Baseball’s First Phenom

Nary a season goes by without the chattering classes of our national pastime heralding the arrival of one or more phenoms. The phrase “can’t miss” is bandied about with the self-assurance of racetrack touts. If you’re keeping score at home, however, you have probably noted how many can’t-miss players fail to live up to their billing. Sooner or later, a phenom’s “phlaws” become apparent.

The phenom phenomenon is almost as old as professional baseball itself. Consider the case of John Francis Gammon, later known as John Francis “Phenomenal” Smith , a Bobby Shantz-sized left-hander. His height of 5’6” is duly recorded but lost to history is why his surname changed from Gammon to Smith. Maybe he adopted a stepfather’s last name.

Maybe he was dodging bill collectors. Or maybe he used it while engaged in some sort of extracurricular hanky-panky. Would you please sign our hotel register, Mr. and Mrs…ah, Smith? Nudge, nudge, wink, wink…say no more, say no more.

Whatever the reason for the name change, Phenomenal Smith was born in Manayunk (now part of Philadelphia), Pennsylvania on December 12, 1864. In 1884 he pitched a grand total of 17 innings, one game each for the Philadelphia Athletics and the Pittsburgh Alleghenies in the American Association.

In 1885 it looked like déjà vu all over again, as Smith hurled 12 innings in two games in the American Association, one game for the Athletics and one for the Brooklyn Grays. That one game for Brooklyn, however, was one for the books. Before the game Smith asserted he was so good he didn’t need teammates.

Taking him at his word, his teammates took the day off. Oh, they were on the field, they just didn’t work up a sweat. Consequently, they were charged with 14 errors. Dodger management fined the starting eight position players $500 each – big money indeed in those days. Recognizing that Smith was the real problem child, they released him.

Smith’s youthful braggadocio had tripped him up. If one is indeed a phenom, that is not a status one can bestow upon oneself. As subjective and faulty as such judgments may be, they do have a modicum of validity when offered from someone other than the phenom himself.

After this humbling experience, Smith went to work for the Eastern League’s Newark Domestics (I tried to determine the derivation of that team nickname but came up empty). That 1885 team, however, was the first professional team in Newark baseball history. And it was here that Smith was…well, domesticated.

Smith finished out the 1885 season in Newark in fine form with a 9-8 record in 171.1 innings pitched. Remarkably, his ERA was 0.74 and he struck out 212. He followed this up in 1886 (the Domestics had been rebranded as the Little Giants) with a 22-10 record in 292 innings, an ERA of 0.74, and 317 strikeouts. All 33 of his starts were complete games.

He capped off the season with a no-hitter against the Orioles on October 3rd. Hence he was dubbed “Phenomenal” Smith. That was good enough to qualify him to pitch a few games for the National League’s Detroit Wolverines in the closing days of the season.

In 1887 Smith returned to the American Association, this time with the Baltimore Orioles, and spent the entire season there. Even given the standards of the time, Smith’s season was, well, phenomenal. He had a losing record (25-30) but pitched 54 complete games and logged 491.1 IP. He was only 22 years old yet he was already a workhorse. As if that wasn’t enough, he sometimes played the outfield when he wasn’t pitching.

In 1888 Smith finished at 16-20, mostly with the Orioles but he also took the mound a few times for the Athletics. His IP dropped to 314 and his complete games fell to 34 out of 35 starts. I’m inclined to believe he was injured because in 1889 he was 2-3 for the Athletics in just 43 IP.

In 1890 he moved to the National League, rebounding somewhat with the Phillies and Pirates, going 9-15 in 248 IP. In 1891 he went just 1-1 in 19 IP for the Phillies. At age 26, when he should have been in his prime, his MLB career (he finished with a 54-74 record and a 3.89 ERA) was over. This is not to say his playing career was over, however. Smith returned to the minor leagues, where he remained through 1906, more often than not as a player-manager.

After 1891 Smith’s pitching statistics were nothing to write home about, but it didn’t really matter, as he was spending far more time in the outfield – and getting results. Notably, in 1896 he batted .405 in 374 AB for Pawtucket of the New England League. .400-hitting player-managers are rare in any league – one might justifiably call such a man phenomenal.

Appropriately, the Pawtucket team’s nickname was changed to the Phenoms (in my opinion, an upgrade from the Clam Eaters, but I’ve never been fond of slurping bivalve innards) in honor of Smith.

But that was not the end of the Phenom nickname. In 1899, when Smith moved on to Portland, another New England League franchise, the Phenoms nickname went with him! Ironically, the biggest phenom in the league was playing for another team and flying well under the radar.

Against all odds, a young pitcher on the Taunton Herrings had attracted Smith’s attention. The rookie’s record was an abysmal 2-13, but Smith saw something he liked in the 18-year-old. The young pitcher’s name was Christy Mathewson.

In 1900 Smith moved on to Norfolk in the newly-formed Virginia League. Once again, the Phenoms nickname traveled with Smith. This was an improvement over the team’s former nickname, the Mary Janes. I have no idea where that name came from, but I must note that marijuana and hemp were legal back then.

The Tidewater Virginia area was where America’s tobacco industry started and Norfolk was a major east coast port. Were they exporting wacky tabacky along with conventional tobacco? Hey, I’m just spitballing here…speculating while expectorating.

Whatever the reason for their nickname, the Norfolkers had a 43-14 record when the Virginia League folded on July 11, 1900. Mathewson led the league in strikeouts and victories (20), then finished off the season with the New York Giants, where he was used sparingly. In 1901, his first full season, he was 20-17 with a 2.41 ERA for the 7th-place Giants (including a no-hitter against the Cardinals on July 15) and well on his way to 373 victories (a total never surpassed by any other National League pitcher) and a plaque in the Hall of Fame.

Smith was surely proud of the exploits of his protégé, but he was still stuck in the minors, this time for another Norfolk franchise in the new Virginia-North Carolina League. This time the Phenoms nickname did not go with him, however. He was strictly a player in 1901, but the team adopted a nickname with baseball resonance. The team was called the Skippers, but I believe that was in reference to Norfolk’s nautical history, not to the field manager who, believe it or not, was named Jack Spratt.

This naming of a team after its manager wasn’t a big thing but it did happen now and then in those nickname-fluid days of old. Perhaps the best-known example is the Cleveland Naps. The team was so-called from 1903 to 1911 in honor of Napoleon Lajoie (he was player-manager from 1905 through 1909).

The Clevelanders followed this up with the nickname Molly McGuires (inspired by the Molly Maguires, a 19th Century Irish activist organization) after manager Jim McGuire took over. A few years later the franchise missed out on a memorable nickname when Tris Speaker took over as manager in 1919, leading the team to a World Series Championship in 1920. Speaker’s nickname was Spoke, so they could have been the Cleveland Spokesmen!

Several years later when the Senators won the World Series, they could have called themselves the Washington Buckies, since they were under the tutelage of Bucky Harris. Today the Washington Buc-ee’s would be more likely. With most ball clubs selling the naming rights to their stadiums, it’s not too far-fetched to imagine that one day they will sell the naming rights to the teams themselves.

In truth, most managerial nicknames are not conducive to team nicknames. It’s difficult to imagine any team managed by Leo Durocher being called the Lips. How about the Reds of the 1970s being known as the Cincinnati Sparkies? No offense to the late Sparky Anderson, but his nickname was ill-suited for the Big Red Machine. Even worse, imagine the Cardinals being known as the St. Louis White Rats during the Whitey Herzog era.

So Phenomenal Smith was fortunate enough to have a nickname that was appropriate (and appropriated) for his team’s nickname. Once the Virginia-North Carolina League folded, the Phenom nickname was retired. Smith returned to the New England League, this time with Manchester, for the remainder of the 1901 season – in fact, for the remainder of his career.

He won the New England League batting title with a .363 average in 1901 and managed the team through the 1904 season. He continued as a player through the 1906 season and remained in Manchester for the rest of his life, working as a police officer through 1932. He died in Manchester at age 87 in 1952.

You might think Smith’s career was notable but opine that it fell short of phenomenal. If so, we can adduce additional evidence to back up that adjective: Smith fathered twelve children.

In a time of declining testosterone levels in young men and penitents donning hair shirts to atone for their carbon footprints, this achievement is indeed stunning and amazing.

Maybe even phenomenal!