Willie Wells: 'El Diablo' of the Negro Leagues

Willie Wells

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Willie Wells “El Diablo” of the Negro Leagues BOB LUKE Foreword by Monte Irvin

Copyright © 2007 by Bob Luke All rights reserved Printed in the United States of America First edition, 2007 Requests for permission to reproduce material from this work should be sent to: Permissions University of Texas Press P.O. Box 7819 Austin, TX 78713-7819 www.utexas.edu/utpress/about/bpermission.html The paper used in this book meets the minimum requirements of ANSI/NISO z39.48-1992 (r1997) (Permanence of Paper). Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Luke, Bob. Willie Wells : “El Diablo” of the Negro Leagues / Bob Luke ; foreword by Monte Irvin. — 1st ed. p.

cm.

Includes bibliographical references and index. isbn 978-0-292-71674-2 (cloth : alk. paper) isbn 978-0-292-71751-0 (pbk. : alk. paper) 1. Wells, Willie.

2. Baseball players—United States—Biography.

baseball players—Biography.

4. Negro leagues.

3. African American

I. Title.

gv865.w4385 2007 796.357092—dc22 [b] 2007006103

For Judy, Jennifer, Rex, Max, Allyson, and Dylan

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Contents ix

Foreword by Monte Irvin xi

Preface

Acknowledgments

xv

1

Introduction

7

one

He Could Pick It

two

I Never Went for Anything Crooked

three four five six

Family

38 46

Leaving Home to Play Ball 52

The “Devil”

You Had to Do All Kinds of Things They Treat Me Like a Man

eight

My Contract Said “Ballplayer”

ten

We’ll Talk

56

66

seven

nine

26

72

77

He Has Slowed Up Afield

92 98

eleven

A Mind-Set Put to Rest

twelve

Any Players with Hall of Fame Credentials?

thirteen

Tradition Meets Fair Play

fourteen

Why in Hell?

118

fifteen

The “Devil” Is In

134

sixteen

Righting a Wrong

142

seventeen

110

“Baseball Is a Beautiful Game” Notes

149

151

Sources: Books, Magazines, Interviews, Newspapers, and Archives 175 Index

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Foreword by Monte Irvin

B

aseball has been good to me for seventy years. I played with and against some of the greatest players in the history of the game—Josh Gibson, Joe DiMaggio, Satchel Paige, Bob Feller, Mule Suttles, Willie Mays, Ted Williams, Ray Dandridge, Mickey Mantle, Leon Day, Hank Aaron, Jackie Robinson, Larry Doby, Frank Robinson, and Martin Dihigo, to name only a few. Willie Wells belongs in that group, but you don’t often hear his name. That’s why I’m pleased that Bob Luke decided to tell Wells’s story. I knew Wells. I played with him as a member of the Newark Eagles, one of the Negro league’s most prominent teams. I visited him while I was playing with the New York Giants, and he was working in a deli in the Wall Street section of New York City. We went to the fiftieth major-league all-star game in Chicago together in 1983. Wells really could do it all. He was one of the slickest fielding shortstops ever to come along. He had speed on the bases. He hit with power and consistency. He was among the most durable players I’ve ever known. He was still winning games with home runs as a player-manager in Canada at the age of forty-seven. He was smart. He was known as the “Shakespeare of Shortstops.” He knew where most balls would be hit before the pitch was thrown. He understood the game better than most and knew how to teach the fine points of the game to others, including myself. He was generous with his knowledge. He’d talk baseball to anyone—teammate, opponent, young kid—anywhere: on the field, in hotel rooms and lobbies,

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on those long bus rides, in the dugout and the clubhouse. He even invented the first modern-day batting helmet. Like many Negro-league superstars who were too old for the majors when the color line was broken, Wells wasn’t recognized by white society until too late. He wasn’t inducted into the Hall of Fame until 1997, eight years after his death and forty-three years after he retired. I was honored to be elected to the Hall of Fame, and I was equally honored to join with other members of the Hall of Fame’s Veterans Committee to elect Willie Wells. Luke discusses how the first Negro leaguers were inducted into the Hall between 1971 and 1977. It’s hard to overstate the importance of this bit of baseball history to organized baseball and the Negro leagues and their players. It was the death knell of the mind-set that the best of black players were not as good as the best of white players. I am proud to have played a part in that history as chairman of the Hall’s Negro Leagues Committee during its existence, from 1971–1977. Wells, like so many black stars of his era, did not find fame and riches awaiting him at retirement—quite the opposite. Few whites in his hometown of Austin, Texas, had heard of him. He was in poor health and getting by on Social Security during the last years of his life. And while he kept saying he didn’t mind the lack of recognition, he would have been gratified to know that citizens of Austin did, after his death, honor him with a special day, designate his home as a historic building, write a play about him, and rebury him in Texas’s most prestigious cemetery. This book is another fitting tribute to Wells. I recommend it to you.

Preface

H

ave you heard of Willie Wells? His is not a household name, even among most baseball buffs. I first heard about him at a baseball-memorabilia auction in 1999. A letter he had written to his brother was for sale. I bought it. I was on a mission to collect an autograph of every member of the National Baseball Hall of Fame. I would not have known he was in the Hall of Fame had the fact not been mentioned in the listing. I was not alone. His anonymity qualified him for inclusion in David Fleitz’s book Ghosts in the Gallery at Cooperstown: Sixteen Little-Known Members of the Hall of Fame. He wrote the letter on September 26, 1972, from his apartment on West 110th Street in New York City, where he was working in a deli at the corner of Liberty and Nassau streets. In the letter, he asks about the health of his brother and his brother’s wife. He says he is sending his papers “so I hope you enjoy the things your Bro did for our family.” He adds, “I get letters from all over the world.” He asks his brother to make copies of the papers, “and when you are finished, send them back to me because they mean so much to me.” He closes with “They are going to put me in the Hall of Fame. I sent you both letters I got from them. I had to go up there last month.” He was right about the Hall of Fame, though his enshrinement wouldn’t come until twenty-five years later. I didn’t find a record of the two letters he referred to, though they may have been questionnaires that were sent at the time by the Hall’s historian, Cliff Kachline, to all living Negro league players.

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Willie Wells’s 1972 letter to his brother in which Wells predicts that he is going to be in the Hall of Fame. Courtesy of the author.

PREFACE

T

xiii

he deli no longer exists. Linda Ricci, a spokesperson for the Federal Reserve Bank of New York, which is located on Liberty Street between Nassau and William streets,

said in an April 2006 interview with me, following her inspection of the area around the intersection, that there is no delicatessen at Nassau and Liberty. In a sign of the changing times, she did note there is a Starbucks at the intersection.

It is not just anyone who knows he is going to be immortalized at Cooperstown and who gets letters from all over the world. The letter piqued my interest to find out more about him. I called the Hall of Fame and learned that he was being reburied that day, October 10, 2004, from Austin’s Evergreen Cemetery to the Texas State Cemetery—the final resting place of the state’s founders, Civil War officers, and other famous Texans. Jason Walker answered my call to the cemetery and told me that Texas governor Rick Perry, Austin mayor Will Wynn, and former Negro league stars Buck O’Neil, John “Mule” Miles, and Bill Blair would be among those in attendance. Walker suggested I call Gary Roberts, an Austin resident who had researched Wells’s career. Roberts was eager to share what he knew and went out of his way to assist me in identifying people to interview who had known Wells. Tape recorder and legal pad in hand, I left for a week of interviews and library research in Austin in November 2004.

Why This Book It is time for this star to shine brighter. Willie Wells’s career in the Negro leagues and in professional baseball in Cuba, Puerto Rico, California, Mexico, and Canada spanned thirty years—1924 to 1954. The color barrier kept him out of the majors, where he could have played for many years. He is not as well known as other Negro-league stars in the Hall, such as Satchel Paige, Josh Gibson, and Buck Leonard, to say nothing of major-league Hall of Fame shortstops such as Phil Rizzuto, Ernie Banks, and Pee Wee Reese. Wells’s story adds to what we know about the greats of the Negro leagues.

How I Wrote the Book Negro-league historians James Riley and John Holway have presented the most extensive discussions to date of Wells’s life and career. Both relied heavily on

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their interviews with Wells, which provide candid insights into his career and life and, in the process, do a great service to baseball history by preserving Wells’s own words. To introduce as much oral history as possible into this book, I have drawn on interviews that Wells gave to historians and reporters and on letters that he wrote. It is one thing to say that Wells helped develop several Negro-league players into major leaguers and was a master at spotting baseball talent. It is another to “listen in” on the conversations between Wells and Don Newcombe during spring training as Wells imposes a regimen on the youthful, impatient, talented pitcher; or to “read” the correspondence between Wells and Effa Manley, co-owner and business manager of the Newark Eagles, as they swap ideas on trades, players, and scheduling strategy through the mail while planning the Eagles’ fortunes for the 1942 season. However, oral histories have their limitations. Memories fade. Those being interviewed like to present themselves in the best light. To enlarge upon, corroborate, and, in some instances, correct the information from interviews with Wells, I conducted interviews with players and others who knew Wells both as a player and as a person. I also consulted numerous books and articles as well as newspapers from both the black and white presses.

Acknowledgments

A

joy of book writing is to meet people with similar interests, who often generously provide assistance and support. I was fortunate to have the help of many such people. Paul Dickson has been a continued source of guidance, information, and friendship through the various stages of this book. I spent several pleasant hours with Monte Irvin hearing about Wells’s days with the Newark Eagles and Irvin’s and others’ successful efforts to induct Wells and other Negro leaguers into the Hall of Fame. Irvin read an earlier draft and wrote the foreword. I had the pleasure of having breakfast with Bob Feller while he talked about his barnstorming days with Satchel Paige and other Negro leaguers. I was fortunate to talk with former players who shared stories about Wells from on and off the field. They are Al Burrows, Bill “Ready” Cash, Frank Evans, Stanley “Doc” Glenn, John “Mule” Miles, Jessie Mitchell, James “Red” Moore, Sonny Randall, Joe Scott, Robert Williams, Artie Wilson, Mickey Vernon, and Jim “Zipper” Zapp. I learned a great deal from the writings of Negro-league historians Dick Clark, John Holway (who commented on an earlier draft), Larry Lester, James Riley, Donn Rogosin, and Mark Rucker. Holway, Riley, Rucker, and Jay Sanford provided several hard-to-find photographs. My copy of James Riley’s Biographical Encyclopedia of the Negro Baseball Leagues, with its wealth of information about players, including their nicknames, is now truly a used book. Bill Cochran made available copies of letters Wells had written to his mother. Kit Krieger

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identified the years that Wells played in Cuba. Barry Swanton provided information covering Wells’s stint in the ManDak League in Winnipeg, Canada. David Brewer supplied information about Wells’s days with the Birmingham Black Barons. Richard Raichelson researched back copies of the Memphis World for information on Wells’s stay with the Memphis Red Sox. Dave Zang tracked down a hard-to-find article by Donn Rogosin. Rogosin himself related several of his encounters with Wells. Many from Wells’s hometown of Austin, Texas, pitched in, including Betty Baker, Danny Bingham, Kirk Bohls, Ray Day Galloway, Mary Jane and Tom Langford, Ralph Lee, Lawrence Olsen, the late J. J. Pickle, Rob Ryland, Sarah Ruiz, Mark Swanson, Danny Roy Young, Jason Walker, and Tommy Wyatt. Margaret Schlankey, photo curator at the Austin History Center, provided several photographs of Wells. I owe a special note of thanks to Gary Roberts, who read and commented on an earlier draft. Edward Stack, former chairman of the board of directors of the Hall of Fame, Dale Petroskey, president of the Hall of Fame, and board member John H. McHale provided information about the nature and history of the induction process. Freddy Berowski, Claudette Burke, Jim Gates, Jeff Idelson, Pat Kelly, and Tim Wiles—all also at the National Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum— provided information about Wells, the Veterans Committee, and several photographs. Ira Glasser, longtime national executive director of the American Civil Liberties Union, helped me see the bigger picture of the dynamics at play during the history of the Hall of Fame induction processes for Negro leaguers. Hall of Famer Bobby Doerr recalled Ted Williams’s commitment to giving Negro leaguers their place in Cooperstown. Bowie Kuhn, former commissioner of Major League Baseball, described how his office and the Hall started the process of inducting Negro leaguers. Dave Kelly at the Library of Congress was generous with his knowledge of the Negro leagues and his skill at finding books and articles. Raymond Doswell, curator of the Negro Leagues Museum, provided helpful guidance. Rex Bradley, former vice president for professional and amateur sports at the Louisville Slugger Company found orders for bats placed by Wells. Susan Beal, once again, through her considerable editorial and proofreading skills, improved the flow, organization, and readability of the final manuscript. My bride, Judith Wentworth, has been a constant source of support and encouragement. I am deeply indebted to one and all. Any errors and shortcomings in the book are mine alone.

Introduction

W

illie Wells was a hell of a ball player in anybody’s league. A consistent .300-plus hitter whose play at shortstop and on the base paths was called “peerless,” he once beat a team of major leaguers almost singlehandedly. In October 1929, Hall of Famers Charlie Gehringer, Heine Manush, and Harry Heilmann led a team of major leaguers against an all-star team of Negro leaguers, called the American Giants, featuring Hall of Famers Wells, Judy Johnson, and Bill Foster. In the eighth inning of the first game, Wells tripled off the right-field fence and scored the winning run moments later with a steal of home. In game two, Wells smashed two triples and again stole home as the Giants prevailed. In the bottom of the ninth in game four with the score tied, Wells came through once more, knocking in Jelly Gardner—the winning run—with a single. The Giants beat the All-Stars four games to one. Among players on both teams with fifteen or more at bats, Wells’s .409 average was second only to Heilmann’s .471. Wells batted .403 the following season and won the Fleet Walker Award that John Holway gave annually to the player he considered the best in each Negro league.1

What Is Here You will find more than baseball here. A friend of mine, after hearing my description of the book, said, “I’d never buy a book like that, but I’m sure the baseball junkies will.” While you will find a lot here about Wells the player, manager, and

2

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Willie Wells at work, probably late 1930s. Courtesy of the Newark Public Library.

coach, be aware that the book is intended to interest readers besides “baseball junkies”—those who devote themselves to compiling and talking about statistics, pride themselves on having photographic memories for plays on the diamond, and revel in the mechanics of hitting, fielding, and baserunning. You will also find out about Wells as a person, his family, his hometown of Austin, Texas, the segregated conditions under which he played and lived during his nomadic baseball career, and his retirement years in New York City and Austin. You will follow a teenager as he skips town, against his mother’s wishes, for the travel, low pay, camaraderie, and opportunity to excel that the Negro leagues offered. You will see his skill as a fielder, batter, manager, and baseball

INTRODUCTION

3

Willie Wells in his later years in Austin. Courtesy of the Texas State Cemetery.

strategist; his return to an impoverished “civilian” life; his struggle with diabetes, glaucoma, and heart problems on a modest Social Security pension—and his dedication to the world of baseball through all of it. You will get a view of the thirty-five-year controversy that surrounded inducting Negro leaguers, including Wells, into the Hall of Fame. You will go to the Lone Star State to see citizens of Austin “doing our best to attempt to right a wrong,” as Danny Roy Young, owner of the Texicalli Grill, put it, by lobbying the Hall of Fame for his induction; writing a play about him; naming Austin’s major thoroughfare, Congress Avenue, after him for the day; and transferring his body to the Texas State Cemetery, also in Austin, with a

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Table 1. Time line of Willie Wells’s baseball career YEAR 1923

NEGRO-LEAGUE TEAM

1924

St. Louis Stars

1925 1926 1927 1928 1929 1930 1931 1932

St. Louis Stars St. Louis Stars St. Louis Stars St. Louis Stars St. Louis Stars St. Louis Stars St. Louis Stars Detroit Wolves Homestead Grays Kansas City Monarchs Chicago American Giants Chicago American Giants Chicago American Giants Newark Eagles

1933 1934 1935 1936–39 1940 1941 1942 1943 1944 1945 1946 1947 1948–49 1949 1950–51 1952–53 1954 1974

OTHER TEAMS Austin Black Senators San Antonio Black Aces Houston Buffaloes St. Louis Giants (barnstorming team) St. Louis Giants (CWL), 1924–25 Cleveland Stars (CWL), 1925–26 Philadelphia Royal Giants (CWL), 1926–27 Philadelphia Royal Giants (CWL), 1927–28 Cienfuegos, Cuba, 1928–29 Cienfuegos, Cuba, 1929–30 Philadelphia Royal Giants (CWL), 1930–31 Philadelphia Royal Giants (CWL), 1931–32

Wilson’s Royal Giants (CWL), 1933–34 Nashville Elite Giants (CWL), 1934–35 Santa Clara, Cuba, 1935–36 Almendares, Cuba 1936–40, Mexico Mexico, Puerto Rico

Newark Eagles

Newark Eagles New York Black Yankees New York Black Yankees Baltimore Elite Giants Indianapolis Clowns Memphis Red Sox

Tampico, Mexico Veracruz Blues (Mexico) Kansas City Royals (CWL), 1944–45 Mexico Veracruz Blues (Mexico)

Elmwood Giants (Canada) Winnipeg Buffaloes (Canada) Brandon Greys (Canada) Birmingham Black Barons Austin Indians (a Little League team; as manager)

INTRODUCTION

5

headstone as prominent as others there. Former congresswoman Barbara Jordan is the only other African American buried in the Texas State Cemetery.

Willie Wells Baseball Time Line As an aid to following Wells’s nomadic career, I have constructed a time line (facing page) showing where he played and when. This information came from several sources. His years with the California Winter League (CWL) were taken from William F. McNeil’s California Winter League. Fellow SABR (Society for American Baseball Research) member Kit Krieger researched the line scores and rosters in Raúl Diez Muro’s Historia del Base Ball Profesional de Cuba to document Wells’s play in Cuba. I took the Negro-league team entries from newspaper articles and standard reference books, notably Dick Clark and Larry Lester’s Negro Leagues Book. Wells’s years in Mexico and Puerto Rico were taken from a chronology in his Hall of Fame file. Articles in the Winnipeg Free Press documented his years in Canada.

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One He Could Pick It

“H

e could pick it. Oh, yeah, he could really pick it. Little guy, but he could play hard. He could play with anybody.” 1 That was John “Mule” Miles, former third baseman and outfielder for the Chicago American Giants, in his living room in San Antonio, recalling with admiration how Willie Wells scooped up anything hit his way and nailed the runner at first. Miles was thinking back to the first time he played against Wells. The year was 1948. Miles was twenty-six years old and playing the last of his three seasons for the Giants. Wells, playing third base and coaching for the Memphis Red Sox at the time, was forty-two, and the sun was setting on his career. By this time, Wells had starred for teams in the top echelon of the Negro leagues, as well as in professional leagues in Cuba, Puerto Rico, and Mexico, for twenty-four years. He had played on three Negro-league championship teams and had been elected to eight East-West all-star squads.2 Miles said of Wells, “He was so good he played for everybody.” 3 And he almost did play for everybody. He played for three Texas teams, the Austin Black Senators, the Houston Buffaloes, and the San Antonio Black Aces, while still in high school in Austin in 1923–1924. To say he was well traveled after high school would be an understatement. The future Hall of Famer played for, coached, and managed many Negro-league teams, including the St. Louis Stars, Detroit Wolves, Homestead Grays, Chicago American Giants, Kansas City Monarchs, Newark

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The 1939 National Negro League East All-Star team, Comiskey Park, Chicago, August 6. Standing, left to right: Buck Leonard, Willie Wells, Rudy Fernandes, Sammy T. Hughes, George Scales, Mule Suttles, Pat Patterson, Josh Gibson, Bill Wright, Roy Partlow. Kneeling, left to right: Bill Byrd, Leon Day, Bill Holland, Condo Lopez, Goose Curry, Red Parnell. Courtesy of the National Baseball Hall of Fame Library, Cooperstown, New York.

Eagles, New York Black Yankees, Baltimore Elite Giants, Memphis Red Sox, Indianapolis Clowns, and the Birmingham Black Barons. He retired in 1954 after having played for and managed the Elmwood Giants, Winnipeg Buffaloes, and Brandon Greys in Manitoba, Canada, from 1949 to 1953 and the Black Barons in 1954. He played winter ball in Latin America or California almost every year and completed several full seasons with Latin American teams. He played in Mexico during the summers of 1940, 1941, 1943, and 1944. He led his 1940 Veracruz, Mexico, team to the championship. He played winter ball in Puerto Rico in 1941. He spent seven winters in the Cuban Winter League, where he won two home run titles, was named most valuable player in 1929 and 1939, and led teams from Cienfuegos and Almendares on pennant-winning campaigns.4 He spent eight winters in the California Winter League, including four with the Philadelphia Royal Giants, and one each with the St. Louis Giants, Wilson’s Royal Giants, the Nashville Elite Giants, and the Kansas City Royals.5 He came out of retirement to manage the Austin Black Indians, a Little League team, in 1974.6

HE COULD PICK IT

9

The only known photograph of the Austin Black Senators, circa 1920s. Courtesy of the Texas State Cemetery.

A Labor of Love

He loved the game. He played it at every opportunity. In addition to playing winter ball, he would start working out before his Negro-league team’s official spring training started. In early April 1938 he was reported to be working out with the Jacksonville (Florida) Red Caps before the opening of the Newark Eagles’ spring training camp, also in Jacksonville.7 The following year his manager, Dick Lundy, wrote in a letter to Eagles’ co-owner Effa Manley, “Mr. Wells kept in shape practicing daily with the Chicago American Giants who train in Jacksonville where Wells spends most of his time when he’s not playing baseball.” 8

How Good Was He?

He was superb, but statistics alone don’t do him justice. Record keeping in the Negro leagues ranged from sporadic to nonexistent. Except for East-West games, the Negro-league equivalent of the majors’ all-star games, and championshipseries games, for which full records were kept, complete statistics on players and teams are difficult to find. As a result, we need to consider the stats that are available, but then go beyond them and address the question from the perspectives of sportswriters, Negro-league historians, teammates and opponents, and fans.

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The 1929–1930 championship team from Cienfuegos, Cuba. Wells is standing, second from left. Courtesy of Transcendental Graphics/ruckerarchive.com.

Historians and Sportswriters

Those who have studied the Negro leagues mention two other shortstops in the same breath as Wells—Dick “King Richard” Lundy and John (El Cuchara) “Pop” Lloyd. Baseball historian James Riley calls Lundy, who played from 1916 to 1939, the best shortstop during the 1920s, asserting that he bridged the gap between Lloyd, who played from 1906 to 1932, and Wells, who played in the Negro leagues from 1924 to 1948. Riley considers Lloyd the greatest black baseball player between 1900 and 1920, and Wells the best shortstop in black baseball during the 1930s and early 1940s.9 Riley combines attributes from three other Hall of Famers to describe Wells’s skills: “If you unhinged the cannon hanging down from Ozzie Smith’s [the St. Louis Cardinals’ shortstop’s] right shoulder, replaced it with [Lou] Boudreau’s [the Cleveland Indians’ shortstop’s] arm and knack for positioning batters, added 100 points to Boudreau’s batting average, and infused Wells with the intensity of Ty Cobb [legendary centerfielder for the Detroit Tigers], you’d have Willie Wells.” 10 For a sportswriter, especially a white sportswriter, to consider a “race” player, as Negro Leaguers were often called in the black press, good enough for the majors was the ultimate praise. Lloyd Lewis, a reporter for the New Jersey

HE COULD PICK IT

11

Herald-News, was one white writer who thought Wells “good enough.” After watching Wells in the 1938 East-West Classic, Lewis wrote in his column the next day, “I know 16 clubs in the major leagues who could use a man like Wells right now.” 11

Players, Managers, and Owners

There is widespread agreement among Wells’s peers that he was one of the best shortstops of all time. Selecting the best of anything often sparks debate. That said, Lloyd gets the nod as the best Negro-league shortstop of all time. He was one of the original nine Negro leaguers inducted into the Hall of Fame; Wells was inducted with the second wave. Lundy is not in the Hall, though many think he should be. Lloyd’s stature as the best-ever Negro-league shortstop received a boost from Ed Bolden and Oscar Charleston, whom many consider the best of all the Negro leaguers, in the late 1940s. Bolden owned the Philadelphia Stars and Charleston was his manager. Both picked an all-time all-star team, and the only infielder both men agreed on was Lloyd.12 Lloyd was also the shortstop named to “the alltime, All-American baseball team from 1910 to 1954 outside of the majors and minors,” as chosen by thirty-one knowledgeable voters (including twenty-two players) selected by the Pittsburgh Courier in April 1952.13 Lloyd received fourteen of the thirty-one first-team votes. Wells came in second, with nine votes, followed by Lundy and Dobie Moore, who split the remaining eight votes. The article in the Pittsburgh Courier noted that both Lloyd and Wells ranked with the greatest fielding shortstops of all time, but that Lloyd was also considered one of the greatest place hitters of all time.14 In a later survey of sixty-two experts (forty-nine players who played between 1900 and 1950, nine members of SABR [the Society for American Baseball Research], and four others), Lloyd was again picked over Wells, but only by two votes, 32–30. Wells received the highest total of any second-place finisher.15 Wells was not far behind Lloyd in the eyes of his contemporaries. Cum Posey, owner of the Homestead Grays and compiler of an annual all-star-team roster that usually included Wells, said of him in 1934, “Wells is the greatest money player in the game today.” 16 When Wells was selected by Posey for his allAmerican baseball team for 1936, he described Wells “as the cream of the shortstops for the 1936 season.” 17 In another tribute, Curtis A. Leak selected Wells as the shortstop for an alltime Negro-league team. Leak had been secretary of the Negro National League

12

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(which operated from 1920 to 1931 and from 1933 to 1948), and when he chose this team, in 1956, he was the secretary of Willie Mays’s barnstorming team.18 Particularly notable was Bob Boyd’s selection of Wells to his all-star Negroleague team. Boyd, the first black player to be signed by either major-league Chicago team, made his selections in 1951, while a member of the White Sox. He limited his selections to players he had seen in action. Boyd saw the same fading star that Miles had seen when Boyd and Wells were with the Memphis Red Sox in 1948 and 1949.19 Charlie Biot, outfielder for the Newark Eagles in 1939, said of Wells’s play at short, “I never saw him miss a ball, or boot a ball. And all them bad diamonds we played on. He’d pick up the dirt and the ball and all and make the throw to first.” 20 Wells’s prowess wasn’t lost on white observers, including Clark Griffith. A former pitcher (1891–1914) and a Hall of Famer, Griffith owned the Washington Senators and Griffith Stadium, where Negro-league teams played when the Nats, as the Washington team was known at the time, were on the road. In 1937, Wells, then with the Newark Eagles, was the shortstop for the best infield ever fielded by a Negro-league team. Known as the “million dollar” infield, it featured, in addition to Wells, Mule Suttles at first, Dick Seay at second, and Ray Dandridge at third. Griffith said Wells and Dandridge covered the left side of the infield better than any combination he had ever seen. That included Griffith’s major-league favorites—Hall of Fame third baseman Pie Traynor and shortstop Glenn Wright of the Pittsburgh Pirates. Griffith used to say to black sportswriter Ric Roberts, “When are those two bow-legged men [Wells and Dandridge] coming back? Please don’t let me miss them.” 21 Connie Mack was reported by sportswriter Reyn Davis to have included Wells as one of the ten finest players of all time.22 Another white ballplayer fan of Willie Wells was Alymer McKerlie, a hardthrowing catcher for the Carman (Manitoba) Cardinals of the integrated ManDak League in Canada, who didn’t see Wells play until 1950, when Wells was forty-four. McKerlie was quoted as saying, “If they had let him in the big leagues when he was 21, he would have set records that no man could ever touch.” 23 Wells was honored in 1942 when Pittsburgh Pirate president Bill Benswanger, after being pressured by the American Communist Party’s Daily Worker to sign black players, asked Wendell Smith, sports editor of the Pittsburgh Courier, to select four Negro leaguers to attend a tryout for the Pirates. After considering about 200 players, Smith selected Wells, future Hall of Famer Josh Gibson, out-

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fielder Don Bankhead (both of the Homestead Grays), and Leon Day, pitcher, future Hall of Famer, and Wells’s teammate on the Newark Eagles. Smith praised Benswanger, saying, “He is risking the wrath of his associates for an ideal that has been contrary to the general pattern of the exclusive sport in which he operates.” Unfortunately for Wells and the others, Smith’s praise was premature. Benswanger never held the tryouts.24 Smith’s eagerness to have the tryout held was emblematic of his push to get black players into the majors. A longtime sports editor with the Pittsburgh Courier, Smith covered the Homestead Grays, Pittsburgh Crawfords, and Pittsburgh Pirates. In 1948 he became the first African American to be admitted to the Baseball Writers’ Association of America (BBWAA).25

Statistics Sometimes we use statistics to neutralize the bias that human judgment brings to discussions of a particular player. No one disputes the fact that Hank Aaron, with 755 homers to his credit, has hit, as of this writing, more home runs than any other major leaguer. We know that Cy Young, with 511 wins, has won more games than any major league pitcher. So is Hank Aaron baseball’s best home run hitter and Cy Young the majors’ best pitcher? Maybe, but statistics alone rarely carry the day for such claims. Conditions change—for example, the ball is now livelier, and today fewer pitchers go the distance than did those in days of Ruth and Young. However, the facts are not in question, because complete records were kept of every game played in the major and minor leagues. The same cannot be said for the Negro leagues.26 Records were sometimes kept for only part of the game, and sometimes no records were kept. Press reports were sporadic. Many black papers relied on the teams to send in their box scores; some did and some didn’t. Some papers didn’t report at bats, making it necessary to estimate them. Some box scores did not carry extra base hits, stolen bases, or the pitching breakdown of strikeouts, walks, earned-unearned runs, and innings pitched.27 Another complicating factor is that Negro-league players competed against teams of varying ability. They played against other Negro-league teams whose rosters carried many players who could have starred in the majors—but they also played against industrial-league and semipro teams that weren’t close to Negroleague or major-league caliber. Not surprisingly, reported batting averages for Wells vary considerably. Wells’s New York Times obituary (January 25, 1989) credits him with batting .358. Buck

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O’Neil, in his autobiography, says Wells had a .364 lifetime average.28 The Sporting News, in its obituary of Wells, reported “League records credit Wells with a .326 average.” 29 A more recent accounting of Wells’s statistics is available from the results of a five-year study. In 2000, Major League Baseball awarded a $250,000 grant to the Hall of Fame to conduct “a comprehensive study on the history of AfricanAmericans in Baseball from 1860–1960.” Negro-league historians Larry Hogan, Larry Lester, and Dick Clark supervised the study. The researchers they supervised were limited to using only “those numbers for league-sanctioned games where box scores did exist.” Their results for Wells are in the table below.30 Wells hit major-league pitching as well as he did Negro-league pitching. Statistics for head-to-head competition between Negro leaguers and major leaguers come from barnstorming games played after the regular seasons. Reviewing the records of those games and the comments of both black and white players leaves little doubt that Wells and many of his colleagues played as well, and often better, than did major leaguers. According to Holway, of games played between all-black and all-white teams from 1887 to 1947, whites won about 48 percent and blacks won 52 percent. Holway also notes that Wells batted against the likes of major-league pitchers Bob Feller, Tommy Bridges, Bobo Newsom, Larry French, and Bucky Walters for a .409 average.31 However you look at it, the man could swing the bat with the best of them. His batting average in Negro-league games (.319 from the Hall of Fame study) compares favorably with the batting averages of other Hall of Fame shortstops such as Luke Appling (.310), Ernie Banks (.274), Lou Boudreau (.295), Joe Cronin (.301), Travis Jackson (.291), Rabbit Maranville (.258), Joe Sewell (.312), Pee Wee Reese (.269), Phil Rizzuto (.273), and Ozzie Smith (.295). Even without statistics, there is a “preponderance of the evidence,” as lawyers like to say, that Willie Wells was, even if not the best, certainly one of the best ballplayers, black or white, to ever take the field between second and third.

Table 2. Official career statistics for Willie Wells G

AB

756 2,879

R

H

D

T

HR

RBI

W

SAC

SB

E

644

918

171

43

98

399

347

57

98

142

AVG SLUG .319

.510

NOTE: G: games played; AB: at bats; R: runs; H: hits; D: doubles; T: triples; HR: home runs; RBI: runs batted in; W: walks; SAC: sacrifice hits; SB: stolen bases; E: errors; AVG: batting average (H/AB); SLUG: slugging percentage (a measure of a hitter’s power)

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We Played with Him Wells drew accolades from his teammates, including Monte Irvin, who played with Wells and starred in the majors with the Giants and the Cubs (1949–1956). Wells, Irvin said, “was one of the greatest players I’d ever seen. He was charismatic. He had style. He was smart. He could run. He could do it all. He was the best I’ve ever seen going back on a Texas leaguer.” 32 Wells excelled on going back on Texas leaguers (fly balls that drop between the infield and outfield) years before Irvin first saw him play in 1937. One 1926 account noted, “Willie Wells ranged far into the outfield on two occasions for put outs on pop flies.” 33 Buck “Foots” (or “Nancy”) O’Neil, who played first base for the Kansas City Monarchs from 1938 to 1943 and is today the leading spokesman for the Negro leagues, played many games against Wells. O’Neil said, “Willie Wells was an outstanding ballplayer. He had it all. See Alex Rodriguez? That was Willie Wells.” 34 Wells excelled at all three of Casey Stengel’s requirements for playing baseball, (“You have to throw the ball, catch the ball, and hit the ball,”) but what caught people’s attention most often was his play at short. In 1924, as a rookie with the St. Louis Stars, he was reported to have done a somersault while trying to knock down a ball that Cristóbal (Carlos) Torriente, with the Chicago American Giants, had “rapped through the pitcher’s box like a rifle shot.” 35 That style of play was soon to earn him the nickname “The Devil” from his American fans, or “El Diablo” from his Latin American fans. Wells was so good that many of his adoring Cuban fans joked that he must be playing with the devil’s help.36 He will forever be remembered as “The Devil,” but his teammates often called him “Chico” for his habit of saying “Chico Chico” every time he caught the ball.37 In other accounts, Wells, five feet nine and 166 pounds, was called “Diablico” (little devil) while playing in Mexico.38 Cowan “Bubba” Hyde was another player who admired Wells’s skills at shortstop. Hyde’s Negro-league career (1927–1950) closely matched Wells’s (1924–1948); both played in Mexico and Canada during the same times; and they were teammates with the Memphis Red Sox in 1948. Hyde selected Wells as the best player he had seen: “He’d come in there to field a ground ball and it’d hop up and he’d put his glove on it. He threw everybody out . . . and he was a smart ballplayer.” 39 Wells was a master of the quick decision. Monte Irvin recalled the time Wells went hard to his left for a ball and, knowing he couldn’t make the throw to first because of an earlier injury, threw the ball to Ray Dandridge at second, who relayed the ball on to first in time to get the runner.40 Irvin recalled

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another spectacular play Wells made, this one against the Homestead Grays at a game in Newark: “Josh Gibson [Hall of Fame catcher] hit a ball so hard at Wells that the force of the ball knocked Wells down, but Wells got up in time to throw Josh out.” 41 Wells’s arm was not the strongest, and Gibson, though a big man, was known for his speed on the base paths. Larry Doby, a Hall of Fame outfielder who became the first black to play in the American League when he signed with the Cleveland Indians in 1947, got his start in professional baseball when he was a seventeen-year-old from Paterson, New Jersey, playing for Wells at Newark in 1942. Wells was no spring chicken at this time, being in his eighteenth season. Doby said of Wells, “As a shortstop, I’d rank him with Phil Rizzuto, Pee Wee Reese and Marty Marion. He had good hands, great range, and he could get rid of the ball as quickly as Rizzuto did.” 42 Frank Evans, a pitcher, catcher, outfielder, and teammate of Wells with the Winnipeg Buffaloes in 1950, saw Wells at the end of his career, when he was in his early forties. Evans said, “Man, you had to see him to know how good he was. The ball didn’t stay in his glove no time. He’d throw it almost as soon as he fielded it.” Evans recalled an error Wells made going to his left on a ground ball; he remembered it because it was the only error he ever saw Wells make.43 Bill “Ready” Cash, a catcher with the Philadelphia Stars from 1943 to 1950, played for Wells as a member of the Brandon Greys in the ManDak League in Winnipeg in 1953. “He was,” said Cash, “forty-seven years old and he could still show you how to play short.” 44 Wells was a perennial star in the California Winter League, where he played in the late 1920s and 1930s. One observer noted, “Wells helped Tom

T

homas T. (“Smiling Tom”) Wilson was one the “moguls” of the Negro leagues. He owned the Elite Giants from the early 1920s until his death in 1947. In search of a

solid financial base, he moved the team, which started in Nashville, first to Columbus and Cleveland and then to Washington, D.C., before settling in Baltimore in 1938. An entrepreneur of the first order, with interests in the numbers game, real estate, hotels, and nightclubs in his hometown of Nashville, Wilson liked to provide fans with more than good baseball. According to the Chicago Defender (October 27, 1934), he opened the 1934 California season by staging a “mammoth” parade in Los Angeles, featuring 150 cars and 3 bands traveling from 12th and Central Avenue to the White Sox park. Los Angeles County supervisor Gordon L. McDonough pitched the first ball under the watchful, umpiring eye of Congressman William Traeger.

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Wilson’s Elite Giants win the California winter-loop crown. Wells’ work greatly overshadowed that of the major and minor league short fielders entered in the winter league.” 45 Good as he was, he wasn’t perfect. One of his most memorable off days was the 1935 Negro league East-West game, played in Comiskey Park before 25,000 people. Wells made two miscues, and told reporters after he left the game that he had been nervous. “I simply couldn’t seem to get started,” he said.46

From the Grandstand The annual East-West game gave fans a chance to elect the best of the Negro league to the East and West squads by filling out ballots carried in many black newspapers. The fans elected Wells to a starting position for the West squad for the first game, in 1933. For the third East-West all-star game, played in Comiskey Park in 1935, Wells received 16,897 votes, more than any other player on either squad. Martin Dihigo (a Hall of Fame player for many teams from 1923 to 1944) of the East squad was runner-up with 15,027.47 A year earlier Wells had received 25,546 votes, while his nearest rival for the shortstop position picked up only 6,890—the largest margin by far accorded any one player.48 In the voting for the 1939 East squad, Wells, with 19,971 votes, was reported at one point to be ahead of the next most popular shortstop by a four-to-one margin.49 Even an absence from the States for more than a year while he played in Puerto Rico and Mexico didn’t dim his luster with fans. Shortly before the 1942 East-West all-star game, Wells, now player-manager with the Newark Eagles, led the voting for shortstop with 44,331 votes.50

Wells’s Greatest Play The play he considered his greatest came during an East-West all-star game in Comiskey Park. As often happens with baseball history, the essence of an event can stay the same while the details come to differ in its telling. Such is the case here. As reported by Danny Robbins in the Austin American-Statesman in 1977, Wells said, “We filled Comiskey Park in Chicago. My team, the West, was leading 1–0 in the ninth.” There was one man out and a runner on first when a ball was hit through the box (back over the pitcher’s mound) for what normally would have been a base hit. “But,” Wells said, “I always played my hitters. I took two steps, took that ball, stepped on second and made the double play. There must

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have been 40,000 people standing and cheering.” 51 The article didn’t say what year the play took place. An article in the Pittsburgh Courier the day after the 1942 East-West classic reports that Wells made three brilliant stops during the 1942 game in Chicago, “the last of which brought the crowd to its feet. In the 6th inning he scooped up a sizzler hit over 2nd and nipped the runner by a step at 1st.” 52 We know the game in question was the 1942 all-star game because both Robbins’s account and Buck O’Neil’s account (see below) include a reference to Wells and O’Neil talking about the play over dinner. Both accounts also agree that Wells’s play, whether in the sixth or ninth inning, with either one or two men on base, was brilliant and brought the cheering crowd to its feet. Wells had the attendance figure right: 48,400 fans filled the seats that day. Buck O’Neil calls the play the most memorable play that he ever saw. He hit the ball. I think the one [play] that stands out the most for me is one where we lost the ball game on a great play by Willie Wells, one of the greatest shortstops that ever lived. . . . I hit the ball up the middle and I just knew it was a hit that was going to drive in the two winning runs. But Willie Wells was playing shortstop, and he made that play. I don’t know how he could have made that play, but he made it, and we didn’t win that ballgame. That night, we had dinner together and I said, “Man, I don’t know how you did it.” He said, “Listen, when the pitcher threw the ball and I saw where he was throwing it, I started moving.” And I tell you, that’s the greatest play I’ve ever seen, and it was made against me! 53

John “Mule” Miles had it right. Wells could play with anybody.

Giving as Good as He Got Graceful and smart as he was, he had a tough side and dished out punishment when necessary. Newt (Colt) Allen, a pretty fair infielder for the Kansas City Monarchs from 1922 to 1944, said of him, “Wells was one of the greatest shortstops. And he was quite a guy for tagging with that big hand and glove. You’d go in there and he’d slap you upside of the head.” 54

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In 1942, Wells stood five feet nine, weighed 172 pounds, and wore a size 7 hat.55 The slap was his equalizer in the company of six-foot two-hundred-pluspounders who would slide into second with their spikes up and try to take him out (or, in the vernacular, “undress” him) on every slide, sending the message, “We’re gonna get you out of there.” He welcomed all comers. Wells would “take that ball and hit them right across their noses with it.” 56 Players’ noses sometimes felt more than just the slap of leather. Mark Flynn, a Canadian sportswriter who covered Wells in the early ’50s for the Winnipeg Free Press, remembers Wells showing him his pancake-shaped glove, which had lead in the tips of the fingers. “The lead makes me stay down on the ball,” Flynn remembers Wells telling him. Opponents said the real reason for the lead was so Wells could lay it on players sliding into second.57 Another account has Wells putting bricks in his glove. Wells told James Riley, “I went down to the river and got them little round bricks and put them in the fingers of the glove and hit them (players) in the head with that glove.” 58 Wells used his spikes as well as his glove. During a Sunday game in Newark in 1935 between the Homestead Grays and the Newark Eagles, Grays’ outfielder Vic Harris, known as “Vicious Vic” for his overly zealous hustle, “undressed” Wells while sliding into second base. Wells had to change his uniform. To retaliate, Wells spiked the Grays’ first baseman, Buck Leonard (who was to become a Hall of Fame player), as Wells was running down the first-base line trying to beat out an infield single during his next at bat. Harris was in the outfield and out of Wells’s reach. Leonard turned to Wells and said, “Why’d you do that? I thought we were friends.” “Because,” Wells said, “you’re playing with Vic and against me.” This event, and others like them, riled the crowd so much that the police had to step in and restore order before the game could continue.59 The important thing was to retaliate against the other team. It was more important to do so quickly, as Wells did against Leonard, than to wait until you could punish the perpetrator in later innings or during a subsequent game. Playing against the Homestead Grays several years later in 1942, Wells “cut” the Grays’ second baseman, Lick Carlisle, on a slide into second. In the next inning, the Grays’ Josh Gibson doubled, “jumped” at the Eagles’ Ray Dandridge, and injured him, since Dandridge and not Wells was covering the base.60 “Cutting” players was all part of the game for Wells and others. “That’s the way they played,” Allen said. “You didn’t play easy like these guys now.” 61 “Cutting” players could also involve knives. Monte Irvin was quoted as saying some players carried knives with them onto the field. “‘Do you have your blade

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on you?’ Irvin said one player would ask another. ‘I have my pants on, don’t I?’ would come the reply.” 62 Not all of Wells’s damage was inflicted intentionally. Oliver (Ghost) Marcelle once broke up a double play during a game in Mexico because Wells’s relay to first hit him in the mouth, costing him two teeth.63

At the Plate Wells not only “picked ’em” but he “hit ’em” as well. Known primarily as a spray hitter, he could also hit the round-trippers. In 1929, as a member of the St. Louis Stars, he tied Mule Suttles for the all-time Negro-league single-season home-run record of twenty-seven home runs during an eighty-eight-game schedule.64 His dingers weren’t the towering shots blasted out of parks by Josh Gibson or Mule Suttles. Wells took advantage of the short, 250-foot outfield fence in left field. His homers were, in the words of Satchel Paige, “Chinese” homers. Paige recalled that the St. Louis ballpark was “down behind the car barn where Willie Wells and ‘Cool Papa’ Bell used to bash out flocks of ‘Chinese’ homers.” 65 In 1928 he had “wielded the bludgeon with power in the series . . . with the Chicago American Giants. Wells hit five home runs and was a consistent hitter, batting over the .400 mark.” 66 In comparing Wells’s hitting ability to that of Hall of Fame major leaguer Ozzie Smith, Buck O’Neil said, “Ozzie Smith could field with Wells but he couldn’t hit with him.” 67 Wells was still pounding the ball after twenty-six years as a professional player. He batted .304 for Winnipeg in 1950 and .314 the following year.68 Wells was proud of his skill with the bat. In 1973 he recalled, “I hit everybody. I don’t care what they threw. It’s a fact. They’d pitch around Wells. They’d say, ‘If there’s anybody on base and the game is close, pitch around that guy. Forget him. Just pitch to the next guy. Forget Wells. He’s tough.’ ” 69 Monte Irvin recalls Wells being primarily a pull hitter who didn’t have “overwhelming power but had enough to reach the seats.” Irvin remembers Wells hitting two home runs against the Homestead Grays to give the Newark Eagles a 2–0 lead going into the ninth inning on opening day 1942 at the Eagles’ home field, Ruppert Stadium. Unfortunately for Wells and the Eagles, their pitcher, Jimmy Hill, got wild and walked Sammy Bankhead and Buck Leonard. Leon Day, known for his sizzling fastball, relieved Hill. Day got two quick strikes on Josh Gibson and tried to slip a third fastball by him. Gibson cancelled

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Wells’s home-run production that day by launching Day’s next offering over the centerfield fence. As both teams were boarding buses to go to the Grand Hotel on West Market Street, Effa Manley, co-owner with her husband Abe of the Eagles, sought out Josh Gibson and told him, “Josh, you should be ashamed of yourself, ruining our opener the way that you did. You broke everybody’s heart.” To which Gibson replied, “Mrs. Manley, let me tell you this. I’ve been known to break a lot of hearts. I hate to have to do it to you, but that’s my role.” 70 To hit his homers, “Chinese” or otherwise, Wells preferred bats made from hickory to the more commonly used ash. “The balls just come flying off that hickory bat,” he said. “I don’t want no ash.” 71 Wells chose to get his hickory bats from Spalding because the company accorded Wells and a few other Negro leaguers the ultimate in sports status—having a bat made to your own specifications. Spalding also supplied Wells with baseball shoes, as shown by a receipt dated May 9, 1939, for one pair of baseball shoes ($16.83) from Spalding.72 The company supplied other equipment to Eagles players, judging by Effa Manley’s written requests to Spalding that read, for example, “Kindly give to bearer, a pair of shoes, sliding pads, sweat shirt, sweat stockings, jock strap, and charge the same to the Newark Eagles Baseball Club.” 73

The ManDak League Wells, as we have seen, was still a threat at the plate in his midforties, when he was with the Elmwood Giants, Winnipeg Buffaloes, and Brandon Greys of the ManDak (Manitoba-Dakota) League in Canada. Jackie Robinson’s signing with the Brooklyn Dodgers marked the beginning of the end for the Negro leagues as the best players began signing major-league contracts. Many Negro leaguers who were past their prime but still wanted to play had headed to Manitoba and western Canada before 1947. Called “imports,” they found better pay and no discrimination there. Kyle Bornais, who produced a documentary on the ManDak League, found out that “a lot of players couldn’t believe how they could come up here and just walk down the street. There are stories of black players stepping off the sidewalk when whites were coming only to have their white teammates say, ‘You don’t have to do that in Canada.’ ” 74 One of those stories involved Dirk Gibbons, a pitcher, who almost didn’t get off the bus when it arrived in Brandon, because he saw snow falling. Don

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Gardiner, the Brandon Greys’ batboy, convinced Gibbons that the snow would soon be gone. “But,” Gardiner said, “as we walked along the sidewalk, he kept getting off. . . . He said where he came from you don’t walk on the sidewalks if there are white folks there.” 75 Wells finished the 1949 season with the Elmwood Giants, batting .333 in limited action. When the ManDak League formed in 1950, the Giants’ owner had his own manager, so he introduced Wells to Stanley Zedd, who hired Wells to manage the Winnipeg Buffaloes. Zedd let Wells pick all the players, and Wells chose all Negro leaguers. No one thought anything about Wells’s selections, which made the Buffaloes the only all-black team in the league. Blacks and Cubans were on the rosters of all the other teams.76 In 1950 the ManDak League consisted of five teams: the Minot (North Dakota) Mallards (the lone American club), Winnipeg Buffaloes, Elmwood Giants, Brandon Greys, and Carman Cardinals. Wells hit .304 for the Winnipeg Buffaloes in 1950 over the course of 37 games and 112 plate appearances.77 The following year he was credited with a .314 average in 40 games and 121 at bats.78 He could still hit the long ball, as evidenced by a two-run ninth-inning homer as a pinch hitter against the Brandon Greys that gave his Winnipeg Buffaloes a 4–3 victory.79

On the Base Paths Wells could “fly.” Early in his career it was not uncommon for him to steal home. So good was he at running the bases that it was news when he slipped up. The sports page of the Chicago Defender carried a large picture of Wells, explaining in the caption that he had been caught napping at first base and thrown out by a snap throw from Pittsburgh Crawford pitcher Leroy Matlock to C. Harris at first.80

“Jump Shot” Willie Given Wells’s athletic ability on the diamond, it may come as no surprise that he also excelled at basketball. One sportswriter noted, “Wells is as efficient at the floor game as he is in baseball. When the boys (the 1926 St. Louis Stars) tipped up for a game at the Y [YMCA] he made successful shots at the basket from all angles.” 81

Manager and Teacher Less well known is Wells’s managerial and teaching expertise. He never forced his advice on players, but took an active interest in the development of players

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willing to learn, regardless of what uniform they wore. He is credited with helping Monte Irvin, Larry Doby, and Don Newcombe make the majors. All three played for the Newark Eagles when Wells managed the team. One of Wells’s more notable coaching sessions helped Jackie Robinson, initially a shortstop, master second base. Robinson said to Wells during the Dodgers’ 1947 spring-training camp in Havana, Cuba, “Wells, they got me playing second base and I don’t even know how to pivot.” Wells replied, “I’ll meet you out here after practice and show you how.” 82 As player-manager, he relied heavily on signals to direct the action. From his shortstop position he told his catchers what pitches to call for. A glove at the belt might mean a curve ball. Hands-on-knees-while-bending-down could mean an off-speed pitch.83 With his right hand behind his back he would alert outfielders about the type of pitch about to be thrown so they could position themselves properly. He also knew which players not to give signals to. Regarding those who worried so much about what the signals meant that their playing was impaired, Wells believed, “Don’t go tampering with a ballplayer that’s mechanical. Don’t put too much into his head.” To those players, Wells would say, “You don’t look for a signal. You just play.” To the smart ones, he said, “This is your signal.” To those with great talent, he just let them play, without giving them signals, regardless of their IQ.84 While getting the pitcher and outfielders squared away, Wells kept up a stream of conversation with any runner who happened to be on second. “He’d talk to you, all right,” said James “Red” Moore, a teammate of Wells’s with the Eagles in 1936 and 1937, later an opponent when Moore was with the Baltimore Elite Giants in 1939. “He’d come up behind you and tease you with, ‘Better not move too far. I might get you.’ [Base stealing was a major strategy in Negroleague games, and runners would stretch their lead from a base as far as they could.] When he thought he had you, he’d flip a prearranged pick-off signal, like wiping his hand across his chest, to his catcher and shoot back to the base.” 85 He stole signs as well as he gave them. Josh Gibson of the Homestead Grays crouched behind the plate with his right elbow sticking out a bit because he was too large to bend down all the way. When that elbow moved “even just a flicker,” Wells knew a curveball was on the way. When the elbow didn’t move, a fastball was coming. “Pretty soon,” Wells told John Holway, “they [the Grays’ players] would be saying, ‘Hey, why are they hitting everything?’ ” 86 He was also attuned to the unintentional signals telegraphed by the opposition. At bat he would study the pitcher’s wrist. “If you could see the front of their

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wrists (before they let go of the ball),” he said, “it’d be a fastball; the back of their wrists, a curve.” 87 Wells’s last official job in baseball was as a manager for the Little League Austin Indians in 1974, at the age of sixty-eight. The Indians’ owner, Floyd Cleveland, named him manager. Wells was quoted at the time as saying that he had decided to return to baseball because he “wanted to teach young kids the game.” 88

Inventor Pitchers threw at Wells, trying to knock him down or brush him back from the plate, as they did to all good hitters. Bill “Plunk” Drake recalled pitching against Wells in 1924: “I’d knock him down for the fun of it. I’d waste two balls at him— I knew I could throw strikes when I was ready to.” 89 Edsall “Catskill Wildman” Walker, who played with the Homestead Grays from 1936 to 1945, was another pitcher who threw at Wells. Walker recalled a 1938 game in Buffalo when, in his words, “I hit him right in the shoulder blade and he stayed back from the plate. Then, in the fourth inning he eased up to plate and I dusted him again to let him know I hadn’t forgotten.” 90 Wells knew what was going on. “They threw at me because I was such a good hitter,” he said.91 Pitchers made no secret of their intent to throw at Wells. One day he saw Satchel Paige doctor the ball with a piece of sandpaper. “What are you doing that for?” Wells said. “You’ve got such a good fastball.” Paige replied, “ ’Cause I’m gonna stick it right in your ear.” 92 Even knowing that pitchers would throw at him, he crowded the plate and was the victim of frequent beanings. In an August 1937 game against the Homestead Grays, the Gray’s star pitcher, Ray Brown, unleashed a pitch in the first inning that caught Wells on the head. He had to be taken from the field and hospitalized.93 This and other beanings took their toll on him. “All those beanings caused him to go blind,” said his daughter Stella. “That’s what the doctor told us.” 94 Wells wasn’t the only batter to be thrown at, but he is given credit for being the first professional baseball player to protect himself by devising a batting helmet. More accurately, he was the first modern player to use a batting helmet. Roger Bresnahan, a Hall of Fame catcher for several major-league teams from 1897 to 1915, experimented with wearing the first batting helmet in 1905. This “helmet” was developed by Fred Mogridge and resembled an inflated boxing glove that fit over a player’s head.95

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Wells first appeared at the plate wearing a batting helmet in a 1939 game between the Newark Eagles and the Homestead Grays in Buffalo. Both teams were fighting for the pennant, it was late in the season, and, according to Buck Leonard, “There was some bad blood between the Grays and the Eagles that had built up over the years.” Wells had cut down a coal miner’s helmet and removed its light. Of course, the helmet itself quickly became a target. When Wells arrived at the plate, the Grays’ Tom “Big Train” Parker threw his first pitch right at Wells’s head. Wells was knocked down, but got up to hit a triple off Parker’s next offering.96 The other players thought he was crazy for wearing a helmet.97 Wells wore a helmet whenever he thought it necessary. Unfortunately, he was not wearing a helmet when he faced Bill Byrd of the Baltimore Elite Giants during a July 4, 1942, game at Yankee Stadium. Byrd’s fastball hit Wells on the side of his head. Knocked unconscious, he was out of action for a week and a half. He returned for a game on Thursday, July 16, which was Ladies’ Day and the league’s first “twilight arc-light contest.” 98 It was not recorded if Wells wore a helmet during that game or not. Wells did, however, face Byrd shortly thereafter, and when he appeared in the batter’s box, he was wearing a modified hard hat taken from a Jersey City construction site.99

Two I Never Went for Anything Crooked

W

ells, one of the top-paid Negro-league players, once said, referring to his years of managing in Cuba and in Mexico, “I made so much money, I can’t tell you how much, but I bet it on the damn horses. I was a horse bettor.”1 In addition to betting on the ponies, Wells had a fondness for the numbers. In a 1962 letter to his mother, he wrote, “If I hit my numbers I’ll send you all the payments for the place but if not, I’ll send the payments when they are due so don’t worry.”

”He Wouldn’t Dissipate at All” Betting on the horses and playing the numbers may have been his only vices. He portrayed himself as a clean liver to James Riley, saying, “You don’t go ripping and running, you know what I mean—the girls, drinks, and late hours taking it away from you. All those things are against you.”2 Buck Leonard, a teammate of Wells for several years in Cuba, agreed, saying that Wells was always ready to play: “If he drank I didn’t ever know it. . . . We used to call him ‘Life’ because he had so much life in him. When a lot of us felt bad, you could tell it. But not him. If he felt bad he didn’t show it with his playing.”3 James “Red” Moore concurred with Wells’s statement to Riley. Moore was an adjunct member of the Eagles’ 1936–1937

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“million dollar” infield. As the better fielder, he would sometimes play first base for defensive purposes while Mule Suttles, the regular first baseman, who hit better than he fielded, moved to right field. Moore said of Wells, “He was a fine person to be around. He liked to play cards on the bus, but no gambling, like a lot of the guys did.”4 Wells may not have gambled on bus rides, but he would play poker for money from time to time. As teammate Monte Irvin remembered: I used to get a kick out of watching him play. He’d play with Mule Suttles, maybe Ed Stone, and sometimes with Abe Manley, the Eagles co-owner, and others at Dan’s Bar on Wickler Street, right around the corner from our hotel in Newark. That’s where we’d go to drink our beer after the games or hang out if we had a day off. Sometimes Abe won all the guys’ money. He had deep pockets, so he could bluff them out or whatever. He’d loan the money back to them and expect to be paid on payday. Guys would lose their entire paycheck.5

Irvin recalled that Wells played dominoes for relaxation and enjoyed a beer or two and an occasional game of cards other than poker. Wells liked to play tonk—a game like gin rummy.6 He listed playing bridge as one of his hobbies on a questionnaire.7 When not playing cards, he would go to the movies. According to teammate Frank Evans, “Wells and a lot us went to the movies if we had a late afternoon or night game—cowboy pictures. We liked to see the shoot-’em-ups.”8 Not all of Wells’s teammates spent their free time at the movies. Many were more interested in partying and being seen in the all the hot spots. They would say, “That guy [Wells] don’t want to go out—come on big man, give us some money.” But Wells said no—not because he didn’t want to spend money, but because he wanted to be in top shape for the upcoming game. Cool Papa Bell thought the same way, which explains why the two were close friends. “Bell,” Wells said, “was a clean liver. He wouldn’t dissipate at all. We’d sit in the room and play cards, he and I.”9 Wells might have arranged for some food to be on hand for the card games. He and Alex Radcliffe (brother of Double Duty Radcliffe) were “the biggest eaters in baseball,” said one reporter in 1934. “Mr. Page, [an official of the Chicago American Giants, for whom Wells was playing at the time] said he would have to put on a night crew to make up a morning meal for these two eaters.”10

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Unlike a number of the players, Wells didn’t have a reputation as a womanizer, which isn’t to say he didn’t enjoy the company of the fairer sex. As his roommate with the Memphis Red Sox, Joe Scott, remembers it, “Wells was so often the star of the game that the women would often be after him. Wells liked to be around women and had quite the gift of gab with them.”11 Bobby Israel, son of Clarence “Pint” Israel, who was the Eagles’ second baseman in 1942, recalls his father saying, “Wells had an eye for the women.”12

Clean Living Lives On An interest in clean living stayed with Wells after his playing days ended. In a letter to his mother written from New York City and dated August 6, 1962, when he was fifty-six, Wells assures her that he will soon send her some money and that “I got some change in the bank but I don’t want to touch it unless I really need to. I will use my salary because you never know what will happen. And I don’t ever want to be a bum. Everybody says I look so good. I got plenty of nice clothes, plenty shoes and hats, and I don’t fool with whiskey. I drink beer only on the days I am off my job.”13 In 1988 he told a reporter he hadn’t had a drink in thirty or forty years, but that he had picked up the “nasty habit” of smoking cigarettes since his retirement. He also noted that he had once tried chewing tobacco, mixed with CocaCola, when he was twenty-one. “I didn’t know what the hell I was doing,” he said. “I got so sick. I was lucky it rained and they called off the game.” He told the same reporter that he never did understand why some players and others would use dope: “I just don’t understand a person with that sort of background. . . . I’ve been with those people. . . . They talk like it wasn’t anything.”14 As an example of his honesty, Wells told James Riley of a time when he declined the opportunity to profit at his teammates’ expense. In 1935, according to Riley, the Great Depression was taking a toll on the income of Robert Coles, owner of the Chicago American Giants. He offered to put Wells’s salary in a protected account if Wells would urge his teammates to complete the season without pay. Wells refused, and left the Giants. In explaining his actions, Wells said, “I never went for anything crooked. . . . I’m not worried about me because I know I can play.” At a meeting of the team called by Coles in hopes that Wells would ask the players to forego their salary, Wells said, “I appreciate it that you fellows look to me as your leader, but you had better find another team to join because

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Wells partaking of his self-described “nasty habit.” Courtesy of the Austin History Center, Austin Public Library (photo as7795245).

I’m not going to be here.” He finished his story by telling Riley, “Listen, you see, honesty is what really matters. I don’t give a damn how much money he’s got. But if it’s right, you’re all right. But all that other crap, you can have it. I don’t want it.”15 The 1935 season was his last with the Giants. After a stint with Tom Wilson’s Nashville Elite Giants in the California Winter League, the ex–American Giant went east to contact Abe and Effa Manley, owners of the Newark Eagles, for whom Wells would play and manage for parts of the next ten years.16

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Sharp Dresser Wherever he played, Wells dressed to the nines. James “Red” Moore recalled, “He always was an immaculate dresser. He looked like he just stepped out of a bandbox. After a game, he’d always ‘dude up.’”17 Max Manning, longtime hurler for Newark and for the Houston Eagles, said of Wells, “He was a flamboyant dresser—suits and handkerchiefs. I never saw Willie Wells look tacky.”18 A reporter who interviewed Wells several years before he died wrote that he never smoked, drank, or cursed, and he attended church on a regular basis, “but he didn’t need it to be a Sunday to find a reason to wear dress clothes and a snappy hat with a turned-up brim.”19 Had the reporter looked in Wells’s closet, he would have seen the wardrobe that Wells so prized. Donn Rogosin wrote that Wells, “nearly blind from glaucoma,” would show visitors a closet full of onceelegant clothes. On one occasion he pulled out a white suit, saying, “I always tried to dress my best.”20 Jessie Mitchell, who played centerfield for the Wellsmanaged Birmingham Black Barons in 1954, concurred that Wells was “a sharp dresser” and added, “Most of us were. We didn’t make a lot of money, but we wore nice shoes and kept ’em shined.”21 It was clothes that caused Wells, who sent money regularly to his mother, to turn the tables on her and ask her for money. In a 1958 letter from New York, at a time when he was down on his luck, he wrote, “My darling Mother. I hope this won’t upset you but I got to have some money. Anything you can send may change my luck. I never know what day my number will play. If it comes out I will get $1,800. I know you say why do I do this but you are the only one I trust knowing I am broke. I am coming home for two weeks and I want to be in style so baby let me hear from you at once.” As a PS he added, “Please don’t let the family know.”

Personality By many accounts Wells was an easy-going man with a passion for baseball and for teaching it to kids. Ralph Lee, a resident of Austin and former semipro player, remembered seeing Wells stop by Downs Field when he was in town: “He was a good guy who’d teach the kids how to hit and bunt.”22 A newspaper article in 1935 reported that Wells was in Austin visiting relatives and that “he seems to be pleased with the looks of the team [the Austin Senators].”23 Al Burrows saw Wells each winter from 1955 to 1961 when the Indianapolis Clowns, for whom Burrows played, were in Florida for spring training.

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He’d show up at every club down in Florida when he was close by. He’d hang out with the old fellers, and we young fellers would listen to them tell stories, jokes, and lies. I never saw him disgrace himself. He reminded me of Satchel Paige. When Paige would walk in a room, everybody wanted to talk to him ’cause he had something nice to say and he always talked baseball. I never heard him [Wells] say he was better than anyone. The man was a kind-hearted, eventempered fellow, a team player. Baseball was his passion. Someone was always playing baseball in Florida, and he’d always stop at a game to watch, talk to players. He even umpired kids games. He liked to teach baseball.24

Buck O’Neil remembers Wells as “having one of the best minds I ever knew. Like Buck Leonard, he was very, very intelligent. Even off the field, it just seems he was lost in thought.” O’Neil remembers Wells as keeping to himself: “He was kind of a loner, not the type of guy who would be with the gang all the time.”25 Those who knew him well in his later years were impressed by his dignity. Sarah Ruiz, an employee of Services for the Elderly, helped Wells with his housework, shopping, and medical care during his last five years. She remembered him as “being tall, about five feet eight inches, and very nice and respectful. He liked to talk about the good times he had, especially in Cleveland. He talked a lot about the clubs he went to. He lived by himself and suffered from glaucoma, diabetes, and heart problems. He’d have to sit about six inches away from the TV to watch his baseball games.”26 Jane Langford and her husband also cared for Wells in his later years. “My husband and I,” she said, took Meals on Wheels in the early eighties to him and took him under our wing. He was all by himself. The bedroom roof that a church group had fixed for him was caving in, but he didn’t seem to take much notice. We took him to the grocery store, to the clinic to get shots, and treatment for a cold. After my husband died, I went over about twice a week. He was pretty much homebound. A few men friends came by. Sarah Ruiz, who cleaned his house, was good to him. I do remember him saying more than once, ‘I’m just glad God gave me the talent to play baseball. Some things didn’t work out.’ By that I think he meant not getting into the major leagues.27

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Bill Veeck and the Majors By one account, Wells almost had a shot at playing in the majors. Bill Veeck reportedly intended to buy the sagging Philadelphia Phillies in 1943 from owner Jerry Nugent and reinvigorate the team by signing a number of Negro-league stars. He had his eye on Wells, Satchel Paige, Josh Gibson, Buck Leonard, and Ray Dandridge. On his way home from the meeting with Nugent, Veeck, according to Donn Rogosin, decided he had better inform the commissioner, Kenesaw Mountain Landis, of his plan. He feared an intemperate outburst from Landis if he did not. History may have been different if Veeck had risked Landis’s wrath. Veeck said he stopped at the commissioner’s office in New York on the way back to Chicago, had a seemingly cordial meeting with Landis, and then headed straight for Grand Central Station and the Broadway Limited. When he arrived home the next morning, he discovered that the Phillies had been sold to the National League overnight. Veeck immediately called Nugent, who responded, “What are you going to do, sue me?”28 There is some debate whether this is a true story. Baseball historians Larry Gerlach, David Jordan, and John Rossi have made a case that this story is more myth than reality.29 On the other hand, sportswriter Bill Gilbert reports that he was told essentially the same story by Hall of Fame sportswriter Shirley Povich, who said he got it in person from Veeck.30 Whether or not Veeck intended to integrate the majors in 1943, Wells was involved in a later effort by Veeck to recruit black players, this time from the ManDak League, where Wells was player-manager for the Winnipeg Buffaloes in 1951. Veeck sent minor-league contracts to seven players, including blacks Leon Day, Butch Davis, Charlie White, Johnny Kennedy, and Pee Wee Butts. Cash came with the contracts—$1,000 for Davis and $800 for Day. Wells was not pleased. He feared the demise of the Buffaloes if all the players accepted the offers. Veeck, unaware that four of the players were from the same team, agreed to meet with the Buffaloes’ business manager, Jack Hector, in St. Louis to see what could be worked out.31 The meeting did not go well for the Buffaloes. Day, Davis, and White left the team for the minor leagues shortly thereafter; Butts followed the next year. Wells’s fears were well founded: the Buffaloes folded in 1951.

Staying Close to the Game Sportswriter Donn Rogosin recalled that Wells stayed connected with the game during his later years and was a fan of the Texas Rangers. Rogosin, while

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a doctoral candidate in American civilization at the University of Texas at Austin, read about Wells in Robert Peterson’s classic book on the Negro leagues, Only the Ball Was White. He called Wells, and went to see him at his home, where he, “opened the door cautiously and asked me to come in.”32 Rogosin spoke with Wells often and at length—frequently with a baseball game on the radio as the two of them sat on Wells’s porch. During one such conversation, Wells, after hearing the announcer say that Willie Randolph of the Yankees had just hit the first pitch thrown him by the Texas Rangers’ pitcher, went silent and then said, “Damn, everybody knows Randolph is a first-ball hitter.”33 Even when retired, Wells could anticipate what would happen in a game as well as he did during his playing days. Sitting next to Rogosin in Chicago’s Comiskey Park on July 6, 1983, for the fiftieth major-league all-star game, to which all living Hall of Famers had been invited, Wells tapped Rogosin on the knee in the third inning as George Brett of the Kansas City Athletics stepped in to the batter’s box. Nobody had been on base during Brett’s previous at bat, and he had made an out. This time there was a runner on first, and Brett was known as a clutch hitter. “Now you watch this,” Wells said. Brett tripled—driving in a run and helping the American League to a seven-run inning.34

Left to right: Buck Leonard, Judy Johnson, Willie Wells, and Cool Papa Bell at Comiskey Park for the fiftieth Major League Baseball All-Star Game, July 6, 1983. Courtesy of the Texas State Cemetery.

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A celebration at the Chicago Hyatt Hotel after the 1983 all-star game. Standing, left to right: Buck Leonard, Larry Doby, Willie Wells, and Monte Irvin. Seated, left to right: Helyn Doby, Dee Irvin, and Cool Papa Bell. Courtesy of Monte Irvin.

When he didn’t have company on his porch, he would talk baseball on the phone. James Riley was watching a 1988 World Series game on television at his home in Georgia when his phone rang just as a commercial was starting. There was no hello, no introduction, just intense talk about the game, dissecting the players and the strategy. When the commercial was over, the line went dead. Wells, now legally blind, had only a few months to live. If he turned sideways to the television, his peripheral vision, which had once told him where the second baseman was, allowed him to catch a glimpse of the game he loved.35

Not Liked by All As well liked and respected as he was by people in and out of baseball, there were at least two players who didn’t like him. One was Fred “Sardo” Wilson, whom Monte Irvin has called “the meanest man I have ever known.” Wilson argued with almost everyone, and would often threaten to “stick” somebody. Irvin recalled Wilson saying to him about Wells in 1939 when they were all with

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the Newark Eagles, “Every time something comes up that sonofabitch knows more than anybody else. I just want to stick him. I just want to see what color his blood is.”36 Wilson did not stick Wells or anyone else on the team, but got stuck himself during a barroom brawl in Miami and was stabbed to death.37 Frazier Robinson, a catcher in the Negro leagues from 1939 to 1950, also disliked Wells. Robinson, in his autobiography, equated Wells with Double Duty Radcliffe, of whom Robinson said, “He carried on in public, talked bad about women and didn’t act like a gentleman.” “Wells,” Robinson said, “was just like Double Duty. I’d see him and I didn’t see him. What that means is I’d see him setting up in the locker room, I’d go someplace else and sit.”38 Robinson, who died in 1997, didn’t elaborate. Paul Bauer, who helped Robinson write his autobiography, added, “Frazier Robinson had a visceral dislike of locker room talk and ‘carryin’ on’ of that sort. He was a gentle soul and took people as they came but if someone rubbed him the wrong way, he voted with his feet.”39 The Baltimore Elite Giants released Robinson in June 1946 to make way for Wells, whom the Elites had acquired from the New York Black Yankees.40 Robinson had just returned from the war, and reported to the Elites’ training camp in top condition.41 His release for Wells may have heightened his dislike for the shortstop.

At the Podium While not one who sought the spotlight, Wells gave an occasional speech. Along with Olympic track star Jesse Owens, Wells was a featured speaker at a 1942 banquet and smoker hosted by the Court Street YMCA of Newark to honor New Jersey’s top twenty-five athletes. The evening’s theme was the importance of going to college. A number of full and partial athletic scholarships to Negro colleges were awarded.42 In the early 1980s he was invited to talk about the Negro leagues to Donn Rogosin’s class on sports history at the University of Texas at Austin.43

Loved Those Buicks Besides Baseball, he had a passion for Buick automobiles. Monte Irvin remembers riding with Wells from training camp in Richmond, Virginia, to Washington, D.C., for an Easter Sunday doubleheader with the Homestead Grays “in his brand new 1941 Buick.”44 Buck Leonard concurred: “He used to like big Buick automobiles.”45

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A game of dominoes at Marshall’s Barber Shop in East Austin, October 8, 1979. Clockwise from right: Austin mayor Carole McClellan, Willie Wells (back to the camera), an unidentified man, and Congressman J. J. Pickle. Courtesy of the Texas State Cemetery.

Making the Real Hall of Fame Wells was born into poverty and he died poor. By 1977, Wells was living in obscurity in Austin. He told a reporter, “The fellows about 45, 50 years old, they know me. The other fellows, the young fellows, they don’t know me. You wouldn’t know me if you weren’t a newspaper man.”46 In the last years of his life, he was reported to be separated from his wife and getting by on $300 a month in Social Security payments. “It’s enough for me,” he told a reporter. “I don’t pay any rent. I don’t eat that much. I eat a lot of sandwiches. I don’t pay much besides gas and electric bills.” Two or three times a week he would play dominoes at a table in the back of Marshall’s Barber Shop on East 12th Street.47

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Marshall’s Barber Shop, 2004. Courtesy of the author.

At the time of his death he had an estate valued at $6,500, consisting of a onethird interest in his house, $2,000 in cash, and personal effects worth $500.48 He collapsed on the floor of his home on January 19, 1989, and died of congestive heart failure at the South Austin Community Hospital three days later. The funeral was held at 2 p.m. on January 26 at the First Baptist Church, 4805 Heflin Lane. One who attended the funeral remembered the organist breaking into a rendition of “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” in the middle of a hymn, and the minister glancing upward and saying, “Willie, you may not be in Cooperstown, but you are in the real Hall of Fame now.”49 Besides his two children, a son, Willie Jr., and a daughter, Stella, he was survived by a brother, Nathaniel Wells of San Mateo, California.50

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ells died in the same house he grew up in, at 1705 Newton Street in South Austin. The house sits in the Bouldin area of Austin, in the Swisher Addition, one of the first subdivisions platted after the city of Austin was laid out. According to Danny Bingham, the owner of the house as of this writing, “It was built in 1910, much like a chicken house. The walls were 7/8 of an inch thick, with no insulation.”1 Wells’s mother, Cisco Wells, “out of her own separate estate,” bought the house in 1912 for $600 from developer W. B. Loveless. She made a $100 down payment and five annual payments at 8 percent interest.2 She and her second husband, Robert Crisp, added two rooms to the house in 1929 at a cost of $405, payable in annual installments at 8 percent interest.3 The addition brought the size of the house to 832 square feet.4

Date of Birth Wells’s date and place of birth are hard to pin down. The earliest date I found was October 10, 1904.5 On a 1941 player biography sheet from the Newark Eagles, he gives his age as thirty-six (which would make his year of birth 1905 or 1906) and his birthplace as Shawnee, Oklahoma. His Social Security application form, filled out on May 17, 1937, reports his birth date as August 10, 1905, in Shawnee, Oklahoma. The program for his funeral reports October 10, 1905, in Austin, and the Texas Department of Health records a birth date of August 10, 1906 in Austin. This report was filed September 3,

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Willie Wells’s home at 1705 Newton Street, 2004. Courtesy of the author.

1985, and is based on records from L. C. Anderson High School, from which he graduated.6 In The Willie Wells Story, a play produced at the Bob Bullock Texas State History Museum in 2003, Carsey Walker, Jr., the actor playing Wells, stated, “I was born right here in Austin, October 10, 1905.”7 The Hall of Fame induction booklet for 1997, the year he was inducted, says he was born August 10, 1908, but the date is listed as August 10, 1906, on the Hall of Fame Web site. In a questionnaire he filled out in 1943, he gave August 10, 1906, as his date of birth.8 He gives the same date of birth on a questionnaire sent to him by a collector in December 1975. On that questionnaire he gives Austin as his place of birth. I will assume that he was born in Austin in 1906. That is the year Wells implied he was born in an interview with baseball historian John Holway. In the interview, Wells said he “was coming in to 18” when he received an offer in the fall of 1924 to play ball in the California Winter League.9 He had two children—a son, Willie Jr., and a daughter, Stella Mae. Information about them is also hard to pin down, but both apparently were born in 1922: Stella on May 11 and Wells Jr. on October 23.10 His son is referred to as Junior, but he and his father had different middle names, Brooks and James, respectively.11 Following in his father’s footsteps, Wells Jr. played shortstop in the Negro leagues for several years. He stood five feet four and a half, weighed 158

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pounds, and swung from the right side of the plate, as did his father. Wells Jr. played for the San Antonio Blackjacks for the 1941–1943 seasons before joining the Memphis Red Sox in 1944.12 He hit .120 and .196 during his first two years (1944–1945) with the Red Sox.13 Father and son first played on the same field professionally in 1946 during a game between the Baltimore Elite Giants, where Wells Sr. was holding down third base, and the Memphis Red Sox, for whom Wells Jr. was playing shortstop. The papers featured the father-son angle the day before the game: “Papa Willie meets his ambitious offspring at Bugle Field to answer the moot question of whether or not a rising young athlete [Wells Jr. was twenty-four] is better than his ‘ole man’ [who was forty].” The article went on to say that “despite his ample years, he [Wells Sr.] is still unwilling to concede that age must give way to youth.”14 By 1948, when his father was his coach at Memphis, Wells Jr., had raised his average to .251.15 Then he was known as “Little Chico,” and his father as “Big Chico.”16 Wells Jr. left the Negro leagues in early 1950 and played with his father in Winnipeg in the ManDak League, batting .212. He also played for a black semipro team, the New Orleans Eagles, in 1951.17 He then retired from baseball and returned home to Austin. He operated an elevator at the now defunct Alamo Hotel, which stood at the corner of Sixth and Guadalupe Streets.18 Little else is known about him except that “Little Chico” enjoyed a round of golf whenever possible. His golfing partners tagged him with another nickname, “Big Head Wells.”19 Stella Mae Wells worked as a registered nurse, and as of this writing was residing in Austin. An Ira Wells, who was a pitcher, also played for the Memphis Red Sox and for several teams in Canada during the late ’40s and early ’50s. Ira Wells, Willie Wells, Sr., and Willie Wells, Jr., appear together in Memphis Red Sox uniforms in a 1948 Associated Press photograph.20 Wells Sr. did have a brother named Ira, and the Ira Wells who played in Canada was said to have called Austin home, raising the possibility that the three were related.21 Ray Day Galloway, who operates a barbershop on East 12th Street, across from Marshall’s Barber Shop, where Wells played dominoes, thought Ira might be Wells’s nephew. Galloway remembered that Ira’s nickname was “Zipper.”22 Ira played for the Regina Caps while Wells Sr. was the player-manager for the Winnipeg Buffaloes, in 1950 and 1951.23 Whether or not he was related to Wells Sr., Ira showed flashes of the Wells talent. In a game in which Winnipeg beat Regina 6–2, Wells Sr. and Jr. played against Ira. Ira was “a one-man show,

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tossing a five-hitter, fielding brilliantly, and collecting two hits.” Unfortunately for Ira, his teammates committed three errors.24

Parents Wells’s father, Lonnie Wells, was a Pullman porter on trains, and as a result was away from home much of the time. Wells’s mother, Cisco White Wells, was born in Mississippi in the late 1800s and married Lonnie in the early 1900s.25 Wells was the youngest of five boys. His brothers were James, Nathaniel, Ira, and Joe.26 His mother took in laundry to earn extra money, working hard to keep five children fed, clothed, and brought up right. To her, raising Willie right meant seeing to it that he got an education and became a great pianist.27 He wanted to play ball. He was able to pursue his education and play ball while enrolled as a student at Anderson High School, the only high school for blacks in Austin. It was located on Pennsylvania Avenue when Wells attended, but moved to 901 Thompson Street in 1954. To reach the school, Wells walked or caught the South Congress streetcar to cross the river, and walked or rode another mile or two east of downtown.28

Staying in Touch Throughout his career, Wells sent money home to his family, most of whom never saw him play, since, as his daughter, Stella, put it, “Every game was a road game. Daddy always sent money home, but he was gone all the time. I know Daddy loved playing in Mexico, but he’d come home with a trunk full of those Mexican pesos, and they weren’t worth anything here in the U.S.”29 Wells’s mother was a central figure in his life. He disobeyed her wishes by choosing baseball over college, and was away from home a great deal after that, but he always stayed in touch with her. He sent money to her regularly and gave up his job in New York to care for her in Austin during her final years. His mother died on June 24, 1974, having outlived both of her husbands as well as her sons James and Ira.30 While it is certain that Wells returned to Austin, there are two accounts of how he left New York. In a interview with James Riley, Wells said he left New York in 1973 to help out his ailing mother, and that he lived in the Newton Street house from the time he returned to Austin to the time of the interview, in the mid-1980s. Wells thought the return to Austin was a good move for him

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as well as his mother. Even though the deli owner, a Mr. King, wanted him to stay, the crime and drugs in the area were too much for him. The final straw was a confrontation with a “junkie who looked like he would have killed his own mother for the next fix.”31 In an interview with Austin American-Statesman reporter Pamela Ward in 1992, Wells’s daughter, Stella, was quoted as saying she went to New York in 1970 to bring her father back to Austin because of his bad health. For a while, she said, Wells stayed with her, but soon demanded to return to the house on Newton Street: “He said, ‘There’s no place like home, and that’s where I want to live.’”32 Wells left no other explanation of his move to Austin, and Stella declined to be interviewed for this book. We do know that there was some distance between Wells and his daughter—he did not include her in his will—and the two women who helped him in his later years were unaware that he had a daughter. It is clear from his letters to his mother that no matter how far and wide he traveled, thoughts of her were always with him. Wells writes of his affection for his mother, asks about her well-being and that of other family members, and assures her that he is going to church and “living as clean as I can,” as he put it in a 1937 letter from High Point, North Carolina, where the Newark Eagles were in spring training. In the letter he says he will be sending money to her, and that he still has his car, “and will send you a picture of it real soon. I drove it from Chicago down here. Just as soon as I get straight, I am going to give you a trip.” In the same letter, Wells wrote, “I go to church on Sunday morning and I think about you so much. They sang your song in church and I could not help but cry.” He frequently started his letters with “My darling mother” and told her how much he loved her. In a 1968 letter from New York, he writes, “I do hope this will find you and all well. It was so nice to hear your voice. It made me feel so good because I love you very much.” In a 1962 letter from New York, he writes “I can help you again and will try and send the money this week but I am sure you will get it by the 15th of this month so don’t worry honey I’ll never let you down because I love you very much. You are the only one I hear from.” In each letter he asks his mother to pass on his greetings to others in the family, as he did in an October 30, 1941, letter from Puerto Rico: “When you write, tell me how everybody is and all the news. Tell Sam I said hello and if he is still short I’ll drop him some change also. Tell all my Aunts I said hello and I think of them all the time. Tell Mr. Robert [perhaps his stepfather, Robert Crisp] and Uncle Johnnie I said hello.” Twenty-one years later, in a 1962 letter from New

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“My Darling Mother” letter, 1968. Courtesy of Bill Cochran.

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York, he writes his mother, “Tell all the family I’m fine and love all of them and think of them and I pray and thank God for being so good to us.” In a letter written in 1969, three days after he returned from a visit to Austin, he wrote, “I sure did enjoy seeing all the family. Just been away three days and miss you. Brother Joe was at the station. Everyone was so nice. The old saying is ‘there is no place like home.’ ” Wells credited his mother with instilling in him many of the values that made him a success. Donn Rogosin recalls being asked by Wells, “Have you been good to your mother?” and then going on to tell Rogosin that his mother taught him the value of hard work and doing the best you can at everything you do.33 Close though he was to his mother and other family members, he didn’t talk a lot about his family to others. Al Burrows said, “He didn’t talk about his family too much. You didn’t talk about family too much. No one would ask. You might volunteer, but no one would ask.”34

Significant Relationships At one time Wells and his best friend and roommate, James “Cool Papa” Bell, were in love with the same woman, named Clara Belle Thompson. Wells first had his eye on her in St. Louis in the late ’20s. Since Clara Belle was then too young for courting, Wells asked her to wait for him. As soon as she came of age, Cool Papa Bell showed he had speed in places other than the base paths and swept her off her feet. Clara Belle and Cool Papa’s marriage had no effect on Wells and Bell’s friendship. They remained strong friends.35 Two women have been listed as his wife. One reference to Lorene Sampson as his wife appeared in 2002. We do know that she was his son’s mother, because she is named as such on a questionnaire that Wells Jr. completed in January 1972 for the Baseball Hall of Fame.36 Clara Miller Wells is listed as his spouse on his internment certificate for the Texas State Cemetery. His marital status is given as “divorced” on his death certificate. Several photographs of Wells that appeared in the Austin American-Statesman in the late 1970s show Wells wearing a single band ring on the ring finger of his left hand. Wells had close relationships with two other women. In a 1944 letter to Wells inquiring about his plans for the upcoming season, Effa Manley, business manager for the Newark Eagles, ends her letter with “Let me hear from you and how everything is. Give my love to Thelma.” Monte Irvin remembers Thelma. She would come to the games in Newark, and Wells would see her in New York on his off days.37

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Buck Leonard tells of the time in 1938 when the Homestead Grays, after the Negro-league season had ended, invited Wells, who was with the Newark Eagles, to barnstorm with the Grays in Cuba against an all-star Cuban team. Leonard said Wells took a hairdresser with him. Leonard doesn’t mention her name, but does say she was from Jacksonville, Florida, where, “Wells liked to go in the winter and where she would take care of him.” “We knew,” Leonard said, “she wasn’t his wife and we kicked on that.”38 It is likely that the woman in question was Thelma, since Manley’s letter to Wells mentioning Thelma was addressed to Wells in Jacksonville. Wells mentions a woman named Ida in letters he wrote to his mother from New York on August 6, 1962, and March 11, 1968. In the August 6 letter, Wells mentions, “Yes, Ida went back to work and I can help you again. . . . Ida told me to tell you she loves you very much.” He continues, “She is good but nags so much. Both of us are getting ready to go to work and she is talking so much, I can hardly think what I’m doing.” The relationship had turned contentious by the time of the March 11 letter. Wells writes that Ida tried to have him put in jail for taking money from her, and later accused him of trying to have her put out of their apartment. Wells says, “She is nuts so don’t worry.” In an undated letter to his mother, the relationship seems to have improved, but Ida is in the hospital. Wells wrote, “I took Ida some flowers and they cost me $3.00. She liked them and said they were so pretty. I went to visit her today and she says she feels much better. She could not eat but they fed her by putting it in her vein.”

Four Leaving Home to Play Ball

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aseball had its grip on Wells early, as it did on many black men and boys in Austin. Ray Day Galloway, who himself played “pick-up” ball while barbering, said, “Every community of forty to fifty blacks would form a ball team for entertainment. Blacks only had ball, church, and work, and we’d play ball on weekends and in the evening.”1 As youngsters, Wells and his friends played ball in the afternoons. He would rush home after classes at Brackenridge Elementary School, do his chores, and play baseball until dark. He decided to be a shortstop at the age of ten because he “just liked the position.”2 Several years later, when the Austin Black Senators were playing at their home field, Dobbs Field, at Lake Austin Dam (the current Tom Miller Dam), he would get to the games by catching the trolley out to Lake Austin Boulevard. For trolley fare, it was said that he would often use the nickel his mother asked him to put in the collection plate at the church across the street from their home.3 At Dobbs Field he would see black teams from Dallas, San Antonio, Galveston, and Houston.4 To get in free, he would carry some of the ballplayers’ equipment. “Let me carry your bat. Let me carry your glove. Anything,” he remembered telling the players. “ You couldn’t get in the trees to watch the game. All the limbs would be full by the time I got there.”5 Raleigh “Biz” Mackey, the San Antonio Black Aces’ star catcher, who would later be Wells’s teammate on the Newark Eagles, heard Wells’s plea and often let him carry his glove and sit on the bench with the other players.6 Years later,

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aseball played an important role in the social life of many black communities. In a 2006 interview with me, Stanley “Doc” Glenn, catcher for the Philadelphia Stars

from 1944 to 1950, recalled, “Everybody played baseball where I grew up [Wachapreague, Virginia, on Virginia’s eastern shore]—the girls, the boys. It was a great happening. You could go in and take the whole town because there was nobody there on Saturday and Sunday. Everybody was at the ballpark.” “Baseball wasn’t just for kids,” Glenn added. “Black folk had so little to do that they went to the ball park. It was a place to meet, a place to socialize. Ladies came dressed in their Sunday best—high-heel shoes, silk stockings, long-sleeve gloves, hats on their head. They sat there in the 90 degrees—men the same way, dressed in suits, shirts, and ties and wore hats. “Negro-league baseball was a great happening. The ballpark was the one place you could go to and vent. “After games, if you were a decent kind of guy, they wanted you to meet their family and would invite you over for dinner. You got to meet the families and a bunch of fine girls. Some of us married those girls.”

as a veteran player himself, Wells returned the favor many times. He once allowed a youngster named Othello “Chico” Renfroe, who later played with the Kansas City Monarchs and became the longtime sports editor of the Atlanta Daily World, free access to the park.7 Wells also befriended many young Newark Eagles fans, “who ran errands and shagged balls as Wells had done for Mackey.”8

First Contract While Wells was in high school, he played sandlot and semipro ball in the Austin area and in Galveston, including a stint with the Austin Black Senators.9 At seventeen he joined the San Antonio Black Aces for their 1923 season, and played for a while with the Houston Buffaloes.10 In an interview with James Riley, Wells said that in 1925 the Chicago American Giants and the St. Louis Giants were playing in Austin. Impressed with his play as a member of a local all-star team, each team offered him a contract for what seemed to him the princely sum of $400 a month for the four or five months the season would run. This was also Wells’s first meeting with Rube Foster, owner of the Chicago American Giants and generally regarded as the father of Negro-league baseball. Wells was later to learn a lot about managing from Foster.

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To the eighteen-year-old who had been earning only pennies shucking corn and delivering newspapers, it was a great offer. Wells said he told the managers of both teams that it sounded pretty good, but that they would have to talk to his mother. They did. They promised to take care of Wells, saying he would live with them and that they would send most of his salary home. They also promised her that Willie would attend college in the off-season. His mother let him play for the summer. Wells chose the St. Louis Stars (the team was actually the St. Louis Giants), he told Riley, because St. Louis was closer than Chicago—only an overnight train ride away from Austin. Wells played all summer. He had to overcome the hazing inflicted on all rookies by bigger, more experienced players. “They’d throw at you,” he said, “and they’d sit on their bench and file their spikes and say, ‘This is for you, you son of a bitch.’” At five feet nine, 166 pounds, Wells was small compared to the many six-foot-plus players who tipped the scales at 200 pounds and more.11 A teenager away from home for the first time might understandably be intimidated, which perhaps he was as he boarded the train. He recalled, “Well, when I left Texas to go up to St. Louis, my first trip, oh I cried.”12 If he was intimidated, no one knew it. It was in St. Louis where he first developed the intense, aggressive style of play that was to quickly earn him the nickname “The Devil.”13 As early as 1925, Negro-league umpire Billy Donaldson referred to Wells as “‘Devil’ Wells, the sensational boy wonder at short.”14 Wells, who was in his late seventies when he spoke with Riley, recalled the major points of his first contract well, but was hazy on some of the details. The year was 1924, which would have made him eighteen. And while he first played professional ball for a St. Louis team, it was, according to a 1933 article in the

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hile $400 a month for five or six months work seemed like a lot of money to Wells, it paled in comparison to the money offered to white players who, though capa-

ble, did not have Wells’s skills. The Web site for the Texas Sports Hall of Fame reports that twenty-one-year-old Eddie Dyer received a $5,000 bonus to sign with the St. Louis Cardinals as a pitcher after graduating from Rice University in 1922. Dyer played in only 129 games over six years, compiling a 15 –15 won-lost record and an ERA of 4.75. The same Web site shows that Arthur “Pinkey” Whitney, a San Antonio native, signed a oneseason contract in 1924 with the Cleveland Indians for $2,500. Whitney was a third baseman in the major leagues from 1928 to 1939 with the Philadelphia Phillies and the Boston Braves. He had a lifetime .295 batting average and a .964 career fielding percentage.

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St. Louis Argus, for a team that called itself the St. Louis Giants—a group of players who had joined together several years earlier when the original St. Louis Giants had disbanded. Several years later, another St. Louis Negro-league team was organized as the St. Louis Stars. After one game in Texas, three of the Giants’ players—Dick Wallace, Dan Kennard, and Sam Bennett—called the future Hall of Famer aside and offered him a chance to play with them. The rookie shortstop accepted. Wallace, a shortstop of notable skill and one of the best at following the exact course of a ground ball, took the youngster under his wing. Wells, a willing student, “added the teachings of the old master to his own skill and ability and became an efficient protégé of the veteran Wallace.”15 After the Giants’ southern tour ended, they returned to St. Louis, where Jim “Candy” Taylor, manager of the St. Louis Stars, was sufficiently impressed with Wells’s play that he offered Wells a contract to play with the Stars. Being loyal to Wallace, Bennett, and Kennard, Wells asked them what he should do. In no uncertain terms they replied, “Go to it kid and good luck. We are past our prime and may break up any time. Your future is before you. Accept that offer.”16 And so he did, joining the Stars in July 1924. He was a welcome addition, since Eddie Holtz, a stellar infielder for the Stars, had tragically passed away from pneumonia at the age of twenty-four.17 Wells’s name first appeared in the St. Louis Argus on June 27, 1924, which listed him as a starter for the Stars’ upcoming Fourth of July game against the Memphis Red Sox. Wells immediately impressed fans and players alike with his play at short. A photograph of Wells in the Argus of July 18, 1924, is captioned “A Stone Wall at Short.” At the plate, Wells batted sixth in the order and banged out several hits during his first two weeks. During one of those games, Wells made a rare misstep, failing to touch first on what would have been a double against the champion Kansas City Monarchs.18 At the end of the 1924 season, Wells came back to Austin and enrolled in Samuel Huston College (now Huston-Tillotson University),19 but the lure of the diamond proved stronger than his mother’s collegiate aspirations for him. In the fall of 1924 he received an offer to play winter ball in California with his old team, the St. Louis Giants, to replace shortstop Bill “Bo” Riggins, who had broken his leg. Wells’s love of the game and his desire to help his mother financially led him to sneak off to the Austin train depot for the trip to California. He was offered $400 a month. “That was like $4,000.00 today,” he was quoted as saying later. “My mother wanted me to finish college, but I looked at her taking in wash and working so hard, and saw that I had a chance to help her.”20

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St. Louis Stars, circa 1926. Wells is standing, second from left. Courtesy of Transcendental Graphics/ruckerarchive.com.

Though he didn’t complete college, his mother was no doubt proud of the fact that his baseball travels enabled him to converse in both Spanish and Italian, which, he said, he used to his advantage with umpires.21

Winter Ball in California Wells arrived in California in time to play in nine games for the St. Louis Giants during the winter of 1924–1925. Invited back the following winter, he joined Lonnie Goodwin’s Philadelphia Royal Giants.22 Goodwin took Wells in, arranging for the boy to live with him at the Dunbar Hotel in Los Angeles, and sent most of his paycheck home to his mother.23 The teenager found himself in elite company. His teammates included future Hall of Famers outfielder Norman Thomas “Turkey” Stearnes; pitchers “Bullet” Joe Rogan and Willie Foster; his hero from the San Antonio Black Aces, Biz Mackey; as well as Newt Allen, who freed up the shortstop position for Wells by moving to second. Though always slick with the glove, Wells mustered only a paltry .181 batting average (in thirty-three at bats) for the Giants that 1924–1925 season; this was sixty-five percentage points lower than the team’s second-lowest average, which belonged to right fielder Christopher Columbus “Crush” Holloway.24 Wells couldn’t hit the curve ball. “I could field but I couldn’t hit,” he recalled. “That curve ball was disastrous to me, and every pitcher in the league knew it.

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When I’d come to bat, the guys in the other dugout would stand up and yell, ‘Hey Wells, here comes the curve ball!’ Why I’d just about run up into the stands to try to hit it.”25 Toward the end of the season he teamed up with Hurley “Bugger” McNair, an outfielder with the Kansas City Monarchs during the regular season. McNair taught Wells how to hit the curve ball by tying Wells’s ankle to a stake at home plate to keep him from running away, and serving up a steady diet of curve balls. When Wells returned to St. Louis in the spring, the word around the league was “Here comes Ringers,” and pitchers would throw him the curve.26 But now Wells was ready for them. “Every time they threw me a curve, I’d hit it on a line somewhere.” As a result, Wells was promoted from eighth place to third in the batting order, which pleased him greatly. “And,” he continued, “you know, nobody moved me from third until the day I retired. And I stayed for some twenty-odd years.”27 Not entirely true. It is fact that no one removed him from the lineup for some twenty-odd years, and he often did bat third, but not always. A perusal of the Pittsburgh Courier and the Chicago Defender in 1935 shows Wells batting second against Newark, leadoff against the Pittsburgh Crawfords, and sixth for several games as a member of the Chicago American Giants. A review of box scores in the St. Louis Argus shows Wells batted in the eighth position for most of 1926 and second, third, fourth, or sixth during 1927. Whatever his place in the batting order, he heard no more cries of “Ringers” during the 1925 season, when he hit .379 for the St. Louis Stars, finished with the second-best batting average in the league, and was well on his way to becoming one of the leading hitters in the history of the Negro leagues.28 Players in the winter league were impressed with his improvement at the plate the following season, 1925–1926, when he batted .313 for the Cleveland Stars.29 Toward the end of his career he still took pride in hitting curve balls. Joe Black, a right-handed pitcher and the first black pitcher to win a World Series game, was with the Baltimore Elite Giants during 1946, as was Wells. Black remembers Wells peering out from the bench at the pitcher during a game at the Polo Grounds, in New York. “He,” Wells said, “is gonna throw me a big curve ball and I’m gonna duck. Then he’s going to throw me another curve ball and I’m gonna hit it over the roof in left field.” “That,” said Black, “is exactly what he did.”30

Five The “Devil” He Would “Lob” You Out

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onventional wisdom says a shortstop needs a strong throwing arm. Wells reportedly injured his during a basketball game.1 His arm was a problem for him during his first two years with the St. Louis Stars. One account in 1925 noted, “Wells is throwing properly.”2 In another account a year later, his “bad throwing arm” was cited as the cause of the Stars losing two games.3 While his arm may have let him down in a game or two in his early years with the Stars, he was more frequently cited for outstanding performance, as he was in this 1925 photograph caption. “Wells is fast nailing down the title of the ‘Best Shortstop in the League.’ . . . His fielding of almost impossible chances and quick get away with the pill keeps the fans screaming.”4 Wells made up for what he lacked in arm strength by playing shallow. That put him closer to the batter and to first base. Based on his assessment of the talents of the batter and the pitcher, he positioned himself where he thought the ball would be hit. A typical Wells play can be seen in this 1929 account: “Willie Wells snuffed out a rally by Memphis in the 8th when he grabbed Kenyon’s treacherous shot, stepped on second to retire Poindexter, and shot the ball to Suttles to nip Kenyon at first.”5 “What most people don’t know,” Wells said, “is that baseball is such an intelligent game. You’ve got to be smarter than

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the other fellow. . . . If a guy couldn’t pull a fastball, I’d be in the hole behind second base on him. I’d watch everything a pitcher throws. You don’t play behind every pitcher the same. If you saw me dive for a ball you knew I’d misjudged my batter or pitcher. The weak arm don’t mean nothing. It’s here, in the head.”6 An example of misjudgment occurred in one game during his first season with the Stars. He was playing in closer to the hitter than he normally did, and a hot grounder shot past him into left field for a single. It was said at the time, “Had Wells been in his normal position, it would have been an easy out.”7 The misjudgments were the exceptions. His anticipation and mastery of baseball strategy as both a player and a manager led to Wells being known as the “Shakespeare of Baseball.”8 One of the ways you knew Wells was a smart player, according to Monte Irvin, was how he got into position. “Say he was not in the position he wanted to be when a particular pitch was to be thrown,” Irvin said. “He’d move around a bit and smooth the dirt out with his spikes and end up in the position he wanted to be in.”9 Even with a weak arm, he took the mound for a few games late in his career, when he was with the Memphis Red Sox. According to his catcher there, Larry “Iron Man” Brown, “He won two or three games. He was like a knuckleball pitcher, because he didn’t have an arm to breeze it by you. He was a small joker. But he was pretty smart. Studied the hitters.”10 Buck Leonard said Wells didn’t have a powerful arm, but that “he’d get the fellow at first base. We’d say, ‘I think I’ll tap this to Wells, he hadn’t got any arm,’ but he would ‘lob’ you out. He’d put a little loop on the throw and still just get you.” Another former player said, “You could walk alongside his ball but you couldn’t beat it to first.”11 Wells’s throws to first reminded Warren Peace, a pitcher for the Newark Eagles in the mid-1940s, of a rainbow: “He used to rainbow the ball over there. The ball had a big hump in it, you know, like a rainbow.”12 Whether his throws resembled rainbows, humps, or loops, Wells was confident about getting the ball to first base on time. Clifford “Quack” Brown was quoted as saying that Wells would holler, “Just in time,” at the runner after releasing the ball.13

The Pancake Glove Wells used a pancake-shaped glove that he modified to help him to get rid of the ball more quickly. “I mean a flat glove, that’s what Willie Wells used,” said Buck

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O’Neil. “He made his glove flat by taking out all the padding in the heel. And when he got done it didn’t even look like the glove would fit his hand.”14 Wells wasn’t the only player to remove padding from a glove. Catcher Lloyd “Pepper” Bassett, also known as the “rocking chair catcher” for his practice of sitting in a rocking chair behind home plate, used a similar tactic. Bassett found the pillow-like design of the catcher’s glove didn’t allow him to get rid of the ball as quickly as he wanted when throwing out base stealers, so he removed much of the glove’s padding.15 Wells further modified his glove by cutting a hole in its center to give him a better feel for the ball when he caught it. As a result, the palm of his hand looked like a “slab of worn leather.”16 Joe Scott, an outfielder and a teammate of Wells with the Memphis Red Sox in 1948, remembers seeing Wells use a razor to cut out the pocket of his glove so that “just the fingers were left.”17 His glove was flat enough that he could carry it in his back pocket when he was at bat or on base. John “Mule” Miles remembered asking Wells, “Willie, how can you put your glove in your pocket with the padding and all?” “Miles,” he said to me, “I take the padding out and catch the ball in the webbing so I can get the ball out quicker and make a double play faster.”18 Jim “Zipper” Zapp, a hard-hitting outfielder who started his Negro-league career in 1945 with the Baltimore Elite Giants, remembers first noticing Wells’s glove as a spectator. “The first time I saw him,” Zapp said, “was during a fourteam doubleheader in the Polo Grounds in 1945. The Nashville Black Vols faced the Asheville [North Carolina] Blues in the first game; the New York Black Yankees [for whom Wells was playing] and the Baltimore Elite Giants played the second. He put on the greatest fielding display by a shortstop I’d ever seen. His glove looked like a rag mop, just hanging on his hand.”19 Playing shallow and modifying his glove paid off. Many observers praised his fielding, such as the one who reported, “Willie Wells turned in the top-notch fielding performance of the day knocking down three certain hits in a losing cause against the Homestead Grays.”20 Another story of his fielding prowess may be a bit exaggerated. Hank Rigney, veteran press agent and promoter for the Negro leagues, was quoted as saying, “Willie could make any big league shortstop look bad today. When he played with the Chicago American Giants, the left fielder would get out of the way on a high fly ball and let Willie run out to the fence to catch it.”21 Depending on the distance to the fence and the height of the ball, it is conceivable that Wells made such plays. Some fourteen years later, at age forty-four, while

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player-manager for the Winnipeg Buffaloes in a game against the Minot Mallards, Wells caught a blooper in left field and “quite possibly saved the bacon for the Buffs. The aging competitor . . . raced on into short left field to rob Triplett of a base bingle [i.e., single], gathering in the ball at the last moment with that unmistakable hunk of leather that Willie calls a glove.”22

Six You Had to Do All Kinds of Things

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uring the heyday of the Negro leagues, 1920 to 1950, Wells and all black ballplayers were up against conditions more demanding than those encountered by white ballplayers. Black players had to keep their skills up while coping with segregation and discrimination. They played baseball in a country where the lynching of blacks by whites was commonplace and reports of the murders, along with the gruesome photographs, appeared regularly in the black press. Effa Manley, co-owner of the Newark Eagles, brought the visibility of baseball to bear on the issue by sponsoring an Anti-Lynching Day at Ruppert Stadium, the Eagles’ home field.1 The inconveniences were many. Major-league players traveled by train. Finding comfortable places to sleep and fine-eating establishments presented no problems. That was not always so in the Negro leagues. Traveling from town to town, black players were commonly refused lodging, meals, gasoline, and the use of restrooms. The exception was in cities with large black populations. Jack Marshall, an infielder for the Chicago American Giants in the ’20s, remembered driving between two large cities, St. Louis and Chicago (about three hundred miles), without a place to stay—”not unless we stopped in a place where they had a colored settlement.” Marshall said they would sometimes ride all night with nothing to eat except jars of beans and sardines and some crackers that they had gathered up ahead of time.2 In cities such as New York, Philadelphia, and St. Louis, black

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players could find suitable hotels, restaurants, and clubs in the black section of town. Meals were not always so meager. When Wells was with the Eagles between 1938 and 1942, he and the other players got a dollar a day for meals. “That dollar,” his teammate Monte Irvin said, “was important. You could get two good meals. You could get a steak, two vegetables, dessert, and iced tea for thirty cents. You tipped the waitress a nickel or a dime according to how good she looked. With two meals a day, you had 30 cents left over to buy cigarettes. If you didn’t have enough for a pack, you could buy them individually.”3 Regardless of how well players ate, hardships and insults were the order of the day. Bill “Ready” Cash, catcher for the Philadelphia Stars from 1943 to 1950, remembered when the Stars got only four hours’ sleep in a bed during one twenty-eight-day road trip in the late ’40s. The bed was in Houston, Texas, where they found a hotel run by a black man. The rest of the time they slept in the bus. This trip first took the team from Philadelphia to Jackson, Tennessee. The game in Jackson was postponed because the team was late; the engine in their Ford bus blew, and a mechanic put in two engines that didn’t work before finding one that did. Then it was on to Tyler, Texas, five hundred miles away on two-lane roads, where they arrived at six for a seven o’clock game. The Stars had to change into their uniforms under the stands because the white team they were playing wouldn’t let them change in the visitors’ dressing room. Then it was on to Houston, Dallas, Wichita Falls, Birmingham, and back to Philly. 4 Cash remembered that he had to “stay at the preacher’s house” during 1952, when he played for the Waterloo (Iowa) White Hawks of the 3-I (IllinoisIndiana-Iowa) League, a farm system for the Chicago White Sox.5 James “Red” Moore, a first baseman with the Newark Eagles and the Baltimore Elite Giants from 1935 to 1940, remembered changing into his uniform in the rooming house or hotel where he stayed, whether the game was in a minor-league park in Alabama or in Yankee Stadium. He also recalled that when the Eagles were in New York, all changed at the Woodside Hotel at 135th and 7th and came back to the hotel to shower after the game. He said, “We’d’ve changed there [Yankee Stadium] if we could, because we liked showers too.”6

Reactions to Discrimination Sometimes a shower anywhere was out of the question because the team had to leave the ballpark right after a game in order to get to the next game somewhere

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down the road. In that case, Moore said, “We’d often ride to the next city in our wet clothes.” Asked how felt about this kind of treatment, Moore said, “It didn’t offend me too much. I grew up in Atlanta, and that’s just how it was. Some of the fellas from the north could get a little hot-headed.”7 One such fella was Lennie “Hoss” Pearson, who was born in Akron, Ohio. He played and managed from 1937 to 1950, playing with the Newark Eagles from 1937 to 1948. In his autobiography, Monte Irvin tells of the time the Eagles were riding along a Mississippi highway in a new air-conditioned bus that Effa Manley, the Eagles’ business manager, had bought for the team after they had won the Negro League World Series in 1946. A truck with several farmers passed them. “Golly, look at the jigaboos,” said one farmer. “Your mother!” Pearson fired back. “We almost killed him,” said Irvin. [In a June 5, 2005, interview, Irvin expanded on Pearson’s retort, saying that Pearson had yelled, “Your mother didn’t think so last night.”] Biz Mackey got on Pearson for his remark, telling him to let the whites say anything they wanted. To make amends, Mackey shouted to the farmers as the bus passed their truck, “Okay, anything you say.” Mackey, Irvin, and others wanted to keep the farmers from calling ahead to alert the state troopers or the Klan to Pearson’s remark.8 Self-preservation was on the players’ minds. Monte Irvin explained that players couldn’t get too mad because they didn’t know what a clerk or gas jockey might tell the authorities: “We were completely at the mercy of the local people. If they wanted to do something to us, they could. We would make a joke out of it and humor them along until we could leave.”9 John “Mule” Miles tells of a time when he, as the only black player on a team in Laredo, Texas, was the target of a racial slur: “I was in the on-deck circle, which was just a few feet from the first row of box seats. Clear as day I heard this guy behind me using the N-word. I just looked straight ahead. Later, my manager, who’d heard him too, told me I’d done the right thing.”10 Al Burrows, first baseman for the Indianapolis Clowns, described his reactions to segregation this way: When you came up at that time, you expected it. It [segregation] was natural. I didn’t see too many players get upset about it ’less you come to a gas station and they wouldn’t let you use the restroom, and so we wouldn’t get gas. Sometimes we almost ran out of gas. In El Paso, Texas, I remember, we stopped at a big cafeteria. They roped it off. They put a rope right down the middle. Whites were on one side, and we sat on the other side. We just ate, got up and left, and went on to Mexico to play

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baseball. In ’62 we had the same problems in the South with water fountains, toilets, and the like. We’d make a joke of a lot of the stuff.11

John Miles, when asked if he ever felt angry about the discrimination he experienced, said, No, no, that’s just the way it was. Like I tell my kids and grandkids— they don’t understand this—that was a way of living. You went in the back door to get a sandwich. We knew how to conduct ourselves. We had no animosity about that. The last year I played [1961], it was with a team in Laredo [Texas]. I was the only black on the team. I couldn’t eat or sleep with my Laredo teammates. The manager gave me money to go to my part of town. Once, the owner of a restaurant came out to our bus and said, looking at me, ‘I can’t feed him.’ Our manager said, ‘If Miles can’t eat here, we can’t.’ Hearing that, the manager agreed to feed everyone, but I ate in the kitchen.12

Wells was of the same persuasion—that segregation and racism were facts of life off the diamond as well as on. During a discussion on Wells’s front porch, he told Donn Rogosin, author of The Invisible Men, that most people treated him well when he worked at a deli in New York City. But Wells also said he ran into some racists and told Rogosin that the world had those kinds of people in it as well as the good.13 Wells told a reporter about a time in the ’30s when he encountered “one of those kinds of people” as he pulled into a gas station in Jacksonville, Florida: “The guy says, ‘What do you niggers do having these kind of cars? Boy, what are you doing up there to have these kind of cars?’” Wells told the reporter, “I said to myself, ‘Now ain’t that something.’”14 Occasionally the players would meet a white person with good intentions but weak resolve. Irvin asked one such gas-station attendant if the players could use the white, instead of the colored, restroom because the one for whites was cleaner, closer, and well lit. “Yeah, go ahead,” the owner said. Then some whites pulled up in a truck to use the restroom. The attendant hollered, “Hey, what are you niggers doing? I told you, goddamn it, the colored restroom is in the back. Get your asses on back there.” The players did, and patted him on the back on their way back to the bus, saying, “It’s OK, fella. . . . You tried, and we appreciate it.”15 Economic pressure was an effective response to gas-station discrimination. Buck O’Neil tells of the time in 1945 when the Kansas City Monarchs’ bus, with

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its two fifty-gallon gas tanks, pulled into a service station in Muskogee, Oklahoma. The owner, who was pumping the gas, saw Jackie Robinson heading for the restroom and yelled after him, “Hey boy, you know you can’t go in there.” “Why not?” answered Robinson. “Because we don’t allow no colored people in that restroom.” To which Robinson, known for his hair-trigger temper, coolly replied, “OK, take the hose out of the tank.” Faced with losing the quick sale of 100 gallons of gasoline, the owner relented. From then on the Monarchs could use that restroom every time they came to Muskogee.16 The same tactic worked for Bill Cash, who usually took the 2:00–7:00 a.m. driving shift for the Philadelphia Stars’ bus (which had a fifty-gallon tank). “I’d pull into a gas station,” Cash said, “and if we were told we couldn’t use the bathroom, I’d climb back into the bus and start to leave. Most times the guy would say, ‘OK, but don’t let anybody see you.’”17 Sometimes being a black ballplayer meant receiving better treatment than a black who didn’t play ball. John Miles recalled such an incident. After winning a game with a home run for his Laredo team, he was rewarded with “a lot of money. I decided to drive the 150 miles back to San Antonio to bring the money to my wife, who wanted me to stop playing ball and get a job. Well, I went to sleep at the wheel, and my car went down into a ditch. I blacked out until I got to the hospital door. I heard somebody say, ‘He’s a ballplayer. Take him in.’ Otherwise, they wouldn’t have wanted to fool with me.” Looking back, Miles said, “It was hard, but I’m not complaining, just explaining.”18 Wells found himself confronting discrimination when his Newark Eagles were playing a white team—the East Orange (New Jersey) Base Ball Club, composed of major leaguers on their way up or down. The two teams would square off frequently, since they were so close to one another. The white umpires were known to call a pitch down the middle of the plate a ball for an East Orange batter when the game was on the line. Before one game, Wells, now the Eagles’ manager, went out to get the ground rules for the game and asked the two umpires, “Are you prejudiced?” Both agreed they were not. “I’m glad to hear that,” said Wells. “Don’t get us in a crack and squeeze us. Let’s have a good game. Just call it like it is, that’s all.” Late in the game, with a 3–2 count on an East Orange hitter and the score tied, Leon Day threw a perfect strike and got the right call. Had Wells not spoken to the umpires, the batter probably would have gotten a free pass to first.19 This wasn’t the only example of Wells confronting the East Orange nine to get a fair shake for the Eagles. The East Orange pitchers once pitched to the Eagles with baseballs that had been refrigerated overnight (cold baseballs don’t go very far when they are hit), but the Eagles were given regular baseballs to use

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against the East Orange batters. After learning about the chilled-baseballs incident, Wells would always ask the East Orange manager during the pregame home-plate meeting with the umpires, “What balls are you using today?” Irvin said of Wells’s tactics, “You had to do all kinds of things just to get by.”20 When asked why they didn’t protest by calling a strike or holding demonstrations, most players stated that they didn’t oppose such actions, but left them to other people so they could concentrate on playing ball. In one case, a reporter for the Daily Worker asked members of the Homestead Grays whether they would sign a petition or make a formal statement in favor integration, and whether they would demonstrate. The answer usually was, “We’re out here to play ball. We’re not out here to demonstrate or anything like that.”21 Cash said, “The way we were treated didn’t make any difference as long as we could get on the ball field.”22 Not everyone turned down the petitioners. Webster McDonald, star hurler for the Philadelphia Stars and other teams, was photographed in 1939 signing a Young Communist League petition demanding that the majors drop the color bar. The petition gathered 100,000 signatures, but the color bar didn’t budge.23 Though Miles and others were resigned to the fact of segregation, that is not to say that some didn’t have strong feelings about it. Buck O’Neil’s thoughts on the matter spoke for many of them: “Some people argued that the pace of integration was too fast. Let me tell you something: Integration would have been too damn slow in arriving even if it happened right after the Civil War. That’s how we all felt.”24 While Negro-league players encountered frequent hostility from whites, there were some exceptions. Occasionally, whites would show their appreciation for Negro-league teams and the contributions a team was making to a community. In one instance in July 1937, New Jersey governor Harold G. Hoffman and Newark city and county officials attended a dance held for the Newark Eagles. “A local sports scribe” suggested the idea for the dance, which was described as a “token of the esteem in which the Eagles are held by local citizens.” Chick Webb and his orchestra and a rising young singer named Ella Fitzgerald were hired to perform. Proceeds from ticket sales went to the Eagles. The dance was reported as “a step forward in race relations.”25 Similar festivities were held in the Eagles’ honor in 1944. At the suggestion of the team’s business manager, Reginald Simpson, the Third Ward Republican Club put on a dinner for the team with Oliver Brown, director of social recreation for Newark, as toastmaster and New York Yankee Hall of Fame pitcher Lefty Gomez as principal speaker.26

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New York City mayor Fiorello H. La Guardia often threw out the first ball on opening day, as he did at a game between the New York Black Yankees and the Homestead Grays at Yankee Stadium in 1945.27 Newark mayor Vincent J. Murphy performed the same honor for the Newark Eagles’ opening-day game with the Homestead Grays in 1942.28

Newspaper Coverage To paraphrase Rudyard Kipling, “Black is black, and white is white, and rarely the twain shall meet.” Limited coverage of the Negro leagues could be found in some white newspapers. It was not unusual for the Washington Post to devote a paragraph or two to the play of such Washington-based Negro-league teams as the Washington Elite Giants and later the Homestead-Washington Grays. The New York Times offered similar coverage for games in and around New York City. But all the in-depth coverage of Negro-league baseball was limited to black papers such as the Pittsburgh Courier, Chicago Defender, Detroit Defender, and Baltimore Afro-American. For instance, the first major-league all-star game was played on July 6, 1933, in Chicago’s Comiskey Park. The game was initiated at the insistence of Arch Ward, a sports editor for the Chicago Tribune, to coincide with Chicago’s Century of Progress Exposition.29 Extensive write-ups and pictures of the players appeared in white newspapers from coast to coast. The Tribune ran a block notice on page 1, headlined “49,000 to See Greatest Game in Baseball Today.” Its sports-page headline read “Stars Play Baseball’s Greatest Game Today.” The headline on the Washington Post’s sports page read “Baseball World’s Eyes on All-Star Game Today.” By contrast, the first Negro-league all-star game, initiated by, according to one account, the Pittsburgh Crawfords’ traveling secretary, Roy Sparrow, who had been inspired by Ward’s idea, was played in the same Comiskey Park two months later, on September 10, 1933 (Wells was at short for the West).30 Lucius Harper, writing in 1939, gave the credit for initiating the game to Crawfords’ owner Gus Greenlee, Nashville Elite Giants’ owner Tom Wilson, and Chicago Giants’ owner R. A. Cole, saying, “These men deserve full credit for its organization.”31 In any event, the game received scant coverage from the white press. The sports-page headline the day after the game in the Chicago Tribune read “Cubs Whip Phils Twice: Camilli Hits Homer.” A nonbylined two-paragraph article on page 3 of the Tribune’s sports section was headlined “West Victor 11–7 in Negro All Star Game.” The Washington Post and the New York Times made no

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mention of the game. The sports-page headline for the Washington Post the day after the Negro-league all-star game read “Nats Crunch Tribe 7–3.” Similarly, the black press gave little coverage to the major leagues. The Chicago Defender, the city’s leading black paper, limited its coverage of the first major-league all-star game to a photograph of Babe Ruth hitting the first homer in major-league all-star competition. The caption read in part “Wouldn’t you rather see Rube Foster [Hall of Fame Negro-league pitcher who had died three years earlier] face the Babe than Lon Warneke or [Bill] Hallahan [the National League pitchers who did face the Babe]? Doesn’t Charleston [Hall of Fame Negro-league outfielder Oscar Charleston] look about as powerful as Ruth?” Another indicator of the Negro leagues’ and Wells’s invisibility in the white press: Wells’s name was not mentioned in the Sporting News until 1943, when it was noted in passing in an article about the ballpark in Asbury Park, New Jersey, where “all the crack Negro teams of the country” had played. Wells’s name is cited along with eleven others.32 Wells was nineteen years into his career by then. The black press printed many articles urging major-league baseball to integrate. In 1926, sportswriter William E. Clark noted that whites made up almost 60 percent of the crowds at Negro-league games in New York. He went on to predict that since whites liked seeing “two good colored” teams play, “in 10–15 years a player from a Negro team will become such an idol that John J. McGraw [longtime Hall of Fame manager of the New York Giants] or Wilbert Robinson [Hall of Fame manager of the Brooklyn Robins, soon to become the Dodgers] will be glad to get him for the Giants or Robins.”33 That day did come, but not for another twenty-one years. The black press in the ’30s also speculated about which Negro leaguers were Hall of Fame material. An article in the Chicago Defender on September 24, 1938, cited Wells along with Buck Leonard, Josh Gibson, Ray Dandridge, Vic Harris, Satchel Paige, Hilton Smith, Barney Brown, and Mule Suttles as potential inductees. The unnamed author of the article knew his baseball, since all but Harris and Brown have been inducted.34

Looking Back It seems to me a shame that Wells and his contemporaries were not appreciated at the time for their talents by all of America. Sitting in the house where Wells was raised and where he died, the current owner, Danny Bingham, a white man,

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said, “It’s a sad story. He’ll always have a special place in my heart. You’re just as good as them, but people just spit on you. He wasn’t treated right.”35 Monte Irvin echoed Bingham’s sentiments. When asked if he was ever angry at being excluded from the majors on the basis of his skin color, Irvin said, “I’d use the word ‘disappointed.’”36 Irvin elaborated on the point in an interview with Donn Rogosin: “Many a time I said it didn’t matter but it really did. You wanted to be known for what you did best.”37 Other players felt that not playing in the majors was a small problem compared to being excluded from the mainstream of American life. Buck O’Neil was quoted as saying, “The source of our bitterness was the segregation, period. Not being able to play in the major leagues was just a small thing. You had a league of your own. You were making a good living. It was very viable. But the fact that you couldn’t go to the University of Missouri, the University of Texas—you understand? These are the things that hurt us a lot more than not going to play in the majors.”38 Many former Negro-league players no doubt shared Irvin’s and O’Neil’s feelings, but nevertheless loved the game and took pride in playing it well. One was William Blair, a newspaper publisher in Dallas who played for the Cincinnati Clowns and Cincinnati Crescents between 1947 and 1951. “Listen,” Blair said in 2004, there are guys now who play in the All-Star Game who wouldn’t be good enough to play for us. People have heard of our big stars, but I could start naming others who were great ballplayers. Guys like Tommy Butts and Johnny “Mule” Miles. Those guys were great players, but people don’t remember them. We played every day of the week and three times on Memorial Day. I never made more than $375 a month plus $2 a day for meals. It was a great life. We were special. We played big-league ballparks when the white team was on the road.39

Robert Williams, who played shortstop in 1954 for Wells and the Birmingham Black Barons, concurred. “It was beautiful,” he said. “I enjoyed it. A lot of guys said it was hard. But for me, coming from the country, I loved it. We traveled. Sometimes we’d stay in a city two nights, but we’d go on to another. We had food to eat and drinks to drink. We sang on the bus. It was great to me. I enjoyed it.”40 Satchel Paige felt the same way. In explaining to reporters at the time of his induction into the Hall of Fame why he was happy with his career, Paige said, “I

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was living. I was playing all over the U.S. then when Ted [Williams] and Joe [DiMaggio] were playing only in big league cities. I don’t believe there is a place I didn’t play, every little town, in coal mines and penitentiaries.” When asked, “What was the wildest place you ever played?” he replied, “Boston.”41

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oney and respect moved many players to break their contracts with teams in the States and “jump” to those in Latin American. In 1950, Bill “Ready” Cash jumped from the Philadelphia Stars to the Dominican Republic, where his salary was tripled. “My wife and I had just bought a home in Philadelphia,” Cash explained, “and we needed the money.”1 Art “Superman” Pennington (first baseman for the Chicago American Giants, 1940–1946) put it succinctly, saying of his decision to play for the club in Monterrey, Mexico, “It’s simply that there’s no comparison in the money. I, for one, wouldn’t be here 15 minutes if Doc Martin [J. B. Martin, owner of the Chicago American Giants] would pay me near what I know I’m worth. Doc paid me $400.00 a month last year and upped it to $450.00 when he learned I was coming down here. Out of that I pay my own expenses and must take care of a wife and two children.”2 While segregation was not the law of the land in Mexico, there was discrimination in what white and black players from the States were paid. In the same article, Pennington said the black players were frustrated at being paid only half as much as white major leaguers who had jumped to Mexico. “But,” he added, “even our half-salaries in this league are twice what we were drawing in the States.” Terris “Speed” McDuffie was another player who would have preferred to play in the States if only he could have

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earned what he thought he was worth. As he explained his playing in Mexico in 1943: “No one wants to be forced to go outside his native land . . . for what he thinks he is rightfully due . . . but what are we going to do when we aren’t given a chance to make the money?”3 Many players were not unmindful of their contractual responsibilities to their teams in the States, and some tried to negotiate with them before jumping. Monte Irvin, for instance, received a telegram from Jorge Pasquel, the father of Mexican baseball, in the spring of 1942 in Washington, D.C., where the Eagles were playing the Homestead-Washington Grays. Pasquel offered Irvin $500 a month to play in Mexico. Irvin approached Effa Manley for a $25 a month raise, which would have brought his monthly salary with the Eagles to $175. Effa said she couldn’t afford it because she was “paying those other guys.” Irvin pointed out that the other guys weren’t married, but he was. “You,” he said to Effa, “could find $25.00 anywhere.” She couldn’t or didn’t, and Irvin went to Mexico.4 It proved to be a penny-wise but pound-foolish decision on Effa’s part. Soon after Irvin left for Mexico, Ray Dandridge, Buzz Clarkson, and several other Eagles followed suit, meaning that the Eagles as a team went, in Irvin’s words, “from sugar to Shinola.”5 Wells never jumped from a team in the middle of the season. He would go south for winter ball or, as he did in 1944, jump from his contract before the season began. Wells first played in Mexico in 1928, but during the winter, after the season was over in the States. He found Mexico to his liking thereafter. In March 1943 it was reported that “Willie Wells is on his way to Mexico susceptible to the luring talk and tinkling gold of the little man ‘down Mellico [sic] Way.’”6 When Wells did play in the States, he was one of the top-paid players. For May and June 1942, for instance, Wells received $568.89 for the first six weeks of the season from the Newark Eagles, which was second only to Ray Dandridge’s $597.25. The next-highest-paid player was Leon Day ($472.23), followed by Edward Stone ($394.89). Effa Manley, the Eagles’ business manager, did better than any of the players, receiving $750.00 for the same period. Three years earlier, in 1939, Wells had been the top-paid player for the months of May and June, receiving $280.82; George “Mule” Suttles had been in second place ($245.82).7

Owners Respond Jumping was a problem for owners, who would find themselves suddenly without one or more star players and the prospect of diminishing gate receipts during an already tight financial situation.

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Willie Wells with admirers in Mexico, early 1940s. Courtesy of the Texas State Cemetery.

Owners had little choice but to take back those players, especially the stars, who decided they wanted to return home. As a case in point, Effa and Abe Manley, owners of the Newark Eagles, reportedly forgave Wells for deciding to play in Mexico instead of Newark in 1940. It was reported that the Manleys in 1941 made efforts to sign Wells, Leon Day, and Ray Dandridge, all of whom had “jumped” from their 1940 contracts. Owners of the Negro National and American League teams decided to welcome back those players who had jumped on the condition that the players pay a $100 fine.8 That Effa Manley welcomed Wells and the others back with less-than-open arms can be seen by her comments in a February 28, 1941, letter she wrote to pitcher Terris McDuffie: “I can’t understand the ballplayers, they don’t seem to have any idea how much destruction they can cause. . . . However, now that the two leagues have agreed to take the men back, I am ready to go along.” She goes on to ask McDuffie to let her know if Wells is in Jacksonville, Florida, where McDuffie was living, and if so, “see him and find out if he wants to come back. If he is not, see if you can get me his address.”9 Neither McDuffie nor Manley was able to convince Wells to stay with the Eagles for the 1941 season. He opted to play in Mexico for the summer and Puerto Rico in the winter. That the Manleys didn’t hold a grudge against Wells was evident when they once again forgave him, this time in 1942, by hiring him to manage the team as well as play. The Manleys also hired Wells to manage and play again in 1945 after he spent 1943 and 1944 in Mexico.10

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World War Two During World War Two, representatives of the Mexican government recruited players in the United States for teams in Mexico. In one instance, a representative of the Mexican State Tourism Office called on the Newark, New Jersey, draft board and obtained permission for Wells and Ray Dandridge to play ball in Mexico.11 Effa Manley countered by lobbying the Selective Service System to prevent players from playing in Mexico. In 1943 she asked the Selective Service to bring Wells and Ray Dandridge back to Newark from Mexico. She pleaded her case, to no avail, in person to the head of the New Jersey Selective Service. She wanted the players’ draft status changed to “draft eligible.” She was told that both had draft deferments because of the size of their families. Wells had two children; it is not recorded how many Dandridge had. Major P. E. Schwehm in Trenton told her, “No action can be taken under present law to make them stay.” Major Schwehm also warned Effa that since baseball had not been prohibited in the United States (President Franklin Roosevelt had said baseball could continue during the war as a morale booster), any attempt to bar players from playing in Mexico could be misconstrued, particularly in light of the players’ color. Because of these decisions, a player could easily get a visa to enter Mexico, and, as one observer noted, “the visa was then magically extended to cover the length of the baseball season.”12 Effa acknowledged that even had she been successful, she would most likely have had to trade the two players, since they “will be too mad and evil to play a nickel’s worth of baseball for the Eagles.”13 Effa met with better success in 1944. Wells was again cleared by his draft board to play in Mexico, thanks to the efforts of Mexican agent Ramus Pedrueza, but Dandridge was not.14

It Wasn’t All About Money Wells had mixed feelings about playing in Mexico during the war years. He returned from Mexico after the 1943 season and signed with the Eagles for 1944, saying, “It was the patriotic thing to do during the war.” Nevertheless, when the ’44 season opened, Wells instead replaced native Texan Rogers Hornsby (Hall of Fame second baseman for the St. Louis Cardinals and several other clubs from 1915 to 1937) as the player-manager for the Veracruz Blues of the Mexican National League.15

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T

here are three accounts of why Hornsby left Veracruz. Wendell Smith reported in the Pittsburgh Courier (May 6, 1944) that he returned to the States after signing a

$10,000 contract with the Veracruz Blues when “officials of the league could not see eyeto-eye with him on establishing a color line in the Mexican league.” Wells, according to Smith, arrived in Veracruz a week before Hornsby’s departure but didn’t play until Hornsby had left. Charles Alexander states that Hornsby left after a dispute with the Blues’ owner, Jorge Pasquel. Pasquel is said to have called Hornsby into his office following a game that Hornsby won with a grand slam. Pasquel, who owned a piece of all six teams in the league, told Hornsby, “That was a nice hit,” but added that he would have preferred Veracruz to lose that particular game so that a third and deciding game of the championship series would have to be played. The gate receipts from the third game would have increased Pasquel’s income. Hornsby is reputed to have said, “I’d rather be a lamp post in America than a general down here” (Rogers Hornsby: A Biography [New York: Holt, 1995], 232). A third account has Hornsby leaving because he had to pay his own expenses on road trips (http://www.440.com/twtd/archives/apr04.html). For whatever reason or reasons, and it is possible that all three accounts are true, Hornsby was out and Wells was in as the Blues’ manager.

Respect As Wells knew, his decision to play and manage in Mexico sparked criticism in the press. While he and his teammates were enjoying the money south of the border, their jumping behavior was the target of criticism by noted black sportswriter Sam Lacy. Lacy said he could understand a man’s desire to seek employment at the best possible salary, but thought it “neither understandable or excusable for a ball player to agree to join a team and then willfully and deliberately run out on that agreement.”16 In an oft-quoted interview with Pittsburgh Courier sportswriter Wendell Smith, Wells responded by saying, “I understand that there is a lot of adverse talk about me in the States because I quit the Newark Eagles and returned here to play ball. I hate that, but there’s always two sides to every story.”17 Wells, speaking for many black players, told his side to Smith while getting a haircut in a Mexico City barbershop.18 “Not only do I get more money playing here but I’ve found freedom and democracy,” Wells said, “something I’ve never found in the United States. I was branded a Negro in the States and had to act accordingly. They wouldn’t even give me a chance in the big leagues because I was a Negro, yet they accepted every other nationality under the sun. Well, in Mexico I am a man. I will encounter no restrictions of any kind because of my race.”19

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As a measure of the respect Wells had earned in Mexico, the barber, after releasing Wells from the chair, turned to grin at Smith and say while pointing to Wells, “El Diablo, El Diablo.” Wells, translating for Smith said, “That means ‘The Devil’ in Spanish. It’s what they call me here.” Smith replied, “Yeah, that’s what they’re calling you in Newark but they don’t mean it the same way.”20 Johnny “Schoolboy” Taylor, a pitcher for the New York Cubans who played in Mexico in the 1940s, had similar feelings: “Playing in the Negro leagues you were going in the back door. But in Mexico they treated you royally. No segregation.”21 Wells found a similar reception during the fall and winter of 1941, when he played his only season in Puerto Rico, for a team in Aguadilla. In a letter to his mother from Aguadilla, dated October 30, 1941, he wrote, “I have been here for three weeks and the people are very nice to me although it is a small town. . . . The people like me here and want to know if I’ll come back next year.” Wells was also upbeat about the team’s prospects: “Our team got off to a good start. We are in first place. If we can hold it, I am sure we will get a nice piece of change.” A white player would even stick up for a black teammate in Latin America. Wells told Austin newspaper reporter John Kelso about the time in Cuba when Wells and Johnny Dunlap, a white player from the States, encountered Early Wynn (Hall of Fame pitcher in the American League from 1939 to 1963), who, like Wells and Dunlap, was playing winter ball in Cuba. Wells and Dunlap stopped in a bar for a beer after a day at the racetrack, and invited Wynn to join them. Wynn, who was from Alabama, said, “I don’t drink with no niggers. We got ’em on our plantations back home.” According to Wells, Dunlap said to Wynn, “What did you say?” Wynn repeated his statement. “Do you know what Johnny did?” Wells asked. “He got up and broke his jaw is what he did. Wynn couldn’t pitch the rest of the winter.”22

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oney was always tight. As a result, Negro-league team rosters consisted of fifteen to eighteen players, while major-league teams carried twenty-five players. To make up for fewer players, Negro-league players were called on to play more than one position. “My contract said ‘ballplayer,’” John Miles said. “It didn’t say anything about position.”1 Miles alternated between third base and the outfield. Wells was so good at shortstop that in the prime of his Negro-league career he rarely played any other position. He would play second on occasion. But in other leagues and in the twilight of his Negro-league career he performed at many positions. He spent most of 1945 at third for the New York Black Yankees. He even pitched on occasion, weak arm and all. In addition to pitching several games for the Memphis Red Sox, he took the mound for the Royal Colored Giants in California at White Sox Park in Los Angeles during the winter of 1935. Once in early February he went the distance and pitched a three-hitter against Pirrone’s and White King’s AllStars. He followed with another outing on the mound a week later, beating the same team. In both games, Wells pitched the second game of a doubleheader in which he had played shortstop for the entire first game.2 A year earlier Wells had pitched a game for Satchel Paige’s All-Stars against a barnstorming team of major leaguers. The score was 4 to 4 when the game was called because of darkness.3 Wells was the Winnipeg Buffaloes’ hurler at the advanced baseball age of forty-four. In a game against the Brandon

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Greys in 1950, Wells went nine innings and gave up eleven hits as his Winnipeg Buffaloes downed the Greys 11–7.4 A year later Wells again went the distance, beating the Minot Mallards 6–2 in a game on September 4, 1951.5 At age fortyseven, he appeared as a pitcher in four games (no decisions) while managing the Brandon Greys. Wells also took up duties in the outfield. He was in the outfield for the Buffaloes on September 14, 1951, where, it was reported, “He lost a fly ball in right field.”6 In 1954, his last year in the Negro leagues, as manager of the Birmingham Black Barons, he put himself in a game as a pinch hitter against the Indianapolis Clowns on May 17 and singled home three runners to tie the game at 8–8. He stayed in the game as the Barons’ centerfielder.7 Former Negro leaguer Nap Gully was quoted as saying that Wells caught a game or two for the Baltimore Elite Giants in 1946.8

Erratic Schedules and Long Trips A stable financial base enabled major leaguers to play a predictable schedule of games—154 regular-season games (twenty-two against each of the other seven teams in their league). Negro leaguers, on the other hand played a set number of league games (the number varied from year to year) and as many other games as could be arranged. Many were arranged at the last minute in order to meet expenses. The Pittsburgh Crawfords of the 1930s were a case in point. They would play two or three league games a week, perhaps a doubleheader with the Philadelphia Stars on Sunday and a game in Baltimore on Tuesday. During the rest of the week they would play evening games with white semipro teams within driving distance. Driving distance could be 200–300 miles, and this was in the days before superhighways. The Crawfords traveled by bus, a seventynine-horsepower six-cylinder seventeen-passenger Mack BG upholstered in genuine grain leather with vacuum-booster foot brakes and capable of reaching sixty miles an hour.9 Fortunately for the Crawfords, the seats were comfortable, because the bus became a second home. “We’d come home to Pittsburgh to get clean clothes and ride right out,” Judy Johnson remembered.10 Wells and his Newark Eagle teammates embarked on a more rigorous slate of games over the course of two weeks in August 1939. They played nineteen games while covering three thousand miles and making sixteen stops. The team rode out of Newark on a Saturday and played an afternoon game in Wilmington,

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Delaware, and an evening game in Baltimore. On Sunday they played two games in Richmond, Virginia, and headed back north to Baltimore for a game that night. The western swing began the next day with a twilight game in Bellefonte, Pennsylvania. Then it was on to Buffalo, where they arrived at five thirty in the morning. They had the day to rest before playing an evening game there. After Buffalo it was on to Pittsburgh for a Wednesday-afternoon game, then a Thursday game in Altoona. Then it was on to Canton, Ohio, for a Friday game and back to Pittsburgh for a game on Saturday. They played a doubleheader in Indianapolis on Sunday. Their scheduled Monday game in Yorkville, Ohio, was rained out, giving them a short respite before a Tuesday night game in Akron. Then they rode 450 miles back to Newark before playing the Homestead Grays in Tremont, Pennsylvania, on Thursday and Friday. From Tremont, the Eagles drove to Philadelphia for two games against the Philadelphia Stars on Saturday, and then back to Ruppert Field in Newark for two more games against the Stars.11 Travel was rarely luxurious. A few Negro-league clubs, such as the Kansas City Monarchs, Newark Eagles, and Pittsburgh Crawfords, could afford a bus to transport the team in relative comfort. When times were flush, as they were for the Kansas City Monarchs and Chicago American Giants in the early 1920s, some owners would hitch a private Pullman parlor car to a train for long-distance travel. Blacks would come to the station simply to see a group of young, welldressed black men arriving in a southern city in such style.12 Those teams that couldn’t afford a bus traveled by automobile. This mode of travel could be hazardous, as the Homestead Grays discovered in 1929. The Grays’ owner-manager, Cum Posey, was driving a new Buick from Pittsburgh to Lewistown, Pennsylvania, when the car went off the road. Posey’s car was one of three in the Grays’ caravan. Four players, an umpire, and Posey were injured, and the car was totaled.13 Walter Cannady suffered a broken rib and a skull fracture; Dennis Graham had internal injuries; Oscar Owen’s left shoulder was broken; umpire Jap Washington was in severe shock; Joe Williams had leg and back injuries; Posey had only minor scratches.14 Fifteen years later, five members of the Birmingham Black Barons were injured when a car traveling on the wrong side of the road struck their car headon. All-star shortstop Art Wilson suffered a broken wrist, second baseman Sammy Sampson a broken leg and fractured hip, backup catcher Lloyd “Pepper” Bassett two broken ribs, third baseman Johnny Britton cuts on his hands and knees, and Leandy Young leg fractures. The crash occurred one week before the

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Barons were to face the Homestead Grays in the World Championship series. The Barons voted to play the series as scheduled.15 Not surprisingly, the Grays won the series, 4 games to 1.16 Travel by car could be fatal. A truck plowed into the back of a car driven by the Cincinnati Buckeyes’ Ulysses “Buster” Brown at three in the morning just west of Geneva, Ohio, on September 7, 1942. Brown and Raymond “Smokey” Owens were killed instantly. Four others were injured. Eugene Bremmer and Herman Watts were hospitalized. The players were returning from a series with the New York Black Yankees and were reentering the highway after pulling off to change a flat tire.17 It wasn’t unusual for a Negro-league team in financial trouble to fold or join forces with another team in the middle of the season. In the depth of the Great Depression, the National Negro Baseball League decided not to play a regular schedule in 1932 but to try for a regular schedule again in 1933. In the meantime, all players under contract were freed to negotiate with other teams for their services.18 Because of these sorts of events, Wells played for four teams in 1932. Wells, along with Satchel Paige, Cool Papa Bell, and Biz Mackey, returned to the California Winter League as a member of Tom Wilson’s Philadelphia Giants. When winter turned to spring, Wells signed with the Detroit Wolves. When their financial picture stayed bleak, the Wolves consolidated personnel with the Homestead Grays in June, and went on to lead the newly formed East-West League.19 In June, Wells’s picture appeared in the Pittsburgh Courier along with a caption saying he was now a member of the Homestead Grays.20 Despite the Grays’ success, Wells tired of the constant travel: “We played a game in Pittsburgh on Friday and you know where we played the next day? Toronto, Canada.” When (Grays’ owner) Cum Posey woke Wells (at the clubhouse where he was sleeping) to tell him “We’ve got a game tonight,” Wells responded, “Not me. I don’t want no more of your money, I just want my health.”21 Wells finished the season with the Kansas City Monarchs. He stayed with the Monarchs for a thirty-day postseason tour in Mexico for games against the Mexico City Aztecs. His play with second baseman Carroll “Dink” Mothel led the Monarch’s white owner, James Leslie “J. L.” Wilkinson, to marvel, “They made more double plays than a crooked wife.”22 Signing on for postseason play with the pennant-winning team was one way the better players earned extra money. The Homestead Grays picked up Wells and three of his teammates—Ray Dandridge, Leon Day, and Terris McDuffie—

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from the Newark Eagles in 1937. The Grays had won the National Negro League’s pennant, but no World Series was planned. The Grays played an informal World Series against an all-star team made up of players from the Kansas City Monarchs and the Chicago American Giants of the American Negro League.23

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ells liked to teach the game as much as play it. He managed, as player-manager, the Chicago American Giants, Newark Eagles, Indianapolis Clowns, and the Birmingham Black Barons in the United States; the Veracruz Blues in Mexico; and the Winnipeg Buffaloes and Brandon Greys in Canada. Rube Foster, considered by many to be the father of the Negro leagues and the best manager in the history of black baseball, was Wells’s mentor. Foster liked Wells, whom he called “The Little Ranger.” Wells had an open invitation to stop by his office anytime Wells was in Chicago. In that office, “Wells listened while Foster passed on generations of baseball lore.”1 Rube Foster’s death in December 1930 brought an untimely end to these sessions. Foster’s lessons paid off for Wells. His knowledge of the game and his willingness to share it endeared him to Bill Cash. Cash played for Wells in the ManDak League in Winnipeg in 1951. “You loved to play for the guy,” Cash said. “He knew how to play every position, and he’d teach the youngsters how to play them.”2 Robert “Rosel” Williams, who played shortstop for Wells in 1954, when he managed the Birmingham Black Barons, remembers that Wells was constantly talking baseball to his players. “He was like a fanatic,” Williams said. “If we were on the bus between Greensboro, North Carolina, and Paducah, Kentucky, he’d sit in the back of the bus for the whole two hundred miles and talk baseball to anyone who’d listen. He’d also sit in the lobby of the hotel and talk baseball with you.”3

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Williams is no doubt right about Wells’s intensity, but Williams may have his cities confused. It is almost six hundred miles between Greensboro and Paducah. That distance would have taken twelve to fifteen hours to cover, and probably even Wells couldn’t have talked baseball that long. When baseball wasn’t being discussed, four of the Barons sang as a quartet. Williams sang baritone; a pitcher, “Hoss” Thompson, sang tenor; an umpire who traveled with the team sang bass. Williams didn’t remember the name of the fourth singer. Wells also talked baseball with his roommates. Wells’s roommate with the Memphis Red Sox, Joe Scott, remembers him sitting up at night talking about how he would tell his players to play every player on the opposing team. “He’d go over the team player by player,” Scott said. “Sometimes I’d hear him talking about it in his sleep.”4 Another member of the 1954 Birmingham Black Barons who benefited from Wells’s advice on long bus rides was Jessie Mitchell, the team’s centerfielder. Signed during the ’54 season by the team’s owner, Sou Bridgeforth, who liked Mitchell’s play with the Louisville Clippers, nineteen-year-old Mitchell replaced the veteran Sidney Bunch in centerfield for the Barons. Bunch, Mitchell said, “kept saying to me as soon as I arrived, ‘You ain’t gonna play no centerfield here.’” “Mitchell,” Wells said, “don’t listen to all that woofing. Get on the bus with me and we’ll talk.”5 On the bus, Wells explained to Mitchell how to position himself in centerfield by taking into account a hitter’s strength and the type of pitch being thrown. Bunch confirmed the story in an interview. Bunch said Wells was a good manager, but he couldn’t understand why Wells wanted Mitchell to play centerfield: “I could really hit the ball. I was right behind Willie Mays.”6 Mays played with Barons from 1948 to 1950 before being called up by the New York Giants in 1951. Mitchell agreed with Bunch about Wells as a manager, saying Wells “was a good manager. He kept us in line—especially us younger guys. He took me under his wing.” Mitchell said Wells would take infield practice before a game to “show us how to field ground balls.” Mitchell remembered Wells saying, “Never close that glove.” Wells, according to Mitchell, stood up for his players and was not bashful about arguing with umpires when he thought they had made a bad call. Wells made his point but knew when to stop arguing. Mitchell said Wells was thrown out of only one game in the 1954 season.7 Wells didn’t limit his advice to the playing field. He also offered financial advice. Robert “Rosel” Williams was one player who received such advice when he played for Birmingham. “When we got paid,” Williams said, “we’d like to splurge on steak and eggs in a restaurant. Wells thought that was a bit much and

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told me, ‘Williams, don’t do that. Get yourself some peaches and bread and sit on the bus with me.’” When asked if he took Wells’s advice, Williams said, “Some of the time.”8

Managing through the Mail Negotiations of all sorts were conducted between club owners and players by letter. In the off-season, players would either return home, often finding work to tide them over, or, like Wells, play winter ball in California or Latin America. Owners wanted to make their plans in February, following the annual league meetings in January, and so would write letters to players, usually in late January, after the meetings, to discuss the upcoming season. An example of “managing through the mail” can be seen in a series of letters between Wells and Effa Manley as they discuss the Eagles’ plans for 1942.9 Wells was playing in Puerto Rico at the time. Wells’s letters are handwritten, and the salutations read “Dear Mrs. Manley”; Manley’s letters are typed, and her salutations read “Dear Willie.” Manley wrote to Wells at his Aguadilla, Puerto Rico, address in early January, asking if he was interested in “coming back to the states this year,” and if so, she asked him “to write me right away, so I would know what plans to make for the team.” As incentives to return, she assured him that everyone would like him back and that she was expecting good paid attendance at the games because “everybody in America who wants to work is working.” She applied a little pressure by asking Wells for a quick decision: “If I do not hear from you in the next week, I will know you’re not interested.” Wells wrote back within the week, saying that he was interested. By return mail, Manley expressed her concern for the fate of Wells and other players as the war unfolded, “as we read so much in the papers about what is happening in the island possessions of America.” Then it was down to business: “It’s very hard to talk business through the mail but I’m sure we’ll be able to come to terms and everybody will be satisfied.” Manley dangled the manager’s position before him without offering it outright: “If we do get together on the manager’s job, I am sure you have some plans you’d like to carry out.” She asked him what his plans were and reassured him that she was expecting a brisk business at the gate, particularly “if we can play night ball, and have a good club.” She asked him to contact a pitcher named Lopez to see if he would be interested in playing for the Eagles. She also asked him to tell her his draft status. She closed by telling him she had heard from two other Eagles who would be back for the 1942 season, Monte Irvin and Lennie Pearson.

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Wells wrote to Manley five days later, on January 14, before he had received her most recent letter to him. He started the negotiations from his end: “Would like to know what you all are going to decide on before I start talking with some other owners. They have given me another year’s contract here in Aqualilla [sic] to be manager.” He then talked about how well his team was doing—tied for first place, in fact. Wells didn’t yet know of Manley’s interest in Lopez, and proposed that she and her husband sign pitcher Barney Brown, who, according to Wells, was the next-best pitcher to Leon Day and had the best pitching record (19–4) in Mexico in 1941. “Please don’t let him get away,” Wells urged. “Write him in care of the Guayama [Puerto Rico] Base Ball Club.” Brown, Wells reported, was asking for $200 a month for five months. Upon returning from practice on January 14, Wells received Manley’s latest letter. In his reply, he commented on the wartime conditions: “You can’t believe everything you read. Things don’t seem so bad down here. We will finish the season, I’m sure.” Then he started outlining his plans for the upcoming season. He repeated his plea for Brown: “What I would like to do is get Barney Brown. I want him and [James] Hill from the Grays [Homestead Grays, the Eagles’ perennial rival]. That is the point to stop the Grays and we will win the championship hands down.” He promised to speak to Lopez and asked Manley to send him three contracts so he can sign Brown and two others. He would like to play Lennie Pearson at first base; keep the current manager, Biz Mackey, on the team (he said he would explain why when he saw her); and have Leon Day re-sign with the Eagles. He was not unaware of the financial side of the game: “At the end of the season these players will cost a little more, maybe $900 but everybody will come out to see the Eagles and you know what that means.” He also included some advice on scheduling for Manley: “Now when you go to the meetings [the league meetings in Chicago], see that all the teams play the same amount of games and don’t let the Grays be playing all the weaker clubs. Posey [Cumberland Posey, the Grays’ owner] is smart. He always plays the teams he can beat but any team with a good pitching staff he ducks that team. Stick to that in the meetings.” He told Manley he didn’t have a draft card, because he was in Mexico when the draft was started. Shortly after receiving Wells’s letter, Manley wrote to Mackey, on February 19, asking him to stay on the team but demoting him from player-manager to player–bus driver. After telling Mackey that Wells planned to return and that she “always missed him off the club, and of course wants him back,” she added, “I also want him to manage the team. I do not know whether or not this will surprise you, but when you left Newark last year without seeing me, I was of the

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opinion that you were not anxious to manage . . . and a manager should have been interested in discussing plans for the next season, at the close of the last.” After assuring him that “Wells and I both want you to stay,” she wrote, “I would like you to take charge of driving the bus,” for which he was promised additional pay and the driving assistance of teammate Ed Stone. Driving the bus was evidently not that appealing to Mackey, for he did not play for any Negro-league team from 1942 to 1944.10 He would return to the Eagles in 1945 as a player-manager and lead them to a Negro-league world championship with a victory over the Kansas City Monarchs in 1946. On January 23, Wells replied to another letter from Manley, who had suggested some trades and asked Wells’s advice. Wells agreed with several of her suggestions: “You can trade [Thadist] Christopher, [Leaman] Johnson, and [James] Brown.” Wells repeated his wish to have Pearson at first, saying he “will be the cream at first base because he is playing a beautiful game of baseball down here.” Barney Brown remained much on Wells’s mind: “You would be getting the best man in baseball who can play outfield as well . . . and we can have the kind of outfield you could enjoy seeing play. Do your best to turn this deal.” He added that if she signed Brown, Lopez wouldn’t be needed, since “we beat him Sunday 9–6, got 14 hits.” He expanded on his concerns about Posey and the Homestead Grays: “Be sure that all the teams play the same amount of games and the same amount with each club, and all games postponed because of rain be played at a later date. Stick to that at the meeting because that is the only way it could be a league because Posey will try to trick you. He knows if we have the men you got, he will try everything to duck you and get the weaker clubs.” He advised her not to trade James “Buster” Clarkson and to carry sixteen men: “All good teams that ever won a pennant got to have reserve on the bench.” The sixteen players that he wanted to see on the Eagles were Mackey, Parks, Matthews, Pearson, Irvin, Davis, Clarkson, Dandridge, Day, Hill, Manning, Hobgood, Barney Brown, Stone, Wells, and one other. Knowing that money was an issue, he added, “It may look like a big salary ball club but everybody will want the Eagles. You will make plenty.” He closed with a sense of urgency: “Please let me know how the trades come out. We had letters from Mexico wanting us to report. That is why I said let me sign the players and take action later.” Manley replied that she had gone to Philadelphia to see Ed Gottlieb (owner of the Philadelphia Stars and holder of the rights to Barney Brown). She told Wells that Gottlieb suggested a number of possible trades, including Barney

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Brown for three of the Eagles players (Hill, Leaman Johnson, and Christopher); also, Gottlieb wanted Clarkson badly and would take him in exchange for Patterson, “if he wants to come with us.” Manley was cool to Gottlieb’s trade ideas: “I think we have a pretty fine club with Pearson, Dandridge, Wells, and Clarkson in the infield, and Stone, Davis, and Irvin in the outfield,” adding “our pitching staff is really pretty good.” She nevertheless asked Wells what he would think both about giving Hill and someone else for Barney Brown and about the Patterson-for-Clarkson trade. Manley also suggested Wells rethink his proposal to trade James Brown, since “he is married and has a child which might keep him out of the draft and he can play outfield better than most of the regulars.” She also brought Clarence “Pint” Israel to Wells’s attention: “There is another boy we have not spoken of. He looks like a really grand prospect. He was beaned and has been a good deal slower since but I still think he might come around.” She closed with a thought about salaries: “Of course we would like to keep the payroll down as far as possible, but on the other hand we must be practical.” Wells responded four days later. He had new information about Barney Brown: “All of us received letters from Mexico about the same time and I was talking with him the same week. He likes Mexico so well, I am sure if he can cross the border he will return to Mexico so let’s forget it.” Wells nixed the Clarkson-for-Patterson trade because Patterson was a teacher, so he could only be with the team for three months, and “he is not a team man, causes too much trouble on the kind of team we have.” Later in the letter he added, “Don’t even think of Patterson. He left Gottlieb two years ago in the middle of the season.” Wells was cautious about acquiring Benson, whom Manley said Gottlieb had also offered; he would help the team as a leadoff hitter and centerfielder, but “he also went to Mexico. Who knows if he wants to return?” Wells told Manley his ideas about flexibility and teamwork as a way of commenting on Ed Stone, whom she was counting on to play in the outfield: “You can change any of these [the players] to any part of the playing field and still have a strong team. The point I want you to see is when you have good men on the bench, the ones that’s playing got to carry out orders. If not, you replace him and the one you put out there will look just as good and at that point you can have the harmony a team needs to win with.” He added, “I said that to say Stone is a fine ball player but his decisions at times are no good and with a young team you must be careful because the rules of a ball team are made for every member of the club.” Wells closed with a comment about James Brown: “All the boys told me his arm was bad all year that was why I said what I did. That will be left to you. Please let me know if anything happens.”

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Manley answered two weeks later: “Your letter sounds very good, and I agree with everything you say.” She held out hope for his idea of carrying an extra man: “While I want to cut down on expenses as much as possible I wonder if it will not be wise to carry an extra man if we can possibly arrange it.” She expressed concern about the possible impact of the draft on the Eagles: “There is no doubt the army is going to start to take the colored boys soon.” She closed by asking when Wells was coming home and whether he would be making a stop in Jacksonville before coming to Newark. Wells’s final letter in this series to Effa Manley stated that he and other ballplayers had been at the Hotel Central in San Juan, Puerto Rico, “for three days waiting for a boat but I don’t know just when we will sail.” Alluding to the increasing naval warfare in area, he wrote, “It is serious down here. I hope that the other boys reach home safe. They are sinking ships coming and going. The only thing I can say is I hope to see you all in two or three weeks.” After all was said and done between Manley and Wells, James Brown, James Hill, and Ed Stone stayed with the Eagles, as did Clarence “Pint” Israel. Clarkson and Benson stayed put. Christopher ended up with the CincinnatiCleveland Buckeyes. Patterson and Johnson did not play in 1942. Rounding out the Eagles’ roster for the early part of 1942 were Pearson, Dandridge, Wells, Day, Leniel Hooker, Frederick Hobgood, Max Manning, Charles Parks, Leon Ruffin, Irvin (for several weeks until he went to Mexico), and George Suttles, for a total of fifteen players.11 Dick Clark and Larry Lester list three other players who played for the Eagles at some time during 1942. They are future Hall of Famer Larry Doby, Charles Thompson, and Francis Mathews.12 Wells guessed wrong about Barney Brown’s wanting to play in Mexico during the ’42 season. Brown ended up with the Philadelphia Stars. His absence from the Eagles’ roster, according to James Riley, may well have cost the Eagles the championship in 1942.13

Handling Players In addition to helping decide the Eagles’ roster, Wells had the responsibility of developing younger players. An example of Wells adapting his management style to a player’s skill and temperament can be seen by how he handled Don Newcombe in spring training in 1945. Newcombe, from Madison, New Jersey, was reported to have a fiery temperament and to be unamenable to taking orders. Newcombe’s reputation didn’t faze Wells. Wells simply told him not to pick up a baseball for the first ten days of camp and just to run, saying, “You’re

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big and your legs will carry you. “I won 14 games that year,” Newcombe said later, “so what he said stuck with me.”14 Newcombe, anxious to show off his stuff, had picked up a ball before Wells got to him and “tried to fog the ball over the plate.” When Wells finally let Newcombe throw, he was concerned that the rookie might throw his arm out, so Wells put on a catcher’s glove and asked the fireballing nineteen-year-old to “just lob the ball to me.” This didn’t sit well with Newcombe, who said to Wells, “You’re pretty rough, aren’t you?” “No,” replied his manager, “I just want you to be in good shape.”15 Over repeated protests from Newcombe, Wells limited his pitching to three or four innings in spring exhibition games. When opening day came, Newcombe, who later starred for the Brooklyn Dodgers from 1949 to 1957, was on the mound for the entire nine innings and threw a 6–0 shutout against the Homestead Grays, who featured heavy hitters like Josh Gibson, Buck Leonard, and Cool Papa Bell.16 Wells spent a lot of one-on-one time with his players. Monte Irvin credits Wells with “showing me everything he knew.” Wells showed Irvin how to move around on different pitchers, to move up and back in the batter’s box, and to try to get a peek at how the catcher was holding his glove.17 Wells also transformed Irvin from a shortstop to an outfielder in 1937—Irvin’s rookie year with the Eagles. Skipper Wells told the rookie, “With your speed and power you belong in the outfield. Shortstop’s my position and I’m not going anywhere.” Irvin gladly agreed, pleased to win a spot on the team.18 It didn’t matter to Wells if you were on his team or the opposing team. If you wanted to listen, he would talk. Eagle first baseman Lennie Pearson is quoted as saying he saw Wells talk to Ernie Banks (Hall of Fame shortstop for the Chicago Cubs), a member of the Kansas City Monarchs at the time, for an hour after a game. “Wells,” Pearson said, “was showing him this little thing or that little thing about playing shortstop.”19 Buck O’Neil admires Wells’s teaching skills: “He could get inside somebody’s head and make them understand better than anybody I ever knew. He was a great teacher. It didn’t matter if he was on your team or the other team. Willie would sit down in the hotel lobby and talk to anybody who wanted to talk about baseball. Yeah!”20 Sportswriter Glenn Flynn characterized Wells, then manager of the Winnipeg Buffaloes, “as being undoubtedly the shrewdest master-minder in the ManDak league.” Wells displayed his shrewdness in a game against the Minot Mallards, “outguessing the crowd by giving [Leon] Day the free-swing sign, instead of the sacrifice [bunt] usually called for when you’re one run down with none away, a

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Willie Wells (left) and Monte Irvin at Comiskey Park for the 1983 all-star game. Courtesy of Monte Irvin.

runner on first, and the pitcher at bat.” Day obliged by lining a double off the centerfield fence, which advanced Butch Davis to third.21 What Wells knew that Flynn and the crowd didn’t was that Day could hit as well as pitch and had often played the outfield and second base. In a game against the Baltimore Elite Giants in 1941, Day, then a member of the Newark Eagles, hit three doubles and a homer, scoring five runs and batting in two.22 Wells was adept at not alerting rival managers to the weaknesses of his players. If one of Wells’s players couldn’t hit a certain pitch, such as an outside curveball, he made sure that player never saw an outside curveball during spring-training intrasquad games. The Wells philosophy: “Let him hit his pitch

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in spring training. If the other manager doesn’t have the experience to handle his personnel, don’t you smart him up.”23 Even when not officially managing, Wells would give advice to players, which they ignored at their peril. During the 1933 playoff game between the St. Louis Stars and the Chicago American Giants, played in Philadelphia, Wells told the Giants’ pitcher, Bill “Sug” Cornelius, not to serve up a curveball to Jud “Boojum” Wilson, “a savage, pure hitter, who was at his best in the clutch.”24 Cushioned by a seven-run lead, Cornelius demurred. Wilson hit Cornelius’s curveball offering onto the top of a six-story apartment house across the street from the ballpark. Cornelius remembered Wells telling him, “That’s why I didn’t want you to throw him that.”25

Principles to Manage By While Wells understood baseball strategy as well as anyone, as a manager he also had certain principles that he expected his players to follow, including how they should treat one another. One rule was that you didn’t kid anyone about his girlfriend, which he had heard a couple of players doing in the showers. “A fellow can think just as much of his little Gloria Swanson as you do about your Maureen O’Hara. I want you fellows to understand that,” he told the Eagles during spring training in 1942. Another rule was to look professional in the dining room: “No talking out loud. This is your profession and I want you to treat it like that.”26 He allowed no profanity on the bus.27 When discipline was called for, Wells could mete it out, but in his own style. He recounted an incident in Canada when some of his players, as well as those of fellow manager Double Duty Radcliffe, along with several railroad porters, got into a fight over some women. Both managers were called in to talk to the league president. Double Duty’s response was to put a curfew on all of the players. Wells asked for the names of his players who had been involved, saying, “They’ll be taken care of. . . . I wasn’t going to put a curfew on the whole team for what a few had done.”28 Cash recalled that Wells required all his players with the 1953 Brandon Greys to wear a coat and tie in public. To any player who showed up for a game or meal wearing just a shirt or a sweater, Wells would say to him, “That won’t do. You’re a professional.” Cash also recalled the emphasis Wells put on players being team players: “He’d say, ‘I don’t care how good he is. If he’s not a team player, he doesn’t play for me.’”29

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Wells said he would make a point of telling any ballplayer who wanted to play for him in Canada, “You’ve got to be a performer and you’ve got to be a respectable person.”30

Don’t Tread On Me Wells’s intensity as a player carried over to his managerial jobs. He took them seriously and had little patience for anyone who would second-guess his decisions, even if it were the club owner. The Eagles’ owner, Abe Manley, once ordered Wells to start pitcher Terris “The Terrible” McDuffie, whom Wells thought wasn’t ready to go, but whom Manley wanted to make look bad. Wells called a clubhouse meeting after the game, with Manley in attendance, and said, “He doesn’t have to pay me any more as manager of this team. I am finished.” The feeling was mutual with Abe, who, according to Buck Leonard, said he would trade Wells for a broken bat.31 Instead, Abe got a pitcher, Spec Roberts, from the New York Black Yankees in trade for Wells, who completed the 1945 season with the New York Black Yankees. The Eagles won the pennant a year later, and the players insisted, according to Wells, that he sit on the bench with them during the championship series with Kansas City.32 It is possible that the players made that request of Wells. Monte Irvin, however, who played for the Eagles in that series, said during an interview in June 2005 that he did not remember Wells sitting on the bench with the team. In a slightly different account of Wells’s falling out with the Manleys, it was reported in the Baltimore Afro-American that fans and players had complained to the Manleys that Wells was not trying hard enough, and that the owners had decided, after several meetings with Wells, to trade him.33 Sam Lacy reported at the time that people were saying of Wells that he played like a high school player on balls hit his way and was deliberately putting in a listless performance.34 Both accounts could be true. In Wells’s version, it was his decision. The newspaper accounts make it the Manleys’. What we do know for sure is that Wells finished out 1945 with the New York Black Yankees. Why the Eagles’ owner insisted that Wells start McDuffie might be explained by the carryover from a run-in that Manley had with McDuffie in 1938. It was reported then that McDuffie was a romantic favorite of Abe’s wife, Effa, who had a reputation for carrying on with some of the players and once appeared at the door of her house in a negligee when Monte Irvin arrived to discuss his contract.35 Abe reportedly learned of the relationship between McDuffie and his

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Wells as a Newark Eagle, late 1930s. Courtesy of the Texas State Cemetery.

wife after they had a lover’s quarrel in Penn Station in Manhattan, during which McDuffie was said to have knocked her down and kicked her.36 Later, the Newark Eagles’ traveling secretary, Eric Illidge, overheard Abe on a bus ride to Pittsburgh say, “When I get there I’m gonna trade that sonofabitch McDuffie to [Homestead Grays’ owner] Posey.” That deal was not made, but, according to this account, Abe did manage to get rid of McDuffie by trading him to the New York Black Yankees in 1938 for rookie pitcher Slim Johnson.37 McDuffie rejoined the Eagles in 1944.38

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Willie Wells with 1937 Newark Eagle teammates. Left to right: Lennie Pearson, Wells, Dick Seay, James “Red” Moore. Courtesy of James Moore.

Before the 1938 trade, McDuffie had made a point of lauding Abe to the press: “I’ve been around quite a bit in Negro baseball and I say that Abe Manley treats his players very well. Naturally, we would like to bring him the pennant this year to show our appreciation.”39 McDuffie did not have a lot of compliments for Abe after the trade. Another refusal by Wells, this time as a player in Cuba, almost got him shot. Wells’s manager was Dolph Luque, a pitcher for twenty years in the National League and the owner of a renowned temper. In Cuba, Luque always carried a pistol and told his players, “If you don’t do what Luque tells you, he gonna shoot somebody.” One day Wells failed to do as Luque ordered him. Buck Leonard recalled hearing a scuffle and then a shot in the clubhouse. Leonard rushed into the clubhouse to find Wells holding Luque—who had fired a shot into the clubhouse ceiling—around the neck. Leonard said to Wells, “We thought you gonna be stretched out over here dead. We knew you didn’t have a pistol. We knew it must be Luque shooting.”40 In a later dispute over one of his decisions as a manager, this one in 1951 with Jack Hector, business manager for the Winnipeg Buffaloes, Wells refused to accompany his team to Minot, North Dakota, for a scheduled game with the Minot Mallards after Hector fined him $100. Wells asked Hector for his fare

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back to the United States and the balance of his salary, but later reconsidered, saying he wouldn’t make any decision about quitting the team until talking with the owner, Stanley Zedd. The event that precipitated the fine was Wells’s concurrence with the three umpires’ decision to cancel a game between the Buffaloes and the Brandon Greys because of cold weather and the stands being nearly empty at game time. “That decision,” Hector said, “was a distinct breach of Buffaloes policy. The game was called off without my knowledge and Wells had no business of playing even a quarter-role in the calling off of the game.” Wells made his feelings known by saying, “I was hired by Mr. Zedd and not Jack Hector and I’m not taking orders from a secretary. I took the job on the understanding that no one would interfere with the handling of the baseball team.”41 Frazier Robinson, a catcher for the Buffaloes, was offered the manager’s job just as the team was boarding the bus to Minot. Robinson recalled having mixed feelings about the offer. He wasn’t sure he wanted it, but flattered by the offer, he accepted. He knew he would have time to think things over on the twohundred-mile bus ride to Minot. During the ride, he reported that he “turned the whole thing over in my mind. I just added it all up and subtracted it down.” The cons outweighed the pros. Robinson announced to the team when they arrived in Minot, “I believe this. We’re all going to get together and make this right. When we get back to Winnipeg, we’ll pay Willie’s fine because I don’t feel like playing and managing.” The players agreed to chip in and pay Wells’s fine, and he was reinstated in the skipper’s job. Robinson said that Wells never liked him after this episode. Robinson couldn’t understand why, because all Wells had to do “was ask any of the guys who could have told them that I was the one that helped pay his fine.”42 Things had not always gone smoothly between the two men. Besides not liking Wells’s demeanor and character when they were both in Baltimore, Robinson was at odds with Wells in Canada over calling the first pitch to a batter. While giving Wells his due “as maybe the best shortstop around in the thirties,” Robinson took issue with Wells’s order not to call for a ball across the plate on the first pitch to any batter. Robinson wanted the authority to call the pitch as he saw fit, but Wells wouldn’t hear of it.43 It was also during Wells’s stint with the Buffaloes that one of his rare ejections from a game occurred. It was in the deciding game in the 1950 best-of-seven championship series between the Buffaloes and the Brandon Greys, so Wells’s intensity may have been at a fever pitch. The game lasted seventeen innings, and

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the Buffaloes won 1–0 behind the six-hit pitching of Leon Day, who went the distance. Wells wasn’t there for the on-the-field celebrations because police had escorted him out of the park in the tenth inning after umpire Mark van Buren had ruled that Wells must vacate the premises or forfeit the game. Wells “beefed too long and loud about a call at second base that resulted in the Greys loading the bases.”44 Van Buren was not the first umpire to hear from Wells when a call went against him. In a 1942 exhibition game with the Homestead Grays in Atlanta, Wells was called out at first on a close play. A photo of the play shows first baseman Buck Leonard with his foot on the bag and the ball in his glove while Wells’s shoe is inches from the bag. Nevertheless, Wells “ranted and argued himself hoarse claiming he ‘was robbed.’ ”45

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here comes a time when the skills start to fade. That time came for Wells in 1946, at the age of forty, when he was finishing his stay with the New York Black Yankees. Dan Burley, in his column “Confidentially Yours,” noted that Wells had an outstanding reputation as a “short fielder but if he boots ’em or doesn’t hit, what’s wrong with putting [Rufus “Scoop”] Baker in that spot and Wells to the bench? You gotta be realistic about this business.”1 In another article that same year, it was reported that Wells would be the “only one of those regularly on display before Mexican fans who may pass up his usual trip down that way.” The reason? “Willie Wells, famed as the greatest shortstop in colored baseball, is getting old and a bit creaky.”2 Another observer noted in a column headed “Two Fail to Deliver,” “Willie Wells is paid $500.00 a month to wait for slow rollers to come to him and then not have sufficient time to throw the runners out.”3 The New York Black Yankees’ owner, James “Soldier Boy” Semler, agreed with this assessment, and released the once “peerless” shortstop at the end of May. The Baltimore Elite Giants, floundering in next-to-last place in the standings, thought Wells might still have something left. They signed him a week later to play third base.4 Wells lost his accustomed all-star position to Silvio Garcia of the New York Cubans, who the fans elected to the shortstop position for the East squad for the 1946 East-West All-Star Classic.5 Wells’s batting average dropped to a new low, and he finished the 1946 season with a .269 average.6 Though he still had eight years remaining in his playing and managing career, his

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greatest days were behind him. He would go on to manage the Indianapolis Clowns in 1947, play and coach for the Memphis Red Sox in 1948 and 1949, manage in Manitoba for five years, and then return to the States to manage the Birmingham Black Barons in 1954. Even though his playing skills were fading, he still commanded respect for his managerial talents. He was noted for his ability to size up a player and adapt his managerial approach to the player’s skills and temperament, as he had done with Newcombe. General manager Syd Pollock of the Indianapolis Clowns said of Wells, upon hiring him in 1947, “He is just the man we need to take the vast amount of fine talent we will have available this season and weld it in to a smooth ball club. He’s a great handler of talent, a fine player, and one of the smartest men in the baseball world.”7 In addition to admiring Wells’s managerial abilities, Pollock was no doubt aware of his value as a gate attraction for a team that was struggling. Articles in the Indianapolis Reporter that featured upcoming Clown games rarely mentioned Clown players by name, but did

The Birmingham Black Barons of July 1954. Manager Wells is standing at far right. Country singer Charlie Pride, then a pitcher, is standing at far left. Courtesy of Jesse Williams.

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encourage people to come out and see “Willie Wells, one of the greatest shortstops of all time.” Wells had high hopes for the Clowns, but even his talents as a manager and occasional player couldn’t help them that year. By June 28, the Clowns were in next-to-last place. Wells was replaced by the former manager he had replaced (who had been retained as Wells’s assistant) just a few months earlier, Jessie “Hoss” Walker, a shortstop of average ability who played from 1929 to 1950 in the Negro leagues.8 The big smile on Walker’s face in the photograph announcing his reappointment as manager shows that he was clearly pleased with the decision. “Bunnie” Downs replaced Walker as manager a month later, but Walker was again retained as an assistant.9 Downs had ended his playing career as an infielder in the Negro leagues in 1928, and was formerly the business manager for the Clowns.10 Downs and Walker fared no better than Wells. The Clowns finished 1947 in last place, with a record of 21–40–1.11 Through the revolving door that was the Clowns’ manager’s position that year came Ramiro Ramirez, formerly the manager of the Havana La Paloma of Cuba, at the beginning of the 1948 season.12 After Indianapolis, the Memphis Red Sox signed Wells in May 1948 as “a coach and maybe pinch hitter.” At the same time, it was noted, “He has slowed up somewhat afield, but he is still a dangerous and consistent hitter . . . and should prove a help to the team.”13 Wells proved to be an effective pinch hitter. He was reported to be batting over .300 in June.14

Canada and the ManDak League After a season and a half in Memphis, Wells’s next stop was Manitoba, where he spent five seasons in the ManDak League and had his greatest success with the Winnipeg Buffaloes. Stanley Zedd, the kingpin of illegal gambling in Winnipeg, owned the Buffaloes. It was not unusual for men who managed numbers operations or other gambling activities to own or have a stake in Negro-league baseball teams and some of the early integrated teams in the United States and Canada. Abe Manley of the Newark Eagles, James Semler of the New York Black Yankees, Tom Wilson of the Baltimore Elite Giants, and Gus Greenlee of the Pittsburgh Crawfords were notable examples of such men who owned Negro-league teams. According to a 1987 account, Wells first got to the Buffaloes in 1950 through a connection with Abe Saperstein, best known for founding the Harlem Globetrotters basketball team. Alex Turk, a former wrestling promoter, real

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The Memphis Red Sox, circa 1948–1949. Standing, left to right: an unidentified man, Cowan Hyde, Verdell Mathews, Neil Robinson, three unidentified players, Wells (in the open shirt), Harry Barnes, Joe B. Scott (leaning in), and Chris Evans; kneeling, left to right: Spoon Carter, Larry Brown, an unidentified boy and two unidentified players, Bob Boyd, Casey Jones, and an unidentified man. Courtesy of Joe B. Scott.

estate broker, and coal company owner, was helping Zedd find players in the States when Turk allegedly called Saperstein in Chicago. Saperstein suggested Wells: “I can recommend him as one of the better black players in America.” Turk, according to this account, hired Wells, sight unseen, for $1,000 a month. To help him find other players, Saperstein reportedly gave Turk the phone number of the notorious gangster Mickey Cohen. Turk went to visit Cohen in Chicago at his restaurant, “and a guy with a gun [was] standing at every door. But if I needed a ball player or a boxer, he [Cohen] would get on the phone and put me in touch with the guy on top.”15 According to an account written at the time, Wells was already in Manitoba in 1949 as a member of the Elmwood Giants, and was able to secure his release from Turk in 1950 in order to join Zedd’s Winnipeg Buffaloes.16 Barry Swanton, historian of the ManDak League, believes this account explains how Wells and

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Zedd got together and that the Saperstein story, while making for interesting reading, is a myth.17 However Wells joined the Buffaloes, he impressed veteran observers with his managerial skills. As sportswriter Maurice Smith noted shortly after the start of the 1950 season, “In luring Willie Wells away from the Elmwood Giants, Zedd has about the smartest manager in the game around these parts.” John Peterson, operator of Winnipeg’s Osborne Stadium, concurred: “I’ve watched Irv Griffey, Joe Maury and a few other managers around here but this guy Wells is tops for my money.”18

Willie Wells as manager of the Winnipeg Buffaloes, circa 1950– 1951. Courtesy of the National Baseball Hall of Fame Library, Cooperstown, New York.

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Terry Hind, described as Winnipeg’s version of “Mr. Baseball,” said of Wells when he came to Winnipeg in 1950, “Wells was sort of a god. Everybody worshipped him.” As he received kudos for his managerial abilities, he also impressed observers with his skills on the field. Sportswriter John Robertson, who covered the Montreal Expos for many years, said in 1997, “I remember the Buffaloes and Willie Wells. They could play.” Robertson remembered “Wells hitting the ball sharply to all fields, occasionally driving one over the fence of old Osborne Stadium.” Like other observers, Robertson noted Wells was often compared to Pee Wee Reese, but “Willie,” according to sportswriter Reyn Davis, “was a lot better hitter.”19 The Buffaloes, with Wells as the player-manager, won the league championship in 1950 with the help of such notable players as Hall of Famer Leon Day, Lyman Bostock, Sr., Spoon Carter, Smokey Robinson, Butch Davis, Sam Hill, Taylor Smith, and Joe Taylor. Charlie White was added in 1951. The Buffaloes were again leading the league until the Toronto Maple Leafs of the International League signed three of their star players—Day, Davis, and White. The Buffaloes folded after the 1951 season, and Wells joined the Brandon Greys.20 Wells was still contributing at the plate at age forty-four. In 1950 he hit .304 in thirty-seven games with twenty-two RBIs. In 1951 he batted .314 with three dingers (homers) and forty RBIs. No statistics were published in the local newspapers for 1952. As player-manager with the Greys in 1953, he hit .234 in twenty-one games with four dingers.21 He was still capable of delivering a hit in the clutch. Wells provided a pinch-hit bloop single over third base that scored the winning run with one out in the ninth inning of a game between Wells’s Brandon Greys and the Carman Cardinals. The win assured the Greys of at least a tie for the 1953 ManDak League championship. It was only his fourth RBI of the season, but as reported in the local newspaper, “It was perhaps his most important one as a four-year ManDak player-pilot.”22 “The Devil” was back in the States as manager of the Birmingham Black Barons in 1954. He became the team’s skipper in March. Articles in the Chicago Defender reported the team getting off to a good start, winning three out of four from the Indianapolis Clowns at the end of May. Wells’s pinch-hit double with the bases loaded boosted the Barons to one of those wins.23 Wells had a short stay in Birmingham. By July 17 he was out as manager. This was Wells’s last appearance in baseball until he was appointed to manage the Little League Austin Indians in 1974.

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or years there had been talk about allowing blacks to play in the majors, but the color barrier was not broken until October 1945, when Branch Rickey signed Jackie Robinson to play for the Brooklyn Dodgers organization.

Seeing Is Believing While the Rickey-Robinson story was a well-known milestone in integrating the majors, Monte Irvin believes that some credit should also go to Bob Feller’s 1946 barnstorming team of major leaguers, including Phil Rizzuto, Stan Musial, Johnny Sain, and Mickey Vernon, which toured the country playing Satchel Paige’s All-Stars.1 Though Willie Wells, then in the twilight of his career as a player, didn’t participate in that historic 1946 barnstorming tour, many younger Negro-league players finally had the opportunity to shine in front of huge integrated crowds across the country. The games, Irvin said, enabled Negro leaguers to showcase their talents in competition with major-league stars and helped put to rest the contention that the best black players weren’t up to major-league standards.2 This argument had bedeviled the Negro leagues throughout their existence. Irvin called it a problem of “mind-set,” which he illustrated by recounting a conversation he had with a prominent white baseball official, whom Irvin preferred not to name. The two were sitting on the porch of the Otesaga Hotel in Cooperstown, New York, in the late ’80s, talking about the Negro leagues. Irvin recalls saying to him, “If we played with

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the same ball, the same rules, same glove, and same bat, what makes you think we didn’t have the ability to play in the major leagues?” The gentleman replied, “We knew that you could play pretty good ball against each other, but we didn’t think you could compete against the major leaguers.” “Why did you think that?” Irvin said. “I grant you, it was stupid,” the official said, “but that’s the way we thought. It was our mind-set. Satchel Paige can pitch OK against a Negro-league team, but no way is he gonna get out a Babe Ruth or Lou Gehrig. That was the popular thinking.”3 The Feller-Paige tour helped erase, but not completely eliminate, that mindset. The games were high drama, as crowds of whites and blacks turned out to “see the games between the races.” In 1982, Bob Feller said about the tour: “We played on equal terms. They didn’t train like we did, but they were no better and no worse than the best major leaguers.”4 The games demonstrated that spectators of both races would turn out in large numbers to watch whites and blacks play on the same field, and do so without any incidents on the field or in the stands, as evidenced by the crowd of 27,463 that came out for a contest a Yankee Stadium on October 6, 1946, and saw Paige’s all-stars beat Feller’s 4–0.5 Both teams had players of exceptional talent. Feller’s team had four Hall of Fame players—himself, Bob Lemon, Stan Musial, and Phil Rizzuto—as well as Mickey Vernon (that year’s American League batting champion, with a .353 average), Johnny Sain (of “Spahn and Sain, pray for rain” fame), Rollie Hemsley, Frank Hayes, Charlie Keller, Sam Chapman, Spud Chandler, Jeff Heath, Jim Hegan, Johnny Berardino, Ken Keltner, and Dutch Leonard, among others. Satchel Paige’s team had two Hall of Famers—himself and fellow pitcher Hilton Smith—along with Buck O’Neil, Quincy Trouppe, Howard Easterling, Gene Benson, Chico Renfro, Sam Hairston, Max Manning, and Neck Stanley, among others. Jackie Robinson played in the first three games of the 1946 Paige-Feller tour, but wanted more money and left to form his own team.6 Monte Irvin, Roy Campanella, and Larry Doby, Hall of Famers all, joined Robinson’s team.7 One can only imagine how the level of play on Paige’s team would have improved had the three of them joined forces with Paige instead of Robinson. Players for both teams got along well and socialized with one another between games. The game schedule was so tight that there was no opportunity for extended socializing, such as sightseeing, but players mingled together at airports and restaurants and around the batting cage during batting practice.8 This had not always been the case. Buck Leonard recalled playing Sunday games in

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Baltimore against teams comprised of major leaguers like Jimmie Foxx, Lefty Grove, Bobo Newsom, and Al Simmons, and in those games, Leonard thought, all the players cared more about the money than who would win or lose. “We,” Leonard said, “came out and played a ballgame and they went their way and we went ours. We didn’t talk before the game and we didn’t do much talking during the game. We felt they were playing us only to make money and we knew that was the only reason we were playing them. That’s the way it was.”9

The Itinerary Transported by two DC-3s, one for each team, and accompanied by a trainer— Feller’s family doctor—and traveling secretary Burt Hawkins (who served as the advance man), the tour opened in Pittsburgh. From there, according to Feller, it went to Cleveland, then Yankee Stadium, and then on to New Haven, Newark, Chicago, Cincinnati (“Of course, we couldn’t play south of the Mason-Dixon Line. We could play in Cincinnati, but not across the Ohio River in Louisville, Kentucky,” Feller pointed out), Richmond, Indiana, Omaha, Council Bluffs, Denver, and finally two weeks on the West Coast, starting and ending up in Los Angeles.10 The tour was repeated in 1947, but for the last time; the novelty of it wore off after the color line had finally been broken. As for the teams’ won-lost records, “For both years,” Feller said, “it was about even. Perhaps we won one or two more.”11 Holway gives a similar accounting, stating that Feller’s team won nine of the sixteen games played in 1946. He gives a slightly different list of cities in which the games were played than did Feller, but agrees with Feller that it was the most ambitious barnstorming effort ever undertaken.12 Other accounts of the 1946 tour give a different tally. A table in a biography of Feller lists twenty-two games played, of which Feller’s team won seventeen.13 This squares with Mickey Vernon’s memory: “We won a lot more than they did.”14 We may never have an agreed-upon accounting of the details of the tour, but its contribution to integrating major-league baseball is not in doubt.

”We Gotta Get Some Players Like That” The mind-set wasn’t entirely gone. Negro-league stars were not held in high esteem in the Detroit Tigers owners’ box in the late 1940s. The Tigers became the next-to-last major-league club to integrate, when, on June 6, 1958, Ozzie Virgil stepped to the plate for the first time as a Tiger, to a standing ovation. Only

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eller and Paige had barnstormed together earlier. They first met in St. Louis’s Sportsman Park in October 1941. The New York Amsterdam News reported on

October 11 that the game “was staged as a bid for inter-racial goodwill.” Feller, as a member of a barnstorming team assembled by Dizzy Dean, faced Paige again when Dean’s Big League All-Stars squared off against Paige and his Kansas City Monarchs in Wrigley Field in May 1942. The Monarchs won 3 –1 (New York Amsterdam News, May 23, 1942). Paige and Feller were to meet again. On October 12, 1945, a standing-room-only

crowd of 25,000 filled Wrigley Field in Los Angeles to see Feller’s All-Stars beat Paige’s Kansas City Royals 4–2. Of more importance than the final score was how well Paige and his teammates acquitted themselves against the likes of Feller in full view of black and white fans alike. Paige and Feller each pitched five innings. Paige, who was thirty-eight according to his draft card but may have been at least five years older, allowed two hits, one run, and struck out ten. Feller, who was three weeks shy of his twenty-seventh birthday and perhaps the best pitcher in the majors at the time, gave up three hits, two runs, and struck out six. Feller and Paige each walked five. Jackie Robinson led all batters with two doubles and a run batted in (“25,000 See Satchel Outpitch Bobby Feller,” New York Amsterdam News, October 13, 1945). Encouraged by the success of these games, Feller, Paige, and their teammates set out in October 1946 on what Feller described as “the biggest and best barnstorming tour ever conducted, and the most financially successful.” The attraction of such barnstorming was not lost on Jackie Robinson, who organized a team of black all-stars in 1946 also. Robinson’s team toured with a team of National League players managed by Dodger’s coach Chuck Dressen. Games were planned for the Polo Grounds, Ebbetts Field, Harrisburg, Pittsburgh, Dayton, Columbus, Chicago, Cleveland, and St. Louis (“Jackie Robinson All-Stars at Polo Grounds Tuesday,” New York Amsterdam News, September 28, 1946). Stan Musial joined the Feller-Paige tour after the World Series ended and made more money in the remaining games than he had in the series. Hearing of this, Commissioner Happy Chandler said there would be no more barnstorming until the World Series was over to prevent stars from skipping the series or trying to get it over quickly (John Holway, The Complete Book of Baseball’s Negro Leagues, 443). In May 2005, Feller told me that Buck O’Neil was making so much money that his wife kidded him that he must be robbing banks. Monte Irvin said he believes that Bob Feller and Satchel Paige each made $100,000 and that the players signed a contract guaranteeing them a minimum of $5,000 for a little over a month’s work while traveling first class. “No long bus rides,” Irvin told me in June 2005. In his biography of Feller, John Sickels reported that most players made over $3,500, whereas Feller netted over $80,000 after taxes.

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The 1946 Satchel Paige All-Star team that barnstormed against a team of major leaguers led by Bob Feller. Paige’s airplane was known as the “Flying Tiger Transport.” Paige, wearing a hat, is standing in the doorway. The other Negro league greats on this team (not pictured in order) were Hilton Smith, Sam Jethroe, Hank Thompson, Buck O’Neil, Howard Easterling, Barney Brown, Gentry Jessup, Hank Thompson, Max Manning, Dizzy Dismukes, Rufus Lewis, Gene Benson, Frank Duncan, Artie Wilson, and Quincy Trouppe. Courtesy of the author.

the Red Sox remained without a black player on their roster. According to an article in the Detroit News, it was well known in Detroit that Tigers’ owner Walter O. Briggs allowed blacks to work at his factory, but not on his ball team.15 According to John J. McHale, who was with the Tigers from 1943 to 1959 as first baseman, director of minor league operations, and general manager, “Detroit was a cauldron of racial problems. We’d had two or three terrible race riots, and the owner, Walter Briggs, had been scared out of hiring black players by his advisers, who’d convinced him there’d be problems in the stands between white and black fans if the team had black players.” But, according to McHale, Briggs’s attitude changed markedly during the July 10, 1951, all-star game played in Briggs Stadium. Briggs, according to McHale, had never seen black players perform, but now saw the best black players playing with and competing against the best white players with no friction on the field or in the stands. Briggs liked what he saw. “I was sitting next to him,” McHale said, “and he said to me, ‘We

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gotta get some players like that.’ He growled it out. I was on a plane the next day to Minneapolis [where the Minneapolis Millers were a minor-league affiliate of the New York Giants] to see if any of their black players would be available, but I learned that teams wouldn’t give up players just because we wanted them.”16 “Players like that” who had caught Briggs’s eye were Roy Campanella, Larry Doby, Don Newcombe, and Jackie Robinson. Another mind-set had been altered as a result of seeing black and white players competing on the same field with no dire consequences. Briggs, who died in 1952, may have changed the opinions of those advising him, for in 1953, Claude Agee, an eighteen-year-old outfielder, and several other players became the first blacks invited to the Tigers’ minor-league training camp.17

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wo decades after the color line had been shattered, the next frontier for Negro-league players was the Hall of Fame. Ted Williams, who was enshrined in the Hall on July 25, 1966, unlocked years of inertia (the Hall had been established in 1939) during his induction speech: “The other day Willie Mays hit his five hundred and twentysecond home run. He has gone past me, and he’s pushing, and I say to him, ‘Go get ’em, Willie.’ Baseball gives every American boy a chance to excel. Not just to be as good as anybody else, but to be better. This is the nature of man and the name of the game. I hope some day Satchel Paige and Josh Gibson will be voted into the Hall of Fame as symbols of the great Negro players who are not here only because they weren’t given the chance.”1 The press took note of the Splendid Splinter’s comments. The Chicago Defender, in an article touting Paige’s upcoming appearance at a game in Chicago, observed, “Williams put in a pitch for future Hall of Fame membership for Paige and Gibson ‘as a symbol of the great Negro players that are not here only because they weren’t given a chance.’”2 Sportswriter Herb Lyon of the Chicago Tribune ended one of his columns by asking, “And why doesn’t baseball, which broke the great Satch’s heart, take up Ted Williams’ plea?”3 Joseph Durso, covering Williams’s induction for the New York Times, noted that Williams’s comments about Paige and Gibson were greeted by “solid applause.”4 Finally, Shirley Povich of the Washington Post commented, “Williams was no less than mag-

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Ted Williams delivering his Hall of Fame induction speech. Courtesy of the National Baseball Hall of Fame Library, Cooperstown, New York.

nificent when he bethought himself of the great Negro league players . . . and with a sweep of his hands towards the Hall of Fame in the background” called for their belated recognition.5 Teddy Ballgame no doubt chose to utter those words from Cooperstown because as Bowie Kuhn, commissioner of Major League Baseball from 1969 to 1984, said, “It’s a pretty good platform from which to say something if you believed it.”6 Second baseman Bobby Doerr—himself a Hall of Famer, Williams’s teammate on the Boston Red Sox from 1939 to 1951, and his fishing buddy—was in the crowd of 10,000. Doerr said he knew Williams felt strongly about the matter. He had heard Williams talk briefly about the plight of black

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ballplayers before 1966. Doerr said, “Somebody had to be vocal about it, and everybody was happy that it was finally said and said by someone of Williams’s stature.”7 Bowie Kuhn, when asked about Williams’s comments, said, “Ted had a wonderful, bright, inquiring mind. He didn’t know much about the Negro leagues, but he was learning, as was I. And when Ted believed something, you heard about it.”8 James Riley said he had talked to Williams several times, “and I never got a true sense of why he felt that way, of why he felt about it so deeply.” Riley speculated, “I think Ted has a natural affinity for the underdog. He was prompted by that.”9 Today Williams’s speech is on exhibit at the Negro Leagues Baseball Museum in Kansas City, Missouri. Curator Ray Doswell has said of it, “Visitors always remark that they’re surprised he said it. It’s an awakening to them.”10 Williams’s message took time to germinate. It wasn’t until 1970 that the effort to induct Willie Wells and other Negro leaguers got under way. In the intervening four years, the social climate in America had changed rapidly. Many cities had been ravaged by riots in the aftermath of Martin Luther King, Jr.’s assassination by a sniper in Memphis on April 4, 1968. President Johnson had called out the National Guard to quell riots in Washington, D.C., and other major cities. Against this backdrop of racial unrest and violence, major-league baseball began to address the question of blacks’ involvement in decision-making roles.

”Doby Helped Us Figure It Out” The absence of blacks in decision-making positions in major-league baseball didn’t sit well with Larry Doby. In 1968, Doby, Hall of Fame outfielder for the Cleveland Indians and the first black to play in the American League, said that he thought baseball would “probably wait until we burn down a few ballparks before it decided to hire a black coach or manager.”11 Doby’s comments came to the attention of Commissioner Spike Eckert’s deputy commissioner, John McHale. McHale, with Eckert’s support, met with Doby and offered him a position as a scout for the Montreal Expos, the team McHale was soon to assume the presidency of. “I knew Doby was a man of strongly held beliefs, but I was surprised he felt so strongly about this,” McHale said many years later. “And,” McHale continued, “I was pleased he was available. I hired him because he’d done a lot for baseball, and now baseball had a chance to do something for him. I also knew him to be an excellent teacher and coach and that black players liked and respected him. This would help me in the Montreal organization, where we

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wanted to attract and keep top black talent, but a lot of us weren’t sure how to reach out to black players. Doby helped us figure it out.”12 Shortly after his meeting with Doby, McHale offered Monte Irvin a job in the commissioner’s office, thinking that Irvin would fit in well with the reorganization that was taking place there. Irvin accepted, and went on to play a central role in inducting the first Negro leaguers into the Hall of Fame.13 McHale said that Irvin’s role in the commissioner’s office was similar to Doby’s in Montreal: facilitating talks between whites and blacks. “Bowie,” McHale said, referring to Bowie Kuhn, who succeeded Eckert as commissioner in December 1968, “was well-liked by the Negro leaguers. He made a special point of getting to know them, and was helped in that effort by Monte, who was a real gentleman who had the respect of the black players and could therefore help Kuhn get together with them.”14 Larry Doby and Monte Irvin, in addition to their baseball skills, also served baseball well with their diplomatic skills.

Williams’s Message Takes Hold Around this time an article in the New York Daily News came to Kuhn’s attention. Sportswriter Dick Young, who had begun his career in journalism as a messenger boy and became the sports editor and a syndicated columnist at the News, happened to say to Roy “Campy” Campanella, the Hall of Fame catcher who had played for the Baltimore Elite Giants in the Negro leagues and the Brooklyn Dodgers in the majors, “I don’t know much about the Negro leagues. Do you think there are players with Hall of Fame credentials?” Campanella said, “Yes.” Young asked, “How many?” “Eight or nine,” replied Campanella, purposefully giving a low number.15 Campanella’s reticence was born of the realization that if he had said twenty or thirty, many whites would have said: “There can’t possibly be that many.”16 Young’s article prompted Kuhn to call a meeting to discuss electing Negro leaguers to the Hall. Those attending were Kuhn; former National League president and former commissioner Ford Frick, regarded as the father of the Hall of Fame; Hall of Fame president Paul Kerr; Charlie Segar, Joe Reichler, and Monte Irvin, all from Kuhn’s staff; and Dick Young and Jack Lang, both representing the Baseball Writers Association. The meeting, Kuhn recalled, was “heated and unpleasant.” Frick and Kerr, according to Kuhn, were adamant that the requirement of playing ten years in the majors not be waived for Negro leaguers or anyone else.17

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Kerr had maintained this position publicly for some time. In a 1969 letter to James MacAlister of the Sporting News, who had inquired about Satchel Paige being admitted to the Hall, Kerr responded that it was unfortunate that Paige was not eligible, since he had not played in the majors for the requisite ten years. Kerr added that this misfortune was not Paige’s fault, but “just the circumstances of the times.”18 There is no question that the decades-long exclusion of blacks from the majors was racially motivated. The “gentleman’s agreement” barring blacks from the majors that was so well enforced by Commissioner Kenesaw Mountain Landis has been extensively documented. Could Kerr’s and Frick’s resistance to inducting Negro leaguers have been racially motivated? Clifford Kachline, the Hall of Fame’s historian from 1969 to 1982 and the first full-time director of the Society for American Baseball Research (SABR), said he didn’t think so. Kachline went on to say, “Baseball is and always has been very traditional. It’s hard to change the procedures. It was tough getting the designated hitter rule in. The attitude is ‘We’ve had it this way for 30 years and we’re going to stick to it.’”19 Kachline pointed out that by 1971 two blacks—Jackie Robinson (1962) and Roy Campanella (1969)—had been inducted, and both had played the required ten years in the majors. Many black major leaguers, Kachline noted, were on their way to Hall of Fame careers by 1971. Examples include Bob Gibson, Fergie Jenkins, Willie Mays, and Reggie Jackson. Monte Irvin has a different take on how racial attitudes may have affected the induction of Negro leaguers. In a 2006 interview with me, he said, “You know how it is. Given the history of our country, there’s always something like that behind the scene, so it’s possible some may have had some bias. It’s possible some were adhering to the old thinking. African Americans had been kept out of the majors until Branch Rickey did something about it. Something could have been done earlier.” Irvin added that these are his thoughts only, and that he can’t know what was in others’ minds and hearts. Looking back on the process, Irvin said it is his opinion that another reason for the resistance was simply the change itself. He thinks that Paul Kerr, whom he characterizes as a “kind-hearted, good man,” Ford Frick, Ed Stack, and others at the Hall of Fame were concerned about how the induction of Negro leaguers would be received by the current Hall of Famers, few of whom who knew much about the Negro leagues or their players. Might they think standards had been watered down or that their induction would be diminished? How would attendance at the Hall of Fame be affected?20

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Irvin was on the right track. Ed Stack, chairman of the board of the Hall of Fame from 1977 to 2000, was quoted as voicing similar concerns in 1978: “Traditionalists worry that admitting black veterans to Cooperstown will ‘cheapen’ the Hall. The important thing is to restrict the Hall of Fame, keep it a quality election. I think that’s very important.”21

Thirteen Tradition Meets Fair Play

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s the meeting to consider enshrining Negro leaguers was progressing in Commissioner Bowie Kuhn’s office, Dick Young had no such concerns. He was passionately arguing that an exception to the Hall’s longstanding requirement of playing ten years in the majors was needed. Kuhn agreed with Young, but said he was “offended” by Young’s rudeness to Ford Frick, the former commissioner and former National League president. Though allies, Kuhn and Young ended up having the most heated exchanges. Realizing that the “opposition was too formidable” and that he didn’t have enough votes of the Hall of Fame directors, Kuhn decided to “slip around their flank and look for an opening.”1 Kuhn created his opportunity by garnering support from Hall of Fame president Paul Kerr for creating the Committee on Negro Leagues. The committee was established in February 1971 and announced to the public on February 3. A newspaper photo shows Kuhn, Kerr, Alex Pompez, Eddie Gottlieb, Sam Lacy, and Monte Irvin in Kuhn’s office, smiles all around.2 How did Kuhn garner Kerr’s support for the committee? Monte Irvin says Kuhn, after talking with Young and Roy Campanella, was convinced that many Negro leaguers had Hall of Fame credentials.3 Kuhn says as much in his autobiography when referring to the arguments against inducting Negro leaguers: “I thought these arguments [that recordkeeping in the Negro leagues was sketchy and that any inductee needed ten years of major-league service] were too technical. Had they not been barred there would have been

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great major league players, and certainly Hall of Famers among them. . . . This was precisely the kind of situation that required the bending of rules.”4 In a 2006 interview, Kuhn elaborated: “In defense of both Ford [Frick] and Paul [Kerr], they thought it was so important to have standards. If it didn’t work out for somebody, that’s too bad, but the authenticity and believability of the process needs to stay intact. I understood the argument. I just didn’t think it was fair, because they had no chance to play in the majors. Negro-league baseball was legitimate baseball, with great players. We needed to find a way to identify those who belong in the Hall of Fame. That was a totally overwhelming argument as far as I was concerned.”5 Kuhn wasn’t completely uninformed about the Negro leagues before he read Young’s article. “Don’t forget,” he said, “I saw Josh Gibson and others play in Griffith Stadium where I was the scoreboard operator.”6 Armed with his conviction, Kuhn, according to Irvin, persuaded Kerr that inducting Negro leaguers would make baseball more democratic and would not have the negative effects that Kerr and Frick were concerned about. “Kuhn was a pretty good lawyer,” Irvin said. “He used the right words.”7

The Committee Goes to Work Kuhn appointed Irvin to chair the committee. According to Kuhn, the other members included Judy Johnson (a Negro-league player for twenty years, future Hall of Famer, and scout for the Philadelphia Phillies); Bill Yancey (a Negroleague shortstop for over twenty years and former scout for the Yankees and Phillies); Roy Campanella; black sportswriters Wendell Smith and Sam Lacy (both longtime advocates for inducting Negro leaguers); Ed Gottlieb (a former owner of the Philadelphia Stars and one of the first to schedule Negro-league games in major-league parks); Alex Pompez (a scout for the New York Giants, former owner of the Negro-league New York Cubans and the Cuban Stars, and future Hall of Famer); Frank Forbes (a senior judge with the New York Boxing Commission, former scout for the New York Giants, and former Negro League player); and Everett D. (Eppie) Barnes (the athletic director at Colgate University, former president of the National Collegiate Athletic Association, first baseman for the Pittsburgh Pirates for four games during the 1923–1924 seasons, and the only white voting member of the committee).8 Barnes had managed the semipro East Orange Base Ball Club, a frequent opponent of the Eagles and other Negro-league teams. As a result, Barnes had personal knowledge of many Negro-league stars.

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Joe Reichler (public-relations director for former baseball commissioner Spike Eckert from 1966 to 1969 and later a special assistant to Commissioner Bowie Kuhn) and Dick Young were included as nonvoting members.9 Jackie Robinson was not asked to be on the committee, because he had limited experience in the Negro leagues, having played only one year (1945) for the Kansas City Monarchs.10 The committee’s first order of business was to draw up a slate of thirty Negro-league players whom the members agreed had Hall of Fame credentials. The following rules governed the committee’s choices: 1. Selection would be on the basis of playing ability, integrity, sportsmanship, character, and their contribution to the teams they played on and to baseball in general. 2. Only one man will be selected yearly at an annual election to be held the first week in February. (This rule was later modified to allow any player receiving eight of ten votes to be elected.)11 3. The player must have performed before 1947 and have played in the Negro leagues for at least ten years. 4. Those selected must receive 75 percent of the committee’s votes.12

Separate and Unequal Using these rules, the committee selected Satchel Paige to be the first Negroleagues inductee. How Paige and future inductees from the Negro leagues were to be honored became a point of contention between Kerr and Kuhn. The Hall of Fame and Major League Baseball were (and are) separate organizations. Neither could control the other, but the cooperation of both was important to the success of inducting Negro leaguers. Kerr now agreed that some Negro leaguers could be inducted, but insisted that those players selected by the committee would be honored by tablets to be displayed in a special wing of the Hall, as opposed to putting players’ individual plaques on the wall alongside those of the enshrined major leaguers.13 Kuhn was opposed to this idea, feeling it would be a slap in the face to those Negro leaguers inducted and to the Negro leagues more generally. But as a tactical matter, Kuhn needed Kerr’s support and cooperation, so he publicly agreed to Kerr’s idea, but banked on the idea that cries of “Jim Crow” would bring public pressure to bear on the Hall of Fame directors to make no distinction between major-league and Negro-league members.14

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A press release from Kuhn’s office dated February 9, 1971, announced that Satchel Paige had been elected to the Hall of Fame, and noted, “A bronze plaque listing his achievements will be hung in the National Museum, as part of a new exhibit commemorating the contributions of the Negro leagues to baseball.”15 Kuhn, with a nod to the positions of Kerr and Frick, had already gone on record as saying that “technically” none of the Negro leaguers were eligible for induction because none had played a minimum of ten years in the majors as required by the rules. Putting the best possible face on the consequences of the technicality, he went on to say that the Hall of Fame “is a state of mind, not merely a particular room on a particular place,” and that, in his view, Paige and those Negro leaguers who followed would be Hall of Famers.16 That a compromise had been struck was not lost on New York Post sportswriter Milton Gross. In a column in which Gross reported Robinson’s strenuous objection to the proposal (see below), Gross wrote, “Right or wrong, it’s a step forward but one that has overtones of a compromise,” and concluded that if Kuhn had insisted “on all or nothing, it would have been nothing.” In the same column, Gross quoted Ernie Banks’s and Willie Mays’s thoughts on the proposal; Banks said, “I think it’s a wonderful gesture. I don’t think there’s any segregation involved”; Mays was not so sure. Responding to someone who told him, “It could be a foot in the door,” Mays replied, “A foot in the door can go both ways, forward or backward.”17 Dick Young, whose insistence that the requirement of playing ten years in the majors be waived for Negro leaguers had gotten on Kuhn’s nerves, went along with Kuhn this time. Young fended off criticism of the proposal to put tablets of Negro leaguers in a special wing: “This would be an inaccurate objection. The Hall of Fame building is not reserved for whites. It is reserved for major league stars.” Young went on to say that the Negro-league inductees would always be considered Hall of Famers because “the Hall of Fame is not a pile of bricks in upstate New York; but is a state of mind, a list of great names, a wonderful dream.”18 In another article with the same message, Young stated Paige would know he was a Hall of Famer because his special plaque would include the words “Had these men been given the opportunity to play in the major leagues . . . they would have achieved the acclaim merited by those now in the Hall of Fame.” Young ended his column with a parting shot at Robinson: “And if Jackie Robinson says that ‘Satch should either be in the big league wing, or he should tell them to stick it,’ then I say to Jackie Robinson, when Branch Rickey told him he would have to stop in Negro hotels for awhile, why didn’t Jackie spit in his eye?”19

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Others, perhaps not privy to Kuhn’s strategy, were trying to put the best face on the tablet proposal. Cincinnati Inquirer sportswriter Bob Hertzel, while saying the Negro leaguers wouldn’t be known as Hall of Famers because baseball wouldn’t go so far as to throw its doors completely open, wrote that what was important was not how Negro leaguers were to honored, but that they were being honored, “and that baseball is living up to the name that has been pinned on it— the national pastime.”20 According to sportswriter Arthur Daley, Wendell Smith, noted black journalist and member of the Committee on Negro Leagues, who probably was privy to Kuhn’s strategy, offered this comment: “Naming Satch to the Hall is a token, of course. In a way it’s baseball’s acknowledgment of past sins. But none of us on the committee feels that any form of segregation is involved in setting up a separate section for the black leagues.”21 Another who supported the special exhibit was C. C. Johnson Spink, editor and publisher of the Sporting News—a prestigious weekly baseball newspaper that, like most of the white press, had not given extensive coverage to the Negro leagues. In an editorial titled “We Believe,” Spink, on the occasion of Paige’s election, pointed to Jackie Robinson’s and Roy Campanella’s already being in the Hall as “speaking for itself in refuting charges of ‘segregation’ by critics of the honors being conferred on the star players of the former Negro baseball leagues.” Spink continued, “Baseball’s intentions are sincere and good . . . baseball is trying to atone for its past sins when black players were barred from the majors solely on the basis of color. . . . But there are technicalities and regulations which must be revised before that ideal [of enshrining Negro leaguers in the same place as major leaguers] is attained. Neither the commissioner, nor the special election committee has the authority to change the Hall of Fame rules. Only the Hall of Fame officials can bring about such a readjustment.”22 Such readjustments were not unknown. Casey Stengel had made it to Cooperstown in 1966 “after the five-year waiting time had been waived by special dispensation of the Hall of Fame directors.”23 Stengel appreciated the adjustment. He was quoted by Shirley Povich as saying he was very pleased to be the only man ever voted into the Hall of Fame by special election.24 In 1966, the Baseball Hall of Fame had amended its rules so that anyone older than sixtyfive who was eligible for election could be voted on six months (rather than five years) after retirement. This rule was applied to Stengel, who retired from baseball in 1965 at age seventy-five. The rule was again invoked for Tommy Lasorda, who managed the Los Angeles Dodgers from 1976 to 1996 and was elected to

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the Hall in 1997, the same year Wells went in.25 In 1978, one year after the Committee on Negro Leagues had disbanded, the Veterans Committee, with the blessing of the Hall of Fame directors, elected Addie Joss, who had pitched for the Cleveland Indians from 1902 to 1910, a total of only nine years. Joss died in 1911 of spinal meningitis.26 The Hall would make a series of readjustments for Negro leaguers over the next thirty years. Monte Irvin, chairman of the committee, was another who felt the “separate but equal” strategy proposed by Kuhn was the right one. It was right, according to Irvin, not because it conformed to the Hall’s rules and regulations, but because “by doing it the way we did, we got the job done. If we had done it another way, it could have taken a longer time. It might have happened eventually, but we got it done right away.”27 Irvin acknowledged that Kuhn had to take a public position that differed from his private beliefs, because even though Kuhn, Irvin, and others on the committee were convinced that public pressure would force the Hall to reverse its position, “We just couldn’t come out and say that.”28 As the proposal was being debated, the Hall was monitoring public reaction. On March 10, 1971, two months after Paige’s election, Howard C. Talbot, Jr., treasurer of the Hall of Fame, sent a letter to Hall president Paul Kerr at the Hall’s New York office (30 Wall Street), touching on concerns that Irvin thought might be on the minds of the Hall’s officials. Talbot stated that he was forwarding all the letters received by the Hall after the announcement had been made about Paige, adding that no replies had been made and none, in Talbot’s opinion, were needed. Talbot pointed out, “Most of them run along the same theme and seem to think that Satchel should become a member.” Talbot concluded, “I think the award is a deserving one and it is too bad that the press misconstrued the facts and gave the public the wrong idea behind it. The number of letters we received is very small if you stop to consider how many people had a chance to read these stories. In any event, we got a lot of publicity which I am sure has not hurt us and may help us with our attendance this year.”29

Cries of “Jim Crow” Are Heard The outcry predicted by Kuhn and Irvin came quickly and loudly. Upon learning of Kuhn’s suggestion and Satchel Paige’s honor, Buck O’Neil weighed in: “The only change is that baseball has turned Paige from a second-class citizen into a second-class immortal.”30 Jackie Robinson, the first African American inducted

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into the Hall of Fame, left no doubt about how he felt: “If it’s a special kind of thing, it’s not worth a hill of beans. It’s the same goddamned thing all over again. If it were me under those conditions, I’d prefer not to be in it.”31 Stan Isaacs, writing for Newsday, chimed in, “It was not determined if a new wing will be built . . . that is apart from but just as large as the old wing. Or whether a black architect will design the wing. Or whether black guides will direct the tourists.”32 Ebony magazine added its voice: “Satchel and other black stars do not belong in any anteroom. . . . If state and national constitutions can be rewritten and amended to correct injustices, surely something can be done to the rules governing something so mundane as a sports Hall of Fame.”33 These arguments and others like them killed the special-exhibit proposal, but just in the nick of time. Paige was elected on February 9, 1971. His induction was scheduled for August 9. It wasn’t until July 7 that the special-exhibit proposal was put to rest. The New York Times, in a three-paragraph article headlined “Baseball’s Front Door Opens to Paige,” reported the reason for the proposal’s demise to be “response to severe criticism of this ‘separate-but-equal’ treatment.”34 The Chicago Daily Defender, a black paper, gave the decision more extensive treatment. Beneath the banner headline “Paige Enters ‘Real’ Baseball Hall of Fame,” four columns recounted Paige’s feats on the mound, reported his wish to become a major-league pitching coach ( fulfilled in 1968, when the Atlanta Braves had hired him so he could complete the 158 days needed for a major-league pension), and attributed the proposal’s failure to “a storm of indignation of the separate-but-equal treatment.”35 The Hall was interested in the public’s reaction to the new turn of events. Included in a Hall of Fame file on the controversy is a handwritten letter to Paul Kerr from a Martin Hoag on New York Life Insurance Company stationery: “Dear Mr. Kirk [sic]: Congratulations on your decision to install Satchel Paige in the Baseball Hall of Fame rather than in a separate wing. I was pleased to see that you and Mr. Kuhn had taken a position of leadership in this situation.”36 Satchel Paige had been chosen to lead the way because “he was pretty well known to the American public.”37 He was followed by Josh Gibson and Buck Leonard (1972), Monte Irvin (1973), Cool Papa Bell (1974), Judy Johnson (1975), Oscar Charleston (1976), and Martin Dihigo and Pop Lloyd (1977). The committee disbanded after Lloyd’s induction, bringing to a close the first chapter in the struggle to admit Negro leaguers to the Hall of Fame. There would be more chapters to come.

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Paige’s Election and Induction Ceremonies Bittersweetness reigned at Paige’s election and his induction ceremony. New York Times writer Robert Lipsyte described Paige’s election ceremony in New York City as “an awkward little ceremony.” Black stars of the Negro leagues and one white owner of a Negro league team “glowered and looked sad as interviewers asked Paige if he felt ‘bitter.’” Lipsyte commented, “Paige has been introduced to most of America as a legend and now was being recognized in an apology.” Larry Doby, the first black to play in the American League, said, “The people who did wrong are not here. . . . We should all be together now.” Paige’s jokes about his age and stories about how he “was satisfied with my world” added an upbeat flavor to the gathering.38 Paige was the lead story in the New York Times’s coverage of induction day 1971, held on the front steps of the Hall of Fame. Leonard Koppett’s straightforward account of the ceremony gave most of the space to Paige’s career and his comments from the podium. Koppett listed the names of the six other players and one executive also being inducted that day. They were Chick Hafey, Harry Hooper, Rube Marquard, Dave Bancroft, Jake Beckwith, Joe Kelley, and New York Yankee executive George Weiss.39 Robert Lipsyte, also with the Times, focused on the bitter-sweet, calling Paige’s induction an “honor that was simultaneously unearned and beneath him.” Lipsyte noted that Kuhn and others deflected reporters’ questions, which were “discomforting yet necessary,” when they saw “the lips of Paige and his wife tighten.”40 Under a one-inch headline, the Chicago Daily Defender’s coverage was of the same tenor as Koppett’s.41

Fourteen Why in Hell? The Committee Dissolves

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he Committee on Negro Leagues was disbanded in 1977, and the Hall passed the committee’s mission on to the Veterans Committee. That committee was responsible for inducting umpires, managers, executives, and older players who had not been selected by the baseball writers. There remain different explanations to this day about why and how the committee disbanded. Monte Irvin said it was the members themselves who recommended that they split up, but not because the committee thought they had inducted all deserving Negro leaguers—far from it. Irvin and the other members knew there were many more deserving Negro leaguers.1 The issue of breaking up the committee was, Irvin said, “a delicate one. No one wanted to embarrass anybody, and we all wanted to keep up the spirit of cooperation.”2 Irvin mentioned that the need to dissolve the committee “was hinted at by the powers that be at Cooperstown, who felt that we had done our duty and that the Veterans Committee should take over.”3 At a subsequent meeting of the Veterans Committee, someone asked Irvin, “Why did you [the Committee on Negro Leagues] disband?” Irvin responded at the time, “We disbanded because we’d done a good job.” Irvin added later, “The new Hall of Fame president, Ed Stack, was at that Veterans Committee meeting, and I didn’t want to make him look bad

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[by publicly acknowledging the hint from Hall officials], because they gave some and we gave some. Ed had been very cooperative with the committee.”4 Asked to elaborate on why the committee took the hint instead of continuing, Irvin said, “We took this from nothing to something. We got it started. We got a number of guys elected, and we felt it was time to back off a little bit.” Irvin also said, taking a page from Kuhn’s strategy book, that he (Irvin) and others thought if the Veterans Committee didn’t elect a few Negro leaguers soon after the Negro League Committee was disbanded, public pressure from such organizations as the Urban League, the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People, and B’nai Brith could again be counted on.5 History did not repeat itself. Only two Negro leaguers—Rube Foster (1981) and Ray Dandridge (1987)—were elected from 1978 through 1994. Ed Stack took issue with the idea that a hint was given by anyone from the Hall. Stack, who was chairman of the board at the time, said in 2005 that according to his memory, the committee took the initiative and that neither he nor anyone else connected with the Hall of Fame ever suggested the committee be dispersed. Stack remembered thinking that the committee was tired and had fulfilled its mission, and so disbanding seemed the natural thing to do.6 John Holway disputed Stack’s explanation, saying he believes that Hall officials did pressure the committee. Upon learning that Stack had given members’ fatigue as a reason for disbanding, Holway asked, “What had the committee been doing that so fatigued them?”7 If officials did hint, it would not have been the first time the Hall had intervened in the committee’s affairs. The board of directors had “declined to confirm Martin Dihigo’s election to the Hall of Fame in 1975.” While noting that Dihigo was an outstanding player in many countries, including the United States, the board found, “The record is insufficient to establish a career of at least 10 years in the Negro Baseball Leagues in the United States prior to 1946, which is an essential qualification for election. If membership in the Hall of Fame is to remain the extraordinary honor it was intended to be, it is vital that there be no relaxation of our entrance standards.” The Board left open the possibility of new facts coming to light, and evidently new facts were found. Dihigo was inducted along with “Pop” Lloyd in 1977.8 In his autobiography, Kuhn says the committee informed the Hall of Fame directors that its job was done, and so it should cease its work.9 In a 2005 interview, Kuhn reiterated that he believed the members made the decision to split up and that that was fine with him, “especially if Campy and Monte felt that

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way.” Kuhn added, “If I had felt at odds with the decision, I would have tried to influence it.”10 Whatever the reasons for the committee’s disbanding, the members had succeeded in electing nine Negro leaguers to the Hall of Fame and inducting them on an equal footing with the major leaguers already there—an important milestone in the process of recognizing deserving Negro-league players and democratizing the national pastime. “I can’t overemphasize to you,” Irvin said, “how important that was.”11

The Pot Continues to Boil Important though it was, not everyone was satisfied. Sportswriters and others felt the committee had not gone far enough in electing only nine Negro leaguers. Sportswriter Bill Baucher noted that many deserving black players had not been inducted and that few of the nine who were inducted were well known (probably meaning to whites). He added, “Centuries of fear and hatred and economic ostracism can’t be smoothed over by popping busts of the victims in Cooperstown. . . . If the enshrinement serves some good purpose, fine. But in its incomplete and condescending sense, the gesture borders on travesty.”12 Criticism of the committee was nothing new. The committee had picked up flack while it was still in operation. Six days after Buck Leonard and Josh Gibson were inducted, Richard Powell, who had served the Negro-league Baltimore Elite Giants in many capacities, from batboy to executive, let it be known that the nine or ten players expected to be inducted by the special committee fell far short of the mark. “Thirty or forty would be closer to the truth,” Powell said. “How can anyone believe that out of the thousands of players in over 75 years of play from the eighteen-seventies to 1950, that given an equal opportunity, only 10 merit Hall of Fame inclusion?”13 Noted black sportswriter A. S. (Doc) Young expressed similar sentiments in 1975: “I must say it is time to end this project, to relegate it to the attic where baseball keeps its other embarrassing mistakes. At best, this thing was no more than a left-handed compliment . . . to Negro league baseball. At worst, it is an insult to the 10 times more great Negro League players than it honors.”14 A year earlier Young had been quoted as calling for ending the committee unless detailed research was done, ending in a ceremony for a group of twenty to twenty-five deserving players. “I never dreamed,” Young said, “this project would be dragged out indefinitely, and that each year one or two blacks would be chosen.” Young’s position was that the process perpetuated and glorified, “in

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bits and dribbles,” one of the great American tragedies.15 Young’s call would be answered, but not for twenty-seven years. Holway raised another perspective critical of the committee’s selection decisions, namely, that cronyism among the committee members led to some Negro leaguers being inducted sooner than they should have been: “Of the nine greatest players in Negro league history, I don’t think Irvin and Judy Johnson would qualify.” He noted that both were committee members and that they were put in ahead of players such as Oscar Charleston, Rube Foster, “Pop” Lloyd, Joe Rogan, Turkey Stearnes, and Biz Mackey. “Blacks,” Holway continued, “can play the crony game as much as whites do. The whole rap on the whites was that they were electing their friends instead of deserving Negro leaguers. So the blacks did the same thing.”16 In a later interview, Holway stressed that this was his opinion as a student of Negro-league history and that he has no way to document whether cronyism played a part in the members’ deliberations.17 When asked for his reactions to Holway’s comments, Irvin said, “I couldn’t disagree more.”18 Holway, however, wasn’t the only one who questioned the order in which the committee made its selections. Former National League umpire Jocko Conlon, an eventual Hall of Famer himself, was quoted shortly after Irvin’s induction in 1973 as not being able to understand how Charleston, Foster, Rogan, and Cool Papa Bell hadn’t been selected. “I don’t know how,” Conlon said without attributing a motive to the committee’s selection, “Irvin could be selected over Oscar Charleston. . . . he was no Charleston.”19 Effa Manley, former co-owner of the Newark Eagles, also weighed in. Approaching eighty in 1977, when the committee was disbanded, she was angry. “Why in hell,” she said at the time, “did the Hall of Fame set that committee up, if they were going to do the lousy job they did?” Fearful that no more recognition of Negro leaguers would be forthcoming from the Hall, she fired off letters to Kuhn and to C. C. Spink, editor of the Sporting News.20 Her letter got the attention of Spink, who, according to Manley’s biographer, James Overmyer, had been lukewarm to integrating the majors. Spink wrote a column about her campaign and referred to her as a “furious woman.” She liked that and saved the clipping.21 In his column, Spink printed the names of the players Effa felt to be most deserving. Spink reported that she was most irate at the omission of Rube Foster, who was, in her view, “the all-time great.” “Foster,” she said, “was a great pitcher, great manager, great team operator, great league president, and great

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promoter. If he’d been white, he would have ranked right up there with Christy Mathewson, John McGraw, and Kenesaw Mountain Landis.” The others she named were first baseman George Suttles; second baseman Elwood DeMoss; third basemen Dave Malarcher, Pat Patterson, Oliver Marcelle, and Ray Dandridge; shortstops Willie Wells and Dick Lundy; catcher Biz Mackey; outfielders Vic Harris, Spottswood Poles, Floyd Gardner, and Clarence Jenkins; and pitchers Chet Brewer, John Donaldson, Willie Foster, Dick Redding, Wilbur Rogan, and Smokey Joe Williams. In her fight to have the Hall of Fame recognize more Negro-league players, Manley proposed that a plaque engraved with the players’ names be hung in the Hall. On June 25, 1977, she wrote a letter to Edward W. Stack, chairman of the board of the Hall of Fame. She enclosed a copy of Spink’s editorial, which mentioned the plaque idea, and wrote: “I am writing to you, as the top official of the Hall, to ask for help and advice. Is my request for a placque [sic] to be hung in the Hall, with the names of a few of these really outstanding, great Negro ballplayers of the past asking too much? The committee statement that they had completed their job, was adding insult to injury.”22 A month later she received Stack’s reply: “I will be glad to bring to the attention of our Board of Directors on August 7th your request that ‘a plaque be hung in the Hall with the names of a few of these really outstanding great Negro ball players of the past.’ ”23 Such a plaque was never hung in the Hall. At the same time, John Holway had collected petitions from former Negroleague players, asking that the Negro-league committee be continued. In a letter to sportswriter Art Carter on July 29, 1997, Effa Manley wrote: “I do not agree with this thinking due to the fact of the very poor job the committee did. Imagine naming only nine men (two of them theirself [sic]) and telling the press they had completed their job. Negro baseball is dead, and it is impossible to keep a corpse alive, but I would like to give it a decent burial.”24 She continued to push for her plaque idea.

”We Might File a Lawsuit” Holway, long an advocate for putting more Negro Leaguers in the Hall, contacted Ira Glasser, national executive director of the American Civil Liberties Union in New York City. Glasser, an admirer of the Brooklyn Dodgers and Jackie Robinson, read several of Holway’s works and found them persuasive. The two men arranged for a meeting in a conference room at the commissioner’s office in 1979 or 1980. As Glasser recalls the meeting, he, Holway, and two ACLU

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lawyers, one of whom, Richard Larson, was the ACLU’s lead lawyer on racial discrimination in employment, met with two “pretty high-up” lawyers from the commissioner’s office. Bowie Kuhn did not attend. Glasser remembers the meeting as a cordial one. No hostility was expressed about Holway’s effort to get more Negro Leaguers into the Hall but, Glasser said, “They made all the usual excuses about there were no records, it’s all word of mouth, and there’s no good way to evaluate these players. We made the argument there were ways to evaluate the players such as going to the black newspapers where you’d find the same kind of box scores and assemble another committee of black players who’d seen the stars play.”25 Evaluations done this way, Holway argued, would be no more subjective or vague than the evaluations now made by the Veterans Committee. “Our contribution to the meeting,” Glasser continued, was to rattle some legal swords. We told them the Civil Rights Act of 1964 prohibited racial discrimination in employment by private employers. [The Hall of Fame was and is a private organization; so, of course, is Major League Baseball.] Our point was that by refusing to figure out a way to evaluate the players, they were in effect perpetuating the effects of discrimination of years ago and that that in itself was discriminatory and therefore possibly a violation of the 1964 Act. We said we might file a lawsuit. This is what happens in civil rights cases. It’s like a poker game. You show your hand and say, ‘Look, you have an obligation to do something, and if you don’t, we may well file a lawsuit. Even if we lose, it’s not something you want to have to defend publicly.’ Holway’s point was, why stop now? We have a process that has worked well.

Glasser remembered the meeting ending on a positive note as the commissioner’s lawyers promised to consider Holway’s proposals.26 Holway recalled that Kuhn’s lawyers listened and said they would have to confer with “someone.” They returned to say, Holway continued, “We don’t think this comes under the interstate-commerce laws, because the Hall of Fame is a private institution, so there’s nothing you can do.”27 Glasser said this was a legally bogus argument. “If the Hall of Fame today refused to hire black employees, for example, it would be liable under the 1964 Act. And, if Major League Baseball doesn’t involve interstate commerce, what does?”28 Glasser said the ACLU would have been willing to file a lawsuit if there had been plaintiffs who wanted one. But after the meeting, no one contacted the ACLU again. In a 2006 interview, Kuhn said he had no recollection of the meeting.29

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In another effort to increase the number of Negro leaguers in Cooperstown, fifteen black stars petitioned the Hall of Fame in 1979 to change the membership of the Veterans Committee from sixteen whites and one black to an evenly divided membership of nine blacks and nine whites. The petition also, according to Holway, asked that the requirement of only one black player being elected a year be dropped so that multiple Negro leaguers could be inducted in a given year. Nothing came of the petition.30 As an indicator of how strongly some blacks felt, one of the fifteen petitioners, George Giles (who had played first base for many teams from 1927 to 1939), threatened to take court action under civil rights laws to counter what he saw as the Hall’s discriminatory policy, but later decided not to.31

Lack of Stats Still a Stumbling Block While these efforts to get more blacks into the Hall were taking place, Hall of Fame officials, according to Hall of Fame sportswriter Red Smith, wanted to be sure Negro leaguers would be considered after the Committee on Negro Leagues disbanded. Smith reported that, toward that end, the Veterans Committee was enlarged from twelve to eighteen and given instructions to elect two new members each year from among three categories of people: “white antiques, non-playing personnel, and black old-timers.” Selections were to be limited to one from each category, which meant that one category would go unrepresented each year.32 White members of the 1978 Veterans Committee were former players Al Lopez, Stan Musial, Burleigh Grimes, Joe Cronin, Bill Terry (who resigned because of illness), and Charlie Gehringer; former executives Warren Giles, Buzzie Bavasi, Gabe Paul, and Bill DeWitt; writers Bob Broeg, Joe Reichler, Bob Addie, Fred Lieb, Ed Munzel, and Charlie Segar; and Paul Kerr of the Hall of Fame.33 Roy Campanella was the only Negro-league member until Monte Irvin joined the committee in 1983.34 The white members had little or no knowledge of Wells and his Negro-league colleagues for two reasons.35 White members had not played with or against Negro leaguers, except for some barnstorming games, and therefore had little firsthand knowledge of Negro leaguers’ capabilities. Second, reliable statistics were less accessible for Negro leaguers’ performances than for major leaguers’. Buck O’Neil and Monte Irvin were acutely aware of the stats problem. O’Neil put it this way in 1998, the year after Wells was inducted: “It was hard to get the black guys in. You know who Willie Wells was competing with? Leo Durocher [a

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major-league shortstop from 1928 to 1945, inducted into the Hall in 1994 for his twenty-four-year career as a manager]. You had stats on Leo Durocher from D ball [the lowest rung of minor-league baseball] until he finished managing. You just had a few stats on Willie Wells, so Wells didn’t have much of a chance because there wasn’t anybody on the committee that knew anything about Wells, other than Monte Irvin and Buck O’Neil.”36 Campanella died in 1993, four years before Wells was inducted. Campanella also acknowledged that the incompleteness of Negro-league records was a hindrance, but expressed optimism. “I feel we’ll elect some,” he said. “I played against some of the great ones and the older men I played with told me about others. Knowing and playing against them means more than just hearsay.”37 Others suggested alternatives to statistics. Red Smith argued that instances of brilliant performances, especially against major leaguers, should be considered in lieu of statistics. A case in point was Smokey Joe Williams. Williams was the top vote getter of several Negro leaguers who were nominated by the 1978 Veterans Committee. The votes for Williams, however, fell short of the required 75 percent. Smith, acknowledging that “details are incomplete,” noted that Williams is “said to have compiled a 20–5 record against big league players. After the New York Giants won the National League pennant, Williams pitched a 10inning no hitter, striking out 20 but lost the game 1–0 on error.” Smith also pointed out that Williams had pitched against and defeated the likes of Walter Johnson, Grover Alexander, Rube Marquard, and Waite Hoyt, “all enshrined in Cooperstown.”38 Smith’s arguments did not carry the day. Donn Rogosin, author of the Invisible Men, suggested that oral testimony was the most useful source for evaluating Negro leaguers. “From hundreds of hours of collected interviews,” he wrote in 1980, “something approaching a Negro league consensus emerges.” Players who made up the consensus as Rogosin saw it but were not yet in the Hall included Rube Foster, Wells, Dandridge, Joe Rogan, Smokey Joe Williams, Hilton Smith, Leon Day, Ray Brown, Dick Redding, and Effa Manley, who as “the driving force behind much of the success of the second Negro National League, deserves some consideration too.”39 The consensus did not sway the committee, but it did prove to be prophetic in the end. All but Brown, Redding, and Manley were in the Hall by 2001; Brown and Manley were inducted in 2006. Knowing that they didn’t have the stats to back up their case for Negro-league nominees, Irvin, Campanella, and O’Neil relied on their firsthand knowledge of players to try to win votes for them. “We saw them play,” Irvin said.

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We’d say to the rest of the Veterans Committee, “If there’re great Negro players now like Aaron and Mays, doesn’t it stand to reason there’s always been great Negro league players?” Josh Gibson was just as good a slugger as Babe Ruth, but Gibson never got the publicity in the white press. When I’d hear someone refer to Buck Leonard as the black Lou Gehrig, I’d say, “You know, Lou Gehrig could be considered the white Buck Leonard.” We told the committee that we knew there aren’t many stats, but that we could give them an honest assessment of a player’s credentials.40

In a similar vein, Bill Yancey, a member of the Committee on Negro Leagues, was fond of saying to the press, “We [black players] had 14 of the top 15 hitters in the National League in 1969. Hell, we’ve always had players of that caliber, only we never got any recognition.”41 For whatever reasons, firsthand knowledge did not prove as persuasive as Irvin and Campanella had hoped. The Veterans Committee elected only two Negro leaguers, Rube Foster (1981) and Ray Dandridge (1987), from 1978 through 1994, while electing eighteen white players, six pioneers or executives, two managers, and two umpires.42 Six slots went unfilled. The Veterans Committee did not elect anyone in 1990 and 1993, and only one election was made in both 1987 and 1988. Some on the Veterans Committee believed no additional Negro leaguers would ever be inducted. John Holway recalled asking Charlie Gehringer, Hall of Fame second baseman for the Detroit Tigers and chair of the Veterans Committee at the time, if he thought any more Negro leaguers would be inducted. Gehringer, even though he had barnstormed against the likes of Mule Suttles, Wells, and Bill Foster, said he didn’t think so.43 Holway didn’t ask Gehringer why he didn’t think more Negro leaguers would be inducted. When asked why he thought Gehringer had made the comment, Holway said, “You can draw your own conclusions.”44

An Age of Education While Negro leaguers were not making much headway in Cooperstown, the sound of typewriters describing their deeds became louder and louder from 1978 to 1995. Those years saw a flood of publications about the Negro leagues. Until 1977, Only the Ball Was White (1970) by Robert Peterson stood alone as an indepth examination of the Negro leagues and their players. Peterson produced several articles as well over the next fifteen years. Other writers soon joined him.

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ncomplete records prevented many Negro-league stars from being recognized in arenas other than Cooperstown. Lawrence Ritter and Donald Honig compiled a list

of the 100 greatest baseball players of all time for a book of the same title in 1986. They included a number of black major leaguers, but no Negro leaguers who hadn’t made the majors, because, in the authors’ introductory words, “There is no doubt that a book purporting to represent the greatest ballplayers of all time should include Josh Gibson, Cool Papa Bell . . . and many other old-time blacks. In their cases, we are unable to document what we know to be true.”

John Holway wrote, or cowrote, more than sixty articles for magazines and newspapers as well as six books, including, with Dick Clark, the first edition of The Baseball Encyclopedia. James Riley wrote two books and numerous articles on the Negro leagues. Donn Rogosin turned his doctoral dissertation into Invisible Men. Dick Clark and Larry Lester published The Negro Leagues Book. The leading baseball-research organization in the country, the Society for American Baseball Research (SABR), established interest groups devoted to the Negro leagues. The Negro Leagues Baseball Museum was founded in Kansas City, Missouri, in 1990. The word was getting out. Was anybody listening? Kuhn remembered receiving copies of many of the books from the authors. “I read many of them,” he said, “and I probably asked some of my people to do the same.” Kuhn added that while the publications were informative, he doubted if they had an effect on Veteran Committee members’ votes. “Monte and Campy,” Kuhn said, “were our ‘go-to’ guys on the Negro leagues. Everyone respected their opinions.”45

A Theory of Exclusion What explains the slow pace of inducting Negro leaguers? Was it just a lack of reliable statistics? Did prejudice play a role? Were old dogs reluctant to learn new tricks? Ira Glasser, while not privy to the Veteran Committee’s deliberations, offers a possible explanation based on his thirty-four years’ experience on the front lines of fighting discrimination in employment, housing, education, public accommodations, and transportation. “In instances of racial exclusion,” he said, “what I’ve always found about the persistence of discrimination is that the initial discrimination required an explicit hostility to people based on skin color. That was certainly the case for all the years blacks were excluded from the majors and later their exclusion from managerial positions.”46

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The exclusion of blacks from organized baseball dates to July 14, 1887, when the International League’s directors stipulated that no more contracts be signed with “colored men.” Many of the league’s star players were “anxious to leave because of the colored element.”47 Hall of Famer Cap Anson’s aversion to blacks is legendary. As manager of the Chicago White Stockings from 1879 to 1897, he regularly refused to play teams with blacks on the roster. His aversion to blacks is on display in his autobiography, A Ball Player’s Career, published in 1900. In it, Anson describes a black entertainer who performed before games during an 1888–1889 around-the-world exhibition tour as “the little darky,” “the chocolatecovered coon,” and “the no-account nigger.”48 “Discrimination gets so internalized into the habits of the culture,” Glasser continued, “that years later the residual effects of the initial racism don’t require explicit racism for the exclusion to continue.” Glasser noted this dynamic occurred in the ACLU. When he became the national executive director of the ACLU in 1978, there wasn’t a single black lawyer on staff. Why? Not because people were explicitly discriminating—quite the contrary. “We were all,” he said, “passionately committed to ending racism.” Nonetheless, there were no black lawyers, “because we hired by reference. When we had an opening, people on the staff would suggest people to consider. In a substantially segregated society, most white middle-class lawyers, even if they believed in racial justice, only knew people who looked like them. So we unconsciously perpetuated the same patterns of exclusion. You don’t have to be a racist to perpetuate racism.” Glasser added he got no hint that the people he and Holway met with were explicitly opposed to increasing the number of blacks and Latinos in the majors. “There was no hint of that kind of racism on their part. But neither was there much passion to remedy the current effects of past racism or to disturb patterns of behavior in order to do it.” Add an almost universal reluctance to change habits and, Glasser continued, “progress becomes hard. You have to have a passion to remedy the continuing injustice of the past discrimination. You have to lean over backwards and do extraordinary things to compensate for the past. To give black lawyers a chance to work at the ACLU, for example, we had to look in places we ordinarily wouldn’t look. No one was hostile to hiring black lawyers, but it was uncomfortable and unusual to change how we hired and where we looked and how hard we looked. It took years before we were able to integrate the legal staff.” Drawing an analogy to the Hall of Fame induction process, Glasser added, “What I think was going on in baseball was that habits of doing things the way

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they’ve always done them perpetuated the exclusions even though those in charge of the decisions may not themselves have supported exclusion based on race.” Glasser’s comments echo Bowie Kuhn’s comments on the initial positions of Ford Frick and Paul Kerr in 1971 toward inducting Negro leaguers. Glasser added that fairness is not easily achieved in the context of a history of racial discrimination. “Seniority systems in labor union contracts, for example, seem like a fair way to determine the order of layoffs during economic turndowns. But in a system where blacks were excluded and only recently allowed to have union jobs, a seniority system will always result in blacks being the first to be laid off, thus perpetuating the effects of the original discrimination.” Glasser also offered a possible rationale for the disbanding of the Committee on Negro Leagues, in 1977. “When a minority group begins to make progress,” Glasser said, “the question of how much progress is enough is always raised by the majority. In the years following Robinson’s signing with the Dodgers, there were questions about how many black players on a team is enough. How many is too many? Will too many create a backlash? In short, ‘What is the tipping point?’” Glasser noted in the case of school desegregation, a school with 20 percent blacks may be considered integrated, but when the percentage of blacks gets to 60 percent, a tipping point may be reached and the school may be considered a “black” school and not the intended “integrated” school. “Notice,” Glasser said, “it is the majority group asking the tipping-point questions. You never hear such questions from the majority as ‘Do we have too many whites? Do we have too many men?’ “Those at the Hall of Fame,” Glasser said, “concerned about how the election of Negro leaguers to the Hall would be received by its members and visitors may have been concerned about a tipping point, and, as a result, suggested it was time for the committee to disband.” Glasser pointed out that members of minority groups seeking redress don’t always agree on strategy. Debates raged, he said, within the NAACP up to the time of the Brown v. Board of Education (1954) Supreme Court case. Some argued for litigating to maintain the separate-but-equal doctrine but trying to ensure that blacks were in fact treated equally. Those who prevailed, like Thurgood Marshall, believed that separation was a mechanism for maintaining inequalities. They argued that the case should seek to overturn the separatebut-equal doctrine of Plessy v. Ferguson (1896). As we have seen, a similar debate took place among blacks during the special committee’s existence and after it disbanded.

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Bending Over Backward The Hall began bending over backward in 1995. Ed Stack, chairman of the board of the Hall of Fame from 1977 to 2000, said in a 2005 interview, “It was becoming clear that Negro leaguers were not going to be elected using the existing process.”49 The Hall formed an advisory group in early 1995 under the guidance of the Hall vice president Bill Guilfoile. The group, known as the Blue Ribbon Committee, came up with a short list of candidates—outfielders Willard Brown and Turkey Stearnes, catcher Biz Mackey, shortstop Willie Wells, and pitchers Smoky Joe Williams, Willie Foster, Bullet Rogan, and Leon Day. The Hall of Fame directors mandated that one Negro-league player be inducted each year from 1995 through 2001.50 The mandate gave added influence to those members of the Veterans Committee who had played in the Negro leagues and had firsthand knowledge of the Negro-league candidates. Roy Campanella’s death in 1993 left Buck O’Neil and Monte Irvin as the only two Negro leaguers on the committee from 1995 to 1997. During that time Leon Day (1995), Bill Foster (1996), and Willie Wells (1997) were elected. Monte Irvin left the committee following Wells’s election. From 1998 to 2001, it was up to Buck O’Neil to provide firsthand information about deserving Negro leaguers. This O’Neil did, according to Jerome Holtzman, the historian for majorleague baseball, the recipient of the J. G. Taylor Spink Award in 1989, a sportswriter for more than fifty years, and a member of the Veterans Committee from 1997 to 2001. Holtzman remembered a disgruntled Veterans Committee during his tenure.51 At some point after the Blue Ribbon Committee had been formed, Holtzman recalled that some on the Veterans Committee objected to “a continuation of special voting for the Negro players.” The members thought all deserving Negro leaguers were in, largely because, as Holtzman remembered it, O’Neil said, “Everybody’s in.” A year or two later there was a change of mind, and Holtzman remembered O’Neil saying, “Well, I forgot a few.” Having now to resurrect the special process and comply with the mandate, Holtzman said, led to resentment on the part of some members. Lack of information on candidates’ performances continued, as it had since 1971, to concern some of the committee members. This resentment was, according to Holtzman, exacerbated by the committee members not knowing “who we were voting on. O’Neil was doing all the spade work, and whoever he said should get in got in.”

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Another issue on the minds of some committee members, Holtzman said, was the proportion of white and black members in the Hall. (An example of Glasser’s tipping point.) Holtzman recalled someone saying that, given the country’s racial makeup, Negro leaguers were now overrepresented in the Hall, and that that should be grounds for stopping the process. “But,” Holtzman said, “the process didn’t stop, because nobody wanted to stand up publicly and say we got enough black players in there, as it could be interpreted as being anti-black.”52 The process continued until 2001. Following Wells’s election in 1997, Negro leaguers “Bullet” Joe Rogan (1998), Joe Williams (1999), Turkey Stearnes (2000), and Hilton Smith (2001) were elected.

Doing the Extraordinary As Glasser indicated, it would take extraordinary efforts to overcome the effects of past discrimination. Those efforts began when the Hall of Fame called for a moratorium on additional Negro-league inductees until a Hall of Fame–sponsored study of African American baseball from 1860 to 1960 was completed—exactly what A. S. (Doc) Young and John Holway had called for years earlier. The study was to be an in-depth examination of the performance of professional African American ballplayers who had not played in the majors. A committee of Negro-league experts would use the study’s results to nominate and elect as many Negro leaguers for the Hall as they felt deserving of the honor, after which there would be no more elections of Negro leaguers. Holtzman said he couldn’t recall why the study decision was made, but he thought it might well have been because someone at the Hall decided to confront the statistics issue once and for all. Holtzman said that in doing the study, the Hall “was bending over backwards to be fair.”53 Holtzman’s surmise about the reason for the study was correct. Dale Petroskey, president of the Hall of Fame, and Jane Forbes Clark, chairman of the board of directors, both assumed their positions in 1999. An early priority for both was to assess the Hall’s operations, including the election and induction processes. Their findings led to a number of changes in the induction process, and resulted in the decision to sponsor the study of African American baseball players. “I wanted,” Petroskey said, “a transparent process that would let everyone know who the nominees were, what their records were, how they were nominated and by whom, and how many votes each nominee received.”54 Clark felt similarly, and was instrumental in persuading Major League Baseball

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to underwrite the study. John McHale, a member of the Hall’s board of directors from 1982 to the time of this writing, recalled, “Jane Clark encouraged everyone to get behind the study, and the high regard in which she was held was a major factor in getting the funds.”55 When asked why the decision was made in 2000, since many people had been calling for such a study for the past thirty years, Petroskey replied, “I felt it was the fair thing to do. Before the study, we knew maybe 20 percent of the available information. Now we know 90 percent.”56 In February 2001, the Board selected the Negro Leagues Researchers/Authors Group research team, led by Larry Hogan of Union County College in New Jersey, Dick Clark, and Larry Lester, to conduct the comprehensive study. They oversaw a group of more than fifty other authors, researchers, and historians.57 Their research resulted in a narrative and bibliography totaling nearly 800 pages as well as a statistical database that includes 3,000 day-by-day records, league leaders, and all-time leaders.58 The findings came from coverage in 128 newspapers of sanctioned league games from 1920to 1954, including more than 90 percent of the box scores from games in the 1920s, more than 90 percent of the box scores from games in the ’30s, and box scores from 50–70 percent of games in the ’40s and ’50s. Coverage dropped off in the late ’40s and ’50s as teams and leagues began disbanding.59 Hogan published much of the narrative and bibliography in the book Shades of Glory. John Holway continued his advocacy for Negro leaguers by writing a letter in 2003 to Jane Forbes Clark, suggesting the names of several players he thought should be in the Hall and including statistical backup. They were Jud Wilson, lifetime batting champ for the Negro leagues; Biz Mackey, probably the best allround catcher, black or white, in Holway’s opinion; Ray Brown, Cristóbal Torriente, and Dick Lundy.60 Holway would not be totally disappointed.

The Final Chapter For the first time in the Hall’s history, historians, rather than former players, executives, or sportswriters, would do the voting. The Hall’s board of directors appointed twelve baseball historians to constitute the voting committee, under the chairmanship of Fay Vincent, who had served as commissioner from 1989 to 1992. The committee members’ names and areas of expertise in African American baseball history are Todd Bolton, Latin America; Greg Bond, the nineteenth century; Adrian Burgos, Latin America; Dick Clark, Negro leagues; Ray

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Doswell, overall knowledge; Leslie Heaphy, women’s history; Larry Hogan, overall knowledge and Negro leagues; Larry Lester, Negro leagues; Sammy Miller, eastern and western teams; Jim Overmyer, eastern teams and the nineteenth century; Robert Peterson, overall knowledge; and Rob Ruck, eastern teams. As announced on the Hall’s Web site, the committee elected the following persons: seven Negro-league players: Ray Brown, Willard Brown, Andy Cooper, Biz Mackey, Mule Suttles, Cristóbal Torriente, and Jud Wilson; five pre-Negroleague players: Frank Grant, Pete Hill, José Méndez, Louis Santop, and Ben Taylor; four Negro-league executives Effa Manley, Alex Pompez, Cum Posey, and J. L. Wilkinson; and one pre–Negro league executive, Sol White. Manley became the first woman elected to the Baseball Hall of Fame.61

Fifteen The “Devil” Is In

W

illie Wells’s trip to Cooperstown was a long one across many hurdles—the Hall’s ten-year eligibility rule; the hard-to-find stats; and once the Committee on Negro Leagues disbanded, the Veterans Committee electors’ lack of knowledge about Wells. At the time of Wells’s election, Monte Irvin remembered some Veterans Committee members saying before the vote, “How can I vote for somebody I never saw play?” Irvin and Buck O’Neil compared Wells to Phil Rizzuto (who other members had seen play), adding only that Wells was a better hitter. Irvin also said he told the committee that since stats were lacking, “You gotta take our word that we’re not saying it just to be saying it, but that these guys were really great players. Now, if we’re not going to do that, then why are we on the committee in the first place?” Irvin added, “I guess they trusted our judgment.”1 Unfortunately, Wells didn’t live long enough to smell his roses. He reportedly lived out his final years without bitterness over his exclusion, yet firmly believing he would be elected to the Hall of Fame and hoping “it would happen before I die.” But he knew better. “They’re not going to recognize me until I’m dead,” he once told his daughter, Stella. “Why do you say that, Daddy?” “Baby, that’s just the way it is,” Wells said. “They’re not going to induct any of us old Negro league players still waiting around until after we’re dead.”2 Wells was quoted as saying that he had had a beautiful career and that the money had been good, as much as $25,000

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for playing twelve months. When a reporter asked him directly about his chances of getting into Cooperstown, he was optimistic: “I think they’ll put more of us in there.” he said. “Just let me see it while I’m living.” When pressed on whether he thought he belonged in the Hall, he said with typical modesty, “It’s not what you think of yourself, it’s what others think of you. The sportswriters think so, but it’s hard for me to say. I just loved to play. It’s such an intelligent game. You learn so much about the character of people. I wouldn’t take a million dollars for all the experiences I had with those fellows.”3 The “Shakespeare of Shortstops” was selected for one Hall of Fame during his lifetime. In 1939, Wells was chosen for what the Negro National Baseball League described as its Hall of Fame. Three black celebrities, heavyweight boxer Joe Louis, tap dancer Bill “Bojangles” Robinson (a one-time co-owner of the New York Black Yankees), and orchestra leader Cab Calloway, offered selections for the Negro Baseball Hall of Fame.4 Those selected were guests of honor at a doubleheader in Yankee Stadium on July 2, 1939. Joe Louis, heavyweight boxing champion of the world, selected the shortstop. He chose Willie Wells.

The Bandwagon Begins to Roll Many people in Austin supported Wells’s candidacy. Wells’s congressman, J. J. “Jake” Pickle, a Democrat who represented Texas’ tenth congressional district from 1963 to 1995, was one of his advocates. Pickle first learned of Wells’s accomplishments from Lawrence Olsen, an aide and a baseball fan. Pickle and Austin mayor Carole McClellan surprised Wells one day in 1977 at Marshall’s Barber Shop on East 12th Street in Austin. They told Wells that the Austin city council had passed a resolution saluting him as one of the country’s best athletes.5 In a 1980 entry in the Congressional Record, Pickle wrote, “Many folks think Willie Wells deserves a place in the Baseball Hall of Fame. I do, too. But the selection committee has not seen fit to reopen its selection process to include members of the Negro leagues. I have written the commissioner of baseball, Mr. Bowie Kuhn, urging him and the selection committee to look once more at the records of Willie Wells.”6 Pickle met with Wells at least once a year in Austin, and gave Wells copies of his entries into the Congressional Record.7 Pickle continued to write letters and speak to his colleagues about Wells. His last entry in the Congressional Record on the matter came on February 23, 1989, a month after Wells’s death on January 24. The entry read, “Despite his outstanding legacy and the record he left behind, his friends and advocates have never

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been able to get him into the Hall of Fame. Mr. Speaker, the name and accomplishments of Willie Wells should be resubmitted to the Hall of Fame’s Veterans Selection Committee and that committee should posthumously induct him into the Hall so that future generations of baseball fans will know about his excellence.”8 Austin restaurateur Danny Roy Young, owner of the Texicalli Grill and known as the “Mayor of South Austin” for his participation in local affairs (and as the “Lord of the Board” for his musical proficiency on the Texas rubboard), was another early advocate for Wells’s induction. In the late ’70s Young and his wife were volunteering to cook meals for Meals on Wheels, and one of the women delivering the meals asked Young what he knew about one of their customers “named Willie Wells, who said he’d been a ballplayer.” Young didn’t know him, but met him soon after when he began occasionally delivering meals himself to Wells. “When I’d mention his name,” Young said, “people would say, ‘Who’s Willie Wells?’” He realized, “We’ve passed a guy by here. So I decided to talk him up to every sportswriter and politician I could find. Nothing official, I would just run at the mouth.”9 Perhaps not coincidently, a number of articles about Wells began to appear in the Austin papers. When Young bought the Texicalli Grill, he asked a muralist friend, George Gonzalez, to paint images of the faces of famous Texans on a low white wall that Young calls “The Great Wall of South Austin.” Young said, “I told him, ‘You can put anyone you want on that wall as long as you include my four heroes.’” Young’s heroes were, in addition to Wells, John Henry Faulk, who had rubbed Senator Joseph McCarthy the wrong way; Roky Erickson, whose work in the ’60s with the 13th Floor Elevators bridged psychedelia and garage rock; and Sammy Allred, an Austin-born musician.10 A singer, songwriter and instrumentalist, Allred has performed since the mid-1950s with his group, the Geezinslaws. An occasional actor, he has also become a well-known disk jockey, partnering with Bob Cole on the number-one morning radio show in Austin.11 Support also came from beyond Austin. Author James Riley wrote in a letter to Wells on August 26, 1987, “I hope this book [Dandy, Day, and the Devil, which Riley had just written about Negro leaguers Ray Dandridge, Leon Day, and Wells] helps generate the recognition necessary for you to get into the Hall of Fame. Now that Dandridge has finally gotten his just rewards, we’re going to push for you to join him and your old roomie, Cool Papa.”12 In 1993 the Sporting News put in a plug for Wells’s induction. Noting that the Negro Leagues Baseball Museum had just selected its all-time all-star team and

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A portion of the Great Wall of South Austin, outside the Texicalli Grill. Courtesy of the author.

hinting that the Veterans Committee should put one of them in the Hall, the article went on to say, “The Sporting News casts a vote for shortstop Willie Wells.”13 Wells, while not well known in the white community, was known for his baseball prowess in the African American community in Austin. In April 1935, Wells’s Chicago American Giants stopped by Austin for a barnstorming game against a local team, the Texas Steers. An Austin dentist, a Dr. Givens, presented Wells with “a huge bouquet of flowers as he stepped to the plate for the first time.” The crowd, including his mother, several aunts, and other relatives, gave Wells a standing ovation. Wells responded to the applause by drawing a walk, stealing second, racing to third on an overthrown ball into centerfield, and making it home with the Giants’ first run when the Steers’ centerfielder was slow in fielding the overthrown ball. Wells doubled in a second run to lead the Giants to a 4–2 win.14 Wells was of course well known and respected by his fellow Negro-league players. Many of them thought Wells belonged in the Hall, not the least of whom was James “Cool Papa” Bell, Hall of Famer and Wells’s one-time roommate. Upon hearing of Wells’s death, Bell called Wells’s daughter, Stella, to give her his condolences and say, “Stella, I remember you as a baby and I am going

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to make them take me out of the Hall of Fame and put your daddy in.” Stella asked Bell to “leave it like it is because Daddy said he was going in after he died.” Bell obliged.15

Wells’s Day On March 5, 1997, Stella received a phone call from a neighbor telling her to turn her TV on and watch the local news. Across the bottom of the screen ran the message “Austin native Willie Wells headed for Cooperstown.” “When I saw that,” she said, “I broke down and cried. Daddy was right.”16 She told a reporter several days later, “He just knew he’d get in. He’d tell people, I may be dead but I’ll get in.”17 On August 3, 1997, Wells became the fourteenth Negro leaguer to be inducted into baseball’s Hall of Fame. Members of the committee that elected him were Yogi Berra, Monte Irvin, Stan Musial, Pee Wee Reese, Ted Williams, Buzzie Bavasi, Joe L. Brown, Buck O’Neil, Hank Peters, Bill White, Bob Broeg, Ken Coleman, Jerome Holtzman, Len Koppett, and Allen Lewis.18 Other Negro leaguers who received consideration on this ballot were Raleigh “Biz” Mackey, “Bullet” Joe Rogan, and Smoky Joe Williams.19 Rogan was elected the following year, and Williams in 1999. By 2001, eighteen Negro leaguers had been inducted. Of those, five had been born in Texas, far more than from any other state: Wells, Rube Foster and his half-brother Willie Foster, both of Calvert, Hilton Smith of Giddings, and Smoky Joe Williams of Seguin, Other native Texan Negro leaguers often mentioned as deserving of induction included Louis Santop of Tyler, Newt Allen of Austin, and Raleigh “Biz” Mackey of Eagle Pass. Santop and Mackey were inducted in 2006. August 3 was a sunny, clear day in upstate New York. Speaking on her father’s behalf, Stella Wells said: It’s a great honor to be here. To the Hall of Fame, Veterans Committee, and President Don Marr, ladies and gentlemen, I never dreamed I would have this opportunity, the privilege of being here today to honor and recognize my father as a member of the Baseball Hall of Fame. It gives me and my family and friends great pride and joy. I recall my father commenting, when things were going well, he would say, “This is beautiful.” I’m sure, ladies and gentlemen, this is, indeed, beautiful. Dad always confided in me that he would get in the Hall of Fame. He said,

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Stella Wells accepting her father’s induction into the Hall of Fame. Courtesy of the National Baseball Hall of Fame Library, Cooperstown, New York.

“I might be dead, but I’ll be in the Hall of Fame.” Well, Dad, your dream has come. We salute you. To my father, baseball was more than a game. It was a way of life. He understood the importance of applying hard work, wisdom, intelligence, leadership, and persistence to his primary goal to win a baseball game. He sought to improve the game and at the same time protect himself from the hazard of injury. Through his integrity, he is credited with an example of this effort to protect himself. He created the protective helmet from a coal miner’s helmet. Dad often expressed to his children the common rules of this life he applied to baseball. I remember two very basic ones. “Let’s get knowledge.” Get knowledge. Because knowledge is everything. And the second one is to “do what you can, and do the best you can.” My father’s career was an example of these guidelines and actions. He starred in the League, or throughout the Western Hemisphere. He served as the manager of the Newark Eagles and Veracruz Blues. He became a teacher and a tutor to the young players, and pioneered the idea of wearing protective helmets. Cool Papa Bell, I have to say something about Cool Papa Bell. Cool Papa Bell, he was pals with Daddy. He was one of

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Daddy’s greatest friends. And he called me when he passed. He said, “Stella,” I said, “Yes, sir.” “This is Cool Papa Bell.” I said, “Yes, sir.” “Listen, I’m going to let the Committee take me out of the Hall of Fame and put Willie in.” I said, “Oh, no, no, no, don’t do that.” I said, “Because he wouldn’t want you to do that, and I wouldn’t either.” And he said to me, he said, “Well, O.K., but I’m just letting you know, I’ll do that.” I said, “O.K., well don’t do it, O.K.?” And he said, “Well, I am going to say this.” Cool Papa Bell, we hope you and Dad together are smiling down on us today. Because “The Diablo” is in. I am obligated to many persons for the joy of this day. Some of you across the years and your efforts to add Dad’s name to the roster of members of this Baseball Hall of Fame. I thank the Hall of Fame Veterans Committee, the Chairman, Mr. Stack, and the President, Mr. Marr. Especially, I express my appreciation to Miss Connie Brooks, the daughter of Cool Papa Bell, Judy Johnson, Monte Irvin, and former U.S. Representative J. J. Pickle of Austin, Texas, Buck Leonard, Mary Scallion, Miss Iola Miles Taylor. To all of you and many more friends and supporters [who] have come to achieve this moment, to a great honor for my father. My father was the fourteenth Negro leaguer to be put in the Hall of Fame. Now, I hope that there will be many, many more. Thank you, and may God bless you.20

As you read Wells’s plaque in the Hall of Fame, you learn that he played from 1924 to 1948 and that he had a combination of speed, power, and fielding prowess. He ranks among the all-time leaders in doubles, triples, homers, and stolen bases, and he was the first player to use a protective batting helmet.21

One More Hall To Go As of this writing Willie Wells has not been inducted into the Texas Sports Hall of Fame in Waco, Texas. According to Kirk Bohls, sportswriter for the Austin American-Statesman and a member of the Texas Sports Hall of Fame Selection Committee, Wells has been nominated frequently and has always finished among the top five, so he remains on the short list. As has been the case with the induction of Negro leaguers at Cooperstown, a separate veterans committee makes selections of athletes for the Texas Sports Hall of Fame from Wells’s era. No one on the Veterans Committee in Waco saw Wells play, so he hasn’t been pushed as hard as he should, Bohls said. He continued, “All of us connected to

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hey come by the thousands to a lakeside village of 2,000 in upper New York State. Many wear baseball caps, either forward or backward, depending on their genera-

tion, and a jersey with their hero’s name and number on the back. It is a pilgrimage. They come to the place “where the legends live”—Cooperstown, New York, on a late-July or early-August weekend. Their shrine is the National Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum. Cooperstown high school students run the concessions for their annual fund-raiser. Folding chairs fill the expanse of Clark Field, where, at one end, sits a stage and a podium covered by a white canopy. The forty or so legends, in suits, ties, and some in sunglasses, along with Hall of Fame officials, sit on the stage. The rookie legends take their turn at the podium, where emotion is their opponent. From the millions of boys who start playing baseball on streets, sandlots, and Little League fields, these men, often heavier and grayer than in their playing days, now have a plaque that says they are the best. They have ten to fifteen minutes at the podium. Some have to sit before their time is up. They call the names of fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, wives, sons, daughters, teachers, coaches, teammates, managers, and friends. They shout back to a fan in the crowd, “I love you, too.” Some challenge baseball to do things differently. Others share their struggles with alcoholism or name the lessons the game taught them, such as the value of respect, hard work, and a positive attitude. Some, whose induction came too late, have these things said for them by relatives. It is one of baseball’s shining moments.

the Hall believe Willie Wells certainly deserves inclusion because of his many contributions to baseball and his status as one of the best to ever play the game. He has been unjustly overlooked, and it is my hope that impassioned pleas on his behalf will continue and lead to his rightful induction. He was the epitome of the game.”22 Writers at Sports Illustrated would agree. In December 1999 they ranked Wells number twenty-three on their list of the top fifty sports figures who hail from Texas.23 Wells was inducted into the Hall of Fame at Huston-Tillotson College (now Huston-Tillotson University) in 1998.24

Sixteen Righting a Wrong

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ollowing Willie Wells’s induction into the Baseball Hall of Fame, the citizens of Austin sponsored four events honoring him. The first, in February 1998, was a daylong celebration in conjunction with Black History Month, during which the main street in Austin, Congress Avenue (which Wells traveled as a teenager to games at Dobbs Field), was renamed Willie Wells Avenue for the day. In the summer of 2003, the Bob Bullock Texas State History Museum’s Texas Spirit Theater put on a twenty-minute play, The Willie Wells Story, that featured Wells’s accomplishments. On October 5, 2004, the Willie Wells Memorial Dedication was held at the Texas State Cemetery. Wells’s body was taken from its resting place in Austin’s Evergreen Cemetery and reinterred in a prominent spot in the Texas State Cemetery. Finally, the house on Newton Street in which he grew up and died was designated a historical site.

A Banner Day Austin’s first tribute for Wells took place during the city’s 1998 annual observance of Black History Month, in February. These observances honor the accomplishments of prominent African Americans and feature banners hung from street lamps. Austin has held “banner days” for such people as Barbara Jordan, two Tuskegee airmen, black musicians and doctors, and a group of nineteen black families.1 On February 6, 1998, at the southwest corner of 9th Street and Congress Avenue at 10:00 a.m., the observance was for Willie Wells.

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The Austin Convention and Visitors Bureau, the Historic Landmark Commission, and the Capital City African-American Chamber of Commerce sponsored the party. Betty Baker, director of heritage marketing for the Visitors Bureau, took the lead in organizing it. The ceremony was described both as full of pomp and circumstance and as being “almost perfect, with banners flying, [dozens of eight-foot-high banners with Wells’s likeness hung from the light posts] politicians speaking, and bands playing.”2 Buck O’Neil and John “Mule” Miles spoke and signed autographs. The Barbara Jordan Elementary School choir gave a rousing rendition of “Take Me Out to the Ball Game.” The Huston-Tillotson College baseball team was there. Representatives of the sponsoring agencies read proclamations. Former congressman J. J. “Jake” Pickle presented a letter from the Hall of Fame. Mayor Pro Tem Gus Garcia spoke. Donald Motley (a representative of the Negro Leagues Baseball Museum), Roosevelt Leaks (former University of Texas football standout), Buck O’Neil, and James Riley attended. The audience sang the “Black National Anthem” (better known as “Lift Ev’ry Voice and Sing”), composed by James Weldon Johnson. The ceremonies concluded with Stella Wells unveiling the Willie Wells banner and the city council members unveiling the sign for Willie Wells Avenue.3

The Willie Wells Story Premieres at the Texas State Theater At a baseball stadium in the Negro leagues in the 1940s a big crowd has gathered for a game. A stadium announcer calls out, “Now batting third, shortstop Willie Wells!” A cheer goes up from the crowd. Willie Wells stands at the plate, bat in hand, batting helmet on his head. He takes his stance, has a few practice swings, and waits for the pitch. Fizz! A ball is a hurled right at Wells’ head. He falls to the ground to avoid getting hit. His helmet rolls away. The umpire barks out, “Ball one!” Wells gets up, brushes himself off and says, “He’s trying to put me in the hospital!”4

It’s not Willie Wells with bat in hand, but actor Carsey Walker, Jr., who brought Wells to life in Robi Polgar’s one-act play The Willie Wells Story, which ran at the Bob Bullock Texas State History Museum’s Texas Spirit Theater during the summer of 2003 in conjunction with the museum’s exhibit “Play Ball! Texas Baseball.”

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”That Just Won’t Do” The third tribute to Wells began on a visit to Cooperstown by baseball fan and Austin resident Gary Roberts. Roberts noticed that Willie Wells was also from Austin. When Roberts returned to Austin, he visited Wells’s grave in the Evergreen Cemetery, located at the corner of 12th Street and Airport Boulevard in East Austin. He was surprised at what he found. Nothing about the grave gave the slightest hint of Wells’s stature in professional baseball.5 “This just won’t do,” he said to himself.6 Roberts located Wells’s daughter. Stella, and in a letter to her, he explained why he would like to raise funds to upgrade the marker on Wells’s grave. She gave her permission for the project and happened to mention to Roberts that someone had said to her several years before that Wells should be buried in the Texas State Cemetery. That someone was Betty Baker, a senior planner for the City of Austin at the time. Baker was leading a project to have Wells’s house designated a historic building. Roberts then sought out Reid Ryan, president of the nearby minor-league baseball team the Round Rock Express, a AAA affiliate of the Houston Astros (Reid Ryan is also the son of Hall of Fame pitcher Nolan Ryan). At an Open

Wells’s grave marker from the Evergreen Cemetery. It now rests at the base of his grave marker in the Texas State Cemetery. Courtesy of the author.

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Wells’s grave marker at the Texas State Cemetery. Courtesy of the author.

House Day sponsored by the Express in February 2004, Roberts asked Ryan if he knew who Willie Wells was. Ryan said he didn’t. Roberts explained who Wells was and described his fundraising project, hoping that Ryan would give some publicity to the effort. Ryan agreed to help. Mark Swanson, media director for the Express, overheard the conversation. Swanson had recently completed an internship at the Texas State Cemetery, and after talking with Ryan, he approached cemetery officials about the possibility of reinterring Wells’s body there. Roberts received a call shortly thereafter, and plans for Wells’s reinterment in the Texas State Cemetery, complete with a headstone displaying a bronze image of Wells and an inscription of his accomplishments, were under way.7

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Officials of the Express were pleased to be involved. Swanson said, “In baseball history, Negro leaguers have been slighted so much. We have the opportunity to do something to let people know how good these guys were. It’s an honor to be able to do this. He was a great player and the Negro leaguers were some of the best players in the history of the game.”8 The Express not only agreed to help with publicity, but also made a $1,000 donation toward a new headstone for Wells.9 To give publicity to Roberts’s project, the Express held a Willie Wells Day at their ballpark, Dell Stadium, on July 22, 2004. Roberts escorted Stella Wells to the pitcher’s mound to throw a ceremonial first pitch.10

The Texas State Cemetery Welcomes Wells The reinterment ceremony, held on October 5, 2004, began at 10:00 a.m. with the choir from Huston-Tillotson College singing the national anthem. As the last notes drifted away, shouts of “Play ball!” were heard. More than one hundred people were on hand to pay tribute to Wells. Texas governor Rick Perry said, “For folks who love baseball, this is a powerful moment. The lives of Wells and other black players who weren’t allowed to play with whites underscore the importance of perseverance.” Keynote speaker Buck O’Neil asked the crowd to join hands and sing, saying, “Let’s see if you white folks can sing.” O’Neil also said, “This is quite an honor really, not only for the Negro leagues and the Wells family, but quite an honor for Austin, Texas.” The Huston-Tillotson Choir concluded the program with “Take Me Out to the Ball Game.” Former players John “Mule” Miles of San Antonio and Bill Blair of Dallas joined in the ceremonies, as did University of Texas baseball coach Augie Garrido and former University of Texas football coach Darrell Royal.11 Wells’s grave is located in Statesman’s Meadow, section 2, row G, number 33.12 The cemetery’s history illustrates the magnitude of the honor of being buried there: “The Texas State Cemetery serves as the burial ground for Texas’ most notable sons and daughters. It became a cemetery in 1851 with the burial of military leader and Republic of Texas Vice President Edward Burleson on undeveloped farmland owned by Andrew Jackson Hamilton, who later was the provisional governor of Texas after the Civil War. The land was given to the state in 1854 and subsequently became the resting place for numerous war heroes, founders of the Republic of Texas, jurists, elected state officials, and writers.”13

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Program cover for the reinterment ceremony for Wells at the Texas State Cemetery. Courtesy of the Texas State Cemetery.

”I’m Nosy” Willie James Wells, Sr., spent most of his youth in a two-room house at 1705 Newton Street in South Austin, just off South Congress Avenue. His home is about a mile from the Colorado River and several blocks south of the Texas School for the Deaf. The house, now four rooms, stands today. Betty Baker, a senior planner for the City of Austin at the time, started the historic-designation process. Baker said, “I’m nosy and I like old houses. I noticed this very antiquated house that was rapidly deteriorating, so I knocked

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on the door and met Willie Wells. He told me a lot about the Negro leagues and that his mother had built the house. The combination of the house’s distinguished architecture and the fact it belonged to Willie Wells was enough for the Historic Landmark Commission to give it a historical designation.”14 A plaque titled “Austin Landmark” has been mounted on a column on the porch of the house. Stella Wells said that other relatives have “given her clearance to dispose of the property, and she would like to see it preserved.”15 The eventual purchaser of the house, Danny Bingham, was, according to Betty Baker, a “sympathetic buyer,” meaning he was in favor of the designation of the house as historic.16 It could no longer be said that Willie Wells wasn’t known and recognized for his achievements throughout all of Austin.

Seventeen “Baseball Is a Beautiful Game”

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oday Wells’s accomplishments are recognized as standing alongside those of the best who ever donned a baseball uniform. He did it all. His play at shortstop drew rave reviews from all who saw him play. He hit the ball with consistency and power. He had speed on the bases and would show it off with the occasional steal of home. He gave no quarter either to bigger players looking to “undress” him or to pitchers wanting to fire the ball “in his ear.” In addition to his physical skills, he was universally known as a smart baseball person. Dubbed the “Shakespeare of Shortstops,” he could adjust his positioning and that of his teammates according to who was pitching and who was at bat. He was much sought after as a manager, coach, and developer of younger players. Many players, whether they played with him or against him, valued his advice. While most often easygoing, he had a bit of a temper, which cropped up when he disagreed with a player, manager, umpire, or owner. His life as an athlete and as a person can serve as a role model for others. Willie Wells stands as an example of a young man who parlayed raw talent into finely honed skills through hard work, self-confidence, learning from others, sharing his talent, and bearing up gracefully in the face of disappointments and injustices. He had no formal baseball training, though he did benefit from the counsel of people like Jim “Candy” Taylor, Dick Wallace, Hurley “Bugger” McNair, and Rube Foster. He took on the responsibilities of an adult at an age when many are undecided about what they want to do.

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The man and his memories. Courtesy of the Austin History Center, Austin Public Library (photo as7384434).

When his baseball skills diminished to the point that he could no longer play the game he loved, he had to support himself without the benefit of knowing another trade. So he went to work at a deli in New York City. He returned home to Austin to care for his mother. By all accounts, he lived out his final years in Austin with grace and dignity, even though his health was deteriorating and he knew he wouldn’t live to attend his induction into the Hall of Fame. Throughout it all, his love of baseball was the anchor that steadied him in the face of the challenges that came his way. In his declining years, he listened to games on the radio and would sit six inches from the TV screen in order to watch games in spite of his glaucoma. Donn Rogosin, who heard and saw many a game with Wells at his house on Newton Street, said of Wells: “I remember one thing he said over and over, ‘Baseball is a beautiful game.’ ”1

Notes Introduction 1. John Holway, The Complete Book of Baseball’s Negro Leagues: The Other Half of Baseball History (Fern Park, Fla.: Hastings House, 2001), 252. Holway named the award after Fleet Walker, who was the first African American to play in the major leagues. Walker, a catcher, entered the majors when the Toledo, Ohio, club he played for was admitted to the American Association in 1884 (http://www.baseballlibrary .com/baseballlibrary/ballplayers/W/Walker_Fleet.stm; accessed January 24, 2006). One 1. Interview with John Miles at his home in San Antonio, Texas, on November 12, 2004. To “pick it” means “to successfully field a ground ball, especially one that is hard to handle. Often used as part of a compliment by one team member to another for a first-rate defensive play: ‘Good pick,’ ‘way to pick it,’ ‘he really picked it’ (Paul Dickson, The Dickson Baseball Dictionary [New York: Facts on File, 1989], 296). 2. In 1928, Wells and the St. Louis Stars beat the Chicago American Giants to win the pennant in the Negro National League’s West Division. Though a member of the St. Louis Stars, Wells was added to the 1929 Chicago American Giants, winners of the West Division that year, in their successful victory over the East Division champions, the Homestead Grays. In 1930, Wells and the St. Louis Stars beat the Detroit Stars for the Western flag (John Holway, The Complete Book of Baseball’s Negro Leagues [Fern Park, Fla.: Hastings House, 2001], 237, 250, 263). He was elected to the East-West all-star game in 1933, 1934, 1935, 1937, 1938, 1939, 1942, and 1945 (Dick Clark and Larry Lester, The Negro Leagues Book [Cleveland: Society for American Baseball Research. 1994], 242–250). 3. Miles Interview. See the Willie Wells time line in the Introduction for a listing of the teams.

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4. Eric Enders, “Willie James Wells,” in Arnold Markoe, ed., The Scribner Encyclopedia of American Lives: Sports Figures (New York: Scribner’s, 2002), 2:492. 5. William F. McNeil, The California Winter League: America’s First Integrated Professional Baseball League (Jefferson, N.C.: McFarland, 2002), 263. 6. Telephone interview with Dr. Layton Revel, director of the Center for Negro League Baseball Research in Dallas, Texas, April 3, 2006. Revel said Wells told him that he (Wells) managed the Indians for “a year or two.” 7. New York Amsterdam News, April 9, 1938. 8. Letter dated March 3, 1939, in the Newark Eagles correspondence files, Newark, New Jersey, library. 9. James A. Riley, The Biographical Encyclopedia of the Negro Baseball Leagues (New York: Carroll and Graf, 1994), 496, 486, and 826. 10. James Riley, Dandy, Day, and the Devil: A Trilogy of Negro League Baseball (Cocoa, Fla.: TK Publishers, 1987), 106. 11. “Wells Praised,” New Jersey Herald-News, September 3, 1938. Lewis was further quoted as saying that Negro ball players were great fielders and base runners, but that they put their foot in the bucket like Al Simmons while batting and showed a lack of coaching in the finer arts of hitting. 12. Bill Dallas, “Negro All-Star Team Picked; Doby, Robby Overlooked,” Evening (Newark) Bulletin, Hall of Fame (HOF) file, Cooperstown, New York. There is no date or page number on the article, but the date had to be between 1946 and 1950, the years Charleston managed the Stars. 13. The committee was made up primarily of players (22). Members who were players: Cool Papa Bell, Larry Brown, Oscar Charleston, Jimmy Crutchfield, William “Dizzy” Dismukes, Bunny Downs, Frank Forbes, Jesse Hubbard, Clarence “Fats” Jenkins, Judy Johnson, John Henry Lloyd, Dave Malarcher, William Jack Marshall, Vic Harris, William “Bill” Pierce, Jake Stevens, Theodore “Ted” Paige, Lloyd Thompson, Robert “Bobby” Williams, Willie Wells, Chaney White, and Bill Yancey; owners: Tom Baird, Eddie Gottlieb, Syd Pollock, and Abe Saperstein; and writers Dan Burley, Alvin Moses, Eric B. Roberts, W. Rollo Wilson, and Frank A. “Fay” Young. 14. “Top Baseball Names Pick Greatest Team,” Pittsburgh Courier, April 19, 1952. Other first-team selections were Buck Leonard, first base; Jackie Robinson, second base; Oliver Marcelle, third base. Marcelle beat out Ray Dandridge and Judy Johnson, both Hall of Famers. The outfield consisted of Monte Irvin in left, Oscar Charleston in center, and Cristóbal Torriente in right, who beat out Charles “Cheno” Smith by a single vote. The catchers were Biz Mackey and Josh Gibson. Satchel Paige and Smoky Joe Williams “finished far out in front” of other pitchers who made the first team—Bullet Joe Rogan, John Donaldson, and Willie Foster. 15. James A. Riley, The All-Time All-Stars of Black Baseball (Cocoa, Fla.: TK Publishers, 1983), viii. 16. Pittsburgh Courier, August 4, 1934, second section. 17. Newark Herald, October 24, 1936 (from HOF file).

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18. Oscar Ruhl, “The Rule Book,” Sporting News, November 7, 1956, 13. 19. Edgar Munzel, “Boyd of White Sox Never Hit Under .352 in Negro Leagues,” Sporting News, March 14, 1951, 7. 20. John B. Holway, Black Diamonds: Life in the Negro Leagues from the Men Who Lived It (Westport, Conn.: Meckler Books, 1989), 98. 21. John B. Holway, Blackball Stars: Negro League Pioneers (Westport, Conn.: Meckler Books, 1988), 38–39. The term “million dollar” referred to the caliber of play, not the salaries earned. Monte Irvin said of both Dandridge and Wells that “you might get a truck through their legs but not a baseball” (interview with Monte Irvin, June 5, 2005.) This was not the first Negro-league infield to be dubbed the “million dollar infield.” The 1929 Baltimore Black Sox claimed that honor with an infield consisting of Dick Lundy at shortstop, Oliver Marcelle at third base, player-manager Frank Warfield at second base, and slugger Jud “Boojum” Wilson at first base (http://www.blackbaseball.com/teams/baltimoreblacksox1929 .htm; accessed December 8, 2005). 22. Reyn Davis, “ManDak Loop: A Haven for Blacks,” Winnipeg Free Press, July 14, 1987. Mack managed the Philadelphia Athletics from 1901 to 1950, following an eleven-year career as a catcher for Washington, Buffalo, and Pittsburgh. 23. Ibid. 24. David K. Wiggins, “Wendell Smith, the Pittsburgh Courier-Journal, and the Campaign to Include Blacks in Organized Baseball, 1933–1945,” Journal of Sports History 10, no. 2 (Summer 1983): 16–17. Why not Satchel Paige? He was quoted as saying he wasn’t interested; he was happy with what he was making—$35,000 a year (Yank: The Army Newspaper, September 2, 1942). 25. http://www.baseball-reference.com/bullpen/Wendell_Smith (accessed January 25, 2006). 26. The term “organized baseball” is often used to denote play in the major and minor leagues. Paul Dickson defines organized baseball as “Professional baseball—that is, the Major and Minor leagues as well as the offices that administer them” (Dickson Baseball Dictionary, 286). By implication, other types of play, including that in the Negro leagues, are considered “unorganized.” Play in the majors and minors was more regularized than play in the Negro leagues, where players routinely “jumped” their contracts for better-paying opportunities, and then were welcomed back; “barnstorming” games were played against teams at many skill levels, including semipro and industrial-league teams; and the number of games played varied from year to year, whereas major-league teams played 154 games against the same opponents year in and year out. Another way to look at it is to say that Negro-league play was organized, but not as regularized as major-league play. Negro-league teams played by the same rules as major- and minor-league teams did, and had a league structure and championship playoff system not unlike those of the majors, but for a variety of reasons, mostly financial, lacked the regularity of play associated with the majors and minors. Some Negro leaguers took exception to their play being considered “unorganized.” As Buck Leonard said, “We weren’t disorganized, just unrecognized” (Clark and Lester, Negro Leagues, 34). For others associated with the Negro leagues, the lack of regularity was

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worrisome. As early as 1931, when the Great Depression was taking its toll on the Negro leagues, Abe Manley, co-owner of the Newark Eagles, thought this condition was the Achilles’ heel of Negro-league baseball. “Barnstorming,” he said, “is for the birds. Negro league baseball is never going to get anywhere until it becomes completely organized and learns to operate under real league conditions” (Effa Manley and Leon Herbert Hardwick, Negro Baseball . . . before Integration [Chicago: Adams, 1976], 41). 27. Dick Clark and John B. Holway, “Negro Leagues Register,” in Jeannie Bucek, ed., The Baseball Encyclopedia: The Complete and Definitive Record of Major League Baseball, 10th ed. (New York: Macmillan, 1996), 2767–2768. 28. Buck O’Neil, with Steve Wulf and David Conrads, I Was Right on Time! My Journey from the Negro Leagues to the Majors (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1996), 144. 29. Sporting News, February 6, 1989, 41. 30. Lawrence D. Hogan, Shades of Glory: The Negro Leagues and the Story of AfricanAmerican Baseball (Washington, D.C.: National Geographic Press, 2006), 399–400. 31. John B. Holway to the author, October 2005. 32. Irvin interview, June 2005. 33. St. Louis Argus, May 7, 1926. 34. Ray Buck, “Giving ‘The Devil’ His Due,” Fort Worth Star-Telegram, July 6, 2003 (HOF file). 35. Pittsburgh Courier, July 21, 1924. 36. Michael L. Cooper, Playing America’s Game: The Story of Negro League Baseball (New York: Dutton, 1993), 48. 37. Telephone interview with Frank Evans, February 16, 2005. 38. John B. Holway, “Negro League ‘Devil’ Showed 40–40 Ability,” New York Times (no date; in HOF file). 39. Brent Kelley, Voices from the Negro Leagues: Conversations with 52 Baseball Standouts of the Period 1924–1960 (Jefferson, N.C.: McFarland, 1998), 9. 40. Monte Irvin, with James A. Riley, Nice Guys Finish First: The Autobiography of Monte Irvin (New York: Carroll and Graf, 1996), 46. 41. Irvin interview, June 2005. 42. Dave Anderson, “Out of the Shadows to Cooperstown” New York Times, March 23, 1997. Rizzuto and Reese are in the Hall of Fame. Marion played shortstop for the Cardinals and Browns from 1940 to 1953. 43. Evans interview. 44. Telephone interview with Bill “Ready” Cash, February 21, 2005. 45. Chicago Defender, January 20, 1934. 46. “Wells Says He Was Nervous,” Chicago Defender, September 1, 1935. 47. “Young Players Lead Colored All-Stars’ Poll,” Chicago Daily Tribune, August 4, 1935. 48. “Shortstop with American Giants Choice of Fans,” Chicago Daily Tribune, August 5, 1934. 49. New York Amsterdam News, July 22, 1939.

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50. Ibid., August 8, 1942. Rabbit Martinez of the New York Cubans took Wells’s place in the 1940 and 1941 games. 51. Danny Robbins, “Doors of Cooperstown Closed for Austin’s Wells,” Austin American-Statesman, August 6, 1977. 52. Pittsburgh Courier, August 21, 1942. Wells and O’Neil’s discussing the play at dinner after the game is mentioned in Larry Lester, Black Baseball’s National Showcase: The East-West All-Star Game, 1933–1953 (Lincoln: Univ. of Nebraska Press, 2002), 199. The box score for the game in Lester’s book does not credit Wells with a double play, whereas Robbins’s article describes one. 53. Eric Enders, “A Game of Their Own,” http://www.ericenders.com/eastwest.htm (accessed February 9, 2005). 54. John Holway, Voices from the Great Black Baseball Leagues (New York: Da Capo, 1993), 96. 55. Correspondence files of the Newark Eagles for 1942. Earlier references had put his weight at 166 pounds. 56. Holway, Voices from Black Baseball, 224. 57. Reyn Davis, “He Played Here, Now He’s in the Hall,” Winnipeg Free Press, March 11, 1997. 58. Riley, Dandy, Day, and the Devil, 113. 59. Buck Leonard, with James A. Riley, Buck Leonard: The Black Lou Gehrig; An Autobiography (New York: Carroll and Graf, 1995), 46. 60. Ibid., 108. 61. Holway, Voices from Black Baseball, 224. 62. Daniel Cattau, “Forgotten,” Washington Post, June 3, 1990. 63. Phil Dixon, with Patrick J. Hannigan, The Negro Leagues: A Photographic History, 1867–1955 (Mattituck, N.Y.: Amereon House, 1992), 132. 64. Sporting News, February 6, 1989, 41. This article appeared two weeks after his death; no other source was cited. 65. Leroy (Satchel) Paige, as told to David Lipman, Maybe I’ll Pitch Forever: A Great Baseball Player Tells the Hilarious Story behind the Legend (New York: Doubleday, 1962), 49. “Chinese homer” is “a derogatory term for a home run hit over the portion of the outfield fence closest to home plate, often one that lands just inside (or hits) the foul pole in a ballpark with small dimensions (Dickson, Dickson Baseball Dictionary, 95). 66. “Still the ‘Devil’” (photograph caption), St. Louis Argus, August 17, 1928. 67. Holway, “40–40 Ability.” 68. Dixon, Photographic History, 270. 69. John B. Holway, “Willie Wells: A ‘Devil’ of an Infielder,” Black Sports Magazine, August 1973 (no page number; from HOF file). 70. Irvin interview, June 2005. 71. Donn Rogosin, Invisible Men: Life in Baseball’s Negro Leagues (New York: Kodansha International, 1995), 72. It is possible that Wells bought bats from the Louisville Slugger Company as well. Rex Bradley, former vice president for professional and amateur

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NOTES TO PAGES 21–25

sports at Louisville Slugger, found a 1939 record of a Willie Wells ordering a thirty-sixinch, thirty-nine-ounce Hornsby model bat with a large barrel, a medium-to-large handle, and a large knob (most Hornsby bats had a small knob). Bradley added that the company made bats for the Kansas City Monarchs, the Homestead Grays, and other Negro-league teams, but didn’t put Negro leaguers’ names on the bats until Jackie Robinson made the majors in 1947 (telephone interview, January 11, 2005). According to an employee of Louisville Slugger who declined to be identified, Negro leaguers’ names were not put on their bats because “you know how it was, the Negro leagues were not looked upon as professional baseball but just as independent, free-spirit baseball” (telephone interview, January 11, 2005). 72. Newark Eagles correspondence files, March 20, 1939. 73. Ibid. 74. Glen Dawkins, “ManDak Haven for Blacks,” Winnipeg Sun, November 5, 2004. 75. Davis, “ManDak Loop.” 76. E-mail to the author from Barry Swanton author of The ManDak League: Haven for Former Negro League Ballplayers, 1950–1957 (Jefferson, N.C.: McFarland, 2006). 77. http://www.attheplate.com/wcbl/1950_2.htm (accessed June 24, 2005). 78. Winnipeg Tribune, September 3, 1951, http://www.attheplate.com/wcbl/1951_2.htm (accessed June 24, 2005). 79. “Buffs Win on Wells’ Homer,” Winnipeg Free Press, July 20, 1950. 80. Chicago Defender, July 14, 1934. Harris’s full name was Curtis “Popeye” Harris. 81. St. Louis Argus, April 9, 1926. 82. Rogosin, Invisible Men, 215. 83. Willie Wells, with John Holway, unpublished manuscript, 14 (HOF file). An edited version of this manuscript appeared as a chapter in Holway, Voices from Black Baseball. 84. Rogosin, Invisible Men, 85. 85. Interview with James “Red” Moore, January 19, 2006. 86. Ibid. 87. Kirk Bohls, “Crafty Shortstop Is Content in Austin, but He Remains Absent in Cooperstown,” Austin American-Statesman (no date or year of publication; HOF file). 88. Photograph and caption from the Wells files at the Austin History Center, Austin, Texas (no date; publication unknown). 89. “Willie ‘Devil’ Wells: By Those Who Knew Him” (manuscript in HOF file). 90. Kelley, Voices from the Negro Leagues, 46. 91. Riley, Dandy, Day, and the Devil, 112. 92. Holway, Voices from Black Baseball, 224. 93. “Grays Defeat Newark in Three Straight Games,” Baltimore Afro-American, August 21, 1937. 94. Buck, “Giving ‘The Devil’ His Due.” Toward the end of his life, Wells had such severe glaucoma that he had to sit inches from a television to see the picture. 95. Dan Gutman, The Way Baseball Works (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1996), 36. 96. Leonard, Buck Leonard, 108.

NOTES TO PAGES 25–30

157

97. Robert Gardner and Dennis Shortelle, The Forgotten Players: The Story of Black Baseball in America (New York: Walker, 1993), 53. 98. “Eagles Lose to Giants; Split with Phila. Stars,” Newark Herald, July 11, 1942. 99. Leonard, Buck Leonard, 108. Two 1. Riley, Dandy, Day, and the Devil, 17. 2. Riley, All-Time All-Stars, 224. 3. “Willie ‘Devil’ Wells.” 4. Telephone interview with James “Red” Moore, March 8, 2005. 5. Irvin interview, June 2005. 6. Telephone interview with Monte Irvin, December 4, 2004. 7. Questionnaire in Newark Eagles correspondence files, 1942. 8. Evans interview. 9. Riley, All-Time All-Stars, 224–225. 10. William Marshall, “Giants Worry Over Joe Lillard’s Absence Now,” Chicago Defender, April 7, 1934. 11. Telephone interview with Joe Scott, June 21, 2005. 12. Telephone interview with Bobby Israel, June 25, 2005. 13. At some time during his stay in New York, Wells apparently developed an alcohol problem that he overcame. According to one account, “Like some other forgotten stars of the Negro leagues, Wells battled with alcohol, but eventually won that struggle” (John Maher, “A Day of Fame Long Overdue,” Austin American-Statesman, August 3, 1997). John Holway recalled that Wells was inebriated when they met for an interview in New York, but was sober the next day when Holway returned to finish the interview (Holway interview, November 21, 2004). Wells may have been experiencing the depression that often accompanies retirement from a high-powered career when activities of equal interest and prominence are lacking. 14. R. U. Steinberg, “Talking With Willie Wells,” Austin Chronicle, April 22, 1988. 15. Riley, Dandy, Day, and the Devil, 130. Donn Rogosin reports the same incident in Invisible Men, 107, but says it happened in 1932. Wells was not with the Giants in 1932, so the incident couldn’t have happened then. 16. Riley, Dandy, Day, and the Devil, 130. In another twist to the story of Wells’s departure from Chicago, an article in the Chicago Defender on April 18, 1936, reported that Wells, along with Mule Suttles, was missing from the Chicago American Giants and that “two youngsters, one obtained in a trade for Wells, are trying out at shortstop.” No more details were offered. 17. Moore interview. 18. Holway, Black Diamonds, 123. 19. Buck, “Giving ‘The Devil’ His Due.” 20. Rogosin, Invisible Men, 70. 21. Telephone interview with Jessie Mitchell, May 31, 2005. 22. Interview with Ralph Lee, November 14, 2004.

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NOTES TO PAGES 30–37

23. “Willie Wells Watches Hot Texas Nine in a Workout,” Chicago Defender, March 9, 1935. 24. Interview with Al Burrows, January 18, 2005. 25. O’Neil, I Was Right On Time, 144. 26. Interview with Sarah Ruiz, November 13, 2004. Wells was evidently equally impressed with Sarah Ruiz, for he left his house to her in his will. He was more generous than he could afford to be, since he only owned a one-third interest in the house, so she did not end up with it. 27. Interview with Jane Langford, November 14, 2004. 28. Rogosin, Invisible Men, 197–198. 29. David M. Jordan, Larry R. Gerlach, and John P. Rossi, “A Baseball Myth Exploded: Bill Veeck and the 1943 Sale of the Phillies,” The National Pastime: A Review of Baseball History 18 (1998): 3–13. 30. Bill Gilbert, They Also Served: Baseball and the Home Front, 1941–1945 (New York: Crown, 1992), 221. 31. Glenn Flynn, “St. Louis Moves In On Buffs,” Winnipeg Free Press, July 31, 1951 (HOF file). 32. Telephone interview with Donn Rogosin, May 5, 2005. 33. Ibid. 34. Ibid. Wells would not be inducted until 1997, but Monte Irvin, a Hall of Famer by that time, wanted Wells at the game, and paid his and Rogosin’s expenses. 35. Maher, “Day of Fame Long Overdue.” 36. Irvin, Nice Guys Finish First, 53. 37. Riley, Encyclopedia of the Negro Leagues, 872. 38. Frazier “Slow” Robinson, with Paul Bauer, My Life in the Negro Baseball Leagues (Syracuse, N.Y.: Syracuse Univ. Press, 1999), 163. 39. Paul Bauer, e-mail to the author, January 5, 2006. 40. “Balto. Gets Wells, Hughes in Deal,” Baltimore Afro-American, June 8, 1946. 41. Riley, Encyclopedia of the Negro Leagues, 671. 42. “Athletes to Get College Scholarships at Banquet,” Baltimore Afro-American, April 28, 1942. 43. Rogosin interview. 44. Irvin, Nice Guys Finish First, 70. 45. Leonard, Buck Leonard, 101. In a June 5, 2005, interview, Irvin said Wells told him that the Buick Roadmaster cost $700. 46. Danny Robbins, “Doors of Cooperstown Closed for Austin’s Wells,” Austin American-Statesman, August 6, 1977. 47. Ibid. 48. Inventory, Appraisement, and List of Claims; Estate of William [sic] J. Wells, Deceased; No. 55,094; Probate Court No. One of Travis County, Texas. 49. Kirk Bohls, “Heart Failure Claims Famed Shortstop Wells,” Austin AmericanStatesman, January 28, 1989. 50. Ibid.

NOTES TO PAGES 38–41

159

Three 1. Interview with Danny Bingham, November 14, 2004. 2. Deed recorded in volume 251, page 520, Deed Records of Travis County, Texas. 3. Bingham interview; contract dated November 6, 1929, between Kuntz-Sternberg Lumber Company and Cisco Wells Crisp and husband Robert Crisp, recorded in volume 444, page 530, Contract Records of Travis County, Texas. 4. Bingham interview. 5. Richard Bak, Turkey Stearnes and the Detroit Stars: The Negro Leagues in Detroit, 1919–1933 (Detroit: Wayne State Univ. Press, 1994), 23. 6. E-mail from Negro-league historian Larry Lester, January 24, 2005. 7. Robi Polgar, The Willie Wells Story. 8. Questionnaire in Newark Eagles correspondence files, 1943. 9. Holway, Voices from Black Baseball, 222. 10. Telephone interview with Betty Baker, August 21, 2006; papers of Baltimore Afro-American sportswriter Art Carter, Moorland-Spingarn Research Center, Howard University, Washington, D.C., box 170-19, file 6. 11. Riley, Encyclopedia of the Negro Baseball Leagues, 826. 12. Carter papers, box 170-19, file 6. 13. Riley, Encyclopedia of the Negro Baseball Leagues, 826. 14. “Father-Son Battle Features Bugle Field Game Tonight,” Baltimore Afro-American, August 10, 1946. 15. Riley, Encyclopedia of the Negro Baseball Leagues, 826. 16. Telephone interview with Ernest Withers (photographer of the Memphis Red Sox), May 9, 2005. 17. Riley, Encyclopedia of the Negro Baseball Leagues, 826. 18. Baker interview, August 2006. 19. Telephone interview with Tommy Wyatt, publisher of the (Austin) Villager, February 9, 2005. 20. Enders, “Willie James Wells,” in Markoe, ed., Scribner Encyclopedia of Sports Figures, 2:492. 21. Ligon Western Canada Baseball, http://attheplate.com/wcbl/ligon.htm (accessed February 10, 2005). 22. Interview with Ray Day Galloway, November 14, 2004. 23. Western Canada Baseball Tournaments, http://www.attheplate.com/wcbl/1950-lk .htm (accessed February 10, 2005). 24. Ibid. 25. Affidavit of Death and Heirship Re: Cisco Wells, State of Texas, County of Travis, Document No. 9: 054395, June 27, 1991. 26. Ibid. 27. Kirk Bohls, “Crafty Shortstop.” 28. E-mail from Rob Ryland, Texas State History Museum, October 26, 2004. 29. Buck, “Giving ‘The Devil’ His Due.” 30. Affidavit of Death and Heirship, Cisco Wells.

160

NOTES TO PAGES 42–50

31. Riley, Dandy, Day, and the Devil, 143–144. 32. Pamela Ward, “Group Goes to Bat with Campaign to Honor Baseball Legend Wells,” Austin American-Statesman, February 27, 1992. 33. Rogosin interview. 34. Burrows interview. 35. Willie Wells card, World Wide Sports, Baseball Superstars Inc., Sporting News Publishing Co., 1988. 36. Enders, “Willie James Wells,” in Markoe, ed., Scribner Encyclopedia of Sports Figures, 2:492. Questionnaire collection, Reel 17, Baseball Hall of Fame. 37. Irvin interview, June 2005. 38. Leonard, Buck Leonard, 101. Four 1. Galloway interview. 2. Kirk Bohls, “Wells’ First Love Still Is Baseball,” Austin American-Statesman, May 12, 1973. 3. Maher, “Day of Fame Long Overdue.” 4. William Rogosin, “Willie Wells,” June 1979, 22–23 (publication not given). Article in Wells’s file at Austin History Center. On a questionnaire in the Newark Eagles 1942 correspondence files, Wells noted that he played with the Houston Buffaloes. 5. Bohls, “Crafty Shortstop.” 6. Polgar, Willie Wells Story. 7. Riley, Dandy, Day, and the Devil, 106. 8. David L. Fleitz, Ghosts in the Gallery at Cooperstown: Sixteen Little-Known Members of the Hall of Fame (Jefferson, N.C.: McFarland, 2004), 196. 9. Ibid. 10. Maher, “Day of Fame Long Overdue”; questionnaire in the 1943 correspondence files of the Newark Eagles. 11. Riley, Dandy, Day, and the Devil, 117–118. 12. Riley, All-Time All-Stars, 221. 13. Ibid., 118. 14. Billy Donaldson, “Umpire Donaldson Tells Whose [sic] on the St. Louis Stars’ Ball Club,” St. Louis Argus, May 20, 1925. 15. Hiram “Sunny” Dixon, “The Old Master and His Pupil,” St. Louis Argus, July 28, 1933. 16. Ibid. 17. Notice in St. Louis Argus, July 18, 1924. 18. “Revamped St. Louis Stars Win Two Straight from Champion K.C. Monarchs: Sensational Fielding by Russell, Blackwell and Wells,” St. Louis Argus, July 18, 1924. 19. Because of the similarity in spelling, Samuel Huston College is sometimes confused with the Sam Houston State University in Huntsville, Texas. 20. Rogosin, Invisible Men, 23. 21. “Clowns Skipper is Willie Wells,” New York Amsterdam News, February 8, 1947.

NOTES TO PAGES 50–57

161

22. McNeil, California Winter League, 263. The other teams were Pirrone’s All-Stars, the White King Soapsters, and the Shell Oilers. 23. Riley, Dandy, Day, and the Devil, 120. 24. McNeil, California Winter League, 117–121. 25. Rogosin, Invisible Men, 22. 26. Ibid. 27. Holway, Voices from Black Baseball, 222–223. 28. Polgar, Willie Wells Story. 29. O’Neil, I Was Right On Time, 127. 30. Anderson, “Out of the Shadows to Cooperstown.” Five 1. Obituaries, Sporting News, February 6, 1989, 41. 2. “Stars Will Play Shells Sunday,” St. Louis Argus, May 17, 1925. 3. “St. Louis Stars Win Two Games from Chicago,” St. Louis Argus, May 14, 1926. 4. St. Louis Argus, June 12, 1925. 5. Ibid., June 7, 1929. 6. Riley, Dandy, Day, and the Devil, 220. 7. “St. Louis Stars Win Doubleheader from Detroit,” St. Louis Argus, August 8, 1924. 8. http://www.aaregistry.com/african_american_history/1489/A_baseball_legend _Willie_Wells (accessed February 5, 2006). 9. Irvin interview, June 2005. 10. “Willie ‘Devil’ Wells: By Those Who Knew Him.” 11. Holway, “A ‘Devil’ of an Infielder,” 10. 12. Kelley, Voices from the Negro Leagues, 171. 13. Holway, Black Diamonds, 281. 14. Ibid. 15. Rogosin, Invisible Men, 73. 16. Ibid. 17. Scott interview. 18. Miles interview. 19. Telephone interview with Jim Zapp, February 7, 2005. 20. New York Amsterdam News, September 16, 1939. 21. R. G. Lynch, “Top Negroes Gone before Gates Opened,” Sporting News, June 15, 1955, 15. 22. Glenn Flynn, “‘Story Book’ Contest,” Winnipeg Free Press, August 30, 1950. Six 1. http://www.baseballhalloffame.org/hofers_and_honorees/manley_effa.htm (accessed March 21, 2006). 2. Robert W. Peterson, Only the Ball Was White: A History of Legendary Black Players and All-Black Professional Teams (Englewood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice-Hall, 1970), 154–155. 3. Irvin interview, June 2005.

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NOTES TO PAGES 57–63

4. Cash interview. 5. Ibid. 6. Moore interview, January 2006. 7. Moore interview, March 2005. 8. Irvin, Nice Guys Finish First, 68. 9. Ibid. 10. Miles Interview. 11. Burrows interview. Segregated public facilities were required by law in those days. In almost every case, blacks were segregated from whites, and had to sit in special sections of buses, grandstands, movie theaters, and the like. I did run across one instance of a special seating section set up for whites at a Negro-league baseball park. Dr. Martin of the Memphis Red Sox was quoted as announcing that “a block of 1,500 seats have been reserved for white patrons at Sunday’s affair” (“Red Sox Meet Atlanta Black Crackers in 1st Game of Season Sunday,” Memphis World, March 19, 1948). 12. Miles Interview. 13. Rogosin interview. 14. John Kelso, “Willie Wells: It Was a Good Time,” Austin American-Statesman, January 2, 1977. 15. Irvin, Nice Guys Finish First, 70. 16. O’Neil, I Was Right On Time, 164. 17. Cash interview. Cash shared driving time with pitcher Andy Miller and manager Oscar Charleston. 18. Miles interview. 19. Irvin, Nice Guys Finish First, 71–72. 20. Irvin interview, June 2005. 21. Brad Snyder, Beyond the Shadow of the Senators: The Untold Story of the Homestead Grays and the Integration of Baseball (Chicago: Contemporary Books, 2003), 192. 22. Cash interview. 23. Dixon, Photographic History, 212. 24. O’Neil, I Was Right On Time, 168. 25. New York Amsterdam News, July 24, 1937. In 1935, Webb hired teenaged Ella Fitzgerald after she won a talent contest at the Apollo Theatre, became her legal guardian, and rebuilt his show around the singer, who provided him with his biggest hit record, “A-Tisket, A-Tasket,” in 1938 (http://www.drummerworld.com/drummers/Chick_Webb.html; accessed March 3, 2005). 26. “Eagles Players To Be Feted,” New Jersey Herald-News, September 16, 1944. 27. New York Amsterdam News, May 6, 1945. 28. Baltimore Afro-American, May 16, 1942. 29. http://www.baseball-almanac.com/asgmenu.shtml (accessed January 26, 2005). 30. http://www.ericenders.com/eastwest.htm (accessed January 25, 2005). 31. Lucius C. Harper, “Dustin’ off the News,” Chicago Defender, August 19, 1939. 32. “Salt-Water Taffy, Movies Among Chief Temptations for Yankees at Asbury Park, NJ. Founded by Bishop,” Sporting News, March 6, 1943, 2.

NOTES TO PAGES 63–69

163

33. William E. Clark, “Color Line in Baseball Is Fading,” Pittsburgh Courier, May 16, 1928. Sam Lacy and Wendell Smith were two of the black journalists who continuously pressed for integration of the major leagues. An excellent account of their efforts can be found in Snyder, Beyond the Shadow of the Senators. 34. Janet Bruce, The Kansas City Monarchs: Champions of Baseball (Lawrence: Univ. Press of Kansas, 1985), 201. 35. Bingham interview. 36. Irvin interview, June 2005. 37. Rogosin, Invisible Men, 219. Since Irvin played seven seasons with the New York Giants and one with the Chicago Cubs, he was fortunate to eventually become known by white, as well as black, society for what he did best. 38. Jeff McCord, “Color Commentary: Seguin Native Smokey Joe Williams May Well Have Been the Last Negro Leaguer to Enter Baseball’s Hall of Fame. Why? Good Question,” Texas Monthly, August 1999, 57. 39. Richard Justice, “Pensions for Negro Leaguers Help Clear Old Debt,” Houston Chronicle, May 18, 2004 (http://www.chron.com/cs/CDA/ssistory.mpl/sports/justice/2576040; accessed February 8, 2005; access requires registration). 40. Earl Gault, “Former Negro League Player to Throw Out First Pitch,” Rock Hill (S.C.) Herald, August 25, 2000. 41. Short article in HOF file with the byline “Young” and the title “Boston?” Seven 1. Cash interview. 2. Sam Lacy, “Weather Hot: Food Bad; Pay Less than Whites in Mexico, Player tells AFRO,” Baltimore Afro-American, July 13, 1946. 3. James Overmyer, Queen of the Negro Leagues: Effa Manley and the Newark Eagles (Lanham, Md.: Scarecrow Press, 1998), 183. 4. Irvin, Nice Guys Finish First, 89–90. 5. Irvin interview, June 2005. 6. New York Amsterdam News, March 6, 1943. The same article pointed out that the minimum pay in the Mexico National League was $400 a month, “with lodging and eating on the man plus a free ticket each way.” Minimum pay in the States was more on the order of $150 to $200 a month. In both settings, Wells and others of his caliber no doubt made considerably more than the minimum. 7. IRS form found in the Eagles’ correspondence file. 8. “Eagles Seek Return of Outlaw Players: Suttles Is Released,” New Jersey Herald, March 8, 1941. 9. Office files of the Newark Eagles (microfiche), Newark Public Library. 10. Sam Lacy, “Wells May Pilot ’45 Newark Eagles,” Baltimore Afro-American, April 7, 1945. 11. Overmyer, Queen of the Negro Leagues, 185. 12. Ibid. 13. Ibid, 189–190.

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NOTES TO PAGES 69–75

14. “Wells Turns Down $5,000 Offer; Is Signed by Newark,” Chicago Defender, April 1, 1944. 15. Overmyer, Queen of the Negro Leagues, 184. 16. Sam Lacy, Baltimore Afro-American, April 29, 1944 (no headline). 17. Jim Reisler, Black Writers/Black Baseball: An Anthology of Articles from Black Sportswriters Who Covered the Negro Leagues (Jefferson, N.C.: McFarland, 1994), 44–45. 18. Ibid., 84. 19. Ibid., 106, 110. 20. Reisler, Black Writers/Black Baseball, 46. Michael M. Oleksak and Mary Adams Oleksak attribute Wells’s comments to “an emotional letter” sent by Wells to Smith (Béisbol: Latin Americans and the Grand Old Game [Grand Rapids, Mich.: Master Press, 1991], 23); they cite Bruce, Kansas City Monarchs, as their source. Bruce, without saying whether the message came by letter or in interviews, says Wells’s statement is cited in William Brashler, Josh Gibson: A Life in the Negro Leagues (New York: Harper and Row, 1978). Brashler says the statement came about “in a lengthy candid interview.” 21. John B. Holway, Josh and Satch: The Life and Times of Josh Gibson and Satchel Paige (New York: Carroll and Graf, 1992), 137. 22. Kelso, “Willie Wells: It Was a Good Time.” Eight 1. Miles interview. 2. Chicago Defender, February 2, 1935, and February 9, 1935 (box scores). 3. Rogosin, Invisible Men, 184. 4. http://www.attheplate.com/wcbl/1950_20i.htm (accessed June 24, 2005). 5. http://www.attheplate.com/wcbl/1951_20h.htm (accessed June 24, 2005). 6. Ibid. 7. “Black Barons Take Two of Three Games from Indianapolis Clowns,” Birmingham World, May 18, 1954. 8. Thom Loverro, The Encyclopedia of Negro League Baseball (New York: Facts on File, 2003), 306. 9. Washington Tribune, February 26, 1932 (no headline). 10. Robert Peterson, “Josh Gibson Was the Equal of Babe Ruth, But . . .” New York Times, April 11, 1971. 11. “Ball Player’s Life Is Soft,” New Jersey Herald-News, August 19, 1939. 12. Rogosin, Invisible Men, 70–71. 13. Pittsburgh Courier, June 29, 1929 (no headline). 14. “Baseball Players Hurt When a Speeding Car Goes into Ditch in PA,” St. Louis Argus, July 5, 1929. 15. Fay Young, “Black Barons, with Five Players Injured, Face 1943 World Champion Grays,” Chicago Defender, September 18, 1944. 16. Holway, Baseball’s Negro Leagues, 418–419. 17. Riley, Encyclopedia of the Negro Leagues, 126.

NOTES TO PAGES 75–85

165

18. “National Loop Will Not Operate During Season,” Washington Tribune, March 25, 1932. 19. Riley, Dandy, Day, and the Devil, 124. 20. Pittsburgh Courier, June 14, 1932. 21. Riley, Dandy, Day, and the Devil, 124. 22. Bruce, Kansas City Monarchs, 201. 23. “Kansas City, Chicago Clubbed Whipped, 5–2,” Chicago Defender, September 25, 1937. Nine 1. Rogosin, Invisible Men, 85. 2. Cash interview. 3. Telephone interview with Robert Williams, May 12, 2005. 4. Scott interview. 5. Telephone interview with Jessie Mitchell, May 12, 2005. 6. Telephone interview with Sidney Bunch, May 5, 2006. 7. Mitchell interview, May 12, 2005. Another member of the Barons in 1954 was pitcher and outfielder Charley Pride, who went on to a successful country-music career. Pride, Mitchell said, was singing blues in 1954. Pride once asked B. B. King to let him open a concert for King. After listening to Pride sing, King said, “You’re gonna mess up my program.” Pride then went to Nashville and the Grand Ole Opry, where he took up singing country music. “He was a good pitcher,” Mitchell said. “He once beat a team of major leaguers.” 8. Williams interview. 9. The letters are from the office files of the Newark Eagles (on microfiche at the Newark Public Library). 10. Riley, Encyclopedia of the Negro Leagues, 502. 11. These fifteen players are listed on the IRS form for the first quarter of 1942 (Eagles’ correspondence files). 12. Clark and Lester, Negro Leagues, 132. 13. Riley, Encyclopedia of the Negro Leagues, 116. 14. Danny Peary, We Played the Game: 65 Players Remember Baseball’s Greatest Era, 1947–1964 (New York: Hyperion, 1994), 287. 15. Holway, Voices from Black Baseball, 227. 16. Riley, Encyclopedia of the Negro Leagues, 227. 17. Irvin interview, June 2005. 18. Ibid. 19. Holway, “Willie Wells: A ‘Devil’ of an Infielder.” 20. Buck, “Giving ‘The Devil’ His Due.” 21. Glenn Flynn, “‘Story Book’ Contest,” Winnipeg Free Press, August 30, 1950 (HOF file). 22. Dick Powell, “Day Scores Seven Runs for Newark,” Baltimore Afro-American, August 16, 1941.

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NOTES TO PAGES 86–92

23. Rogosin, Invisible Men, 71–72, 229. 24. Riley, Encyclopedia of the Negro Leagues, 869. 25. Holway, Blackball Stars, 221. 26. Ibid., 227. 27. Zapp interview. 28. Riley, Dandy, Day, and the Devil, 143. 29. Cash interview. 30. Riley, Dandy, Day, and the Devil, 143. 31. Leonard, Buck Leonard, 184. 32. Holway, Blackball Stars, 228. 33. “Eagles Send Wells to Black Yankees,” Baltimore Afro-American, July 14, 1945. Was McDuffie traded for Slim Johnson or Spec Roberts? In consulting Riley, Encyclopedia of the Negro Leagues, I found a reference to one Jimmy “Slim” Johnson, but he played for neither the Eagles nor the Yankees. I did find a pitcher named John (Johnny) Johnson, who played for both those teams in 1938, leading me to think this is the Johnson referred to in the trade for McDuffie. The one “Spec” Roberts in Riley’s encyclopedia was with the Washington Black Senators for the 1938 season. Riley credits McDuffie with playing for both the Yankees and the Eagles in 1938. 34. Sam Lacy, “Looking ’Em Over,” Baltimore Afro-American, July 7, 1945. 35. Irvin, Nice Guys Finish First, 90. 36. Riley, Encyclopedia of the Negro Leagues, 536. 37. Overmyer, Queen of the Negro Leagues, 81. 38. Riley, Encyclopedia of the Negro Leagues, 534. 39. “Manley Depending on Pitching Arm of Terry McDuffie to Win Pennant,” Newark Herald, June 11, 1938. 40. “Willie ‘Devil’ Wells: By Those Who Knew Him,” 3. It has been reported that while playing in Cuba, Terris McDuffie refused Luque’s request to pitch one day, saying his arm was sore. Luque then pulled out a pistol and pointed it at McDuffie, who threw a two-hitter (http://www.pitchblackbaseball.com/nlotmterris.html; accessed February 5, 2005). 41. “Dissention Reigns in Buffs’ Ranks,” Winnipeg Free Press (no date; clipping in HOF files). 42. Robinson, My Life in Negro Baseball, 180–182. 43. Ibid., 167. 44. Glenn Flynn, “Buffaloes Win 1–0 in 17 Innings,” Winnipeg Free Press, 1950 (no other date; clipping in HOF files). 45. Photograph captioned “The ‘Ump’ Was Right,” Baltimore Afro-American, April 25, 1942. Ten 1. Dan Burley, “Confidentially Yours,” New York Amsterdam News, April 6, 1946. 2. Don Deleighbur, “Major League Bigots Hit by Mexican Plague, But Players Think It’s Fine,” Baltimore Afro-American, July 13, 1946. 3. “Two Failed to Deliver,” Baltimore Afro-American, July 6, 1946. 4. “Balto. Gets Wells, Hughes in Deal,” Baltimore Afro-American, June 8, 1946.

NOTES TO PAGES 92–100

167

5. New York Amsterdam News, August 17, 1946 (no headline). 6. Ibid., September 14, 1946 (no headline). 7. “Clowns’ Skipper Is Willie Wells,” New York Amsterdam News, February 8, 1947. 8. “Diamond Vet Again Leads Clowns,” photo caption in Indianapolis Recorder, June 28, 1947; Riley, Encyclopedia of the Negro Leagues, 809. 9. “Clowns Clash with Red Sox,” Indianapolis Recorder, July 26, 1947. 10. Riley, Encyclopedia of the Negro Leagues, 247. 11. Indianapolis Recorder, September 6, 1947 (no headline). 12. “Indianapolis Clowns’ New Pilot Is Ramirez,” New York Amsterdam News, February 14, 1948. 13. “Indianapolis Clowns Meet Red Sox Sun. At Martin’s Stadium,” Memphis World, May 7, 1948. 14. “Monarchs and Red Sox Will Clash June 20,” Chicago Defender, June 19, 1948. 15. Davis, “ManDak Loop: A Haven for Blacks.” To give an idea of the esteem in which Wells was held, the $1,000 he received was twice the average salary for Negro leaguers recruited to play in the ManDak League. 16. “Willie Wells Signs as Buffs’ Manager,” Winnipeg Free Press, April 18, 1950. 17. Barry Swanton, e-mail to the author, January 30, 2006. 18. Maurice Smith, “Time Out,” Winnipeg Free Press, June 18, 1950. 19. Davis, “He Played Here, Now He’s in the Hall.” 20. Barry Swanton, e-mail to the author, January 27, 2006. 21. Barry Swanton, e-mail to Eric Enders and Bill Francis, November 7, 1999. 22. “Greys Score 2 Runs in 9th to Nip Carman,” 1953 (HOF file; publication not identified). 23. “Barons Off to Good Start as They Win Three out of Four from Clowns,” Chicago Defender, May 29, 1954. Eleven 1. Irvin interview, June 2005. 2. Ibid. 3. Ibid. 4. John B. Holway, “Judy Johnson Wit Is Hit at Negro League Reunion,” Sporting News, July 5, 1982. 5. New York Times, October 7, 1946 (box score). 6. Interview with Bob Feller in Chantilly, Virginia, February 13, 2005. 7. Telephone interview with Monte Irvin, March 2, 2005. 8. Feller interview. 9. Leonard, Buck Leonard, 143. 10. Feller interview. 11. Ibid. 12. Holway, Baseball’s Negro Leagues, 442–443. 13. John Sickels, Bob Feller: Ace of the Greatest Generation (Dulles, Va.: Brassey’s, 2004), 154–155.

168

NOTES TO PAGES 100–111

14. Interview with Mickey Vernon, November 17, 2005. 15. Vivian M. Baulch and Patricia Zacharias, “The Day the Tigers Finally Integrated,” Detroit News (http://info.detnews.com/history/story/index.cfm?id=53&category=sports; accessed February 25, 2006). 16. Telephone interview with John J. McHale, February 24, 2006. 17. Baulch and Zacharias, “The Day the Tigers Finally Integrated.” Twelve 1. Ted Williams, with John Underwood, My Turn at Bat: The Story of My Life (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1969), 249. 2. “Clowns Sign ‘Satchel’; To Appear Here Aug. 19,” Chicago Defender, July 30, 1966. 3. Herb Lyon, “Tower Ticker,” Chicago Tribune, August 2, 1966. 4. Joseph Durso, “Stengel and Williams Inducted into Baseball Hall of Fame,” New York Times, July 26, 1966. 5. “This Morning with Shirley Povich,” Washington Post, July 26, 1966. 6. Telephone interview with Bowie Kuhn, January 29, 2006. 7. Telephone interview with Bobby Doerr, January 25, 2006. 8. Kuhn interview. 9. Tom Singer, “Teddy Ballgame Makes Difference for Negro Leaguers to Enter Hall” (http://baltimore.orioles.mlb.com/NASApp/mlb/mlb/history/mlb_negro_leagues_story.jsp?story =williams_ted; accessed January 25, 2006). 10. Ibid. 11. Joseph Thomas Moore, Pride against Prejudice: The Biography of Larry Doby (Westport, Conn.: Praeger, 1988), 128. 12. McHale interview. 13. Ibid. 14. Ibid. 15. As recollected by Monte Irvin in his June 2005 interview with me. 16. Ibid. 17. Bowie Kuhn, Hardball: The Education of a Baseball Commissioner (New York: Times Books, 1987), 110–111. 18. The text of the letter from Kerr to MacAlister was reprinted in the catalogue for Hunt Auctions, Inc., Internet/Phone Auction Closing December 9, 2005, 1. 19. Telephone interview with Clifford Kachline, January 17, 2005. 20. Telephone interview with Monte Irvin, January 26, 2006. 21. John Holway, “Blacks Losers Only at Hall of Fame,” Boston Globe, August 4, 1978. Thirteen 1. Kuhn, Hardball, 111. 2. Joseph Durso, “Baseball to Admit Negro Stars of Pre-Integration Era into Hall of Fame,” New York Times, February 4, 1971. 3. Kuhn interview. 4. Kuhn, Hardball, 109–110.

NOTES TO PAGES 111–115

169

5. Kuhn interview. 6. Ibid. 7. Irvin interview, January 2006. 8. Kuhn, Hardball, 110. 9. Ibid. 10. Durso, “Baseball to Admit Negro Stars of Pre-Integration Era into Hall of Fame.” 11. “Josh Gibson at Hall of Fame Door,” New York Times, February 6, 1972. 12. “Place for Ex-Negro Stars in Shrine,” February 13, 1971 (clipping in HOF file; no other identifying information). 13. Ibid. 14. Kuhn, Hardball, 110. Creating a special list of honorees was not a new idea for the Hall of Fame. The Hall established a Roll of Honor in 1946 as a way of honoring nonplayers —managers, pioneers, umpires, and executives. The Roll of Honor met with immediate criticism. Many felt that it was a backhanded, secondary honor for individuals who had perhaps earned full membership in the Hall, and that the committee had established it simply as an excuse for inaction regarding nonplaying candidates. It was further noted that four of the thirty-nine persons named to the roll—Connie Mack (managers), Ban Johnson (executives), Henry Chadwick (sportswriters), and Alexander Cartwright (pioneers)—were already members of the Hall, indicating that induction had not been intended as an honor solely for players. Probably as a result of this criticism, there were never any additions to the Roll of Honor (“Baseball Hall of Fame Balloting, 1946,” http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Baseball _Hall_of_Fame_balloting%2; accessed July 16, 2005). 15. Press release from Office of the Commissioner, February 9, 1971 (HOF file). 16. Robert Peterson, “Josh Gibson Was the Equal of Babe Ruth, But . . .” 17. Milton Gross, “Robinson Speaks Out,” New York Post, February 4, 1971. 18. Dick Young, “What’s Going On Here” (clipping in HOF file; no other identifying information). 19. Dick Young, “Now Baseball Can Live With Its Conscience,” New York Daily News, February 10, 1971. 20. Bob Hertzel, “The Doors Swing Open” (clipping in HOF file; no other identifying information). 21. Arthur Daley, “Ol’ Satch Looks Back and Gains,” New York Times, February 10, 1971. 22. C. C. Johnson Spink, “We Believe,” Sporting News, February 27, 1971. 23. Durso, “Stengel and Williams Inducted into Baseball Hall of Fame.” 24. “This Morning with Shirley Povich,” Washington Post, July 26, 1966. 25. http://www.baseball-reference.com/bullpen/Casey_Stengel_Rule (accessed August 21, 2006). 26. Holway, “Blacks Losers Only at Hall of Fame.” 27. Irvin interview, June 2005. 28. Ibid. 29. Talbot to Kerr, March 10, 1971; letter in HOF file. 30. O’Neil, I Was Right On Time, 222.

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31. Milton Gross, “Robinson Speaks Out,” New York Post, February 4, 1971. 32. Stan Isaacs, “Why Doesn’t Baseball Put Paige in Front of the Hall?” Newsday, February 5, 1971 (in HOF file). 33. “Ebony Photo-Editorial: A Hollow Ring to Fame,” Ebony, April 1971. 34. “Baseball’s Front Door Opens to Satchel Paige,” New York Times, July 8, 1971. 35. “Paige Enters ‘Real’ Baseball Hall of Fame,” Chicago Daily Defender, July 10, 1971. 36. From HOF files. 37. Irvin interview, June 2005. As a sidelight to Paige’s election, Kuhn noted that Paige was brought to New York “under the guise of receiving an award,” but was told of his election to the Hall only when he arrived; at the ensuing press conference, Paige was “superb—colorful, witty, discursive and just pure Satchel” (Hardball, 110–111). 38. Robert Lipsyte, “A Little Rusted Up,” New York Times, February 11, 1971. 39. Leonard Koppett, “Looking Back, Paige Says He’s Proud,” New York Times, August 10, 1971. 40. Robert Lipsyte, “Satchel: ‘Enshrined’ and Diminished,” New York Times, August 14, 1971. 41. “‘Satch’ Inducted,” Chicago Daily Defender, August 14, 1971. Fourteen 1. Irvin interview, June 2005. 2. Irvin interview, January 2006. 3. Irvin interview, June 2005. 4. Ibid. 5. Irvin interview, January 2006. 6. Telephone interview with Ed Stack, July 22, 2005. 7. Comment on an early draft of the manuscript, October 14, 2005. 8. Typewritten notice dated February 7, 1945, unsigned, in HOF files. 9. Kuhn, Hardball, 111. 10. Kuhn interview. 11. Irvin interview, June 2005. 12. Bill Baucher, “Baseball’s Black Nine,” Miami Herald, February 7, 1977 (in HOF file). 13. “Too Few Black Baseball Greats in Hall: Powell,” Chicago Daily Defender, August 12, 1972. 14. A. S. (Doc) Young, “Junk Negro Shrine Vote, Says Young,” Sporting News, March 15, 1975. 15. John Hall, “Hall of Shame,” Los Angeles Times, February 28, 1974. 16. Letter to author, October 14, 2005. Charleston and Lloyd were elected by the committee, but not until after Irvin and Johnson were. 17. Telephone interview with John Holway, January 24, 2006. 18. Irvin interview, January 2006. 19. John M. Coates II, “Ex-umpire Tabs Blacks for Hall of Fame,” Chicago Daily Defender, September 29, 1973 (in HOF file). 20. Overmyer, Queen of the Negro Leagues, 255.

NOTES TO PAGES 121–131

171

21. Ibid. 22. Carter papers, box 170-16, file 9. 23. Ibid. 24. Ibid. 25. Telephone interview with Ira Glasser, February 8, 2006. 26. Ibid. 27. Telephone interview with John Holway, February 19, 2005. 28. Glasser interview. 29. Kuhn interview. 30. John B. Holway, “Unknown ‘Hall of Famers,’” San Francisco Chronicle, July 4, 1980 (in HOF file). In 1978, Roy Campanella was the only black and the only former Negro leaguer on the Veterans Committee. Buck O’Neil was added in 1981, Monte Irvin in 1983. From 1983 to 1993, when Campanella died, the Veterans Committee contained three black members, all of whom had played in the Negro leagues. Irvin left the committee in 1997, after Wells’s election, leaving Buck O’Neil as the sole former Negro leaguer on the Veterans Committee. 31. Ibid. 32. Red Smith, “From Jim Crow to Cooperstown,” New York Times, February 14, 1978. 33. Ibid. 34. E-mail from the Hall of Fame Research Division. 35. Holway, “Unknown ‘Hall of Famers.’” 36. John Maher, “Banner Day for Hall of Famer: Austin Throws Party for Wells,” Austin American-Statesman, February 6, 1998. 37. Smith, “From Jim Crow to Cooperstown.” 38. Ibid. 39. Donn Rogosin, “Honoring Black Ball Players—The Tortuous Road to Cooperstown,” North American Society for Sports History: Proceedings and Newsletter, 1980: 29–30. 40. Irvin interview, June 2005. 41. Holway, “Blacks Losers Only at Hall of Fame.” 42. http://www.baseballhalloffame.org/hofers_and_honorees/lists/inducted.htm (accessed February 19, 2005). 43. Holway interview, November 2004. 44. Holway, e-mail to author, January 26, 2006. 45. Kuhn interview. 46. Glasser interview. All quotations from Glasser in this section are from this interview. 47. Peterson, Only the Ball Was White, 28. 48. Ibid., 30. 49. Stack interview. 50. Silhouette: The Official Newsletter of the Negro Leagues Baseball Museum 4, no. 1 (Spring 1995): 1. 51. Telephone interview with Jerome Holtzman, February 9, 2006. 52. Ibid. 53. Ibid.

172

NOTES TO PAGES 131–140

54. Interview with Dale Petroskey, February 21, 2006. 55. McHale interview. 56. Petroskey interview. 57. http://www.baseballhalloffame.org/news/2006/060227.htm (accessed March 1, 2006). 58. http://www.baseballhalloffame.org/hofers%5Fand%5Fhonorees/negro%5Fleaguers .htm (accessed February 22, 2006). 59. Jeff Idelson, “Glory Discovered: Research Project Opens Door for 17 Hall of Fame Electees” (sent by Idelson, Hall of Fame vice president for communication and education, to the author, March 13, 2006). 60. Holway interview, January 2006. 61. http://www.baseballhalloffame.org/news/2006/060227.htm (accessed March 1, 2006). Fifteen 1. Irvin interview, June 2005. 2. Leonard, Buck Leonard, 71. 3. Robbins, “Doors of Cooperstown Closed for Austin’s Wells.” 4. http://www.nlbpa.com/artifacts.html (accessed January 27, 2006). 5. William Rogosin, “Willie Wells: Former Black Star Is Waiting for a Phone Call from the Hall of Fame,” June 1979, 23 (article from Austin History Center; no publication noted). 6. Congressional Record, April 15, 1980, E1779. The statement was not entirely accurate, since nine Negro leaguers had been inducted between 1971 and 1977. 7. Telephone interview with Tommy Wyatt, publisher of the (Austin) Villager, in Austin, Texas, January 24, 2005. 8. Congressional Record, February 23, 1989, E502. 9. Telephone interview with Danny Roy Young, May 26, 2005. 10. Ibid. 11. Telephone interview with Gary Roberts, November 19, 2005. 12. In HOF file. 13. “Next Up,” Sporting News, June 21, 1993. 14. “Giants Trim Austin, 4 to 2,” Chicago Defender, April 13, 1935. 15. Buck, “Giving ‘The Devil’ His Due.” 16. Ibid. 17. Dave Anderson, “Out of the Shadows to Cooperstown” New York Times, March 23, 1997. 18. Eric Ahlqvist, “Fox, Lasorda Elected to Hall,” Cooperstown (N.Y.) Crier, March 6, 1997 (in HOF file). Of the fifteen paragraphs in the article, only one, the next to last, is devoted to Wells. The Writers Association elected Phil Niekro the same year. A more balanced account appeared in a black paper, the Chicago Defender. While the lead paragraph featured Wells’s election, equal space was given to all three—Wells, Lasorda, and Fox. 19. Hal Bodley, “Negro League Standout Wells Voted in ‘Hall,’” USA Today, March 6, 1997 (in HOF file). 20. Jim Gates, librarian of the Hall of Fame, e-mail to the author, July 27, 2005. 21. HOF plaque.

NOTES TO PAGES 141–150

173

22. Kirk Bohls, e-mail to the author, March 30, 2005. 23. “The 50 Greatest Sports Figures from Texas,” Sports Illustrated, December 27, 1999. 24. Photograph caption, Austin American-Statesman, May 1, 1998. Sixteen 1. Telephone interview with Betty Baker, May 9, 2005. 2. The number of banners came to nearly a hundred (John Maher, “Austin Throws Party for Wells,” Austin American-Statesman, February 6, 1998); Eric Enders, “Hitting Home: Negro League Player Recognized by City and Hall of Fame 9 years After His Death,” Daily Texan, February 9, 1998. 3. Program for Austin Observance of Black History Month with a Tribute to Willie Wells; the day’s only glitch concerned the dates, as displayed on the banners, for Wells tenure in the Negro leagues. The dates read 1924–1928 instead of 1924–1948. 4. Polgar, Willie Wells Story, 1. 5. Adrienne Rison-Isom, “Baseball Legend Willie Wells Honored by Moving Remains to Texas State Cemetery, Villager, October 8, 2004. 6. Interview with Gary Roberts, November 17, 2004. 7. Telephone interview with Gary Roberts, May 23, 2005. 8. Avery Holton, “Express Will Make Pledge For Wells,” Austin American-Statesman, July 21, 2004. 9. Telephone interview with Kirk Dressendorf, media director, Round Rock Express, May 19, 2005. 10. Roberts interview, May 2005. 11. Sylvia Moreno, “Negro League Star Buried in Place of Honor,” Washington Post, October 10, 2004; Ashley Eldridge, “Baseball Player Is Honored with New Grave Site,” Daily Texan, October 6, 2004. Before 1997, when the Texas legislature created a committee with the authority to widen the circle of Texans who could be buried in the Texas State Cemetery, only elected Texas officials, certain appointed state officials, and Confederate soldiers and their widows could be buried there. 12. http://www.cemetery.state.tx.us/pub/user_form.asp (accessed July 10, 2005). 13. Texas State Cemetery brochure. 14. Telephone interview with Betty Baker, March 12, 2005. 15. Pamela Ward, “Group Goes to Bat with Campaign to Honor Baseball Legend Wells,” Austin American-Statesman, February 27, 1992. 16. Baker interview, May 2005. Seventeen 1. Rogosin interview.

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Sources: Books, Magazines, Interviews, Newspapers, and Archives Books and Magazine Articles Alexander, Charles C. Rogers Hornsby: A Biography. New York: Henry Holt, 1995. Bak, Richard. Turkey Stearnes and the Detroit Stars: The Negro Leagues in Detroit, 1919–1933. Detroit: Wayne State Univ. Press, 1994. Bruce, Janet. The Kansas City Monarchs: Champions of Black Baseball. Lawrence, Kan.: Univ. Press of Kansas, 1985. Clark, Dick, and John B. Holway. “Negro Leagues Register.” In The Baseball Encyclopedia: The Complete and Definitive Record of Major League Baseball, 10th ed., edited by Jeannie Bucek. New York: Macmillan, 1996. Clark, Dick, and Larry Lester. The Negro Leagues Book. Cleveland: Society for American Baseball Research, 1994. Cooper, Michael. Playing America’s Game: The Story of Negro League Baseball. New York: Dutton, 1993. Dickson, Paul. The Dickson Baseball Dictionary. New York: Facts on File, 1989. Dixon, Phil, with Patrick J. Hannigan. The Negro Leagues: A Photographic History, 1867–1955. Mattituck, N.Y.: Amereon House, 1992. Enders, Eric. “Willie James Wells.” In The Scribner Encyclopedia of American Lives: Sports Figures, edited by Arnold Markoe, 2:492. New York: Scribner’s, 2002. Fleitz, David L. Ghosts in the Gallery at Cooperstown: Sixteen LittleKnown Members of the Hall of Fame. Jefferson, N.C.: McFarland, 2004. Gardner, Robert, and Dennis Shortell. The Forgotten Players: The Story of Black Baseball in America. New York: Walker, 1993.

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Gilbert, Bill. They Also Served: Baseball and the Home Front, 1941–1945. New York: Crown, 1992. Gutman, Dan. The Way Baseball Works. New York: Simon and Schuster, 1996. Hogan, Lawrence B. Shades of Glory: The Negro Leagues and the Story of African-American Baseball. Washington, D.C.: National Geographic Society, 2006. Holway, John B. Blackball Stars: Negro League Pioneers. Westport, Conn.: Meckler Books, 1988. Reprint, New York: Carroll and Graf, 1992. ———. Black Diamonds: Life in the Negro Leagues from the Men Who Lived It. Westport, Conn.: Meckler Books, 1989. Reprint, New York: Stadium Books, 1991. ———. The Complete Book of Baseball’s Negro Leagues: The Other Half of Baseball History. Fern Park, Fla.: Hastings House, 2001. ———. Josh and Satch: The Life and Times of Josh Gibson and Satchel Paige. Westport, Conn.: Meckler Books, 1991. Reprint, New York: Carroll and Graf, 1992. ———. Voices from the Great Black Baseball Leagues. New York: Dodd, Mead, 1975. Reprint, New York: Da Capo, 1993. ———. “Willie Wells: A ‘Devil’ of an Infielder.” Black Sports Magazine, August 1973. Irvin, Monte, with James A. Riley. Nice Guys Finish First: The Autobiography of Monte Irvin. New York: Carroll and Graf, 1996. Jordan, David M., Larry R. Gerlach, and John P. Rossi. “A Baseball Myth Exploded: Bill Veeck and the 1943 Sale of the Phillies.” The National Pastime: A Review of Baseball History 18 (1998): 3–13. Kelley, Brent. Voices from the Negro Leagues: Conversations with Fifty-two Baseball Standouts of the Period 1924–1960. Jefferson, N.C.: McFarland, 1998. Kuhn, Bowie. Hardball: The Education of a Baseball Commissioner. New York: Times Books, 1987. Leonard, Buck, with James A. Riley. Buck Leonard: The Black Lou Gehrig; An Autobiography. New York: Carroll and Graf, 1995. Lester, Larry. Black Baseball’s National Showcase: The East-West All-Star Games, 1933–1953. Lincoln: Univ. of Nebraska Press, 2002. Loverro, Thom. The Encyclopedia of Negro League Baseball. New York: Facts on File, 2003. Manley, Effa, and Leon Herbert Hardwick. Negro Baseball . . . before Integration. Chicago: Adams, 1976. McCord, Jeff. “Color Commentary: Seguin Native Smokey Joe Williams May Well Have Been the Last Negro Leaguer to Enter Baseball’s Hall of Fame. Why? Good Question.” Texas Monthly, August 1999. McNeil, William F. The California Winter League: America’s First Integrated Professional Baseball League. Jefferson, N.C.: McFarland, 2002. Moore, Joseph Thomas. Pride against Prejudice: The Biography of Larry Doby. Westport, Conn.: Praeger, 1988. Oleksak, Michael M., and Mary Adams Oleksak. Béisbol: Latin Americans and the Grand Old Game. Grand Rapids, Mich.: Master Press, 1991. O’Neil, Buck, with Steve Wulf and David Conrads. I Was Right on Time! My Journey from the Negro Leagues to the Majors. New York: Simon and Schuster, 1996.

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Overmyer, James. Queen of the Negro Leagues: Effa Manley and the Newark Eagles. Metuchen, N.J.: Scarecrow Press, 1998. Paige, Leroy (Satchel), with David Lipman. Maybe I’ll Pitch Forever: An Incredible Baseball Player Tells the Hilarious Story behind the Legend. New York: Doubleday, 1962. Peary, Danny. We Played the Game: Sixty-five Players Remember Baseball’s Greatest Era, 1947–1964. New York: Hyperion, 1994. Peterson, Robert. Only the Ball Was White: A History of Legendary Black Players and AllBlack Professional Teams. Englewood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice-Hall, 1970. Reprint, New York: McGraw-Hill, 1984, 1992. Reisler, Jim. Black Writers/Black Baseball: An Anthology of Articles from Black Sportswriters Who Covered the Negro Leagues. Jefferson, N.C.: McFarland, 1994. Riley, James A. The All-Time All-Stars of Black Baseball. Cocoa, Fla.: TK Publishers, 1983. ———. Dandy, Day, and the Devil: A Trilogy of Negro League Baseball. Cocoa, Fla.: TK Publishers, 1987. ———. The Biographical Encyclopedia of the Negro Baseball Leagues, New York: Carroll and Graf, 1994. Rogosin, Donn. Invisible Men: Life in Baseball’s Negro Leagues. New York: Kodansha International, 1995. Sickels, Jim. Bob Feller: Ace of the Greatest Generation. Dulles, Va.: Brassey’s, 2004. Snyder, Brad. Beyond the Shadow of the Senators: The Untold Story of the Homestead Grays and the Integration of Baseball. Chicago: Contemporary Books, 2003. Swanton, Barry. The ManDak League: Haven for Former Negro League Ballplayers, 1950–1957. Jefferson, N.C.: McFarland, 2006. Williams, Ted. My Turn at Bat: The Story of My Life. With John Underwood. New York: Simon and Schuster, 1969. Interviews Betty Baker, March 12, 2005; May 9, 2005; August 21, 2006 (all by telephone) Danny Bingham, November 14, 2004 Rex Bradley, January 11, 2005 (telephone) Sidney Bunch, May 5, 2006 (telephone) Al Burrows, January 18, 2005 Bill “Ready” Cash, February 21, 2005 (telephone) Bobby Doerr, January 25, 2006 (telephone) Kirk Dressendorf, May 19, 2005 (telephone) Frank Evans, February 16, 2005 (telephone) Bob Feller, February 13, 2005 Ray Day Galloway, November 14, 2004 Ira Glasser, February 8, 2006 (telephone) Stanley Glenn, January 10, 2006 John Holway, November 21, 2004; February 19, 2005 (telephone); January 24, 2006 (telephone) Jerome Holtzman, February 9, 2006 (telephone)

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Monte Irvin, December 4, 2004 (telephone); March 2, 2005 (telephone); June 5, 2005; January 26, 2006 (telephone) Bobby Israel, June 25, 2005 (telephone) Clifford Kachline, January 17, 2005 (telephone) Bowie Kuhn, January 29, 2006 (telephone) Jane Langford, November 14, 2004 Ralph Lee, November 14, 2004 John J. McHale, February 24, 2006 (telephone) John Miles, November 12, 2004 Jessie Mitchell, May 12, 2005; May 31, 2005 (both by telephone) James “Red” Moore, March 8, 2005 (telephone); January 19, 2006 Dale Petroskey, February 21, 2006 Layton Revel, April 3, 2006 (telephone) Linda Ricci, April 16, 2006 (telephone) Gary Roberts, November 17, 2004; May 23, 2005 (telephone); November 19, 2005 (telephone) Donn Rogosin, May 5, 2005 (telephone) Sarah Ruiz, November 13, 2004 Joe Scott, June 21, 2005 (telephone) Ed Stack, July 22, 2005 (telephone) Mickey Vernon, November 17, 2005 Robert Williams, May 12, 2005 (telephone) Ernest Withers, May 9, 2005 (telephone) Tommy Wyatt, January 24, 2005; February 9, 2005 (both by telephone) Danny Roy Young, November 15, 2004; May 26, 2005 (telephone) Jim Zapp, February 7, 2005 (telephone) Newspapers Consulted Austin American-Statesman Austin Chronicle Baltimore Afro-American Boston Globe Chicago Daily Defender Chicago Daily Tribune Chicago Defender Cincinnati Inquirer Cooperstown (N.Y.) Crier Daily Texan (University of Texas) Detroit News Houston Chronicle Indianapolis Recorder Memphis World Miami Herald

SOURCES

Newark Evening Bulletin Newark Herald New Jersey Herald-News Newsday New York Amsterdam News New York Post New York Times Pittsburgh Courier San Francisco Chronicle Sporting News St. Louis Argus USA Today Villager (Austin) Washington Post Washington Tribune Winnipeg Free Press Winnipeg Sun Winnipeg Tribune Yank: The Army Newspaper Archives Austin History Center, Austin, Texas National Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum, Cooperstown, New York Newark Eagles, business and correspondence files, Newark Public Library, Newark, New Jersey

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Index Aaron, Hank, 13, 126 ACLU. See American Civil Liberties Union Addie, Bob, 124 African American community, 40, 46–47, 137 Agee, Claude, 103 Alexander, Charles, 70 Alexander, Grover, 125 Allen, Newt (Colt), 18, 50, 138 Allred, Sammy, 136 All-Stars, 98 American Civil Liberties Union, 122–123, 128 American Giants, 1 American Negro League, 76 Anson, Cap, 128 Anti-Lynching Day, 56 Apollo Theatre, 162n25 Appling, Luke, 1 Atlanta Braves, 116 Austin, Texas, and public support for Wells’s candidacy to Hall of Fame, 135 Austin American-Statesman, 17, 44, 140 Austin Black Senators, 9, 46, 47 Austin City Council, 135, 143 Austin Convention and Visitors Bureau, 143 Austin Senators, 30 Baird, Tom, 152n13 Baker, Betty, 144, 146–148 Baker, Rufus “Scoop,” 92 Ball Player’s Career, A, 128 Baltimore Afro-American, 62, 87 Baltimore Black Sox, 153n21

Baltimore Elite Giants, 23, 25, 35, 40, 51, 54, 57, 73, 85, 92, 94, 107, 120 Bancroft, Dave, 117 Bankhead, Don, 13 Bankhead, Sammy, 20 Banks, Ernie, 14, 84, 113 Barbara Jordan Elementary School, 143 Barnes, Everette D. (Eppie), 111 Barnes, Harry, 95 barnstorming, 14, 45, 72, 98, 101, 124, 126, 137, 151n1, 153n26 Baseball Encyclopedia The, 127 Baseball Writers’ Association of America (BBWAA), 13, 107, 172n18 Bassett, Lloyd “Pepper,” 54, 74 Baucher, Bill, 111, 120 Bauer, Paul, 35 Bavasi, Buzzie, 138 Beckwith, Jake, 117 Bell, “Cool Papa,” 20, 27, 33, 34, 75, 84, 127, 136, 138–140, 152n13; on being elected to Hall of Fame before Wells, 137–138; on Hall of Fame’s special proposal, 116 Bell, James Col, 44 Bennett, Sam, 49 Benson, Gene, 83, 102 Benswanger, Bill, 12–13 Berardino, Johnny, 99 Berra, Yogi, 138 Big League All-Stars, 101 Bingham, Danny, 38, 63–64, 148. See also Wells, Willie: childhood home of

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Biot, Charlie, 12 Birmingham Black Barons, 30, 64, 73–75, 77–78, 93, 93, 97, 165n7 Black, Joe, 51 Blair, William, 64 Blue Ribbon Committee, 130 B’nai Brith, 119 Bob Bullock Texas State History Museum, 38, 142–143 Bohls, Kirk, 140–141. See also Austin American-Statesman Bolton, Todd, 132 Bond, Greg, 132 Bornais, Kyle, 21 Bostock, Lyman, Sr., 97 Boston Braves, 48. See also Major League Baseball: and signing black players Boston Red Sox, 105 Boudreau, Lou, 14 Boyd, Bob, 12, 95 Brandon Greys, 16, 21–22, 72–73, 77, 86, 90, 97 Bremmer, Eugene, 75 Bresnahan, Roger, 24 Brett, George, 33 Brewer, Chet, 122 Bridgeforth, Sou, 78 Bridges, Tommy, 14 Briggs, Walter O., 102–103 Britton, Johnny, 74 Broeg, Bob, 138 Brooklyn Dodgers, 63, 84, 107; and signing of Jackie Robinson, 98, 129. See also Major League Baseball: and signing black players Brooklyn Robins, 63 Brooks, Connie, 140 Brown, Barney, 63, 80–81, 102 Brown, Clifford “Quack,” 53 Brown, James, 81–83 Brown, Joe L., 138 Brown, Larry “Iron Man,” 53, 95, 152n13 Brown, Oliver, 61

Brown, Ray, 125, 132–133 Brown, Ulysses “Buster,” 75 Brown, Willard, 130, 133 Browns, 154n42 Brown v. Board of Education (1954), 129 Bugle Field, 40 Bunch, Sidney, 78 Burgos, Adrian, 132 Burleson, Edward, 146 Burley, Dan, 92, 152n13 Burrows, Al, 30–31; and response to segregation, 58–59; on Wells’s family, 44, 58 Butts, Tommy (Pee Wee), 32, 64 Byrd, Bill, 25 California Winter League, 16, 39, 75 Calloway, Cab, 135 Campanella, Roy, 99, 103, 107–108, 111, 124–126, 171n30; death of, 130; and induction, 114; on Negro leaguers meriting Hall of Fame induction, 110 Cannady, Walter, 74 Capital City African-American Chamber of Commerce, 143 Carlisle, Lick, 19 Carman Cardinals, 12, 97, 154n42 Carter, Art, 122 Carter, Spoon, 95, 97 Cartwright, Alexander, 169n14 Cash, Bill “Ready,” 16, 57, 60, 66, 77, 162n17; on Wells’s expectations of player behavior/dress, 86 Chadwick, Henry, 169n14 Chandler, Happy, 101 Chandler, Spud, 99 Chapman, Sam, 99 Charleston, Oscar, 63, 116, 121, 152n14, 162n17, 170n16 Chicago American Giants, 20, 27–28, 47, 51, 54, 56, 66, 74, 76–77, 86, 120, 137, 157n16; and 1928 Negro National League West Division pennant, 151n2 Chicago Cubs, 15, 163n37

INDEX

Chicago Daily Defender (formerly Chicago Defender), 22, 51, 62, 63, 97, 104, 172n18; on Satchel Paige’s induction, 116 Chicago Tribune, 62 Chicago White Sox, 57 Chicago White Stockings, 128 Chicago’s Century of Progress Exposition, 62 “Chinese homer,” 20–21, 155n6 Christopher, Thadist, 81, 83 Cincinnati-Cleveland Buckeyes, 75, 83 Cincinnati Clowns, 64 Cincinnati Crescent, 64 Cincinnati Inquirer, 114 Civil Rights Act of 1964, 123 Civil War, 146 Clark, Dick, 5, 14, 83, 127, 132 Clark, Jane Forbes, 131–132 Clark, William E., 63 Clarkson, Buzz, 67 Clarkson, James “Buster,” 81–83 Cleveland Indians, 16, 48. See also Major League Baseball: and signing black players Cleveland, Floyd, 24 Cohen, Mickey, 95 Cole, Bob, 136 Cole, R. A., 62 Coleman, Ken, 138 Coles, Robert, 28 Colgate University, 111 Comiskey Park, 17, 33, 33, 62 Committee on Negro Leagues, 110–111, 114–116, 124, 126; criticism of, 120; disbanding of, 116, 118–120, 134 Complete Book of Baseball’s Negro Leagues, The, 101, 151n1 (Introduction) Congressional Record, 135 Conlon, Jocko, 121 Cooper, Andy, 133 Cornelius, Bill “Sug,” 86 Crisp, Robert, 38, 42 Cronin, Joe, 14, 124 Cuba, 15, 23, 26

183

Cuban Stars, 111 “cutting players,” 19. See also unsportsmanlike play Daily Worker, 12, 61 Dandridge, Ray, 12–13, 15–16, 32, 63, 67–69, 75, 83, 119, 122, 125 Dandy, Day, and the Devil, 136 Davis, Butch, 32, 81, 85, 97 Davis, Reyn, 12, 97 Day, Leon, 13, 20–21, 32, 67–68, 75, 80–81, 84–85, 91, 125, 130, 136 Dayley, Arthur, 114 Dean, Dizzy, 101 DeMoss, Elwood, 122 Detroit Defender, 62 Detroit News, 102 Detroit Tigers, 100–103, 102 Detroit Wolves, 75 “Devil, the,” 15, 52, 97, 155n66, 155n69. See also Wells, Willie: nicknames for Dickson, Paul, 151 Dickson Baseball Dictionary, 151n1 (Introduction) Diez Muro, Raúl, 5 Dihigo, Martin, 17, 116, 119 DiMaggio, Joe, 65 discrimination, 21, 56–60, 66, 127–129. See also racism; segregation Dismukes, Dizzy, 102 Doby, Helyn, 34 Doby, Larry, 23, 34, 83, 103, 106–107, 117, 152n12; and comparing Wells to Rizzuto, 16; and playing for Jackie Robinson, 99; on Satchel Paige’s induction, 11 Doerr, Bobby, 105 Donaldson, John, 122, 152n14 Doswell, Ray, 106, 132–133. See also Negro Leagues Baseball Museum Downs, “Bunnie,” 94 Drake, Bill “Plunk,” 24 Dressen, Chuck, 101

184

WILLIE WELLS

Duncan, Frank, 102 Dunlap, Johnny, 71 Durocher, Leo, 124–125 Durso, Joseph, 104 Dyer, Eddie, 48 Easterling, Howard, 102 East Orange Base Ball Club, 60 Ebony, 116 Eckert, Spike, 106, 112 “El Diablo,” 15, 71, 138, 140. See also Wells, Willie: nicknames for Elite Giants, 16–17 Elmwood Giants, 21–22, 95–96 Erickson, Roky, 136 Evans, Chris, 95 Evans, Frank, 16, 27 Evergreen Cemetery, 142–143, 144 fans. See public/fans, response of, to Negro leagues baseball Faulk, John Henry, 136 Feller, Bob, 14, 98–99, 101, 102 Feller-Paige Tour, 98–100 First Baptist Church, 37 Fitzgerald, Ella, 61, 162n25 Fleet Walker Award, 1 Flynn, Glenn, 84 Flynn, Mark, 19 Forbes, Frank, 111, 152n13 Foster, Rube (“Father of the Negro leagues”), 47, 63, 77, 119, 121, 125, 138 Foster, Willie (also Bill), 1, 50, 122, 126, 130, 138, 152n14 Foxx, Jimmie, 100 French, Larry, 14 Frick, Ford (“Father of the Hall of Fame”), 107–108, 110–111, 113, 129 Galloway, Ray Day, 40, 46 Garcia, Gus, 143 Garcia, Silvio, 92 Gardiner, Don, 22

Gardner, Floyd, 122 Garrido, Augie, 146 Gates, Jim, 172n20 Geezinslaws, 136 Gehrig, Lou, 99, 126 Gehringer, Charlie, 1, 126 gentleman’s agreement, 107–108. See also ten years’ play in majors requirement Gerlach, Larry, 32 Gibbons, Dirk, 21 Gibson, Bob, 108 Gibson, Josh, 12, 16, 19–20, 23, 32, 63, 84, 104, 111, 120, 126–127, 152n14; on Hall of Fame’s special proposal for Negro leaguers induction, 116 Gilbert, Bill, 32 Giles, George, 124 Glasser, Ira, 122–123, 127–129, 131 Glenn, Stanley “Doc,” 47 Gomez, Lefty, 61 Gonzalez, George, 136 Goodwin, Lonnie, 50 Gottlieb, Ed (Eddie), 81–82, 110, 152n13 Graham, Dennis, 74 Grant, Frank, 133 Great Depression, 75 Great Wall of South Austin, The, 136, 137 Greenlee, Gus, 62, 94 Griffey, Irv, 96 Griffith, Clark, 12 Grimes, Burleigh, 124 Gross, Milton, 113 Grove, Lefty, 100 Guilfoile, Bill, 130 Gully, Nap, 73 Hafey, Chick, 117 Hallahan, Bill, 63 Hall of Fame, 83, 108, 110, 119, 120, 124, 127–129, 133, 141–142, 150; efforts of, to include Negro leaguers for induction, 104, 107; and efforts to induct Wells, 106, 126, 129; and efforts toward

INDEX

fairness, 130–131; and first Negroleagues inductee, 112–113; and special wing for Negro league players, 112–117 Hamilton, Andrew Jackson, 146 Harlem Globetrotters, 94 Harper, Lucius, 62 Harris, Curtis “Popeye,” 22, 156n80 Harris, Vic (“Vicious Vic”), 19, 63, 122, 152n13. See also unsportsmanlike play Havana La Paloma, 94 Hawkins, Burt, 10 Hayes, Frank, 99 Heaphy, Leslie, 133 Heath, Jeff, 99 Hector, Jack, 32, 89–90 Hegan, Jim, 99 Heilmann, Harry, 1 Hemsley, Rollie, 99 Hertzel, Bob, 114 Hill, James (Jimmy), 20, 80–81, 83 Hill, Pete, 133 Hill, Sam, 97 Hind, Terry, 97 Historic Landmark Commission, 148 Hoag, Marin, 116 Hobgood, Frederick, 3 Hoffman, Harold G., 61 Hogan, Larry, 14, 133; and Negro Leagues Researchers/Authors Group, 132 Holloway, Christopher Columbus “Crush,” 50 Holtz, Ed, 49 Holtzman, Jerome, 130–131, 138 Holway, John, 14, 23, 39, 101, 119, 121, 126–128, 131–132, 151n1 (Chapter One); and collection of petitions for continuation of Committee on Negro Leagues, 122; and effort for more black players’ recognition, 122–123. See also Committee on Negro Leagues Homestead Grays, 13, 19, 20–21, 25, 35, 45, 54, 61, 67, 74–76, 80–81, 84, 125, 151n2, 155–156n71

185

Honig, Donald, 127 Hooker, Leniel, 83 Hooper, Harry, 117 Hornsby, Rogers, 70 Houston Astros, 144 Houston Buffaloes, 47 Hoyt, Waite, 125 Hubbard, Jesse, 152n13Huston-Tillotson College (now Huston-Tillotson University), 143, 146 Hyde, Cowan “Bubba,” 15, 95 Illidge, Eric, 88 Indianapolis Clowns, 30, 58, 73, 77, 97; Wells’s managing of, 93–94 Indianapolis Reporter, 93 International League, 97, 128 Invisible Men, The, 59, 127 Irvin, Dee, 34 Irvin, Monte, 23, 34, 57, 64, 66, 79, 81, 83, 84, 87, 124–125, 130, 138, 140, 152n14, 153n21, 163n37, 170n16, 171n30; and Committee on Negro Leagues, 110; on communication between blacks and whites, 107; on “cutting players,” 19–20; and efforts to convince Veterans Committee about Wells, 134; and hopes for use of firsthand knowledge consideration, 126; induction of, into Hall of Fame, 116; and playing for Jackie Robinson, 99; reaction of, to criticism of Committee on Negro Leagues, 121; reaction of, to special wing in Hall of Fame, 115; on salary, 101; on travel, 58; on Wells, 15, 20, 27, 35 Isaacs, Stan, 116 Israel, Bobby, 28 Israel, Clarence “Pint,” 28, 82–83 J. G. Taylor Spink Award, 130 Jackson, Reggie, 108 Jackson, Travis, 14 Jenkins, Clarence “Fats,” 122, 152n13

186

WILLIE WELLS

Jenkins, Fergie, 108 Jessup, Gentry, 102 Jethroe, Sam, 102 Jim Crow, 112, 115 Johnson, Ban, 169n14 Johnson, James Weldon, 143 Johnson, Jimmy “Slim,” 88, 166n33 Johnson, John (Johnny), 166n33 Johnson, Judy, 1, 33, 72, 110–111, 121, 140, 152nn13,14, 170n16; and Hall of Fame’s special proposal for Negro leaguers’ induction, 116 Johnson, Leaman, 81, 83 Johnson, Lyndon, 106 Johnson, Walter, 125 Jones, Casey, 95 Jordan, Barbara, 5, 142 Jordan, David, 32 Joss, Addie, 115 Kachline, Clifford, 108 Kansas City Athletics, 33 Kansas City Monarchs, 18, 47, 51, 59, 74–75, 81, 84, 101, 112, 155–156n71 Kansas City Royals, 101 Keller, Charlie, 99 Kelley, Joe, 117 Kelso, John, 71 Keltner, Ken, 99 Kennard, Dan, 49 Kennedy, Johnny, 32 Kenyon, Harry, 52 Kerr, Paul, 109, 110, 112–113, 124, 129, 168n18; on Satchel Paige’s induction, 108, 116; on ten-years’ play in majors requirement, 107–108 King, B. B., 165n7 King, Martin Luther, Jr., 106 Kipling, Rudyard, 62 Koppett, Leonard (Len), 117, 138 Krieger, Kit, 5 Kuhn, Bowie, 105–107, 112, 119, 127, 129, 135, 170n37; and ACLU meeting, 122–123;

on disbanding of Committee on Negro Leagues, 119–120; and garnering support for the Committee on Negro Leagues, 110; on proposal for special wing, 113–117 L. C. Anderson High School, 39, 41 Lacy, Sam, 70, 87, 110–111, 163n33 La Guardia, Fiorella H., 62 Landis, Kenesaw Mountain, 32, 108, 122 Lang, Jack, 107 Langford, Jane, 31. See also Wells, Willie: later years of Larson, Richard, 123 Lasorda, Tommy, 114, 172n18 Leaks, Roosevelt, 143 Lee, Ralph, 30. See also Wells, Willie: as teacher Lemon, Bob, 99 Leonard, Buck, 19–20, 25–26, 32, 33, 34, 63, 84, 87, 89, 91, 120, 140, 152n14; as compared to Lou Gehrig, 126; as compared to Wells in intelligence, 31; on “organized baseball,” 153n26; on playing against Major Leaguers, 99–100; reaction of, to Hall of Fame’s special proposal for Negro leaguers induction, 116; on Wells’s relationships with women, 45; on Wells’s shortcomings, 9, 53 Leonard, Dutch, 99 Lester, Larry, 5, 14, 83, 127, 133; and Negro Leagues Researchers/Authors Group, 132 Lewis, Allen, 138 Lewis, Rufus, 102 Lieb, Fred, 124 Lipsyte, Robert, 117 Little League Austin Indians, 24, 97 Lloyd, John Henry (El Cuchara) “Pop,” 10, 119, 121, 152n13, 170n16; on Hall of Fame’s special proposal for Negro leaguers induction, 116 Lopez, Al, 124

INDEX

Los Angeles Dodgers, 114–115, 129 Louis, Joe, 135 Louisville Clippers, 78 Louisville Slugger, 155–156n71 Lundy, Dick “King Richard,” 10, 122, 132, 153n21 Luque, Dolph, 89, 166n40 MacAlister, James, 108 Mack, Connie, 12, 153n22, 169n14 Mackey, Raleigh “Biz,” 46, 50, 58, 75, 80–81, 121–122, 130, 132–133, 138, 152n14; on Blue Ribbon Committee list, 130 Major League Baseball, 13, 100–103, 112; and blacks in decision-making positions, 106; and fiftieth Major League Baseball All-Star Game, 33; and signing black players, 12, 32, 48, 98, 103, 112 Malarcher, Dave, 122, 152n13 ManDak League, 21–22, 32, 40, 77, 84, 97, 166n15. See also Brandon Greys; Carman Cardinals; Elmwood Giants; Minot Mallards; Winnepeg Buffaloes Manley, Abe, 27, 29, 68, 89, 93–94; on barnstorming, 153–154n26; and falling out with Wells, 87; on organized baseball, 154n26; and Terris McDuffie, 88 Manley, Effa, 21, 29, 44, 56, 67–69, 79–80, 122; criticism of, by Committee on Negro Leagues, 121; and efforts for black players’ recognition, 122; and falling out with Wells, 87; and negotiating duties and salary, 80–82; recognition of, for participation in Negro National League, 125; and Terris McDuffie, 87–88; voted into Hall of Fame, 133 Manning, Max, 30, 81, 83, 102 Manush, Heine, 1 Maranville, Rabbit, 14 Marcelle, Oliver (Ghost), 20–21, 122, 152n14, 153n21 Marion, Marty, 16, 154n42

187

Marquard, Rube, 117, 125 Marr, Don, 138, 140 Marshall, Jack, 56 Marshall, Thurgood, 129 Marshall, William Jack, 152n13 Marshall’s Barber Shop, 35, 36, 37, 135 Martin, J. B. “Doc,” 66 Martinez, Rabbit, 155n50 Mathews, Francis, 83 Mathews, Verdell, 95 Mathewson, Christy, 122 Matlock, Leroy, 22 Matthews, Francis, 81 Maury, Joe, 96 Mays, Willie, 12, 78, 104, 108, 113, 126 McClellan, Carole, 36, 135 McCord, Jeff, 163n38 McDonald, Webster, 61 McDonough, Gordon L., 16 McDuffie, Terris “The Terrible,” 66–68, 75, 87–88, 166n33, 166n40 McGraw, John J., 63, 122 McHale, John J., 102, 106–107, 132 McKerlie, Alymer, 12 McNair, Hurley “Bugger,” 51, 149 Memphis Red Sox, 28, 40, 53–54, 72, 78, 93–94, 95, 162n11 Méndez, José, 133 Mexico City Aztecs, 75 Miles, John “Mule,” 18, 54, 58, 60, 64, 72, 143, 146 Miller, Andy, 162n17 Miller, Sammy, 133 “million dollar” infield, 12, 26–27, 153n21 Minneapolis Millers, 103 Minot Mallards, 22, 55, 73, 84, 89 Mitchell, Jessie, 30, 78 Mogridge, Fred, 24 Montreal Expos, 97, 106 Moore, James “Red,” 3, 26–27, 30, 57 Moses, Alvin, 152n13 Mother, Carroll “Dink,” 75 Motley, Donald, 143

188

WILLIE WELLS

Munzel, Ed, 124, 138 Murphy, Vincent J., 61 Musial, Stan, 98–99, 101, 124, 138 Nashville Elite Giants, 29 National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP), 119, 129 National Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum, 141 National Collegiate Athletic Association, 111 Negro leagues, 83, 98–100, 126–127; and equipment, 19–21, 24–25, 54, 155nn22,71; and gambling, 94; and gangsters, 95; and play in Latin America, 8, 17, 20, 26, 41, 45, 66–70, 68, 79–81; and recognition of players, 122–123, 144–155; and record keeping, 9, 13–14, 110, 124–125, 127; and salaries, 26, 47, 48–49, 57, 92, 101, 134–135, 163n6, 166n15; and statistics, 13–14, 97, 125; and travel, 56–58, 64, 72, 75, 99–102, 102 Negro Leagues Baseball Museum, 106, 127, 136–137, 143 Negro Leagues Book, The, 5, 127, 151n2 Negro Leagues Researchers/Authors Group, 132 Negro League World Series, 58 Negro National League, 75, 76, 135, 151n2 Newark Eagles, 12, 17, 19–21, 23, 25–27, 35, 38, 44, 46, 53, 56–58, 60, 68, 73–74, 76–77, 79–80, 85, 88, 94, 138 Newcombe, Don, 23, 93, 103; on Wells’s coaching/mentoring, 83–84 New Jersey Herald-News, 152n11 Newsday, 116 Newsom, Bobo, 14 New York Amsterdam News, 101, 152n7 New York Black Yankees, 35, 62, 72, 75, 87–88, 92, 94, 135 New York Boxing Commission, 111 New York Cubans, 71, 92, 111, 155n50 New York Daily News, 107

New York Giants, 78, 103, 111, 125, 163n37 New York Post, 113 New York Times, 62–63, 104, 116–117, 154n42; obituary of Wells in, 13–14 New York Yankees, 33 Niekro, Phil, 172n18 Nugent, Jerry, 32 O’Hara, Maureen, 86 O’Neil, Buck “Foots” (or “Nancy”), 13–15, 18, 20, 31, 59–60, 64, 101, 102, 115, 125, 130, 138, 146, 171n30; on Wells, 20, 31, 53, 84, 134; and Wells’s celebration, 143; statistics of, 124–125 Oleksak, Mary Adams, 164n20 Oleksak, Michael M., 164n20 Olsen, Lawrence, 135 Only the Ball Was White, 33, 126 Overmyer, James (Jim), 133 Owen, Oscar, 74 Owens, Jesse, 35 Owens, Raymond “Smokey,” 75 Paige, Satchel, 20, 24, 31–32, 63, 75, 101, 104, 108, 112–114, 117, 152n14, 153n24; 169n37; and All-Star team, 102; and induction to Hall of Fame, 64–65, 113, 114, 116, 170n37; and managing All-Stars, 72, 98–99; on travel, 64–65 Paige, Theodore “Ted,” 152n13 Parker, Tom “Big Train,” 25 Parks, Charles, 81, 83 Pasquel, Jorge, 67, 70 Patterson, Pat, 83, 122 Peace, Warren, 53 Pearson, Lennie “Hoss,” 58, 79, 80–81, 83–84 Pedrueza, Ramus, 69 Pennington, Art “Superman,” 66 Peters, Hank, 138 Peterson, John, 96 Peterson, Robert, 33, 126, 133 Petroskey, Dale, 131–132

INDEX

Philadelphia Athletics, 153n22 Philadelphia Giants (or Philadelphia Royal Giants), 49–50, 75 Philadelphia Phillies, 32, 48 Philadelphia Stars, 47, 60, 66, 72, 74, 81–82 Pickle, J. J. “Jake,” 36, 135, 140, 143 Pierce, William “Bill,” 152n13 Pittsburgh Courier, 12–13, 18, 51, 62, 70, 75, 152n14 Pittsburgh Courier-Journal, 153n24 Pittsburgh Crawfords, 13, 62, 73–74, 94 Pittsburgh Pirates, 12–13 Plessy v. Ferguson, 129 Poindexter, Robert, 52 Poles, Spottswood, 122 Polgar, Robi, 143 Pollock, Syd, 93, 152n13 Pompez, Alex, 110–111, 133 Posey, Cumberland (Cum), 74–75, 80–81, 88, 133 Povich, Shirley, 32, 104, 114 Powell, Richard, 120 Pride, Charley, 93, 165n7 public/fans, response of, to Negro leagues baseball, 17–18, 47, 87, 100–101, 104–105 racism, 56, 58, 60, 102, 127–129 Radcliffe, “Double Duty,” 27, 35, 86 Radcliffe, Alex, 27 Ramirez, Ramiro, 94 Randolph, Willie, 33 Redding, Dick, 125 Reese, Pee Wee, 14, 97, 138, 154n42 Regina Caps, 40 Reichler, Joe, 112 reinterment ceremony, 142–143, 144, 146–147, 147 Renfroe, Othello “Chico,” 47 Revel, Layton, 152n6 Rickey Branch, 98, 108 Riggins, Bill “Bo,” 49 Rigney, Hank, 54

189

Riley, James, 10, 26, 28–29, 34, 47, 136, 143; on Ted Williams, 106; on Wells’s return to Austin to help ailing mother, 41–42 Ritter, Lawrence, 127 Rizzuto, Phil, 14, 16, 98–99, 154n42 Robbins, Danny, 17–18 Roberts, Eric B., 152n13 Roberts, Gary, 144–145 Roberts, Ric, 12 Roberts, “Spec,” 87, 166n33 Robertson, John, 97 Robinson, Bill “Bojangles,” 135 Robinson, Jackie, 21, 60, 98–99, 101, 103, 108, 112–116, 152n14, 155–156n71; and signing with Dodgers, 129; on special wing of Hall of Fame for Negro league players, 113, 115–116; on Wells’s coaching influence, 23 Robinson, Neil, 95 Robinson, Smokey, 97 Robinson, Wilbert, 63 Rodriguez, Alex, 15 Rogan, “Bullet” Joe, 50, 121, 125, 130–131, 138, 152n14 Rogan, Wilbur, 122 Rogosin, Donn, 30, 32–33, 35, 59, 64, 125, 150. See also Invisible Men, The Roll of Honor (1946), 168 Roosevelt, Franklin, 69 Rossi, John, 32 Round Rock Express, 144–146 Royal, Darrell, 146 Royal Colored Giants, 72 Ruck, Rob, 133 Ruffin, Leon, 83 Ruiz, Sarah, 31, 158n26 Ruppert Stadium, 20, 74 Ruth, Babe, 13, 63, 99, 126 Ryan, Nolan, 144 Ryan, Reid, 144–145 SABR. See Society for American Baseball Research

190

WILLIE WELLS

Sain, Johnny, 98–99 Sampson, Lorene, 44 Sampson, Sammy, 74 Samuel Huston College, 49, 160n19. See also Huston-Tillotson College San Antonio Black Aces, 46, 50 San Antonio Blackjacks, 40 Santop, Louis, 133, 138 Saperstein, Abe, 94–95, 152n13 Scallion, Mary, 140 Schwehm, P. E., Major, 69 Scott, Joe B., 28, 54, 78, 95 Seay, Dick, 12 Segar, Charlie, 107, 124 segregation, 64, 66, 127–129, 161–162n11. See also discrimination; racism Selective Service System, 69 Semler, James “Soldier Boy,” 92, 94 separate-but-equal doctrine, 129 Services of the Elderly, 31 Sewell, Joe, 14 Shades of Glory, 132 Sickels, John, 101. See also Feller, Bob Simmons, Al, 100 Simpson, Reginald, 61 Smith, Charles “Cheno,” 152n14 Smith, Hilton, 63, 102, 125, 131, 138 Smith, Maurice, 96 Smith, Ozzie, 10, 14, 20 Smith, Red, 124–125 Smith, Taylor, 97 Smith, Wendell, 12, 70–71, 111, 114, 153n24, 163n33 Society for American Baseball Research (SABR), 5, 11, 108, 127 South Austin Community Hospital, 37 Sparrow, Roy, 62 Spink, C. C., 121 Sporting News, 14, 63, 108, 114, 121, 136–137 Sports Illustrated, 141 Sportsman Park, 101 St. Louis Argus, 49 St. Louis Cardinals, 48, 69

St. Louis Giants, 49–50 St. Louis Stars, 22, 48, 49, 50, 52, 86, 151n2, 160n18 Stack, Edward W., 109, 122, 140; on disbanding of Committee on Negro Leagues, 119; on Negro leaguers’ induction, 130; and Veterans Committee, 118–119, 140 Stearnes, Norman Thomas “Turkey,” 50, 121, 130–131 Stengel, Casey, 15, 114 Stevens, Jake, 152n13 Stone, Ed, 27, 81 Suttles, George “Mule,” 12, 20, 27, 63, 67, 122, 126, 133, 157n16; on Wells, 18, 27 Swanson, Gloria, 86, 146 Swanton, Barry, 95–96 Taylor, Ben, 133 Taylor, Iola Miles, 140 Taylor, Jim “Candy,” 49, 149 Taylor, Joe, 97 Taylor, Johnny “Schoolboy,” 71 ten-years’ play in majors requirement, 107–108 Terry, Bill, 124 Texas Department of Health, 38 Texas Legislature Committee, 173n11 Texas Rangers, 33 Texas School for the Deaf, 147 Texas Sports Hall of Fame, 48, 140 Texas State Cemetery, 3–4, 142–145, 145 Texas State Theater, 143 Texas Steers, 137 Texicalli Grill, 3, 136–137 Third Ward Republican Club, 61 Thompson, Charles, 83 Thompson, Clara Belle, 44, 83 Thompson, Hank, 102 Thompson, “Hoss,” 78 Thompson, Lloyd, 152n13 Toronto Maple Leafs, 97 Torriente, Cristóbal, 15, 132–133, 152n14 Traeger, William, 16

INDEX

Traynor, Pie, 12 Trouppe, Quincy, 102 Turk, Alex, 94–95 Tuskegee airmen, 142 University of Missouri, 64 University of Texas at Austin, 33, 35, 64, 143, 146 unsportsmanlike play, 19–20, 24, 60 Urban League, 119 van Buren, Mark, 91 Veeck, Bill, 32 Veracruz Blues, 70, 77, 138 Vernon, Mickey, 98 Veterans Committee, 118–119, 123–125, 127, 130, 134, 136–138, 140, 171n30; and election of black players, 126; petition to change membership of, 124 Vincent, Fay, 132 Virgil, Ozzie, 100–101 Walker, Edsall “Catskill Wildman,” 24 Walker, Fleet, 151n1 (Introduction) Walker, Jessie “Hoss,” 94 Walker, Jr., Carsey, 39, 143 Wallace, Dick, 49, 149 Walters, Bucky, 14 Warfield, Frank, 153n21 Warneke, Lon, 63 Washington, Jap, 74 Washington Black Senators, 12, 166n33 Washington Elite Giants, 62 Washington Post, 62–63 Watts, Herman, 75 Webb, Chick, 61, 162n25 Weight, Glenn, 12 Weiss, George, 117 Wells, Cisco White (Wells’s mother), 38, 41, 49 Wells, Ira, 40–41 Wells, James, 41 Wells, Joe, 41

191

Wells, Lonnie, 41 Wells, Nathaniel, 37, 41 Wells, Stella, 37, 39, 41, 134, 143–144, 146; at Hall of Fame induction ceremony, 138, 138 Wells, Willie, 34; and basketball, 22; birth of, 38–39; and Blue Ribbon Committee list, 130; childhood home of, 38, 39, 142, 144, 147–148; comparison of, to other players, 15–16, 20, 35, 97, 134; death of, 13–14, 27, 158n49; and depression, 157n13; different roles of, 23, 55, 93, 149; education of, 39, 41, 49; and ejection from game, 91; and equipment, 19, 21, 24–25, 53–54, 155n71; and falling out with Manleys, 87; and financial responsibility, 26, 28, 30, 41, 49–50; and expectations of players, 82, 85–87; formal recognition of, 22, 39, 143–146, 148; and gambling, 26; and induction into Hall of Fame, xii, 125–126, 134–135, 137–138, 142–143; and family, 36–41, 44, 58, 134, 136–137; intelligence of, 31, 53; interests of, 26–28, 35–36, 36, 42, 78; intuition of, 23–24, 33, 51–53, 83, 85; later years of, 3, 21, 24, 31, 34, 68, 92–93, 136, 150, 150, 156n94, 157n13; and love of baseball, 34, 49, 52, 84, 135, 139, 150, 160n2; and managing, 16–17, 22–24, 26, 30, 40, 47, 60–61, 68, 70, 83–87, 92–97, 93, 97; memorable plays of, 1, 15–16, 18–20, 22, 52, 87, 97, 137; and mother, 26, 28, 30, 40–45, 43, 49; nicknames for, ix, 15, 26, 49, 51–52, 53, 77, 97, 135, 149, 156n89; on other players, 19, 33, 81–82, 85; others’ opinion of, 34–35, 90; personality of, 23–24, 26, 28–31, 49–50, 60, 87, 89–91, 149; physical attributes of, 15, 19, 31, 140; as player-manager, 23, 32, 40, 55, 77, 97; on racism and segregation, 59; and salary, 26, 36, 92, 95, 134–135, 163n6; selection of, to the

192

WILLIE WELLS

Negro National Baseball League, 135; on self, 17–18, 50–51; shortcomings of, 9, 17, 50–53; statistics of, 13–14, 50–51, 92 (see also Negro leagues, and record keeping; Negro leagues, and statistics); strategy of, 23, 51, 81–84, 86; as teacher, 22–23, 30–31, 83–84, 86, 149; vices of, 26, 28, 39, 157n13; and women, 28, 36, 44–45, 157n26; youth of, 2, 46–48, 147–148 Wells, Willie, Jr., 37, 39–40, 44 White, Bill, 138 White, Chaney, 152n13 White, Charlie, 32, 97 White, Sol, 133 White Hawks, 57 Whitney, Arthur “Pinkey,” 48 Wilkinson, James Leslie “J. L.,” 75, 133 Williams, Joe, 74, 131 Williams, Robert Rosel (Bobby), 64, 77, 152n13 Williams, Smokey Joe, 122, 125, 130, 138, 152nn13,14 Williams, Ted “Splendid Splinter” (also “Teddy Ballgame”), 65, 104–106, 105, 138 Willie Wells Avenue, 143 Willie Wells Day, 146 Willie Wells Memorial Dedication, 142 Willie Wells Story, The, 39, 142–143

Wilson, Artie, 74, 102 Wilson, Fred “Sardo,” 34–35 Wilson, Jud “Boojum,” 86, 132–133 Wilson, Thomas T. “Smiling Tom,” 16–17, 29, 75, 94 Wilson, W. Rollo, 152n13 Winnepeg Buffaloes, 21–22, 32, 40, 55, 72–73, 77, 84, 90–91, 94–97, 96 Winnepeg Free Press, 19 World Series, 51 World War II, 69, 83 Wrigley Field, 101 Wynn, Early, 71 Yancey, Bill, 111, 126, 152n13 Yankee Stadium, 57 Young, A. S. (Doc), 120–121, 131 Young, Cy, 13, 18 Young, Danny Roy (“Mayor of South Austin”), 3, 136 Young, Dick, 107, 110, 112–113 Young, Frank A. “Fay,” 152n13 Young, Leandy, 74 Young Communist League, 61 Zapp, Jim “Zipper,” 54 Zedd, Stanley, 90, 94–95 “Zipper.” See Wells, Ira