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SHORT HOP: INTERLUDE #2

A HISTORY OF THE CBA
From the American Baseball Federation to the Continental Baseball Association, 1881-2005

PART II: "Simple Democracy, Gentlemen"

Chapter One: Vincenzo Schiapelli and "Iron" Will Voss
The Forming of the Office of League Justice: 1899

America’s “can do” spirit served her well the first 100 years of her life. Men and women endured all kinds of hardships without cracking. In the East they built buildings and bridges, banks and businesses. In the West they fought floods and plagues and Indians to carve out a small place for themselves in the great expanse that was the frontier. That same fighting spirit showed itself in the early days of baseball, too.

The game back then was much rougher than we know it today. It was played by all types from all walks of life, but the early professional players were predominantly immigrants or the sons of immigrants. Most were German, Irish or Italian. They were largely uneducated, with limbs strengthened by hard work on farms or construction crews or railroad gangs. They earned what they had by strength of limb or hardness of knuckle. And they protected it the same way.

Baseball has always been a reflection of society in this way. What it takes to succeed in baseball is very often what it takes to succeed in the social or economic climate of the time. And at the turn of the century success in baseball depended on how much fight you had in you.

However, by 1899 violence in baseball was getting out of hand. Fights on the field and even in the stands were not uncommon. Umpires were known to have suffered injury from angry fans or even an angry manager. There were many events that led to the decisions made by the assembled owners in the winter of 1899, but chief among them was what came to be known as the Schiapelli Incident.

Vincenzo Schiapelli was a fiery, profane, little-liked second baseman who played for the Baltimore Steamers from 1896 to 1902. Despite his small size, or perhaps because of it, Schiapelli got into a lot of scrapes, on and off the field. Vinny Schiapelli favored fisticuffs over friendship, it was said. One day in July of 1899, during a game against the Rebels at old Thurmer Stadium in Philadelphia, Schiapelli began arguing with a patron seated above the Steamers’ dugout. The argument quickly turned ugly and Schiapelli climbed out of the visitors’ dugout with a bat and began to pummel the helpless man. The fan was hospitalized and Schiapelli was suspended by the Steamers, but cries arose from angry Rebels fans demanding justice. It quickly became apparent that the young league had no recourse in disputes of this or any kind except to each other. While there was an unwritten rule that each team tend their own troubles, the Schiapelli Incident showed why another form of authority was necessary.

During the winter meetings of 1899 the league owners voted 5-1 (with Manhattan the lone dissenter and Chicago abstaining) to create an office with the authority to settle disputes. Thus the Office of League Justice was given the authority to rule in certain cases of limited scope and to impose the judgments it deemed fair. It was also to moderate disputes between teams when no other recourse was available and offer responses to the demands of the public. But the league owners retained the power to overrule the League Justice by a majority vote. It was largely a figurehead position designed to take some of the heat off the owners when things like the Schiapelli Incident occurred.

The next task was to find a person to fill the role. The idea of appointing an owner was appealing, but could ultimately cause more criticism for being too self-serving. So it was decided that an individual with no ties to any team should hold the office. Of course, the owners were determined to choose someone they could control. But the owners did not count of the diligence of the press.

In 1899 anti-corporation sentiment was gaining force. The working class in America was growing very quickly, yet representation for the plight of these workers, many of whom could barely earn enough to feed their families, was almost non-existent. Monopolies and big conglomerates like the ones owned by J. Walker Bowen became targets for the union movement, and the press was right behind. There were two sportswriters in particular whose diligence and determination forced the ABF to drop the chosen appointee, Dr. Howard Klengler (a friend of Bowen’s). They were the New York Herald’s Leonard Crumb and the Boston Crier’s Andrew Stapleton. Crumb and Stapleton pointed out that Klengler was too close to Bowen. He sat on the board of directors of two of Bowen’s interests (though not the Atlantics) and was basically Bowen’s hand-picked man. They demanded a panel of nominees to insure “the variety of qualified candidates from which to choose would be certain to exact justice for Schiapelli’s victim, Mr. Delagrasse”.

The public was behind them and got what they wanted. In acquiescence to popular opinion, the Owners Committee recognized seven nominees. In a series of closed door interviews the owners sought to find someone who would see things their way, and there were plenty. But an unusual thing happened, and it happened because of an unusual person. Detroit Monarch owner Nicholas Freeders was a millionaire many times over, thanks to his affinity for engineering and manufacturing machines that helped people ease the strains of their everyday lives. He was a progressive thinker who successfully predicted economic and social problems before they happened. He possessed the unique ability to anticipate trends far in advance. Freeders alone realized what the owners really needed was not a puppet but a strong independent force, a person of singular character who could address the issues of the game with confidence and in whom the owners could rely to make the right decisions for the good of the game.

When he convinced the owners of this, the choice became clear: former New York City Police Chief William Voss. He was responsible for many of the police procedures in place to this day. He was an imposing figure, standing almost six and a half feet tall and weighing in excess of three hundred pounds. He was a self-educated man who rose above his modest roots to enjoy an unblemished reputation for fairness and resolve. He was universally respected among police, politicians and the public. Once he was decided he almost never changed his mind and he was rarely if ever proven wrong, hence the nickname “Iron” Will Voss.

It is said Voss’ greatest accomplishment was achieved before he ever had the job. During one of Voss’ three sessions before the owners, in the presence of a secretary who recorded the exchange, Bowen asked what, as League Justice, would be the first thing he would do about the Schiapelli Incident?
“I would do nothing,” came the reply.
The owners were dumbfounded. “Nothing? At all?” asked Bowen.
“That’s correct,” said Voss.
“Why on Earth not?”
“Because as I understand the arrangement, the League Justice may be overruled by a majority vote.”
“Yes. That’s true.”
“It will never do. You cannot hire a man to safeguard the game and then overrule him whenever his decisions are undesirable.”
“The owners must have a voice of their own, of course,” huffed Bowen. “We cannot very well own the league and not have a vote!”
“But that is precisely what you must do, at least in matters concerning the integrity of the game,” said Voss calmly. “If you wish the public to take you seriously, you must be willing to be ruled by an objective third party. In this way, and only this way, will faith in baseball be restored. To rule you must be willing to be ruled.”
“That’s absurd,” said Kansas City’s Armand Robertson. “I’m not giving up my right to guide this league.”
“You would not be giving up your right to guide the league,” replied Voss. “You would be recognizing that the game is bigger than you eight men. You would be demonstrating your determination that the tenets of the game be respected above any one man or group of men. It is simple democracy, gentlemen. And it will retain the interest of the working men who expect fair play and pay you to entertain them.”

“Iron” Will Voss was announced as League Justice the next day. His first decision was to suspend Vincenzo Schiapelli for fifty-eight games, the exact number of days Mr. Delagrasse was hospitalized. Voss would make many other controversial decisions in the months and years to come. He established fines for poor behavior, public drunkenness, and the solicitation of prostitutes. He wrote the Rules of Inclusion, which established and regulated the first rookie draft in 1903. He presided over a boom in league expansion that saw four new teams join the ABF. When he retired in 1919 at the age of 71, he received a gala sendoff at the expense of the grateful owners of the ABF. Thanks to Voss’ superb sense of right and wrong baseball was molded into a game of sportsmen and athletes, of respect for the rules and the umpires.

In a final nod to the great man, the ABF asked him, at a healthy 88 years of age, to preside over the inaugural Hall of Fame induction ceremonies in 1936. The first inductee? William "Iron Will" Voss.