Rowe trotted to the mound for the bottom of the ninth. Three more outs, and he would be mentioned in the same breath with the greats. Fred Schulte grounded one to shortstop Rogell, who made a bad throw to first, and the tying run was aboard. After a force on Schulte, however, Rowe bore down, striking out the next two pinch-hitters on six pitches. A pouring rain immediately started, but it did not matter. Schoolboy was now a 20-game winner, and with his 16th victory in a row, they would have to find room for him in the American League record books. He had gone 3-for-4 in the bargain, to bump his average to .329.
As he sat in front of his locker after the game, he announced to reporters that he was “going after” Marquard’s mark of 19 straight. “Yeah, I think I’ll try for it. But, boy, they’ll have to come easier than this one.”11
Back in El Dorado, Arkansas, a certain Miss Edna Skinner admitted that she was “tickled to death” when she heard the news of the win. “I was confident that he would equal the record.”12 And why shouldn’t she be? The lovely Skinner was Schoolboy’s sweetheart, and had been for several years. The baseball world was about to become very familiar with her name.
Ever since he was a youngster growing up in the liltingly named town of El Dorado, Arkansas, Lynwood Thomas Rowe had been drawing attention because of his athletic prowess, particularly on the baseball diamond. He had always been tall and strong, but his graceful agility set him apart from others. He was born in Waco, Texas, on January 11, in either 1910 or 1912, depending on whom you believe. In the early 1920s, his family moved to El Dorado, as did so many others seeking work in the town’s oil boom of that decade. For the rest of his life, Lynwood would consider himself a Razorback.
His brush with greatness came early. In grammar school, one of his teachers was a Miss Mary Blackman, soon to become the wife of Travis Jackson, who at the time was just beginning his Hall of Fame career as a New York Giants shortstop. Much of Rowe’s early life is shrouded in hyperbolic mystery, perpetuated (perhaps even created) by sportswriters thirsty for tales of a Paul Bunyan–like figure. With Schoolboy Rowe, fact and fiction were often interchangeable.
His childhood athletic feats were the stuff of myth, and probably have some basis in fact. The exact origin of his “Schoolboy” nickname is a historical quagmire. It testifies to a sporting wunderkind who amazed onlookers with his ability to compete with, and against, players much older than himself. According to one story, apocryphal or not, he was already such a fabled pitcher (and slugger) at age 14 that he was recruited to play in a local adult church league. One day, young Lynwood was on the mound for the Methodists, trying to protect a fragile one-run lead. Facing the Baptists’ biggest slugger, he heard a cry cascade down from a hostile fan: “Don’t let that Schoolboy beat you!” Rowe beat the Baptists, anyway, and a legend (and a nickname) was born.13
Like all great high school athletes in those days, he was a multi-sport star. He was only an average student, although he did receive a prize for penmanship. When not at school or on the athletic field, Rowe could usually be found caddying at Oakhurst Golf Club or hawking newspapers on a downtown street corner. Rowe loved the competition of sports, whether it was football, basketball, or track and field. He excelled in all of them. He was even a talented golfer and boxer. One writer referred to him as a “one man All-American athletic team,” in high school.14 He had excellent eye-hand coordination and was a crack bowler and pool player. The sport that Rowe loved most, however, was baseball, and the irony is that El Dorado High did not field a team. He began building his star reputation on the city’s sandlots, however, and the Detroit Tigers eventually got wind of his exploits.
They dispatched scout Eddie Goosetree to El Dorado to see what all the fuss was. Goosetree located the Rowe homestead and knocked on the front door. When an undersized, middle-aged man opened it and acknowledged that he was Lynwood Rowe’s father, Goosetree’s heart sank: Thomas Rowe resembled nothing so much as a bank teller. He did not look like the type of man capable of siring a progeny worthy of the legends making the rounds.15 In truth, Goosetree misread the Rowe patriarch, who had been a circus trapeze performer in his younger, more vigorous days. Schoolboy, for his part, always insisted that his Pop had been an architect.
Mr. Rowe told Goosetree that Lynwood most likely could be found down at the firehouse. Not expecting much, but figuring he had already made the long trip and might as well see it through, the scout headed for the firehouse. Goosetree took one look at Rowe, who was big for his age, and decided he might make good, especially since the kid should continue to grow (Rowe eventually topped out at six feet four inches, although some claim he was a bit taller). Using the persuasive powers of a $250 bonus, Goosetree got the (supposedly) 16-year-old Lynwood to sign a Detroit Tigers contract. “Eddie wrote out the contract on the back end of the hook and ladder truck in the El Dorado fire house,” Rowe explained years later.16 Of course, he was not yet of legal age to put pen to anything, so the elder Rowe had to cosign the document. Schoolboy’s professional baseball odyssey was about to begin.
According to legend, he refused to report to the Fort Smith (Arkansas) Twins of the Class C Western Association. That resulted in his being suspended by Organized Baseball. Since he was still in high school, however, he was forced to hide his professional status if he wanted to continue to play extra-curricular sports. With his high school still without a baseball team, he continued to play in local leagues for the next two summers. Beginning in 1929, he wandered around in semipro baseball, in cities as far north as Utica, as west as Wichita, and as south as Bastrop, Louisiana. All the while, he was still contractually bound to the Tigers, and when he again refused their minor league assignments to Little Rock in 1929, and finally to Evansville, Indiana in 1931, he remained in a state of suspension by Organized Baseball.
One possible explanation for Rowe’s failure to report to the minors comes from J. Alva Waddell, one of his high school coaches. The way Waddell told the story in 1934, Rowe believed “he had made a mistake casting his lot with an outfit like the Tigers, who ‘probably never would win a pennant.’ He thought he should have gotten into an organization like the New York Yankees or Philadelphia Athletics.”17 In a possibly self-serving account, Waddell claimed to have eventually talked Rowe into sticking it out with the Detroit organization.
It sounds plausible enough. In any event, Rowe was not without an alternative; he had reportedly received a football scholarship from the University of Southern California. Whatever the reason for Rowe’s mystifying refusal to go where the Tigers sent him, we do know that he finally agreed to report to the Beaumont Exporters of the Texas League. He was the victor in the first game he pitched, hitting the go-ahead home run in the process. Initially, he had designs on being an everyday hitter, but his manager, Del Baker, quickly rid him of that notion, insisting that he would be more valuable as a pitcher. Wasting no time, Rowe made mincemeat of the circuit’s hitters, compiling a 2.30 earned run average and racking up 19 wins against seven defeats. He also showed his prowess at the plate, hitting .295; of his 33 hits, ten were home runs.
Perhaps Rowe’s biggest booster was Frank Navin, who practically demanded that the young stud be called up to the Motor City in 1933. Fans in Detroit had been hearing a lot of chatter about the Schoolboy, and eagerly awaited his major league debut on April 15 that season against the White Sox at Navin Field. Using an easy pitching motion, Rowe threw a complete-game, six-hit victory. Afterward, he immediately wired one of his old high-school coaches: “Dear Coach. Beat Chicago, 3 to 0. Allowed six hits. As ever, Schoolboy.”18 He confided to reporters, “The one ambition of my life always has been to win my first big league game.”19 With that now out of the way, what would he do for an encore? There was discussion that perhaps manager Harris would try Rowe in the outfield, where the Tigers needed offensive help. Everyone knew the kid wielded a strong bat, and the temptation was there. If Babe Ruth made the conversion from stud pitcher to slugger, could not Schoolboy do the same?
After only his fourth career start, however, Detroit’s prized prospect was shelved with what was diagnosed as a sore arm. Following two weeks of inaction, he returned seemingly his old self, winning five in a row at one point. But the injury bug hit him again on July 15 at Shibe Park. Locked into a pitchers’ duel with Lefty Grove, Rowe fielded a bunt off the bat of Cochrane, Philadelphia’s catcher at the time. On the throw to first, Rowe “twisted his arm,” forcing him to come out of the game.20 He tried to return too soon, and finally, after an ineffective performance in late July, Detroit made the decision to shut him down indefinitely. For weeks, he carried his arm in a brace, and Bucky Harris noted dolefully, “I honestly don’t think he will be able to pitch again this season.”21 He wasn’t, and he didn’t. The Tigers detected a muscle tear in his right shoulder, and Rowe spent the rest of 1933 worrying about his future.
That all seemed like ancient history. Rowe had always experimented with an assortment of pitches, including a knuckleball, usually from a side-armed or “cross-fire” delivery. Beginning in 1934, Cochrane insisted that he simplify and focus on his overpowering fastball. Rowe also altered his pitching motion to more of a sweeping overhand manner. With his enormous stride, Schoolboy appeared to hitters as if he were on top of them when he released the ball. Noted for always pitching in a sweatshirt under his jersey, he had pinpoint control. In time, he developed a sharp, late-breaking curveball so good that it often fooled the umpires, robbing him of strikes. It was his heater, however, that set him apart: Charlie Gehringer called it “one of the finest fastballs I ever stood behind.”22
As the summer of 1934 wore on, and win followed win, reporters grew more and more attracted to Rowe’s eccentric personality. So did the public. Like many athletes of his time, he smoked, and his preferred meal was a thick, juicy steak. He also broke with convention, however, by ordering large plates of spinach in restaurants, a gastronomic choice that automatically pegged him as an oddball among his meat-and-potatoes teammates. Baseball players have always been a superstitious lot, and Rowe was no exception. On days that he pitched, he filled his pockets with talismans, amulets, and tokens, and the righty always made a point of picking up his glove with his left hand. Among his other good-luck charms were “a Canadian penny, some Belgian and Dutch coins, a United States ten-dollar gold piece, and a jade elephant.”23 Rowe also talked to the ball while on the mound, engaging in chatter meant to convince the orb of the necessity of landing in the strike zone. He called the ball his “Edna,” in honor of his girlfriend. “C’mon, Edna,” he would cajole, “we got this guy Foxx right where we want ’im.” The ball took on a life of its own in Rowe’s mind. “Careful, now, Edna. Don’t let Ruth get those arms extended.” The fact that Rowe had a sweetheart back home was bad enough for the female throngs who stormed Navin Field on a typical Ladies Day. That he was serious enough about the girl to name a baseball after her … now that was doubly devastating. Rowe’s dark hair, penetrating eyes, and chiseled jawline had caused many a swoon among his admirers. Even his gold-capped front tooth, the result of a high school football injury, lent him a certain air of roguishness.
Rowe’s sense of showmanship drew comparisons, once again, to Ruth. Near the end of the 1934 season, sportswriter James C. Isaminger commented that the Tigers’ pitcher had for the moment, “replaced Babe Ruth as baseball’s biggest drawing card.”24 Rowe loved nothing more than pitching against the Yankees. He reveled in the big stage, the pressure-packed situation. There was electricity in the air whenever he took the mound. Fans flocked to see him wherever he was, either at the ballpark, on the street, or in hotel lobbies. Like Ruth, Rowe understood the adulation for what it was and did not try to hide from it. Wrote Sam Greene, “Schoolboy has a full understanding of his importance to the baseball public.”25 After other players had already ducked into the locker room following a game, Schoolboy could be seen signing autographs for the flocks of kids who had descended on him en masse. At the Seward Hotel, where he stayed during the season, the occasional fan would pop out from behind one of the lobby’s potted plants, pen and pad in hand. “Firpo Marberry told me never to get a swelled headed,” he pointed out, “and believe me, I never will. I sign all the autographs asked for and am nice as I know how to be to fans, newspaper men, and autograph hunters alike. I figure in my business you got to be a diplomat.”26 The hero worship did not go to his head, however. Rowe soaked it up but kept it in perspective. He was aware of the greats who had come before him. The 16-game winning streak did not change things. He understood that he had a long way to go to justify the comparisons to Johnson, Mathewson, Alexander, and Grove.
Bud Shaver of the Detroit Times wrote,
Schoolboy Rowe, catapulted into sudden fame by his slingshot arm, gets a naïve delight out of the stir he has caused, but is slightly dazed by it all. He is amazed that merchants of whom he never has heard are eager to give him suits, neckties and shoes. Strange vistas of radio and newspaper syndicate articles are beckoning with a golden gleam. Most any 22-year-old boy might be dazzled into giddiness by it all, but the Schoolboy is kept on a fairly even keel by that homely brand of wisdom which is the product of small towns, called “horse sense.”27
On Wednesday, August 29, in the second game of a doubleheader, Schoolboy pitched against the Athletics in Philadelphia, gunning for his 17th victory in a row. Shibe Park’s normally sparse crowds that summer had turned the stadium into a dull, dreary place. Nevertheless, a throng of more than 33,000-strong shoehorned its way into the park that afternoon, intent on witnessing history. Police reserves were brought in to hold back those without tickets. Hundreds of freeloaders found spots on the rooftops beyond the right-field fence. Meanwhile, back in Detroit, a huge mob gathered at Grand Circus Park to hear the game’s radio broadcast amplified through a speaker.
Opposing Rowe was Philadelphia’s 24-year-old rookie, John “Footsie” Marcum, sporting a 9–9 record. The Tigers struck quickly, tallying two runs in the first inning. Rowe’s every move brought a cheer from the assembled masses; he breezed through the first three frames, giving up only one hit. The Athletics tied it in the fourth, however, and disaster finally struck the following inning, when Philly lit up Schoolboy for five runs, capped by a tworun homer by Pinky Higgins. They scored one more run in the sixth and three in the seventh, before Cochrane mercifully yanked Rowe. The pitcher received a big standing ovation nonetheless from the crowd, and even from the Athletics’ dugout. In came Vic Sorrell to try to put an end to the barrage. The final score was Athletics 13, Tigers 5. Marcum was not spectacular, but he had bested the hottest pitcher in the game.
Rowe simply did not have it. His fastball lacked its customary zip, and his curve was flat. It was by far Schoolboy’s worst start of the year (his GSc was a mere seven). Cochrane, while not trying to make excuses, suggested that the consecutive-wins streak had adversely affected Schoolboy. With all the interviews and autograph seekers, his pitcher had simply worn down.
The following afternoon, Rowe was a guest on NBC radio. In an endearing blend of cockiness and guilelessness, he predicted that of course the Tigers would go to the World Series. In fact, they would probably win it in four straight. One of the games would be a shutout, he said, and you could bet he would be the one tossing it. He felt bad about losing the previous day to end his streak, but he guessed he had it coming to him. He had to take some bad breaks occasionally, and better that it happened in Philadelphia than, say, the Polo Grounds. Rowe’s implication was obvious, since that was the home park of the Giants, a team with a good chance to reach the World Series. The radio program’s host began to wrap up the interview. With only a few seconds remaining, Rowe bluntly whispered into the microphone, “Hello, Ma. Hello, Edna. How am I doin’?”
Radio was still a relatively new-fangled technology in those days, and ballplayers were not exactly the most media-savvy individuals. Even for the 1930s, however, Rowe’s off-the-cuff (but on-the-air) aside to his mother and sweetheart seemed like the stuff of a hopeless country bu
mpkin. Rowe had clumsily broken through the fourth wall; in the process, he created a catch phrase: “How’m I doin,’ Edna?” For the rest of the season, the opposition shouted it back to him while he was on the mound, all part of an effort to rattle him.
Rowe’s streak was over, as were the distractions that went along with it. Holding a five-game lead in the American League, the Tigers were masters of their own destiny. Nevertheless, with one month left in the 1934 season, nothing was assured. Schoolboy and the rest of his team could now focus on finishing what they had started.
Rowe righted his ship five days later, in a rematch with Marcum and the Athletics at Navin Field. In a pre-game ceremony, the Detroit Federation of Musicians awarded Cochrane an honorary membership, mainly on the strength of his saxophone skills. Unfortunately, his membership card read “Stanley Gordon Cochrane,” rather than “Gordon Stanley Cochrane.” The Tigers, on the other hand, played a mostly mistake-free game, prevailing 4–2 thanks to a four-run fourth inning. Rowe went the distance for his 21st win, and Detroit bumped its American League lead to six games.
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