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Chapter 5

VITT TAKES OVER

On February 19, 1938, Bob Feller arrived in Cleveland to sign his generous contract for the upcoming season. A gala event was planned, including a live radio broadcast from the remarkable new studios of WTAM. A huge investment from NBC Radio enabled construction of a modern building on Superior Avenue downtown to house the state-of-art-facilities. The radio executives from New York were on hand as the public got its first view of the broadcast area and related studios. Approximately 650 guests attended for an evening of cocktails, a swank dinner, and dancing. At 9:00 p.m. a live broadcast of music from New York swept through the new sound system. At the half hour the entertainment switched to a local dance band and several comics who were performing at the nearby Palace Theatre.

Then came the main event of the evening. Out to the podium walked WTAM sports reporter Tom Manning, decked out in a fancy tailcoat. Behind him were Alva Bradley and national celebrity Bob Feller. The invited guests toned down their conversations to watch the two men put their signatures on a contract for $17,500, a considerable deal for a player yet to win more than nine games in a season. Feller assured the crowd his arm was fine, he had actually grown a half inch, and was primed for a big season. The extraordinary program ended moments later with a live hookup to the BBC in London, bringing the unmistakable chimes of Big Ben direct from Westminster Palace. It was a truly a modern evening for all who attended, a chance to see and hear the best of Cleveland and the world.

Within days the Cleveland players would gather from all around the country and head south for New Orleans. This spring had some real significance in bringing in new ballplayers and a first-time Major League manager in Oscar Vitt. Much of the hype around Vitt’s hiring was positive, citing him as a man who could whip the Indians into shape and mold them into a pennant contender. Alva Bradley spoke highly of his new field boss, telling reporters, “I was deeply impressed by his personality. I believe he has the dynamic qualities a baseball leader needs.”

Baseball Magazine had similar plaudits for Vitt. The article read in part, “Oscar is well-equipped to handle any disorder or dissension that may crop out on his club. He was matured in the Detroit clubhouse during the seething days of Ty Cobb when the place was frequently a fiery furnace of discord.” The Cleveland players did not exactly conjure up visions of a fiery furnace, though in players like Johnny Allen and the freewheeling Rollie Hemsley loomed the potential for big trouble. Vitt had spent his entire managing career in the minor leagues. He had many years of dealing with willing young ballplayers struggling to make it the Majors. Now he had to prove his worth with a team of veterans in their late twenties or early thirties who had yet to win. Quite a challenging scenario to walk into.

Oscar Vitt was a native of San Francisco, California, where he was born on January 4, 1890. While just a youngster he developed great foot speed, enabling him to outrun the bigger boys intent on giving him a whipping. At times Oscar stood his ground, threw several punches, then raced away to safety. He played a lot of handball, not doing much on the baseball diamond until high school. He attended a technical school, where he studied architecture.

On April 18, 1906, when Vitt was sixteen years old, he and his family were sleeping at home when the one of the most powerful earthquakes ever recorded leveled much of the San Francisco area. An estimated 3,000 persons died. The Vitts were fortunate to experience only minor damage, as many of the nearby homes and those around the city were destroyed or needed major repair. The study of architecture turned out to be a huge financial windfall for young Vitt. He had recently taken several courses in bricklaying, roofs, and chimney repair.

Within hours he formed Vitt and Company, offering chimney repairs at eight dollars a job. He and a friend moved around the broken city, finding work in just about every neighborhood. In only one month Vitt and Company grossed a weighty $650. A promising career in home repair awaited, yet Oscar felt the strong pull of organized baseball. After several years of semipro ball, he landed a contract with the San Francisco Seals of the Pacific Coast League. Vitt failed to hit .300, but his fielding was above average and the foot speed helped him leg out infield hits and take the extra base.

In 1912 the Detroit Tigers acquired Vitt, giving him considerable time at third base. Manager Hughie Jennings loved Vitt’s style of play. Whether diving for ground balls, running out every ball in play, bunting, or stealing bases, he was a throwback to the nineteenth-century player who fought for every square inch. They called him scrappy, peppery, a happy warrior. Jennings, in his days as a National League Baltimore Oriole, had used that type of hustle and bench jockeying to great advantage. Vitt, even though a first-year player, fearlessly shouted at both his teammates and opponents throughout each game. Although standing no more than five foot eight and weighing about 150 pounds, he had no fear of any player in the American League. Even Ty Cobb caught some of Oscar’s venom.

At certain times Cobb could be overaggressive on the bases and get himself thrown out while streaking for an extra base. After one of those incidents, Vitt yelled to him, “For Christ’s sake why don’t you carry an anchor with you!” Everyone on the Tigers bench and in the grandstand knew Cobb would not let that remark go by. A moment later the “Georgia Peach” walked over to Vitt and sharply told him, “Hey listen busher, keep your trap shut if you know what’s good for you!” Before Vitt could answer, catcher Oscar Stanage stepped in between the two and stopped Cobb from doing any harm.

Eventually Cobb and Vitt reached an understanding, enough so that the Tigers outfielder looked out for the scrawny third baseman. The Tigers were playing the Yankees when Vitt attempted to score from second on a base hit. The throw from the outfield arrived in plenty of time for catcher Les Nunamaker to block the plate. Lesser men might have tried to slide and avoid contact with the six-foot-two, 190-pound catcher. Vitt never hesitated, lowering his head and crashing into Nunamaker at full speed. Fans shuddered as Vitt careened backwards and landed hard on his back. He was out in every sense of the word. It took a moment or two to gather himself, but when Vitt reached the Tiger bench, Cobb stopped by and said, “Kid, I’ll take care of that.”

Later in the series, Cobb was leading off second base when a Tiger base hit gave him the chance for revenge. He rounded third, picking up speed as he flew down the baseline. Once again Nunamaker got the throw in time, wheeling toward Cobb to block him off the plate. The collision at home literally shook the earth. The Yankees catcher flew backwards on impact, his cap and one of his shinguards soaring through the air. Cobb scored the run, but more important was standing up for a teammate—something that Vitt greatly appreciated. When the two players met at the Detroit bench, Cobb said, “I guess he’ll be a little more careful about the right of way next time!”

Vitt hustled his way through seven full seasons for Detroit. His finest year was 1915, when he had career highs in just about every hitting category. On the defensive side, he led all American League third basemen in putouts and assists. All was not a bed of roses playing for Detroit, though. He had the unwelcome distinction of taking a Walter Johnson fastball squarely between the eyes. Vitt crumpled to the ground and lay unconscious for several minutes. He slowly opened his eyes, glad to be back among the living. Teammate Donie Bush stood above him, kicking Vitt in the legs and yelling at him to get up and quit his stalling. Sympathy was not a quality common among rough-and-tumble ballplayers in the early part of the twentieth century.

After ten years in the American League, the last three with Boston, Vitt signed on with Salt Lake City. He played two more years before putting away his glove and starting on his long managerial career. From 1926 through 1934 he ran the Hollywood Stars, winning a minor league pennant in 1930. He managed Oakland in 1935, then moved all the way across the country to pilot the Newark Bears of the International League. He had tremendous success there, winning the 1937 pennant by a staggering twenty-seven and a half games. The Bears topped off the regular season by winning the Little World Series against the Columbus Redbirds. Vitt got the attention of Major League owners, particularly Alva Bradley. He liked everything about Vitt, especially his managerial motto, “Win everything in sight and never stop winning.”

One area that Bradley may have overlooked was the incredible talent on the Newark Bears, a Yankee Farm team. With up-and-coming stars like Joe Gordon, Charlie Keller, Spud Chandler, and George McQuinn, it did not take a fabulous manager to guide them into first place. Possibly Bradley thought any manager who could win a league by such a dominating margin should be able to help the troublesome Indians. With that in mind, the reins were handed to the forty-seven-year-old Oscar Vitt.

The 1938 edition of the Cleveland Indians featured a lineup of proven veterans along with several talented young players on the verge of breaking out. The only experienced addition was Rollie Hemsley, anticipated to battle Frankie Pytlak for the starting catcher’s job. The outfield seemed already set, with five-time All-Star Earl Averill in center field, Bruce Campbell still holding down the right-field job, and last year’s acquisition Moose Solters in left. All three were capable of hitting over .300 and driving in a large share of the runs.

Big Hal Trosky had a lock on the first baseman’s job, usually leading the team in home runs and RBIs every season since 1933. Trosky had the misfortune to play in the American League at the same time as superstars Lou Gehrig, Jimmie Foxx, and Hank Greenberg, who left Trosky somewhere in the shadows. Sammy Hale had been with the Indians for six seasons, alternating between second and third base. Hale had arm issues that hampered his throwing, although his skill at the plate had not been affected. Lyn Lary entered his second year as the Indians shortstop with little competition. The front office expected him to play steady ball and be a leader out on the field.

The pitching staff had proven winners in Johnny Allen and Mel Harder. Bob Feller had shown a world of potential in his first two campaigns, and now was expected to be among the best pitchers in the game. Willis Hudlin and Earl Whitehill were the only other candidates for the starting rotation. Both pitchers were well past their primes, with Whitehall at thirty-nine years old and Hudlin thirty-two. Between them they had spent twenty-seven years in the American League. If either one had just had ten or twelve wins left in his arm, that would be enough to complement the other three starters.

Oscar Vitt’s ball club worked out in New Orleans to get in shape for the upcoming season. Normally spring training came and went without any front-page news or shocking revelations. The players sweated through workouts, talked about how great they felt, and let reporters know big things were up ahead for the new season. The sportswriters sent home optimistic stories, exhibition game summaries, and the comings and goings of the players on the fringe. There was always time for everybody to go out in the evenings and check out the swinging night life in downtown New Orleans.

For the most part the players had their fun but knew enough to get back to the Roosevelt Hotel at a reasonable hour. At the end of March, Rollie Hemsley, unable to restrain himself with all the enticing nightclubs and hot spots just a few blocks away, went out for a late-night adventure. He partied hard, waking up in his hotel room in the late morning hours too sick to take part in batting practice. He notified Vitt and the coaches, then went to his room to try and sleep it off. A photographer had followed Rollie back to the hotel. He tried to get a picture as he entered his room, but Rollie slammed the door in the photographer’s face. About a half-hour later someone knocked loudly at his door. Exhausted and hungover, he opened it to find the same man still trying to get a photo. They struggled for a moment, then Rollie pulled out a dresser drawer and smashed it over the photographer’s head. The camera fell to the floor, broken into pieces.

Soon the residents and staff at the high-class Roosevelt heard about the incident. Oscar Vitt suspended Rollie, tacking on a significant fine. The regular season had not yet begun, and Hemsley had already started to rack up discipline penalties. Fans began to wonder if the hard-living Rollie would be on the club on opening day. Gordon Cobbledick wrote in the Plain Dealer, “[Hemsley’s] leadership along the primrose path might take some other Indians astray, and there probably aren’t any other who can stand the pace he sets.” The question remaining was whether the nervous front office could stand the pace either.

With Hemsley’s status in the air, the Indians left New Orleans to make the long trek back to Cleveland. On the way were exhibition stops in many of the southern cities. For the fifth year in a row, the New York Giants traveled with the Indians, providing the opposition at many of the locations. There were games in Alexandria, Louisiana; Birmingham, Alabama; Meridian, Mississippi; and several other cities and towns. Crowds averaged between three and five thousand per stop. The clubs got a large share of the gate from local promoters eager to host a Major League ball game and make something of a profit. It was win-win for all concerned, particularly the fans who traveled from all around the southern states to see a Carl Hubbell or a Bob Feller pitch three innings. In the days before television, the exhibition games were a once-a-year delight for the populations that lived great distances from the Major League cities.

The extended barnstorming trip had its finale in Charleston, West Virginia. From there the Indians rode home to Cleveland to prepare themselves for the opener. The starting lineup had one significant change in it. Oscar Vitt penciled in a new third baseman with just two years of minor league experience. He had shown immense promise in spring training, enough to win the job outright. His name was Ken Keltner.

Kenneth Frederick Keltner was born on the south side of Milwaukee on October 31, 1916. He attended high school there, playing just about every sport available, including ice hockey. While a member of the football team, a nagging ankle injury prompted him to concentrate on baseball alone. Keltner played amateur ball for several different teams, including one backed by a mortuary. When the season ended, he switched to fast-pitch softball, garnering all kinds of attention for his exceptional talent.

In 1936 a local umpire noted Keltner’s skills and accompanied him on a visit to Allen Sothoron, the manager of the Milwaukee Brewers. A brief tryout convinced Sothoron, a one-time Major League pitcher, to offer a contract. Keltner signed and was sent to Class D Fieldale, Virginia, a member of the Bi-State League. Though a long distance from home, Keltner quickly developed into an outstanding ballplayer. In one season at Fieldale, he batted an impressive .360 while powering 12 triples and bashing 33 home runs. The Brewers were satisfied enough to bring Keltner back to Milwaukee for the 1937 season. He made the transition flawlessly, knocking out 27 home runs and hitting .310. At this point the Indians became interested, securing Keltner’s contract for the large amount of $40,000 and three players.

Keltner reported to the Indians spring training in something less than top-flight condition. The Cleveland News observed that “Keltner is a chunky German of the type that put on weight rapidly.” The reporter did mention that the new third baseman had great hands, a strong arm, and excellent reflexes.

The Indians sorely needed a dependable third baseman who could handle his position without the glaring errors of his predecessors. Sammy Hale’s bum arm led to a move to second base, allowing Keltner to show off his well-above-average fielding skills. He helped nail down a roster spot in the course of the exhibition tour with the New York Giants. In the first two games, Keltner walloped three home runs, convincing Slapnicka and Vitt they had indeed found their man.

With the addition of Ken Keltner, the Indians were primed and ready to open the season at Municipal Stadium. Fans had to get used to the idea of driving their cars or hopping on a bus to find their way downtown toward the lakefront. Alva Bradley predicted record attendance, as well he should, with an 80,000-seat facility. The weather cooperated with blue skies and an unusually warm April day. Though a strong wind came blowing off Lake Erie, the temperature steadily climbed to a pleasant seventy-seven degrees. Men discarded their winter overcoats to arrive at the stadium in shirtsleeves.

At nine o’clock in the morning the concession staff was already hard at work. The mouthwatering roast beef and corned beef had to be cooked and simmered for at least six hours. Bags of popcorn were being produced at a rate of fifty bags every two minutes. Bread trucks lined the streets with several thousand loaves of warm fresh bread and hot dog buns.

At least ten tons of ice were needed to cool the thousands of soda and beer bottles. An opening-day crowd had the capacity to devour up to 34,000 tasty sandwiches. including hot dogs, cool off with 3,000 or so bricks of ice cream, and wash it all down with refreshing lemonade, soda pop, and beer. Several hundred vendors, from small boys to grown men, handled the concession sales for 10 percent of the gross. Selling beer had the potential to earn more than a few bucks, while hot dogs had the greater volume. Vendors were always looking to hawk the higher-priced items, leaving the popcorn and candy bars for the youngest boys. The ten- and eleven-year-olds stood in a line, their oversized vendor coats falling far below their waists.

There was money to earn even after the game finished, in the “blow-off sales,” where vendors lowered their prices and sold items to fans needing food for the drive home. Men on their way back to the office might want a hot dog and a cold beer to get them through the overtime hours. There were many ways to make a buck.

The crowd assembled on April 19 added up to 31,600. It was a new record for the Cleveland Indians, yet still left almost two-thirds of the stadium seats empty. Major League attendance for opening day, including Cleveland–St. Louis, reached 250,000, a robust start for the new season. Owners looked ahead to a money-making summer. They had scrimped and saved for quite some time, and prospects were now bright for a continued stretch of profitability. The red lines in the company books were beginning to give way to black ones, much to the relief of the clubs that had struggled mightily throughout the Depression of the 1930s. The team owners could now sit back in their private boxes, shaking hands and counting the dollars about to be added to their savings accounts. Even Judge Landis might be seen cracking a small grin. Though probably not.

The opening-day ceremonies at Municipal Stadium were nothing out of the ordinary. Manager Vitt received an authentic Native American headdress from a rodeo troupe that was performing at the midtown Cleveland Arena. The Indians and Browns marched to center field for the raising of the flag. And that was all the pregame pomp. The Indians took the field with a few of the players wearing their new windbreakers under their jerseys. Owner Bradley had paid the pricy amount of $16.50 each for the cold-weather protection. If nothing else, his boys were the best-dressed players on the field.

Jack Graney sat behind the WHK microphone for his seventh year as the Indians’ play-by-play announcer. The veteran now had a partner, Pinky Hunter, to handle the between-innings conversation. This addition allowed Graney a short break while the teams exchanged positions on the field. Soon broadcasts would ease into the two-man format that allowed fans to acquire the maximum amount of information each and every game. Hunter contributed scores from around the American League, did updates, handled some of the live commercials, and provided a somewhat comic foil for Graney’s observations.

At the Cuyahoga County Jail, 450 prisoners enjoyed Graney and Hunter’s broadcast of the opening game, thanks to the county sheriff and his deputies, who hooked together fifteen loudspeakers to relay the play-by-play. It is safe to say there were no prison breaks or mass riots from the time Johnny Allen threw his first pitch.