Notes #452 — Midsummer Musings

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

#452                                                                                                                        JULY 15, 2008
                                                        MIDSUMMER MUSINGS
 

            My summer shifted into high gear around June 13 and has not slowed down a bit. There are four or five new items in this issue, all up top, but perhaps readers will find the last couple items, from 1998, more interesting. Sometimes I apologize for dipping into the Notes Archive to round out an issue, and I was fearing that I’d need to do that here. But when I reached back and came up with a couple essays from July 1998 — it was the All Star break in that strange summer of McGwire & Sosa and the Yankees — I was pleasantly surprised that what I wrote then seemed worth the re-reading.
 

            And since that was before NOTES was on the internet, hardly anyone out there has read this material. Including my thoughts, vintage 1998, on the All Star Game and HR Derby.
 

            This is also another ‘tweener issue, I’m on the road again soon, reunioning, and away from my computer for nearly a week. I was hoping that my Pirates would have streaked to the All Star break, winning six in a row, but they split those six and are still six under .500. But they did knock off the Yankees, in a game replayed because of a rainout earlier. That gave them a two out of three against New York, better than the two of four they won in Pittsburgh in the 1960 Series. That 2 of 3 will make my seasonal highlight reel, as my Yankee fan friends already know. Whether the Pirates can reach .500 — who knows?  They have fine hitting, but are desperately seeking pitching. .500 seems to be like the food and grapes dangling above Tantalus, ever to be whirled out of reach by the winds when reached for … that king in Greek mythology was being fittingly punished for a terrible crime, but the Pirates haven’t slain anyone lately. I demand an explanation from the baseball gods, and if none is forthcoming, this silly streak must end!
 

 

HOOKS II  
 

            A couple years ago, thanx to the efforts of Rich Cohen, George “Hooks” Wiltse was honored by the village of Hamilton, NY. No one else from the area, except Hooks’ brother Lewis “Snake” Wiltse, has made it to the big leagues (yet). My Macmillan says Snake was born in nearby Bouckville, Hooks in Hamilton, and altho my T-shirts from that event state flat out that Hooks is Hamilton ‘s only major leaguer, I understand that his birthplace is the subject of some controversy.
 

            In any case, Hooks was duly honored back then, with a great turnout, on a cool, rainy Saturday morning. For “Hooks II” (my label), the weather was perfect, and lured by a parade and a host of vendors, folks from Hamilton and environs turned out in numbers even better than for Hooks I.
 

            This was where I found myself on the 4th of July, 2008 — in “Hooks Wiltse City,” shaded from the sun by a long tent, talking baseball with whomever came along. I was there to represent and sell SABR, along with some books, but no one was buying. The parade was too stiff competition, and once it ended, the food became the main magnet, and I was on the outskirts. But it was still fun.
 

            And it seemed fitting, since I have more often than not found myself on the 4th of July in circumstances that often border on the bizarre. I had a streak going, started in 1969, when I found myself in a ball game somewhere in Missouri, and later in Milwaukee for a fireworks display that started up right outside my bedroom window — just as my head hit the pillow after a long day’s drive. The next July Fourths I woke up in St Louis, Memphis and Chicago, then in 1973 on the Orient Express from London to Switzerland, and in ’74 I landed in Upstate NY, which I later renamed the Shadows of Cooperstown. Once I married and had kids, the 4th was often spent in the Adirondacks, or with my wife’s family in Gloversville. Maybe the most memorable 4th was spent with friends in Boston, in 2000, exploring the Tall Ships in the harbor then watching dueling fireworks after sundown.
 

            Every so often, I think that my 4th of July were not really that bizarre — they just seemed that way because from 1969 on, I expected them to be offbeat in some way. So that’s they way they seemed. Perhaps, but the spectacle of Hook Wiltse City, my wife chatting with someone she had not seen much since kindergarten or grade school — they met in Hamilton purely by chance — brought my 4th of July “tradition” back to mind. Maybe this illustrates that old Zen cliche, “Expect the Unexpected.” Who knows?
 

 

POSTSCRIPT ON JOHN SAYLES’ COMMENTARY  
 

I had warmed up for the day by watching the 20th-Anniversary DVD, which includes a scene-by-scene commentary by Sayles. (More on that in a future issue.) The effect of that and the tour was to deepen my appreciation for the care Sayles and his crew took, to get things looking right, taking us back to 1919.
                                                                        — From NOTES #450, 6/25/08
 

            A couple issues ago I promised to write more about the commentary provided by director John Sayles, on the 20th Anniversary edition DVD of Eight Men Out . Here it is.
 

            Sayles said he wrote the screenplay for 8MO around 1977, which is probably right, but he goes on to say that Eliot Asinof wrote the book about 25 years before that . That would be about 1952, which is wrong — Asinof’s book was published in 1963. Sayles said Asinof played a club owner in the film; he did not, he played NL President John Heydler.
 

            Sayles says that Shoeless Joe Jackson got into the fix because “Swede [Risberg] was a hard guy.” I don’t know where he got that. Jackson told the 1920 grand jury that it was Gandil who had bullied him into joining forces with the others who wanted to make some easy money. Jackson expressed some concern about “hard guy” Risberg in the courthouse that day, and was assigned a couple of bailiffs for his protection. Although “the Swede was a hard guy” became a popular slogan, thanks to Nelson Algren, I believe the Swede himself denied threatening Jackson. (Jackson also denied the kid said “Say it ain’t so, Joe!” and Ban Johnson denied saying, “That’s the yelp of a beaten cur!”  But these are catchy sayings that would be remembered forever. To Sayles, “All this stuff really happened.” He questions Asinof, NOT, although “Say it ain’t so” may have been the invention of a sports writer.
 

            Regarding Cicotte’s motivation for joining, Sayles believes Asinof’s “bonus denied” story (even tho Asinof has it in 1917 in the book). To Sayles, Cicotte was out-and-out cheated, and fixed the Series for revenge. I don’t think that was the case at all.
 

            Sayles mentions a thug named Monk Eastman, a henchman of Rothstein’s, and I looked up Eastman in Asinof’s book. He’s in there, but just one fleeting reference — yet he becomes a character in Sayles film, with a minor but identifiable role. I am perplexed by this — did someone lean on Sayles to do this? Just kidding!  Did he substitute Eastman for someone who really did have a bigger role in the story, maybe Nat(e) Evans?
 

            In the film, Joe Jackson gets his $5,000 payoff after Game One. Again, I don’t know where this comes from. The players were stiffed after Game One, as far as I know, and no one I have read has Jackson getting his cash any sooner than after Game Four.
 

            There are some minor muffs in Sayles’ commentary, as I’m sure there would be if I was asked to talk for the entire length of the film about what was on the screen. Billy Maharg becomes Billy Graham (!); Hal Chase becomes Ed Chase. These are verbal typos, but could have been cleaned up.
 

            Sayles tells the story about Dickie Kerr’s post-scandal adventures, but gets that wrong. He has his own character in the film, Ring Lardner, pegged as a Whistleblower, with a capital W, but I don’t think so. The drunken Ring sings “I’m forever blowing ballgames” in 8MO after Game Five, but that happened earlier, I’m pretty sure, after Game Two. Another small thing, but Lardner’s whistleblowing was nothing compared to Fullerton’s, and that song parody was co-authored, not made up by Ring all alone.
 

            Sayles says the conspiracy was “starting to unravel” after Game Six, which is why viewers of 8MO most likely believe that the Fix was definitely ON in the first five games. I think the evidence points in another director, but no one can be certain.
 

            Shot in eight weeks — remarkable — Eight Men Out , according to Sayles, showed how the Black Sox scandal made it rough for Jewish and Italian Americans. Huh?  There was some anti-Semitic backlash, but I don’t think the film tries to cover that. Racial backlash, too? 
 

            Finally — and I stop early here, because my DVD had a defect and I couldn’t go all the way to the film’s end — Sayles claims that “the owners fixed the trial.”  Again: Huh?  There may have been some whitewashing in 1921, but I don’t see too many people saying it was fixed . Anyway, I refer readers to Notes #413 for my attempt to sort out the chronology of the film’s ending. And again, the faulty chronology is perhaps the film’s greatest problem: the cover-up is covered up . Another whole season is played before the scandal breaks???  Say it ain’t so, Mr Sayles!
 

 

GOOD NEWS FROM SABR  
 

            I’ve just learned that I’ve been awarded a SABR-Yoseloff Research Grant, to help with the expenses of my trip to Chicago to see the “new archive” of B-Sox documents. These are the papers purchased last winter by the Chicago History Museum, at auction (see Notes #425 and 426 ). They remain “in process” — being properly preserved, which is naturally the top priority. I have no idea how long (or how soon) it may take, before the collection is accessible for research, but if it’s within the next 18 months, SABR just made the excursion more affordable for me.
 

            I think I’ve said this here before — my hope is that I am among the first to see the “new stuff” and also that I am not alone when I get the opportunity. A second or third pair of eyes is incredibly helpful, when scanning, and those extra brains sure help, too, when it comes to identifying and interpreting. This is not another Nicholas Cage National Treasure spin-off, there is no treasure of gold to be raced for. Especially when trying to figure out the B-Sox story, you need all the help you can get. And it’s more important to get things right , than to get them first , even if the media dangles some cash for an “exclusive” — which they have not done yet, despite my prodding. (I am mystified that the auction last winter was national news, but few people in any media have shown much interest in the actual items that were purchased. It’s as if the price tag was worth all the attention, but not what it was attached to. Oh well.)
 

 

SPEAKING OF SABR  
 

Next year, the convention will be July 30 – August 2, in Washington, DC. There is a way to guarantee a slot in the program for a sharing of B-Sox research — and once those Chicago documents are available, there ought to be plenty to share. How?  By creating a SABR Research Committee dedicated to research related to the fixing of the 1919 World Series, the cover-up of that fix, and all related issues, including the people involved, and gambling in baseball. — NOTES 451
 

            Since that mention in the last issue of Notes , and the same mention in the B-Sox Yahoo group, I’ve been contacted by about twenty people who have said they would want to be a member of such a committee. Even better, four or five of those people would join SABR, if such a committee existed. I won’t have the time to get this project launched this month, but if betting was allowed in baseball, I’d wager that this new committee will be approved — and thus guaranteed a meeting space at each future SABR convention. That is, until we solve all the mysteries, sort out what everyone did and failed to do, assign credit and blame in a way that pleases everyone, including Bud Selig — and then disband.  But wait, I’m getting ahead of myself.
 

 

SPEAKING OF REUNIONS  
 

            “Keep in touch.”  We all say it, but we do not always mean it. People come and go. It seems to be easier than ever to keep in touch — with today’s technology, I mean, much of which I am only vaguely familiar. I confess a preference for the written letter; exchanging mail was, for me, as fun and addictive as e-mail. I also prefer the telephone, to voice mail and text messages. Written words can be misunderstood, and you hear so much more than words in a human voice.
 

            Then there are reunions, and I’m starting to look at SABR meetings, on every level, as more reunion that convention, conference, workshop, or meeting. National or local, special interest or general interest, it comes down to being with people, some familiar and others who may be familiar, someday.
 

            It has been a summer of reunions for me, and one that is far from over. The last couple issues have described events in Indianapolis and Greenville and North Carolina, and the SABR thing in Cleveland. Above, Hamilton, NY. Later this week, I’m off to Dayton for a reunion that has been months in planning, which will bring together over fifty folks from my college years, some of them with four decades of catching up to do. And my calendar is dotted with more reunions as the summer eases toward the World Series.
            One possible reunion has begun to intrigue me. Someone is trying to locate, and invite to a dinner at the end of September, everyone who attended my grade school, Annunciation, on Pittsburgh’s North Side. I left “Annunciation U.” in 1960, starting high school that same year, along with about 80 other teenage boys and girls. So the prospect of getting together with folks I haven’t seen in nearly fifty years is mind-boggling.
 

            This is a group with whom I can recall my first ball games, in the school yard, the sandlot across the street, or maybe at summer camp, a couple years. I’ve written about a few of those games, which remain stuck in my memory — not vividly, but at least there is some trace of something there. Now maybe I can ask around, and see if others recall things the same way. Chances are, they will not. Bounced around against others, my memories are always in need of correction, or nuancing; sometimes they are simply disputed. It is easier — safer — for my memories, if I just stay away from all reunions. But I seem unable to do that. I hit a bases-loaded triple to tie the game, and scored the go-ahead run a minute later, just before the bell rang. I know this happened, my hit went to right-center, and I remember who got the single that scored me. If he shows up and has no memory of this game, or remembers it with a different ending, he will have a fight on his hands.
 

From the NOTES ARCHIVE; #165, JULY 1998
 

 

AND THE LIVIN’ IS EASY  
 

            There’s no baseball in Porgy & Bess , but its famous tune “Summertime” had it right. This is my 53rd summertime, my 42nd of following The Summer Game — but who’s counting?  On the horizon is the day when my summers will have nothing to do with my or my kids’ being out of school .
 

            Once I was a fan, the return to school after Labor Day always felt a bit unfair. Whose crazy idea was it to start the school year before the pennant races are over, anyway?   How was I supposed to concentrate on the games and the boxscores, when there were classes all day, and then homework ?  At worst, the latter might have to be completed before I could hit the sandlot, or tune in the Bucs on KDKA. School — rhymed with cruel.
 

            My first job after college was teaching, which was even worse. But between 1974 and 1985, I enjoyed a wonderful stretch of a dozen summers when time flowed like a lazy river full of jumpin’ catfish. No academic distractions, when August melted into September. This ended when my daughter entered kinder-
garten. Now that both of my kids are out of high school, my life is lapped only by the waves of the college schedule, which, while it is more expensive, is also kinder to parents.
 

            This issue of NOTESis actually being put together while I am on vacation, north of the Shadows, in the Adirondacks. If you notice a strange postmark, that’s why, and it usually takes a few days longer for the mail to reach civilization. (If all goes well, this will be in the mail July 15 or 16.)
 

            The Adirondacks is not a bad place to ponder the safari nature of the baseball season. We started out last spring at the familiar trailhead. We have the guide of History hacking through the brush covering the trail, but this time, we also seem to be off the beaten path entirely, exploring new worlds, worlds where 70 home runs and 200 RBIs seem possible, 120 wins looms large (but it could be a mirage) on the Bronx horizon, where we light our fires at night and keep watch, for danger from above (the lion of Milwaukee, now Commish, sleeps tonight — but tomorrow?)
 

            The best thing about the home run chase, the hot pursuit of other records, the players on almost every team that have SOMETHING going — is that we find ourselves drawn to the Game again, before we sign off, right after we wake up, we talk about it with fellow fans, and we want to read all about it .
 

 

STARRIER, STARRIER NIGHTS  
 

            For newcomers to Notes , the All Star Game has come up here a few times before. I regard its main value to baseball as a conversation piece — and that is not at all a put-down. It is a high compliment. (I say and mean the same of the Hall of Fame voting.)  This time around, there seemed to be more conversation about it than ever.
 

            This may be explained partly by the way the season has gone so far — with genuine stars shining brightly, and not just the usual ones, but a whole new cluster. The ‘Star Game seemed to be billed more as a face-off between sluggers McGwire and Griffey, than the two leagues, and I think ESPN was correct to do the Home Run Derby “live” the night before. They correctly gauged that America wants nothing as much these days as to sit back and watch our heroes swing for new distance records, and to break Maris’ dusty old ’61. The mood seems to be “It’s our time now.” 
 

            And this time around, the All Star conversation seemed to be in an upbeat context. Talk shows were asking, to the delight of MLB, no doubt, “Is baseball back?”  And sure enough, many fans think it is, and soon enough I suspect we will be reading about how the Homers of ’98 helped fans finally get over their surly mood, brought on by the Strike of ’95-95 (shall we start calling it “Selig’s Strike” for short, now that he’s on the throne?)
 

            I am perhaps in the unforgiving minority, but I was still ready to join in the Starry Night hoopla without reservation. But around 11 PM Eastern, it struck me that Baseball was not back at all, it was still blundering — because this game was still going strong, and would not end till after midnight. I have the final innings on tape, and may get around to watching them some day.
 

            Baseball is still the dog being wagged by the tail that is Television. One of the easiest-to-fix problems of MLB — and this seems to rank very high on every survey I’ve seen — is the time of its showcase games. Usually fans (in the east) complain about the Series, of course, but the fact that we now are grousing about the All Star Game being on too late says something both positive and negative. On the plus side, the fans are caring again. On the other, MLB is still acting cluelessly.
 

            I believe that our years (has it been a decade yet?) of trying to get MLB’s attention on this did finally nudge the Series up a half hour or more last October, but if I recall correctly, it was limited to the weekend games. Please let me know if I have this wrong. My point here is just that we shouldn’t have to spell it out for MLB. What is lost with late Series’ starts, is also lost when the July showcase is late.
 

            Or should I say who is lost?  I am thinking here mostly of the young fans, and the fans-in-the-making. In October, they have school the next day, but even in July, most (I hope) tire by 11.
 

            I became a baseball fan in 1957 (that summer, the last-place Pirates sent obscure catcher Hank Foiles to the All Star Game), and it was a combination of genetics, my family, Bob Prince on the radio, and my first visits to Forbes Field that hooked me. I have very few memories of MLB before 1957 (Podres’ Game 7 win in the ’55 Series, Don Larsen’s perfect game a year later, and Dale Long’s octet of HRs) — but one is the 1955 All Star Game. I was at a friend’s house down the street, when Stan Musial homered in the 12th inning to give the NL the win. (For many years, I recalled Red Schoendienst as the hero, but when I finally looked it up, it was Stan.)  I don’t recall where I was in 1956, but I have a very vague recollection of being pleased that Bob Friend (of the same last-place Pirates) was the winning pitcher, and I am quite certain that I knew nothing else about Bob Friend.
 

            Once hooked, the World Series became of vital interest, and even though the Pirates were last again (tied!) in 1957, I was glued to those October afternoon games. And I remained glued to them, and to baseball, from then on.
 

            So yes, Mr Selig, the July showcase can be an even Starrier Night — just move up the first pitch to about 7 PM Eastern.
 

            I would also like to see the rosters expanded — this is ‘way overdue, but it is unfortunately, in this Age of Incentive Clauses, an economic issue that pits owners against players (or their agents.)  I’d keep the one-player-per-team rule (in memory of Hank Foiles), which I know irks some fans. And I’d change the rules to permit players to re-enter the game, as they would in any exhibition, so managers would be unafraid to drain their benches and bullpens.
 

            As for the Home Run Derby, this could take on a life of its own. (Actually, it briefly had its own life, in that off-season series of duels between the sluggers of the fifties.  I expect some network to try to revive it — let’s hope, with snappier dialogue.)  I found the event boring, when I attended it with my son back in 1994, and was glad when Pat suggested that we leave early, before Griffey! , to beat the traffic. It was lots better than watching “celebrities” try to reach the seats, but boring nevertheless.
 

            I happened to discuss HR Derby recently with a friend, who asked, what fan hasn’t wondered if they could hit a ball out of the park?  We both recalled thinking we could, as kids — when anything was possible. I stood at least once at home plate at Forbes Field (fans could leave the games via the gates in the outfield wall) — I knew left field was out of the question, 365′ down the line and a tall scoreboard not far from the pole. But right field! — a mere 300′ away. Surely, I could pull a fly over that screen…. My point?  I’d like to see fans swing some in a HR Derby, maybe paired in a pro-am type tournament. Seriously!