Eight Men Out: The Black Sox and the 1919 World Series (22 page)

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Charles Swede Risberg, Chicago White Sox shortstop, announced that he was retiring from baseball and would open a restaurant. He expressed dissatisfaction with his major league salary."

Comiskey was not in good health. He returned to Chicago after the baseball mettings with a bad cold.

He was feeling the pressure severely. At sixty, his doctor advised him, a successful man should be able to enjoy certain prerogatives; in his case, essential for his health. He needed a three-week vacation in Florida. The Old Roman, however, felt he had too much important business to handle: he had to put his 1920 baseball team together. If his luck held out, it would be the same club that won the 1919 American League pennant.

He discussed salaries with his secretary, Harry Grabiner. One by one, as the individual contracts were placed before him, he determined maximum figures and set minimums for Grabiner to shoot for. It was a job that Grabiner was well trained to do.

Then he had to do something about Ray Schalk's provocative outburst. He put in a call to Schalk who lived in Chicago—there must not be any further rumors.

On January 16, in newspapers throughout the country, Ray Schalk was quoted as denying his previous statement implying corruption of the 1919 World Series. "I played to the best of my ability. I feel that every man on our club did the same, and there was not a single moment of all the games in which we all did not try. How anyone can say differently, if he saw the Series, is a mystery to me!"

By the end of January, Comiskey realized he would have to raise his minimum figures on players'

salaries. The contracts were being returned to his office, unsigned, almost as fast as they were being dispatched. Some of the demands for increases seemed preposterous. Chick Gandil's, for example.

Gandil was asking for $10,000! Cicotte, Weaver, Jackson, Risberg, all unsigned. Even Dickie Kerr was giving him trouble: one year in the majors and a holdout already.

Comiskey called Gleason in Philadelphia. He needed him in Chicago to help straighten out the salary disputes. Gleason, who was close to the ballplayers, could be induced to play the salary game from Comiskey's side of the desk.

The National Baseball Commission met again, this time in Chicago. Business had been extremely good in 1919. It would be better in 1920. In the interest of stability, the great schism over the Carl Mays case was healed and peace was established. With the cost of living rising, the owners decided that it was time to raise the price of bleacher seats to a half-dollar.

In the Chicago
Herald and Examiner
, George Phair commemorated the passing: Goodbye, dear pal, farewell for aye,Your life was long and sweet;And now you're dead as Barleycorn,Old two-bit bleacher seat!

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Garry Herrmann resigned as National Commissioner, leaving John Heydler of the National League and Ban Johnson of the American to tussle over a new appointee. Since no one was mutually satisfactory, the post was left open. Profession baseball would move into the 1920 season without a national commissioner….

Comiskey watched February slide into March, all too aware of a larger list of holdouts than he had ever known. On February 14, for example, the A.P. reported the following: "Savannah, Ga.—Joe Jackson said today that he returned his White Sox contract unsigned, and would quit baseball unless his salary demands were met. He has business connections here."

The first batch of rookies and pitchers were already arriving at Waco, Texas, training camp, but the only infielder signed was Eddie Collins. It was increasingly clear that nothing could be accomplished through the mails. Harry Grabiner was dispatched to Savannah to get Jackson's signature. Comiskey himself would go West with Tip O'Neill to sign Gandil, Risberg, and Weaver.

Harry Grabiner was good at his job. In annual negotiations with the ballplayers, he could boast he had been responsible for saving Comiskey many thousands of dollars. His attitude was direct and inflexible, and he could rely on the rigid policy of his boss to back him.

Grabiner had never visited Jackson before, but, then, this year everything was different. There would be a special kind of fencing around that bothered the road secretary. He had never liked Jackson much. The Southerner would stare at him with those dark brooding eyes, never letting go of him, following every move he made. Grabiner habitually spoke rapidly, and Jackson always had trouble following his words.

The Secretary found himself shying away from him during the playing season. Grabiner could not figure an illiterate man. What went on up there under the derby? He seemed, at times, like a big dumb dog; at other times, more like a fox.

Jackson's wife, Katie, was something else again. She was bright and capable. She did her husband's reading and writing for him. And, Grabiner presumed, his thinking. He hoped that she would not be home, but it was she who greeted him at the door. She bade him enter and sit down. She was sorry, but Joe was at the shop. At the shop? Grabiner asked. Yes, Joe had started up a new business, a valet service, right here in Savannah. She was careful to add that it was doing just fine.

That amused the White Sox Secretary; most ballplayers wanted to be businessmen, but they didn't know which end was up. Without baseball, Jackson was nothing. Grabiner believed that. He had to; it was his biggest argument.

When Jackson arrived an hour later, Grabiner asked Joe if he would drive him to town as he needed some smokes. They could talk business on the way. Jackson was obliging. In the car, he had some pointed questions to ask: Why hadn't Mr. Comiskey answered the letters he had sent? Why hadn't he been allowed to tell his story about the $5,000 he had been handed? Grabiner told him he knew about that money, and that Mr. Comiskey had fully appreciated Jackson's efforts. They had been working on file:///C|/Palm%20Stuff/Eliot,%20Asinof%20-%20Eig...tml]/Eight%20Men%20Out%20by%20Eliot%20Asinof.html2/17/2004 11:47:46 AM

the case all winter. It was all right for Jackson to keep the money. He assured the ballplayer that he was in no trouble, that the whole thing would be safely wrapped up in a few more weeks. He intimated that Comiskey had the goods on three of the players: Cicotte, Gandil, and Williams.

Then he drew Jackson's contract from his brief case, revealing the good news that it included a susbstantial raise. Comiskey would pay him as much as $9,000 a year—if he agreed to sign for three more years. Jackson objected; he didn't think he ought to do that. He'd had a fine year in 1919, hitting .354, second only to Cobb. He knew he'd have an even better year coming up. He figured he should be worth more money in 1920. And, in 1921, maybe much more. Why should he be tied to one figure like this?

Grabiner argued that the club took a chance on him, too. Suppose he had a real
bad
year? Suppose he got a few sprains and sat out half a season? Suppose anything at all; it's always a gamble. At least this way he'd be guaranteed a three-year income. And when the Secretary strongly urged Jackson to sign, there was more than advice in the tone of his voice. He added that these were troubled times with a number of White Sox players, and perhaps the best way for Jackson to show his reliability was to come to terms with Mr. Comiskey's generosity.

When the car stopped in front of the Jackson home, Grabiner handed the player the contract and a fountain pen. Jackson stared at the lengthy printed pages until he found the figures. He could read those all right, but he was terribly unsure of himself. He held the fountain pen, but didn't use it. He said that his wife always read his contract before he signed it. He felt he ought to have her read this one, too.

Grabiner talked fast again. It was the usual contract except for the size of the salary and three-year agreement. Jackson asked about the ten-day Clause, which allowed the club owner to fire a player on ten days' notice. It was designed to protect the owners in the event of a player's injury as well as incompetence. In return, it afforded the player no protection at all. Jackson said he did not want to sign a three-year contract under which he could be fired with ten days' notice. Grabiner laughed nervously, assured him that the ten-day clause was not included this time.

The ballplayer stared at him, shrugged, then pressed the contract form awkwardly against the side of the car, and attacked the dotted line with Grabiner's fountain pen.

Harry Grabiner could put another notch on that pen. The contract would be sped to Chicago with the illiterate scrawl of the great hitter on the proper line. A half page above it, in small print, a paragraph read as follows:

The club holds in reserve the right to terminate for cause, all obligations as stipulated above, ten days immediately following its notification to the signee….

Chick Gandil drove a big new car out to Pasadena where the Chicago Cubs were in spring training.

Many of them were his friends and they were surprised to see him. How come he wasn't down in Texas, working out with the White Sox? Newspapermen, eager for a possible story, gathered around as Gandil file:///C|/Palm%20Stuff/Eliot,%20Asinof%20-%20Eig...tml]/Eight%20Men%20Out%20by%20Eliot%20Asinof.html2/17/2004 11:47:46 AM

explained that he had sent his contract back to Comiskey. Not enough dough. He was going to manage a club in Idaho and get more than Comiskey ever paid him. Besides, his wife didn't like the East. The wet, chilly weather made her uncomfortable. She got too many colds.

A reporter commented that Gandil was not alone in his contract trouble. Did he know that Risberg was also holding out? Gandil replied that he had heard something about it. He added that he wasn't much surprised.

Buck Weaver finally signed a three-year $7,500 contract in early March and immediately reported to Waco, Texas. In Risberg's absence, Kid Gleason shifted the third baseman back to shortstop, working Fred McMullin at third. Weaver did not respond well to the change. He had never felt confident at short, for all his potential brilliance. He started to mishandle routine ground balls, to throw badly to first.

Risberg's lengthy holdout annoyed Weaver. He began to suspect that he'd settled for too little money.

Then, too, there was a strange uneasiness about this year's club…a kind of hangover from the World Series. It was almost as if the five winter months had not separated the players. Weaver felt like an outsider. The cliques that had split the 1919 team were spliting this one, only more so. Even without Gandil, there was a grim, hostile feeling.

By the end of March, Weaver's depression had increased. He started making plans, figuring out how he could get himself transferred. He knew the Yankees wanted him. Colonel Ruppert was spending a lot of dough building a club. Weaver could get maybe $10,000 with the Yankees. He recalled how, last fall, he had played exhibition ball with Babe Ruth, and Babe had never stopped complaining about the Boston Red Sox being a lousy outfit. It was a way of getting Harry Frazee's goat, a technique Ruth had learned from Carl Mays. With hindsight now, Weaver realized that both of them had managed to get themselves sold to New York.

On March 26, the New York
Times
reported that: "Buck Weaver, Chicago White Sox infielder, left training camp today in Waco, Texas. He is asking for a new contract, expressing dissatisfaction with his salary. He was also quoted as saying he would ask for a transfer to New York."

When Comiskey read this, he immediately made contact with Weaver, and bluntly told him there would be no sales, no trades, no new deals. He was to get back into uniform immediately or he would never play baseball again…anyplace!

On April 1, New York
Times
concluded the story: "Weaver rejoins Sox and will play out his contract."

Swede Risberg came to terms with Comiskey two days before the season opener. Now, with the exception of Gandil, the entire 1919 club had returned. There was no mention of the 1919 World Series by anyone. If the seven ballplayers who had participated in the fix remained quietly apart from the others, there was nothing particularly noteworthy about it: there had always been cliques on this ball club. They were all too busy getting into shape to bother with matters over which they had no control.

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Besides, they were all playing to higher salaries, and could look forward to another pennant. Nothing else was their business.

Gleason, too, said nothing. Comiskey would watch from the grandstand, quick with his opinions on everything. But it wasn't until they were about to break camp and head North that the Old Roman suggested privately to Gleason that he keep a close eye on the seven.

Gleason agreed. He could understand why Comiskey hadn't thrown the whole thing out in the open and questioned those boys: everybody wanted a winner.

Meanwhile, there was contract trouble with an infielder of the Chicago Cubs Baseball Club. The ballplayer was Lee Magee, who finished the 1919 season with Chicago after signing a two-year contract with them. However, just before the 1920 season began, the Cubs had notified Magee of his unconditional release. For reasons not disclosed to the public, Magee found himself unable to make a deal with any other club. The doors of professional baseball were beginning to shut on players who had been involved with gamblers. The National League had a rather noncommittal method of easing undesirable ballplayers out without explanation. There was a clause in its constitution granting the League the right to pass on the desirability of any player.

Magee, of course, knew the reason: he had been named in connection with Hal Chase's gambling maneuvers. The rumors that surrounded the 1919 Series were starting to force the hands of baseball's power figures.

But Magee was not the kind of man who was willing to be victimized. Defiantly, he hired a lawyer and challenged the National League Commissioner, John Heydler, to do battle. It turned out to be a fruitless gesture for Magee, but it stirred up enough action to frighten Heydler and all of baseball's officialdom.