TURNING THE BLACK SOX WHITE The Misunderstood Legacy of Charles A. Comiskey Tim Hornbaker Foreword by Bob Hoie [SPORTS PUBLISHING PATCH] SPORTS PUBLISHING {A} Table of Contents Foreword Introduction Chapter One: Baseball or Bust Chapter Two: The Northwestern League Champions Chapter Three: A Sensation in St. Louis Chapter Four: From Manager to Magnate Chapter Five: The Complexities of Ownership Chapter Six: Birth of the American League Chapter Seven: Through Tragedy to Triumph Chapter Eight: Brawls, Shootings, and Baseball War Chapter Nine: There’s A Fish in Left Field Chapter Ten: Seven Years of Bad Luck Chapter Eleven: Baseball Palace of the World Chapter Twelve: Circling the Globe Chapter Thirteen: No Longer the Hitless Wonders Chapter Fourteen: The Happiest Man in Chicago Chapter Fifteen: Baseball’s Money Players Chapter Sixteen: An Unforgiveable Betrayal Chapter Seventeen: Not Hearsay, but Legal Evidence Chapter Eighteen: Unraveling the Conspiracy Chapter Nineteen: A Sorrowful Aftermath Chapter Twenty: Setting the Record Straight {A} Chapter Five: The Complexities of Ownership At the conclusion of the 1895 season, the St. Paul Saints took to the road and played local teams as they crossed the Dakotas, Montana, and ventured into Oregon.1 The barnstorming tour was the brainchild of Charles Comiskey and the former manager of the Minneapolis squad, John S. Barnes. Barnes managed a second squad billed as the “All-Americas,” and the usual scheme saw one of the two teams match up against a neighborhood franchise, then playing each other in the second game of the doubleheader. By mid-October, they all were expected in Northern California, where they’d be joined by two additional teams, one representing San Jose and led by Theodore Engel of Milwaukee, and the other in Los Angeles run by Joe Cantillon. The line-ups were arranged, leases and contracts signed, and the winter league began to a rousing reception. On October 27, 1895, an estimated 3,000 spectators attended the Central Park game in San Francisco between the local squad, formerly the All-America team, and the Oaklands, the West Coast version of the Saints.2 Comiskey, in what was expected to be one of his final appearances on the diamond, played first base in support of Tony Mullane on the mound, but neither were successful. The owner accounted for three errors in the 15–2 loss. During the trip, Comiskey’s younger brother Ignatius occasionally played right field for the Saints, while Pat Comiskey handled all the finances. Sharp competition and the utmost professionalism of the players were anticipated, but for some, the “real world” of the Western League and the hustle and bustle of the sunny California market were too much for them to endure sober. Discipline was completely lost as players delved deep into alcoholic binges before, during, and after games. At one point, according to a story told by Barnes, 12 of the 18 players in a game were smashed, causing hundreds of enthusiasts to leave disgusted. It didn’t take long before baseball fans who expected to attend an entertaining game were completely turned off by the exhibitions of drunkenness. The behavior wasn’t limited to any particular club, and Comiskey’s outfit was just as guilty as the rest. But the trip became legendary for the failure that it was, both for its lack of quality play and gentlemanly conduct. Of course, there were other claims that bad weather and a lack of larger venues inhibited audiences. Very quickly, news of the fiasco radiated across the country, and Comiskey’s reputation took a significant hit. In the Sporting News, Cantillon and pitcher Alex Jones came to his defense.3 4 Because of his inside position in the league, Cantillon addressed the rumors, explaining that not only did Comiskey take care of his players on the trip, but he ensured that members of the Los Angeles squad stranded in that city were financed home. In total, Comiskey was said to have lost between $1,000 and $2,500.5 In the midst of their dismal California experience, Comiskey fled to Chicago for a mandatory Western League meeting on November 21, 1895, and was probably happy to get away from the coast. Owners were confronted by an aggressive National League shift in rules relating to the minors that had severe consequences.6 Instead of adhering to the previously established policy to pay $1,000 for all drafted players from Class A clubs, the NL wanted to reduce the fee to $500. The Western League, which had been in the Class B category in 1894 and subsequently promoted to “A,” was going to be dramatically impacted by the reversal. It was a hostile move toward the minor league owners. When the Western League operators met in Chicago, they had the opportunity to kick back at their counterparts. John T. Brush, owner of the Indianapolis franchise, was at the center of controversy, and his actions through the previous season had caused plenty of friction. In fact, he was the pariah of the organization because he jointly owned the Cincinnati Reds of the National League and was a supporter of the reduction of drafting prices that hurt every man at the table.7 Over the previous months, Brush took advantage of his unique position as owner of both a major and minor league team by freely swapping players from club to club. If a position needed to be strengthened or an injury laid a man out, he could easily reach into his bag of alternates to fill the gap. The wide availability aided both clubs and to those who didn’t have that same opportunity, it presented an unfair situation. Brush, given his position and overall power in the sport, felt entitled to benefit under existing rules and considered the minor league a breeding ground for talent. Players were at that level to be groomed for the big stage; nothing more and nothing less. Among National League owners, there was an intrinsic belief that they were the kings of baseball; the ultimate class of dignitaries in a sport that worked from the top down, not the other way around. In its two brief seasons, the Western League had made significant progress and was constantly churning out excellent players. Leaders Ban Johnson, Comiskey, and their peers were well regarded and had brought great credibility to their outfit, but were still of a lesser class, at least the National League believed so. Playing both sides of the fence, Brush yearned to impose his will over the Western League, particularly when it came to dealing with the latter’s president. Brush never wanted Johnson, who was from Cincinnati, to lead the organization in the first place. He wanted Johnson replaced by a man friendlier to his operations, further strengthening his own individual standing. How it impacted others in the Western, he didn’t seem to care. To Brush’s dismay, Johnson wasn’t going anywhere. He was completely supported by league owners so much that members wanted to update the organization’s constitution to pay Johnson a set salary so he could attend to the league year round. The National Agreement was altered during the National League’s February 1896 meeting in New York City, and the drafting decrease was ironed into law. Once again, major league owners displayed their superiority over all minor organizations, spurning any thoughts that the Western or any other group was approaching an even par. Sportswriter T. H. Murnane of the Boston Globe predicted doom for the minor leagues and named Brush as the leading force behind the increasing pressure. It was clear that concessions by the major leagues needed to be enacted as soon as possible to resolve the crisis. Proving to be no pushovers, the Western League took measures of its own, firing directly at Brush when it instituted a rule that any player shifted from the National to the Western must be unconditionally released first.8 In effect, it opened the platform for other major league teams to jump in and sign the transferring player well before they got a chance to appear in a Western uniform. If a player was drafted or bought by a National League outfit, a payment had to be made to the treasury of the league beforehand. The era of casually loaning players between teams was over. These implementations were going to force Brush to handle the upcoming season a little differently. For Comiskey, the looming 1896 season presented its own series of adjustments. During the winter, he made a decision to retire from active play, meaning that his appearances in California were to be his final on the professional diamond.9 He told the press that he might occasionally work the baselines, and it would be many years before he’d give up his seat on the bench. On a different note, he was confronted by the loss of two of his best players in the major league draft, shortstop Charles Irwin and the promising backstop, Eddie Boyle. He told the Sporting News that he’d “much rather have Boyle this season than the $1,000 which [he] received from the Louisville club.”10 Renowned shortstop Jack Glasscock of West Virginia, a rambunctious infielder who played for several major league clubs, was bouncing back from an arm injury and was interested in joining the league. He’d been written off as finished by nearly everyone, but to Comiskey, he possessed the right kind of hardnosed attitude that his team needed. Initially showing favoritism toward Detroit, he was picked up by Comiskey in spite of rumors that he wanted far too much money to play in St.