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Chapter 2

A MAJOR SCARE

The 1937 baseball season had the word “optimism” in just about all aspects of the game. The previous year, Major League attendance rose to a noteworthy level of 7.4 million fans, a gain of 1.4 million from 1935. The large majority of teams enjoyed significant gains in attendance, with only Detroit and the St. Louis Cardinals on the negative side. The Indians reached 500,000, a sizable gain of nearly 103,000 spectators. The Great Depression still had a grip on the country, but the people who loved baseball were finding ways of scraping up a dollar or two and heading to the ballpark. Unemployment figures dropped from almost 17 percent to a touch over 14—still a troubling number, yet reason to hope that better days were ahead.

Alva Bradley shared that enthusiasm in two words: Bob Feller. Even though he had pitched just sixty-two innings in 1936, the eyes of the nation were focused squarely on the kid from Van Meter. They chose not to remark on the troublesome forty-seven walks or the eight wild pitches. Instead, fans remembered the smoking fastball that accounted for seventeen K’s against the Athletics and fifteen against the Browns. With all the hype surrounding Feller, a thirty-win season plus three hundred strikeouts were universally expected.

All through spring training the crowds doubled in size when Feller took the mound. Reporters and fans followed him from the diamond to the clubhouse and back to the hotel. He signed countless autographs and permitted lengthy interviews with anybody from the press. He had radio stations begging for live in-studio programs, along with ice cream companies badgering him to eat their products during National Ice Cream Week. The Cleveland writers noted that Feller went to bed by nine o’clock each night, totally exhausted from the nonstop attention.

Manager Steve O’Neill complimented his young pitcher for displaying the knowledge and skills of a true veteran. O’Neill remarked that Feller had remembered everything he was taught last season while handling batters as if he had been in the Majors for several years. The Cleveland skipper believed Feller’s curveball had become a key weapon in addition to his blistering fastball. O’Neill made no predictions but indicated big things were expected in 1937.

National columnists weighed in on Feller’s impact for the coming season. Will Connolly, writing for a San Francisco newspaper, thought the Cleveland pitcher would be beneficial for the game. He wrote, “Interest in baseball will improve in direct ratio to interest in pitching feats and that’s why I say Robert William Andrew Feller is a greater asset to the major leagues than our own Joseph Paul DiMaggio. It is a fact that Feller of Van Meter, Iowa and the Cleveland Indians, is doing more to accelerate interest in baseball than any rookie who has broken in during the past twenty years.”

Connolly had a fair point. Though Joe DiMaggio had great appeal to fans in New York and his hometown of San Francisco, it would be Feller who brought more notice to baseball in virtually the entire United States. The American League owners certainly hoped Feller would live up to the extremely high anticipation and boost ticket sales at all their parks.

On Tuesday, April 20, the Indians and Tigers opened regular season play at Detroit. Veteran Cleveland pitcher Mel Harder received the start against Elden Auker. Detroit got on the board early, scoring single runs in the first and second innings, then two more in the fourth. The big blow was a long home run by outfielder Gerald “Gee” Walker. The Indians, led by Roy Hughes and Lyn Lary, managed to score three times in the early innings. After the fourth neither team was able to plate any runs, leaving the final score at 4–3 Tigers. A good-sized crowd of 38,000 fans watched the two teams’ battle.

Typical early spring weather brought rain showers, canceling games until Cleveland’s Friday, April 23, home opener against the St. Louis Browns. During the week the team attended a press luncheon to promote fan interest in the opener. Cy Slapnicka was the master of ceremonies, handling the brief introductions for the Indians players. Slap called up Bob Feller to say “Howdy.” Feller walked to the microphone, leaned forward, and said “Howdy,” then ambled back to his seat. Of course, the script was for everybody to say a few words, then be seated. The players burst out with laughter at Feller’s unintentional humor. After that, when introduced, each player said “Howdy,” then pretended to walk away. Feller had to be prodded to return to the speaker’s podium and answer a few easy questions. Later he would understand the expectations and have a few canned sentences ready to go.

In spite of the threatening weather, the Indians front office let fans know the opener would go forward. By late morning the rain let up and a touch of sunshine broke through the overcast skies. The Cleveland fans eagerly marched into League Park, carrying topcoats in case of rain or anything else. They checked the prices at the Lexington Avenue ticket window, which showed box seats going for $1.60, reserve for $1.35, pavilion seats for 85 cents, and bleachers for 55 cents. The people with season tickets strolled behind the outfield walls, where they entered a private gate on Linwood Avenue.

The grounds crew, now run by Emil Bossard, had the field in playable shape. The infield had no large puddles, while the freshly cut outfield grass looked to be uniform in height. The bat boys were stacking the new player bats in two long rows in front of each dugout. The box seats even had new canvas covers. The only thing lacking was the ballplayers’ entrance onto the field.

While ushers in bright new red jackets helped the fans track down their seats, Bob Hamilton, the long-time head of concessions, peered out from his spot under the stands, trying to gauge the exact figure of people he needed to feed. Ready for the vendors were a half-ton of juicy hot dogs, another half-ton of freshly roasted peanuts, 400 cases of beer, 750 cases of soda pop, and, for good measure, 100 large boxes of assorted candy. Modern equipment allowed Hamilton to keep the hot dogs sizzling, the peanuts toasty, and the beer and soda pop ice cold.

A recent study in Baseball Magazine had revealed that peanuts were the number one seller at Major League ballparks, followed closely by Coca-Cola and soft drinks of assorted flavors. It seemed the fans in the sun-drenched bleachers swigged the greatest amount of cold soda and spent the most money of any portion of seats. The folks under cover did not have to deal with the bright sun and tended to load up on peanuts and popcorn. Hearty concession sales were vital for teams struggling to make a small profit. The magazine noted that concession sales kept several teams afloat during the early years of the Great Depression.

Before long the Indians jogged out to the field, splendid in their home whites with scarlet trim and the Indian chief on the left sleeve. They wore black caps with a red C and black socks with three thin white stripes. The uniforms were manufactured by Blepp-Coombs Sporting Goods Stores, a Cleveland retail giant located at 55th and Superior.

The fans cheered loudly for their favorite veterans, including Earl Averill, Hal Trosky, Bruce Campbell, Sammy “Bad News” Hale, and catcher Frankie Pytlak. They hollered for starting pitcher Johnny Allen while he tossed his warmup throws. As expected, a huge roar went up from the stands when Bob Feller left the dugout to play catch. Though he would not pitch until Saturday, all eyes were on him. He finished his throws, then had to run the gauntlet of reporters and at least one radio host with a live microphone.

The pregame revelries began with Mayor Harold Burton throwing out the first pitch. It took him four tries before he sailed one across home plate. The large crowd rose to its feet when a group of dazzling chorus girls from Playhouse Square lined up smartly at home plate. The Indians nearly knocked each other down scrambling out of the home dugout and dashing to a spot in front of the eye-catching ladies. Roy Weatherly proved he was the fastest ballplayer on the club, outrunning everybody to get a choice location for the photos.

With this appealing highlight, the pregame ceremonies ended. Allen tossed his warmup pitches and the game got underway. Through much of the 1936 season he had displayed a violent personality, ready to fight umpires, opposing players, managers, and anybody who seemingly wronged him. The Cleveland fans wondered if he would continue the outrageous behavior in the new season.

To the relief of the 20,752 patrons, the Browns went out easily in the top of the first inning. Allen faced three batters without screaming at anyone. The Indians’ new shortstop, Lyn Lary, came to the plate to face St. Louis starter Elon Hogsett. The veteran pitcher, formerly of the Detroit Tigers, eventually sported a high lifetime earned run average of over five runs per game. Lary swung at the first pitch, lining a double down the right-field line. Roy Hughes walked and Earl Averill laid down a sacrifice bunt to move the runners to second and third. That brought up slugging first baseman Hal Trosky. He did not disappoint, lining a shot to deep right field, where Beau Bell made a nice running grab. Lary, who had tagged up at third, scored the game’s first run without difficulty.

Cleveland broke the game open in the fourth inning with a barrage of singles and doubles, scoring five runs. An error by Browns third baseman Harlond Clift scored Hale, then Lyn Lary belted his second double to right field for another run. Roy Hughes followed with another two-base hit to score Johnny Allen and Lary. Trosky singled to cap the scoring and put the game out of reach. Hogsett took a seat on the bench to watch a parade of four Browns relief pitchers finish the game.

Johnny Allen gave up seven hits in the fifth through seventh innings, but managed to dance out of trouble, allowing only two runs in his nine-inning stint. One of the runs came via a booming triple by former Indian Joe Vosmik. The temperamental Allen pitched well, in spite of throwing just eleven innings in spring training. He kept himself under control, only tossing the rosin bag a couple of times when he disagreed with the home plate umpire.

The 9–2 victory pleased the crowd, who were also entertained by a wild brawl in the right-field seats. It took a handful of police to break up the fight between several obviously drunken fans. Later some of the colorful bunting hanging from the upper level caught fire due to a careless fan lighting his cigar. Quick-thinking young men attempted to douse the flames with beer and soda until water was located to put out the blaze. All of the rousing activity, plus a total of twenty-two hits between the two teams, made the game last an unusually long two hours and forty-five minutes.

The Indians to a man were jubilant in the clubhouse. There were plenty of smiles, including Johnny Allen yelling from the showers, “I only need nineteen more wins!” They had played hard and hustled, completely deserving the one-sided win. Manager Steve O’Neill talked happily with reporters, pleased that his boys had put on a good show. Now all attention turned to Saturday’s game and the season debut of still–high schooler Bob Feller.

Throughout spring training, every pitch Feller threw, every warmup toss he made, was carefully scrutinized by reporters and fans. Now, on April 24, the baseball realm would see how he fared. At game time there were 12,000 fans in the seats, a fine crowd for the day after the home opener. Among the ticket holders were an unusual number of young boys, already members of the growing Feller fan club. They anticipated a big win, with at least eighteen or twenty strikeouts.

For St. Louis, leadoff hitter and former Indian Bill Knickerbocker walked to home plate. Feller started with a few curveballs when suddenly a severe pain raced through his elbow. He panicked for a moment, not sure what to do. Feller desperately wanted to make a good showing, especially in his first start of the year. His elbow throbbing, he made the decision to keep the pain to himself. He shook off the signs from Frankie Pytlak until he saw the one for a fastball. Feller blazed away, though the aching in his arm was almost unbearable. He stuck with the fastball, trying not to make eye contact with his puzzled catcher.

Knickerbocker looked over several pitches, then trotted to first with a walk. After a fly ball for out number one, Joe Vosmik stepped up to the plate. He picked out a fastball for a sharp base hit. Feller kept throwing the hard one, but could not find the plate, walking outfielder Beau Bell and player-manager Rogers Hornsby. That brought in the first run of the ball game, still leaving the bases loaded. The free-swinging Harlond Clift chased three fastballs for the second out. After another walk forced in run number two, Catcher Rollie Hemsley lined a base hit to make the score 4–0. Feller got the third out and walked back to the dugout without talking to Steve O’Neill or Pytlak.

In the second inning Feller loaded the bases again, this time with none out. After he retired Beau Bell, Rogers Hornsby came to the plate with a choice opportunity to crack the game wide open. In spite of the mounting pain in his elbow, Feller gamely struck out the Browns’ big hitter. Harlond Clift swung away, lofting a fly ball to Bruce Campbell. The fans stood and applauded their hero for escaping the inning unscathed.

The Indians batters came to life in the bottom of the second inning. Sammy Hale smacked a double to left field and Campbell walked. St. Louis pitcher Jim Walkup checked the runners and delivered to Frankie Pytlak, who hammered the ball to the fence. Both runners scored while Pytlak raced to third with a triple. Feller came to bat with a chance to cut into the lead. Once again the fans stood as Feller singled, scoring Pytlak from third. Now the Indians trailed by only a run.

Feller struggled through another four innings until he gathered his courage and confessed to O’Neill that he had hurt his arm. Trainer Lefty Weisman took Feller to the clubhouse and carefully examined the arm. It did not appear to be anything serious, allowing Feller to advise reporters he would throw again in a few days. Though the Indians lost the game, 4–3, the big story in the papers was the scary arm injury and the possible ramifications.

On the positive side, Feller had struck out eleven batters in his six innings. After giving up the four runs, he blanked St. Louis over the next five innings. He did walk six Browns. Walks were a major concern of the front office, but out-of-town writers would reference them as evidence that Feller was just wild enough to be effective.

Several days later the elbow had shown little improvement. Cy Slapnicka called team doctor Edward Castle to examine his ailing pitcher. A complete assessment revealed several torn fibers just below the elbow. Dr. Castle instructed Feller to rest the arm for two weeks before doing any kind of throwing. The diagnosis calmed Slapnicka and Alva Bradley, but they maintained a small amount of worry. The two men had made a large investment in the hard-throwing right-hander. They could stand another couple of weeks, but anything more might be viewed as a serious predicament.

Trainer Lefty Weisman believed a bone in the right arm might have been dislocated from the elbow. Weisman had no formal medical training, but had spent over fifteen years treating damaged ballplayers. He recommended a visit to a bonesetter practicing several blocks from League Park. Cy Slapnicka quickly discounted the suggestion, preferring to take the advice of experienced doctors. His lack of faith in Weisman proved to be a major error in judgment.

On Monday, May 10, Feller left Cleveland on a chartered airplane bound for Des Moines, Iowa. He was returning home to Van Meter to rest his arm and attend his high school graduation. He was taken aback by all the local folks waiting to greet him and asking pointed questions about his pitching arm. Feller thought he could go home and escape all the attention; however, any plans to rest quietly and study for finals were quickly foiled. He spent any time he could find cramming for final exams, which took place Thursday. The subjects tested were physics, literature, American history, and psychology. Feller passed with ease, scoring two seventy-nines, a seventy-four, and a seventy. Not bad at all when you consider he had left school over two months ago, yet still retained a good portion of what he had learned over the winter.

The much-anticipated graduation took place on Friday evening. The high school auditorium had just four hundred seats available, usually more than enough for any occasion. It proved to be totally insufficient, as approximately eight hundred curious people jammed inside the tiny hall. Among the crowd was an army of newspaper reporters and radio men with microphones. WMAL radio, all the way from Washington, DC, set up their equipment for a live broadcast to be aired nationally. The parents and relatives of the twenty graduates were shocked by the ruckus around them. This kind of attention was usually reserved for the president of the United States.

Feller arrived at the auditorium wearing a new dark gray suit with a red rose pinned to his lapel. He could not help but note the large contingent of reporters and radio announcers just below the stage. As class president, he addressed the audience in a low voice, speaking rapidly. He said, “When I was playing baseball in high school, little did I realize that I would be playing big league baseball today.” He reached for his diploma, nearly dropped it, then scrambled back to his seat. The other graduates, clearly nervous in front of all the reporters and microphones, stumbled through their orations and songs. With the motto “The higher we rise, the better the view,” Bob Feller’s high school days were officially over.

A few days later Feller left Van Meter to meet up with the Indians on their eastern road trip. Besides his much-publicized injury, there was a list of mounting issues facing the ball club. On May 1, Johnny Allen complained of severe pain in his abdomen. The Indians rushed him to a St. Louis hospital, where doctors diagnosed Allen with a flare-up of appendicitis, but were certain he could avoid any immediate surgery. Manager O’Neill had begun the season with Allen as his ace and Feller a likely candidate for number two. In just a few weeks the only healthy pitchers were veterans Mel Harder and Earl Whitehill. Denny Galehouse, still learning the ropes, would be pressed into immediate service.

Three days after Allen went down, the Indians faced the Washington Senators. Mel Harder pitched a decent game, going six and two-third innings while allowing five runs, three earned. His teammates played little defense, committing four errors, including one by each of the infielders. Roy Weatherly added to the sloppy play, heaving a throw from center field to the wrong base, which allowed runners to advance into scoring position. A frustrated Steve O’Neill severely chewed out Weatherly when he came back to the dugout.

Reliever Joe Heving replaced Harder and held the Senators in check for the next three and a third innings, leaving with the score deadlocked at 5–5. Newly acquired Carl Fischer took the mound for the top of the eleventh, promptly walking Ben Chapman. Buddy Lewis singled, then Joe Kuhel sacrificed the runners to second and third. After a strikeout of Jon Stone, Steve O’Neill had now seen enough of Fischer, and motioned for Whitlow Wyatt to enter the game. The situation worsened as Wyatt gave up a base on balls to Al Simmons. The fans at League Park squirmed in their seats when Ben Chapman inched down the third-base line. Wyatt began his delivery as if there was nobody on base. All three runners took off, with Chapman sliding effortlessly home ahead of the pitch. Incredibly, a rare triple steal had just been executed against the hapless Indians. Three straight base hits followed, forcing O’Neill to go to the bullpen once more. Long-time veteran Willis Hudlin entered the game, serving up a single and a double before finally retiring the Senators.

Seven big runs had just crossed the plate against three miserable Indian relievers. The frustrated crowd let go with a steady chorus of jeers while the home team, heads bowed low, trotted off the field. The Senators won by a lopsided score of 12–5. Tomorrow’s newspapers were sure to be filled with some extra-colorful reporting.

Those fans who picked up a copy of the Cleveland News were aghast to read Ed McAuley’s headline feature. It was an open letter addressed to Manager Steve O’Neill, titled “Get Mad Steve and Stay Mad!” McAuley had gone over the edge in a massive critique of the Indians manager. The sports editor accused O’Neill of being easy on his players, allowing them too much freedom on and off the field. He warned that if this type of lax authority continued, a change in managers just might occur. McAuley wrote, “I don’t want the public or anyone else to fire you Steve, and that’s why I’m taking the liberty of speaking frankly.”

The revealing open letter cited numerous examples of Indians ballplayers making foolish mistakes on the base paths. Later in the piece McAuley briefly tried to tone down his ire by adding, “I am not trying to second-guess. You’ve made some mistakes Steve. You haven’t played the percentages like you did last season.” McAuley gave further space to the lax attitude the players seemed to be carrying with them. He noted a recent road trip where, after some tough losses, the Indians were enjoying themselves on the train home, wolfing down steaks and playing poker without a care. Apparently McAuley believed O’Neill should have stepped in and ripped the players for having a good time.

McAuley heaped more criticism on the manager, dredging up the 12–5 loss to Washington and all the gaffes perpetrated by the bungling infielders and pitcher Wyatt. Though in some ways the sports editor was trying to be a cheerleader, the open letter, taken as a whole, was a hatchet job of epic proportions.

Fans were quick to respond. Letters poured into the Cleveland News offices defending O’Neill. One fan wrote, “I was astounded and shocked to read in the big type in the News last night Mr. McAuley’s gratuitous and hypocritical advice to manager Steve O’Neill. If the Indians could have a one month moratorium on Mr. McAuley and the other press box experts, then the ball team might have a reasonable chance to show what it has.”

Another fan explained the season had barely started. It was not the time to be calling for the manager’s head. The letter asked how O’Neill could be responsible for the Yankees having much better players. Or how he could stop his pitchers from falling asleep on the mound? The fan ended by adapting Alva Bradley’s now-famous line, “The owner hires the manager, but the fans fire him.” The letter concluded, “The fans fire the manager, maybe the fans can fire you too.”

Steve O’Neill had just begun his second full year of managing the Cleveland Indians, after assuming the job in August of 1935 when Walter Johnson was fired. He had spent seventeen years in the American League as a top-flight catcher, playing the great majority of his career with Cleveland. In the 1920 championship season, he caught an incredible 149 games while batting over .300. In his long stint in the Majors, O’Neill gained a reputation as one of the toughest catchers in all of baseball. He blocked home plate with a ferocity rarely seen. Opposing managers screamed at the umpires when he shifted his body into the baseline even before he had the baseball. Runners dashed home and collided with the broad-shouldered catcher, who rarely dropped a throw. Ed McAuley had really gone out on a limb in questioning the toughness of Steve O’Neill.

Just a few days after the article and fans’ response, the Indians entertained the Yankees at League Park. The arrival of Gehrig and company and the initial Ladies Day of the season boosted the Friday crowd to over 15,000. The women marched to the ballpark two hours early with boxed lunches and decks of playing cards to keep busy until game time. More often than not, juicy red apples, ripe bananas, and large pieces of cake were delivered by the ladies to Jack Graney in the WHK radio booth. If he was in a generous mood, some of the bounty would find its way into the Indian clubhouse, where the players devoured the prize.

Denny Galehouse opened the game for Cleveland. A Yankee base hit brought cleanup hitter Lou Gehrig to the plate. In the off-season Gehrig had gone Hollywood, auditioning to replace actor Johnny Weissmuller in the popular Tarzan features. Although Lou did not pass the screen test, photos of him in the famous loincloth appeared in newspapers throughout the country. When Gehrig stepped into the batter’s box, a large group of ladies stood up and gave the Tarzan yell. Laughter rocked the stands while Gehrig stood at home plate, staring at the crowd.

In the bottom of the first, the Indians added to the good-humored mood at the park by hammering New York pitcher Bump Hadley for five runs. Earl Averill belted a home run in the fourth inning to make the score 6–0. Galehouse blanked the Yankees for seven innings until he ran out of gas in the eighth. After one run had scored, George Selkirk clouted a three-run homer to cut the lead to 6–4. Manager O’Neill called for reliever Carl Fischer. The thirty-one-year-old pitcher had bounced around the American League, doing time with Washington, St. Louis, and Detroit. He looked fairly good in Cleveland’s spring training and subsequently made the club as a late-inning option. He entered the game with Tony Lazzeri at first and Roy Johnson batting. The Indians fans were no longer smiling from ear to ear. They cringed as Johnson lined a base hit, moving Lazzeri to second.

Fischer stood rigid on the mound, waiting for the sign from catcher Frankie Pytlak. He continued to stare at home plate, oblivious to the runners. Lazzeri, now an aging veteran with heavy legs, took off for third, stealing the base with ease. Steve O’Neill flew out of the dugout and raged at his relief pitcher. Whether he was taking Ed McAuley’s advice to get mad or simply asserting himself, he screamed at Fischer to go to the clubhouse and pack his bags. Fischer’s days with Cleveland were abruptly over.

In the bottom half of the inning, Pytlak doubled and came home on a single by Roy Weatherly. That made the score 7–4, with the Yankees coming to bat in the ninth. Pitcher Earl Whitehill came in to close out the game. With one out and a runner on first, Joe DiMaggio grounded to third, where Sammy Hale fielded the ball and fired to second to start a game-ending double play. But shortstop Lyn Lary inexplicably dropped the throw. To further complicate matters, Whitehill walked Lou Gehrig to load the bases. Bill Dickey stepped to the plate with a chance to do some real harm. Instead, he hit a soft bouncer right back to the mound. Whitehill had only to whip the ball home for the force play and give Pytlak a chance to throw to first to end the game. For some odd reason, he chose to whirl around and throw to second. Lary barely fielded the throw, touched second, then fired in the dirt to first baseman Hal Trosky. The ball got under Trosky’s glove and rolled into foul territory. Two runs crossed the plate while Gehrig raced to third and Dickey to second. The crowd had gone full circle from leisurely watching a blowout to standing up and screaming at the Indians players. Luckily, Whitehill got the last out before a major riot ensued. Cleveland, in spite of playing like amateurs, had won 7–6, yet the fans were boiling and muttering to themselves about the poor exhibition they had just seen.

Although the season had a long way to go, the Indians had stumbled out of the gate. Silly errors all over the field, Feller’s arm injury, and Johnny Allen’s appendicitis caused sportswriters and fans to ponder if the 1937 campaign was already headed for disaster.