and a chance to focus on the launch of a new schedule. Nevertheless, the bad times just kept on rolling. Just prior to the start of the campaign, another depressing event occurred, though this one had no direct impact on the season. Tris Speaker, the Indian’s unofficial goodwill ambassador and a fan favorite, had a severe accident. Still nimble at age forty-nine, he was attempting to build a flower box on the second floor of his suburban Cleveland home. He climbed up the porch, balanced himself, and began hammering away. Moments later the porch collapsed, tumbling the ex–Indian great sixteen feet to the ground. A lesser man would have lain there waiting for help. Not Speaker; he staggered to his feet and cautiously sat down on a lawn chair. His wife called an ambulance, which raced Tris to the hospital. The X-rays taken revealed a fractured skull, a broken arm, and a cracked bone in his right hand. Serious lacerations covered his entire face. The doctors put Tris in a hospital bed with bags of ice wrapped around his head. He could barely speak or move anything but his legs.
For a day or two the physicians feared he might not survive the injuries. To everyone’s relief, Tris did beat the odds, getting back on his feet in just about a month. He missed opening day at League Park, where for the better part of twenty years he had greeted players and fans with a hearty smile and some words of encouragement. He usually stopped in the radio booth to chat with WHK announcer and ex-teammate Jack Graney. The crowd always expected to see Tris, maybe get a few words with him and an autograph for the kids at home. This year Speaker remained in his hospital bed, catching the play-by-play from old friend Graney.
After what seemed an eternity for Bradley, Slapnicka, Feller, and the rest of the Indians, it was actually time to play ball.
Chapter 2
A MAJOR SCARE
The 1937 baseball season had the word “optimism” in just about all aspects of the game. The previous year, Major League attendance rose to a noteworthy level of 7.4 million fans, a gain of 1.4 million from 1935. The large majority of teams enjoyed significant gains in attendance, with only Detroit and the St. Louis Cardinals on the negative side. The Indians reached 500,000, a sizable gain of nearly 103,000 spectators. The Great Depression still had a grip on the country, but the people who loved baseball were finding ways of scraping up a dollar or two and heading to the ballpark. Unemployment figures dropped from almost 17 percent to a touch over 14—still a troubling number, yet reason to hope that better days were ahead.
Alva Bradley shared that enthusiasm in two words: Bob Feller. Even though he had pitched just sixty-two innings in 1936, the eyes of the nation were focused squarely on the kid from Van Meter. They chose not to remark on the troublesome forty-seven walks or the eight wild pitches. Instead, fans remembered the smoking fastball that accounted for seventeen K’s against the Athletics and fifteen against the Browns. With all the hype surrounding Feller, a thirty-win season plus three hundred strikeouts were universally expected.
All through spring training the crowds doubled in size when Feller took the mound. Reporters and fans followed him from the diamond to the clubhouse and back to the hotel. He signed countless autographs and permitted lengthy interviews with anybody from the press. He had radio stations begging for live in-studio programs, along with ice cream companies badgering him to eat their products during National Ice Cream Week. The Cleveland writers noted that Feller went to bed by nine o’clock each night, totally exhausted from the nonstop attention.
Manager Steve O’Neill complimented his young pitcher for displaying the knowledge and skills of a true veteran. O’Neill remarked that Feller had remembered everything he was taught last season while handling batters as if he had been in the Majors for several years. The Cleveland skipper believed Feller’s curveball had become a key weapon in addition to his blistering fastball. O’Neill made no predictions but indicated big things were expected in 1937.
National columnists weighed in on Feller’s impact for the coming season. Will Connolly, writing for a San Francisco newspaper, thought the Cleveland pitcher would be beneficial for the game. He wrote, “Interest in baseball will improve in direct ratio to interest in pitching feats and that’s why I say Robert William Andrew Feller is a greater asset to the major leagues than our own Joseph Paul DiMaggio. It is a fact that Feller of Van Meter, Iowa and the Cleveland Indians, is doing more to accelerate interest in baseball than any rookie who has broken in during the past twenty years.”
Connolly had a fair point. Though Joe DiMaggio had great appeal to fans in New York and his hometown of San Francisco, it would be Feller who brought more notice to baseball in virtually the entire United States. The American League owners certainly hoped Feller would live up to the extremely high anticipation and boost ticket sales at all their parks.
On Tuesday, April 20, the Indians and Tigers opened regular season play at Detroit. Veteran Cleveland pitcher Mel Harder received the start against Elden Auker. Detroit got on the board early, scoring single runs in the first and second innings, then two more in the fourth. The big blow was a long home run by outfielder Gerald “Gee” Walker. The Indians, led by Roy Hughes and Lyn Lary, managed to score three times in the early innings. After the fourth neither team was able to plate any runs, leaving the final score at 4–3 Tigers. A good-sized crowd of 38,000 fans watched the two teams’ battle.
Typical early spring weather brought rain showers, canceling games until Cleveland’s Friday, April 23, home opener against the St. Louis Browns. During the week the team attended a press luncheon to promote fan interest in the opener. Cy Slapnicka was the master of ceremonies, handling the brief introductions for the Indians players. Slap called up Bob Feller to say “Howdy.” Feller walked to the microphone, leaned forward, and said “Howdy,” then ambled back to his seat. Of course, the script was for everybody to say a few words, then be seated. The players burst out with laughter at Feller’s unintentional humor. After that, when introduced, each player said “Howdy,” then pretended to walk away. Feller had to be prodded to return to the speaker’s podium and answer a few easy questions. Later he would understand the expectations and have a few canned sentences ready to go.
In spite of the threatening weather, the Indians front office let fans know the opener would go forward. By late morning the rain let up and a touch of sunshine broke through the overcast skies. The Cleveland fans eagerly marched into League Park, carrying topcoats in case of rain or anything else. They checked the prices at the Lexington Avenue ticket window, which showed box seats going for $1.60, reserve for $1.35, pavilion seats for 85 cents, and bleachers for 55 cents. The people with season tickets strolled behind the outfield walls, where they entered a private gate on Linwood Avenue.
The grounds crew, now run by Emil Bossard, had the field in playable shape. The infield had no large puddles, while the freshly cut outfield grass looked to be uniform in height. The bat boys were stacking the new player bats in two long rows in front of each dugout. The box seats even had new canvas covers. The only thing lacking was the ballplayers’ entrance onto the field.
While ushers in bright new red jackets helped the fans track down their seats, Bob Hamilton, the long-time head of concessions, peered out from his spot under the stands, trying to gauge the exact figure of people he needed to feed. Ready for the vendors were a half-ton of juicy hot dogs, another half-ton of freshly roasted peanuts, 400 cases of beer, 750 cases of soda pop, and, for good measure, 100 large boxes of assorted candy. Modern equipment allowed Hamilton to keep the hot dogs sizzling, the peanuts toasty, and the beer and soda pop ice cold.
A recent study in Baseball Magazine had revealed that peanuts were the number one seller at Major League ballparks, followed closely by Coca-Cola and soft drinks of assorted flavors. It seemed the fans in the sun-drenched bleachers swigged the greatest amount of cold soda and spent the most money of any portion of seats. The folks under cover did not have to deal with the bright sun and tended to load up on peanuts and popcorn. Hearty concession sales were vital for teams struggling to make a small profit. The magazine noted that concession sales kept several teams
