War on the Basepaths Read online

  Prior to being influenced by Leidy, Cobb was a lot less focused on baseball success. He said: “My main trouble at the start was that I didn’t take my job on the Augusta team seriously. I will never forget the first time I was benched. I used to like my peanut taffy, and one day I went out to centre field chewing on a big hunk of this candy. A fly ball was hit out to me, but I forgot to throw away the candy, and everything got so mixed up that I lost the ball and, incidentally, the game. For that I was benched, and I should have been.”89

  It took time for Cobb to see this, and Leidy helped, soon becoming his primary mentor. Involved in some form of the sport since the late 1880s, Leidy was a bona fide veteran of baseball and knew all the tricks to the game. His real talent lay in the way he related to and educated others, and he provided a wealth of knowledge to younger players at the drop of a hat. With Cobb, he saw outstanding potential and committed to teaching him everything from aiming bunts to specific parts of the infield to sliding properly to the famous hit-and-run. Additionally, Leidy not only enlightened Cobb to the psychology of baseball, but used a little psychology of his own to further inspire the prodigious teen. He relayed enthralling stories of life in the majors and confidently said that Cobb, if he continued to develop, was a surefire future big leaguer.90 In response, Ty’s imagination ran wild.

  Between May and June, 1905, Cobb’s batting average rose nearly 70 points from .243 to .312. At the end of July, he became the first player in the league to attain 100 hits and a reporter wrote, “It is interesting to note that he is ten or fifteen hits ahead” of his peers in that regard.91 There were rumors of major league scouts roaming the circuit, and it was apparent that Cobb was being closely watched. Augusta played a doubleheader at Columbia on August 5 with Cobb in the lineup, and then journeyed to Jacksonville for a series beginning on Monday, August 7. For whatever reason, and possibly because of a thumb injury, Cobb sat out the next two games. In fact, it is unclear whether Cobb went to Jacksonville for the series at all.92 On the evening of August 8, a tragedy was suffered back home in Royston, and yet hours would go by before Ty learned the news that his beloved father had been shot and killed.

  Professor Cobb, state senator in 1900–01 and the Franklin County School Commissioner since 1902, was a gentleman of great distinction in Georgia. The forty-two-year-old dignitary had done admirable work in advancing the cause of education in his county and there were preliminary rumblings that he was on a short list to one day become state school commissioner. He was the proud father of three children, the husband of a “very beautiful woman,” and seemingly enjoying an honorable existence.93 But in the aftermath of his murder, people were left to speculate why his wife of nineteen years pulled the trigger on that fateful night and sentenced him to death.

  The stunning news was front page material across Georgia, including in both the Atlanta Journal and Atlanta Constitution, and received some national coverage. Almost immediately, Amanda Cobb was a suspect in what was believed to be a case of manslaughter. Before the Franklin County Coroner’s Jury, she offered a lengthy statement, explaining that she had awoken overnight and heard a “kind of rustling” outside the window. Upon examination, she spotted a human figure, but was unable to see who it was or what the individual was doing on the veranda of the home. “The form seemed to crouch down,” she said, armed with a pistol her husband had given her for home defense.94 “I stood at the upper side of the window and pulled the shade to one side and shot twice.” Her aim was unfortunately impeccable, and Professor Cobb was hit twice, once in the head and again in the stomach. Amanda claimed that Professor Cobb was a sleepwalker and may have been walking in his sleep.95

  Despite her explanation, Amanda was encircled by suspicion. After the burial of her husband on August 10, she was arrested. She never denied pulling the trigger, but thought the house was being burglarized and said it was a horrible accident. As far as she knew, her husband had left for Atlanta earlier in the day and was not expected home until Thursday. She never thought for a minute it was him outside their home and once she realized what had occurred, became “prostrate with grief,” according to the Columbus Ledger.96 The story was quickly sensationalized by reports of Amanda’s alleged infidelity and the assertion that Cobb had been told to “keep watch over his home.” In an effort to do so without anyone knowing, he initially left home on business, only to return on foot that night with a rock and a pistol in his coat pocket. En route home, Cobb was spotted, but a witness thought he was trying not to be identified. Soon thereafter, the accidental murder transpired.

  The once impeccable Cobb family was subjected to intense public scrutiny as Amanda Cobb’s trial was scheduled for March 1906 and she was released on $7,000 bond.97 Eighteen-year-old Ty was overcome with sadness and shame. His father’s death was beyond comprehension and he expressed very little, if anything, publicly. The Cobb children denied the scandalous rumors of domestic discord and cited “perfect harmony” in their family.98 Ty was the recipient of the baseball public’s sympathy in Augusta and the local paper stated, “Being only a boy yet in his teens, the blow will be particularly a hard one, especially on account of its tragic nature.”99 Swallowing his pain, Cobb returned to the lineup for a doubleheader on August 16, but three days later, he heard what should have been the greatest bit of information in his young life. The Detroit Tigers were in need of a good hitting outfielder, and with the help of scouts Henry Youngman, a deal for Cobb was made.100 But, considering all that was going on, his sale to the Detroit Tigers was overshadowed by anguish. Nonetheless, he was headed for the major leagues.

  All things considered, Ty Cobb was a rare phenom with the kind of innate value that could one day be the foundation of a championship team. Augusta had seen his fine play all year and in his final appearance on August 25, 1905, he was given a gold watch as a gift from the club and fans. Cobb relished the special recognition of his work, calling it his “proudest possession.”101 His .326 average in 103 games spoke volumes about his ability to hit, but there was a significant jump in the quality of pitchers from Class C to the majors, and whether Cobb had what it took to be successful was something still to be determined. But in the back of his mind, echoing loudly, were his father’s words: “Don’t come home a failure.” He didn’t intend to.

  2

  NOT A BORN BALLPLAYER

  Resting north of the Mason-Dixon Line, approximately 767 miles from Royston, Georgia, was the lively metropolis of Detroit, a city culturally and economically infused in contemporary American life. Embellished by striking and ever-growing structures in the downtown area, electric railways along the streets and a vast industrial complex, the urban sprawl, including an array of easy-to-reach suburbs, was a great attraction for people looking to settle in the Midwest.1 Life in Detroit was going to further improve, as the economic stability created by the exportation of chemicals, cattle, and stoves, plus the heavy enterprises of railroad cars, were going to be augmented by the mushrooming horseless carriage industry, which was better known as the all-encompassing realm of automobiles.

  Motorcars and Detroit would forever be synonymous. In terms of pioneers in the field, Charles B. King, the first man to drive a gasoline powered auto in the city limits, Ransom E. Olds, and Henry Ford were innovators, setting an extraordinary trend for the world to follow. The Ford Motor Company, incorporated in 1903, grew from 31 employees in its second year to 229 in its third, and ultimately to over 55,000 by 1920. In that same amount of time, the number of cars produced went from under 2,000 a year to in excess of a million.2 The Detroit population also skyrocketed from 285,704 to 465,766 between 1900 and 1910, and by 1920 it was the fourth biggest city in the nation.3

  Baseball was a fixture in Detroit, commonly expected from a viral and prosperous community, and beginning in 1881, it fielded a team in the National League known as the Wolverines. In 1887, the local nine, managed by Bill Watkins and headed by the renowned “Big Four,” comprised of Jack Rowe, Dan Brouthers, Deacon White, and Hardy
Richardson, won both the league pennant and the world’s championship.4 Resoundingly, it was the biggest moment to date in area sports history, but the Wolverines fell from grace after the following season and faded into obscurity with only the memories of its accomplishments remaining behind. The game continued to be played on a smaller scale in the years that followed, but attendance waivered and the merit of competition was far below championship level.

  By 1893, a West Coast entrepreneur named George A. Vanderbeck was actively seeking a position amongst the newly developing Western League and, frankly, he didn’t seem to care what city he represented as long as he had a franchise.5 However, soon after obtaining the rights to the Detroit club, he sought to relocate to Fort Wayne, Indiana.6 Nevertheless, league president Ban Johnson negated the idea, and plans to initiate a squad in Detroit went forward for the 1894 season. Initially known as the “Detroit Creams,” Vanderbeck adjusted the name to the “Tigers” in 1895 and, over the next five years, he wadded along, but fell short of winning a pennant. Vanderbeck dropped out of the team’s ownership in 1900, right around the time the Western League morphed into the American League.

  Between 1900–01, as the Detroit Tigers and the rest of the eight-club American League broke from the National Agreement and became a major league in opposition to the National League, the local franchise went through some growing pains behind the scenes. The club passed from the ownership of the Vanderbecks to James D. Burns and then to a syndicate led by Samuel F. Angus. Angus, forty-six years old, was a shrewd businessman, having spent years in the life insurance racket, as well as working to establish electric railway systems in both his native Ohio and Michigan.7 Amongst the other shareholders of the syndicate were James McNamara, E. H. Doyle, and Frank C. Cook. The team was managed by Frank Dwyer, who replaced George Stallings, in 1902. Angus ultimately bought out his partners and, along with manager Ed Barrow, improved the team standings from seventh place in 1902 to fifth in ’03. Regrettably, the ongoing “war” between the leagues wore Angus thin, and he became more and more frustrated by his venture into baseball.8

  Known for his class and personality, Angus was motivated to give dedicated fans a championship. He heeded the advice of a longtime trusted employee of his insurance business, Frank J. Navin, who was exceedingly interested in the business end of baseball. Navin stepped in and helped coordinate the reorganization of the Detroit Tigers in December 1903. The deal evenly split the $100,000 capital stock between Angus and twenty-eight-year-old business tycoon William H. Yawkey, giving each 40 percent. Navin joined in the ownership as a minority stockholder.9 This new triumvirate was short lived and, a few weeks later, Angus sold the remainder of his interest in the Tigers to Yawkey and retired.10 Angus later endured a debilitating three-year illness and died on February 6, 1908. He was well liked and an important part of the Detroit community for more than fifteen years.11

  The Yawkey-Navin combination, along with Barrow at the helm, appeared to be a formidable pairing. Previous pickups Jimmy Barrett, Sam Crawford, Bill Donovan, and George Mullin were joined by Charley O’Leary, Ed Killian, and Matty McIntyre, and followers believed they were surefire contenders. That was not the case. While respected by members of the team, Barrow was unable to fashion a winning record even though he clearly had competent talent. Sportswriters believed that Barrow made a dire error when he traded Kid Gleason for George “Heinie” Smith, and the move hindered his entire managerial stay in Detroit. The Sporting News called it the “biggest gold-brick deal in the history of baseball,” and felt it was utterly detrimental to the team because it also led to the loss of Kid Elberfeld, who was schooled by Gleason.12 The 1904 Tigers once again fell to seventh in the standings, with a 62–90–10 record, and were 32 games behind champion Boston. Barrow tendered his resignation before the season was over (the Tigers record before he stepped down was 32–46), and was replaced by veteran infielder Bobby Lowe.13

  Quick, aggressive maneuvering was needed, and management stepped up to purchase third baseman Bill Coughlin, a Pennsylvanian upstart and future team captain, from Washington for a reported $7,000.14 The next logical step was finding a battle-tested manager, and Navin felt William R. “Bill” Armour, another Pennsylvania product, would fit the mold. An ex-player himself, Armour had recently walked away from his job as leader of the American League’s Cleveland franchise after a three-year tenure. In that time, he supervised the signing of Napoleon Lajoie, the sensational second baseman, and transformed the team from a financial loser into one that was firmly on solid ground and in the green from a financial standpoint. In 1904, Cleveland won 86 games, but landed in fourth place, and Armour was displeased so much so that he promptly resigned. (Armour’s resignation was effective at the end of the 1904 season.)15

  Rumored animosity between Armour and Lajoie was also bandied about. But whatever the strife in Cleveland, Navin didn’t care. He rushed to Detroit in September 1904, sporting a blank check in his pocket, and immediately met with Armour to discuss terms. Armour initially sidestepped an agreement, claiming to have offers from other teams on the table.16 He soon changed his tune and signed a contract, but the deal was kept quiet because of Armour’s lingering responsibilities in Cleveland through the end of the season. Notably, Armour made a move in September, signing Arthur L. “Bugs” Raymond, a pitcher, not to Cleveland, but for Detroit, which was obviously indicative of his future plans.17 Official confirmation of his status didn’t come until the second week of October.18

  Armour was exceedingly motivated to get started and by the first part of November, he was established in Detroit and finalizing plans for spring training at Augusta in March 1905. On the other hand, Navin was busy handling the club finances and figured that the team broke about even during the course of the recent season. The news was altogether surprising considering Detroit was seventh in the league in attendance and not faring too better on the road. Additional investments for personnel and refurbishments to Bennett Park, the home stadium of the Tigers, put the franchise into the red, but there was no way getting around it—that was the cost of doing business.19 Navin, however, had a shrewd proposal to guarantee financial capital for shareholders in 1905, but the idea worked adversely toward the players themselves.

  The concept was to take advantage of the cessation of hostilities between the American and National Leagues, which came about in 1903, and the elimination of all war-time contracts. For the two years of battle, owners were compelled to lock their athletes into long-term and inflated contracts to ensure team loyalty at a time when jumping leagues was prevalent. Those multi-year agreements were coming to an end, and Navin revealed to the press that he figured to save as much as $14,000 by making widespread salary cuts.20 Poor performances in 1904 made the dramatic decline in payroll easier to stomach, at least from the managerial perspective, and The Sporting News attributed a telling statement to both Armour and Navin, saying, “Not a man on the team played $3,000 ball. Why should any of them expect [a] $3,000 salary?”21

  There was a certain amount of understanding amongst major league athletes in the post-war years that contracts would be downsized, but the knowledge of such a reduction didn’t make the application of such a move any easier to cope with. The possibility of holdouts or disgruntled players didn’t alarm Navin, and he sent out contracts ranging from a low of $1,800 to a high of $3,000.22 “Wild” Bill Donovan, a standout right-hander, went 16–16 in 1904 and saw a significant decrease. With a clear right to be angry, Donovan turned the other cheek, expressed a level-headed response to the pay cut, and looked forward to a promising new year in the box.23 Other members of the Tigers weren’t as forgiving.

  A slightly elevated amount of enthusiasm surrounded Detroit during spring training at Augusta, but predictions placed the club seventh in the American League by season’s end.24 Trying to disprove preseason “dope,” Armour’s men opened on a positive note in April, and had a brief stint in first place before settling into fourth, where they’d linger most of the season. One o
f the foremost problems was that a handful of individuals, players Armour hoped would prove suitable in the outfield and behind the plate, failed to make the grade. The difficulties began when first baseman Charlie Hickman, known as “Cheerful Charlie,” was late to spring training and, upon arrival, nursing a lame wrist. That compelled Armour to shift Sam Crawford to first, leaving the outfield to Jimmy Barrett, Matty McIntyre, and rookie Denny Sullivan. When Sullivan proved inadequate, Hickman was sent to replace him. He too lacked the instincts of an outfielder and later deserted the team.25 This issue was compounded by the devastating injury to centerfielder Jimmy Barrett, who was knocked out with a twisted left knee in the seventh game of the season against Cleveland on April 26, 1905.26 The catching position was also a hardship because both John Sullivan and Bob Wood washed out early in the season due to their inability to perform at the major league level. Armour only had two reliable backstops, Lew Drill and Tom Doran, until Jack Warner was added in August. These issues combined severely handicapped Detroit.

  Quick on his feet, a superlative outfielder with a rocket arm, and a capable .300 hitter, Barrett was, according to Detroit sportswriter B. F. Wright, the “most popular player who ever wore a Tiger uniform.”27 He was a well-liked teammate and fans grew to love his fleet heroics, whether it was in the field making a great catch or laying down a bunt to get on base. The loss of Barrett was immeasurable and changed the complexion of the team. The addition of Chris Lindsay at first allowed Crawford to return to right field, while recent signee Dick “Duff” Cooley, a grizzled major league veteran, patrolled center. With the talented Matty McIntyre in left, the outfield was somewhat stabilized, but Armour knew there was a missing cog in his machine.

  During the latter stages of July and into August, the Tigers put up an abysmal record (going 9–22 from July 23 through August 28), and the team began to freefall from fourth into sixth place.28 Sensing imminent disaster, Navin and Armour signed Jack Warner, a thirty-two-year-old catcher with ten years of major league experience, hoping he could offer some semblance of leadership to the struggling pitching staff, and maybe help groom some of the younger players.29 Warner was a good choice to balance duties with Lew Drill and Tom Doran, but he had a history of butting heads with management. In fact, he ventured off the grid to the independents after problems with St. Louis Cardinals manager Jimmy Burke earlier in 1905. He also fought with Pittsburgh’s Otis Clymer, illustrating the disposition of a roughneck.30