Notes #435 — Conspiracy Theories

                             NOTES FROM THE SHADOWS OF COOPERSTOWN
                                           Observations from Outside the Lines
                                     By Two Finger Carney (carneya6@adelphia.net)
 

#435                                                                                                            FEBRUARY 19, 2008
                                        CONSPIRACY THEORIES
 

            A couple boxes of old stuff related to Lee Harvey Oswald, Jack Ruby, and the JFK assassination is found in Texas, and it’s #1 on the Keith Olbermann Countdown — not to mention an item in most of the media, and I bet even outside the country, too. Yet months after the discovery of new material related to the Black Sox, and its sale at auction for $100,000, the media seems to have abandoned the story.
 

            With JFK, something in us all suspects that there is more to know. No, we’re sure of it, there are just too many unanswered questions, there were too many people covering up the evidence of what really happened . It would take a massive crossover on TV, with all the CSI and Law and Order folks, combined with Adrian Monk and Jessica Fletcher, to wrap up this cold case — and there will still be skeptics.
 

            But the Black Sox?  Eight Men Out , all you need to know. Oh, they found documents from Comiskey’s lawyer, from the 1921 trial? That’s nice. Hey, look, it’s pitchers and catchers already! In other words, the media isn’t nearly as anxious to find out what’s in that archive now being preserved at the Chicago History Museum, as they are about the new JFK stuff. Hey, that was 1919, what’s the big rush?   Few who are alive today recall the crime, and it’s really not at all hard to find people of all ages who are truly shocked to learn that the Series that October was fixed. Most that know about it — thanks to 8MO — think it was dealt with swiftly and finally. What? There was a cover-up that nearly succeeded?  HOW LONG before the scandal? You don’t say!
 

            Because I was shown a tiny fraction of the “new archive” (can you have a new archive?), before the auction, and wrote about what it revealed (in Notes 425 and 426 ), I have been asked more than a few times — What else is in there?   And all I can say is, the collection is in good hands — once it is safe for researchers, I will get to Chicago ASAP, and let you know.
 

            Because the CHM material has the potential to change our thinking about the events of 1919-1924 (when Jackson sued the Sox) — and about Shoeless Joe himself — it seems fitting that the archive be “opened” this year. Because, after years of hard work, the Shoeless Joe Jackson Museum & Library will finally open this summer. The Museum is Jackson’s old Greenville, SC, home, moved and restored. To me, it stands as a reminder to baseball that Jackson was never considered a villain by those who knew him best, his family, friends and neighbors.
 

            The CHM documents might contain information that will force Bud Selig and MLB to at least grant Jackson a pardon, and perhaps to declare an amnesty for all the B-Sox. Removing Jackson from baseball’s ineligible list has made perfect sense since his death in 1951. But MLB dawdled and put it off, not wanting to remember that anything happened in 1919 that was worth recalling. Then along came 8MO , and eventually that was filmed, and if you saw it in a double feature with Field of Dreams , you would wonder if MLB had a good reason to deem a dead man ineligible. But then along came Pete Rose, and now it was all about “the politics of glory,” the Hall of Fame, instead of common sense and simple justice.
 

            Personally, I think the research done since 8MO , mine and others, has raised plenty of reasonable doubt about whether Jackson should continue to be punished, 56+ years after he died. (See NOTES #387 for one good summary.)  Clearing him or forgiving him are both in order. And neither would mean beans as far as Cooperstown goes, because the folks who might open that door to Jackson would still need to be educated. A long haul, indeed.
 

            Could the CHM archive clear Jackson?  I doubt it, but this is baseball, anything is possible. I think the best Jackson fans could hope for, is new evidence that (a) Jackson communicated with his team about the Fix, in October of 1919 ad after — and long before he went to the 1920 grand jury with what he knew; and (b) his team believed that he played to win, and told him to keep the $5,000 that he showed them — and to be quiet. We already have some evidence for both of these, but I think we need more.
 

            Am I serious above, comparing the banishment of some ballplayers almost 90 years ago, to the assassination of a president?  Well, is our government serious about spending a lot of time examining the workout habits of ballplayers, and getting (as Joe jackson would say) “all het up” about steroids, while they might better be concerned about things that will affect our young people — such as tobacco, affordable health insurance, the war, and I better stop here, even tho it’s an election year!
 

            Is it spring training time already?  Spring begins here in the shadows of Cooperstown when I put away the snow-thrower. And that’s not happening soon. But it’s nice to see baseball back on the sports pages. Won’t be long now.  
 

 

BASEBALL’S INVISIBLE MAN  
 

EDDIE COLLINS: A Baseball Biography, by Rick Huhn
McFarland, 2008 — www.mcfarlandpub.com; 800-253-2187
$35, available in May
 

            When I finished reading Rick Huhn’s excellent and comprehensive biography of Eddie Collins, one of the top secondbasemen and batsmen (.333) of all time, I was left with one burning question. Why has it taken so long for this story to be told?
 

            That the tale is worth telling is obvious. Eddie Collins was an educated man with baseball braininess to boot — not the first, but a standout in his era. His ML playing career spanned over two decades, and his seasons climaxed six times with a World Series. He was one of the game’s top base-stealers, and simply a shoo-in for Cooperstown, when that honor came along.
 

            Collins also had great supporting casts: he was a member of the $100,000 Infield, the first Mack Dynasty in Philadelphia, the White Sox dynasty of the late teens and 1920. He lingered in the game long enough to be part of Mack’s Second Dynasty, too. So why is he not the subject of the small library of biographies that he seems to deserve?
 

            Huhn’s book represents the answer. First, Eddie’s baseball story spans a quarter of a century, just on the MLB diamonds , and to set the stage, you need to look at his days of college ball. But there’s more, he was not just a player, but a manager, coach, scout (without that title), and then General Manager with yet another team, the Boston Red Sox, sandwiched between Tom Yawkey and Joe Cronin, and a force in more World Series in the Ted Williams era. In other words, this guy may not have covered as much territory in the field as a Mazeroski or Morgan, but he covered over four decades of baseball history, from 1906 until his death in 1951.
 

            That’s just part of the answer. Telling his story requires an understanding of various baseball eras, as well as the events and economics that shaped each — both World Wars, the Depression, the dramatic transition from Deadball Era to Lively. While many biographies fit into one or two periods, Collins runs the gamut. And along the way, there is a stumbling block.
 

            And that is “the Black Sox scandal” — an event in which Eddie Collins and each member of the 1919 Chicago White Sox, like it or not, played a role. It would be easy to simply declare Collins a member of the “Clean Sox” and distance him from the fixed World Series, but to his credit, Huhn tackles this complicated and mysterious (even today) occurrence head on. Not only that, but he looks even closer at the shady business in 1917, and during the seasons of 1919 and 1920, a treat for readers who know that The Big Fix of October 1919 was hardly “baseball’s single sin” (in Voigt’s phrase).
 

            This book leaves so many impressions, it is hard to recall them all. First there is the relationship with Connie Mack and the A’s — Mack being one of the few figures to cast a shadow in the game, that is longer than Collins’. Under Mack, Collins bloomed into an All Star worth the small fortune he was paid each season — $15,000, when other stars earned a third of that, or less. I do not believe his next team’s magnate, Charles Comiskey, was an exceptional Scrooge; I think Commy continued those high wages year after year because Collins was always more than a player — he was a leader, a steadying influence, always a coach and teacher, and a “company man” — always learning, preparing for a role in management.
 

            Huhn’s book is chock full of Eddie’s own words — he was also a writer, and apparently never employed a ghost — and these words are almost “other-worldly” compared to the language common among ballplayers then and now. They reflect his college education, and a kind of gentle refinement; they are often peaceful and thoughtful, and the reader feels as if he is sitting beside a fireplace while Eddie puffs on a pipe after a day of hunting. They are a treat.
 

            So is the balanced tone of the book. It is never hero-worship, or too-harsh criticism. Huhn himself is thoughtful and reflective, as if in the time he has spent with Collins, something has rubbed off. Eddie Collins was the quintessential Quiet Man, before, during and after the Babe Ruth comet blazed across the game. He was a ballplayer first and foremost, letting his bat and glove and spikes do most of the talking. Perhaps this is another reason his biography appears so late.
 

            Huhn asks great questions all along the way (317 pages, plus end notes worth reading). How to assess the silence of the Sox who knew the Fix was in, but said nothing to the press?  For insiders like Collins and Ray Schalk, it was more than suspicion, and the public silence of their manager Gleason and owner Comiskey in the year that followed the tainted Series comes in for examination, too. There is another kind of silence, too, when Collins is GM in Boston. We know now that the Red Sox had a look at Jackie Robinson before he signed with Brooklyn, and Huhn cannot resist observing that Eddie Collins’ life might have been crowned with the heroism that surrounded Branch Rickey. But it wasn’t, and the BoSox would not sign their first black player until long after Collins passed away.
 

            It is tempting to use both silences to underline Collins as a bureaucrat, one who refused to make waves that might upset the boat he wanted to steer someday, or the sport that prides itself on unchanging tradition. But Huhn does not do that — he gives readers the context, the bigger picture, looks at the options, and reports the facts. Collins probably had no leverage to move the stone of the cover-up of the Fix in 1919 and 1920. And he probably was no racist in the 1940s. It was not that simple, and longer, deeper looks are needed. Huhn takes those looks.
 

            If they make a movie of the life of Eddie Collins, it just might need that old title, It’s a Wonderful Life . Like the character Jimmy Stewart played in the Christmas favorite, Eddie’s life touched and influenced many others — take it away and there would be a huge hole in baseball history.
 

 

CLEMENS  
 

            As I wrote after the Selig-Fehr appearance before that congressional committee that is becoming all-too-familiar to baseball fans — one of the benefits of being “retired” is that I can (if I want) tune in and watch these events, “live” — and then form my own opinions, without any help from media sound bites and editing. I did want to watch the Clemens & McNamee act, and watched most of it.
 

            But after it ended — for now, anyway — I wanted to know, more than anything else, the reactions of others. As a baseball fan, I felt like I was in uncharted waters — we like baseball because it is, for all its faults, a decisive game. There are no ties, games are played out until there is a winner and a loser, the same as the pennant races, and the Series. Ties, like Wild Cards, are for football . Make that were .
 

            If this hearing pitted Clemens against McNamee, then both were hit hard. Neither could be bailed out by a bullpen, though their lawyers could visit the mound. And these whisperings seemed like all mound visits, they probably belabored the obvious, as they tried to break the momentum of the team at bat — in this case, a collection of congressmen and women, some of whom did not think the hearing should have been conducted. Better things to do , a government to run.
 

            In the aftermath, I was perplexed by the way the committee broke down politically — as CNN predicted, I think. Why would Democrats tend to blister Clemens, while the Republicans took their best shots at McNamee?  Did they flip a coin on this?  It was disturbing — fans like to think baseball has no political side, that we can escape politics at the park, or in the game. But no — and then there were rumors of Bush pardoning Clemens, before he is even indicted, tried, and found in need of a pardon! It’s enough to make one begin practicing a Texas accent. (Roger Clemens — I mean, William R. Clemens — is from Dayton, Ohio.)
 

            I have found the discussion that followed, with friends and fellow fans, to be more interesting than the hearing. Among the good questions raised: Why was Pettitte excused?  I read most of his deposition, and it doesn’t seem fair to treat this witness differently — his testimony could use some clarification, too. Was his statement made available to Clemens and his legal team before the hearing, or kept from them?  Pettitte testified that he indeed may have misunderstood Clemens about Rogers’ use of HGH (or whatever). That was not underlined in the hearing, as it might have been, and should have been by Clemens. Instead, Roger was forced to admit that Pettitte was just shy of sainthood and an honest person, although capable of mis-hearing.
 

            We want to believe everything we hear — it just makes things easier on the brain. But the hearing became a modern version of To Tell the Truth , an old game show that I watched, of course, but later decided was an awful production — because two-thirds of the information the audience received from the three “contestants” came from liars, and we did not know until the end which third came from the one person telling the truth. At least on the game show, we knew at the end. When the dust settled in Clemens vs McNamee, we had no idea. We had impressions, were we leaning a certain way, we thought both were honest at times , and deep down, we didn’t want to believe either was lying. But one of them was.
 

            Toward the end, my B-Sox brain drifted to another question. How would Shoeless Joe Jackson have fared, hauled before a congressional committee? I think he might have done better than Clemens. Same with Eddie Cicotte. These guys wanted to clear their consciences, when they went to their team and then to the 1920 grand jury. I think they wanted to tell the public much more about what happened, too, but they were prevented from doing that. So Eddie mentions getting the Fix idea from the 1918 Series to Alfred Austrian — but no one else. Who knows what Jackson might have said, if he had not been intercepted by Austrian? Back then, a cover-up was ending … or maybe just changing shapes. Today, is it still the same old story?
 

            Clemens-McNamee knocked John Rocker’s comments into oblivion, it seems. The C-M hearing kept the focus tight, only shifting it a few times to the role of trainers, managers, and owners. No suggestion that Clemens was just one of maybe a hundred or a thousand players who could be examined.
 

            It was hard for me to root for or against Clemens — and those whom he represented, whose reputations have been tainted, or smeared, by the Mitchell Report. Rocker called the report worthless, but that talk would not fly on Capitol Hill. But what if Rocker is right?  I find myself believing that the Report is not — like many medical tests — 100% accurate. Was Clemens a false positive?  How many others are there?  Something in me wanted Clemens to “win” because he really should not have been there, the Report should not have named names unless there was clear evidence — and maybe not even then. Watching Clemens-McNamee turned out to be like Clarence Thomas vs. Anita Hill, He Said/She Said. Pettitte was to be not the tie-breaker some thought; I’ll have to read Knoblauch’s testimony, if I can, but I suspect it’ll be the same there. Sure, both support McNamee, in their own cases , but that is no guarantee that he is being truthful about Clemens. Think about it, the person who lies about one thing can be honest about a thousand other things, and those truths do not offset the single lie.
 

            Think about the power of a lie. Our minds do not want to believe the worst. That’s one reason cover-ups are possible, and almost easy to pull off. The Big Fix of October 1919 was swept under the rug — like how many World Series before? — and would be there today, if the players involved had not stepped forward to confirm that it happened. Without those confirmations, it was still possible to believe the Fix was just a rumor. Baseball can’t be fixed — it would take too many players. Belief in the cleanliness, the sportsmanship, the honor of baseball, prevented folks from looking at the evidence, and from interpreting it correctly if they did take a peek. We really don’t want to know the scope of the steroid problem, do we?
 

            The C-M hearing also spent some time on the societal aspect of this problem. Education about drugs, alcohol, and a lot more, starts at home. Parents and coaches can place enormous pressure on young athletes, with scholarships or highly-paid careers at stake. Compete, get the edge, be a winner, be a millionaire. The system is broke, and has been for a long time. Start with a quick comparison of the salaries of athletes, versus nurses or social workers or teachers. This is nothing new.
 

            This spring, I have a new book coming out, from Pocol Press. A Baseball Family Album is a collection of over 130 poems, all about baseball people, mostly players. Some are pretty famous, some are obscure. None are saints, though some have gone down in history as if they were — Mathewson, Joss, Jackie Robinson. Some were clearly rascals. All are family . For better and for worse.
 

            I once tried poeming Roger Clemens. But it was no use, what I came up with was awful, and I scrapped it. I think one problem was that this was around 1993 or ’94, and his career was far from over, so his image for the album — for history — was still very blurred. Obviously, it’s even blurrier today. But I’m sure that someday, maybe fifty years in the future, someone will write a terrific poem about Clemens. I think we are all too close right now.
 

            By the way, I would have no problem at all voting Clemens into Cooperstown. Right after Barry Bonds. I’d like to see Rose in there, too, and that Shoeless fellow from South Carolina. They all have earned it, and they will join a group of imperfect men (and one woman). And besides, that doorstep to the Hall is getting too crowded!
 

 

            Below is an old poem on Eddie Collins, it was in Romancing the Horsehide , and since it’s a people-poem or “portrait,” it will be in A Baseball Family Album , too. Having read Rick Huhn’s biography, I’d probably end this poem differently, if I wrote it today.  
 

 

COCKY
 

Of all the Collins who played the game
None played longer or better or bolder
Than Eddie
 

Quarter of a century at the keystone
Sparkplug of the A’s early dynasty
Later kept his own ChiSox White
Collins oozed with confidence
Hit-and-run driver of teams
And self
 

Owner of position four in the scorebook
His career is summed up in threes:
Three-thirty-three batter
With thirty-three hundred hits
And three ways to win:
Wood, leather or brain
Collins stole signals
Like he stole bases
And the show
 

Fans looked for Eddie’s gum
Stuck on his cap’s button when he stood
Square in the batter’s box
Until he had two strikes
Then the gum and Eddie’s brain
Went to work
Putting the pitcher
In bubble trouble
 

Pencil in Eddie Collins at second
On the All-October team
Chances are good he’ll get on
Speed around the bases
Maybe score the key run
In the final game:
He was that kind of guy
 

How fitting that our last image
Comes from a picture taken
At the sport’s new shrine:
Beside the Babe and Mr Mack
Speedster sits at rest
Hands folded
Comfortable with greatness
Probably chewing gum
And stealing
The photographer’s signals
 

 

NOTES FROM A LEAGUE OF MY OWN  
 

            Back in Notes #433 I mentioned that the dice are rolling again here in the shadows of Cooperstown. Not daily, not that often, but my third simulated season has officially resumed.
 

            Some years back, I joked with some friends about my APBA addiction, saying how easy we will be if we end up in the same nursing home. The staff need only give us a card table and some dice, some APBA cards, and we will be quite manageable. I can think of lots of worse ways to go.
 

            APBA has been a pleasurable pastime for me for going on fifty years now, about as long as I’ve been a fan of MLB. APBA’s Great Teams of the Past helped to introduce me to many players, including Eddie Collins — I managed the 1911 A’s, often replaying the 1911 Series against the Giants, with myself in the dual roles of Connie Mack and John McGraw. Probably the worst of those Great Teams was the 1915 Phils, but Gavvy Cravath still got four ABs a game, and their pitching was fantastic. I’ve always been a “homer” and so of course I bought the 1909 and 1927 Pirates. Honus was pure pleasure to pencil into the lineup, but I got to know Eddie Abbaticchio, too, an obscure family member.
 

            Anyway, in 433 I reported on the Reds-Cubs series that kicked off July in my Other World. This time, just a quick note on two more series. First, the All-Time Giants took two of three from the All-Time Phils. Willie Mays and Bill Terry homered and accounted for five runs in the 8-5 opener; Juan Marichal tossed the complete game, and had a no-hitter for five and two-thirds innings, before the Phils broke thru with five unearned runs on three extra-base hits. The Giants won again the next day (four straight and 8 of 9, but they are still just under .500 for the season). It was 11-5, 14 Giant hits, HRs by Bobby Bonds (in for Mays after Willie was ejected for arguing a call — did that ever happen?), Freddie Lindstrom and Travis Jackson; Matty now 7-6. The Phils salvaged Game 3, 10-5, Carlton the win, Sam Thompson the star at bat with a triple, HR and 5 RBIs. Billy Hamilton 4-4 & a walk. The Phils six under .500. Well, somebody’s gotta lose.
 

            The dice remained red hot for the Braves-Cardinals series. The scores went 13-9, 11-8, and 9-7, with the Braves on top in Games 1 and 3. Hank Aaron smacked four HRs, two in the Game 2 loss, and has 22 on the season, thru 75 games — on a pace for that typical 40-some HR total. Eddie Mathews homered in the first two games, too, reminding me how often that happened, back in reality. Dizzy Dean was 10-1 and headed for a start in the All Star Game when he was clobbered in Game 1. None of the starters looked good.
 

            These games jog old memories: I saw Stan Musial swing, and Ken Boyer at the hot corner, and Red Schoendienst (whew! If you could spell his name, anything thrown at you in a school spelling bee was cake) execute the hit and run. I inserted Bob Hazle at DH for the Braves and he turned Hurricane again, with eight hits in the series, including two HRs and four RBIs. I never saw Ducky Medwick, but I could imagine the look on Warren Spahn when Medwick hit a grand slam, right after Spahnie’s fifth walk of the inning — I bet that never happened, but I could be wrong.
 

            The great thing about baseball — and this eclipses steroids for me — is that you never know , and anything’s possible , and while the game is ultimately a slave to the Law of Averages, the unexpected happens all the time . And that’s why I like these APBA simulations — they remind me of the best things about baseball. My players can’t toss a game, bet on a game, or inject themselves with something stupid. They can’t talk, either — a nice feature. And they are free . (Back in the late 1950s, I think the Great Teams of the Past cost two bucks each — maybe just a buck.)
 

            I play these games mostly solitaire these days, but they are definitely more fun when you manage against some else, and if you have a league going — a group of friends — that’s almost Iowa  — I mean, heaven. Baseball will survive, Ray, it is a constant. Because dice are indestructible. And remember that great saying of Wilfred Sheed: Simply as a religion, baseball could live on indefinitely underground. (When my novella Casey’s Call , which describes the monks of the Order of St Abner, is finally published — I bet someone writes to find out how to join.)