Bad Boys, Bad Times. Scott H. LongertЧитать онлайн книгу.
their attention to Bob Feller, filing stories on just about anything concerning him. The public ate it up, particularly Feller’s politeness and “aw shucks” nature. There were many positive vibes coming out of camp, mostly courtesy of the eighteen-year-old almost-superstar.
Near the end of camp, more stories appeared revealing that once again the Indians front office was in hot water with their good friend Judge Landis. On March 29 it was disclosed that the Judge had been investigating a possible cover-up in the case of minor league outfielder Tommy Henrich. The Massillon, Ohio, product was originally signed in 1934 by Cleveland ex-player and scout Bill Bradley. Henrich reported to Zanesville, an Indians affiliate. He excelled there, triggering a rapid promotion to New Orleans. The 1936 season displayed Henrich at his best, batting a lofty .346 and compiling a gaudy total of 203 hits. Clearly he stood as one of the elite players in all of the Southern Association. In September of the same year, New Orleans questionably sold Henrich and pitcher Ralph Winegarner to the Milwaukee Brewers for $7,500. This ridiculous figure came to the attention of Billy Evans, the recent general manager of the Cleveland Indians. Evans departed Cleveland in a huff after Bradley cut his salary by 50 percent and now supervised the entire Boston Red Sox farm system. In an article in a Canton, Ohio, publication, Evans remarked that Henrich alone could easily bring a price of $15,000 to any Major League club. Stories circulated that Henrich read the article and believed a questionable deal had taken place. He did not know that Milwaukee had recently become an affiliate of the Indians. That raised the issue of who had really sent Henrich to Milwaukee, the Indians or their long-time partner, New Orleans. Over the winter months Henrich wrote a letter to Landis, politely asking for clarification of his standing. After his tremendous season at New Orleans, should he not have received an invite to Cleveland’s spring training? He asked Landis who really owned his contract. The investigation began on March 29.
Rest assured that Alva Bradley did not take the ongoing probe lightly. The brunt of his anger was directed at his former associate, Billy Evans. Bradley insisted Evans had ulterior motives in writing the September article. The Indians owner told the Cleveland Plain Dealer, “I don’t care about Henrich but I do care about learning how long Evans will be allowed to continue the tactics that have caused us trouble since he severed his connection with Cleveland.” Bradley went on to insist that Evans was committing a breach of ethics in harassing his former employer.
Evans responded comically, advising reporters he did not know what “breach of ethics” meant and he would have to look it up. Bradley’s angry outburst probably related to the Feller decision the winter before. Apparently Evans had flown to Des Moines, Iowa, to wait for Judge Landis to issue a ruling. In the event of Feller becoming a free agent, Evans planned to park himself on Bob’s front door with a Boston contract. This irritated Bradley; throw in the Henrich situation and the messy divorce in the Cleveland front office, and it can be better understood why the owner wanted Evans cut off at the knees.
Bill Terry, the manager of the New York Giants, threw gas on the fire by saying Henrich was worth at least $20,000. To the casual observer it appeared the Indians were guilty beyond belief. Landis would conduct a thorough investigation, but given that the Feller case had occurred just three months before, it was generally thought that he would declare Henrich a free agent.
Landis cut short a Florida vacation to meet in New Orleans with Bradley and Slapnicka. Reporters, eager to file a big story, waited patiently outside the building for over three long hours. The door opened and out came the two conspirators with dire expressions on their faces. They did not comment, though any betting man would have put it all down on Henrich and the open market. Few men, including Slapnicka, escaped the ire of Judge Landis. Cy, or as reporters were now calling him, “Sly,” had done it once. The chance of another victory seemed slim.
On April 15 Landis issued his decree. The decision read, “Investigation of the status of the player, instigated at his own request, discloses that he has been ‘covered up’ for the benefit of the Cleveland club. . . . Because of the violation of the player’s rights under his contract and the major–minor league rules, he is hereby declared a free agent.” Tommy Henrich was now able to negotiate with any Major League club.
Henrich took the high road in commenting to the press. He said, “I am satisfied of course with the judge’s decision, although I said before I did not appeal for my free agency. All I asked the judge to do was to decide my status—if I belonged to Milwaukee outright, to Cleveland or some other club.” He immediately left the Brewers spring training site for Massillon to confer with his parents. Landis had ruled a three-day waiting period before teams could overwhelm Henrich with substantial offers. When the clock struck midnight, the New York Yankees dove in and signed Henrich to a contract. The Yanks outbid the Red Sox and Giants by offering a bonus between $25,000 and $30,000. Henrich would have a long, productive career in New York, becoming a four-time All-Star and a great complement to Joe DiMaggio.
The Indians front office committed a ghastly error in trying to hide the talented Henrich in the minor leagues. They may have decided that their 1937 outfield had no room for the up-and-coming right fielder. Earl Averill had reached his thirty-fifth birthday but still was one of the best in the American League in center field. Bruce Campbell had survived two life-threatening bouts of meningitis and looked to be as strong as ever. Moose Solters would be the starter in left field. On paper the outfield looked to be quite sturdy. Even so, a fourth outfielder had to be carried on the squad. Instead of Henrich, the Indians chose Roy Weatherly, another highly regarded young player. In his 1936 rookie season, “Stormy,” as everyone called him, batted over .300. However, opposing teams soon figured out he could not handle a slow curve or off-speed pitches. In 1937 Weatherly hit an awful .201 in a limited relief role.
When the Indians decided to bring up Weatherly a year prior, New Orleans manager Larry Gilbert urged them to take Henrich instead, believing he had a much bigger upside. Cy Slapnicka did not agree. He saw the great speed of Stormy and the likelihood of his playing center field in the cow pasture of Municipal Stadium. Tommy Henrich could have filled at least the utility role on a much more productive level, and with his ability the Indians would have figured out a way to get him in the starting lineup. In any event, if the Cleveland front office had not tried to be the smartest guys in the room, a pennant or two might have been there for the taking.
The 1936–37 off-season surely caused Alva Bradley more heartburn than any other term on his record. He looked ahead to the onset of the regular season and a chance to focus on the launch of a new schedule. Nevertheless, the bad times just kept on rolling. Just prior to the start of the campaign, another depressing event occurred, though this one had no direct impact on the season. Tris Speaker, the Indian’s unofficial goodwill ambassador and a fan favorite, had a severe accident. Still nimble at age forty-nine, he was attempting to build a flower box on the second floor of his suburban Cleveland home. He climbed up the porch, balanced himself, and began hammering away. Moments later the porch collapsed, tumbling the ex–Indian great sixteen feet to the ground. A lesser man would have lain there waiting for help. Not Speaker; he staggered to his feet and cautiously sat down on a lawn chair. His wife called an ambulance, which raced Tris to the hospital. The X-rays taken revealed a fractured skull, a broken arm, and a cracked bone in his right hand. Serious lacerations covered his entire face. The doctors put Tris in a hospital bed with bags of ice wrapped around his head. He could barely speak or move anything but his legs.
For a day or two the physicians feared he might not survive the injuries. To everyone’s relief, Tris did beat the odds, getting back on his feet in just about a month. He missed opening day at League Park, where for the better part of twenty years he had greeted players and fans with a hearty smile and some words of encouragement. He usually stopped in the radio booth to chat with WHK announcer and ex-teammate Jack Graney. The crowd always expected to see Tris, maybe get a few words with him and an autograph for the kids at home. This year Speaker remained in his hospital bed, catching the play-by-play from old friend Graney.
After what seemed an eternity for Bradley, Slapnicka, Feller, and the rest of the Indians, it was actually time to play ball.
Chapter 2
A MAJOR SCARE
The 1937 baseball season had the word “optimism”