schoolboy Rowe, the start in game 1. The always colorful Charley Grimm, field boss of the National League champion Chicago Cubs, named Lon Warneke to oppose the Tigers. As the dominant ace of his fine starting rotation, Warneke was an obvious choice. The tall right-hander had led the senior circuit in wins, winning percentage, earned run average, and shutouts. And oh my, did he have it all together on October 2, 1935, in Detroit. Warneke horsecollared the big bats of the Tigers, permitting just four safeties and only one extra-base hit in a 3–0 win. Chicago scored twice in the first inning, aided by a miscue from Rowe. The Schoolboy held them in check for the next seven innings before they scored their final run on a ninth-inning homer by outfielder Frank Demaree. “You’ll go a long time until you see better pitching than that Warneke tossed at us this afternoon,” stated Cochrane. “He was tough. He had the greatest assortment of stuff we’ve looked at this season.” Rowe accepted the blame for the loss and Goslin remarked about the effectiveness of Warneke. Coach Del Baker broke the spell of downcast thoughts when he challenged: “Come on gang, snap out of it. They can’t be that good all the time. We’ll get them tomorrow. This Series isn’t over yet.” The effervescent Grimm was riding the tide of excitement with his team’s impressive victory. With a hint of exaggeration he said: “Two of the greatest pitchers I’ve ever seen. I didn’t realize this boy Rowe was such a great pitcher. . . . Warneke pitched a beautiful game. Why, those Tigers practically had their bats knocked right out of their hands.” In a complete turnaround from the last World Series game played at Navin Field in 1934, the Detroit fans truly impressed the Cubs manager in the opening game. “These Detroit Moments of Glory and Notable Games  

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baseball fans are wonderful,” said Grimm. “Of course they are for the Tigers and they are extremely enthusiastic. But they are swell sports. They enjoy good baseball and are more than willing to cheer a good play, no matter which player makes it. They are loyal to their team, but they’re loyal to the game of baseball.” It was a very different game on Thursday, October 3, as Tommy Bridges harnessed the Bruins on six hits to garner an 8–3 win, evening the series at one win apiece. Grimm used three hurlers starting with Charlie Root, who didn’t retire anyone in a four-run first inning. The first three Tigers hit safely followed by a three-run blast off the bat of Greenberg. They tacked on three more insurance runs in the fourth, primarily through the generosity of reliever Roy Henshaw, who walked two, hit a batter, and threw a wild pitch. As it turned out this was a costly victory. After Greenberg was hit on the elbow by pitcher Fabian Kowalik in the seventh inning, he attempted to score on Pete Fox’s single to right and collided with the catcher, injuring his left wrist. After being examined twice, X-rays showed he had multiple fractures and Hank was lost for the rest of the series. This game also featured a verbal battle between the two benches. According to the Tiger players, the Cubs started it. Detroit trainer Denny Carroll explained: “So the baiting squad turned loose. You know we aren’t the men to just sit around and take it.” The verbal abuse upset Grimm and he complained to umpire George Moriarty, particularly about what he heard from General Crowder. Moriarty remained unsympathetic: “Aw, what the hell, Charley they ain’t bothering you. They aren’t cussing you. They aren’t swearing at you. They’re gentlemanly about it. They’re just having a good time.” Now Alvin Crowder was not a speechmaker and when he decided to make a statement to the press he carefully prepared for the occasion: “First I said to Mr. Grimm (directing his comments to the third base coaching box) that I wondered how his little ol’ Cubs ever won the National League flag. . . . And then I called over to him about his pitchers and I was fair about his pitchers. And then I spoke to him about his fielders. There’s some nice fellas in that club—some not so good as others, so I dwelt mostly with the latter.” The Tiger clubhouse reflected a different mood following their win in game 2 with a lot of glad-handing and exuberant confidence. Someone asked, “What was the matter with Root, didn’t he have anything?” “He had stuff alright but did you ever start a fire in a wind?” asked Cochrane. “If it gets headway you have a helluva time with it and Root found that out early. We just started a fire and he couldn’t get it out.” The Cubs were chirping, too, surprisingly for a team that had just been administered a setback. Charley   c h a p t e r f o u r

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Grimm, the team’s cheerleader, led the uplifting conversation. Apparently Hank Greenberg was the primary target for the Chicago bench jockeys, and they assumed their hazing had affected the big first baseman. “You boys won the Series by getting the Greenberg goat today,” boasted Grimm. Hank made two fielding errors in the fifth inning and these happy Cubs attributed his muffs to the distractions they had caused. The two squads boarded a train for the Windy City and game 3 on October 4. The home team jumped out to a 3–0 lead, scoring twice in the second, the first on Demaree’s second homer, and added another in the third off the slants of Elden Auker. Detroit got one back in the sixth when Fox tripled to drive home Gehringer, but catcher Gabby Harnett quickly squelched the Tigers’ rally by picking Fox off third. Detroit staged its strongest offensive push in the eighth frame when they scored four runs to take the lead. After two had scored, Grimm called upon his mainstay Lon Warneke to slam the door and give his team a chance to win. This time Warneke was greeted by consecutive singles from Fox and Rogell, leading to two more Bengal runs. In similar fashion, Cochrane dug deep into his bullpen and brought first-game starter Schoolboy Rowe in to preserve the lead. Rowe faltered in this frame, allowing three hits, two by back-to-back pinch hitters and two runs to knot the score at five all. The verbal tensions of game 2 spilled over into this contest as there were protests lodged by Grimm and his players toward umpire Moriarty. Apparently Moriarty had warned the Cubs’ bench that if they didn’t settle down, he would banish them in bunches in the next game. The confrontation continued and Grimm, third baseman Woody English, and outfielder George Stainback were ejected. That decision caused problems for the Cubs because it required positioning outfielder Freddie Lindstrom at third base. He committed a damaging error in the eleventh inning, which led to the winning run. With two out in the top of the eleventh Jo-Jo White cracked a single to center, driving in what turned out to be the winning run for a 6–5 Detroit win. Now up two games to one, the Tigers were really excited. White, known as a superb fielder, was extremely pleased with his game-winning knock for he was not a great hitter. “Foh 15 yeahs Ah’ve been learn’ to hit and hot-dam, when Ah came up there in the pinch Ah just knew Ah was gonna do it,” said White. “And Ah did.” Grimm, obviously determined to win this game, used four pitchers including three of his starters. “They threw everything they had at us and it wasn’t enough,” claimed Cochrane. “I wonder how Grimm feels now after he has seen his pitching staff battered up. Who’s left to throw tomorrow? He used . . . three of his best bets, today, and wound up Moments of Glory and Notable Games  

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on the wrong end.” A reserved Greenberg walked around congratulating his teammates, stopping momentarily to pay tribute to Rowe. “Wasn’t all what I did,” laughed the big hurler. “That Jo-Jo was the guy. Did you see him lay that one over second? Boy, I’d like to have died with joy when I saw that one go, and Marv [Owen] come racing home in the eleventh. I knew that was the run to win and I just threw my heart out to protect it.” On October 5, the two league champions squared off at Wrigley Field in game 4 and it was all Alvin “General” Crowder. The old veteran pitched a marvelous game for Detroit, limiting Chicago to five hits, two of which were made in the ninth inning. The Cubs hurler was Tex Carleton, their fifth pitcher in the rotation, who had logged 171 innings and an 11-8 record. He pitched a very credible game, allowing just two runs during his seven innings of work. Chicago drew first blood when Harnett smashed a home run in the second. Crowder singled to open the third for Detroit and scored their first run on Gehringer’s two-base hit. Detroit had the bases loaded in both the second and third innings yet managed to score only once. The game’s deciding run came home in the sixth inning, an ugly affair for the Cubs. After Rogell and Owen were retired, Flea Clifton reached on Augie Galan’s boot and ended up on second base. Crowder hit to shortstop Bill Jurges and he muffed the pitcher’s ground ball while Clifton scooted home. Undoubtedly ruffled by this shabby support, Carleton balked and then walked White to load the bases. Fortunately he induced Cochrane to fly out, ending the inning. The Cubs staged a budding rally in the ninth when both Demaree and Phil Cavarretta singled to put runners on first and second with only one out. Cochrane went to the mound and asked Crowder if his arm was tiring. “Hell no, I’ll get them, Mike,” barked Crowder. “I’ll get them.” Stan Hack, the next man up, obliged by hitting into a double play. The visitor’s clubhouse went nuts—the air rent with yelling and screaming. Ray Hayworth and Schoolboy Rowe hoisted Crowder up on their shoulders and paraded him around the room. “Gen. you pitched a great game,” stated a proud manager. “I was a little afraid for you in the ninth when they got two men on, but you came through like a major. And those Cubs are licked right now.” In the other clubhouse the atmosphere was noisy, too—an upset Chicago Cubs team vented its anger by cursing, slamming doors, and throwing things. Grimm sought to transfer their rage into a competitive fighting mood for the next game in Detroit. Sounding like his troops were going to war, Grimm commanded: “Pack your bags men we’re going to Detroit tomorrow night. Remember we won 21 straight and we need three straight now. You played better ball than they did and lost. Remember it takes four   c h a p t e r f o u r

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games to win a World Series.” Tex Carleton joined the motivational chorus, calling the Tigers a bunch of yellow babies. “Remember,” he said, “they gave up last year against the Cards like a lot of scared Indians.” With their backs against the wall, the Grimm gang went back to Lon Warneke, who had pitched so brilliantly in winning game 1 of the World Series. He carried the torch again for his determined Cubs in game 5. Cochrane, too, selected his first game starter, Schoolboy Rowe, who had pitched a respectable game only to be outdone by Warneke but had come back in relief to win the third game. In this contest he went the distance giving up 3 runs; only 2 were earned on 8 hits in 8 innings because Chicago didn’t need to bat in the ninth in a 3–1 victory. Chicago scored all the runs it needed

The ceremonial first game photograph of the 1934 World Series shows Detroit’s manager, Mickey Cochrane, and St. Louis’s skipper, Frankie Frisch, in a rare moment of mutual happiness, October 3, 1934. Both were player-managers. Their respective teams fought hard but the Cardinals won the world championship in seven games. (Detroit News Archives)

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Lots of baseball dignitaries attended World Series games. This photo shows outfielder Goose Goslin conversing with his former owner Clark Griffith of the Washington Senators, October 3, 1934. (Detroit News Archives)

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In this era many pitchers thought they could hit; this one could. Schoolboy Rowe waits his turn during batting practice before game 1 of the World Series, October 3, 1934. Rowe hit .303 in the regular season and was occasionally used as a pinch hitter. (Detroit News Archives)

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Still worked up following game 7, aggressive fans tore up home plate and are holding up their trophy, October 9, 1934. (Detroit News Archives)

Angry Detroit fans seated in the left-field temporary bleachers attack Enemy #1, Cardinals’ left fielder Joe Medwick (far right), with a barrage of fruit and other missiles, October 9, 1934. Tiger grounds crew members led by Neal Conway (left) began to retrieve the debris. Medwick’s aggressive slide into third base that knocked Marv Owen down and his subsequent kicking at Detroit’s third baseman unleashed a flurry of protest from the Detroit fandom. (Detroit News Archives)

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in the second inning on two back-to-back long hits. Billy Herman opened the frame with a triple and Chuck Klein followed with a two-run homer. Warneke sparkled again, retiring the first nine Tigers he faced before giving up a hit to Cochrane in the fourth. He pitched through the sixth inning when Grimm removed him in favor of Big Bill Lee having faced only 21 batters and allowing just 3 hits. Cochrane, who was very fond of Rowe, didn’t think he had his stuff on October 6. The Tiger manager stated: “the big guy didn’t have a thing all day. I don’t know what was the matter with him but his pitches were coming up with nothing but a prayer—and right down the alley. It was a fast ball that Herman hit in the third inning when he smacked his triple and it was the same kind of pitch that Klein walloped into the bleachers.” Then his sentiments switched to his other ace and the next day. “I’ll stake my dough on little Tommy Bridges,” promised Cochrane. “Those Cubs are a bunch of ball hitters, but they’ll see more curves than they ever saw before. Yes sir, little Tommy will get this one back for us and you can write that in your hat right now. They’ll find out at Navin Field that he is 150 pounds of heart.” The Tigers were welcomed home by a large gathering of their loyal followers when their train arrived at the Michigan Central Station on Sunday evening, October 6, 1935. It was almost the next day and the Tigers were eager to slay the Cubs. With Detroit’s hurler already announced, twenty-seven-year-old Larry French, who had won 17 games in the regular season, got the nod to start for Chicago in yet another must-win situation. Remarkably, these two baseball gladiators hurled very similar games—allowing the same number of hits, striking out the same number of batsmen, giving up nearly the same number of runs—yet Bridges was a tad better when he needed it most. Detroit put the first tally up on the board in the opening frame, bunching three hits but leaving the bases loaded when Rogell made the final out. The Cubs answered in the third when Jurges, Galan, and Herman singled. The Tigers regained the lead in the fourth inning when Gee Walker scored on a fielder’s choice. This seesaw contest continued with Chicago rallying for two runs in their half of the fifth as French rode home on Billy Herman’s home run. In the following inning Marv Owen singled with two out to drive in Rogell, who had doubled. The score was tied again. The ninth inning brought plenty of dramatics as each team was poised to win. In the top half of the inning, the lead-off man, Stan Hack, tripled. Bridges fanned Jurges for the first out. French grounded out Bridges to first. After taking two strikes, Augie Galan lifted a fly ball to left, ending the Cubs’ threat. Third baseman Flea Clifton, Moments of Glory and Notable Games  

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up first for the Tigers in the ninth, struck out. Cochrane delivered with a single to right. Gehringer grounded out and the Tiger manager moved up to second. Goose Goslin was the next hitter and he rammed one into right field for a base hit, scoring Cochrane and giving Detroit a 4–3 win and its first world championship. The noted sports writer Paul Gallico captured this historic moment: “It was something to see—that Mickey Cochrane stabbing his spikes into the plate with the winning run and his first world’s championship, and then go mad, like a young colt, leaping and cavorting about, shaking his bare, dark head. He ran all the way back to the screen, then whirled in a mad dance of victory, hurling himself into the arms of his players, punching and thumping them, reveling to the utmost of his buoyant, exuberant, Irish nature in the victory for which he had fought so hard. Yes, when the game had to be won, the tough old rawhide men [Cochrane and Goslin] did the winning.” When Cochrane finally retreated to the clubhouse and sat down to catch his breath, he let out a series of one-liners on this special moment: “What a thrill.” “What a game to win.” “What a heart that Bridges has.” “What a money player that Goslin is.” “What a team the whole damned gang is.” He couldn’t help dwelling on that traumatic top half of the ninth with Hack perched 90 feet away from home plate and Bridges faced with an awful jam. “Tommy didn’t have as much stuff as he had the other day,” said Black Mike. “Then he started pitching. He pitched six of the greatest curves I ever caught, to retire the side. They were sweethearts. What a pitcher—what a heart—just 150 pounds of grit and courage. That’s what he is.” Frank Navin came into the Tiger den accompanied by William Harridge, president of the American League. After having his photograph taken many times with the Tiger hitting heroes, Navin said: “Without question, I’m the most pleased man in America. I’m almost speechless with pride. This is a great ball club. I’m proud, very proud.” Then after turning to the league’s president, Navin said: “Will, I’m a sober man. But I have an almost irresistible inclination to get intoxicated tonight.” All that remained to close out the 1935 series was for the winners’ and losers’ shares to be distributed. During this process, commissioner Kennesaw Landis announced that he was assessing $200 fines to umpire George Moriarty, Charley Grimm, and three of his players, Woody English, Bill Jurges, and Billy Herman, “for vile, unprintable language.” The penalties imposed resulted from a number of incidents and verbal confrontations between Moriarty, Grimm, and his players. According to the commissioner, the fines were going to be deducted from their World Series shares. Grimm publically announced that he was going to pay the assessments for his players. Moriarty apparently   c h a p t e r f o u r

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used some rough language on the Cubs and Grimm took on this “enemy” umpire without flinching. “Remember boys, don’t let that American League bully frighten you,” instructed Grimm. “If you have a legitimate squawk, get out there and squawk your heads off. Remember that Moriarty is not spelled Mussolini.” Surely no one was surprised to hear Grimm state that these penalties were unjustified. “Why should we be silent on the bench or on the field when we feel we are not being justly treated?” asked the Chicago Cubs skipper. “Neither the team [n]or myself will ever reach the point where we will allow an umpire or anyone else to break our spirit.” t h e 1940 w o r l d s e r i e s

In 1940 Del Baker began his second full season managing the Tigers and seeking to establish his own identity as a successful manager separate from the legacy of the great Mickey Cochrane. In his first year of being completely in charge, Detroit was slightly better than a .500 club, finishing fifth and a distant 26½ games behind the perennial champion New York Yankees. They came out of spring training in 1940 exposing more deficiencies than assets; most observers expected another second (or worse) division finish. Almost every aspect of their game had obvious holes (pitching, the infield, and the outfield); only its ability to hit gave much assurance. Yet in historical perspective this outfit became the all-time Tigers surprise team by winning the American League pennant at the wire. On June 18 with Detroit in the thick of the pennant race, tied for second with Cleveland and just a half game behind the league-leading Boston Red Sox, H. G. Salsinger wrote a long column for the Detroit News detailing the remarkable reversal of fortunes for this team. Using its status at the beginning of the season, Salsinger stated: “Detroit had no infield and therefore could not expect good pitching. No team with a weak infield ever has effective pitching. Detroit would undoubtedly hit but could any team hit well enough to discount Detroit’s defensive deficiencies[?] No one seemed to think it possible.” After summarizing the team’s other shortcomings, Salsinger reviewed many unexpected performances that were occurring. His recognition of Gehringer’s amazing rebound is illustrative: “Charlie Gehringer, whose baseball obituary was written in March, is playing a better game at second base than he played last year and is today the best keystone fielder in the majors.” And what about the gamble they took asking All-Star first baseman Hank Greenberg to play left field in order to finally open up a position for Moments of Glory and Notable Games  

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which they thought Rudy York’s limited defensive skills were well suited and thus get his explosive bat into the everyday lineup? Some judged it a mistake but these two players made it work. Greenberg, with his fabulous work ethic and determination to excel, became a more than adequate outfielder, and York capitalized on his opportunity by demonstrating his ability to be a defensive asset at first base. As for getting another big bat in the regular lineup, this aspect of the combination worked wonders for the Tigers’ attack. Greenberg finished his challenging year leading the league in home runs, runs batted in, slugging average, total bases, and doubles. York ranked third in home runs, second in RBIs, fourth in slugging average, and second in total bases and doubles. With this twosome batting fourth and fifth in the order, they represented a shortened version of the famed Yankees’ Murderers Row. Many baseball scribes commented on the surprising competitiveness of Detroit and compiled a considerable list of reasons for their success. In addition to Gehringer, Greenberg, and York, they mentioned Dick Bartell’s comeback and leadership, the development of two young pitchers, Hal Newhouser and Johnny Gorsica, Buck Newsom’s superb pitching, young Barney McCosky’s terrific performance hitting and playing center field, and Baker’s handling of the pitching staff. Connie Mack was especially impressed with McCosky’s improvement: “From an average good player last season he has become great. Really, one of the finest centerfielders in the business, and a splendid hitter.” Opposing managers were taking notice, too. “Look out for those Tigers,” warned White Sox manager Jimmy Dykes. “They have a lot of power and it looks as if some of their kids may come through. They’re apt to be tough.” Yankee manager Joe McCarthy also sounded the same observation—Detroit’s ability to clout the ball. “The club should get a lot of runs,” said McCarthy. “If it gets pitching as well, it will be a hard team to beat.” Until the Yankees made a run late in the season, the competition remained a three-team race among Detroit, Boston, and Cleveland. Outfielder Pete Fox believed that the ability to win the close games would determine the victor. He reflected on his experience playing on the 1934–35 teams. “In those years, we won the close ones,” recalled Fox. “We came from behind to win. We took advantage of the breaks. We’re doing those things again. This looks like a dog fight and we’re in it up to the hilt.” That it was, and the Tigers could never mount a long-enough winning streak to break away from the pack. Conversely, they avoided long losing streaks. The longest streaks for both were six games. Cleveland led most of the season, but on   c h a p t e r f o u r

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September 19 Detroit finally moved in front and managed to hang onto to their lead for the remainder of the season. They clinched the pennant with a dramatic 2–0 victory over Cleveland in enemy territory on September 27 when little-used Floyd Giebel bested Cleveland ace Bob Feller and Rudy York hit a memorable home run. “They beat the teams they had to beat and moved right in to clinch the title,” wrote Frank Graham of the New York Sun. “They beat the Yankees in New York and the Indians in Cleveland. . . . And if they are not a great club they at least are the best in the American League this year and they proved it.” Detroit finished with a record of 90-64, one game ahead of Cleveland with New York two back in third place. Season attendance at Briggs Stadium reached 1,112,693, a new all-time record.

Mickey Cochrane (right) poses for his former teammate and would-be photographer Al Simmons before a game in the 1934 World Series. They would become teammates again in 1936 when Detroit acquired the services of outfielder Simmons. (Detroit News Archives)

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Schoolboy Rowe stands between the two Cardinal pitchers, Dizzy Dean (left) and his brother Paul, who tamed the Tigers in the 1934 World Series. Each of the Deans won two games with Dizzy recording a 1.73 ERA and Paul an even better record with a 1.00 ERA. Although he lost one and won one, Rowe pitched well, compiling a 2.95 ERA in the seven-game series. (William M. Anderson)

Catcher and manager Mickey Cochrane (left) confers with his battery mate Elden Auker before a game in the 1934 World Series. Auker won game 4 but was shelled and driven from the mound in the third inning of the seventh game. (Detroit News Archives)

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This photograph was probably taken to demonstrate there were no hard feelings between Cardinal ace pitcher Dizzy Dean and Detroit’s shortstop Billy Rogell before game 5, October 7, 1934. On the previous day, Dean was sent in to pinch run in the fourth inning. On a double-play ball he failed to side into second base and the return throw by shortstop Rogell hit him in the head; he dropped as though hit by a bullet. The resilient and tough Dean recovered quickly after a night in the hospital. Determined to show his courage, Dean started game 5 only to suffer his one loss in the series at the hands of an equally determined Tommy Bridges, 3–1. (Detroit News Archives)

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The 1935 Detroit Tigers World Series program. (Author’s collection)

Before the start of game 3, October 5, 1935, manager Mickey Cochrane huddles with owner Frank Navin while his wife, Grace, listens to the conversation. (Detroit News Archives)

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Schoolboy Rowe fanned eight hitters but was outdueled by Lon Warneke in game 1 of the 1935 World Series. Warneke hurled a nifty four-hitter while shutting out Detroit 3–0, October 2, 1935. Rowe pitched in three World Series and compiled a losing record of 2-5. (William M. Anderson)

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This Chicago ticket scalper has set up shop at 63 West Randolph Street, apparently not worried about any legal repercussions from his sales during the 1935 World Series. (Detroit News Archives)

True to form, the press sought out Tiger personnel, hoping to get a great statement about the other team and the prospects for victory in the World Series. As a former National Leaguer and a person always ready to talk, Dick Bartell was a prime candidate for any story. He offered plenty of insight in an interview with the Detroit News reporter Sam Greene. “I was in the National League long enough to learn to respect the Cincinnati pitching staff,” stated Bartell. “I’d be the last person in the world to discount the ability of Bucky Walters and Paul Derringer but I believe our power will be too much for them. They haven’t had to deal with sluggers like Hank and Rudy. Nor does our attack stop there. We’ve got sound hitters in Gehringer, McCosky, [Bruce] Campbell, [Earl] Averill, [Pinky]   c h a p t e r f o u r

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This was a very costly out. Hank Greenberg, the slider, tried to score from first on Pete Fox’s single to right but was tagged out by Cubs catcher Gabby Hartnett in the seventh inning of game 2, October 3, 1935. X-rays later showed that the American League’s Most Valuable Player had broken a bone in his wrist. “I was coming home full go and saw that the play at the plate would be close,” related Greenberg. “So I shot my feet out in front of me and caught my weight with my right arm. I seemed to slide right under Gabby and my left wrist doubled up and banged into him. A jolt of pain went through my arm.” (Detroit News Archives)

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Hank Greenberg seemed to be injury jinxed; first a fractured wrist in the second game of the 1935 World Series and then another broken wrist on April 29 in a collision with Senators first baseman Joe Kuhel in the team’s twelfth game, ending his season. “It’s going to be tougher for us to repeat now with Greenberg out,” said manager Mickey Cochrane. “That break will do more to ‘Hold that Tiger,’ than any one thing I can think of.” (William M. Anderson)

A good view of the temporary leftfield bleachers that Frank Navin had constructed in anticipation of the World Series. This overflow crowd is assembled for game 2 with the Chicago Cubs, October 3, 1935. (Detroit News Archives)

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Higgins, [Billy] Sullivan and Tebbetts. We’ll show ’em a better offense that they’ve faced all season in the National League.” Buck Newsom could also be counted on to provide good copy, but on this occasion he responded with uncharacteristic restraint. “You know me, I always put my foot in it, say the wrong thing,” stated Bobo. “No, I’m not nervous, although this is my first World Series. If I can’t say to myself, ‘This is just another ball game,’ well there isn’t much use in my trying to pitch. So that’s what I say. Just another ball game. It should be a good one.” Coach Bing Miller provided the best one-liner when he reported: “I had a dream last night that we won the series in three games—but I think we’ll have to go four.” The Tigers sent general manager Jack Zeller to scout the Reds in the closing weeks of the season and he compiled a fifteen-page report filled with all the desired dope. Undoubtedly the Reds had the skinny on the Tigers, too. Both teams worked out at Crosley Field the day before game 1. The Reds and their friends didn’t need a scouting report to know about the two power brokers in the middle of Detroit’s lineup. When the Tigers took batting practice, Cincinnati players joined the press to watch the fireworks. Crosley Field’s left-field fence offered an inviting target for Detroit’s powerful right-handed hitters, as it was only 328 feet down the line from home plate. The distances became much more challenging in center at 387 feet, and the right-field corner was a formidable reach of 366 feet. Hank Greenberg as a freshman left fielder had other issues to consider in learning to negotiate the four-foot incline beginning fifteen feet from the fence. The pitchers had been announced well ahead of the first game on Wednesday, October 2, 1940. In Paul Derringer, winner of 20 games, Cincinnati had one of the finest hurlers in the National League, and Del Baker made the obvious choice in sending 21-game winner Bobo Newsom to the hill. With Newsom in control, the game was decided in the sixth inning when Detroit scored five runs to stake their starter to a convincing 7–2 victory. Ironically the run production came from five singles with a walk and two errors mixed in. Cincinnati scored single runs in the fourth and seventh and Detroit added two more in the fifth on a two-run homer off the bat of Bruce Campbell. “My hat is off to Detroit’s hitting but tomorrow is another day,” said Reds manager Bill McKechnie. “Derringer was in good form, but Detroit simply hit everything he threw up there. Why, Derringer’s pitch to York in the second was perfect, a curve that broke six inches inside, yet he swept [it] into right field. There is nothing you can do about it when a team is hitting like that.” Baker agreed, though his statement was made independently. “If we hit, we win. We hit in that second inning and that just Moments of Glory and Notable Games  

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about tells the whole story.” When asked about Derringer’s effectiveness Baker quickly responded: “Sure Derringer had stuff. But these so-called old men of mine can hit the ball.” As Charlie Dunkley, a seasoned reporter for the Associated Press, left the visitor’s clubhouse he commented: “In my 20 years I’ve never found the dressing room of the winning team in a World Series so quiet.” Apparently Dunkley didn’t consider how different the personalities of Baker and Cochrane were. Cincinnati ace Bucky Walters pitched a stronger game than the score indicated, limiting the Tigers to just three safe knocks on October 3. In the minds of Del Baker and Hank Greenberg, game 2 of the World Series was decided in the first inning. Detroit appeared to have Walters on the ropes when Greenberg grounded into a double play. Clearly McKechnie was concerned, for he had a reliever up in the bullpen. After Walters walked Bartell and McCosky, Gehringer singled to drive home the first run of the game. Then an overanxious cleanup hitter swung at a bad pitch. There were no excuses made by Greenberg. “In the first inning I foolishly hit at a bad ball,” professed Hank. “Naturally, I did not hit it well and the Reds converted it into a double play that spoiled our rally. I believe that if I had kept the bat on my shoulder, the whole story of the ball game would have changed. We probably would have gotten Bucky Walters out of there before the inning was over and Cincinnati would have had to bring in a less able pitcher.” Rowe was chased with one out in the fourth but not before he had surrendered five runs on eight hits. Cincinnati bunched four singles in the second inning to tie the score and continued to peck away at the offerings of Rowe. They scored two more in the third frame on a bunt single and a home run hit by Jimmy Ripple. Runs kept raining on Schoolboy’s head when Walters and Bill Werber connected for back-to-back doubles, sending the big right-hander to an early shower. Rookie hurler Johnny Gorsica took over and pitched superbly, giving up just one hit the rest of the way. Detroit managed one additional run scored on Greenberg’s double in the sixth. Baker didn’t mince words in his published analysis. The game turned on the double play in the first inning and Rowe’s poor showing. Of his number two starter, he said: “Schoolboy Rowe just didn’t have his stuff. I don’t think I’ve seen him much faster than he was yesterday. . . . But the Reds were laying on that fast stuff. The ball wasn’t alive. . . . Don’t say I didn’t warn you about those Reds. They’ve got plenty of heart and fight-back, and all of us realize we’ve got to play our best ball all the time to stand them off.” Before boarding a train to Detroit, Baker told the press: “We’re not going back to Cincinnati.”   c h a p t e r f o u r

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When the Tigers went home to Detroit for game 3, Grantland Rice paid the city a marvelous tribute. “When the World Series reaches Detroit, it will swing into baseball’s capital,” proclaimed Rice. “Here is the top city of the game. I’d rank Brooklyn second but Detroit comes first. Year after year it leads both leagues in attendance. This year it passed 1,200,000 and this year it will set a Detroit record for public attendance where World Series is concerned. I’ve never seen a city so strongly entrenched back of its team as Detroit is in this Indian summer autumn of 1940. When the Tigers came back home a few days ago from Cleveland, 100,000 wrought-up fans were on hand to pass out the hoarse huzzas.” Game 3 played on October 4 at Briggs Stadium produced a Detroit victory, their second win, giving them a one-game margin in the series. The excited and anxious home crowd watched a tight pitcher’s duel unfold through the first six innings with Tommy Bridges squaring off against Cincinnati’s Jim Turner. The Reds held the edge after six, scoring the game’s only run in the fourth inning. Like the two previous games, a single inning set the stage for a Detroit victory. Suddenly the sky fell in on Jim Turner, who had pitched so well through six innings of work. Greenberg singled, York homered, Campbell singled, and Higgins finished off the onslaught with a long home run into the upper deck in left field. With a 5–1 lead, Detroit coasted on to a 7–4 victory. Bridges pitched a complete game but felt fatigued at the end. “All of my trouble against the Reds came late,” Bridges admitted. “I had a fairly easy game for seven innings. Then I got tired and had to force myself. I hate to think how tired I’d be now if we’d blown the ball game.” On October 5 Del Baker reached deep into the well and called on young Dizzy Trout to start game 4. At this point in his career Trout was known more for his pop-off nature than his pitching prowess. He had just finished his second full year with the big club in which he started 10 games and compiled a record of 3-7. The Reds, smelling blood in the water, went after the young hurler right out of the chute, touching him for two runs in the first inning. Although he allowed only one hit, a double, his early trouble was compounded by a lead-off walk and a costly error by third baseman Higgins. He gave up two hits in the second but escaped without allowing any runs. Baker had seen enough when the first three hitters stroked safeties to open the third inning and he brought in Clay Smith, who pitched four-plus innings of effective relief. Paul Derringer was the other starting pitcher in this important game, and he redeemed his stature with a fine performance. The Tigers could only reach him for two runs Moments of Glory and Notable Games  

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produced when Greenberg doubled in the third and Higgins tripled in the sixth. Derringer was uncharacteristically wild, providing six free passes to go along with the scant five hits he allowed. Despite his muff in the first inning, Pinky Higgins made baseball history when he made nine assists to set a new World Series record. In his postgame interview Baker felt compelled to first justify his decision to start Dizzy Trout. Admitting that it was a gamble, the Tigers’ skipper said he was influenced by the two fine games Trout had pitched late in the season and, given that he had few choices, felt it better to gamble now when his team had a one-game edge. As for the lack of scoring, he credited Derringer for pitching a strong game: “He had a good fast ball and we couldn’t hit with men on bases. That’s the answer. We had plenty of opportunities to score but we didn’t hit at the right time. We are the kind of team that has to hit to win. We didn’t win many games in the American League with two runs.” The Detroit Times had engaged Baker to write a regular column throughout the World Series. In the edition following the fourth game, Baker felt the need to again defend his decision to start Trout. He reiterated what he had said in previous interviews, emphasizing the importance of giving Newsom more rest: “I’ve plenty of confidence in Newsom for Sunday. He’ll be doubly anxious to win that one because of the tragic loss of his father in Cincinnati last Thursday. We’re all pulling for the big guy to win this one for his dad.” The death of Buck Newsom’s dad the morning after he had watched his son tame the Reds in the opening game on October 2 set the tone for game 5 in Detroit. The day before Bobo had made a promise. “I had a good night’s rest for the first time last night,” said Newsom. “They buried my dad down in Hartsville today. I’m gonna win this game if I never win another. You’ve never seen old Bo-Bo bear down like I’m going to do in this one. I’ve just got to win.” On this Sunday Bobo was a lion, pitching with extreme determination and brilliance. Bill Werber, Mike McCormick, and Frank McCormick each got a hit, the only Reds who hit safely off Newsom, and only one runner advanced as far as second base. In this 8–0 shutout Newsom needed minimal support, but the Tigers poured it on against four Cincinnati hurlers. They scored in bunches in the third and fourth innings. Greenberg supplied the firepower in the third frame when he hammered a home run with two runners aboard. In the fourth inning, the Reds contributed heavily to Detroit’s scoring with only two hits as they were given three walks and a pass ball during the rally. When Newsom reached the clubhouse he sought refuge in   c h a p t e r f o u r

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the rear trainer’s room so he could share his deep emotions alone. After a time Newsom emerged, though he had limited engagement with the press. He did pose for a photograph with his catcher, Billy Sullivan. Commenting on Newsom’s exceptional control, Sullivan said: “When I asked for the ball down here, I got it and when I asked for it up here, I got it. I don’t think he ever pitched a more polished game. I’m sure he hasn’t this season. I caught him every time he pitched in his 13-game winning streak.” Speaking of his father and fighting back the tears, Newsom remarked: “I’d give my World Series check for him to have seen it.” So it was back to Cincinnati with Detroit needing one more victory to capture its second world championship. McKechnie came back with Walters to start game 6 on October 7 and Baker looked to his 16-game winner Schoolboy Rowe to deliver the goods for the Tigers. Walters retired the side in order in the top of the first. Werber, the Reds’ lead-off man, doubled to begin the bottom half of the opening frame. Mike McCormick sacrificed Weber to third. Rowe was tardy covering first on Ival Goodman’s grounder to York and Werber crossed the plate. Goodman advanced to second on Frank McCormick’s single. Ripple singled to right scoring Goodman. Baker pulled Rowe with the score 2–0. Gorsica replaced Rowe and kept his team in the ball game with six and two-thirds innings of strong relief, limiting Cincinnati to just one more run. Walters only gave up five hits and capped off his splendid performance by hitting a home run in the eighth, giving the Reds a 4–0 triumph. The Tigers were hot and angry with their inability to score as they stormed into the clubhouse, hurling bats everywhere. “They got all the breaks today,” claimed Bartell. “They won’t be so lucky tomorrow. We’ll show them.” These Tigers were snarling mad. Del Baker remained composed in the midst of a hostile environment. Drawing on his professional reserve, he gave credit to Bucky Walters: “He pitched a fine game. I didn’t think he had as much stuff as he did against us the first time, but he was plenty good. One thing’s certain, we won’t have to face him again in the Series.” The big question put to Baker by newsmen was who he would start the final game. Baker flippantly said he didn’t know and suggested he might draw a name out of a hat. One of the reporters asked if he could possibly draw Newsom’s name out of the hat. Baker replied: “If that’s your guess use it.” The two league champions met for a last time on Tuesday, October 8, 1940, knowing there would be no tomorrow. Detroit came into the series sporting the best hitting team in the junior circuit. Cincinnati entered the fray known for the strength of its mound corps—two 20-game winners Moments of Glory and Notable Games  

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Wrigley Field just before the start of game 3, October 4, 1935, in a fall classic battle won by Detroit in the eleventh inning, 6–5, on Jo-Jo White’s single to center. (Detroit News Archives)

and the lowest ERA in the senior circuit. This World Series demonstrated that good pitching can stop good hitting. The final game came down to the best pitching duel in the seven games played featuring Paul Derringer and Bobo Newsom. When Cincinnati came to bat in the bottom half of the seventh, Detroit led 1–0 on an unearned run scored back in the third inning. Newsom, pitching on one day’s rest, appeared to be losing a little velocity off his fastball and Frank McCormick opened the fateful inning with a double. Ripple hit a long drive to right field that hit the screen for another double. McCormick had hesitated to ensure that Campbell didn’t haul it in. The Tiger right fielder fired the ball to Bartell, who had his back to third and didn’t realize that McCormick was halfway between third and home. When he whirled to throw, it was too late and the score was tied. Jimmie Wilson moved McCormick over to third with a sacrifice bunt and   c h a p t e r f o u r

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The scoreboard tells it all—Detroit has just defeated the Chicago Cubs in game 6 of the 1935 World Series by a 4–3 score to win its first ever world championship, October 7, 1935. (Detroit News Archives)

Detroit jumped out to a four-run lead in the first inning when Jo-Jo White, Mickey Cochrane, and Charlie Gehringer hit safely followed by a two-run blast off the bat of Hank Greenberg in game 2 of the 1935 World Series, October 3. The on-deck hitter, Goose Goslin, congratulates Greenberg as he crosses the plate and batboy Joe Roggins joins the celebration. (Detroit News Archives)

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Above: The Chicago Cubs are batting in the bottom of the eleventh inning, trailing by one run, and Schoolboy Rowe holds them off to preserve a 6–5 Detroit victory in game 3 at Wrigley Field in the 1935 World Series on October 4. Jo-Jo White delivered a single in the Tigers’ top half of the inning to drive in the winning run. That is the game’s hero standing in center field. (Detroit News Archives) Opposite page, top: In game 6, October 7, 1935, in the bottom of the ninth after Flea Clifton struck out, Mickey Cochrane singled and advanced to second when Charlie Gehringer grounded out. (Detroit News Archives) Opposite page, bottom: And the “Money Player” came through again! With Mickey Cochrane (#3) perched on second in the bottom of the ninth with the scored tied at 3-3, Goose Goslin stroked a single to send his manager across the plate, giving the Tigers their first ever World Series championship, 4–3 over the Chicago Cubs at Navin Field, October 7, 1935. (Detroit News Archives)

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There is a lot of pressure on a playermanager in a World Series. Mickey Cochrane is about to begin a live radio interview that will be captured by countless cameramen before the first game of the 1935 World Series, October 2. (Detroit News Archives)

The Chicago Cubs’ starting lineup is set for game 1, October 2, 1935. Left to right: Augie Glan, Billy Herman, Fred Lindstrom, Gabby Hartnett, Phil Cavarretta, Frank Demaree, Stan Hack, Billy Jurges, and Lon Warneke. (Detroit News Archives)

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pinch hitter Ernie Lombardi was intentionally walked. Then Billy Meyers hit a fly ball to deep center field and Ripple raced home after the catch to seal a 2–1 championship victory for Cincinnati. In the aftermath, Del Baker singled out several of his players for recognition: Bruce Campbell for his consistent hitting, Tommy Bridges for his will to win, and most of all Bobo Newsom. “Newsom topped both Derringer and Walters for my money. He topped Werber, too, in team value. When I think of how Bo Bo pitched on Sunday under the strain of grief and how well he pitched the deciding game after only one day’s rest, I have to marvel at him. To me he was the biggest figure in the series though it was his tough luck to be on the losing side.” Del Baker must have been terribly disappointed in losing the series; his team only had to win one more after game 5 and then, being forced to play the seventh, lost it by a whisker. Yet after the emotions quieted a bit, his reflection expressed goodwill and professionalism. He was forthright in expressing his respect for Bill McKechnie: “It looks like a McKechnie year, too. Well, Bill is one of the grandest guys in baseball, or anywhere else, and we don’t begrudge him his success. In fact, we found all of the Reds nice fellows. There was no rough stuff in the series. I doubt that there has ever been a series with less rancor or bitterness between the two teams. We both finished without any hard feelings and are looking forward to playing each other in the South again next spring.” t h e 1945 w o r l d s e r i e s

Like the rest of baseball, Detroit’s ranks were depleted by military call-ups yet they were the preseason favorites to seize the flag in 1945 for two simple reasons: Hal Newhouser and Dizzy Trout. In the previous season, Detroit was nosed out on the final day, falling behind the pennant-winning St. Louis Browns by a single game. Its pennant hopes had ridden the Newhouser-Trout express as this powerful engine combined for 56 wins or 64 percent of the team’s total victories. So dominant was the twosome that Newhouser led the AL in wins and strikeouts and was second to Trout in earned run average, complete games, shutouts, and innings pitched. And Trout was second to Newhouser in wins and strikeouts! Newhouser with 29 victories and Trout with 27 were the only 20-game winners in the American League. Other than the Philadelphia Athletics, who played in a lower league in 1945, most of the junior circuit had remarkable parity. At the finish line even seventh-place Boston was only 17½ games behind the winner. Moments of Glory and Notable Games  

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Though Detroit stayed near the top, most of the season it never ran away from the pack, progressing at an even keel. After losing the season opener, Detroit never again fell below .500, and after its fourth game of the season it consistently remained about .500. The team’s winning streaks can best be described as spurts; its losing streaks were also short in duration. It reached the top rung for the first time on June 8 and for most of the season thereafter managed to stay in front. Washington, which finished last in 1944, proved to be the Tigers’ chief contender. In early September Detroit left on a 23-game road trip with the pennant at stake. Just like in a novel, the schedule makers provided for a showdown in Washington with a five-game series. The Tigers arrived holding a half-game lead over the Senators. When they moved on to Cleveland to finish the trip, the Tigers left the nation’s capital with a game and a half lead, having won three out of five. In a strange circumstance, Washington officials had requested to finish its schedule a week earlier than the rest of the teams so that the Redskins could use Griffith Stadium. So while they were idle, the Senators anxiously watched Detroit lose three of the next four games and ultimately confront the St. Louis Browns in a doubleheader on September 30, the last day of the season. At that moment Washington’s record stood at 87-67 and Detroit’s was 87-65. Two Detroit losses would cause a playoff game. Hank Greenberg had been released from the army, and when he began to play in July, the big left-fielder had an immediate and significant impact on the offense as he would on this critical day. Detroit traveled to St. Louis to play out the string. Extended rain had left the field in deplorable shape. Virgil Trucks, who had recently been discharged from the navy, started and held a 2–1 lead in the sixth inning. Manager Steve O’Neil then brought in his ace Hal Newhouser in relief. But the Browns scored twice, taking a 3–2 lead after the eighth. In the top of the ninth Detroit loaded the bases and Hammerin’ Hank belted one over the left-field fence to give the Tigers a 6–3 win and nail down the American League pennant. The second game was called because of the weather. Detroit had won its seventh American League pennant with a record of 88-65; its winning percentage of .575 was the lowest in those pennant-winning seasons. As forecasted, Detroit’s ace in the hole resided in Hal Newhouser and Dizzy Trout. Although they didn’t replicate their incredible previous season, Trout won 18 games, finishing fifth in the league. Newhouser, on the other hand, was top dog in nearly every dimension of pitching excellence: wins (26), winning percentage (.735), earned run average (1.81), strikeouts (212), complete games (29), shutouts (8), innings (313), and more. This   c h a p t e r f o u r

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astounding record has been discounted by many analysts because hitting in general was weak compared to that of non-wartime years. Detroit won the pennant with a team batting average of .256, fifth best in the circuit and exactly the league average. The two other players who helped tip the scales for Detroit were the return of Greenberg and pitcher Al Benton, both of whom had been released from the military. Both teams had three days to get ready with the media prepping the fans for baseball’s annual fall classic. The American League champions warranted a congratulatory editorial from the Detroit Free Press, claiming that the team’s winning spirit reflected the soul of the city: “There is something in the spirit of our national pastime that is a part of the competitive element which has made our town the most talked of city in the world—the give and take, the rush and smash and dash of Dynamic Detroit.” After extolling the never-say-die spirit of the Tigers, the editorial staff wrote: “Our Tigers have again shown the way.” During the last two decades of the glory years when Detroit played in four World Series competitions, the different styles of the field leaders gave each fall classic a distinctive personality. Cochrane and Frisch were fiery, Baker, McKechnie, and O’Neil were more subdued, and Grimm was a combative and colorful character. Other than McKechnie, who seemed reserved, the others were talkers, freely letting those who read the sports pages know how they felt. Capturing the American League pennant in 1945 was O’Neil’s big career win, and throughout his fourteen years as manager, he was a favorite of many players. He was popular because he let his team play even after hours. During the 1945 season he had taken a lot of gaff largely because fans thought he favored shortstop Skeeter Webb, his son-in-law, and because they believed he was either overly cautious or overly aggressive as a third base coach in directing traffic. In a pre-series interview with Free Press sports editor Lyall Smith, O’Neil talked about the criticism he had received. “Get this straight, I’m not afraid of criticism,” assured O’Neil. “Any manager is bound to get some. But I’m apologizing to no one for anything. Maybe it’s my nature. But I make the decisions for my club. If they turn out bad, then the blame is mine. If they produce, then I’m doing my job.” As with every World Series game and especially the opening game, the media presses both managers for the names of the starting pitchers. After they were told that Hal Newhouser would start for Detroit and Hank Borowy for Chicago, writers and broadcasters wanted to know the order of pitchers for the next two or three games. On that score O’Neil and Grimm Moments of Glory and Notable Games  

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would only reveal the likely options they had, something the media already knew. Pennant-contending managers were upset when the league allowed the Cubs to acquire Borowy from the Yankees midway through the season after he had already earned 10 wins. He went on to claim 11 more victories while pitching for the Bruins. With Newhouser on the mound Detroit had reason to be confident, but this home game on October 3 turned out to be a major disappointment. The Cubs wasted little time getting to the Tigers’ ace, racking up four runs in the first inning thanks to three singles, a wind-blown triple, an intentional pass, and a stolen base. The Tigers were on their heels in a hurry. After an easy one-two-three inning in the second frame, the Cubs worked over Prince Hal again in the third inning, scoring three more on two doubles and two singles to build their lead to 7–0. Detroit could do little with Borowy, who gave up just six safeties although they had several chances to score. In the first and third innings the first two batters got on base but those who followed failed to deliver when it would have counted. Detroit had a similar opportunity in the fifth inning; Eddie Mayo led off with a base hit, Doc Cramer popped out, and Greenberg singled, but they failed to score. Chicago added a couple of surplus runs later to hang a 9–0 whitewash on the Bengals from Detroit. A jolly Grimm was happy after this turn of events. “The boys did a grand job out there and they deserve all the credit,” said the Cubs’ manager. “They waited up there at the plate until they had Newhouser in the hole and then belted his big one. That’s all there was to it.” O’Neil was just as succinct in accounting for the outcome: “They delivered with men on base and we didn’t. That’s the whole story.” Catcher Paul Richards added his editorial comment: “They got the jump on us and kept jumping on us—that’s all.” Another 50,000-plus crowd waited anxiously, hoping their boys would even the series in game 2 on October 4 at Briggs Stadium. The starting hurlers matched fire-balling right-hander Virgil Trucks with no win-loss record in 1945 and Hank Wyse, the Cubs’ top winner with 22 victories. Trucks, of course, had just returned from the navy the previous week. The game remained scoreless through the first three frames until Chicago broke through with a tally in the fourth. It remained that way until the deciding fifth inning when the bats Detroit counted on the most came through again. After Detroit tied the score, Greenberg lined a Wyse offering over the left-center field fence with Mayo and Cramer on the bases to put the Tigers up 4–1, the final score. Detroit had two heroes in this contest—Greenberg and Trucks. But a gracious Greenberg shifted the recognition to the Tigers pitcher. “Give Virgil   c h a p t e r f o u r

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One pitcher celebrates another as Schoolboy Rowe has hoisted Tommy Bridges up onto his shoulder, October 7, 1935. Although Bridges gave up 12 hits he held the Chicago Cubs scoreless in all but two innings to win the final game of the 1935 World Series. He struck out seven and didn’t walk anyone. Outfielder Pete Fox stands off to the right. (Detroit News Archives)

Schoolboy Rowe acts like a schoolboy as he entertains at Wrigley Field before the start of game 4 on October 5, 1935. Rowe was an easygoing, happy kind of fellow except when his valuable right arm was hurting. (Detroit News Archives)

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Above: All the “big wheels” gather at home plate for a pregame conference that will kick off the 1935 World Series in Detroit, October 2. Left to right: Cubs manager Charlie Grimm, Cubs shortstop Woody English, chief umpire and former Tiger manager George Moriarty holding the chest protector, umpire Al Stark (behind Moriarty), umpire Bill McGowan, manager Mickey Cochrane, coach Del Baker, and umpire Ernest Quigley. (Detroit News Archives) Opposite page: Detroit celebrates its first World Series championship, October 7, 1935. (Detroit News Archives)

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Above: A lineup of .300 hitters (left to right): outfielder Barney McCosky, second baseman Charlie Gehringer, first baseman Rudy York, outfielder Hank Greenberg, and catcher Birdie Tebbetts, September 21, 1940. (Detroit News Archives)

the credit, boys,” said Greenberg. “When you consider the fact that for the last two years he has pitched only occasionally, and must have fought hard trying to hold co-ordination, then you’ll appreciate his feat. He sure was in charge all the way.” Catcher Richards had the best perspective on Trucks’s performance and sounded similar praise. “Talk about pressure, he bucked it in grand fashion,” said Richards. “Remember this boy just came out of the navy last week and he was asked to turn back the best.” In game 3 the Tigers were skunked again, 3–0. Cubs starter Claude Passeau had won 17 games during the regular season, and writer Lyall Smith reminded readers that he had once pitched for Beaumont, a Detroit farm club. Detroit countered with Frank “Stubby” Overmire, who derived his nickname from his short, stocky build. The Grand Rapids native had won 9   c h a p t e r f o u r

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and lost 9 as the team’s number four man in the rotation. Passeau owned the Tigers in this no-contest as he gave up a single to Rudy York in the second inning and a walk to Bob Swith in the sixth and neither runner advanced beyond first base. A double play erased Swift; Passeau, near perfect, faced just 28 batters. Chicago got all the runs it needed in the fourth inning on a lead-off double and two scratch hits. A couple of doubles in the seventh produced the third and final Cub’s run. The largest crowd on hand, 55,500 Detroit rooters, had reason for concern. The visitor’s clubhouse was a lively and noisy place as the Cubs had reason to celebrate. Grimm talked about what his pitching hero had overcome. “You know, Claude has had a bad arm—chip in the elbow—and we haven’t pitched him since Sept. 26,” said the Chicago skipper. “I think the rest did him a world of good. There sure

Cincinnati manager Bill McKechnie (left) is going over the ground rules with Tiger manager Del Baker and the umpiring crew before game 1 of the 1940 World Series at Crosley Field on October 2. (Detroit News Archives)

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The Reds’ starting lineup in their home dugout on game day, October 2, 1940, the series opener. Left to right: Bill Werber, Myron McCormick, Ival Goodman, Frank McCormick, Jimmy Ripple, Ernie Lombardi, Linus Frey, Billy Myers, and Eddie Joost. (Detroit News Archives)

A big crowd of 52,877 witnessed the Tigers go up two games to one over the Reds in game 3 of the series in Detroit on October 4. Nearly everyone wore a hat in those days. (Detroit News Archives)

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Winning pitcher Tommy Bridges hugs his catcher Birdie Tebbetts after striking out Frank McCormick for the final out in game 3 of the 1940 World Series, October 4. A smiling Del Baker awaits his triumphant pitcher. Bridges pitched a complete game, allowing 10 hits, but weakened after the seventh inning. Detroit power took command in that frame as both Rudy York and Pinky Higgins reached the seats in a four-run uprising to give the home team a 5–1 lead. “But didn’t those ‘old men’ let 'em have it in the seventh,” asked an excited Baker. Buck Newsom walked over to Bridges and shook his hand and said: “You took care of 'em today: the rest of us will take care of 'em from now on.” (Detroit News Archives)

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Hank Greenberg connects at Crosley Field with two runners aboard in the third inning of game 5 in which Detroit bombed Cincinnati 8–0 on 13 hits, October 6, 1940. Pitching courageously after his father died earlier in the week, Tiger ace Bobo Newsom hurled a brilliant three-hitter to put his team ahead three games to two. (Detroit News Archives)

were no chips in his elbow there today.” On most days the beaten team will speak about the breaks that went against them and the winner won’t recognize their importance. But after this game, Charlie Grimm readily admitted that his team was very fortune in the fourth inning when they scored two runs. “And thanks to those two dipsy-dos, too,” said Grimm. “They were the craziest hits I ever saw that decided a World Series game. Why, both of them strung together would not have reached the screen. But, brother, they sure were the power punches of the day.” Over in the other clubhouse, those two dinky hits were on O’Neil’s mind, too. “With any kind of breaks, Stubby could have been battling down the line with Passeau,” O’Neil said. “The two hits that gave them two runs off Stubby were nothing to brag about—but they hurt.”   c h a p t e r f o u r

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The following day they would meet in Chicago for game 4 at Wrigley Field. O’Neil’s optimism was bolstered because of how he had his pitchers lined up: Dizzy Trout for game 4 and Hal Newhouser on deck. As though a spokesman for his team, Cubs trainer Andy Lotshaw said: “Just the way we planned it, two out of three here and two out of three at home. Boys, it’s a cinch. We’re in.” In game 4 on October 6 the pitching matchup seemed to give a decided edge to Detroit—Dizzy Trout versus Ray Prim. The Tigers were using their second-best hurler opposite a thirty-nine-year-old left-hander who had rung up just 13 victories as Chicago’s fourth man in its rotation. Prim was clearly a wartime hurler who had not pitched in the big leagues for ten years. The old man retired the first nine Tigers’ batmen in order but

Starting pitcher in game 7 of the World Series, Bobo Newsom, greets Spike Briggs and his wife, Laura, while Schoolboy Rowe is right there to take a picture, October 8, 1940. (Detroit News Archives)

Moments of Glory and Notable Games  

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ran into big trouble in the fourth although Detroit’s attack was hardly a bolt of lightning. After Skeeter Webb grounded out, Mayo drew a free pass. Both Cramer and Greenberg hit consecutive singles, driving in Detroit’s first run before Roy Cullenbine got his first hit, a double that sent the Cramer across the plate. Paul Derringer, an old adversary now with the Cubs, relieved the starter. York was intentionally walked and Jimmy Outlaw’s infield grounder forced York out at second but Greenberg scored on the play. Richards singled, driving in the fourth run of the inning and that ended the scoring for Detroit. Chicago picked up an unearned run in the sixth. In control all the way, Trout allowed only five hits and one walk in this 4–1 Detroit victory. The series was deadlocked again at two games each. The loquacious Charlie Grimm had lots to say following this game. In the clubhouse he encouraged: “Hang in there, gang. I said we’d win the series in six games and nothing [that] happened today has changed my mind.” Speaking in jest, the Cubs’ pilot suggested that his pitchers needed to stop walking Eddie Mayo. “It looks like our weakness in this series is a base on balls. Every time we pass Eddie Mayo, he manages to get around all the way and beat us. They’ve only scored in two innings in the four games and it was a pass to Mayo that started it each time. Looks like we’d be better off if we let him hit.” Asked to assess Dizzy Trout, Grimm gave him credit for pitching a solid game but said he was bothered by his mannerisms. Trout, if he read Grimm’s description of his antics, would have roared because this was an act designed to produce this precise reaction. “The guy almost drove us nuts out there,” claimed Grimm. “If he wasn’t wiping his glasses, he was blowing his nose. Once in a while, he’d switch and scrape the mound, or tug at his cap. Sometimes I wondered if he ever was going to pitch. And if it bothered me, you can imagine what it did to our guys.” But one loss and at least two games remaining didn’t dampen Grimm’s optimism one little bit. Asked by a member of the press if he had changed his prediction, Grimm fired back: “Hell no. We’ll win in six. It will be Borowy on the mound Sunday. I’ll give you Monday’s pitcher Sunday night and we’ll celebrate Monday night.” On the other side of the “wall,” so to speak, the Tigers were whooping it up, confident they were ready to finish off the Cubbies. A Detroit Free Press staff writer was in the team’s clubhouse and captured the emotion in his postgame story: “‘They can’t do a thing with TNT,’ was the chant that rang through the Tigers’ dressing room after their 4–1 conquest of the Cubs. Asked to clarify, one Tiger shouted: ‘TNT? Why, that’s Trout-Newhouser  c h a p t e r f o u r

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Trucks. The Cubs got hit with the first T Saturday. Sunday will come the N and on Monday the other T. It’s sure death for them.’” The fifth game, on October 7, presented a rematch of game 1, pitting Borowy, who had handcuffed the Bengals, against Newhouser, who had lost in a one-sided ball game. This game attracted a big crowd of 43,463 who jammed Wrigley Field on a warm sunny Sunday afternoon. Detroit scored in four innings to run up a total of 8 runs on 11 hits off Borowy and four of his colleagues. Their big inning came in the sixth when Cramer, Greenberg, Cullenbine, and York delivered consecutive hits to plate two runs and a sacrifice bunt, a walk, and a fielder’s choice got two more runners in. Those four scores placed the Cubs in a four-run deficit they never overcame. Although Chicago netted four runs, Newhouser commanded the game, striking out nine batters and scattering seven hits. Grimm summed up the losing affair in a single sentence: “They kicked H——l out of us and sure gave us a big day’s work to do on Monday.” Newhouser had impressed the Cubs’ field boss after turning in a great route-going performance. “He’s one of the best pitchers I ever saw and his change of pace is just the best these old eyes of mine ever looked at,” said Grimm. “The kid is a great pitcher. With him working the way he did and the Tigers slamming out everything our pitchers offered, there was nothing to do but take a good beating.” While Grimm was prone to overstate a situation, O’Neil spoke like a typical manager, trying to convince anyone who would listen that his team was about to tie a ribbon around a world championship. “We have started hitting like we should and that means we can carry a pitcher,” stated the Tigers’ manager. “Also, the Cubs are due to face Mr. Virgil Trucks and Virgil already has proved that he has the stuff to tame them. Yep, the moment is sweet.” Game 6, on October 8, turned out to be the wildest contest of the series and the longest game in World Series history. As Steve O’Neil had confidently announced more than once, Trucks would be the man to bring home the championship flag. In his weakest performance since returning from military service, he gave up seven hits and four runs and left with one out in the fifth. Relievers George Caster, Bridges, Benton, and Trout followed him to the mound. The Cubs roughed up Bridges for three runs in less than two innings of work, and Trout pitched well until an unfortunate bounce branded him the losing pitcher. Charlie Grimm came back with his sterling ace from game 3, but Passeau had a tougher outing this time, yielding three runs over the six and two-thirds innings he pitched. Three other hurlers followed after Passeau’s exit, all of whom Moments of Glory and Notable Games  

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were starting pitchers. In this twelve-inning affair both managers used 19 different players, pinch hitters, and pinch runners while pulling out all of the stops in trying to win. At the end of six innings, Chicago enjoyed a commanding 5–1 lead. Both teams scored twice in the sixth, giving the Cubs a 7–3 advantage. Detroit rallied for four runs in the top half of the eighth to tie the score, capped by Greenberg’s second home run of the series. Borowy returned to form and silenced Tiger bats for the next four innings. Trout, too, had handled the Cubs’ hitters in similar fashion until the ill-fated twelfth frame. Trout retired Dewey Williams on a ground out. Former Tiger Frank Secory pinch hit for Lennie Merullo and singled to center. Grimm sent in Bill Schuster as a pinch runner. Stan Hack then singled to left, but when Greenberg dropped down on one knee the ball took a weird bounce over his shoulder and rolled to the wall, allowing Schuster to score the winning run. Long after the game was over the official scorer reversed his ruling and called Hack’s hit a double instead of a single and an error. Detroit had squandered many opportunities while stranding fifteen runners. Chuck Hostetler’s fall after rounding third base during Detroit’s eighth-inning rally was the most notable and lasting bad memory. The bad bounce and Hostetler’s header were the chief topics of conversation in the opposing locker rooms after the game ended. “Boys that bounce will go down in history,” Grimm said. “I think we ought to cut in the groundskeeper for a full share of the series. In fact, I’m going to call him tonight and congratulate him.” O’Neil stated that he had signaled Hostetler to hold up at third but he didn’t see the stop sign. “I shouted at him and Chuck, trying to pull up short, fell down and was tagged out. Later in that inning we scored two runs and but for Chuck’s faux pas we would now have headed for home.” Both managers had expected a long series and now readied for the seventh and final game on Wednesday, October 10. Charlie Grimm had to make a tough decision because his pitching rotation was in shambles. Without a lot of good choices, he gambled and decided to send Hank Borowy back into the fray, knowing he had to be tired after working on both Sunday and Monday. Steve O’Neil knew right away who he was going to send to the hill in this crucial game. Although Newhouser would be working on two days’ rest, he was clearly the big game pitcher for Detroit. What might have been another dogfight disappeared quickly as the Tigers feasted on Borowy and Derringer for five runs in the opening inning. Richards struck the big blow, a bases-loaded double that cleared the bases. Chicago got one back in the bottom half of the inning and would   c h a p t e r f o u r

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Is Detroit outfielder Earl Averill safe or out in game 6 of the 1940 World Series? Cincinnati first baseman Frank McCormick steps on first and Reds pitcher Paul Derringer trails Averill toward the bag, October 7. Number 26 is Detroit first base coach Red Kress. (Detroit News Archives)

Well, what did you decide? An argument ensued with a committee of Reds surrounding the first base umpire, October 7, 1940. Cincinnati manager Bill McKechnie has discarded his hat and is pointing toward first base. Catcher Jimmy Wilson seems to be concerned, too, while Bill Werber (#18) remains quiet and Detroit’s representative, Red Kress, listens to the heated conversation. The umpire ruled that Averill was safe because McCormick dropped the ball. (Detroit News Archives)

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After his brilliant performance on October 6, 1940, Bobo Newsom came back on one day’s rest trying to win his third game of the World Series, which would have crowned the Tigers champions of the baseball world, game 7, October 8, 1940. Cincinnati starter Paul Derringer and Newsom were nearly equal—each gave up seven hits, each finished the series with identical 2-1 records— but in this contest, Derringer allowed only one run and Old Buck surrendered two. (Detroit News Archives)

eventually reach Newhouser for two more while the Tigers tacked on four additional runs to win 9–3. Charlie Grimm used six pitchers while Newhouser pitched a complete game, striking out 10 hitters, giving him 22 for the series and setting a new record. Normally a light hitter, Paul Richards emerged as the offensive star with two big doubles that drove in four runs. Wanting to assuage his disappointed players, Grimm bellowed out a strong statement of pride: “We got beat by a good ball club . . . but not a better one. The Cubs still are champions in my book.” Steve O’Neil seemed more reflective than celebratory. He suggested that the tough fight his team had undergone to wrest the pennant away from the other contenders left his guys a little weary: “We made mistakes along the line, but the boys more than corrected all of them the way they handled themselves in that big   c h a p t e r f o u r

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game.” They were “too sound a ball club to go through the entire Series as they did in two games they lost in Detroit.” As it had done at the start of the World Series, the Detroit Free Press published an editorial connecting the team’s determined achievement to the continuing development of the city: “The Tigers have done on the baseball diamond what Detroit did on the grimmer, more vital, global scale in war production. They have done what Detroiters can and must do in our City’s new peacetime role—think as a team, plan as a team and work as a team; fighting hardest for a better City in a better Nation in a better world when the odds are tough and the going is difficult. . . . The Tigers have supplied only the latest of countless testimonials of Detroit’s ability to come through in the clutch.”

The cameraman has captured the decisive score in the fateful seventh inning when Cincinnati left fielder Jimmy Ripple has crossed home plate with the winning run that earned the Reds the world championship, 2–1, in game 7 of the World Series, October 8, 1940, at Crosley Field. (Detroit News Archives)

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A moment of glory for Hank Greenberg as he crosses home plate after belting a grand slam home run in the ninth inning to clinch the 1945 American League pennant for Detroit, September 30, the final game of the season. His return from military service on July 1 gave the Tigers a big boost. (William M. Anderson)

The American League pennant winner was not determined until the last day of the season. Washington had completed its season schedule earlier, and in winning the first game of a doubleheader Detroit clinched the championship. (Author’s collection)

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Notable Home Games September 17, 1920

Bobbie Veach hits for the cycle

April 30, 1922

Charley Robertson, White Sox pitcher, hurls a perfect game against the Tigers

May 5, 1925

Ty Cobb hits 3 home runs and sets record

The Tigers hold a workout on the day before the World Series opener at Briggs Stadium, October 2, 1945. The Tiger players with their backs to the camera can be identified (left to right): #4 Rudy York, #8 Doc Cramer, and #26 Chuck Hostetler. (Detroit News Archives)

with 16 total bases September 26, 1926

Bob Fothergill hits for the cycle

April 19, 1927

Ty Tyson broadcasts the first Tiger game in franchise history

May 31, 1927

Johnny Neun makes unassisted triple play

August 5, 1932

Tommy Bridges pitches near perfect game

August 25, 1934

Schoolboy Rowe ties a league record, recording his sixteenth consecutive win

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The chief umpire is going over the ground rules at Briggs Stadium before the opening game of the 1945 World Series played on October 3. Tigers manager Steve O’Neil is holding his lineup card while the Cubs’ leadership, represented by outfielder and National League MVP Phil Cavarretta (#44) and manager Charlie Grimm, listen to the umpire’s explanation. (Detroit News Archives)

October 9, 1934

Game 7 of the World Series

October 8, 1935

Detroit wins its first World Series in franchise

April 20, 1937

Gee Walker hits for the cycle on first game of

May 25, 1937

Mickey Cochrane is hit in the head by



pitched ball

August 31, 1937

Rudy York sets record for most home runs in a

October 3, 1937

Hank Greenberg drives in his 183th run, one

June 21, 1938

Pinky Higgins, Boston third baseman, gets his

history the season

month with 18 short of Lou Gehrig’s record

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twelfth consecutive hit at Briggs Stadium to tie record September 3, 1938

Rudy York hits his fourth grand slam homer of the season to set a record

September 26, 1938

Hank Greenberg hits his fifty-eighth



home run

May 2, 1939

Lou Gehrig doesn’t play, breaking his consecutive games record

May 27, 1939

Charlie Gehringer hits for the cycle

September 25, 1940

Bobo Newsom wins both games of a doubleheader

September 28, 1940

Detroit clinches the pennant on Rudy York’s home run and Floyd Giebell’s pitching to win the flag by one game over Cleveland

July 9, 1941

The All-Star game is played in Briggs Stadium and the American League wins in the bottom of the ninth on a home run by Ted Williams

September 28, 1946

Hal Newhouser notches his twenty-sixth win, the most in the American League, and demonstrates his dominance after many of the star players return from military service in World War II

September 14, 1947

Vic Wertz hits for the cycle

June 15, 1948

Detroit plays its first night game

Those who have had the good fortune to attend a number of home games of their favorite team can certainly recall special occasions that are embedded in their memory. Often it’s the first game ever attended with mom and dad, or maybe it’s one when something very significant occurred such as the day Hank Greenberg hit his fifty-eighth home run. Beyond that direct personal experience, if one becomes interested in Detroit Tigers history, the memories become vicarious experiences that we know so well and love to relive. What follows are just a few special dates in a large time capsule of notable games. The big crowd of 25,000 that filled Navin Field on a Sunday afternoon, April 30, 1922, witnessed a historic game. This was Ty Cobb’s second year as player-manager of the Tigers and he had a good hitting ball club that finished the season with a team batting average of .305. The game matched Moments of Glory and Notable Games  

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two young right-handers, Herman Pillette for Detroit and Charlie Robertson hurling for the Chicago White Sox. After several innings in which Robertson retired hitters in order, Detroit batters began to ask the umpire to examine the ball. This challenge continued as hitless innings piled up and the home team used every gimmick to rattle the young hurler. Chicago had produced two runs in the second inning, but Pillette got in a groove and other than that frame had held the Pale Hose scoreless. After Robertson retired 18 hitters in a row, Detroit fans began to cheer him on as he continued to mow down hitters in the seventh. As the tension and excitement mounted, the game reached the bottom of the ninth with the score remaining Chicago 2, Detroit 0. Cobb sent up a pinch hitter to lead off and Robertson fanned Danny Clark. Detroit’s catcher Clyde Manion was up next and he popped up to the second baseman. Two down and one hitter to go. Again Cobb called upon a pinch hitter. This time the team’s best-hitting catcher, Johnny Bassler, stepped up to the plate. The crowd had grown silent, but when Bassler lined out to left field they went wild. Members of both teams rushed to the mound to embrace Robertson and fans poured out on the field. Twenty-six-year-old Charlie Robertson had just pitched his third major league game and hurled a perfect one, the third in modern baseball history. A game in which the Tigers defeated the Washington Senators 13–0 on August 5 became a legacy moment for Tommy Bridges and an unforgettable memory in the team’s history. For the 8,000 fans who occupied seats at Navin Field, they must have talked about this game for the rest of their lives. In his third season with the big club Bridges was known all over the league as a slim right-hander with a curveball that was a beauty. On this day everything he had in his arsenal was working to perfection. After the third inning, his teammates unleashed a scoring barrage, sending seven runners across the plate in the fourth frame and piling on six more over the course of the remaining innings. This should have relieved Bridges of any pressure and given him the luxury of coasting home for his eighth victory. But in fact, Tommy Bridges must have experienced lots of pressure, all self-imposed after he started setting down the Senators—one after another. The consistent zeros kept pilling up as Bridges breezed through Washington’s batting order a second time. As hitters came to bat for the third time, the results were the same—another trip to the bench. When the lead-off man stepped into the batter’s box in the ninth inning, people held their breath as Bridges looked in to get the sign. Ossie Bluege was up first and he quickly grounded out—two more to go. Bridges struck out   c h a p t e r f o u r

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the next hitter, Howard Mapes—out number 26. Reliever Bill Burke was on deck, but being a .182 hitter he would remain in the dugout. Manager Walter Johnson selected Davis Harris, and when his name was announced the Tiger faithful booed. Harris swung at the first pitch and hit a short fly ball over second base that fell between four fielders; the perfect game had been thwarted. Bridges quickly dispatched the next hitter and the game was over. Some shortsighted people were critical of Washington’s manager and he felt a need to speak out in his own defense. “We fought hard out there all day today,” reminded Johnson. “We didn’t give Bridges anything. He should get some consolation from the fact that he made us look helpless for eight and two-thirds innings despite anything we could do about it.” Of course, Johnson’s decision to never throw in the towel or hand a

The press photographers’ booth at Briggs Stadium is jammed for a game during the 1945 World Series. (Detroit News Archives)

Moments of Glory and Notable Games  

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After being trounced 9–0 in the World Series opener, Detroit came back in game 2 on October 4, 1945, and evened the fall classic with a well-pitched game delivered by recently discharged sailor Virgil Trucks. Detroit won the contest 4–1 on the strength of a three-run homer by former army captain Hank Greenberg. This critical win turned out to be the only victory for the Tiger fireball pitcher in 1945. (Detroit News Archives)

An exuberant Dizzy Trout lets out a war whoop in celebrating the Tigers 4–1 victory over the Cubs in game 4 of the 1945 World Series in Chicago. Left to right: Doc Cramer, Hank Greenberg, Trout, and Roy Cullenbine. Trout limited Chicago batsmen to five hits in his route-going performance on October 6. (William M. Anderson)

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A freak bounce caused the Tigers to lose game 6 of the 1945 World Series in the twelfth inning by a score of 8–7, October 8. The Cubs drove starter Dizzy Trout from the hill as they scored four runs in the fourth inning to take a 4–1 lead. Chicago catcher Mickey Livingston (#11), who had singled to spark the Cubs’ big fourth-inning rally, is signaling Roy Hughes to come home standing up. Manager Charlie Grimm is literally trailing the runner home while Don Johnson (#20) is watching the Tigers play the ball. (William M. Anderson)

The graduates of the Beaumont Exporters in the Texas League provided a great deal of the talent that propelled Detroit success in last decade of the glory years. Here they are gathered together in the locker room. Left to right, back row: Rudy York, Hank Greenberg, Schoolboy Rowe, Dizzy Trout, Barney McCosky, and John Gorsica; front row: Hal Newhouser, Clay Smith, Del Baker (who managed Beaumont), Birdie Tebbetts, Pete Fox, and Frank Croucher. October 6, 1940. (Detroit News Archives)

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A happy band of Bengal fans congregate at Union Station awaiting the arrival of the world champion Detroit Tigers, October 10, 1945. (Detroit News Archives)

pitcher an easy out was the right call. Though disappointed, Bridges had no bitterness; he respected Harris and knew that Johnson had made the right decision. Schoolboy Rowe was a highly regarded prospect who enjoyed his greatest success in 1934, his second year in the majors. Rowe had injured his arm during the previous year and his status was uncertain as the new season began. On June 10 he lost a close game at home against the Chicago White Sox to run his record to 4-4, hardly a preview of what was going to happen thereafter. In his next turn facing the Red Sox at Fenway Park, Rowe won his fifth game of the season and began a record-tying string of 16 straight victories. He won his ninth straight on July 28 at Chicago and then came back the following day as a relief pitcher to pick up number 10. On August 25, 1934, the Schoolboy took the mound at Griffith Stadium to face the Washington Senators, a team he had never beaten, still suffering from a sore ankle he had sprained in a recent game. Washington touched him for a run in the third and Detroit tied the score with a single tally in the sixth. The Nationals immediately answered with the go-ahead run in the bot  c h a p t e r f o u r

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tom half of the seventh inning. What became a history-making game for Schoolboy Rowe was decided in the ninth inning when the Tigers rallied to score three times. Greenberg opened with a home run. Owen and Fox came through with back-to-back singles, and Rowe singled to put Detroit ahead for the first time. The final run scored on an error. In the bottom half of the ninth, Washington’s lead-off man reached base on a throwing error but Rowe bore down and retired the next three batters in order. In winning his sixteenth straight game, Schoolboy Rowe tied a record jointly held by Walter Johnson, Lefty Grove, and Smokey Joe Wood. The “Big Fellow,” as manager Mickey Cochrane liked to call him, was unable to establish a new record; in his next outing on August 29, the Philadelphia Athletics hit him hard in a 13–5 drubbing. During his fabulous winning streak, the Tigers gave Rowe terrific support, scoring an average of eight runs a game. He won three games during a stretch when the team racked up fourteen wins in a row. Typically Rowe gave up a considerable number of hits, and during his hot streak he only threw two shutouts.

Based on batting average alone, the 1921 team led by manager Ty Cobb had a combined season average of .316, best all-time in baseball history. Left to right, back row: Davy Jones, Howard Ehmke, Harry Heilmann, Carl Holling, Clyde Manion, Red Oldham, Pol Perritt, unknown; middle row: Ty Cobb, Doc Ayers, Lou Blue, unknown, Ralph Young, Johnny Bassler, Clarence Huber; front row: Donie Bush, Sammy Hale, Ira Flagstead, Joe Sargent, Tubby Spencer, and Bobby Veach. The .300 hitters included: Heilmann (.394), Cobb (.389), Veach (.338), Blue (.308), Bassler (.307), and Jones (.303) (not pictured in this spring training photo). (Detroit News Archives)

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Getting four hits in one game is great, but hitting for the cycle is much more coveted by position players and appreciated by fans. In the entire history of the franchise, nine players have accomplished this unusual feat. During the glory years it happened five times. Though each has a story associated with their notable day and special memory, a couple will provide historic context and uniqueness. The very first time a major league player hit a single, double, triple, and home run in a game happened at Navin Field on September 17, 1920. Detroit finally pulled out a 14–13 victory, but it took twelve innings to subdue the Boston Red Sox. For the Tigers, hits were flying all over the yard as they accumulated 20 in this game. Bobby Veach the history-maker led the way with six safeties including one of each distance and a couple of extra singles. The written record does not reveal whether Veach benefited from the extra times at bat, but he hit his homer in the ninth inning and with one man on to tie the score, sending the game into extra innings. While Detroit hammered Red Sox pitchers for 20 hits, Boston batters only compiled 9 hits. How did they stay in this game for 12 innings? Five Detroit pitchers issued a total of 18 free passes. On April 20, 1937, the opening day of the season, Detroit played Cleveland at home in front of more than thirty-eight thousand exuberant fans. On this notable day, Gerald “Gee” Walker, the Tigers’ right-fielder, batted fifth in manager Mickey Cochrane’s order. In only four trips to the plate he collected half of the team’s eight safeties and hit for the cycle. What made his cycle version distinctive aside from coming in the first game of the season was the sequence of hits. Walker started with a homer in the second, hit a triple his next time at bat, then hit a double, and in his last trip to the plate stroked a single—kind of like dominoes with the right spots. Though out-hit by the Tribe, Detroit prevailed by a score of 4–3. “It’s been the greatest day I’ve ever had in baseball,” said a jubilant Gee Walker. “Honest, I’ve dreamed of days like this. But I’m not kidding myself. It took an awful lot of luck to get those four hits.”

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The War Years

five

Although the United States would not enter World War II until December 1941, civilians were being drafted as the war escalated. The media radar illuminated the treatment of high-profile Americans, especially men who played professional sports. In Detroit the media spotlight shone brightly on thirty-year-old bachelor Hank Greenberg as the Tigers prepared to go south for spring training. With a low draft number, his situation immediately became controversial as he considered whether he should apply for a deferment. He was subject to be drafted for twelve months and concerned that, depending on the timing, he could miss part of two seasons versus being called to duty after the 1941 season and only missing most of the following season. A six-month deferment with the option of a six-month extension was allowable under the Selective Service Act, provided the person was determined to be a “necessary man,” meaning his occupation met certain requirements for delaying military service. Every draft-eligible male had to complete a questionnaire and Greenberg assumed that the information was confidential. The controversy arose when that information was made public and a member of the local draft board told the press that he was seeking a deferment, which the public would likely interpret as an attempt to avoid serving in the military—all of which really irritated Greenberg.

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“Gee, anybody’d think I was the only guy going into the Army,” Greenberg told the press. “And I don’t know a thing about it. All I know is when my number is called I’ll go and I’m not asking for deferment. For any more dope, you’ll have to ask that draft board in Detroit. They’re making a statement every day, and every one seems to be different.” A private person, Greenberg did not appreciate being treated in the press like he was a special case. “Meanwhile, will you fellas do me a favor and make out I’m just a guy named Joe in this draft? That’s the way I want to be—they’ll call me and I’ll go. The way you’ve got me running around in circles now, it looks like the best way to get along answering all these questions is to be like Dizzy Dean—say one thing one minute and something entirely different the next.” Hank Greenberg was far too intelligent to think that his plea for anonymity would be granted by the media; he used the opportunity to make a public statement. Hank played in just 19 games in the early days of the 1941 season and his constant presence in the newspapers and endless questions about his draft status, coupled with critical letters he received from those who believed he was trying to avoid military service, surely impacted his baseball performance. When he departed on May 8 for the military he was hitting an uncharacteristic .269. Shortly before his announced departure date, three hundred friends gathered at the Franklin Hills Country Club to pay tribute to Greenberg. A stream of his teammates went to the podium to share personal testimonials. Almost all were serious except serious Charlie Gehringer. “I showed him how to hit and I’ve been bunting men around to third all these years so that Greenberg could drive them in,” claimed the sweet-swinging second baseman. Gehringer then presented him with a watch engraved with the names of teammates. “You’re going to a good league,” assured Charlie. “It’s a league with plenty of fast balls and lots of walks. I don’t know what rank you’ll have, but even if they have you peeling potatoes, they’ll have a good man.” Then it was Greenberg’s turn to make remarks. He assured them that it was tough to leave the game he loved but “I’ll do my best to uphold your confidence and be a soldier of whom you’ll be proud.” He seized this opportunity to explain that his sometimes critical and direct comments were only meant to make the team better: “I don’t believe I have an enemy in baseball, at least not in my heart.” He concluded his remarks with a statement of tribute to his teammates, the supportive fans, and the city of Detroit: “There will be many a day and night I will be thinking of you fellows and the fans in Detroit. Fans have played a big part in my career by giving me confidence. I’d like you to know that, although   c h a p t e r f i v e

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I am a native New Yorker I expect, someday to settle down in Detroit, regardless of whether I return in time ever to play baseball again.” A game played at home against the New York Yankees on May 7, 1941, would be Hank’s last for a long time. The occasion drew huge media attention as baseball writers and photographers flocked to the ballpark to capture and record this significant event. And big Hank performed as though he was following a movie script. In his first two trips to the plate, he belted long home runs into the upper deck of the pavilion in left-center field. These were his first two homers of the young season and put a stamp on the meaning of his soon-to-be-felt absence. His two long hits drove in three runs as Detroit defeated the Yankees 7–4 to move into second place. The everyday question for manager Del Baker was: “Who is going to take Greenberg’s place?” Before Hank’s status was announced his potential loss became a subject of high interest in the print media. “The lost of Greenberg, a great ball player, a fine team player and a winning competitor, would be a dagger thrust into the Tiger heart,” proclaimed Grantland Rice in his Detroit News column. No one knew the truth of Rice’s statement better than Baker. Greenberg’s exit left a hole in the team that couldn’t be filled. “We’re just going to fill in the best we can and keep on fighting,” said Baker.

Greenberg Raps Two Draft Officials Hank Greenberg (As Told to Bob Murphy) I’m in the army now, or will be in a few hours. There is no reason to pull punches. First, I’ll straighten out the many guesses on my 1941 salary contract with the Detroit ball club. I signed for $55,000. I would also like to straighten out another thing. Many stories have been written that Owner Walter O. Briggs paid my salary for the entire season. This isn’t true. I was paid through Tuesday’s ball game [his last game before being inducted]. No more, no less. That is perfectly as it should be. I have bargained for my services with the Detroit ball club and, perhaps, I was a hard bargainer. I always asked for what I thought I was worth. I always got it.

d e m a n d e d r a i s e to ta k e p o s t

At the end of the 1939 season I was asked to give up first base. Records showed I was one of the best first basemen in either league. I was asked to go to the outfield. I agreed. But I agreed to go ONLY IF I GOT A $10,000 (Continued on p. 346)

The War Years  

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Above: Players who had entered the military service came back for a visit to the team when the opportunity presented itself. Manager Steve O’Neil chats with his former third baseman and now sailor Pinky Higgins, September 22, 1945. (Detroit News Archives) Opposite page: Images of both sides of a postcard sent to the Tigers by Higgins. (Author’s collection)

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Above: Manager Steve O’Neil and navy captain Charlie Gehringer step into the first aid room at Briggs Stadium for a private conversation, August 27, 1944. (Detroit News Archives) Opposite page: First page of letter written by Gehringer on navy stationery. (Author’s collection)

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Above: Sailor Ted Gray sits in a box seat with Wish Egan, the Tiger scout who signed this young pitcher, July 5, 1945. (Detroit News Archives) In a letter written to general manager Jack Zeller from his base in Monterey, California, Gray stated: “Just a few lines to ask you for a little favor. We have a fellow in the Air Station here who is really crazy about baseball. He is especially crazy about your theories on baseball. If you will do it, I would like you to write me a letter & in it mention that you are glad I’m working with a good man like Chief Commisary Steward Gordon Embrey. If you will do this little favor I would appreciate it very much, make sure you don’t mention anything in it about me writing you this letter.” March 17, 1944. (Author’s collection)

In this letter dated December 22, 1944, Tommy Bridges is writing to Clair Berry, the Tigers’ traveling secretary and point of contact for the players. Dear Clair: Thank you for the wire answer; I had plans at the time to start my furlough in Detroit, and was looking forward to a visit at the Stadium. The furlough begins the evening of 26 Dec. alright, but what I had in mind to discuss with Mr. Briggs seems definitely out for a long time now. We get 10 days and travel time on furlough, also I’ll get Xmas day off this time. Will go to Gordonsville [his hometown in Tennessee] for a few days and may stop in St. Louis or Memphis for a short visit on the way back to Camp. Hate like hell to miss the trip to Detroit, and will spend all of my next vacation there if I am in the position to get one next July. Gosh, that sounds a long time off. In fact, the end of this war looks a long time off. The men in the States are sure lucky. Physical reclassification is already in process in this Camp. Its more and more transfers to the Infantry, and raised aged limits for over-seas shipment. Theres no doubt where the young healthy ones being drafted now are going. Seems that the Army is trading men over 40 and unfit for essential civilian workers who are elegible for the Infantry. Look out Clair—Uncle might make you a transportation Officer yet. (If he does I want to get on your boat.) Give my best regards to Mr. Briggs, Wish [Egan], Jack [Zeller], and all in the office. I trust all of you have a pleasant Xmas. Yours truly, Tom Briggs (Author’s collection)

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In 1943 pitcher Tommy Bridges became a soldier. At age thirty-seven he was just below the cut-off age for induction into the military. He served until August 1945 when he rejoined the Tigers. Sergeant Bridges, shown here, was introduced and recognized during a game while home on leave. (Detroit News Archives)

The War Years  

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Above: The nickname given Virgil Trucks was a natural given his last name and his blazing fastball. While serving in the military, a navy public relations photographer saw an opportunity to stage this photograph. (William M. Anderson) Opposite page: This is a photograph of the first page of a letter Virgil Trucks wrote to Jack Zeller while serving in the Pacific. The content of the entire letter is provided here. Somewhere in the Marianas April 10—45 Dear Jack, Just a few lines to wish you and the Tigers, all the luck in the world in this coming season. Sure wish I could be back there with you. And may be soon. But maybe not before this season is over. Well I guess you know that we have just completed a tour of the Pacific with two Navy teams. An had a wonderful tour. But boy being stationed here in the Marianas is really no fun. Hal White [Tiger pitcher] is here with me. [Barney] McCosky [Tiger outfielder] is on another island. But they both sure looked good in this tour. I am losing weight and I mean fast. Cant eat out here and very darn little sleep. So I guess when the war is over it wont take me long to get into shape. We expect the war in Europe to be over with soon. Well Jack I may get a discharge from this knee of mine. At least I am having a lot of trouble with it. I am going up tomorrow for an exray. I have had a couple taken, one in Hawaii and a Captain made the remark if they had known my knee was like that before they would have never taken me. Well I didn’t know it either. But I do now. It really aches out here. So what do you think about it? Do you have any suggestions? If so, let me know immediately and please don’t say anything to the press about it. Well Jack, please give my regards to Steve [O’Neil] & the fellows and my best to you. So until I hear from you, I will close. Yours Truly, Virgil Trucks

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Above: When the 1944 season began, the United States had been engaged in World War II for two years. President Franklin Roosevelt continued to support the continuation of the game of baseball. The Tigers’ starting lineup on opening day involved these players. Left to right: Don Heffner, Eddie Mayo, Doc Cramer, Rudy York, Pinky Higgins, Jimmy Outlaw, Don Ross, Bob Swift, and pitcher Dizzy Trout, April 18, 1944. Trout squared off against Browns pitcher Jack Kramer. Both permitted only six hits, but the St. Louis batters scored two runs while Detroit hitters could only muster one, that on a ninth-inning homer off the bat of Higgins. (Detroit News Archives) Opposite page: After twenty-one months of military service Tommy Bridges returned to the Tigers on August 28, 1945. The team was anxious to see what he still had left, and Bridges got the starting assignment against the White Sox on September 3, 1945. The slender right hander pitched credibly, yielding 9 hits and 3 earned runs in 7 1/3 innings and received credit for a 6–5 victory on Labor Day before 53,953 fans, the largest attendance that season. (Detroit News Archives)

The War Years  

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Above: George Tebbetts, army private and former Tiger catcher, later earned promotion to captain and served in the Army Air Corps at a base in Waco, Texas. September 21, 1942. (Detroit News Archives) Opposite page: Letter from George Tebbetts to Wish Egan, October 25, 1943. (Author’s collection)

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Above: The Sporting News was the most read baseball publication in the country. The company provided complimentary subscriptions to players in the military service. (Author’s collection) Opposite page: A cadre of baseball players turned soldiers pose for this photograph at the Army Flying School, Waco, Texas, April 1942. Left to right, top row: Hoot Evers (Tiger outfielder), Birdie Tebbetts (Tiger catcher), Bruce Campbell (former Tiger outfielder and then the property of the Washington Senators), and Buster Mills (Cleveland outfielder); bottom row: Mickey Handjack (East Texas League pitcher), Mike Popovich (Tiger minor leaguer), Nick Popovich (White Sox minor leaguer), and Sid Hudson (Washington pitcher). (Detroit News Archives)

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Opposite page: When Detroit was hunting for a shortstop during the war, they brought up Murray Franklin for two abbreviated trials, ultimately deciding that he was not going to be an everyday player. He got his longest opportunity in 1942 when he played in 48 games and batted .262. (William M. Anderson) Below: Navy ensign Murray Franklin wrote a letter to general manager Jack Zeller on September 6, 1945. Franklin had played shortstop for Detroit in 1941–42. An excerpt is provided here: “I returned from our two weeks of flight operation to find that the letter that you were to send had not arrived; so I sent you a night letter, and told you I’d write and explain. This is what I believe probably happened; and it is my fault for not clarifying matters to you a little better. The navy is great for red tape and must go through the chain of command; if an Ensign wants to clean his toe nails he has to get permission from his executive officer, who in turn gets permission from the Capt, who in turn writes Washington a letter stating how many toenails and in what shape the toenails are to be cut—This Chief of Naval Personnel in turn takes the letter to an old phogy Admiral who makes a big ado about nothing, then signs it, back to the Chief of N. Pers. it goes, who in turn sends it to the 13th naval district, the man there sends it to the Capt. in Charge who went to bat for me, he in turn gives it to the exec, who says okay Franklin, cut your toe nails.” (Author’s collection)

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RAISE. I was given that raise and I even gave the ball club the privilege of calling off the whole deal by opening day. On or before opening day I was to be told that the contract was on, or off. If I wasn’t to be given the outfield job, I had asked for the privilege of going back either to play first base, or at least FIGHT FOR FIRST BASE. I made good in the outfield, and I was given a raise over last year’s salary.

no quarrel with ball club

I have no quarrel at all with the Detroit ball club. They have been fine with me. I have made a lot of money in a short time in baseball, and I leave baseball well situated financially. I’ve been lucky enough also to make some good investments. Taxes being what they are, I’m not crying about dropping from $55,000 to $21 a month. The public deserves some explanation on why I refused the extra day’s reprieve from the draft board to play in the flag-raising game. I’m refusing this grant, first, because I never asked for it. Secondly, because the ball club never asked for it. But to be truthful, the main reason is because I don’t trust a man named Floyd Smith. (EDITOR’S NOTE: Smith is one of the three members of local draft board number 23, which has jurisdiction over Greenberg.) It is apparent to me he has been, and still is, out to grab all the publicity for himself he can find.

at d r a f t b o a r d o n t h e m i n u t e

I’m going to be at the draft board headquarters on time. I’m not going to give any one a chance to concoct any more stories about me and my requests. Despite the way I feel about Smith and his colleague, Ralph J. Norton, I have all the trust in the world for Mr. Ben O. Shepherd, chairman of my draft board. He has been FAIR. He hasn’t tried to make selfish publicity gains at my expense. Even if the army physicians should find me unfit for service I don’t believe I could play baseball again, soon. My spirit for the game has been sapped during the past few weeks and months. I feel I have been given more unjust raps than any one ever deserved. I never knew Jack Dempsey intimately. But I still hear people talk about how he was a slacker.

no intention of dodging his duty

I have never had any intention of dodging my duty. But as I go into the army I know that people everywhere have me painted as a man who didn’t want

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to go. Nothing was ever more untrue. I get it everywhere. Through letters, telephone calls and personal contact. There is just one grand thing that salves all wounds. When I think of all the friends I really have—I mean the honestto-goodness kind—well, I know I’m lucky. One of the greatest presents I ever received came from the ground crew at Briggs stadium on Tuesday. It was a desk pen and pencil set. I’ll treasure that always. It came from the hearts of those fellows. Going to the army doesn’t seem a bit tough when I think of the way Lou Gehrig had to go out of baseball. And no grander, finer character ever lived. But I just had a few things to say. Now that I’ve said them—well, I’ll still be trying to bend over backwards in order to make a good soldier and keep the confidence of all the friends who really believe in me. Greenberg’s statement was originally published in the Detroit Times, May 7, 1941. (Permission granted by the Detroit News.)

Once reconciled to the reality of his future, Hank Greenberg stepped forward like a veteran soldier to do his duty. Detroit planned to hoist its 1940 pennant-winning flag on May 8 and, according to a press statement, Tiger officials asked that their star outfielder be given a twenty-four-hour postponement of his induction. The draft board responded affirmatively, but Greenberg vetoed the idea. He had been told to report at 6:30 a.m. at the induction center on West Fort Street and he showed up promptly. He was warmly greeted and what we much later called the paparazzi were waiting in force. Greenberg’s early experience becoming a soldier was thoroughly recorded in words and pictures. Although his baseball fame had put him in the spotlight many times, this extraordinary attention embarrassed Greenberg. There were 69 other inductees present with him that morning, and when they all got outside he was besieged by autograph seekers. “I can’t turn these people down and on the other hand I want to keep in line,” said Greenberg. “Mr. Whiskers is my boss now and I’m gonna do what he says.” The Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor changed everyone’s view of the future as the United States entered this global war and began ratcheting up its preparation for a yet unmeasured world crisis. How World War II would affect professional baseball was a question of paramount importance. In early January 1942 Kenesaw Mountain Landis wrote a letter to President Franklin Roosevelt asking him if he wanted major league baseball to continue. The chief executive responded immediately. “I honestly feel that it would be best for the country to keep baseball going,” wrote the president. (Continued on p. 361)

The War Years  

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Above: Owen “Donie” Bush was a fixture at shortstop for thirteen straight years before being traded to Washington in 1921 and ranks as one of the best to ever play that position for the Tigers. A diminutive man who could run, Bush is second all-time in Detroit franchise history for stolen bases with an even 400. After retiring as an active player he managed four different major league teams, including the 1927 National League champion Pittsburgh Pirates. (William M. Anderson) Opposite page: Donie Bush’s letter strongly illustrates the shortage of professional baseball players due to the draft during World War II. The players he isn’t asking for are all Detroit Tiger outfielders—Dick Wakefield, Hoot Evers, and Anse Moore. (Author’s collection)

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The War Years  

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Above: Jack Tighe, a minor league catcher in the Tigers’ system, managed and played in the Detroit organization for fourteen years. He coached with the big team in 1942 and managed the Bengals in 1957–58. (William Anderson) Opposite page: Jack Tighe was a player-manager of the Batavia Clippers, a Tiger farm team in the Class D Pony League. Tighe enjoyed a good season, playing in 97 games and hitting .285. General manager Jack Zeller complied with Tighe’s request and wrote across the bottom of his letter: “15 road [uniforms] @ [$]10.00—Pants & shirts only.” (Author’s collection)

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Above: Though his big league career was limited to only 29 games spread over two seasons, Clarence “Red” Phillips must have relished the opportunity he was given to pitch a few games for the American League champions in 1934. He won only four games with a bloated 6.42 ERA. (William M. Anderson)

Former Detroit pitcher Red Phillips wrote to Jack Zeller on February 27, 1944, offering to help scout for players during the war in his state of Kansas. He mentions the possibility of signing Chuck Hostetler, a minor league player whom the Tigers did sign as a forty-one-year-old rookie in 1944. He became a part-time outfielder in 1944–45. Have been planning on writing you for a couple weeks. I had a short letter from Al [Vincent a scout and former minor league manager in the Tigers’ system] wanting replacements. The situation is pretty serious even here. The older fellows that are left are all classified in 2B, and wont leave their job, all the young fellows that have a chance have been picked up. It could be that some will be called and put in 4-F. If they are and I think they would help you any, I’ll be glad to let you know about them. But several clubs keep scouts in here most all the time. So I might run into a little competition. I may umpire this year if I do I’ll be in a position to give all of them a once over but as you know all the good ones are in the army. Jack a little later on if you will let me know what you need most, and how high you would go—I might be able to help you or if you hear of some one, and don’t have a scout down in here, Ill be glad to pass my judgement on him. This looks like baseball[’s] worst year to me. Best of luck to you and the Tigers, Sincerely Yours Red Phillips P.S. I just called Chuck Hostetler and found out he hasn’t signed with Kans City Club. They offered him $650.00 per mo. But think he wants a small bonus or some kind of income during spring training. He is over draft age has a wife and three children. He is a free agent, hasn’t slowed up a lot. You know what kind of hitter he is. If interested let me know. (Author’s collection)

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Newly minted sailor Hal White is in the process of stenciling his uniform with proper identification. White, a young right-handed Detroit hurler, has just reported for duty at the U.S. Naval Training Station in Sampson, New York. A product of the team’s farm system, White appeared in 66 games in 1942 and 43 both as a starter and reliever. He won 12 games during his first full season with the club. (Detroit News Archives)

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Above: Military service during World War II took a big slice out of Pat Mullin’s prime years as a Detroit Tiger outfielder. He was being touted as a top candidate for Rookie of the Year honors in 1941 but a serious injury in his fifty-fourth game ended his season while hitting at a .345 clip. Mullin is photographed here playing for the New Cumberland team at a military base in 1943. (William M. Anderson) Opposite page: Letter from Pat Mullin to Walter Briggs: Dear Mr. Briggs [owner of the ballclub], The time is drawing near to another, World Series and naturally the fellows here at camp, are very interested in the race in the National League and express their beliefs, about who will win. I am now a corporal, and have managed the baseball team here, and won 24 lost 4, and tied 1. Playing in those games have helped, and gave me a chance to bring my arm around. I am very pleased in the way it is responding, and hope someday to once again play for your ball club, Detroit. After a fashion, Mullin got around to the primary purpose for his letter: he asked the owner for fifteen tickets to a 1942 World Series game. A telegram in the author’s collection reveals that Mr. Briggs accommodated Pat Mullin’s request. (Author’s collection)   c h a p t e r f i v e

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Above: Dick Wakefield graduated from navy flight school and was discharged for some unknown reason. When Wakefield returned to the Tigers in June 1944 he made an immediate impact but was called back into service in 1945. (Detroit News Archives) Opposite page: Letter from Dick Wakefield while in the service. (Author’s collection)

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Dick Wakefield receives his manager’s congratulations after hitting a second-inning solo home run that proved to be winning run in a 2–0 victory over the Chicago White Sox, June 14, 1944. This was Wakefield’s second game after returning from military service flight school. In 78 games Wakefield hit .355 and contributed significantly to the team’s run for the pennant championship. “What a difference he has made in this ball club,” said manager Steve O’Neil. “The day he walked in here after getting out of the navy something happened. You could see from Rudy York down to the lowliest rookie that he was their guy. He’s a funny sort of kid. [Lets] nothing bother him. But everybody loves him and can he fan that willow with men on bases. Yep, he made a difference in this club that nobody can judge.” (William M. Anderson)

Lt. Commander Mickey Cochrane (left) and Commander Preston enjoy a game with the crowd at Briggs Stadium, September 27, 1944, in the heat of a tight pennant race. (Detroit News Archives)

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Mickey Cochrane (right) managed the best known service teams during World War II at the Great Lakes Training Station near Chicago, July 14, 1943. “Baseball is a sideline for these sailors, but we have to develop the winning habit in it as well as in the bigger game of war,” Cochrane said. Ty Cobb enjoyed a ball game in his retirement years and joined Cochrane on the home team’s bench. (Detroit News Archives)

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“There will be fewer people unemployed and everybody will work longer hours and harder than ever before. And that means they ought to have a chance for recreation and for taking their minds off their work even more than before.” This now famous “Green Light” letter gave renewed license to operate, but baseball leaders considered it a one-year authorization and each succeeding season they waited to hear again from the president. Mobilization impacted baseball in many ways; the drain on manpower and talent was the most profound. Baseball players were not exempt from the U.S. need to draft increasing numbers of eligible men, and as the war continued the Selective Service cast a larger and larger net. Managers went to spring training uncertain of who was in their player pool; it was constantly changing. As more and more regulars went off to war, the Tigers sought to fill holes by recalling players from their minor league system. Management tried to keep track of the changing draft classification of its players while some, knowing they’d be drafted soon, enlisted rather than waiting for the inevitable. In 1942 catcher Birdie Tebbetts left the team and went back to New Hampshire in a second attempt to enlist in the Army Air Corps. That prompted the team to purchase the contract of catcher Harv Riebe from Beaumont. While waiting for his arrival they realized that he might be called into military service before he played in a single game. Billy Hitchcock, the Tigers’ principal shortstop in 1941, had just been ordered to report to the Air Corps so Detroit exercised its option on Beaumont infielder Johnny Lipon and purchased his contract. Star outfielder Barney McCosky’s classification had exempted him because of his role in financially supporting his parents, but it appeared that he might be reclassified and therefore eligible for the draft. Manager Del Baker knew he could only play the hand he had been dealt. “The country comes first,” said Baker. “We’ll have to do the best we can with the boys who are left after the government’s needs are taken care of—and no squawkin’.” As the 1943 spring training concluded, the baseball writer Dale Stafford provided readers with his assessment of the talent level of the Tigers heading into the new season. He was particularly concerned about the catching position. “Detroit’s catching remains a problem,” pointed out Stafford. “The No. 1 receiver is still Edward (Dixie) Parsons, who batted a scant .197 in 63 games last year. Parsons is one of the slowest men in major-league baseball and toward the close of the 1942 season he developed an arm ailment which hampered his throwing. If Parsons can’t hit, run or throw then he isn’t going to assist the Detroit cause materially.” The Texas League folded after the 1942 season, a year in which the Beaumont Exporters were league champions.

Opposite page: Navy Lt. Commander Harry Kipke is swearing in Detroit outfielder Barney McCosky, December 10, 1942. “The Navy is O.K. but I’ll be glad when I can get back to baseball,” said McCosky at the end of his first year in military service. While in the military he played on Mickey Cochrane’s team and later was part of a team that played in the Pacific in an island-hopping tour. (Detroit News Archives)

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The core of its best players were either absorbed by Detroit or transferred to Buffalo. In a larger perspective, teams in 152 cities were suspended in 1943 because of the war. General manager Jack Zeller summarized Detroit’s player situation at the end of the year: “We’re trying to be prepared for any emergency. Right now, we are somewhat short of outfielders as a result of the trade of [Rip] Radcliff and the Navy’s call to Dick Wakefield. We hope to do something about the shortage at the New York meeting [baseball’s annual winter meeting when lots of deals were consummated].” Teams needed warm bodies and the manpower shortage required them to look everywhere for help. Although Detroit knew that right-handed pitcher Bob Gillespie would be called into the service, they brought him to the big club in 1944 where he got into seven games before becoming a soldier. He had pitched for Beaumont in 1942 and stayed out of baseball the following year when he worked in an Ohio war plant. Pete Gray, the one-armed batting star for the Memphis Chicks, whom the St. Louis Browns later signed, was the poster player illustrating the empty cupboard of baseball talent in the latter stages of World War II. On a scouting trip, Jack Zeller visited the Chicks’ organization and asked about Gray, revealing that Detroit might be interested in him. As baseball contemplated its challenges going forward in 1945 it expected to operate with 530 players, 223 of whom were classified 4-F. At that point Detroit had fourteen 4-Fs, fifteen players who ranged in age from eighteen to thirty-eight, seven war workers, six discharged veterans, and two overage players. Its roster for 1945 included players in just four draft classifications: 4-F (men physically unfit for military service), 4-A (men over the age of thirty-eight), 1-C (players with medical discharges from the armed services), and players under eighteen years of age. “We do not propose to use any players of other classification if we operate,” announced Tiger management. By classification, the Tiger roster included the following: 4-F players Hal Newhouser, Dizzy Trout, Jake Mooty, Stubby Overmire, Rufe Gentry, Joe Orrell, Rudy York, Paul Richards, Bob Swift, Hack Miller, Jimmy Outlaw, Bob Maier, Skeeter Webb, and Joe Hoover; 4-A players Roger Cramer, Chuck Hostetler, and Boom Boom Beck; 1-C players Al Benton, Zeb Eaton, Les Mueller, Walt Wilson, John McHale, Carl McNabb, and Red Borom; and underage players Billy Pierce and Art Houtteman. There were many other ways that the war affected baseball. Given the rationing of many commodities, particularly gasoline, commissioner Landis decreed that major league teams must restrict their spring training to sites north of the Mason-Dixon Line. Detroit selected Evansville,   c h a p t e r f i v e

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Indiana, on the Ohio River and used Bosse Field, judged to be one of the best facilities in the minor leagues. The editors of The Sporting News editorialized in every issue and they did not endorse Landis’s decision. Just like the president, the commissioner issued an annual decree regarding where spring training could be held in the country and the pronouncement was always the same: north of the Mason-Dixon Line. After the second directive, the editors wrote: “Northern training is not the real thing. Frankly, it is synthetic. . . . And so it is with spring training in the major leagues. The main thing is not, ‘Where will we train?’ The chief question is, ‘When do we start and who will we have?’” Because the president wanted to provide opportunities for hardworking people to recreate and relax while enjoying baseball, he pushed having games played when the employed were not working. That gave rise to a greater consideration of night baseball. Some clubs were already sold on the advantages of playing games after dark; tradition-bound Detroit was not one of them. Another option that was gaining traction was playing games later in the day, or twilight, as it became called. “It’s up to the public demand,” stated Jack Zeller. “I think Mr. Briggs would be favorably disposed to twilight ball, if he felt a majority of the fans wanted it.” Detroit experimented on June 9, 1943, by starting a game with the White Sox at 2:05—hardly a significant shift that would attract workers after finishing their workday but it drew over 14,000 fans and encouraged Zeller. He then announced that the team would play at least a dozen twilight games. The Washington Senators even played some morning games, an alternative the Tigers also rejected. Japanese control of Malaya and the Dutch West Indies nearly eliminated the country’s access to rubber supplies, causing a federal ban of the use of both scrap and crude rubber in any non-essential products, which included baseballs. A. G. Spalding & Brothers, the supplier of baseballs for both major leagues, then manufactured a new ball using a mixture of ground cork and balata as the center core. The “balata ball” was first introduced at the beginning of the 1943 season and it received a storm of protest. After the final two exhibition games and the season’s opener at Cleveland in which the balata ball was used, everyone knew something was amiss; it was as though baseball had returned to the dead ball era. “The ball is deader than the one in use when I was playing ball,” said Tiger manager Steve O’Neil. “It’s going to have a bad effect on the game. Any ball club will be lucky to get two runs in a game with this new ball.” National League president Ford Frick immediately replaced the balata ball with balls left over from the previous season and greater run production followed. The junior circuit stayed with The War Years  

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the dead ball longer and the results were telling and disturbing—American League batters hit only 9 home runs in the first 72 games of the 1943 season. A new ball was introduced early in the campaign, first in the National League and then on May 9 by the American League, and normalcy returned.

Baseball! What’s That? The Detroit Free Press scribe James S. Pooler wrote this story in conjunction with opening day and a game played on April 29, 1943.

Hot Dog Season Gets Off to Fast Start at Briggs Stadium, and Fears Arise Pace May Be Too Much of ’43 Supply Somewhere the crowd was shouting, somewhere the band was playing. But not up next to the hot-dog stands at Brigg’s [sic] Stadium at Wednesday’s opening game. Mouths were too full and [the] only shout was “Pass the mustard!” Out on the diamond old men and boys were keeping baseball alive with a dead ball. Nobody seemed to care what was inside the new ball. The big question was “What’s inside the new hot dog?” Did it have a rubber center, too, and ersatz stuffing? Would it last out the season or fade like a forty-yearold pitcher in August? Down deep under the stadium, Charlie Jacobs’ board of strategy was chewing its fingernails clean up to the elbow. Were they right in pitching the hot dogs at 15 cents this season? Could they get through the season with a 40 percent cut in their menu line-up? There were 17,943 fans in the stands and no sooner did the flag officially hit the top of the pole heralding another baseball season than 17,940 of them had centered their interest on the hot-dog situation. The venders [sic] are older and slower this season and a near scandal broke out in Section 15 when a rookie vender [sic] muffed a dime. One skinny character had his back on the ball game for nine innings, facing the griddle until the last anemic hot dog had vanished and it is rumored that Charlie Jacobs’ scouts are going to have him barred from the park. At last estimate he had eaten Jacobs out of the Fourth of July double-header hot-dog ration. The opening-day crowd wasn’t the loudest one in Detroit’s history and the best cheer came when a hot-dog vendor broke away from six big appetites and fought his way into Section 26. The cheer came from Section 26 and the only thing that came near topping it in interest was when Rudy York laid a sizzling foul down the first-base line and everybody arose

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in horror. For a moment it looked like a vendor, slow afoot in the right-field section, might be conked. He made it with a last-minute slide and everybody settled down and went back to eating hot dogs when they could get them. Vendors are going to be harder to get this season than nine-inning pitchers. In the concession general offices it was admitted that they don’t know whether the hot dog will last out the season and for more than one reason they don’t want to see a lovely tradition die out. You can no more teach a small boy

Detroit manager Mickey Cochrane and his nine-year-old son, Gordon Cochrane Jr., December, 7, 1934. While a student at Iowa State College, son Gordon entered military service and in March 1945 he was killed in action in Holland. (Detroit News Archives)

the art of baseball without a constant supply of hot dogs than you can bean an umpire without a pop bottle. The board of strategy, torn between upping the price of dogs to 15 cents or dubbing in egg-salad sandwiches this season, decided there was only so much a baseball fan will stand. They dropped egg salad sandwiches like a sizzling line drive. From the evidence of the opening (Continued on p. 375)

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By standing next to a chair Schoolboy Rowe looked even taller than his 6’4½” height, June 9, 1944. “I’m sure I am going to like this Navy life,” said Rowe early in his military service. “At least I like what I have seen of it, but this boot training— that’s worse than spring training. It will soon be over, however, and I will then be a full-fledged sailor man.” (Detroit News Archives)

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Paul Richards demonstrates the peculiar stance he assumes behind the plate, which he adopted due to an injury and stiffness when he joined the Tigers in spring training to begin the 1942 season. “I was surprised to find that some of the pitchers liked this odd stance,” claimed Richards. “Tommy Bridges for one, told me it gave him a better target [than] he had ever had before, especially for a curve ball to a righthanded hitter.” (Detroit News Archives)

Detroit needed another catcher, and it took some coaxing and a bonus to lure this manager-catcher away from the Atlanta Crackers in the Southern Association. Route 2 Waxahachie, Texas Sept. 13, 1942 Mr. Jack Zeller Detroit B. B. Club Detroit, Mich. Dear Jack: I have decided to accept your offer. Please send the contract and I will sign. Of course I don’t expect you to send the advance of $1000 until you receive the signed contract by return mail. I shall write Earl Mann [owner of the Atlanta Crackers] and make the necessary arrangements which I am sure will be arranged without trouble. Thanking you very much and assuring you that I shall be in the very best condition that farm life which includes milking four cows a day and a 6 A.M. to 9 P.M. day can get anybody ready for next spring I remain, Sincerely yours, Paul Richards (Author’s collection)

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The scoreboard at Briggs Stadium posted a billboard promoting the sale of war bonds sponsored by a local bank, May 1, 1943. There are a number of sailors scattered throughout the bleachers. (Detroit News Archives)

This usher is depositing a ball hit out of play into a container for shipment to armed services athletic programs, May 13, 1943. Looking at the condition of the ball it seems amazing that it was still in play moments earlier. (Detroit News Archives).

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It appears as though nearly every seat is taken for this Army-Navy relief game played on August 23, 1942, at Briggs Stadium. (Detroit News Archives)

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Above: Everyone is standing for the raising of the colors at Briggs Stadium for the Army-Navy relief game, August 23, 1942. The billboard above the upper deck conveys the message that the U.S. military is “AT BAT FOR YOU.” Opposite page: Sergeant Hank Greenberg is seen here riding in an Armistice Parade in 1941. (Detroit News Archives)

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In 1941 Fort Custer near Battle Creek, Michigan, was Hank Greenberg’s first duty station, May 8, 1941. Just two days before, Greenberg had played his last game of the season. Private Greenberg in the middle is surrounded by his admiring comrades. (Detroit News Archives)

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With duffle bag over his shoulder, Private Hank Greenberg has probably just been issued gear and is heading for his barracks at Fort Custer, May 1941. After a few months Greenberg agreed to play for the base team that was traveling to Jackson to take on the prison inmates. The prison inmates, however, insisted he play for their team. Greenberg consented and carried the offense, hitting a home run, two doubles, and a single while wearing the baseball uniform of the Jackson prison. (Detroit News Archives)

An army corporal is fingerprinting Hank Greenberg at the induction center in Detroit, May 7, 1941. (Detroit News Archives)

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Even star players want autographs. Hank Greenberg (left) has just signed a ball for Schoolboy Rowe prior to the team taking the field for Greenberg’s last game before entering the military, May 6, 1941. (Detroit News Archives)

Hank Greenberg in a symbolic gesture turns in his uniform to manager Del Baker, May 6, 1941. Baker had repeatedly told the press that no one could take Greenberg’s place when he was away serving in the army. (Detroit News Archives)

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game this is going to be an eating season and, unless they put the fans on a dole, they’ll run out of dogs before the western clubs make their second trip in. Even 15 cents and some suspicion over what the dog is stuffed with this season didn’t slow down Wednesday’s eaters. It looks like you might have to carry your lunch to the late season double-headers. Before the seventh inning stretch, the vendors had vanished from the aisles—no doubt for replenishments, first-aid and to get their pitching arms rubbed down. Even the peanut vendors had stopped throwing curves before the fourth inning and just stuck to trying to ease them up to the fan. It was a good eating crowd at the opening game and if the cheers weren’t up to par you have to excuse a fan whose mouth is full as he tries to catch up on his eating. Significantly, the only sections not full Wednesday were out in left field—remote from a hot-dog stand. (Permission granted by the Detroit Free Press.)

Conservation became a watchword for the nation during this global crisis. Spectators were expected to throw back the baseballs that went into the stands so they could be recycled, most of which were sent to the armed service for use by the troops. Signing team baseballs had been a long tradition in baseball but this routine changed, too. “No autographing balls this year, boys; you can’t get them and you can’t buy ’em,” announced O’Neil as spring training camp opened in 1945. A dozen balls cost $18 at the time. Passenger trains became very crowded during the war, affecting everyone, even baseball teams. On one occasion when Detroit was on a road trip between two major league cities, pitchers Hal Newhouser and Hal White could not secure a seat and had to stand during the whole trip. In 1942 Private Birdie Tebbetts, later Captain Tebbetts, traveled from Waco, Texas, where his air base was located, to Detroit on recruiting duty. “For the first time in my life I had to ride in the upper berth,” Tebbetts said. “Uncle Sam doesn’t even consider me a regular.” Private Hank Greenberg’s first duty station was Fort Custer near Battle Creek, Michigan, and being the good soldier he had promised to be, he progressed rapidly through the enlisted ranks until he became a sergeant before year-end. He was discharged on December 1, 1941, but then on his thirty-first birthday, January 1, 1943, Greenberg announced that he had reenlisted. When he reentered military service he enrolled in Officer Candidate School and was commissioned a second lieutenant and assigned to a B-29 superfortress base in China. Before the war terminated, Greenberg earned promotion

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to captain. The Tigers and fans back home were able to keep up with this popular and missed player through various reports that appeared in Detroit newspapers via shared letters he wrote to friends. They also kept up with Greenberg’s military experience when his occasional leave or assignments brought him back to Michigan. Since many of the Tigers in military played baseball on service teams, people wanted to know if that was also Hank’s main activity. “I haven’t played much baseball since I’ve been in the Army,” said Greenberg. “The game has an important place in the service, of course, but I just haven’t had time for it. I guess I’ve folded up for the duration.” One duty assignment included visiting and assessing the physical education programs at state colleges. He included a short visit to Briggs Stadium where he donned a Tiger uniform and worked out with the team. “We just didn’t have the room for baseball diamonds in China and the best we could do was softball—and very little of that,” reported Greenberg. Clearly this former star was taking his military duties seriously and his natural leadership skills were evident. That commitment came through loudly in a letter to a friend that was shared with the press. After relating that he was stationed somewhere in India, Greenberg wrote: “But this assignment is of my own choosing and I’m happy in the thought that I’m doing my utmost to help bring this war to a successful and speedy conclusion. Everything over here points to action in the very near future. Our outfit is red hot and so it is both thrilling and interesting to be with an organization that is going places.” As American participation in the war deepened and endured, many began to wonder if Greenberg expected to return to the game. By 1944 he stated with assurance: “You bet I’ll be back. And I’ll be just as interested in the experience as I hope the fans will be. I am a bit flabby around the middle but constant daily exercise will take care of that.” As illustrated by examples of letters written during the war to the ball club and reproduced in this history, Tiger soldiers and sailors kept up a correspondence that gives us a glimpse of their attitudes toward military service in lieu of continuing their baseball careers. Young shortstop Johnny Lipon was actually enthusiastic: “Boy, I like the Navy fine. I like the food, the fellows—everything. It is a great branch of the service.” Mickey Cochrane managed the Great Lakes Naval Station team based near Chicago and it was easily the elite service ball club. Several Tigers played for Cochrane, and Virgil Trucks was virtually unstoppable during his navy career. In 1943 Trucks received a ten-day furlough, and when asked how it felt he said: “Just like getting out of jail.” It’s unknown whether this hard-throwing right-hander ever was incarcerated, but his figure of speech communicated that he found   c h a p t e r f i v e

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the navy a demanding experience when he wasn’t pitching. “Boy, that is rough—just looking at sailors wearing boots,” observed Trucks. “But this navy’s okay. It’s tough—but boy, I am proud I am in it. Sure, the war mixed up my baseball career in the big leagues, but h——, it mixed up that of a lot of fellows, too.” A very active network operated efficiently throughout the military, channeling professional ballplayers to bases with baseball teams. Likewise many ballplayers represented themselves in promoting the same goal. “I applied for a place on the team but in the Navy you never know in advance what is going to happen,” wrote Lipon. “They tell you what they want you to do [and] when they want you to do it. If they want me to play ball they’ll tell me in due time and if they don’t well, I have applied for a job as an aviation machinist’s mate or one in aviation ordinance. They give a fellow three choices and those were my three.” In a navy World Series, Schoolboy Rowe managed the American League team and Tigers Ned Harris, Fred Hutchinson, and Dick Wakefield were on his squad. Rowe’s first impression of the navy was positive, but he also recognized that the initial training was rigorous. “I’m sure I am going to like this Navy life,” reported the Schoolboy. “At least I like what I have seen of it, but this boot training—that’s worse than spring training. It will soon be over, however, and I will then be a full-fledged sailor man.” Just like earlier when others hung the moniker “Schoolboy” on him, his fellow blue jackets started calling him “Sailor Boy.” Birdie Tebbetts became the manager of the baseball team at Waco, Texas, and he recruited several major leaguers— Hoot Evers, Sid Hudson, Bruce Campbell, and others. He let the Tigers know that they had a great young prospect in Evers. “The war will retard his development some because he can not play often now as he would if he were playing big-league ball,” said Tebbetts. “But he has everything that is needed to become a great big-league ball player, and not the least of his assets is a willingness to work hard. Detroit will be talking about that boy a year or two later after the war ends.” Even the owner’s son, Walter “Spike” Briggs Jr., had entered the service, receiving a captain’s commission. He was stationed in Dayton, Ohio, at a division of the Air Service Command. He related his experience of having recently returned from a mission to England in 1943: “My mission took me to an air base a good distance from London, and I stumbled into a ball game the first day I got there. The boys had laid out this makeshift diamond in a cow pasture. The pitching rubber was a piece of a board. So was home plate. The fellows had bats and balls but no spikes on their shoes. But they went all out and I saw a kid make a catch in center field that made me forget for The War Years  

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Three of Hank Greenberg’s teammates gather around to watch him open a going-away gift, May 6, 1941. Left to right: Archie McKain, Greenberg, Birdie Tebbetts, and Boyd Perry. (Detroit News Archives).

It’s all over for the Tigers’ slugging outfielder, May 6, 1941. Hank Greenberg heads for the clubhouse following his final game before being inducted into military service the next day. (Detroit News Archives)

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a moment that I was in the Army. My first inclination was to run on the field and say, ‘Here, kid, sign this; we can use you.’ First thing I did when I got back here was to send that outfit some spikes.” As the conflict wore on the Selective Service system reached deeper into the manpower barrel and drafted older men. Though thirty-seven in 1943, Tommy Bridges had his draft number called and he reported to Fort Sheridan, Illinois, to begin his tour in the army. At the time he anticipated another year or so of effective pitching, but this life change threatened his future as a ballplayer. Facing that hard reality, he said: “I guess this finishes me as a big-league baseball pitcher.” By 1944 Detroit was hard-up for quality talent and resorted to elevating several players who would never have made it to the big club except for

Hank Greenberg is congratulated after hitting a home run in his last game before joining Uncle Sam’s team, May 6, 1941. Waiting to greet Hank are (left to right): Schoolboy Rowe, Hal Newhouser, Al Benton, Bing Miller, and Dick Bartell. (Detroit News Archives)

The War Years  

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The welcoming party of Rudy York (#4) and Bruce Campbell wait while Hank Greenberg crosses home plate after hitting his second home run of the game, putting a grand signature on his departure for the military, May 6, 1941. (Detroit News Archives)

a severe shortage of manpower. Although these players didn’t stick long, Detroit’s big league roster included seventeen-year-old high school student Emery Hresko, Edward “Red” Borom, whose professional experience had been restricted to Class C minor leagues, and catcher James “Hack” Miller, a thirty-three-year-old rookie who most recently had played in a Texas industrial league. Detroit played its home opener with St. Louis on April 18 and began the season with a four-game losing streak. The game attracted only 28,000 paying customers, a small showing considerably below the norm. “They did not come to see a great team in action since they knew beforehand that Detroit was anything but a great team,” wrote the Detroit News baseball reporter H. G. Salsinger. “For that matter, they also knew that St. Louis was anything but a great team, but the public today no longer   c h a p t e r f i v e

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expects or demands class, knowing that the draft has eliminated class from baseball.” But Detroit was fortunate in being able to retain their pitching tandem of Newhouser and Trout. The other key contributor for parts of the war years was outfielder Dick Wakefield. Given his youth and unmarried status, many expected him to be an early inductee. But he stayed with the team and played in 155 games during the 1943 season, batting .316, second best in the league, and led the circuit in hits and doubles. He joined the navy after the season and entered a naval aviation program in Iowa from which he graduated. Discharged ten months later, he wrote to general manager Jack Zeller, requesting to be reinstated as a Tiger player. Zeller was attending the All-Star game in Pittsburgh on July 11, 1944, but his affirmative response came immediately and Wakefield went two for four in his first game back

Hank Greenberg delivers Detroit’s lineup card to the chief umpire before his final game for a long time, May 6, 1941. Yankee manager Joe McCarthy looks on. (Detroit News Archives)

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Hank Greenberg’s departure and induction represented a major news story, as he was the first star player to enter military service. Number 31 is New York manager Joe McCarthy, and Hank represents Detroit manager Del Baker in delivering his team’s lineup card. (Detroit News Archives)

on July 13. Newhouser and Trout carried the pitching load in record-setting form and Wakefield was equally critical in fueling the offense. In the 78 games remaining in the season, he batted .355 while hitting 12 home runs, driving in 53 runs, and scoring 53 times as Detroit raced toward a pennant that escaped on the last day of the season. Throughout the war there were constant reminders at Briggs Stadium about what was occurring in Europe and the Pacific. Military personnel in uniform were always present and perhaps seated next to a civilian, neither of whom knew the other. All major league teams participated in special games to raise money for war relief and the ball and bat fund that provided equipment for service teams. Detroit played an Army-Navy Relief game on August 23, 1942. They played a twilight benefit game on June 30, 1943, with   c h a p t e r f i v e

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the Boston Red Sox at Briggs Stadium with proceeds going to the National War Fund. Every participant, including the players, had to have a ticket in an all-out effort to generate revenue. Game time was set for 6:00 p.m. but field events were scheduled to commence an hour earlier and were intended to increase attendance. Speed, arm strength, and throwing accuracy were premium skills in the competition. Each team selected three players to run in a sixty-yard dash—Detroit was represented by Dick Wakefield, Charley Metro, and Ned Harris. The same threesome competed in a race around the bases. The competition showcasing a player’s accuracy throwing to second base was limited to catchers with Paul Richards, Dixie Parsons, and Al Unser throwing for Detroit. Doc Cramer, Joe Wood, and Dick Wakefield heaved the ball for the Tigers in the long-distance throwing contest. In the fungo-hitting contest, Virgil Trucks, Dizzy Trout, and Pinky Higgins

Hank Greenberg is ready to enter the Army Induction Center at 1040 West Fort Street in Detroit, May 7, 1941. He was told to report at 6:30 a.m., and he was there at the appointed hour. Joe Roggins, on Greenberg’s left, was the Tigers’ batboy in 1935, and he surprised Greenberg by getting to the center in time to greet Hank when he arrived. (Detroit News Archives)

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It was big news when Hank Greenberg left the team in 1941, and it was equally big news when he returned forty-four months later, June 21, 1945. Hank pauses for a photo shoot before coming out of the players’ tunnel to begin his preparation to be a ballplayer again. (Detroit News Archives)

There was joy in the Motor City— Big Hank had returned, June 21, 1945. Teammates (left to right) Rudy York, Hal Newhouser, and Al Benton and manager Steve O’Neil welcome back Hank Greenberg. (Detroit News Archives)

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Although Hank Greenberg had a “real” job in the military and played very little baseball, he rejoined the team in solid physical condition. Detroit was in the midst of a genuine pennant race, and when Greenberg got back into the lineup on July 1 his presence became an important factor in this championship season. (Detroit News Archives)

Roger Cramer (left) and Rudy York (right) watch Hank Greenberg take his cuts in batting practice on his first day back after being discharged from the army, June 21, 1945. (Detroit News Archives)

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Ten players with Michigan roots gather with manager Steve O’Neil (center of front row) during the first spring training following World War II, March 3, 1946. Back row, left to right: Johnny Lipon, Art Houtteman, Neil Berry, Gerald Burke, next two unknown; front row, left to right: Ed Meirkowicz, Hal Newhouser, O’Neil, Stubby Overmire, Roy Cullenbine, Barney McCosky. (Detroit News Archives)

The catching candidates for the 1946 team are assembled. Back row, left to right: unknown, Joe Erautt, Russ Kerns, Harv Riebe, Mickey Welch; front row, left to right: Bob Swift, Birdie Tebbetts, Paul Richards, unknown, February 23, 1946. (Detroit News Archives)

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These eight players are all aspiring outfielders vying for a spot on the roster but, more important, to be a regular. Back row, left to right: Hoot Evers, Pat Mullin, Barney McCosky, Dick Wakefield; front row, left to right: Anse Moore, Roger Cramer, Jimmy Outlaw, Roy Cullenbine, March 2, 1946. Hank Greenberg is missing from this grouping because Tiger management had decided he would return to his former first base position. It seems strange that a big league club would issue ball caps to Cramer and Outlaw without the team insignia on the front. (Detroit News Archives)

This is one of the novelty shots that baseball photographers of the era enjoyed creating—the tallest players in spring training camp. Left to right: Hank Greenberg (6’3½), Al Benton (6’5½”; he must be standing in a hole), Les Mueller (6’3”), Dick Wakefield (6’4”), unknown, 1946. (Detroit News Archives)

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Four Detroit Tiger players, all World War II veterans, gather along with a soldier friend at spring training in Lakeland, Florida, February 23, 1946. Left to right: Hank Greenberg, Birdie Tebbetts, Pat Mullen, J. Janiszlewski, Billy Hitchcock. (Detroit News Archives)

The opposing teams, the Tigers on the left and the Indians on the right, have just been introduced and have put their caps back on following the playing of the National Anthem on opening day in Detroit, April 20, 1945. As the center-field clock shows, the game was scheduled to start at 3:00 p.m. and a small crowd has assembled. The traditional floral wreath presented by the Detroit Firemen’s Association is behind home plate. Number 9 for the Tigers is catcher Paul Richards. Hamtramck native Steve Gromek started for Cleveland and handcuffed the Tigers, giving up just six hits and one run as the Tribe won easily 4–1. Frank “Stubby” Overmire, a Grand Rapids favorite son, started for Detroit but was chased in the third inning after giving up all four Cleveland runs. (Detroit News Archives)

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Manager Del Baker seizes a moment before a game to confer with general manager Jack Zeller, August 15, 1939, at Briggs Stadium. Zeller hailed from Fort Worth, Texas. He had been Detroit’s farm director and was credited with the many future stars that were groomed at Beaumont in the Texas League. Baker, a former catcher, had played for the Tigers in 1914 through 1916 before becoming the full-time manager of the team in 1939. (Detroit News Archives)

represented the Bengals. The top event involved the two managers, Steve O’Neil and Boston’s Joe Cronin, and two coaches, Al Vincent for Detroit and Frank Shellenback for Boston. Each manager had to push a wheelbarrow while blindfolded from second to home as fast as possible. Wakefield became the big star, winning the dash race and the fungo hitting and tying in the run around the bases competition. Utility infielder Wood triumphed in the distance throw, Richards and Unser tied for most accurate throwing to second, and Red Sox coach Shellenback brought the wheelbarrow home the fastest. “The crowd of 13,789 was the largest to ever see a track meet here,” reported the Detroit Times writer Edgar Hayes. On off days during the season, Detroit booked games with service teams. These games provided a lift for servicemen, both those who had the privilege of playing against a major league club and those who were spectators. The effort also represented a sacrifice for the players because they forfeited a much-needed day off in a grueling schedule. In 1943 the Tigers played games at Jefferson Barracks at St. Louis, Camp Grant at Rockford, Illinois, the Great Lakes Training Station, and Curtis Bay, Maryland, against a Coast Guard team. Additional games were scheduled later in the summer. Wakefield’s big gun went back into the war in 1945, but some other important troops returned that season to Briggs Stadium—Al Benton, Tommy Bridges, Virgil Trucks, and Hank Greenberg. Benton joined the starting The War Years  

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rotation and contributed 13 victories. Bridges gave the team a spiritual lift though his career was nearly over. “I don’t know which has slipped most—me or the league,” he said. He got his first starting assignment on September 3 and logged his only win of the home-front campaign, besting the White Sox 6–5. Trucks arrived even later and pitched well in one game. He contributed significantly in the postseason, delivering a complete game victory in game 2 of the World Series while allowing the Cubs to score just one run. What everyone in Detroit had been waiting for occurred in June: Hank Greenberg had been discharged after forty-four months of service and would soon be reporting to the Tigers. “We’re a cinch for that pennant now,” stated Dizzy Trout. “It won’t take Hank long to get back in shape once he hits town.” Knowing his longstanding record for hard work, Trout continued: “That guy will be out here at the park every morning before sunup.” Catcher Paul Richards joined in with the same level of confidence. “It might take him a couple of weeks to sharpen up his batting eye again, but Hank always kept in good shape,” assured Richards. “It won’t be too hard for him to start smacking that baseball.” As Greenberg had reported, he had not been playing baseball for a long stretch and needed to demonstrate that he could still play at a high level. “I just want to find out if I still can hit that ball,” Greenberg insisted. “Where I play doesn’t make a bit of difference. If I hit, I imagine I’ll get in there someplace.” While the team was on the road, Greenberg went to work. Detroit hired an amateur pitcher to throw batting practice for their big slugger, day after day. The optimism of Trout and Richards and many others was not displaced. Greenberg played in his first game since May 7, 1941, and on July 1, 1945, powered a home run in the eighth inning to signal that Hammerin’ Hank was back.

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The Old Ballpark Where Legends and Memories Were Made

six

Are there entertainment venues more cherished than major league baseball stadiums? People flock to concerts primarily because of the performers. For rock music enthusiasts, outdoor venues are often more appealing than a great concert hall. Because athletic events are the most popular entertainment attractions, more people attend them on an annual basis than any other segment of this form of enjoyment. In professional football, basketball, hockey, soccer, tennis, and boxing, the competition areas are standardized and they all look similar. Baseball stadiums, however, have a deep tradition of uniqueness; each ballpark has features that give character and personality to the place. Over time these distinctive features become legendary and an allure all their own. It is safe to assume that in the early years many of these unique characteristics were caused by the size of the footprint, the restrictions of location, and that when modifications of the structure occurred, the style of the new structure looked something akin to an addition to a house. In more contemporary times, unique features are part of the design process. Baseball owners and managers can design the dimensions of the field, its playing surface, the height of fences, and many other peculiarities for the advantage of the home team and its intended

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style of play. To even imagine that possibility in other professional sports is pure comedy. Baseball fields are somewhat akin to golf courses where being green is a premium; there is a deliberate attempt to create an environment that is park-like. Thus throughout much of baseball’s history, these venues were referred to as ball “parks.” When I interviewed Tiger players and personnel in September of the final season at Tiger Stadium about their first impressions of this ballpark, the universal top-of-mind response was: “It was so beautifully green.” Baseball stadiums have had an evolutionary heritage like most original downtown buildings; they were initially built as wood-frame structures. The increasing congregation of people and businesses made these facilities susceptible to fires, and these buildings began to be replaced by structures with more permanent and fire-resistant materials—brick, steel, and concrete. Modes of transportation, most especially the automobile, caused transformational changes in terms of where people lived, worked, and parked. These forces and others greatly increased the appeal of baseball in Detroit, and Frank Navin and Walter O. Briggs continued to enlarge the seating capacity and enhance the entertainment venue. For those who love the game, the ballpark is a magical place. It is a time capsule of personal memories great and small. It is hallowed ground like the Gettysburg battlefield, Independence Hall in Philadelphia, or Arlington Cemetery. The literature of baseball is replete with books about ballparks; more are published every year because there is an insatiable appetite for them. Books like Lawrence Ritter’s Lost Ballparks and Phillip Lowry’s Green Cathedrals have become classics and are cherished. For Tiger fans and baseball stadium enthusiasts, Richard Bak’s A Place for Summer and Michael Betzold and Ethan Casey’s book Queen of Diamonds share memories and a history that is beloved. When old stadiums are replaced by new venues, no piece of the past is more sought after in the auctions that follow than stadium seats. The people who buy them become custodians of a lost ballpark and there are personal shrines in homes all over the country. Presumably many of these preservationists find themselves thinking about those who sat in their stadium seats and what they must have witnessed. The most exciting game that Tiger fans observed while occupying these cherished seats occurred every year at the corner of Michigan and Trumbull, opening day for ninety-nine years. Is there a greater souvenir or physical take-away than an official major league ball snared at a game? After the competition to retrieve the ball ends, there is a spontaneous exchange of high-fives among those seated near the one who finally secured the ball. One can bet that the (Continued on p. 411)

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Particularly after the Tigers won back-to-back pennants and its first world championship in 1935, Detroit became a great baseball city and the team set attendance records on top of records. As this photograph captures, the Tigers have just returned during the morning of July 16, 1938, from an eastern road trip in which they won only 3 of 11 games, including a 7-game losing streak, but the team must have been amazed to find this big gathering of loyal fans waiting to welcome them home at Union Station. Team loyalty had long been a recognized hallmark of Detroit Tigers fans. A fan on the left holds a large sign that reads: “Welcome! Detroit Leads League! (In fans loyalty).” The taxis are waiting to transport the players and fans have taped signs reading “Welcome Home Tigers” on the windshields. And the big banner in the back states: “ ‘ Old Timers’  Welcome Mickey [Cochrane] and the Detroit Tigers.” (Detroit News Archives)

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This view of the right-field corner of Navin Field taken in 1922 shows a grandstand called a pavilion by the media and team officials, as well as the small amount of bleacher seating in center field. (Detroit News Archives)

An empty stadium probably suggests that the Tigers were out of town in this 1930 view of Navin Field. Cherry Street, running parallel along the left-center field wall, is still open for through traffic at this time. (Detroit News Archives)

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Although this photograph is undated, it is an opening day image of Navin Field before the left-field bleachers were constructed during the 1935 season. The crowd is still arriving, the flag ceremony participants are assembling in front of the visitors’ dugout, and the flagpole in center field is empty. (Detroit News Archives)

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This appears to be a photograph of the same opening day ceremony as presented earlier as the opposing teams are positioned on opposite sides of the raised flag and the band is nearby. (Detroit News Archives)

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Construction of temporary left-field bleachers, which will close off a portion of Cherry Street, is the distinguishing feature of this photograph of Navin Field, September 22, 1935. Frank Navin was preparing for the ticket demand created by an anticipated World Series. St. Louis edged the Tigers 1–0 on this date as Earl Caldwell threw a three-hitter while Schoolboy Rowe lost a heartbreaker, giving up just four hits and striking out ten Browns hitters. Former Tiger third baseman and manager George Moriarty umpired behind the plate and for some unknown reason Tiger pitcher Fripo Marberry served as third base umpire. A big crowd of 34,000 attended the game on a Sunday afternoon. (Detroit News Archives)

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Above: This undated panoramic photo was likely taken in the late 1930s. The employee-player parking lot was built behind the wall in the center of the image and was contiguous to the team’s office and ticket structure. (Detroit News Archives) Opposite page: This aerial view shows the location of Briggs Stadium within its city context with Michigan Avenue stretching out toward downtown and the Detroit River. Major landmarks can be seen on the skyline in downtown Detroit. Beginning on the left, the large structure with a radio antenna extending from its tower is the famed Hudson’s department store; farther to the right yet located on the left-hand side of Michigan Avenue is the Book Cadillac Hotel where visiting American League teams stayed; across Michigan Avenue and nearer the river is the Penobscot Building, the tallest skyscraper on the horizon; and next to it stands the Guardian Building very near the Detroit River. Look out into the river; one can see a portion of Belle Isle on the upper left. The street that runs east and west behind the right-field stands and the right-center field bleachers is Trumbull Avenue. This photograph illustrates the major changes that Walter Briggs made for the 1938 season in double-decking the stadium all the way around and increasing its seating capacity to 56,000. (Detroit News Archives)

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Owner Walter Briggs continued to expand the seating capacity of Briggs Stadium along with other improvements. This photograph shows the recently erected doubledeck stands in left and center fields completing the circular bowl and giving the stadium a seating capacity of 56,000. April 23, 1938. (Detroit News Archives)

This photograph shows one of the spectator ramps off the upper deck corridor from which a person located his or her seat. Arriving at the top of the ramp and seeing the green expanse is an awe-inspiring memory held by many Tiger fans. Briggs Stadium, July 4, 1938. A distinctively adorned vendor is walking by the opening of the ramp in this view of the stadium. (Detroit News Archives)

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The structure housing the Tigers’ administrative and ticket offices was the most architecturally impressive feature of the old ballpark. This building is all bedecked with bunting for the All-Star game played at Briggs Stadium, one of the most memorable games in baseball history. The photo was taken the day before the game, July 7, 1941. (Detroit News Archives)

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The crowd is gathering for a 1945 World Series game at Briggs Stadium along Trumbull Avenue. (Detroit News Archives)

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The light towers and fixtures are in place by opening day, verifying that night games will be played that season. April 23, 1948. (Detroit News Archives)

This view of Briggs Stadium shows the new broadcasting booth and the photographers’ booth farther down by the auxiliary scoreboard. April 4, 1941. (Detroit News Archives)

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Steeped in tradition, the ownership of the Detroit Tigers had remained adamantly opposed to night baseball. Larry MacPhail, general manager of the Cincinnati Reds, introduced night baseball to the major leagues in 1935 and other teams struggling to attract attendance followed suit—but not Frank Navin and Walter O. Briggs. On June 27, 1939, Detroit was Cleveland’s opponent when the Indians played their first night game. Walter Briggs was in attendance but he wasn’t impressed. “When I played ball I played in the sunshine and I can’t reconcile that moon up there with a game of baseball,” he stated. “Night ball to me seems like another game and—well, I’m a baseball fan.” This innovation certainly aimed at attracting the working class was finally adopted in Detroit when the Tigers staged their first night game on June 15, 1948. Detroit took the lead in the third inning, 2–1, and the game settled into a pitchers’ duel between Hal Newhouser and Joe Coleman until Dick Wakefield and Pat Mullin secured the final margin of victory, 4–1, with eighth-inning homers. H. G. Salsinger, the sports editor of the Detroit News, began his column in the following day’s issue stating: “Night baseball, 13 years old in the major leagues, is one day old in Detroit. The last city in the American League to capitulate, Detroit went every other city several thousand watts better.” (Detroit News Archives)

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The requests for tickets are pouring in, and given the date of this photograph—September 24, 1940— the anticipation of a potential World Series may be driving the demand. What man wouldn’t want to supervise this ticket office staff? (Detroit News Archives)

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Although the lines are dominated by male customers, there are some women buying tickets. And by today’s standards, the prices seem like a terrific bargain. September 20, 1944. (Detroit News Archives)

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Eager Detroit Tigers fans are lined up waiting to gain entrance to the ballpark on opening day, April 16, 1946. (Detroit News Archives)

Spectators pass through the turnstiles and hand their ticket to a stadium employee in order to be admitted to Briggs Stadium. There were no bar code readers at that time; the ticket taker tore a portion off from the bottom. (Detroit News Archives)

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Above: Many fans love to keep score, and this vendor may be encouraging a sale by shouting out, “You can’t know the players without a scorecard.” The photograph was taken on May 9, 1949, when Detroit whipped New York 4–1 and left hander Ted Gray bested Yankee starter Vic Raschi with a five-hitter. (Detroit News Archives) Opposite page: The 1949 Detroit Tigers score book. (Author’s collection)

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Briggs Stadium ushers line up for a photograph. (Detroit News Archives)

The visiting team is taking batting practice, and Detroit catcher Bob Swift is doing a little scouting behind the batting cage. (Detroit News Archives)

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ball is taken home and either given an honored place of display or put away for safekeeping. These treasures often become family heirlooms that are handed down to the next generation and, if asked, the original owner can readily recall the particulars—the date of the game, the Tigers’ opponent, and who hit the ball, for the details are embedded in memory.

On April 18, 1941, Bob Murphy, the Detroit Times sports writer, was in a nostalgic mood as he wrote his column and reflected on this opening day and the fact that only Hank Greenberg, Charlie Gehringer, and Tommy Bridges were there to represent those great teams that had won back-to-back pennants in 1934 and 1935. Bridges started for Detroit and hurled the first eight innings, allowing just six hits in a 4–2 victory over Cleveland with Gehringer and Birdie Tebbetts hitting home runs to account for all but one of the team’s runs. Murphy wrote about those from that storied past who were present both on the field and in the stands and recalled memories they surely were thinking about during this game. he’s the same, game, little guy

Although it seems like only yesterday to those who love to bask in fond and thrilling memories, it has been over five years since Tommy Bridges, the game rooster from Tennessee, chopped down the big guns of the Chicago Cubs’ batting attack to give Detroit its first world’s championship. But there he will be again . . . out there with as much courage and heart as ever. Perhaps the years have taken some of the zip and strength from the lean whipcord that is his right arm . . . he is starting to gray around the edges, and the lines of his face are a little more noticeable. But the years have not dampened his valor. This you will see today—win, lose, or draw—as he goes against the Injuns. Sitting somewhere in the stands will be ruddy-faced Mike Cochrane, whose admiration for Bridges has never died. And somewhere in the ball park there will be another gentleman who will be watching his first opening game in almost 30 years as a civilian. That man is George Moriarty. George was in that 1935 World Series as an umpire. I might add he was in it right up to his ears. Moriarty never umpired in another World Series after that one, although he had a chance on more than one occasion. It was a rough, tough series where tempers and harsh words cut deep into the pride of the big two-fisted Irishman. Also out there today, in the garb of the enemy, will be another of that clan—Gerald Walker. I say garb of the “enemy.” But that isn’t exactly right. Gee

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Walker is a cinch to get an ovation the first time he comes to the plate, and perhaps every time he comes to the plate all during the day. Detroit fandom still loves the reckless, untamed lad from the Mississippi Delta. And much as he likes to torment the Tigers with his bat these days, Gerald Walker has never found a town that to him carried the same appeal as Detroit. (Permission granted by the Detroit News.)

Most people are reenergized by the arrival of spring, especially in a distinct four-season place. It means a new beginning in so many ways actual and perceived. Spirits are lifted, hope is inspired, and people look forward to being outdoors and enjoying days filled with sunshine. It is a great time in the cycle of nature for plant life and human hearts. Much better than if the groundhog doesn’t see his shadow is the uplifting excitement of opening day for the home team. Regardless of what the experts predict for our team, the emotional stakes are all even. And unless the weather is quite adverse it feels a lot like spring to thousands of enthusiastic people. Rain can pour cold water on these opening day parade-like atmospheres. Veteran groundskeeper Jim Conway recalled how in 1923 the game was played in snow flurries. “One of the Tiger rookies that year was Johnny Kerr,” Conway said. “He was a California boy and had never seen snow before.” Sometimes the opening day game was played in the rain and on rare occasions it was canceled. After winning the pennant in 1934 and 1935, Detroit was favored to win the following year, thus helping increase the build-up for opening day. “No team can be considered a good team until it has won the pennant two years in a row,” said Connie Mack just before the start of the new season. “And if it wins the third flag it belongs to the list of baseball greats.” By 1936 this higher mark of achievement had only occurred three times in the American League and eleven times overall. Members of the press hung around the ballpark after dark so they could report the time when the first fan got in line to wait for the ticket office to open on game day. In 1936 a man parked himself on the sidewalk at 1:45 a.m. to be first in line. And it was not only the fans who were anxious. While the Tigers were preparing to play, a reporter noticed that manager Mickey Cochrane was vigorously chewing his gum. Asked if he was nervous, Cochrane stated: “Can’t help it. This is my thirteenth season and I am just as nervous as I was the first season in the big leagues. It’s always that way just before   c h a p t e r s i x

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the opening game of the season or the opening of a World Series. After the first man is out I am all right again—the old nerves settle down.” Down through the years several opening day rituals had been established. Players from both teams would march out to the center-field flagpole led by a band, after which everyone stood for the playing of the national anthem as the colors were raised. In addition, the Detroit Firemen’s Fund presented the team with a large horseshoe-shaped flora arrangement. Although there is sameness in opening day pregame festivities, there are special attractions and historic events that usher in some of these games. Detroit opened on the road in 1938 at Comiskey Park. Its home opener against the Cleveland Indians occurred on April 22 and a record

The Tigers are taking infield practice with manager Steve O’Neil (#32) hitting the grounders and Paul Richards (#9) catching the throws home, June 3, 1944. Dizzy Trout (#11) is carrying a bat and walking toward first base while Chuck Hostetler (#26) is hitting fungoes to the outfielders in center and left fields. Hal Newhouser (#16) is hitting fly balls to the two right fielders and “Boom Boom” Beck (#23) is catching the return throws. (Detroit News Archives)

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The grounds crew is hard at work smoothing the infield around second base in preparation for the season opener on April 22, 1938. The supervisors (at far right), Jim Conway (left) and Neal Conway, are observing the work. (Detroit News Archives)

crowd of 54,400 attended, undoubtedly wanting to experience the remodeled ballpark now named Briggs Stadium. What they saw must have awed fans who had attended games the previous season. The doubledecked grandstands now reached all around the outfield and foul lines, completely encircling the stadium, making it the second largest ballpark in the country. The previous scoreboard mounted in left field was now situated in center field with smaller boards positioned back of first and third bases. Both bullpens were located behind the center-field fence and connected by phones to each dugout. “Looks a lot different from 26 years ago,” said Indians manager Oscar Vitt. “I played left field for the Tigers when we dedicated Navin Field in 1912.”   c h a p t e r s i x

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Head groundskeeper Neal Conway is personally sprinkling the infield just before the start of a game at Briggs Stadium in April 1942. These are the old days when a person needed to use a finger to create a spray of water from a hose. (Detroit News Archives)

The grounds crew is in final preparation for the start of a game with the Boston Red Sox at Briggs Stadium, June 4, 1944. One of its members is carrying the frame used to mark the batter’s boxes. (Detroit News Archives)

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The batter’s boxes frame has been positioned and a grounds crew member is using a canister to chalk the boundaries of the boxes. (Detroit News Archives)

As was tradition, either the governor or the mayor of Detroit threw out the first pitch. In 1938 Mayor Richard Reading received the honor and he took his responsibility seriously, perhaps because he wanted to look good. He began practicing before the game, including coming to the ballpark for a five minute warm-up on one of those days. Probably because this was scheduled to be the first game ever played in the newly christened Briggs Stadium, sixteen former players were invited to participate in the pregame ceremonies. Reminiscent of old-time opening day parades, the former players rode in vehicles in a mile-long parade from Lafayette Boulevard and Cass Avenue to the stadium. Former Tigers Marty Kavanagh, Wish Egan, Bernie Boland, Clyde Manion, Davey Jones, Bobbie Veach, Frank Fuller,   c h a p t e r s i x

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Eddie Cicotte, Bobby Lowe, Fred Paine, Miles Main, and Nig Clark all rode in the parade and made the march to the flagpole where the colors were raised. In marked contrast with the present, Roxie Lawson, who started for Detroit in Chicago’s opener three days earlier, pitched batting practice on opening day in Detroit. Before the game began at 3:00 p.m. the crowd was asked to stand and observe a short moment of silence in memory of the late Frank Navin. With the war over, Tuesday, April 16, 1946, held special meaning in Detroit for it was opening day and the mood had changed dramatically. All managers hold team meetings from time to time, but the hour-long session that Steve O’Neil convened on Monday to discuss strategy likely had extra

The opposing team must be threatening to score in this 1933 game at Navin Field as manager Bucky Harris has three relievers warming up in the right-field bullpen—Chief Hogsett (#16) and Fripo Marberry (#17) are the pitchers that can be identified. The Tiger first baseman is probably Harry Davis. Fans can be seen watching the game through open windows in the large building beyond the center-field fence. (Detroit News Archives)

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Stubby Overmire is warming up in the bullpen in a game Detroit lost to Boston 5–1 on June 4, 1944. Overmire pitched three innings in relief and allowed one earned run. Other hurlers seated on the bullpen bench are left to right: #16 Hal Newhouser, #15 Joe Gorsica, #23 Boom Boom Beck, and #26 Rufus Gentry. (Detroit News Archives)

significance given the circumstance. The opening day lineup included four recently returned soldiers in outfielders Pat Mullin, Barney McCosky, and Dick Wakefield along with third baseman Pinky Higgins. Eddie Lake, newly acquired shortstop from the Red Sox in exchange for longtime favorite Rudy York, would be at the top of the order. Lake expressed his pleasure with being acquired by the Tigers and getting to play in Detroit. “This is the town I wanted to play in,” assured Lake. “I like the enthusiasm of the fans here. As soon as I can I hope to get a house and move my wife and two daughters to Detroit.”

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Detroit Free Press editorial page, April 16, 1946

As We See It—Hail to the Champs!

“Darn, it is starting to rain.” The grounds crew is dragging the tarpaulin out as the rain is falling while Hal Newhouser completes his warmup pitches, Briggs Stadium, August 4, 1946. (Detroit News Archives)

It comes to opening day once more at Briggs Stadium and a year in which the 101 per cent Tiger fan can give undivided attention to the beloved Bengals. Since 1941 there has been only the last part of the 1945 season when Detroit wasn’t channeling her major energies and devotion to winning the war. Now the lid comes off. Major league baseball once more can choose from the cream of the baseball talent. Longtime favorites are home from the wars. The

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The Tigers and their fans wait out a rain delay, August 4, 1946. Left to right in the dugout: Hal White, Jimmy Outlaw holding a bat, unknown, George Caster with arms folded, Steve O’Neil, Birdie Tebbetts behind the post, Dizzy Trout with foot against post, and Roger Cramer. The skies did clear but Bobby Doerr and the Red Sox rained on the Tigers, posting a 9–4 win though three Detroit errors provided five unearned runs. Doerr had a field day, hitting two home runs, one a grand slam, while driving in seven runs. (Detroit News Archives)

upcoming crop of hopefuls insures spirited competition for every place in the lineup. The experts have put into mothballs their wheezing gags about infirm antiquities barely able to tote a bat or field a high one because of hardening arteries. This is a new season in more ways than by the calendar. Detroit’s regard for her World Champs is implicit in an opening sell-out which will bulge the seams of Briggs Stadium. Given the blessing of the weather man the Tigers today will be on the road to new honors. Let all other matters take a poor second place. It’s “Play Ball!” (Permission granted by the Detroit Free Press.)



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A Fourth of July doubleheader at the ballpark made for a very special holiday; 53,700 gathered at the corner of Michigan and Trumbull on this day in 1938. The Tiger faithful were treated royally as Detroit downed the Cleveland Indians twice, 7–3 and 5–2, behind the strong pitching performances of Elden Auker and Harry Eisenstat. In the first contest Detroit caught “Rapid Robert” Feller on a day when he was especially wild, giving up ten free passes, and Charlie Gehringer cracked a three-run homer in the seventh inning of the nightcap to provide the margin of victory. (Detroit News Archives)

The clubhouse door is securely locked, April 4, 1941. (Detroit News Archives)

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Detroit’s player locker room with fresh cleaned uniforms hanging at the ready, June 13, 1946. Player uniform numbers that are visible include: #10 Tommy Bridges, #11 Dizzy Trout, #16 Hal Newhouser, #2 Roy Cullenbine, #8 Roger Cramer, #35 unknown, #19 Al Benton, #9 Paul Richards, and #30 Frank Shellenback. (Detroit News Archives)

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Tiger outfielder Gee Walker is signing baseballs in the clubhouse; all players were expected to do this. Signed balls were given away and each player received one as a treasured remembrance. May 4, 1937. (Detroit News Archives)

George Rehfuss, custodian of the Tigers’ clubhouse, is shelving boxes of Wheaties—“The Breakfast of Champions,” June 13, 1946. (Detroit News Archives)

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Above: Neal Conway and his nephew Wilfred Conway unpack uniforms and equipment in the clubhouse locker room. (Detroit News Archives) Opposite page: The manager’s office in the Tigers’ clubhouse at this time occupied by #32 Steve O’Neil, June 13, 1946. (Detroit News Archives)

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The home team’s showers in the clubhouse at Briggs Stadium, June 13, 1946. (Detroit News Archives)

Pitcher Virgil Trucks is trying to loosen up sore or stiff muscles in the whirlpool bath under the care of Jack Homel, team trainer, September 3, 1949. (Detroit News Archives)

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The locked door to the umpires’ room with a strict message to visitors to “Keep Out” issued by William Harridge, president of the American League, April 4, 1947. If you attended games at this time, did you ever wonder how plush the umpires’ quarters were? (Detroit News Archives)

Now you know and it serves them right! The interior of the umpires’ room, June 13, 1946. (Detroit News Archives)

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The first aid room at Briggs Stadium, July 11, 1940. Jess Walls is examining a small receptacle. (Detroit News Archives)

The ladies powder room at Briggs Stadium, June 13, 1946. (Detroit News Archives)

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Baseball writers are capturing their stories of this doubleheader from their perch in the press box high above the field at Briggs Stadium, July 19, 1942, with a modest crowd of 15,367 for a Sunday afternoon. Detroit split the doubleheader with the Philadelphia Athletics. (Detroit News Archives)

Several team officials have gathered in the press box lounge for some refreshments and conversation. Left to right: general manager Billy Evans, radio announcers Ty Tyson and Harry Heilmann, and vice president Charlie Gehringer. May 10, 1948. (Detroit News Archives)

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Above: The underground tunnel connecting storage areas within the ballpark, July 7, 1947. (Detroit News Archives) Opposite page: The elevator to the press box was naturally restricted as the large sign announces. This small lift was controlled by an elevator operator. July 12, 1949. (Detroit News Archives)

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With York off to Fenway Park, O’Neil moved Hank Greenberg back to his familiar first base position. With the Tigers as defending world champions, many were thinking about how the team would fare with the big guns back from the war. Bob Murphy, sports editor for the Detroit Times, thought that Greenberg held the key for the Tigers: “Regardless of how you analyze the Tigers for this season, much will depend on the big bat Hank wields at the plate. He was the man, more than any other, who carried this team to the highest pinnacle in baseball. He likely, more than any other, will be the one to keep the Tigers on top, or tumble with them.” For Hal Newhouser this would be a season of validation. Until 1944 he had never had a winning season and only once had compiled a .500 winning percentage. At spring training in 1946, Prince Hal admitted that “this was the year that would tell.” The Detroit Historical Society launched a new Tigers exhibit to coincide with the start of this historic season featuring equipment and trophies of Ty Cobb, Billy Rogell, and Charlie Bennett. Uniforms of Newhouser and Davy Jones were also displayed along with other fascinating memorabilia. The Tiger organization introduced a new cover design for its scorecards, expecting to sell as many as 30,000 on opening day. Operations management was still dealing with food shortages; its concessioners had limited supplies of hot dogs, beer, and Coke. Peanuts, the snack of preference and symbolic of the fans’ culinary experience, were expected to be the big seller at an estimated 20,000 bags. Among the participants in the opening day pregame ceremonies none were more regular than those who provided the music. For the forty-fourth consecutive opening day, the Bill Finzel Band would lead the teams to the flagpole and play the national anthem. And once under way, the game seemed almost scripted. In the fourth inning with the score tied at one, Greenberg drove a ball into the left-field stands to provide the winning run in a 2–1 Detroit victory. Newhouser took care of the rest, pitching a complete game and only allowing only six hits. By 1949 some began to believe that Detroit was building a new contender; most of the old guard position players had departed and a core of promising younger players, all graduates of the farm system, were coming on: Johnny Groth, Vic Wertz, Johnny Lipon, Art Houtteman, and Ted Gray. The team had acquired All-Star third baseman George Kell, who was playing the best baseball of his career since putting on a Detroit uniform. The organization promoted its farm director, Red Rolfe, to field boss, taking over from the deposed Steve O’Neil, who had been deemed too easygoing. So some extra enthusiasm accompanied the rite of spring, and opening day played on April   c h a p t e r s i x

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19 with another large crowd of over 53,000 on hand to bring in the new year. Sometimes fan interest is sparked by the acquisition of new players or the promotion of a hotshot rookie, but Rolfe chuckled in dismay on opening day when told that a radio broadcaster reported that pitchers Stubby Overmire and Lou Kretlow had been traded to Boston for outfielder Sam Mele. “I need another outfielder like I need a hole in the head,” stated Rolfe. “I’ve got five outfielders right now who are good enough to make any club in the majors. And as far as trading two pitchers, that is just ridiculous. I don’t have enough to go around now. Look out there at [coaches] Dick Bartell and Ted Lyons pitching batting practice. Doesn’t that show we need more hurlers?” The not-so-old veteran Harold Newhouser throttled the visiting White Sox on three hits in a 5–1 victory, his fourth straight opening game win. During the off-season with the Tigers needing more punch from the catching position, the organization traded rookie Billy Pierce to Chicago for catcher Aaron Robinson, one of the worst trades in franchise history. Robinson homered on opening day, but this was one of few occasions the Tiger faithful were pleased about the transaction. Among the young fielders none sparkled like Groth, who, beginning his first season as a regular, hit two home runs. This era saw numerous attendance records set and then broken. In 1924 Detroit enjoyed its first million attendance gate with 1,015,136. That record held until 1934 when 1,034,929 came to see Cochrane’s team capture the AL flag. Two years later the Cochrane-led Tigers raised the bar to 1,072,276. In 1940, another championship year, attendance rose to 1,112,693, and following subpar years during World War II, attendance climbed to a new record level of 1,280,341 when Detroit again became champions of the world in 1945. Other than in 1947 when attendance dropped off, the Tigers set new records every season, culminating in an all-time high of 1,821,204 in 1949. During this three-decade period of glory many single-game attendance records were established, some of which still stand: smallest single-game attendance, September 24, 1928—404; largest All-Star game, July 8, 1941—54,674; largest doubleheader, July 20, 1947—58,369; largest single game, September 26, 1948—57,888; largest night game, August 9, 1948—56,586. At least as late as 1935, fans were seated on the outfield grass and a rope was strung to separate them from the playing field. The Tigers’ ballpark stood at the corner of Michigan and Trumbull for ninety-nine years, but it went through numerous changes; the major ones expanded its seating capacity. Through the years it has been named Bennett Park, Navin Field, Briggs Stadium, and finally Tiger Stadium. When Frank The Old Ballpark Where Legends and Memories Were Made  

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Navin became the principal owner and recognized the need to accommodate larger crowds, a new single-decked concrete stadium was built and opened in 1913 with a capacity of 23,000 and given a new name—Navin Field. This involved transformational changes including moving home plate from what became right field to its new location along with a major reorientation of the playing field. Additional capacity was completed in 1923 when the semicircle of the home plate grandstand was double-decked, providing 6,000 extra seats and bringing the total available to 29,000. A new press box was added above the roof during this renovation. In 1925 the first press elevator was installed. When Babe Ruth played, Navin Field had the deepest right-field fence in the league, 372 feet away to the corner from home plate. After the 1932 season, Bucky Harris ordered that a twenty-foot-high screen be erected on top of the left-field fence to knock down the home runs of visiting sluggers. Jimmy Foxx was a primary target, as he had hit nine over the left-field wall in 1931; his homer production shrunk by seven in 1933. When Mickey Cochrane became manager he kept the barrier in place. When the team sold 42,712 tickets for a game with the Yankees in 1924 and seated over 13,000 on the outer fringe of the outfield grass, management knew something had to be done to address the demand. In preparation for the ticket demand of the anticipated 1935 World Series, the club got conditional permission to close a block of Cherry Street that ran behind the left-field wall and began constructing a large section of bleachers stretching from the left-field foul line into center field, 70 rows high and able to accommodate an additional 17,100 spectators. The new bleachers significantly pushed the left-field wall toward home plate; when it was finished the left-field barrier was just 300 feet and 2 inches from home plate. No wonder it came to be called the “shooting gallery” and the Hank Greenbergs of the world must have been licking their chops when they got a look at it. Although Navin contemplated a more permanent solution, he died following the 1935 World Series and the need was addressed by new ownership beginning in 1936. In the first stage, the right-field pavilion and bleachers were reconstructed into a double-deck grandstand, increasing the seating capacity to 36,000. Other alterations continued to be made until by 1938 the bowl had been completed with double-decked grandstand seating circling the ballpark and raising the capacity to 56,000. These physical changes added a player and employee parking lot, new scoreboards, relocated bullpens, and improved clubhouses. Walter O. Briggs invested heavily in making his ballpark one of the finest in baseball. For the 1941 season he installed a superior sprinkling system, wanting to ensure the best drained field and the greenest grass anywhere. (Continued on p. 444)

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This is the place players came to negotiate and sign their contracts— the general manager’s office. Seated at his desk is Billy Evans, May 5, 1948. (Detroit News Archives)

Given the position from which this photograph was taken, we cannot see the owner’s desk, but this is the area where visitors would sit amid beautifully paneled walls. At this time the Detroit Baseball Club was owned by Walter O. Briggs. He has a photograph of the late Kenesaw Mountain Landis, former commissioner of baseball, hanging on the wall to the right. May 19, 1948. (Detroit News Archives)

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Prior to major renovations made in 1941, both teams used the same tunnel for access to their clubhouses and the field. This photograph illustrates the annoyance that this physical arrangement could and did cause. In the fourth inning of a game with the Chicago White Sox on July 2, 1939, Sox third baseman Eric McNair was called out on strikes and he flipped his bat in the air. When he was ejected, manager Jimmy Dykes (#5) and pitcher Ted Lyons rushed in to challenge the decision and their persistence resulted in an early trip to the locker room. The less than generous Tigers are giving Dykes the business as he is forced to walk by his adversaries. Some of the harassment team can be identified: manager Del Baker (far left), coach Bing Miller (third from left), Bobo Newsom (fifth from left), and Birdie Tebbetts (next to last on the dugout steps). Reserved Tommy Bridges (the Tigers’ pitcher in this game) is sitting in the far right corner but is not participating in the salute. (William M. Anderson)

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An Independence Day doubleheader is sure to attract a full house, but when the two opponents are also tied for first place, the interest is sky-high and so it was on July 4, 1940. That day’s crowd of 57,633 surpassed the existing record attendance set on Independence Day the previous year when 56,272 fans were at the ballpark. Because of the crush of eager patrons, seating was sold out by noon and among those who managed to squeeze in were many who agreed to stand throughout both games. They saw exciting baseball as Detroit won the opener 5–3 on Rudy York’s two-run homer but lost a heartbreaker in the second contest 2–1. The Indians scored an unearned run off Hal Newhouser in the fourth frame to take the lead. Newhouser was relieved by Al Benton in the ninth inning when Detroit scored to send the game into extra innings. Benton surrendered the winning run in the eleventh. (Detroit News Archives)

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Bill Finzel’s Band leads the Detroit and Cleveland players to the flagpole for the ceremonial raising of the colors on opening day, April 24, 1929, at Navin Field. A light rain fell throughout the game, making the field soggy and helping produce what the Detroit News baseball writer H. G. Salsinger called a dull game. The Tigers jumped out to a 6–0 lead after three innings but Cleveland rallied to score five runs. Going into the seventh inning Detroit’s lead had been whittled to 7–5. The Indians opened the ninth with an early score and then put runners on second and third with two outs. Joe Swell hit a hard line drive to right-center field, looking to be a sure extra-base hit, but Detroit center fielder Harry Rice made a great diving catch to seal the 7–6 victory. Salsinger captured the excitement of that stunning moment in poetic fashion: “Never, probably, has a game turned from monotony to melodrama as quickly as this one did. It was just a flash in this high drama, but it changed the entire effect of the afternoon’s performance. It made the long wait in the rain worthwhile. Something eventually happened. It was a rainbow finish.” (Detroit News Archives)

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This is part of the preliminaries for the Tigers’ home opener on April 11, 1928. Standing in front of a gigantic horseshoe-shaped floral arrangement are Detroit mayor John Lodge (left), Frank Navin, Michigan governor Fred Green, and George Moriarty. With 40,000 on hand, Detroit was victimized by two costly infield errors, which led to three unearned runs and a 4–1 loss to the St. Louis Browns. Former Tiger Lu Blue did most of the offensive damage by driving in two runs. (Detroit News Archives)

Ty Cobb (left) and new Tiger manager George Moriarty consented to have a photo taken together. The two had played together for seven years with the Tigers. Neither was particularly fond of the other. Although this photograph is undated, it is reasonable to speculate that it was taken on May 4, 1928, when Cobb and the Philadelphia Athletics made their first visit to Detroit and the Georgia Peach his first appearance at Navin Field in an opponent’s uniform. This would have been a moment a photographer would seek to capture. (Detroit News Archives)

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As so often happened, the season’s opener attracted the participation of government dignitaries, in this case, Detroit mayor John C. Lodge (left) and Michigan governor Fred W. Green with Lodge shaking the hand of manager Bucky Harris, April 4, 1929, the new skipper’s inaugural game. (Detroit News Archives)

Everyone stands for the playing of our National Anthem, July 4, 1941. Identifiable players are Hal Newhouser on the left with warmup jacket on; looking to the right from Newhouser, the second player is Barney McCosky; next to McCosky is Rudy York; skip two and Bobo Newsom is next; and the last two players are Birdie Tebbetts wearing a warm-up jacket and Al Benton. (Detroit News Archives)

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Members of the United States Marine Corps carried the colors for the traditional flag-raising ceremony on opening day and the polite Tigers permitted the visiting White Sox players to precede them in the parade, April 14, 1925, at Navin Field. Manager Ty Cobb’s club squeaked out a 4–3 victory by receiving two gift runs on Sox miscues. Dutch Leonard started the contest for Detroit and his unusual request to be taken out of the game in the seventh inning with a runner in scoring position was granted. Jess Doyle got out of the jam but then created his own jeopardy by walking two batters and hitting two others in the final two frames, yet he managed to escape. (Detroit News Archives) The end of World War II unleashed new enthusiasm for major league baseball and many key players returned to the Tigers’ lineup. As expected, a big crowd of 52,118 attended opening day on April 16, 1946. Detroit sent its ace Hal Newhouser to the mound and St. Louis countered with right hander Nelson Potter; they each gave up just six safeties. The Browns scored a run in the opening frame but that was all they would get. Hank Greenberg hit a solo home run in the second to knot the score and Pinky Higgins drove home the winning tally in the fourth for a 2–1 Detroit victory. (Detroit News Archives)

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Starting pitcher Bobo Newsom watches Detroit mayor Edward Jefferies throw the ceremonial first pitch on opening day at Briggs Stadium, April 16, 1940. Michigan governor Luren Dickinson is either signaling a strike or indicating the pitch is just off the plate. Newsom absorbed the loss in this 5–1 St. Louis Browns victory. Old Bobo allowed seven hits in the seven innings he worked and gave up three earned runs. Former Tiger Slick Coffman started for the Browns and pitched effectively in a route-going performance. (Detroit News Archives)

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The colors are raised on opening day, April 16, 1940, while Browns and Tigers players stand in observation of the ceremony. (Detroit News Archives)

Multiple pennants days mean a winning franchise; here Detroit is celebrating its fourth pennant day and second world championship over the previous twelve seasons. This one honors the champions of 1945 with pennant day, June 15, 1946. A band clad in Scottish garb awaits the arrival of the players at the flagpole and the signal to hoist the colors and championship flags. (Detroit News Archives)

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Far different than today, spectators could leave the ballpark by walking across the field and exiting through a gate in the right-field corner of Navin Field. Note the concessionaires out on the field hawking their products while people are leaving. Some of the fans are smoking as they depart and hopefully none left their cigarette butts on the field. On this day, Detroit defeated St. Louis 4–3 in a pitching duel with each team limited to six hits. April 24, 1933. (Detroit News Archives)

A new visitor’s clubhouse was constructed on the south end of the Briggs Stadium with a tunnel leading directly from the visitor’s dugout. In the past both teams used the tunnel leading from the Tigers’ dugout and subjected visiting players to harassment from Tiger players and fans. A separate locker facility was provided for amateurs seeking tryouts, and additional restrooms and new quarters for the grounds crew and ushers were built. The concession stand, apparently a singular facility, was moved to a less congested area. Two new broadcast booths were suspended from the upper deck behind home plate. In 1942 the scoreboard received an enhancement when an “E” was added with an electronic red light that could be activated when the official scorekeeper determined that an error had been committed. Until this time it was against American League rules for the official scorer to flash his   c h a p t e r s i x

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decision on a play even to the players because it might cause them to stare at the press box and not pay attention to the game.

As of Today Lyall Smith, sports editor of the Detroit News, April 18, 1946 It was the morning of the big day and the out-of-town visitor was being squired through Briggs Stadium. He gazed admiringly at the playing field, tailored as neatly as a $200 suit. He brushed a finger across a grandstand seat—vacant since last October—and found not a grain of dust. He put his hands on his hips and turned around with a smile. “You know,” he said, “you could charge admission to see this park even when the Tigers are on the road and make yourself a fortune.” All of which was just another way of saying what the baseball world has known for years . . . that Briggs Stadium is the most beautiful, well-kept sports arena in the world. Such a fact should make Walter O. Briggs a proud and happy man, for he has given Detroit a baseball showhouse unparallel[ed] in either major league. (Permission granted by the Detroit Free Press.)

The last major change to the stadium during this era was the installation of a lighting system. Lee MacPhail had led the way in introducing night baseball in Cincinnati back in 1935. Other teams followed suit but owner Briggs resisted, believing it diminished the game. He was adamant that the great American pastime was intended to be played in the daytime. Detroit played its first night game at Briggs Stadium on June 15, 1948, and they waited until 9:30 to start, wanting to ensure that it was very dark outside. Much of the credit for the superb condition of Navin Field and Briggs Stadium rightfully goes to grounds superintendent Neal Conway, a legend in Tigers history. Conway had served as a groundskeeper for eleven years before joining the Tigers in 1920. Because of the importance of his job and the value placed on his performance, Neal Conway is the only employee who lived in the stadium. Mr. Briggs, a great admirer, had an apartment built above the executive offices during one of his renovations. Besides maintaining all facets of the property, Conway had other responsibilities, including protecting the property. “They’d carry the place away if I wasn’t there,” claimed the grounds boss. His brother Jim operated a lost and found

The Old Ballpark Where Legends and Memories Were Made  

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The season is over as the 47,876 loyal Tigers’ fans file out of Briggs Stadium, September 29, 1946. Most are disappointed as they have watched Bob Feller, Cleveland’s ace hurler, subdue his archrival Hal Newhouser and the Tigers 4–1. Yet despite the setback the Tigers landed in second place, twelve games behind the pennant-winning Boston Red Sox, and witnessed a record-setting performance by Feller. With his five strikeouts in this game, Feller broke Rube Waddell’s record of 343 whiffs to establish a new mark of 348. After four straight losses to Detroit during the season, Feller finally pinned one on the troublesome Tigers. Both Newhouser and Feller finished the season with 26 victories, tops in the American League. (Detroit News Archives)

department because fans left a lot of stuff behind. In a typical season they collected two hundred umbrellas and a wide variety of other items—coats, eyeglasses, women’s purses, house keys, and false teeth. During the 1941 season Conway had a crew of forty-three people, and on opening day their work began at 6:00 a.m. But a ballpark operation included many others who were busy getting ready on game day. The ticket sales team numbered ninety-three, forty-five at the ticket windows and forty-eight at the turnstiles; they reported at 10:00 a.m. When the spectators arrived they were greeted by thirty-five uniformed ushers, and these up-front personnel were augmented with 150 non-uniformed staff who helped guide people to their seats. Once inside, baseball fans became aware of uniformed security guards who maintained control. Security employed thirty workers. And then it was time to settle into one’s seat, watch infield practice, and eagerly await the first pitch. When Virgil Trucks returned to the team in late September 1945 he told teammate Eddie Mayo that Briggs Stadium reminded him of a Waldorf Astoria Hotel. Former Tiger Charlie Gehringer came back for a visit in 1949 and Neal Conway gave him a tour. When they entered the Tigers’ clubhouse, Gehringer whistled and said: “This was a high class spot in my time but it was nothing like this. I’ll bet a king doesn’t have better dressing quarters.” Walter O. Briggs had created a showplace.   c h a p t e r s i x

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conclusion

Those of us who love the game of baseball have an intimate lifetime relationship with our favorite team that holds a considerable amount of our attention. If we are not able to be at the ballpark or experience the broadcast of last night’s game, finding out the score is a high priority in the morning. As the years of our life pass, we accumulate a growing bank of memories: our first game, Comerica Park on October 4, 2006, when Magglio Ordoñez blasted a mighty three-run walk-off homer to send the Tigers into the World Series, or a special moment that we experienced from our homes—“I was watching the game on TV when umpire Jim Joyce’s blown call at first base took away Armando Galarraga’s perfect game. I’ll never forget that game.” Most of us are not employees of the team, we are not related to a major league baseball player, and we are not longtime season ticket holders, yet our relationship is personal and the Detroit Tigers own a piece of our heart. Given our passion and loyalty, those personal experiences and closely held memories spur our interest in the team’s history. Over time we acquire attachment to great moments from the past, and sometimes these stories seem so real it feels as though we, too, have experienced them. It is not far-fetched to imagine being transported back in time to a Fourth of July

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double-header at Navin Field in 1934 with Schoolboy Rowe on the mound for the first game and Tommy Bridges waiting in the wings for the second contest. Wow! As we turn the last page of this pictorial narrative, imagine what it must have been like to personally experience the glory years of Detroit Tiger history. With a memory of having seen Tiger greats Cobb and Heilmann play, we live on to experience the great teams of the Cochrane era when the Tigers wrote a glorious chapter in its franchise history and captured the hearts and loyalty of the Tiger faithful forever, ushering in a time when Detroit grew to be the fifth largest city in the country and earned a well-deserved reputation for having an extremely zealous fan base. This glorious time witnessed four American League pennants and two world championships in a twelve-year span, and Gehringer, Greenberg, and Newhouser claimed five Most Valuable Player Awards. This is the legacy that Justin Verlander, Miguel Cabrera, and their teammates are standing on as they surge to build a new era of greatness.

  Conclusion

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bibliography

letters

Briggs, Tommy Bush, Donie Cobb, Ty Eaton, Zeb Gehringer, Charlie Gray, Ted Franklin, Murray Higgins, Pinky Mullin, Pat Phillips, Red

Richards, Paul Shea, Merv Spink, Charles Tebbetts, Birdie Tighe, Jack Trucks, Virgil Tyson, Ty Wakefield, Dick Zeller, Jack

All letters are in the author’s Detroit Tigers archive. newspapers and periodic als

Baseball Magazine Detroit Free Press

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Detroit News Detroit Times

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books

Alexander, Charles C. Ty Cobb. New York: Oxford University Press, 1984. Allen, Lee. The Cincinnati Reds. Kent, OH: Kent State University Press, 2006. Anderson, William M. The Detroit Tigers: A Pictorial Celebration of the Greatest Players and Moments in Tigers’ History. Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 2008. ———, ed. The View from the Dugout: The Journals of Red Rolfe. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2006. Auker, Elden, with Keegan, Tom. Sleeper Cars and Flannel Uniforms. Chicago: Triumph Books, 2001. Bak, Richard. Cobb Would Have Caught It: The Golden Age of Baseball in Detroit. Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 1991. ———. A Place for Summer: A Narrative History of Tiger Stadium. Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 1998. Berkow, Ira, ed. Hank Greenberg: The Story of My Life. New York: Random House, 1989. Betzold, Michael, and Ethan Casey. Queen of Diamonds: The Tiger Stadium Story. West Bloomfield, MI: Altwerger & Mandel Publishing Company, 1992. Bevis, Charles. Mickey Cochrane: The Life of a Baseball Hall of Fame Catcher. Jefferson, NC: McFarland and Company, 1998. Brown, Warren. The Chicago Cubs. New York: G. P. Putnam’s Sons, 1946. Cobb, Ty, with Al Stump. My Life in Baseball: The True Record. New York: Doubleday, 1961. Falls, Joe. Baseball’s Greatest Teams: Detroit Tigers. New York: Macmillan, 1975. Ferrell, Kerrie, with William M. Anderson. Rick Ferrell, Knuckleball Catcher: A Hall of Famer’s Life Behind the Plate and in the Front Office. Jefferson, NC: McFarland & Company, 2010. Fleming, G. H. The Dizziest Season: The Gashouse Gang Chases the Pennant. New York: William Morrow and Company, 1984. Golenbock, Peter. The Spirit of St. Louis: A History of the St. Cardinals and Browns. New York: Avon Books, 2000. Harrigan, Patrick. The Detroit Tigers: Club and Community, 1945–1995. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1997. Jordan, David M. A Tiger in His Time: Hal Newhouser and the Burden of Wartime Ball. South Bend, IN: Diamond Communications, 1990.

  Bibliography

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Kell, George, with Dan Ewald. Hello Everybody, I’m George Kell. Champaign, IL: Sports Publishing, 1998. Lieb, Frederick G. The Detroit Tigers. New York: G. P. Putnam’s Sons, 1946. ———. The St. Louis Cardinals: The Story of a Great Baseball Club. Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press, 2001. McCallum, John. Ty Cobb. New York: Praeger, 1975. ———. Ty Cobb: The Tiger Wore Spikes. New York: A. S. Barnes and Company, 1956. Metro, Charlie. Safe by a Mile. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2002. Mulligan, Brian. The 1940 Cincinnati Reds: A World Championship and Baseball’s Only In-Season Suicide. Jefferson, NC: McFarland and Company, 2005. Okkonen, Marc. The Ty Cobb Scrapbook. New York: Sterling Publishing, 2001. Rains, Rob. The St. Louis Cardinals. New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1992. Skipper, John C. Charlie Gehringer: A Biography of the Hall of Fame Tigers Second Baseman. Jefferson, NC: McFarland and Company, 2008. Smiles, Jack. “EE-Yah”—The Life and Times of Hughie Jennings, Baseball Hall of Famer. Jefferson, NC: McFarland and Company, 2005. Tebbetts, Birdie, with James Morrison. Confessions of a Baseball Nomad. Chicago: Triumph Books, 2002. Trucks, Virgil O. Throwing Heat: The Life and Times of Virgil Fire Trucks. Dunkirk, MD: Pepperpot Productions, 2004.

Bibliography  

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index

Aker, Bill, 36 Alexander, Dale, 19, 230 Auker, Elden, 26, 44, 45, 90, 193, 217, 231, 251, 264, 269, 280, 421 Averill, Earl, 139, 284, 313 Ayers, Doc, 325 Bagby, Jim, 56, 132 Baker, Del, 20, 44, 53, 98, 110, 118, 119, 127, 168, 170, 171, 175, 176, 180, 189, 193, 196, 197, 204, 219, 220, 226–28, 237, 239, 249, 253, 250, 267, 277, 278, 287–91, 289–91, 297, 299, 302, 305, 307, 323, 329, 361, 374, 382, 389, 436 Baltimore Orioles, 71, 73 Barnes, Frank, 39 Bartell, Dick, 10, 12, 14, 15, 35, 36, 127, 199, 232, 278, 284, 291, 379, 433 Bassler, Johnny, 62, 67, 154, 155, 235, 320, 325 Beaumont Exporters, 17, 35, 36, 114, 120, 126, 158, 161, 162, 170, 171, 203,

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204, 214, 215, 218, 231, 239, 304, 323, 361,362, 389 Beck, Walter “Boom-Boom,” 17, 54, 362, 413, 418 Bell, Stuart, 95 Bennett, Charlie, 432 Benton, Al, 5, 183, 206, 216, 223, 299, 311, 343, 362, 379, 384, 387, 389, 422, 437, 440 Berry, Clair, 44, 51, 332, 335 Berry, Neil, 223, 386 Billings, Haskell, 36 Blue, Lou, 325, 439 Bluege, Ossie, 141, 320 Bodwell, Graham, 116 Boland, Bernie, 416 Borom, Red, 362, 380 Borowy, Hank, 299, 300, 312, Bosse Field, 17, 43, 48, 51 Boston Red Sox, 56, 68, 83, 114, 115, 120, 129, 138, 145, 153, 164, 183, 206, 211, 220, 242, 255, 259, 277, 278,

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Boston Red Sox (continued) 297, 324, 326, 383, 389, 415, 418, 433, 446 Bresnahan, Roger, 40 Bridges, Tommy, 23, 44, 45, 48, 53, 111, 115, 122, 143, 153, 156–59, 204, 206–08, 216, 217, 239, 251–53, 257, 268, 275, 289, 301, 307, 311, 317, 320, 334, 335, 338, 340, 367, 379, 389, 390, 411, 422, 436 Briggs, Spike, 198, 212, 245, 253, 309, 377 Briggs, Walter, 101, 110, 118–20, 162, 169, 193, 196, 212, 225, 238, 240, 245, 247, 263, 316, 354, 355, 363, 398, 404, 434, 435, 445, 446 Briggs Stadium, 43, 108, 132, 135, 219, 254, 279, 289, 300, 317, 319, 321,333, 368–70, 376, 382, 383, 388, 389, 398–410, 413–16, 418–31, 433, 435, 437, 442, 444–46, Brooklyn Robins, 56 Brooklyn Dodgers, 171, 190, 227, 289 Bryan, William Jennings, 58 Buffalo Bisons, 36, 210, 226, 227, 362 Burke, Bill, 321 Burke, Bob, 153 Burke, Gerald, 386 Burke, Leslie, 87 Bush, Donie, 61, 74, 75, 120, 121, 235, 325, 348, 349 Caldwell, Earl, 397 Campbell, Bruce, 255, 284, 287, 289, 292, 297, 342, 344, 377, 380 Campbell, Paul, 9, 11 Carlton, Tex, 270, 271 Carroll, Denny, 202, 268 Carroll, Owen, 6 Caster, George, 311, 420, 422 Cavarretta, Phil, 270, 318 Chicago Cubs, 231, 267–71, 275–77, 282, 284–86, 293, 295, 298, 299, 301, 302, 304, 305, 308–12, 322, 323, 390, 411 Chicago White Sox, 64, 74, 94, 95, 117, 133, 141, 148, 166, 190, 197, 201, 206,

210, 225, 231, 249, 320, 324, 340, 358, 363, 390, 417, 441,446 Chrisman, Mark, 45 Cicotte, Eddie, 417 Cincinnati Reds, 184, 202, 214, 238, 287– 92, 297, 305–09, 313–15, 404, 445 Claire, Dave, 75 Clark, Danny, 320 Clark, Nig, 417 Cleveland Indians, 69, 70, 73, 75, 79, 92, 108, 114, 126, 139, 141, 170, 202, 205, 223, 228, 232, 237, 253, 277–79, 289, 298, 326, 363, 388, 404, 411, 413, 421, 437, 438, 446 Clift, Harlan, 186 Clifton, Flea, 270, 275, 295 Cobb, Ty, 18, 21, 22, 24, 30, 36, 37, 42, 54–71, 75, 76, 80–83, 85, 87–9, 112, 115, 121, 144, 145, 148, 151, 152, 177, 178, 184, 192, 194, 317, 319, 320, 325, 359, 432, 439, 441 Cochrane, Mickey, 15, 20, 21, 30, 41, 44, 45, 47, 53, 94, 98, 100, 101, 103, 104, 110–21, 123, 141, 156, 158–61, 164, 169–71, 177, 179, 186, 188, 195, 197, 198, 201, 202, 205, 211–14, 218, 232, 240, 242, 250–52, 257–60, 263–68, 270, 271, 275–77, 279, 280, 282, 288, 293–96, 299, 318, 325, 326, 358, 359, 361, 365, 376, 411, 412, 433, 434 Cochrane Jr., Gordon, 365 Coffman, Slick, 216, 442 Cole, Bert, 59, 62, 235 Coleman Sr., Joe, 404 Collins, Rip, 69, 186, 242 Comiskey Park, 185, 413 Coombs, Jack, 72–5, 144, 199, 200 Conway, Jim, 412, 414, 445 Conway, Neal, 17, 18, 42, 43, 104, 105, 274, 414, 415, 424, 445, 446 Conway, Wilfred, 424 Covaleskie, Stanley, 132 Cox, Plateau, 72, 75 Cox, Billy, 105 Cramer, Doc, 127, 130, 200, 232, 233,

  Index

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300, 310, 311, 317, 322, 339, 362, 383 385, 387, 420, 422 Cronin, Joe, 129, 157, 191, 206, 207, 259, 389 Crosley Field, 232, 287, 308, 315 Croucher, Frank, 323 Crowder, General, 217, 231, 241–43, 259, 268, 270 Cullenbine, Roy, 23, 92, 130, 310, 311, 322, 386, 387, 422 Daniel, Dan, 108 Daugherty, Hal, 8 Dauss, Hooks, 69, 228, 229, 235 Davis, Harry, 97, 417 Dean, Dizzy, 107, 205, 213, 241–43, 250, 250–53, 257, 258, 280, 281, 328 Dean, Paul, 250, 251, 257, 258, 280 DeLancey, Bill, 242 Demaree, Frank, 267, 269, 270 Dempsey, Jack, 3 Derringer, Paul, 284, 287–90, 292, 297, 310, 312–14 Dickey, Bill, 180, 260 Dickinson, Luren, 442 DiMaggio, Joe, 104 Dobson, Joe, 183 Doerr, Bobby, 420 Donovan, Wild Bill, 72 Doyle, Jess, 441 Dubuc, Jean, 40, 151 Duggan, Jumping Joe, 141 Dunkley, Charlie, 288 Durocher, Leo, 152 Dykes, Jimmy, 94, 158, 196, 197, 201, 278, 446 Earnshaw, George, 92 Eaton, Zeb, 44, 362 Edgar, W. W., 171, 213 Egan, Wish, 20, 40, 51, 53, 126, 219, 225, 334, 357, 416 Ehmke, Howard, 68, 144–47, 325 Eisenstat, Harry, 216, 421 English, Woody, 269, 276, 302

Erautt, Joe, 344, 386 Evans, Billy, 61, 62, 429, 435 Evers, Hoot, 4, 35, 52, 192, 223, 234, 343, 344, 348, 349, 377, 387 Feller, Bob, 94, 108, 127, 156, 205, 256, 279, 421, 446 Finzel, Bill, 432, 438 Fenway Park, 83, 191, 324, 432 Ferrell, Rick, 13, 15, 48, 49, 216, Fischer, Carl, 24, 217 Fitzgerald, Frank, 115 Flagstead, Ira, 58, 325 Ford, Russell, 37 Fothergill, Bob “Fat,” 18, 69, 83, 86, 143, 145, 146, 148, 149, 317 Fox, Pete, 23, 24, 95, 164, 171, 177, 250, 252, 260, 268, 269, 278, 285, 301, 323, 325 Foxx, Jimmy, 108, 231 Francis, Ray, 67–9 Frank, Stanley, 97 Franklin, Murray, 344, 345 French, Larry, 275 Frey, Linus, 306 Frick, Ford, 363 Frisch, Frankie, 250, 257, 258, 266, 271, 299 Fuch, Charlie, 36 Fuller, Frank, 316 Funk, Elias, 6 Galan, Augie, 270, 275, 296 Gallico, Paul, 276 Gehrig, Lou, 96, 97, 100, 104, 220, 221, 319, 347 Gehringer, Charlie, 19, 23, 31, 37,61, 92–6, 98, 101, 105, 114, 116, 123, 149, 199, 201, 205, 237, 239, 242, 250, 252–55, 264, 269, 270, 276, 277, 284, 288, 292, 295, 304, 319, 328, 332, 333, 344, 411, 429, 446 Gentry, Rufe, 362, 418 Gibson, Sam, 36, 64 Giebel, Floyd, 216, 279, 319

Index  

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Gill, George, 23, 204, 216, 226 Gillespie, Bob, 362 Glasier, John, 72 Goodman, Ival, 291, 306 Goldstein, Izzy, 26 Gomez, Lefty, 94, 114, 122, 123, 164 Gorsica, Johnny, 53, 206, 278, 291, 323, 418 Goslin, Goose, 112, 114, 116, 117, 121–26, 177, 188, 216, 240, 242, 250, 251, 272, 276, 293, 295 Graham, Frank, 279 Gray, Pete, 362 Gray, Ted, 4, 5, 13, 224, 225, 334, 408, 432 Green, Fred, 439, 440 Greenberg, Hank, 2, 19, 23, 26, 38, 39, 40, 45, 53, 91, 95, 97–110, 111, 115, 116, 141, 171, 186, 193, 205, 212, 237, 239, 242, 244, 249–52, 254, 255, 258, 260, 264, 268–70, 277, 278, 284–86, 288, 289, 293, 299, 300, 304, 308, 310–12, 316, 318, 319, 322, 323, 325, 327–30, 346, 347, 370–76, 378–85, 387–90, 411, 432, 434, 441 Greene, Sam, 12, 13, 58, 62,70, 84, 88, 102, 114, 161, 284 Griffith, Clark, 64, 66, 181, 272, 316 Griffith Stadium, 121, 122, 205, 298, 324 Grimm, Charlie, 231, 267, 268–71, 276, 277, 299, 300, 302, 305, 308, 310–12, 314, 318, 323 Grissom, Marv, 11, 13, 14 Gromek, Steve, 388 Groth, Johnny, 5, 35, 210, 432, 433 Grove, Lefty, 92, 127, 325 Hack, Stan, 270, 275, 296, 312 Hadley, Bump, 112, 118, 260 Hale, Sammy, 325 Hallahan, Bill, 250 Hall, K. W., 67, 68, 69 Halsman, Emil, 37 Hamlin, Luke, 217 Haney, Fred, 129, 218, 236 Hargrave, Pinky, 15, 36, 48, 54

Harnett, Gabby, 269, 270, 285, 296 Harridge, William, 427 Harris, Bob, 216 Harris, Bucky, 6, 17, 25, 29, 31, 39, 40, 42, 54 92, 97, 98, 100, 158, 159, 185, 186, 195, 205, 207, 208, 230, 259, 417, 434, 440 Harris, Dave, 153, 157, 321, 324 Harris, Ned, 377, 383 Harris, William, 78 Hayes, Edgar, 389 Hayes, Frankie, 159 Hayworth, Ray, 44, 204, 212, Heffner, Don, 339 Heilmann, Harry, 30, 61, 74, 76–3, 86, 146, 148, 152, 155, 203, 230, 236, 246, 325, 429 Henley Field, 3, 4, 7, 9, 11, 14–16, 18, 128, 234 Hensaw, Roy, 268 Herman, Billy, 275, 276, 296 Higgins, Pinky, 2, 133, 199–201, 209, 253, 255, 287, 289, 290, 307, 318, 330, 331, 339, 383, 418 Hitchcock, Billy, 2, 361, 388 Hogsett, Elon “Chief,” 36, 39, 216, 217, 242, 251, 417 Holst, Doc, 104, 204 Homel, Jack, 426 Hoover, Joe, 201, 362 Hornsby, Rogers, 77, 82, 97 Hostetler, Chuck, 312, 317, 352, 362, 413 Howard, Ryan, 108 Howley, Dan, 36, 37, 60, 87, 144, 184 Houtteman, Art, 4, 5, 7, 9, 52, 224, 225, 362, 386, 432 Howell, Dixie, 41 Hresko, Emery, 380 Huber, Clarence, 325 Hubbell, Carl, 12, 13, 15, 50, 51 Hudson, Sid, 342, 344, 377 Huggins, Miller, 152 Hughes, Roy, 323 Hutchinson, Fred, 6, 180, 216, 220, 223, 226, 227, 377

  Index

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Jefferies, Edward, 442 Jennings, Hughie, 57, 59, 60, 62, 71–76, 199 Johnson, Ban, 64 Johnson, Don, 323 Johnson, Roy, 236 Johnson, Walter, 72, 76, 77, 153, 157, 321, 324, 325 Jones, Davy, 416, 432 Joost, Eddie, 306 Jurges, Bill, 270, 275, 276, 296 Kavanagh, Marty, 416 Kell, George, 133, 135–38, 141,142, 223, 255, 432 Kelley, Harry, 188, Kennedy, Vern, 120, 195, 198, 216 Kerns, Russ, 386 Kerr, Johnny, 412 Klein, Chuck, 275 Koenig, Mark, 19 Kowalik, Fabian, 268 Kramer, Jack, 340 Kress, Red, 313 Kretlow, Lou, 7, 9, 433 Kuhel, Joe, 157, 285 Laabs, Chet, 104, 254 Lajoie, Larry, 90 Lake, Eddie, 418 Landis, Kenesaw Mountain, 13, 21, 48, 62, 70, 244, 266, 347, 362, 363, 435 Lary, Lyn, 205 Lawson, Roxie, 216 Lazerri, Tony, 92 League Field, 26, 41, 44, 52, 172, 189 Lee, Bill, 275 Lemon, Bob, 223 Leonard, Dutch, 67, 70, 75, 235, 441 Lindstrom, Freddie, 269, 296 Lipon, Johnny, 2, 7, 9, 343, 361, 377, 386, 432 Livingston, Mickey, 323 Lodge, John, 439, 440 Lombardi, Ernie, 306

Lotshaw, Andy, 39 Lowe, Bobby, 417 Ludington Mariners, 75 Lynn, Japhet “Red,” 180, 216 Lyons, Ted, 64, 433, 446 MacDonald, Leo, 141, 179, 198, 218 MacPhail, Larry, 404, 445 Mack, Connie, 111, 133, 135, 141, 209, 264, 278, 412 Maier, Bob, 362 Main, Miles, 417 Manders, Hal, 48 Manush, Heinie, 30, 82–7 Manion, Clyde, 416 Mapes, Howard, 321 Marberry, Fred, “Fripo,” 114, 184, 217, 397, 417 Martin, Pepper, 242 Mathewson, Christy, 56, 220 Mays, Carl, 72, 145 Mayo, Eddie, 2, 5, 9, 223, 234, 300, 310, 339, 446 McCarthy, Joe, 129, 195, 278, 381, 382 McCormick, Frank, 156, 290–92, 306, 307, 313 McCormick, Mike, 290, 291, 306 McCosky, Barney, 52, 92, 133, 135, 137, 138, 220, 221, 278, 284, 288, 304, 323, 337, 360, 361, 379, 386, 387, 418, 440 McDaniel, Daniel, 198 McGown, Bill, 302 McGraw, John, 62 McHale, John, 8, 362 McKain, Archie, 46, 216, 378 McKechnie, Bill, 287, 288, 291, 297, 305, 299, 305, 313 McLaren, William, 1 McManus, Marty, 19, 88, McNabb, Carl, 362 McNair, Eric, 436 Medwick, Joe, 242, 258, 266, 274 Meirkowicz, Ed, 386 Mele, Sam, 433 Merullo, Lennie, 312

Index  

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Metro, Charlie, 383 Meusel, Bob, 62 Meyer, Benny, 40 Mills, Buster, 342 Miller, Bing, 46, 146, 253, 286, 379, 436 Miller, Hack, 362, 380 Moore, Anse, 343, 348, 349, 387 Moore, William, 6 Morgan, Chet, 41 Moriarty, George, 15, 30, 48, 66, 67, 86, 88, 89, 91, 151, 194, 268, 269, 276, 277, 302, 397, 411, 439 Mooty, Jake, 362 Mueller, Les, 362, 387 Mullin, George, 151, 219 Mullin, Pat, 4, 7, 9, 35, 202, 354, 355, 387, 388, 404, 418 Murphy, Bob, 105, 135, 195–97, 329, 411 Myers, Billy, 297, 306

O’Hara, Bill, 230 Okrie, Frank, 72 Oldham, Red, 61, 72, 74 O’Neil, Steve, 2, 4, 5, 17, 18, 30, 35, 43, 48, 51, 56, 130, 132, 135, 141, 142, 215, 220, 227, 298–300, 309, 311, 312, 314, 318, 330–33, 358, 363,75, 384, 386, 389, 413, 417, 420, 424, 425, 432 Ormsby, Red, 76 Orrell, Joe, 362 O’Rourke, Frank, 87, 88 Orsatti, Ernie, 242 Outlaw, Jimmy, 2, 7, 9, 310, 339, 362, 387, 420 Overmire, Stubby, 14, 304, 308, 362, 386, 388, 418, 433 Owen, Marv, 120, 122, 187, 188, 190, 195, 198, 210, 242, 258, 260, 264, 266, 274, 275

Navin, Frank, 24, 57, 59, 69, 74, 75, 110, 112, 117, 118, 149, 245, 276, 282, 285, 397, 434, 439 Navin Field, 70, 71, 74, 76, 79, 88, 98, 104, 122, 195, 241, 246, 250, 267, 285, 306, 319, 394–97, 414, 433, 434, 438, 439, 441, 444, 445 Nelson, Merton, 39 Neun, Johnny, 317 Newhouser, Hal, 12, 14, 51, 126–34, 141, 157, 174, 215, 256, 297–300, 309, 311, 312, 314, 319, 323, 362, 375, 379, 381, 384, 386, 413, 418, 419, 422, 432, 433, 437, 440, 441, 446 Newsom, Bobo, 18, 21, 105–7, 144, 180, 182, 183, 203, 206, 214, 218, 227, 237, 238, 248, 249, 255, 278, 287, 290–92, 297, 307, 308, 309, 314, 319, 408, 436, 440, 442 New York Giants, 13, 51, 240 New York Yankees, 13, 62, 66, 67, 86, 88, 92, 104, 114, 122, 132, 170, 179, 180, 183, 206, 207, 219, 226, 240, 251, 254, 259, 264, 265, 277, 279,

Paine, Fred, 417 Parker, Dixie, 41 Parsons, Dixie, 361, 383 Passeau, Claude, 304, 305, 308, 311 Patrick, Van, 246 Perkins, Cy, 20, 53, 119, 186, 204 Perry, Boyd, 378 Phebus, Ray, 216 Philadelphia Athletics, 64, 70, 71, 78, 94, 100, 110, 118, 119, 129, 130, 135, 158, 161, 162, 170, 175, 209, 211, 219, 227, 231, 237, 297, 325, 439 Philadelphia Phillies, 171, 199 Phillips, Ed, 15, 36, 48 Phillips, Red, 352 Pierce, Billy, 4, 5, 13, 15, 224, 225, 362, 433 Piet, Tony, 120, 195 Pillette, Herman, 143, 145, 192, 320 Poffenberger, Boots, 18, 21, 144, 168, 172, 202–07, 211, 212, 218, 237 Potter, Nelson, 441 Prim, Ray, 309 Polo Grounds, 129 Quigley, Ernest, 302

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Raschi, Vic, 408 Radcliff, Rip, 3, 362 Rehfuss, George, 423 Rensa, Tony, 6, 36, 37, 39 Rice, Grantland, 251, 252, 257, 289, 239, 329 Rice, Harry, 30, 86, 236, 438 Richards, Paul, 54, 132, 210, 300, 304, 310, 314, 362, 367,383, 387, 388–90, 413, 422 Riebe, Harv, 7, 12, 361, 386 Ripple, Jimmy, 288, 291. 292, 297, 315 Risberg, Swede, 70 Robertson, Charley, 317, 320 Robinson, Aaron, 12, 15, 433 Rogell, Billy, 19, 23, 91, 143, 168, 180, 217, 239, 250, 252, 254, 264, 266, 269, 270, 281, 432, 433 Roggins, Joe, 293, 383 Rogovin, Saul, 13, 14 Rolfe, Red, 3, 9, 11, 13, 14, 22, 24, 35, 36, 142, 432, 433 Rommel, Ed, 161 Roosevelt, Franklin, 347 Root, Charlie, 268 Ross, Don, 23, 254, 339 Rothrock, Jack, 257 Rowe, Schoolboy, 12, 21, 52, 53, 111, 116–18, 120, 122, 143, 158–63, 171, 172, 198, 202, 203, 207, 208, 216–18, 243, 250, 252, 255, 257, 260, 261, 263, 267, 269–71, 273, 280, 283, 288, 291, 295, 301, 317, 323–25, 366, 374, 377, 379 Rowland, Pants, 69 Ruffing, Red, 94 Ruhl, Oscar, 56 Ruth, Babe, 63, 72, 78, 85, 98, 100, 104– 07, 146, 161, 162, 178, 250, 434 Salsinger, H. G., 43, 59, 66, 72, 74, 79, 112, 118, 135, 144, 160, 200, 209, 226, 238, 232, 277, 380, 404, 438 Sargent, Joe, 325 Schuble, Heine, 41

Schuster, Bill, 312 Scripps, William, 116 Secory, Frank, 312 Sewell, Joe, 438 Sewell, Luke, 234 Shaughnessy, Frank, 194 Shaver, Bud, 124, 147, 166, 170, 178, 195, 197, 198, 204, Shea, Merv, 189 Shellenback, Frank, 137, 389, 422 Shibe Park, 162, 211 Simmons, Al, 116, 121, 129, 140, 141, 158, 177, 187, 216, 279 Smith, Clay, 289 Smith, George, 54 Smith, Lyall, 36, 135, 234, 299, 304 Smith, Sidney, 116 Sorrell, Vic, 26, 53, 217 Speaker, Tris, 70, 79 Spence, Stan, 158 Spencer, Tubby, 325 Spink, Taylor, 62 Sportsman’s Park, 250, 265, Stafford, Dale, 43, 253, 361 Stainback, George, 269 Stark, Al, 302 Stengel, Casey, 89 St. Louis Browns, 69, 79, 85, 86, 94, 107, 108, 132, 153, 157, 177, 181, 184, 201, 227, 234, 237, 250, 259, 264, 298, 340, 362, 380, 397, 439, 441–44 St. Louis Cardinals, 115, 186, 213, 240, 242, 243, 250–52, 257, 258, 274 Stark, George, 241 Steinecke, Bill, 6, 39 Stengel, Casey, 232, Stone, John, 34, 112, 121, 216 Stoner, Lil, 69 Street, Gabby, 107 Sullivan, Billy, 92, 238, 287, 291 Sullivan, Charles, 36 Sullivan, Joe, 44, 258 Summers, Bill, 158 Swift, Bob, 12, 223, 305, 339, 362, 387, 410

Index  

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Tavener, Jackie, 89 Tebbetts, Birdie, 3, 44, 45, 47, 155, 191, 223, 255, 287, 304, 307, 323, 340–44, 361, 375, 377, 378, 387, 388, 411, 420, 436, 440 Tiger Stadium, 433 Tighe, Jack, 350, 351 Toledo Mud Hens, 212, 218, 226, Toronto Maple Leafs, 26, 37, 60, 87, 184, 230, 239 Tresh, Mike, 120, 195 Trout, Dizzy, 45, 46, 51, 53, 132, 144, 155, 172–75, 183, 204, 208, 212–14, 216, 218–20, 290, 297, 298, 309–12, 322, 339, 362, 381–83, 390, 413, 420 Troutman, George, 133 Trucks, Virgil, 2, 10, 297, 298, 300, 304, 311, 322, 336,337, 338, 376, 377, 383, 389, 390, 426, 446 Turner, Jim, 289 Tyson, Ty, 246, 247, 317, 429 Uhle, George, 226 Unser, Del, 48, 383, 389 Veach, Bobbie, 20, 37, 60, 67, 83, 235, 317, 325, 326, 416 Vico, George, 5, 8, 223 Vincent, Al, 352, 389 Vitt, Oscar, 127, 139, 181, 228, 232, 414 Wade, Jake, 179, 193 Waddell, Rube, 13, 203 Wagner, Honus, 63 Wakefield, Dick, 4, 5, 7, 15, 35, 36, 48, 130, 200, 202, 210, 215, 223, 225, 348, 349, 356–58, 362, 377, 381–83, 387, 389, 404, 418 Wakefield, Frances, 225 Walberg, Rube, 92 Walker, Bill, 250, 251 Walker, Dixie, 23, 120, 190, 195, 198 Walker, Gee, 41, 91, 95, 105, 111, 116, 120, 144, 164–67, 177, 185–88, 190,

195–98, 201, 202, 205, 250, 275, 318, 326, 411, 412, 423 Walters, Bucky, 288, 291 Ward, Charles, 103, 188, 198, 204, 217, 218, 232, 235, 241, 257, 258 Warneke, Lon, 267, 271, 283, 296 Washington Senators, 64, 98, 100, 112, 121–23, 150, 153, 157, 184, 201, 204, 205, 207, 227, 228, 231, 232, 237, 238, 247, 272, 298, 316, 321, 324, 344, 363 Webb, Earl, 153 Webb, Skeeter, 2, 234, 299, 310, 362 Welch, Mickey, 386 Werber, Bill, 100, 290, 291, 297, 306, 313 Wertz, Vic, 5, 7, 8, 35, 223, 319, 432 West, Sam, 157 White, Hal, 48, 337, 353, 375, 420 White, Jo-Jo, 41, 100, 101, 177, 186, 266, 269, 291, 295 Whitehill, Earl, 29, 146, 150–52 Williams, Dewey, 312 Williams, Joe, 198 Williams, Ted, 142, 319 Wilson, Jimmie, 291, 313 Wilson, Walt, 362 Wingo, Red, 83, 222 Wood, Joe, 383, 389 Wood, Smokey Joe, 325 Woodhall, Larry, 69 Wrigley Field, 295, 301, 309, 311 Wyse, Hank, 300 Yankee Stadium, 129, 142, 152 York, Rudy, 23, 103, 105, 108, 116, 143, 193, 199–202, 206, 210, 237, 249, 277, 279, 284, 287, 304, 305, 307, 310, 311, 317–19, 323, 339, 362, 380, 384, 385, 432, 437, 440 Young, Ralph, 61 Zeller, Jack, 17, 44, 97, 130, 189, 203, 214, 218, 228, 238, 286, 334, 336, 337, 344, 346, 349–52, 362, 363, 367, 381, 389

  Index

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REGIONAL INTEREST

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SPORTS HISTORY

“William M. Anderson’s wonderful book The Glory Years of the Detroit Tigers has brought back many special memories of playing at Briggs Stadium for those great Tiger fans. Seeing these rare photographs reminds me how lucky I was to have played with Hank Greenberg, George Kell, Hal Newhouser, Dizzy Trout, Hoot Evers, and all of my other teammates.” —V I R G I L “ F I R E ” T R U C K S ,   World Champion Detroit Tigers pitcher “William M. Anderson vividly recaptures the glory years of the Tigers in this wonderful testament to a bygone time. Fans who don’t know much about this great era in Detroit baseball history are in for a treat. Those who think they already have seen and heard it all will be dazzled by the rare images Anderson has culled from his personal collection and the archives of the Detroit News.”— P E T E R M O R R I S , author of A Game of Inches “With the charm of a natural storyteller, William M. Anderson captures the lusty decades of the heavyhitting Detroit Tigers. If you thrill to the crack of the bat and the fl ight of the ball, this is a book you will treasure.”— D O N A L D H O N I G , novelist and baseball historian “Bill Anderson’s The Glory Years of the Detroit Tigers is a great gift to Tiger fans in particular, but also to baseball fans everywhere. The many pictures that appear with the outstanding text make this book unique. The years of   to   were the Glory Days of Detroit, and the Tigers were major contributors to that glory.” — M I C K E Y B R I G G S , Detroit lawyer and grandson of Walter O. Briggs, sole owner of the Detroit Tigers from   to   “Anyone with a deep interest in the modern-day Detroit Tigers revels in a great baseball team’s—and town’s— history. We now have our museum treasure: William M. Anderson’s brilliant and comprehensive book, The Glory Years of the Detroit Tigers, is an immensely entertaining and important archive rich in photographs and writing celebrating the days of Cobb, Cochrane, Gehringer, Heilmann, Greenberg, Newhouser, and others who made Detroit an American baseball bastion.”— LY N N H E N N I N G , Detroit News sports writer

Wayne State University Press Detroit, Michigan