1946: Chaos in Elysium

[seth70liz76]

Theodore Samuel Williams detested events such as these. The annual Boston Hot Stove Dinner, something he would have avoided before the war but as a condition of his new contract, he was required to attend. “In an uncertain off-season,” Yawkey had told him, “the press and fans need to see the stars.” At $150,000 a year, Williams agreed he owed Yawkey that much.

The various Sox came and went from the podium. Making the pronouncement this Red Sox club was going to be the one to return Boston to the top of the baseball world. Maybe it would not carry the cache of the champs of the past, but first is still first, whether it be the American League or the National-American League.

A priest gave a mock eulogy for the departed Braves that broke the hall with the laughter. Ted just sorted through the hundreds of postcards with questions from the crowd. The rest of the Sox were fielding the questions live, softballs with no meat behind them. But Ted just knew the assembled press would lie in wait to pepper him with the heat. Preparation, just like in batting, was the key to a success. No way would Williams let Webb or the others trip him up with some stupid question about the Yankees’ courting. Contracts and money were his business, not theirs. All the damn reporters needed to know was he signed with Boston, anything else was irrelevant.

So the reasons why a man who fought with the press and sometimes the fans would turn down more money ($185,000) to play in a park perfect for his swing might seem interesting, but in the end, it came down to winning. The Yanks were sure to roll the thinned rosters of their Continental League foes, but victory in Boston would be earned. Anything accomplished for New York would be lost in the quality of the opponent.

A tap on the shoulder alerted Ted to his introduction, and he rose to thunderous applause. “The reigning batting champion of baseball, Ted Williams,” the flash of bulbs and echo of the crowd made the room almost stand still in his mind. Just remember, he told himself, they will turn just as quickly. A scorpion is still a scorpion.

“There isn’t much I can say that these guys already haven’t said, so I’ll just go straight to the questions you were kind enough to fill out. We don’t have time for them all, but I selected what I feel are the best.” Ted answered the obligatory questions about his service during the war, the thrill of .400 and the other questions he was expected to answer. “For our final question,” he started a scant ten minutes later, “something a little different. What do I think of Kansas City signing Negroes? I’ll tell you what I think—I think it has been too long in coming. I saw these men playing on service teams, and believe me, there are some ballplayers there; some that could help Boston to the title. And the sooner the men who run these clubs decide to sign the best players, and not just the best white players, the better this game will be. Thank you, and good night.” Ted turned and walked from the podium to a confused smattering of applause. He sat down next to Yawkey, who looked daggers at his star. Williams leaned over to whisper, “I bet you never ask me to one of these things again.”

[seth70liz76]

January 25, 1946.

Mr. Rickey:

I must protest in the strongest terms the theft of Newark Eagles Leon Day and Ray Dandridge by your organization. In all my years in running a baseball club, I have never been witness to such egregious disrespect.

The theft by you and your organization of some of our top players has greatly endangered the livelihood of thousands of American Negroes. It is not enough that you steal our players, but you have also seen fit to uproot the Kansas City Monarchs, one of the top clubs of Negro baseball. It appears you will not be satisfied until our organizations; our investments will be rendered valueless.

The Newark Eagles demand compensation for the above ballplayers, and any players you may see fit to take from us in the future. For Day and Dandridge the sum of $20,000.00 will be acceptable to end this matter before we are forced to take legal action.

Yours,

{Signature} Effa Manley {End of signature}

Branch Rickey,
Kansas City, Missouri.
----------------------------
Ruppert Stadium
Kansas City, Missouri

January 29, 1946.

Mrs. Manley:

The Kansas City Blues are more than willing to compensate any organization we acquire players from; however, neither of the players you have named were under contract with your club. In fact, Mr. Day has stated the arraignment with the Eagles was informal and only veiled verbal assurances of compensation were made.

I would also like to note our organization did provide the owners of the Kansas City Monarchs compensation for the contracted players of theirs we signed.

If you can provide a signed contract for Mr. Dandridge and Mr. Day, we will gladly pay the fee you have suggested.

Yours,

{Signature} Branch Rickey {End of signature}

Effa Manley,
Newark, New Jersey.

[seth70liz76]

“Mr. MacPhail, are you drunk?”

“And what if I am you you, ah, forget it—can’t have my star player pissed at me. So, who’s the horse?”

“That’s my fiancée.”

“Damn, you got to marry that to get a little bit, in my day . . .” Greenberg landed a forceful right to the face of the Yankee GM.

“Get up and say that again you bastard,” the slugger stood over the motionless MacPhail.

“Jeez Hank, I think you knocked him out.”

[seth70liz76]

This link has a great bio from Baseballlibrary.com, one of my fav bio sites, on Larry MacPhail. Baseball is the family business, current Cubs CEO Andy MacPhail is his grandson, and son Lee MacPhail was long time AL League President.

[seth70liz76]

[Note]To this point, I've tried to integrate real characters into the storyline, but my knowledge (and resources) regarding the PCL is limited. Whenever possible, I've used real people, but for the most part, the PCL characters are completely fictional. [/Note]

"So, as these charts show, the loss of the Angels and San Francisco economically is crippling. Hollywood and Oakland are seriously endangered; I'd say they have five years, at best, before relocation is necessary." The crew cut consultant continued to deliver the grim news to the assembled PCL owners.

"And all because the Eastern Leagues are playing there," Oakland owner Paul Rolph shook his head distastefully. The other six owners nodded in agreement.

"Well, it isn't the 'Major League' label that gives them status-it is the wages paid," the consultant offered. "Their five thousand dollar minimum makes it very difficult for the PCL to compete with the Eastern Leagues"

John Clearwater of Sacramento snorted, "Ridiculous! We have always been able to field players of equal talent to the American and National Leagues." Several owners harrumphed in agreement.

"And those players eventually left because the PCL would not pay like the National and American Leagues. With air travel and two west coast teams, the number of players willing to stay with the PCL for less money will be further reduced. The only way to protect your markets is to bring your salary structure in line with the NAL and CL. Do that, and the PCL has a chance to survive as an independent league."

"That would be at least $120,000 on payroll alone; probably $250,000! That would more than double our player expenses," Herbert Joski of Portland cried. "I can't afford that."

The consultant was measured in his reply. "I don't believe every owner, every city, can do it. But to keep the PCL profile high you must meet their standards."

"I could almost run a club for the monies being thrown at DiMaggio and Greenberg."

"And a D-League club can do it for a whole lot less. My job was to assess the situation the PCL is in; frankly it isn't a good situation. As I see it, you have two choices: Increase salaries and start making a play for stars in their prime; or do what you have always done and end up like the American Association and International Leagues. Your best cities taken over and the PCL reduced to developing talent for the Eastern Leagues."

"You've seen what they did in Columbus and Buffalo," President Rowland interjected. "Didn't offer a dime to the owners there; brought in their own people-with the cities just giving away the stadium leases."

"Don't they have what they want," San Diego owner Mac Roegers said hopefully. "I can't see Seattle or San Diego ever being territories they would want."

"Take that chance if you like," the consultant said. "But know this: if you keep to the status quo, all the PCL will be able to lay claim to is being the best minor league in America."

[seth70liz76]

[Newsreel with narration] Spirits are high in Sacramento; after a lengthy owner's meeting, the Pacific Coast League declares itself Major League. Seeking to protect the west coast territories from the encroaching NAL, the PCL agreed to bring their salary structure in line with the former National and American Leagues. Long a showcase for near top-flight ball, the PCL has decided to back-up years of bluster with action. President Charles Rowland says, "We call upon the bickering league, for the betterment of baseball, to appoint a new commissioner to oversee player and territorial disputes. We of the Coast League nominate Connie Mack for such a position." A few months ago the World Series was assumed dead; but now a 3-sided series seems possible. [/newsreel]

[seth70liz76]

Statement by NAL President Ford Frick

While we respect the Pacific Coast League's right to think itself of the same quality as the National-American League, the historical record indicates otherwise. Further, the suggestion to appoint Connie Mack as commissioner of Baseball is equally laughable. Mr. Mack has approved the blatant piracy of some of the National-American League's biggest stars.

The member franchises of the PCL, instead of trying to garner public support by attacking the 'Eastern Leagues', should focus on improving the quality of their players. The American sporting public, over the course of a long season, cannot be fooled into thinking an AA league anything near Major League quality.

[seth70liz76]

"Well, I've been just as good as the player I have had; Dodgers and Braves have never been known for spending money, as least not when I was there. Overall I'd say I was 10-12 games better than the players that I had under the terms of my employment with my former team. Which is to say without me, they would have been worse than they were."

"I understand you can make a bad team better, but how Mr. Stengel? What do you do?"

"Well, say you got a lefty pitching, then I bring in a righty to swing since this is what John McGraw used to do back with the Giants. It is doing the opposite of what the other guy wants you to do, because that is what you should do; unless of course, you don't have the man who can do the job, then I just go by my instinct. See Mack, we'd call him Mack-never to his face mind you, no, it was always Mr. McGraw to his face, but it was Mack when we just talked amongst ourselves, Mack would put me in the best position to succeed, unless he thought the other guy was better than me, then Mack would use him and not me, but usually me instead."

"So, you play percentage baseball, then?"

"Well, any amount you do of anything is a percentage, even if it is zero."

"I see. Well. What do you think you can accomplish here in Oakland?"

"Who is on the roster?"

"That's not settled yet."

"Then I can't answer your question."

"Every other man I've interviewed has talked about winning the PCL pennant."

"Every other man you have interviewed is a liar. Look, you should finish at least 6th because there are two teams getting late starts putting a team together. I don't know how much better I can make them beyond that, unless you let me know who I have to work with."

"I have the provisional roster here."

"Hmmmm. Too many kids, not enough pitching. With this roster I can finish 6th. Get me another starter and a catcher who can hit, we can finish over .500. I'll have to watch them play before I can tell you what we'd need to win it all."

"So, all you can promise is 6th place? That is best you can do?"

"In all honesty, yes. But without me, you'll finish last."


[truthfully, I don't care for this entry, but we must keep moving!]

[seth70liz76]

“What a god forsaken place this is,” PCL president Charles “Pants” Rowland as the air cooled car moved through the dusty roads.

“And Phoenix isn’t?” replied his right hand man and league treasurer Jackson Millbyrn replied. Sheepishly, Rowland nodded in agreement. The Pacific Coast League was now finding itself reaching out into the dessert to find almost suitable homes for its franchises. Long ago the mild weather of the coast made the endless summer of ball one of the most pleasant things in the world. Now, players and officials had July and August in the cauldron of Phoenix to look forward too.

The car pulled up to the hotel, almost completed, rising above the dead land majestically. A tribute to man’s ability to make nature conform to his needs. They two men strode towards the entrance, where the doorman greeted them, “Welcome to the Flamingo; we hope you have a pleasant stay.”

[seth70liz76]

“There it is gentlemen, $3 million, cash for the entry fee into the PCL.” The money almost glowed in the case; the bills packed tight and uniform, waiting to be released.

“The entrance fee is only $1 million, Mr. Siegel,” Charles Rowland was having trouble containing the urge to reach out and touch that much money. Sweat started beading on his forehead, even in the air cooled room.

“Well, I figured a little extra couldn’t hurt,” Benjamin Siegel’s brash confidence made Rowland feel more and more like this was a bad decision to come to Las Vegas. “This is a growing city, tripled in population since the start of the war. A ball club, a Major League ball club, that would really help sell the city to the rest of America.”

“But even with the population explosion that is still, what, only 50,000 people in the whole county. How can you support a club if you are counting on half of the county to show up every night?”

“Let me worry about that,” the sharp dressed man laughed. “I’m not worried about losing some money with a ball club; I’m trying to help build a city here.” Siegel strolled around the room trying to create an easy going atmosphere where nothing but tension lived. “Besides, the tourist will love to see a major league game. Most people who follow baseball, don’t go to the games, we’ll give them a game.”

The question rested on the tip of Rowland’s tongue, “but how do you make your money?”

There was a flash of anger in Siegel’s eyes; a moment away from fury, before reason took over, “The casino, for the most part. I have other business ventures as well, all of them legitimate.” Benjamin poured himself a cool drink. “Look, I know that you baseball types have a problem with gambling because of that World Series thing. But I’m willing to have our sports book not take any action on the team, just to keep it on the up and up.” Siegel closed the case and handed it to Rowland. “That cash would help out the other teams wouldn’t it?”

Charles Rowland fought himself to keep from grabbing the case. “We would require a cashiers check, not cash Mr. Siegel.”

“An honest man. I like doing business with honest men; know where you stand when a man has integrity. I’ll have one of the girls cut you a check.”

“We do have one more group to meet with; some gentlemen from Salt Lake City.”

“Do you what you have to do. But I can cut through the red tape to have a park built, and can absorb the losses. I wonder if your Utah friends can do the same.”

Rowland stood to leave. “The league will meet in Sacramento to evaluate both offers. I will inform them of your willingness to triple the entry fee to get the franchise. Someone will call with the decision then.”

[ifspuds]

Great post, Seth. This continues to be one of my favorite reads.

[seth70liz76]

The bus pulled up to the former military training complex, a canvas and wood city in the middle of nowhere, Arizona. After a brief tryout camp, the hundreds of Negroes who had shown up for a chance to be scouted by Major League teams had been whittled to these 80. Hours ago they had watched friends and teammates turned away after only minutes to show their abilities. Even in this moment of triumph, there was no joy to be had.

Blues manager Clyde Sukeforth, who had scouted many of these same men during the tours of late 1945, addressed the bus. Seven Pacific League and seven Continental League teams-the Yankees abstaining; Larry MacPhail saying "To give tryouts to players whom you do not intend to employ is sheer hypocrisy"-- would be looking for players to sign. There were no guarantees of a contract. They would spend the next month, working out with coaches from the various clubs and play ball. Each player would receive $500 for the month; food and boarding would be at the military training facility. No radio, no movies, no music; just baseball all day long. "We don't just want to know what kind of players you are, we need to know what kind of men. We want to know who wants it most."

"This isn't good Buck," veteran Willie Wells whispered to Buck O'Neill. "Tell a man the only chance he has is at the expense of his friends."

O'Neill nodded, "Still, they wouldn't go to all this trouble not to sign anybody. Each one of us that gets a contract out of this makes it easier for the next one. Besides, I think they would rather have us fight each other than some of the southern boys on those teams." The men grabbed their bags and slowly exited the bus. As they exited, Sukeforth pulled Buck to the front seat.

"Buck, we want you to act as team captain for one of the squads," Clyde started. "You know these players, you know how to use them in a game." Sukeforth leaned closed and scanned the empty bus to be sure no one else was in earshot. "Baltimore is looking for someone who can advise Ruth, help him along but," Sukeforth paused.

"But what Clyde?" O'Neill bit his lip, knowing what was coming next.

"But they don't want someone who will undermine his authority," Sukeforth felt sick to his stomach saying those words. "They don't think the team would respect a Negro enough to undermine Ruth's position." For the first time that day Sukeforth could look Buck O'Neill in the eyes. "I'm sorry Buck. Sorry it has to be that way." After months of watching the Monarchs grind out game after game with limited resources and substandard conditions, Sukeforth knew he was sitting with one of the five best managers he had ever seen.

Buck O'Neill extended his hand. "Clyde, it's not how it should be; but it is the best I got right now. And I'm not going to turn it down because it's not perfect. I'll be waiting too long for that day."

[seth70liz76]

“Mr. MacPhail, Mr. MacPhail” the young assistant was bursting with joy. This thrilled Larry MacPhail to no end. “Always have these empty suits who think because ‘Yankees’ is on their paycheck that they know something about baseball. All they know is three strikes and you’re out, and even then, they usually bug me or Topping just to be sure.” Disdain did not begin to describe what he felt for most of the staff.

“What! I’m a busy man, don’t waste my time.” In truth, MacPhail was looking to meet some of his army buddies for a couple drinks, and did not want to waste time working.

“Our man in Arizona; I didn’t think we sent anyone to the Negro tryout camp—he has sent a telegram,” the office assistant was anticipating the praise and reward to come his way by being the one to bring the good news to MacPhail.

Larry rolled his eyes at the hopefulness of the faceless gray flannel suit. “Oh, enough of them bitched about our not being there that Topping and Webb thought we should send someone. They still are ticked about that Powell thing from, God, ten years ago.” MacPhail moved some papers around while mimicking a Stepen Fetchit voice about the protest of the Yankees boycott of the camp.

The assistant laughed, because that is how one moved up the ladder in any business, at least that’s what the book he read told him. MacPhail grabbed the telegram to confirm that no one in this organization knew anything about baseball.

PROBLEM AT THIRD SOLVED
SEEN MAN WHO WILL CHANGE GAME
ORESTES MINOSO CAN DO EVERYTHING
A STEAL AT THE LEAGUE MIN—AWAIT INSTRUCTIONS

MacPhail looked thoughtfully or at least the look he had when he wanted someone to think he was being thoughtful, and then dropped the telegram into the trash. He looked at the young go getter, “Did you see what I just did?” The faceless suit nodded vigorously. “That’s what I want you to do with every telegram that comes in from the Arizona camp. Do you understand?”

“But, what if the player . . .”

“Son, this isn’t some two-bit operation you are working for. We are the New York Yankees. And I’m not letting just any colored bastard come in and wear that uniform. Especially not one who has a non-American name and probably can’t speak a word of English either. We have standards.” The suit felt very dejected, what he thought was a moment of glory had turned sour.

[seth70liz76]

Buck O’Neill to Josephus Bricker:
“Joey, I’m telling you this because you’ve got a chance to make it. Stop trying to kill the ball, that’s only going to result in strikeouts. Shorten up, just drive the ball. And defensively, think about your positioning more—those ‘just missed’ balls that go for doubles stay in those scouts minds longer than the occasional fancy dan play. I’m putting you out there because I believe you can do this. But that’s all I can do for you—the rest is on you.”

[Dark Horse]

[seth70liz76]

Yeah, I guess I’ve been a little quiet tonight—only told you guys 10 stories instead of my usual 12. Well, I got an invitation to spring training—wait, wait, don’t raise those glasses to me yet. I’ll be dammed if it isn’t just a piss-ant little Coast League team. Phoenix. That’s right the middle of the f-----g dessert. And get this—it isn’t even a invite to the, well, I guess ‘major league’ camp, if the Coast League could have such thing. Yeah, they want me to maybe make a minor league’s minor league. Can you believe it? I told them I needed to think about it, cuz, well, I’m not spending any more time than I have to working for a roster spot. If I don’t have it in March, I’m not gonna have it in June. No I don’t know what I’m gonna do. Rickey wants me to come to Kansas City to do radio; NBC wants me to do a show and this Phoenix team might want me to pitch. Huh? Man, I thought at least Columbus would want me, with the veter’ns they signed, they’d surely have a slot to give ol’ Diz a shot, wouldn’t you think? Hell, I’d rather freeze my n—s off in Minnesota or Buffalo than swelter in Arizona. God, it’s bad enough in the summer here in St. Louis, can’t imagine how miserable it’d be in August out there. I’m so ready to pitch again, and not just exhibitions neither. But, I don’t know if I want it that bad. Radio sure looking purdy good to me now. Well, I can always go to camp, and if it doesn’t work out, do the Kansas City or NBC thing. Man, I thought once I decided to pitch, it would be easy to go down that road again, but man, it’s always sumthin!

[seth70liz76]

A word of warning: there are some ‘out of chronological order’ posts coming up. We are in February 1946, but I’m going to start doing some post for Spring Training for the NAL clubs. Since these clubs will not be integrating this season, there is no reason to wait for the end of the tryout camp to start some ST post for those clubs. Each club will have its ST roster posted in the roster thread (separated into the 40 men at Major League camp and the rest at the minor league camp), and most will have a storyline post or two. Spring training games will begin after the tryout camp. For ease of storytelling, all the NAL clubs are in Florida, the CL and PCL will be out west.

[seth70liz76]

William Cox was the happiest man in America. Three years prior he had outbid John Kelly Jr to acquire the Philadelphia Philles, and now they were finally coming together as a club. As lead investor, he called the shots and answered to no one. He was 35 and living the American Dream.

Players had been filing into the sleepy Hialeah complex for the past few days. Cox had moved training to this area because of the proximity of the Horse and Dog tracks. The racing season would not be in full swing until June, but there would still be plenty of action to be had on and off the tracks.

Howard Bruce, the club’s director of Physical Fitness and Cox’s high school track coach, approached his former pupil. “Looking good in that uniform, Billy.” Even though he was in Cox’s employ, the coach still couldn’t help but be informal.

To the untrained observer, Cox appeared every inch the athlete in his Phillie jersey. “Fit and young, it is the only way to be.” The owner did a quick mock calestinic routine to show he was ready for spring. “When is the morning workout scheduled?”

”Well, Billy, hasn’t the manager posted the schedule or anything like that?”

“Oh s—t! I haven’t hired one yet.” Turning to his personal secretary Dorothy Massey, he asked, “Has Chuck Klein reported yet?” Miss Massey flipped through the pages of her notebook to affirm what she thought she knew.

”Yes, he is in bungalow A-10.” Chuck Klein, once a feared slugger was not expected to make the club. Like many veterans who saw the war take away the end of their career, Klein received a courtesy invitation to Spring Training. A chance to spend a few days in camp, remind fans of the good old days, and then bow out respectfully on ‘their’ terms.

“Well, that’s taken care of then,” Cox triumphantly crowed.

Massey and Bruce gave each other a double take. “Shouldn’t you ask him to be sure he wants the job?” Mr. Bruce finally asked.

Cox half-suppressed a giggle, “What player doesn’t want to manage? Dorothy, write a quick release for the press. The fans back in Philly will love this move.”

[seth70liz76]

Originally Posted by Buccaneer

Ah. A Daniel Snyder in his previous life sighting.

The bit about dressing up in uniform and working out with the team: That's true. He fired manager Bucky Harris by announcing it at a press conference in Philadelphia while the Phils were in Saint Louis getting ready to play. Harris did not know he had been fired until the press told him.

[seth70liz76]

In the roster thread I mentioned I wanted to do a storyline of the 4 big free agents who both leagues were courting: Johnny Mize, Hooks Wyse, Schoolboy Rowe and Arky Vaughan. Try as I might, I just never seemed to get something together that read well. So, I scrapped the idea, and just moved on. There were some, well, not important, but things that would have set down some of the ground rules this universe is working with.

The main problem I had with the storylines I was dropping almost exclusively into dialogue, which is not my strong suit. It is very hard to make negotiations sound interesting and even harder if you have several negotiations to do. The Greenberg and DiMaggio bits worked because the negotiations were not directly addressed; I couldn’t think of a similar way to do the four free agents. I just kept repeating myself; which to me is worse than not doing anything at all. (Ok, ok, so there are similarities to this world and the Prologue/Prequel world—but in fairness to me, Prologue/Prequel initially was going to build to this timeline, it just didn’t make it that far)

I did think about doing the newspaper reporting style to tell these stories, but I’ve (other than some newsreel post) purposely stayed away from that motif. That style was so big in Prologue/Prequel, I wanted to hold off on that and work on other storytelling devices.

Anyhoo, since setting up the rosters is more involved than I thought it would be (what with the adjusting salaries and such) I’m going to take a little break from posting of the narrative. Instead, for the next couple days, I’m going to focus on two storylines I, for one reason or another, didn’t think I could pull off, but think are important enough to warrant some mention:

• The first true free agents
• A rose by any other name