both factions.
The Cleveland papers picked up on the hot topic immediately. They made a strong point of letting the readers know the young shortstop was Jewish. Later they would publish stories about his playing ability, but for now his religion was selling the papers. Shortly after the signing was announced, a local reporter pulled out a telephone directory and located the page with the name “Goldman” listed. He called ten of the numbers for reactions to the signing. Some of those he spoke to had no idea what was taking place, while a few knew baseball and figured out why they’d gotten the phone call. The article probably triggered chuckles around the city, but if the name had been Smith or Johnson there simply would have been no story.
For his part, Jonah Goldman stayed as quiet on the sidelines as possible. Writers mentioned that he did not take part in the clubhouse banter, did not play cards, or even smoke. He enjoyed going to the picture shows and seeing the sights. Whether or not he did these activities alone is purely a matter of speculation. His teammates may have accepted him on the playing field, but social activities could have been another matter. When asked about how the other players treated him, Goldman praised his teammates for all the help they provided on the diamond. He expected to get the cold shoulder, but was pleased to be treated as just another ballplayer. Although recently out of college, he had ample maturity and the good sense not to give sportswriters any more headlines than necessary. Though the Cleveland players may have been tolerant to a degree, it would be years before all of baseball followed suit.
Spring training went along as usual with the workouts and exhibition games. Those pitchers trying to overcome arm troubles would tell the press they had never felt better. Hitters who had had an off year would remark how well they were seeing the ball. Manager Peckinpaugh needed to study each player to determine who would take the trip north to open the season.
As the weeks rolled by, Peck sensed he had found lightning in a bottle in second baseman Carl Lind. The newest recruit had played his collegiate ball at Tulane University. He got a timely opportunity when Joe Sewell fell injured and there was some shuffling done in the infield. Lind seized the moment and earned himself a place on the roster. Not so for shortstop Jonah Goldman. He displayed a lot of promise, but Peckinpaugh believed he would do better with a year in the minors. His time would come, just a little bit later.
With Opening Day on the horizon, the Indians left New Orleans and traveled north for Chicago. They were eager to start a new season and prove the previous year’s sixth-place finish was the exception to the norm. The White Sox were not expected to do much in the pennant race, which gave Cleveland a fighting chance to win a few early. Peckinpaugh opted to go with his veteran, penciling in George Uhle as the starter. It proved to be a wise decision, as the Indians won the opener, 8–2. The Sewell brothers led the way, with Joe (recovered from a sore knee) bashing three hits and Luke two. Uhle added three hits and a sacrifice for a perfect day at the plate. The game was not without plenty of excitement. In the bottom of the third inning, the White Sox had runners on first and third with two out. Willie Kamm, the Chicago captain, lifted a fly ball to short right-center field. Eddie Morgan raced in from center while second baseman Lew Fonseca drifted back. The ball was seemingly too far to reach and neither yelled they had it. Fonseca stretched out at the last instant and speared the ball. Morgan could not stop, slamming into his teammate at full speed. Somehow, Fonseca held the ball while both players fell to the ground. After a few minutes both stood up and walked slowly to the Indians dugout. Morgan came to bat in the fifth inning, took a big cut at Ted Lyons’s pitch and crumpled to the ground. He was helped to the clubhouse, then straight to a Chicago hospital for X-rays. Nothing was broken, but the doctors noticed a blood clot right below the heart where the impact had occurred. Morgan had to remain in the hospital for several days. He would later say that he could not remember anything that happened before the fifth inning.
Despite the temporary loss of Morgan and Fonseca the Indians continued to win. They easily beat Detroit, 8–1, with Joe Shaute pitching a fine game. Willis Hudlin pitched well for his first win and Cleveland found themselves on top with a 3–0 record. They would arrive back in Cleveland filled with confidence for the long-awaited home opener.
The day before the League Park gates were unlocked, Alva Bradley spoke to members of the local Building Exchange. Bradley told the businessmen, “No big city is really a big city anymore unless it has a stadium and we want the biggest and best one here.” Bradley challenged the city to get going on the plans, or he and his partners would build it themselves. Billy Evans spoke up as well. He said, “At the opener [this] Wednesday we could have enough paid admission to fill this proposed stadium.” The new ownership was clearly making a strong statement that they wanted the new facility built now or they were prepared to go private and cut the city out of any lease revenue. William Hopkins quickly made a comment for the newspapers, saying, “The Cleveland Baseball Club Company will lease the stadium and be our largest tenant.” He reminded fans that he would bring football and boxing in as well, which would take care of the bond interest and carrying charges. Whether or not Bradley was appeased by this declaration would remain to be seen.
April 18 finally came around and the excited Cleveland fans converged on League Park, ready to watch the Indians battle the White Sox. Many of them were using automobiles to get to 66th and Lexington. When Frank Robison built the stately park in 1891 he could not see the future and the coming of the horseless carriage. There was no room anywhere near his park for cars and buses, so fans parked on both sides of area streets and even used up large amounts of the sidewalks. Many of the folks who lived on Linwood and Lexington Avenues opened their front lawns for parking. Fees were not reported, but we all know about enterprising people and the economics of supply and demand. No doubt the car owners paid through the nose for prime parking.
Morning temperatures hovered in the frigid low thirties, and fans who arrived early brought their overcoats with them. The game-day forecast called for a chance of rain with highs in the low sixties. For those who knew Cleveland weather, anything near fifty degrees would be more than acceptable. Freezing temperatures notwithstanding, the fans lined up early at the ticket windows. Many would have taken a glance at the Terminal Tower to make certain the American flag was flying. If the flag was up that meant the game was on. All the reserved seats were taken but plenty of grandstand seats were available. By game time the stands would be completely filled.
The man in charge of concessions, Robert Hamilton, anticipated an enormous day for himself and his vendors. The night before they had roasted a massive amount of hot dogs. Once the game started, Hamilton had twenty-five boys standing by to reheat the dogs and slap on the mustard. As soon as the food was ready, there were seventy-five men and boys to peddle it around the park. All told, there were six hundred pounds of hot dogs ready to be devoured. For those that needed a coffee fix, Hamilton brewed over two hundred pounds’ worth. To complement the hot dogs and coffee, roasted peanuts, popcorn, and potato chips were stored in hefty containers.
A number of fans were disappointed when they were told that soda pop was not on the menu. Concessionaire Hamilton decided that the receipts from previous years did not warrant serving any Coca-Cola. This news was happily welcomed by the American League umpires working League Park. Baseball fans had a long tradition of showing what they thought of bad calls by the umpire. After a few minutes of loud boos, the people in the stands took aim and heaved empty pop bottles at the hapless men on the field. An umpire had to be nimble to avoid the shower of glass coming at all speeds. At least for 1928, the men in blue at League Park could relax and worry only about flying peanut shells or an occasional hot dog.
Opening Day always featured various ceremonies before the teams took the field. Brass bands played, certain city officials were introduced, and the American flag was raised near the center-field scoreboard. Manager Peckinpaugh received a six-foot floral arrangement shaped like a horseshoe. The fans cheered while Peck waved to the grandstand. The longstanding custom of throwing out the first pitch went to City Manager Hopkins. He made an awkward throw, and it was time to play baseball. The Indians lineup went as follows:
Charlie Jamieson (left
