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Chapter 2

STARTING TO BUILD

In 1928, Cleveland, Ohio, was one of the leading cities in the nation. The population of the greater Cleveland area was over one million, making it the sixth largest city in the United States. The downtown area was thriving with first-class restaurants, hotels, and a popular theater district. Playhouse Square had multiple theaters including the Allen, the Hanna, the State, and the Ohio. The new phenomenon of talking motion pictures attracted thousands of viewers.

Just one year earlier, the Terminal Tower opened for business, the second-largest building in the country. The massive structure had fifty-two floors and stood over seven hundred feet tall. The project was the brainchild of the reclusive railroad barons, brothers Oris and Mantis Van Sweringen. Described as having “innate modesty,” the two men proposed building the gigantic structure on Public Square. Incorporated in the plans was the construction of a huge railroad terminal directly underneath. The 3.5-acre complex included major retail space, a sleek hotel, a medical building, and a post office. The cost of the project totaled a whopping $179 million. To encourage all the thrill seekers in town, there was an open observation deck built on the forty-second floor. Statistics were not kept on how many crazed individuals rode the elevators up the dizzying heights.

Since 1924, Cleveland government had been run by a city manager system. The person in charge was supposed to be nonpartisan, able to work with either Democrats or Republicans. William Hopkins, a successful businessman, ran the city. He reported to the city council but usually succeeded in getting his plans approved. In 1925, he got the authorization to build a municipal airport, one of the first in the United States. It would be a few years before regular passenger service, but mail planes began to make daily flights to and from the airport. Hopkins had big ideas to develop downtown Cleveland, among them a new place for the Indians to play baseball.

Though Prohibition still ruled the land, savvy Clevelanders knew where to find a good bottle of scotch. Bootleggers sneaked boats across Lake Erie to Canada, where a vast supply of gin, whiskey, and vodka could be purchased. Government agents patrolled the shipping lanes, but many boats were able to reach the Cleveland lakefront and get the alcohol to any number of clandestine warehouses. In the winter, men would drive their cars and trucks over the frozen lake and bring back all the booze they could carry. This was one industry that Cleveland officials did not openly boast about.

By 1928 there were three major radio stations in town, WHK, WTAM, and WJAY. The stations offered a wide variety of programming including music, news, comedy shows, and a small amount of sports reporting. The sports programming at WTAM was handled by Tom “Red” Manning, the former public-address announcer at League Park. Manning used a four-foot megaphone at the ballpark to announce the lineups to the reporters in the press box. He had to tone down his voice a few decibels when behind the radio microphone.

Recreation and leisure time were important components of the 1920s lifestyle. The economy steamed ahead, with good jobs that were easy to locate. Both men and women had disposable incomes which allowed for the purchase of cars, radios, refrigerators, and a robust nightlife. Nightclubs were everywhere downtown, and dinner, dancing, and a bit of romance were there for the asking. Young people, many of them college educated, spent their money freely, which made Cleveland a genuine hot spot. Now it was time for baseball to return to the forefront.

General manager Billy Evans had a difficult job awaiting him. The 1927 Indians won a grand total of sixty-six games, which got them sixth place in the American League. Remaining from the 1920 World Champions were shortstop Joe Sewell, outfielder Charlie Jamieson, pitcher George Uhle, and first baseman George Burns. Luke Sewell, the younger brother of Joe, had been with the club since 1921. The veterans were still going strong, leading the club in most of the offensive statistics. The elder Sewell could be counted on to hit over .300 while striking out less than ten times per five hundred at bats. Joe always claimed he could see the ball hit the bat. Based on his strikeout ratio, he was probably telling the truth.

Charlie Jamieson was one of the most consistent players in the game. He usually hit around .300, scored plenty of runs, and played excellent defense. Charlie had a lot of range in left field, always among the league leaders in assists. He was a fan favorite at League Park, a fixture on the ball club.

George Burns fit the category of an aging veteran, but still had his moments on the field. Burns was the American League’s Most Valuable Player in 1926. His statistics that year were amazing, batting .358, with 216 hits, a league leading sixty-four doubles, and 115 RBIs. As the reigning MVP, Burns received a salary boost to $12,000 a year, but the following season his numbers dropped considerably. At age thirty-four, Burns could still hit, but he was on the inevitable decline. Billy Evans had a decision to ponder at first base.

George Uhle, born and raised in Cleveland, was the ace of the Indians pitching staff. He had won over twenty games three times, the most recent being twenty-seven wins in 1926. Uhle was one of the few pitchers in the American League that Babe Ruth did not terrorize. Though Ruth hit over .300 against George, his home runs were few and far between. That in itself was quite an accomplishment.

Luke Sewell was a fine complement to his older brother Joe. Though he generally hit around .250, he always got his bat on the ball. The Sewell brother just did not strike out. Luke was an exceptional defensive catcher, several times leading the American League in assists. His percentage in throwing out base runners was well above average. For some years he sat on the bench behind Steve O’Neill and Glenn Myatt, but he grabbed playing time when the Indians traded O’Neill to Boston. Luke was a durable catcher, playing over 120 games a year. This was one position manager Peckinpaugh did not have to concern himself with.

The remaining part of the Cleveland roster was somewhat unsettled. Billy Evans did not have the time needed to implement the immediate changes he felt necessary. Alva Bradley and his partners were willing to spend a small fortune to acquire some top-shelf talent. They believed that if enough money was waved around, great players were sure to follow. Bradley reasoned, if he offered the Yankees George Burns and $100,000, they might part with Lou Gehrig. The team president would learn quickly that players of Gehrig’s ability were not available even for a yacht filled with cash.

With spring training just around the corner, Billy Evans thoroughly studied his roster. The infield was decent enough with Burns at first base, the veteran Lew Fonseca at second, Joe Sewell at short, and a young Johnny Hodapp at third. Fonseca, primarily a singles hitter, could bat well over .300 but had difficulty staying healthy. The Indians acquired Hodapp in August 1925 from the minor-league Indianapolis Indians. He was a big kid, six feet tall and weighing 185 pounds. He came from a family of undertakers, an always steady profession, although slightly on the morbid side. The club shelled out between forty and fifty thousand dollars to bring Hodapp to Cleveland. There was a two-week delay, during which the twenty-one-year-old refused to report until he got part of the purchase price for himself. Manager Tris Speaker was probably not too angry with the holdout, as Spoke had done the same thing in 1916 when Cleveland purchased him from the Red Sox. Hodapp did eventually arrive and showed some potential in the last two months of the season.

The outfield was solid on the corners, with Jamieson in left field and the reliable Homer Summa in right. Still, since 1926 center field had posed a substantial problem for the team. Tris Speaker, after his eleven outstanding seasons, had abruptly departed the franchise. The Indians had nobody waiting to pick up the slack. Billy Evans and his scouts would search the United States but it would take another year before they could find a long-term replacement for the magnificent Speaker.

The most difficult problem for Billy Evans was the pitching staff. After his great 1926 season, George Uhle had been plagued with arm trouble. In 1927 he only appeared in twenty-five games, winning just eight. Along with Uhle’s troubles, Joe Shaute had a record of nine wins and sixteen losses. Garland “Gob” Buckeye, a lefty, had a great name but his record was abysmal, a total of ten wins and seventeen losses. Buckeye had the distinction of weighing over 260 pounds while standing six feet tall. No, it was not all muscle. There was Emil “Dutch” Levsen, a three-game winner that season with seven losses.

Cleveland’s leading pitcher in 1927 was Willis Hudlin. Born in 1906, Hudlin was a high school sensation from the small town of Wagoner, Oklahoma, in the northeast part of the state. The small community was created as a railroad town in the late nineteenth century. At the time Willis was born, the local population stood at approximately four thousand. During his high school years, Hudlin was an All-State football and basketball player, track star, and the best baseball pitcher for miles around. His spectacular play brought college football recruiters from Texas, but Hudlin only wanted to play baseball. In the spring of 1926 he signed a contract to play for the Class A Waco Cubs in the Texas League. Hudlin departed for Waco without finishing high school. The Cubs manager was Del Pratt, a former St. Louis Brown and American League RBI champ in 1916. Pratt knew a ballplayer when he saw one, and Hudlin turned out to be the real deal. Willis pitched against some seasoned competition but showed he was their match or better. He had a blistering fastball which he threw both overhand and sidearm. The pitch had a pronounced sink to it that baffled the minor-league hitters.

Scouts rapidly descended on Waco to get a close look at the star pitcher. Despite the Cubs lounging in the cellar, Hudlin managed to win sixteen games. The New York Yankees emissary believed Hudlin had a major-league arm that was nearly ready for the big time. Pratt sensed the opportunity to make a big score and announced that the price for Hudlin would be $25,000 plus three players. The Yankees put down an option to buy, good until June 7. They were reluctant to part with three players but did not want to pass on the hot prospect. The Cincinnati Reds badgered Pratt to accept a $5,000 payment up front with the balance due sixty days later. They wanted time to determine if Willis could help their club.

During all the high-level bargaining, Cleveland scout Cy Slapnicka waited quietly for an opportunity to move in and steal the prize. He was everything you wanted in a scout: aggressive, resourceful, slightly devious, and willing to bend the rules. Along with these qualities, Slapnicka had a great eye for talent. One way or another he was going to bring Hudlin to Cleveland.

On the morning of June 7, Slapnicka walked into Del Pratt’s office and asked if the Yankees had picked up their option. Pratt answered no, but they had until 1:00 p.m. to do so. The Indians scout eyed the clock for another two hours, then visited Pratt again. Time was now up for the Yankees. Slapnicka reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a check for $25,000. He negotiated with Pratt on the additional three players for Waco and the deal was done. The value of the transaction including the three players was $40,000, a remarkable amount of money for a nineteen-year-old not quite finished with high school.

The Cleveland fans were quite eager to get a look at the best pitcher from the Texas League. On August 16, 1926, Willis Hudlin started the opening game of a doubleheader against the St. Louis Browns. The fans packed League Park to the tune of 25, 000 spectators, an overflow crowd. Willis made it through two innings but completely lost control in the third. He walked the first three batters, then gave up a base hit. Speaker pulled Hudlin from the game but the relief pitchers did not help, the Browns winning, 11–7.

On August 31, Hudlin made another appearance against St. Louis, this time in relief. With the game tied he pitched seven scoreless innings to record his first major-league win. The Indians stole the game in the bottom of the twelfth when Homer Summa scored on an error by the Browns shortstop. Cleveland fans were delighted in what they saw from the young pitcher.

The second-place Indians still had a chance to catch the Yankees, which meant Hudlin would ride the bench for the remainder of September. He trekked back to Wagoner to compete his high school education, but had a rough time paying attention in class and ultimately gave up all thought of finishing school. He would later tell reporters, “It is pretty tough work trying to study geometry when you are thinking of how to throw a curveball past Babe Ruth.” That winter he did a different type of studying. He built a wooden ballplayer and put canvas behind the dummy to stop the baseballs. Hudlin added a wooden strike zone from the knees to the chest, then practiced throwing strikes throughout the winter. If nothing else he would get an A for effort.

In the 1927 campaign Hudlin would win eighteen games, leading the Cleveland pitching staff. He might have won twenty, but a bad-hop grounder hit him right between the eyes, resulting in a concussion. For too many days he was light-headed and frequently bled from the nose. Regardless of the accident, Hudlin still had an exceptional season. He was one of the bright spots in a vastly disappointing year.

Team president Bradley and general manager Evans certainly wanted to improve their ball club for the 1928 season. This posed quite a challenge for the Indians as well as the other American League teams trying to unseat the World Champion Yankees. The New York club was an absolute powerhouse with no hint of slowing down. In 1927, Babe Ruth broke his own home run record with sixty, while Lou Gehrig trailed with a paltry forty-seven. Next in line was Tony Lazzeri with eighteen. The Ruth-Gehrig combination knocked in an amazing total of 339 runs. If that was not enough, Bob Meusel had 103 RBIs while Lazzeri finished with 102. The Yankees won 111 games against forty-four defeats. One has to go back to 1906 to find a club with a better record, that being the Chicago Cubs of 1906, led by first baseman/manager Frank Chance. If for some reason the big bats were silent, the Yankee pitching staff could easily take up the slack. Waite Hoyt led all American League pitchers with twenty-two wins, followed closely by Herb Pennock with nineteen.

Truly the Yankees were a dynasty, with few teams that could throw down with them. One was Philadelphia. After more than a decade of being hopelessly inept, Connie Mack had his Athletics competitive again. Young players, including pitcher Robert “Lefty” Grove and outfielder Al Simmons, were leading Philadelphia back to the upper division. A new third baseman named Jimmy Foxx was about to pay big dividends for Mr. Mack. The Washington Senators were a solid club and St. Louis usually played above .500. The Indians had to improve tremendously to jump over any of these ball clubs.

With a number of obstacles to overcome, the 1928 Indians prepared for spring training. The new ownership determined to move camp to New Orleans, a familiar location for Cleveland teams past. A few weeks before they left, City Manager William Hopkins addressed the city council. He advised them that a meeting had taken place on January 25 with Alva Bradley, Chuck Bradley, and team secretary Joseph Hostetler. A new stadium was on the table and Hopkins wanted to test how much the Indians might pay for an exclusive lease. He had in mind an enormous facility on the lakefront that could seat approximately eighty thousand fans. Osborne Engineering, the firm that had built League Park, gave Hopkins some tentative plans that included a price tag of two million dollars.

For the stadium to be built, a bond issue had to be submitted to Cleveland voters in the November general election. Hopkins estimated the bond interest and carrying charges would amount to $155,000 for the first year. He wanted Bradley and the other Indians owners to pay for the bulk of it with additional money coming from football games and world-class boxing events. Hopkins explained to the Cleveland Plain Dealer, “When we go to the people for a bond issue we want to be able to say this won’t cost you a cent. We want to know in advance that the income from the stadium will pay the carrying charges on the bonds.”

It is likely the opening of the Terminal Tower gave the city politicians plenty of optimism about a new project. If that massive structure could be built, why not a new stadium? Civic pride was taking hold in Cleveland. It stood to reason that the time was now to take on another large-scale project. Perhaps the momentum had indeed swung in the city manager’s favor.

Though public support seemed to be within reach, Hopkins had some major obstacles to overcome. The largest was the right-of-way the railroad companies enjoyed at the lakefront. At present, the rail people could build track on much of the land needed for the new stadium. He required their approval to set aside the area for construction. All things considered, it was an ambitious plan. Even if the bond issue passed and the railroad barons gave their okay, Hopkins still had other battles to fight. Most importantly, Alva Bradley needed to be on board for the lease agreement. Full support from the city council had to be achieved. If Hopkins was successful on all these counts, the voters in Cuyahoga County were still a big question mark. Was a new stadium really necessary? League Park had been doing fine for thirty-seven years. The park at 66th and Lexington had good views, was easy to get to, and brought in revenue to the businesses located in and around the field. For years, the neighborhood kids prowled Lexington Avenue in hopes of snagging baseballs that sailed over the towering right field wall. They would be out of luck if the Indians moved to the lakefront. City Manager Hopkins had let the genie out of the bottle. He needed to be exceedingly shrewd in getting his wishes granted.

On February 19, 1928, the Indians pitchers and coaches boarded their train for the trip to New Orleans. Everybody in the group was eager to once again play ball. No doubt they all were motivated to show their best stuff to the new management. The reporters and photographers for the city’s three daily newspapers were falling all over themselves to board the train and escape the frigid Cleveland winter. The sportswriters and the camera guys for the Plain Dealer, News, and Press had been going south with the team for many years. This was a chance to get some exclusive interviews and talk baseball in a relaxed setting. It had to be one of the great perks of the job.

Upon arrival the squad headed for the Hotel Roosevelt, one of the finest places to stay in New Orleans. Unfortunately, the boys had arrived at the conclusion of Mardi Gras and the celebrants were still in their suites sleeping off all the fun. Everybody gathered in the lobby, waiting for rooms to open up. Local reporters sat down with manager Peckinpaugh to see what he thought about the Indians’ chances for the season. Peck told the writers, “I’m not going to make any predictions because we can’t estimate our strength until Uhle and Levsen show whether they have come back. We are certainly stronger than we were last year if only because the team’s spirit is bound to be better.” Peck would go on to say the Yankees and Philadelphia were the class of the league with Washington right behind. Possibly Cleveland could move up to fourth place. The new manager was being conservative, but he knew the American League as well as anyone else if not better. He wanted fans to be hopeful but not expect a contending team right out of the gate.

A week later the infielders and outfielders arrived in camp. Full workouts were under way. There was the practice of leapfrog, where the players took turns jumping over one another across the field. The Indians had been doing this going back to 1916 when Lee Fohl was manager. It is difficult to determine the benefits of leapfrog, but the players seemed to really enjoy the drill. They ran a brisk lap around Heinemann Park and got in their share of calisthenics. Peck did not drive his players to exhaustion, but he made certain the entire squad got in a good day’s work. He even allowed them to play golf after the workouts.

Billy Evans had sent a large number of ballplayers to New Orleans to give his manager a chance to find some raw talent. There were three or four extra each of shortstops, catchers, and outfielders. One of the shortstops was a football and baseball All-Star from Syracuse University who impressed Peck immediately with some good fielding and timely hitting. His name was Jonah Goldman.

The new prospect was born in 1906 in New York City. He was by far the best athlete at Erasmus High School in Brooklyn, excelling at football, soccer, basketball, and track. With all the time devoted to sports, Goldman fell behind in his studies, causing him to spend a year at prep school. Many colleges were interested but Goldman decided to attend Syracuse University. There he immediately played halfback on the freshman football team and shortstop on the baseball squad. He quickly drew attention for spectacular long runs on the football field and belting doubles and triples on the diamond. The opponents were of high quality, including colleges like Michigan, Nebraska, Penn State, and Boston College. Some of the notice that went Goldman’s way had little to do with events on the playing field: he was a rare commodity, in being a multisport Jewish athlete.

Since the latter part of the nineteenth century, Major League Baseball had been one of the few places where immigrants had a chance to excel. Initially it was an opportunity for men who had arrived from Ireland and found little opportunity other than grueling manual labor. Those who had some athletic skill discovered that ballplayers could earn a living with a professional baseball club. Near the end of the nineteenth century there were McGraws, Delahantys, McGinnitys, and Kellys in the National League. Irish folks would pack the bleachers to see one of their own perform. Next came the German wave, with the great Honus Wagner, Hans Lobert, and Henry “Heinie” Groh. All had certain difficulties with lowbrow fans who loathed immigrants, but over time there came a general acceptance.

Jewish athletes entered baseball at a much slower pace. There were wealthy Jewish men who owned baseball teams, including Andrew Freedman of the New York Giants and Barney Dreyfuss of the Pittsburgh Pirates. Be that as it may, ballplayers were few and far between. Moe Berg entered the majors in the early 1920s. Buddy Myer became a star for the Washington Senators, but there is still debate today as to whether or not he was actually Jewish: apparently his father was, his mother not. Now Jonah Goldman began to make headlines in newspapers around the country, mostly due to his religion. Almost invariably, articles would mention he was a Jewish boy trying to make good with the Indians. If that was not enough to contend with, he had to beat out Joe Sewell for a job. The veteran from Alabama was not about to step aside for anybody.

Editors and columnists from around the country weighed in on the prospect of Jewish ballplayers in the big leagues. For years, manager John McGraw of the New York Giants had searched the New York City area, trying to find a talented Jewish player for his club. McGraw believed that if he could locate the right individual the Polo Grounds would be overflowing with Jewish fans. In 1928 the Giants brought second baseman Andy Cohen to training camp. McGraw hoped he had found the player that the vast Jewish population in the New York metro area would embrace. If Cohen made the Giants roster for the upcoming season, a large spike in attendance would surely take place. Some writers called it a fad, others commercialization.

A sports editor in Mississippi wrote a column on the subject, saying that there truly was a fad going on in baseball with this turn toward Jewish ballplayers. He referred to the Yankees signing Jimmy Reese, whose actual last name was Goldsmith, the Giants and Andy Cohen, and the Indians with Jonah Goldman, and noted the “ballyhoo” accompanying these players, mostly because of their religion. Some writers were hopeful that the fans around the country would be enlightened enough to boo or cheer based only on how the players performed. Most acknowledged that there were times when Jewish ballplayers were harassed out of the game, but the hope was that people in the late 1920s were more tolerant and would not hold a man’s religion against him.

Damon Runyon saw the lighter side of the issue. He wrote in a syndicated column that boisterous Irish fans could cheer the “Andrew” part of Andy Cohen while the Jewish fans could yell for the “Cohen” part. He suggested the name should be changed to O’Cohen to appease both factions.

The Cleveland papers picked up on the hot topic immediately. They made a strong point of letting the readers know the young shortstop was Jewish. Later they would publish stories about his playing ability, but for now his religion was selling the papers. Shortly after the signing was announced, a local reporter pulled out a telephone directory and located the page with the name “Goldman” listed. He called ten of the numbers for reactions to the signing. Some of those he spoke to had no idea what was taking place, while a few knew baseball and figured out why they’d gotten the phone call. The article probably triggered chuckles around the city, but if the name had been Smith or Johnson there simply would have been no story.

For his part, Jonah Goldman stayed as quiet on the sidelines as possible. Writers mentioned that he did not take part in the clubhouse banter, did not play cards, or even smoke. He enjoyed going to the picture shows and seeing the sights. Whether or not he did these activities alone is purely a matter of speculation. His teammates may have accepted him on the playing field, but social activities could have been another matter. When asked about how the other players treated him, Goldman praised his teammates for all the help they provided on the diamond. He expected to get the cold shoulder, but was pleased to be treated as just another ballplayer. Although recently out of college, he had ample maturity and the good sense not to give sportswriters any more headlines than necessary. Though the Cleveland players may have been tolerant to a degree, it would be years before all of baseball followed suit.

Spring training went along as usual with the workouts and exhibition games. Those pitchers trying to overcome arm troubles would tell the press they had never felt better. Hitters who had had an off year would remark how well they were seeing the ball. Manager Peckinpaugh needed to study each player to determine who would take the trip north to open the season.

As the weeks rolled by, Peck sensed he had found lightning in a bottle in second baseman Carl Lind. The newest recruit had played his collegiate ball at Tulane University. He got a timely opportunity when Joe Sewell fell injured and there was some shuffling done in the infield. Lind seized the moment and earned himself a place on the roster. Not so for shortstop Jonah Goldman. He displayed a lot of promise, but Peckinpaugh believed he would do better with a year in the minors. His time would come, just a little bit later.

With Opening Day on the horizon, the Indians left New Orleans and traveled north for Chicago. They were eager to start a new season and prove the previous year’s sixth-place finish was the exception to the norm. The White Sox were not expected to do much in the pennant race, which gave Cleveland a fighting chance to win a few early. Peckinpaugh opted to go with his veteran, penciling in George Uhle as the starter. It proved to be a wise decision, as the Indians won the opener, 8–2. The Sewell brothers led the way, with Joe (recovered from a sore knee) bashing three hits and Luke two. Uhle added three hits and a sacrifice for a perfect day at the plate. The game was not without plenty of excitement. In the bottom of the third inning, the White Sox had runners on first and third with two out. Willie Kamm, the Chicago captain, lifted a fly ball to short right-center field. Eddie Morgan raced in from center while second baseman Lew Fonseca drifted back. The ball was seemingly too far to reach and neither yelled they had it. Fonseca stretched out at the last instant and speared the ball. Morgan could not stop, slamming into his teammate at full speed. Somehow, Fonseca held the ball while both players fell to the ground. After a few minutes both stood up and walked slowly to the Indians dugout. Morgan came to bat in the fifth inning, took a big cut at Ted Lyons’s pitch and crumpled to the ground. He was helped to the clubhouse, then straight to a Chicago hospital for X-rays. Nothing was broken, but the doctors noticed a blood clot right below the heart where the impact had occurred. Morgan had to remain in the hospital for several days. He would later say that he could not remember anything that happened before the fifth inning.

Despite the temporary loss of Morgan and Fonseca the Indians continued to win. They easily beat Detroit, 8–1, with Joe Shaute pitching a fine game. Willis Hudlin pitched well for his first win and Cleveland found themselves on top with a 3–0 record. They would arrive back in Cleveland filled with confidence for the long-awaited home opener.

The day before the League Park gates were unlocked, Alva Bradley spoke to members of the local Building Exchange. Bradley told the businessmen, “No big city is really a big city anymore unless it has a stadium and we want the biggest and best one here.” Bradley challenged the city to get going on the plans, or he and his partners would build it themselves. Billy Evans spoke up as well. He said, “At the opener [this] Wednesday we could have enough paid admission to fill this proposed stadium.” The new ownership was clearly making a strong statement that they wanted the new facility built now or they were prepared to go private and cut the city out of any lease revenue. William Hopkins quickly made a comment for the newspapers, saying, “The Cleveland Baseball Club Company will lease the stadium and be our largest tenant.” He reminded fans that he would bring football and boxing in as well, which would take care of the bond interest and carrying charges. Whether or not Bradley was appeased by this declaration would remain to be seen.

April 18 finally came around and the excited Cleveland fans converged on League Park, ready to watch the Indians battle the White Sox. Many of them were using automobiles to get to 66th and Lexington. When Frank Robison built the stately park in 1891 he could not see the future and the coming of the horseless carriage. There was no room anywhere near his park for cars and buses, so fans parked on both sides of area streets and even used up large amounts of the sidewalks. Many of the folks who lived on Linwood and Lexington Avenues opened their front lawns for parking. Fees were not reported, but we all know about enterprising people and the economics of supply and demand. No doubt the car owners paid through the nose for prime parking.

Morning temperatures hovered in the frigid low thirties, and fans who arrived early brought their overcoats with them. The game-day forecast called for a chance of rain with highs in the low sixties. For those who knew Cleveland weather, anything near fifty degrees would be more than acceptable. Freezing temperatures notwithstanding, the fans lined up early at the ticket windows. Many would have taken a glance at the Terminal Tower to make certain the American flag was flying. If the flag was up that meant the game was on. All the reserved seats were taken but plenty of grandstand seats were available. By game time the stands would be completely filled.

The man in charge of concessions, Robert Hamilton, anticipated an enormous day for himself and his vendors. The night before they had roasted a massive amount of hot dogs. Once the game started, Hamilton had twenty-five boys standing by to reheat the dogs and slap on the mustard. As soon as the food was ready, there were seventy-five men and boys to peddle it around the park. All told, there were six hundred pounds of hot dogs ready to be devoured. For those that needed a coffee fix, Hamilton brewed over two hundred pounds’ worth. To complement the hot dogs and coffee, roasted peanuts, popcorn, and potato chips were stored in hefty containers.

A number of fans were disappointed when they were told that soda pop was not on the menu. Concessionaire Hamilton decided that the receipts from previous years did not warrant serving any Coca-Cola. This news was happily welcomed by the American League umpires working League Park. Baseball fans had a long tradition of showing what they thought of bad calls by the umpire. After a few minutes of loud boos, the people in the stands took aim and heaved empty pop bottles at the hapless men on the field. An umpire had to be nimble to avoid the shower of glass coming at all speeds. At least for 1928, the men in blue at League Park could relax and worry only about flying peanut shells or an occasional hot dog.

Opening Day always featured various ceremonies before the teams took the field. Brass bands played, certain city officials were introduced, and the American flag was raised near the center-field scoreboard. Manager Peckinpaugh received a six-foot floral arrangement shaped like a horseshoe. The fans cheered while Peck waved to the grandstand. The longstanding custom of throwing out the first pitch went to City Manager Hopkins. He made an awkward throw, and it was time to play baseball. The Indians lineup went as follows:

Charlie Jamieson (left field)

Carl Lind (second base)

Sam Langford (center field)

Joe Sewell (shortstop)

George Burns (first base)

Homer Summa (right field)

Johnny Hodapp (third base)

Luke Sewell (catcher)

Joe Shaute (pitcher)

Johnny Mostil led off for the White Sox and grounded to George Burns. Pitcher Joe Shaute gave up a base on balls and hit a batter, but kept Chicago from scoring. The Indians got rolling in the bottom of the first. With one out, Carl Lind singled. Sam Langford lined a ball off the short right-field wall but was held to a single. Veteran outfielders like Johnny Mostil knew how to play balls that caromed off the imposing wall. He played the bounce perfectly, wheeled and threw to second to keep Langford from advancing. Joe Sewell got the crowd shouting by lining a double to right field. Lind crossed the plate with the first run of the home season. George Burns flied to right, scoring Sam Langford with the second run. Those would be all the runs needed by Shaute to win the home opener, although Cleveland scored five more times in the seventh inning. The big hits were a bases-loaded single by Johnny Hodapp and a double by Luke Sewell. The Indians cruised to a 7–1 victory.

It had been quite a successful day for Alva Bradley and his partners. They watched an exciting game with loads of action. Everywhere the new owners looked, there were fans yelling and applauding, thrilled to see the home season get off to a rousing start. There was still a great deal of work to do in making the club a contender, but Bradley saw the potential of putting a quality product on the field—including justification for building a new ballpark that could seat more than three times the amount of fans squeezed into League Park.

The game ended right around 5:00 p.m. Fans madly dashed to their automobiles, intent on getting ahead of the traffic. Within minutes one of the all-time traffic snarls in Cleveland history took place. The fifty police officers on duty whistled and yelled at hundreds of autos trying to get out of the neighborhood and find their way to Euclid and Carnegie Avenues. Any sense of protocol and orderly behavior was forgotten. Cars were everywhere, flying down alleys and side streets. The streetcars, special buses, and taxis moved in to pick up the thousands of people needing rides. Soon they were literally stopped in their tracks, blocked by the onslaught of Model T’s and the like. Police estimated the delays at forty minutes and climbing. The cars that somehow reached Euclid Avenue ran directly into the normal traffic jam that had begun a half-hour earlier. Motorists were able to move about three feet, then stop and wait a few minutes to move another three. The fender benders were too numerous to count. One driver shouted to police to stop the car behind him that had already rammed him twice. An officer screamed back to write it down and mail the complaint to headquarters.

At one point a streetcar managed to reach a large group of fans. Within moments it was filled. Those who hadn’t managed to climb aboard stood defiantly in the street, holding back the traffic until they spied another streetcar. To add to the chaos, a woman driver in a large auto attempted to make a left turn in the middle of Euclid Avenue. She got about halfway across, then stopped suddenly, unable to drive any further. This daring move stopped traffic in both directions, causing the male drivers let go with obscenities. Women had made significant strides by the late 1920s, but equality was still many decades ahead. The fact that the woman sat calmly in her car and chewed gum really aggravated the guys on both sides of her. It would be more than a full hour before the streets began to clear. This was Opening Day at its finest.

The following day, Willis Hudlin kept the good feelings alive by defeating the hapless White Sox, 9–2. Johnny Hodapp and Carl Lind had three hits apiece. The new second baseman was off to a blazing start, knocking in three runs with a single, double, and triple. All this winning was something new, prompting Gordon Cobbledick of the Plain Dealer to write, “If you will glance at the table of American League standings this morning, you will observe that the first team on the list is Cleveland and that New York and Washington were tied for second place.” Cobbledick had taken the place of Henry Edwards, who moved to Chicago to work in the American League office. For the next forty years Gordon Cobbledick, a native Clevelander, would be regarded as one of the best sportswriters in the business. He may have been overly optimistic given that it was still only late April, but for a short time the Indians were playing like contenders.

In the beginning of June the Indians dropped seven in a row to the Red Sox, Yankees, and Senators. No doubt many of the sceptics were waiting for this. The team did not have much pitching and defense, and the lack of a real power hitter began to show. In the middle of July they dropped five straight to New York. As the months continued Cleveland sank deeper and deeper in the standings. Another sixth- or even a seventh-place finish was looming.

The Indians’ inexperienced front office was making mistakes as well. On July 14 the newspapers reported the team had claimed pitcher Johnny Miljus on waivers from the Pittsburgh Pirates. Miljus was a journeyman at best, not a star by any means. Almost immediately a controversy arose. The front office had neglected a rule which stated that a player who had been bought by a Major League team, if waived within a year, must pay the purchase price and not the waiver fee. The Pirates had bought Miljus from Seattle for $17,500 the previous July. That meant the Indians had to pay $17,500, not the waiver price of $7,500. The front office, likely covering for an embarrassed Billy Evans, issued a quick statement that a clerical employee had made an error and was not authorized to act on the waiver deal. The office wanted to withdraw the claim and pretend it never happened. The identity of the phantom employee was never revealed. The Pirates front office appealed to Commissioner Landis to oblige the Indians to cough up the money. Landis took one week to render a decision. It was a terse one, to the effect that the Indians had bought Miljus for $17,500. Evans tried to save face by issuing another statement to the press, saying, “We took a licking but we don’t feel bad about it. We rather think the acquisition of Miljus is a good thing for us.” From July through September, the new pitcher would win one game for his new team.

Just two weeks after the Miljus fiasco, Alva Bradley made a decision that launched Cleveland baseball into the modern age: he gave the green light to WTAM Radio to start broadcasting the Indians home games every day except Sundays. For some time Bradley had agonized over the decision. He, like other owners, was concerned that the broadcasting of games would result in a significant reduction in attendance. Why pay money to see the games when you could hear them for free in your office or home? There were no statistics to analyze involving any trends in attendance versus broadcasts. In the end, Bradley came to his decision by putting the interests of the Cleveland fans first.

Radio had been around in baseball since 1921, when station KDKA broadcast a Pittsburgh Pirates game. The World Series was next, with Grantland Rice behind the microphone. A few years later, Graham McNamee joined Rice and quickly established himself as a fan favorite. McNamee was not a student of the game, but his colorful and lively descriptions endeared him to listeners. If he made an obvious mistake or two, the fans just smiled and did not complain.

On Wednesday, July 25, 1928, WTAM broadcast the first Cleveland Indians game. Billy Evans started the play-by-play along with former public-address announcer Tom Manning. Fans chuckled at Evans’s attempts to describe the action. Manning had suggested that the general manager use a diagram of the field, with names included, so he could quickly note who was making the plays. Evans scoffed at this but soon found that he did not recognize the players as well as he thought. To make matters worse, he had a sore throat which deteriorated as the game progressed. He tried lozenges and sucking on a lemon but nothing helped. After a few innings he turned the mike over to Manning and retired from broadcasting. The Indians, perhaps inspired by the new technology, clobbered the Red Sox, 10–2. A happy Evans bought a round of lemonade and orangeade for all the sportswriters in the press box.

The radio broadcasts were welcomed by the Cleveland fans. WTAM received a large number of letters from fans who were blind or otherwise handicapped. These people could not say enough kind words in thanking both the Indians and the radio station. One letter in particular really pulled on the heartstrings. It came from a veteran of World War I who had lost his sight in battle. He told the WTAM station manager that he had faithfully attended games at League Park for sixteen years, but after the war and his blindness there was no point in going to the ballpark. Now he could follow the Indians as before.

There would be one more remarkable team effort before the total collapse. On July 29 the Yankees were in town. Ruth, Gehrig, Lazzeri, and the others were a major draw in whatever city they played in, and the fans came in great numbers. By game time, the total attendance swelled to over 25,000, the biggest crowd of the season. The ushers brought out the ropes and let fans on the field, primarily in left and center. The Indians’ hitters went crazy, scoring an incredible eighteen runs in the first three innings. Yankee pitcher George Pipgrass was removed in the opening inning without retiring a batter. The entire Cleveland lineup, except for pitcher Joe Shaute, had a least two hits apiece. Luke Sewell and Johnny Hodapp both had five hits, while Carl Lind had a day to remember, collecting four hits and driving in five runs. Hodapp dazzled the crowd by banging out two hits in the second inning, then two more in the sixth. The Indians bashed twenty-seven hits, twenty-four of them singles. The final score was 24–6, one of the most lopsided games in Major League history to date. And it came at the expense of the powerful Yankees!

Regardless of it turning out to be another disappointing season, Alva Bradley had not lost any of his enthusiasm. He told the newspapers that Roger Peckinpaugh would return for a second season, saying, “We want Peck to feel free to do whatever seems to him to be necessary to produce a winner or at least an improved team next year.” Bradley went on to say that in September a number of minor-league prospects would join the club and get an audition with the team. The names mentioned were Jonah Goldman, playing at Decatur, Johnny Burnett, a flashy shortstop from the Terre Haute club, and his teammate, pitcher Wes Ferrell. Peck planned to take a long look at the up-and-comers to see if any of them might help the team in 1929. Bradley was showing the fans and sportswriters that he had a firm grasp of the situation. He gave his manager an early vote of confidence, which let the players know there would be no shakeups in the front office, at least for another year. Bradley preached stability, the best course of action for his franchise.