1946: Chaos in Elysium

[seth70liz76]

The White House
Washington

January 15, 1942.

My dear Judge:

Thank you for yours of January fourteenth. As you will, of course, realize the final decision about the baseball season must rest with you and the Baseball Club owners -- but what I am going to say is official and not a solely a personal point of view.

I honestly feel that it would not be best for the country to keep baseball going. There will be many tasks at hand and everybody must work longer hours and harder than ever before.

And that means sacrificing recreation and taking minds off work; this could be the price of victory.

As to the players themselves I know you agree with me that individual players who are of active military or naval age should go, without question, into the services. If any individual has some particular aptitude in a trade or profession, he ought to serve the Government. That is a matter which I know you can understand with complete justice.

Here is another way of looking at it -- if 300 teams use 5,000 or 6,000 players, are these players an asset to at least 20,000,000 of their fellow citizen? In my judgment, the wants of a single industry are outweighed by the needs of the world.

With every best wish,

Very sincerely yours,

{Signature} Franklin D. Roosevelt {End of signature}

Hon. Kenesaw M. Landis,
333 North Michigan Avenue,
Chicago, Illinois.

actual text of letter by FDR

[canadiancreed]

sweet! :d the return of another writer

[ifspuds]

This bodes well. Very well indeed.

[rogmax11]

I think I know where this is headed; I have used a similar mechanism before in past solo history what-if? scenarii. This does indeed bode well. As contrasted with Bode Miller.

[Vris]

Very, very nice.

Welcome back Seth.

[seth70liz76]

[Newsreel footage with narration] Victory In Europe. The streets of New York fill upon word of Germany’s surrender! Word from Allied command relates the German war machine’s unconditional capitulation, and the joy can not be contained. This sailor knows the way to celebrate. Now with the Nazis smashed, our boys can focus on delivering the final blow to Tojo’s minions in the Pacific. After four long years it seems America can get back to the business of being America. [/end newsreel]

[goroyals]

Great stuff so far. I almost did a little dance when I saw it-a very welcome suprise.

[seth70liz76]

[Newsreel footage with narration]While sports fans were entertained by the collegiate ranks during the war, it looks like the professional games are set to resume. Commissioner Bert Bell announced yesterday the National Football League would resume play this fall. The National Hockey League is expected to resume play in the United States after 4 years of being confined north of the border. And what’s this? Two competing pro cager loops as well. But the big question on fans of sport is the return of baseball. Since the passing of Judge Landis last year, there is no one to give the official word of the status of America’s pastime. Too late to start up this season, but by 1946 every red blooded American man and boy hopes to see the old favorites return to the diamond. [/end Newsreel]

[Vris]

A selfish bump.

[seth70liz76]

The room came into slow focus; hazy--enough to make him believe the doctor's request he wear spectacles, then melting into soft clarity. Just like every other morning for as long as he wanted to remember. His wife still lay motionless; her constitution was unfamiliar with the rigors of such celebrations. She was not dry, just not accustomed to the lifestyle. Truthfully, his body was not as young as it once was. Back in the Twenties, last night's celebration would have been a warm up; a Tuesday night. Now, he really felt like an old man. Bones and muscles cricked and cracked as he lumbered towards the basin.

It was hard to believe anyone could have slept with all the celebrating; a city, a nation, had exhausted itself with the collective explosion of joy. People were offering champagne, the real thing, in beer glasses to strangers. Hell, he had passed out at least a dozen of his best cigars to random people. Gave them a great story: "Yeah, the Babe gave this smoke to me, can you believe it! Peach of a guy, said not to be surprised if he's managing the Yankees next season. Still looks like he could clout 30 easy." Imagining the last line made Ruth chuckle slightly. With all the weight he had lost, he doubted the power was still there. But he did still strike an impressive figure moving through the city in his camelhair coat. Amidst all the confetti and huzzahs people would reach out to him; not to shake his hand or pat him on the back--just to touch him. Hell, to come close to touching him.

He dried his face while aches and pains shot through all the usual places. He tried to clear his throat; damn tickle was back. Babe buzzed his manservant, "Bring me a hot brandy." It had been years, the glory days of Murder's Row, since Ruth had drank this early. The throat pain however had not flamed so intensely in months. "Damn, just overdid it".

The end of the war was great, no more of our boys dying to protect freedom. But, a twinge of guilt sat there and nagged at his selfishness. The first thought when the news came was not joy for victory, but joy for knowing baseball would be coming back. That damn red Roos-e-velt tried to kill the game; telling Landis the players were needed to fight Hitler and the Japs. Krauts and Nips; America could have taken them without sacrificing the game. Most of the players ended up on service teams anyway. It was great for the boys who got to see the games, but it was a shame the fans missed out.

Could not let the fans down; no matter never let the fans down. That is what made all this possible; the comfort and security. Even with rationing it was sometimes hard to tell a war was going on, but he had played the part of a good citizen. The Babe had worn more cotton shirts rather than silk in the last four years since he came to New York. The people needed to know their hero was standing with them. A lifetime of giving them what they wanted, now it was his time to want.

The game is coming back, he thought as the hot brandy hit the back of his throat. Burning the pain away. The game is back and it would need him. He had waited for the call to manage since he retired. "Ten years is a long time," he said to no one. His eyes darted back to the phone; this time it would ring. The greatest game's greatest player leading the greatest team. No more of Fuchs' Funnies and the Dodgers' lies about a future position, "This time it will ring," he assured himself. The tickle in his throat came back (damn summer cold) he called for another brandy. "Can't be sick when they name me manager of the Yankees," he winked at his manservant.

"Of course, sir."

He told himself not to be too impatient. The F------g moneymen would have to bicker about contracts and player assignment and all that sort of crap. Sooner than later, the phone would ring and the Yankees would be asking, no begging for him to manage. After four years of no baseball, they would pull out all the stops to bring the fans back.

"It just has to happen," he said quietly, ignoring the tears in his eyes.

[goroyals]

Haha! (excited laugh in honor of a great new dynasty)

Wonderful writing. Amazing character development. Consider me hooked already.

[cknox0723]

Seth,

Such a pleasant surprise to see you return to the boards. I hope you are well. I am pleased to see that your writing is every bit as top-notch in quality as we were treated to seeing in "Prologue." I look forward to more.

Craig

[seth70liz76]

Ever since acquiring interest in the Boston Braves along with the American Association Milwaukee squad in January 1944, Lou Perini, along with partners Guido Rugo and Joseph Maney, had patiently waited for the day their investment would pay off. Now with the war over, Perini felt he was close to being able to place a team on the diamond. The goal however, was not just to be happy in the fraternity of owners; no, the goal was to build value in a value-poor asset. There was only one obstacle to the Braves becoming the profitable in Boston: it was a Red Sox town.

In all of the two team cities—except New York—one club was seemingly fated to playing the role of the poor sibling; squeezing out an existence and hoping for that one or two year hot streak to capture the imagination of the public. The Braves’ best days were 30 years behind them, and the future, as long as the Sox held the majority of baseball fans’ fancy was equally as bleak. A change was possible; Saint Louis had been a “Brown’s town” for a quarter of a century, until the mid-1920’s when the Cardinals went to the World Series. Lou and his partners did not want to wait 25 years to change the minds of a city to bring crowds to the banks of the Charles River; two years of expenses and little revenue eat at a man’s tolerance.

Perini had, like all the other owners, kept informal contacts with one another; discussing how to handle the resumption of play, rights to players and all of the details necessary to recreate an industry. Until recently, this had all been theoretical—dreaming if you will, especially for the men who had purchased interest in clubs during the shutdown. Now, opportunity was at hand, and Perini felt he had the vision of what baseball could look like not only for the upcoming season but the decades over the horizon. “This war is going to change America,” he would tell his partners, “if we don’t strike fast our opportunity to change baseball will pass.” To return baseball to it’s prewar station, with no attempt to correct mistakes both geographical and economic, would be lunacy in Perini’s eyes. The four year hiatus was a blessing to a man with such grand plans; several prewar owners had sold out rather than risk losing more money. The public should be open to new ideas; while the time off had not erased memories of what had been, the vacuum of the war years had created a desire for recreation. In the public lust for baseball, John Doe and his brethren would be more accepting of new ideas that would have been baseball heresy at the start of the decade. While the new war time owners, Cox of the Phillies for example, would need little prodding to accept his ideas to increase franchise values and opportunities to win, an alliance with one of the established owners was key to broad support. Baseball owners were notorious for approaching new ideas with all deliberate speed; if one of their own, someone they knew and could rely on was the lynchpin. Fortunately he had one in his own city: Tom Yawkey.

Yawkey had purchased a Red Sox club as uninspiring on the field as it was at the gate. Fenway Park, a jewel when opened, had deteriorated to an ad plastered dump unfit for man, beast or New Yorker. The money and enthusiasm brought to the forlorn club in 1933 changed the philosophy and direction of the club. When the war hit the Sox were on the verge of challenging Yankee dominance, something unheard of since the days before Frazee. Even the four years off had not dampened Red Sox fever in the city and sport pages. Yawkey’s fortune and the batting eye of Theodore Williams lead many to hope a pennant would fly over Boston when the game returned. Perini had the bait to catch the noted sportsman’s attention. Once hooked, Perini was sure most of his plans would find favor with Yawkey, and a true new era of baseball would begin. “This is not for us alone,” Perini would tell his partners, “this is about what is best for the game.”

[seth70liz76]

“I appreciate the visit, but Lou, don’t you think we should wait until we have a formal owner’s meeting to talk about the future of the leagues.” Yawkey and Perini had met several times since Perini’s group had bought the Braves. It was an uneasy relationship for Tom Yawkey, a man competing for the same dollars attempting to be ‘friends’. Yes, they had similar interest in getting the leagues started again, but this was a man who apparently was willing to spend money to bring a competitive squad to Braves Field. Despite the smarmy sentimentality of that one movie, Gimbel’s and Macy’s did not really get along. Boston did not lack for baseball fans, but Tom Yawkey felt it could use more Red Sox fans. Perini wanted something; it bothered Yawkey tremendously to not know what.

The meeting was barely old enough for idle chatter, let alone jumping right to the point. Lou could sense the unease in Yawkey’s words. Their previous meetings had been friendly, if a bit sterile. Perini understood the manufactured distance; if the Braves were the baseball power in town, his reaction would be the same. “Well Mr. Yawkey,” Perini spoke slowly and deliberately, uncertain of how warmly his ideas would be received, “perhaps we don’t want all the owners involved with this.” Yawkey sloshed his drink around in his glass, letting the word soak through.

“Go on,” curiosity had been piqued. Perini’s heart jumped; the concept of exclusion, even if the extent unknown was not rejected out of hand.

“It seems to me if, speaking theoretically, if we wanted to make changes to baseball, its structure if you will, now would be the time to do it, right?” A tentative nod answered as Yawkey tried to get a handle on how sweeping of change the Braves chief was looking at. “Say a team wanted to change its situation, like getting out of a two team city . . .”

“Like Boston?”

“Yes, like if we wanted to move the Braves to another city, now would be an ideal time to do so.”

“Because the Red Sox aren’t going anywhere.” Yawkey was clearly pleased with the thought of having Boston to himself, no longer needing to worry about if the other team in town should steal patrons from his park. All the press, all the fans would Red Sox focused. “But are you going to convince the Phillies to move as well, because Mack isn’t going anywhere.”

“Maybe we don’t give Mack a choice. Maybe we don’t ask the Athletics back and just let them fade out of existence.”

“Are you suggesting we tell Connie Mack to get out of baseball?” The idea of the grand old man of the game being forcibly retired was nothing short of blasphemy.

“The Depression nearly ruined him and the time off couldn’t have made his financial situation any better. The A’s are done with or without Mack—at least the chap that bought the Phillies has fresh capital to put into the club. Connie, for all he has done for the game just can not field a competitive squad anymore.”

Yawkey sat down; Perini was speaking the truth. Ever since Connie dismantled his dominating club of the late twenties the Athletics had faded to irrelevancy and near insolvency. Mack, unlike other owners, made his living strictly off baseball. His plight, while heartbreaking to those who knew him, was becoming an embarrassment to baseball. “We could convince him to sell, or at least give him a chance to prove to himself he can’t make a go of it?”

“If we resume play and have franchises fold, it would be bad for baseball. Now is the time to make changes.”

“Who else do we not invite back?”

“Both of the Saint Louis clubs.” Perini knew both teams had been eyeing Milwaukee for a possible move; their opposition could prevent his planned move.

“Browns lose, make no money; Cardinals win, and still make no money. Damn shame. But wouldn’t one team do well there?”

“As it stands now, a move requires unanimous approval from a league. If Breadon wants to block a move; then we stay in Boston. But if we reorganize the league into something else, moving a club should not be difficult.”

“So to have Boston, I need to get rid of Saint Louis. Doesn’t seem right.” The conflict in Yawkey’s voice was pronounced. Perini was making sense, from a business standpoint. Connie Mack, St. Louis, getting rid of those clubs only made the Red Sox a more valuable commodity. Still, had the line always been baseball was more than just another business. A public utility of sorts, isn’t that the line always used to gain favor from the neighborhoods and politicians? “That would leave 13 clubs, we’d have to cut at least one more team.”

Perini quickly made the argument for eliminating the Reds, another team on shaky financial footing since nearly folding during the Depression. “But I think you are missing the point on the Saint Louis clubs. We keep them out of the loop while we change the landscape—the only reason to exclude them is to allow the Braves to move without protest.”

“Still, three teams in New York, two in Chicago—goes against your idea of paring down the multiple teams cities.”

“There is a group of actors who want to get into baseball, I think we could arrange a meeting with the Comisky estate—that could open up the west coast for us.”

“And New York?”

“We do something like we’re doing with Saint Louis. Invite one in, and then see who wants to play ball. I suggest the Giants; Manhattan is too valuable a territory to up a leave.”

Yawkey smiled big, “And make the damn Yankees beg to join us. I love the idea.” The American League had tried for years to find a way to check Yankee dominance, they finally had a chance. Play by our rules or don’t play at all.

When he had finished, Yawkey had come around somewhat. “I’ll speak to Briggs and Griffith—I think Bradley wants to sell and this can only assure a higher price for him. The only question mark would be the White Sox, I don’t know if they have ever gotten that mess straightened out since Louis died. How do you think the National owners will go?”

“Cox is like me, bought the interest during the shut down; the Benswenger family wants out like Bradley. Wrigley worries me, he can be forward thinking and stuck in the past all at the same time—but a solid majority should sway him.”

[seth70liz76]

Braves Field
Boston
May 22, 1945.

Mr. Stengel,

Please consider this letter notice of termination of your services as manager of the Boston National League Club.

We are grateful for your service to the club during this difficult time; however with the resumption of play, we have decided to pursue a different direction.

Good luck with your future endeavors.

Very sincerely yours,

{Signature} Louis Perini {End of signature}

Charles Stengel,
Kansas City, Missouri

[seth70liz76]

[Newsreel with narration]LA is Major League! Here is crooner Bing Crosby and funnyman Danny Kaye signing papers which will bring the new 10 team National-American League to the City of Angels. The complicated transaction costing nearly $3 million, involved purchasing the Chicago White Sox from the Estate of Charles Comiskey and the Los Angeles Angels of the PCL from Cubs' owner P. K. Wrigley. The Pacific League protest the loss of prime real estate, but the summer of change continues for the big leagues![/Newsreel]

[seth70liz76]

National American League
Boston Red Sox
Chicago Cubs
Cleveland Indians
Detroit Tigers
Los Angeles White Sox
Milwaukee Braves
New York Giants
Philadelphia Phillies
Pittsburgh Pirates
Washington Nationals

Left out (for now)
Brooklyn Dodgers
Cincinnati Reds
New York Yankees
Philadelphia Athletics
Saint Louis Browns
Saint Louis Cardinals

[Vris]

Oh I like it Seth.

[seth70liz76]

General Manager Branch Rickey picked over his breakfast trying to imagine a worse situation for his Saint Louis Cardinals. Sam Breadon’s club had value, but little capital. The Browns were insisting if anyone moved from Saint Louis, it should be the Cardinals, because, after all, the Browns owned Sportsman’s Park. Breadon and Rickey hardly spoke as relations between the two men had deteriorated over the hiatus. Crosley refused to deal with Brooklyn because of GM Leland MacPhail. Leland MacPhail would not speak to Saint Louis because he, quiet rightfully, thought Rickey wanted the GM job in Brooklyn. The Yankees were still tied up in the Estate of Colonel Ruppert and Connie Mack, well, was Connie Mack—trying to make a living from a failed club in an unforgiving city.

The only way the situation could be worse is if there were only four of us and not six, Rickey pondered over his tea. Six could make a league, especially if the Yankees were one of the six. “Judas Priest, they’ll let it all fall apart for weak held principles.” As rewarding principles are for the next life, an attorney friend once told him, are sometimes are prohibitively expensive in this one. For one of the few times in his life, Rickey was inclined to agree.

The problem, as Rickey saw it, every one of the owners (with the exception of Mack) felt the longer they held on, the more likely it was for them to be invited back into the fold. The hue and cry around the country about the Yankees not being invited to join was telling. The pressure could become so great the NAL would have to take in the Yankees and at least one more. “Then we would be four, and be forced to fold.” He scribbled on his legal pad for a few moments. Realistically only Brooklyn, Cincinnati and the Cardinals had a chance of being invited in with the Yankees. He laughed quietly, all we have to do is find buyers for the Browns and A’s, and convince everyone else it is in our best interest to form our own league.

It could be done, with enough work and sweat, it could be done. But someone would have to make the first step in bringing about order. “If you wait for someone else to save you; someone else will save himself and leave you to die. I do not intend to die.”

[seth70liz76]

“You know, when all is said and done, you’re going to wish you were nicer to ol’ Larry.” MacPhail was even more full of himself than usual; and with good reason. With Dan Topping and Del Webb he had just purchased the Yankee Empire for an unbelievable $2.4 million dollars. (“Less than Ruppert spent on the ground for Yankee Stadium,” he would boast to anyone who would listen.) Even the ice dropped into his glass seemed to be singing his praises.

Rickey’s feud with MacPhail was over a decade old; since McPhail ran the Columbus Redbirds as the Cardinals top minor league club. Rickey resented Leland putting the Redbirds interest over the organization’s; Leland just resented anyone telling him what to do. “Both Crosley and you will end up with a whole lot of nothing, and all I have to do is say ‘the Yankees would love to be apart of the NAL.’ And I’ll just suggest the Browns or Dodgers as the other club, leaving you two out in the cold.”

“Leland, they will only let the Yankees back if they think they can cripple the organization. This whole power play isn’t about the rest of us; it is about bringing the Yanks back to square one.”

“I know,” the smug so and so said between sips. “Still, it is a matter of would I rather screw you and Crosley or be screwed by the rest of those a------s.” MacPhail swung his feet up onto his desk. “Have you dealt with Mack yet?”

Branch shifted uncomfortably, “I’ve been saving that for last. Hard to tell a man like that he isn’t wanted anymore.”

“Well, either you do it or I will.”

“Leland, stop with this.”

“Branch, don’t you get it. I don’t need you. I don’t need the Browns, the Reds, Connie F-----g Mack or any of you. I got the god dammed New York Yankees. And I’m surviving either way.” MacPhail loved watching the pious Rickey flinch at the ‘taking of the lord’s name in vain.’

Rickey rose to leave. “Where the hell are you going?”

“I’m going to report back to Crosley and the rest that the Yankees refuse to work with us. We will fold our clubs, and see how badly the NAL wants you.”

“You’re bluffing.”

“The only leverage you have over the NAL is the possibility of forming a league with us. The Yankees only have value as a major league club—but I dare say you are to be faced with the choice of joining the International League or folding.”

MacPhail laughed. “You are pretty ruthless for a Christian.” He lay back in his chair and pondered for a moment. “I’ll make a deal with you Branch. You get Connie Mack to sell and I’m on board. You have the Yankees as your flagship; Dodgers will go along with whatever we’ll do. And there you have your nice little league.”

“I am not sure Mack wants to sell, he’s been a part of the game so long. . .”

“Damn it Branch, offer to make him league president or something worthless like that. It would be great publicity for us. Means more than the National Commission or whatever those other f----rs are putting forth. Figureheads mean more to the common fan than fancy agreements.”

“We’ll still have the problem of the two Saint Louis clubs.”

“Not my problem Branch. Not my problem. You work it out like big boys so only one of your crap teams is left in the city.” MacPhail worked his way back to the wet bar as Rickey started to leave. “Don’t think this is over Branch; you don’t deal with the devil and expect to get the best of him.”