And O what a team we’ll have next year!62
Chapter Eleven
“You can’t keep a gang like that down”
After the dust settled on the 1934 World Series, Frank Navin immediately tore down his temporary bleachers, the site of such ignominy in Game Seven. The Tigers retreated to their off-season lives. One of the first to leave the city was Goose Goslin, who headed to Salem, New Jersey, where he would make much-needed improvements to his farm. Two days after the Series ended, Schoolboy Rowe and Edna got married in a private evening ceremony at the Detroit Leland Hotel. The pitcher did not reveal the whereabouts of the honeymoon, but hinted that the newlyweds planned a motor trip. Pete Fox, who was one of the groomsmen at the wedding, made his way back to Evansville, Indiana, following the ceremony.
Jo-Jo White headed to College Park, Georgia. Gee Walker would first go home to Hattiesburg, Mississippi, and then he and his wife would journey south to Florida to hit the beaches and the links. Frank “Last Man” Doljack, who had, as per his custom, shown up late for a mandatory workout before Game One of the World Series, was not tardy in catching a train home to Cleveland. Hank Greenberg had plans to spend part of the winter in sunny Miami, but also in the Bronx. He signed with the Brooklyn Jewels of the American Basketball League at a pay rate of $20 a game. Ray Hayworth hurried off to High Point, North Carolina, where he and his brother had a dairy farm. Marv Owen, meanwhile, hung around Detroit for a week before hopping on a Pullman bound for San Jose. He apparently held no grudge against Ducky Medwick, insisting that he would shake hands with the Cardinals left fielder should their paths cross again.
General Crowder had a homestead in Winston-Salem, North Carolina, where his dogs were awaiting him for what promised to be a fine hunting season. Vic Sorrell returned to Raleigh for some good fishing; Fred Marberry to Corsicana, Texas; Carl Fischer to Medina, New York, in time for the pheasant season. Tommy Bridges beat it back to Tennessee.
Elden Auker and Chief Hogsett both set out for their Kansas homes. Heinie Schuble and Flea Clifton were a couple of utility infielders who barely played in 1934, but had been placed on the World Series roster as insurance. Schuble now went to look for an off-season job in his native Houston. Clifton planned a hunting trip in northern Michigan before making his way back to Cincinnati. Luke Hamlin looked forward to getting back to his gas station in Lansing. Only Billy Rogell, The Fire Chief, stuck around to brave the Detroit winter. Before they dispersed, each of the Tigers received $4,313, their individual loser’s share of World Series spoil (the Cardinals’ booty was $5,941 per man).
As for Cochrane and Gehringer, both were to join Connie Mack and Babe Ruth, along with a touring team of all-stars, on a steamship bound for Asia (or “The Orient” in the parlance of the day). Scheduled to sail from Vancouver on October 20, the Empress of Japan would first take the squad to Hawaii, then on to Japan, before quick stops in Shanghai, Hong Kong, and Manila. Ruth, the manager of the team, hailed it as a goodwill voyage to promote baseball, a sport that the Japanese, in particular, wholeheartedly embraced. Previously, Cochrane was a member of an all-star team that made a similar tour in 1931. That year, the Americans beat the Japanese in all 17 exhibitions they played.
For now, Black Mike simply wanted to forget about the seventh game of the 1934 World Series. “I’m tired. I’m just going to stay around Detroit for a while and loaf.”1 As for any improvements he planned to make to his team, he would only say that he would not even begin to think of that until he was in Hawaii.
When Frank Navin had acquired Cochrane back in December 1933, he signed the former Athletic to a two-year contract, so there would be no swirling rumors this off-season as to who would manage the Tigers. That did not mean, however, that it was a winter free of trade speculation. Navin headed south to Louisville for the annual minor league meetings, where he sold the little-used and underachieving outfielder Frank Doljack to the Milwaukee Brewers of the American Association. If nothing else, the transaction underscored the fact that the Tigers expected to be successful in their quest for another fly chaser.
Al Simmons of the White Sox, a favorite of Cochrane from their days in Philadelphia, was reportedly headed to the Motor City. A lifetime .354 hitter, Simmons had blasted 240 home runs in his 11-year career. Among the names of Tigers potentially to be sent packing were Ray Hayworth, Vic Sorrell, Gee Walker, and possibly a minor league pitcher or two. Simmons, a left fielder, would be an upgrade in the outfield, now that it looked like Walker was expendable. But Navin denied the rumors, saying all he knew was what he read in the papers; White Sox manager Jimmie Dykes said the same. To Tigers fans, the prospect of Simmons slugging it out at Navin Field must have been mouth-watering.
The rumor was given additional credence when Mr. and Mrs. Cochrane, along with Mr. and Mrs. Al Simmons, were spotted together at a restaurant in Agua Caliente, Mexico, just across the border from San Diego. Following a relaxing stay at Hot Springs, Arkansas, the couples were on the final leg of their trip before heading north to catch the Hawaiian-bound steamer along with Ruth’s all-stars. Reporters, naturally, took the hobnobbing as a sign that the Tigers had all but bagged Simmons, which was not the case. There was also speculation that either the Indians’ Earl Averill or the Browns’ Sam West were on Navin’s short list.
One far-fetched story had Charlie Gehringer heading south to Cleveland to be the Indians’ player-manager. But Navin squelched that rumor as well. What he really needed, he insisted, was a reliable left-handed starter. In 1934, the only southpaw in the rotation was the veteran Carl Fischer, who would never remind anybody of Carl Hubbell. Also in demand was a dependable infield reserve.
One obstacle Navin faced in his quest was that the Tigers were not particularly deep and had few spare parts to offer in way of a trade. Harry Davis, the slick-fielding first baseman who had lost his job in Detroit to Hank Greenberg, had hit .317 at Toledo in 1934 and could prove enticing. The Red Sox, for one, were looking for a first baseman, and were perfectly willing to offer Rube Walberg, but the lefty starter was past his prime, and Cochrane likely would take a pass on such a deal.
Another possibility was Earl Whitehill, who had won 133 games for Detroit before they traded him to Washington in December 1932. Senators owner Clark Griffith had made it known that the lefty, winner of 14 games in 1934, was on the market. Cochrane and Navin viewed Whitehill as a definite upgrade over Fischer or Hogsett, but the Tigers did not have much that Griffith would be interested in. The Indians’ Bob Weiland, a southpaw with a 21–55 career mark, was also available. Ed Wells, another former Tiger now toiling for the Browns, was another name being floated about. As the off-season progressed, however, it became increasingly apparent to Cochrane that he might have to make due with such young lefty prospects as Joe Sullivan, Jake Wade, Paul Sullivan, and Ray Fritz.
The Gehringer to Cleveland rumor, however, was not going away. No sooner had Cochrane alighted from the steamship Mariposa at San Pedro, California, having completed his tour of the Orient, than he was buttonholed by reporters wanting his opinion of the buzz. “I haven’t heard anything about it,” Cochrane shrewdly replied. “If it’s true, it’s the worst news I’ve heard since they told me Dizzy Dean was going to pitch the seventh game of the World Series.”2 Gehringer also pleaded ignorance. As far as he knew, he was still going to be with the Tigers. At least he hoped so.
His trans-continental travels at an end, Cochrane arrived back in Detroit on December 7. Huddling with the press at the train station, he dispelled any lingering notion that the Tigers were going to bag Al Simmons. When pressed about other potential deals, he simply shrugged before being whisked away in a taxi.
Two days later, he and Navin, along with coach Cy Perkins, headed for the winter meetings at the Commodore Hotel in New York. The trio was approached by Browns player-manager Rogers Hornsby, who still had a keen interest in Gee Walker. Hornsby viewed the absent-minded outfielder as a potential superstar. All he needed was the right potter to mold him, which, in Hornsby’s view, wa
s himself. No deal materialized, however. There were rumors of a three-team package involving the Browns, Red Sox, and Tigers, which would have sent Walker to St. Louis, but talks never gained much traction. The Yankees were also interested in purchasing Walker if he was for sale. “I have a hunch that Gerald Walker can be calmed down and turned into a worthwhile outfielder,” said New York manager Joe McCarthy. “They say he is a crazy man on the bases, but you can’t be crazy on the bases without getting on. In other words, Walker can get to first and that’s a lot more than can be said for some of the other flychasers drawing salaries in our league.”3 But when the Tigers asked for light-hitting outfielder Sam Byrd in exchange, McCarthy looked the other way. Navin and Cochrane were in a bit of a quandary when it came to Walker. He had been persona non grata in Detroit for some time, and while the Tigers had made no secret that the outfielder was available, a part of them remained reluctant to give up on him so soon. The team still held out hope that Walker could develop into a great player.
If it was any solace to Cochrane and Navin, no other American League team made a big splash in the off-season, either. While in New York, reporters asked the Tigers’ manager his thoughts on the 1935 season. For what it was worth, he predicted Detroit would repeat, followed closely by the Yankees and Indians. Despite the lack of player movement, however, the winter meetings did not lack for interesting storylines. The National League voted to allow night baseball for the first time. Each team was allowed seven contests under the lights for 1935. Only the New York Giants, Brooklyn Dodgers, and Pittsburgh Pirates voted no on the measure. The American League, meanwhile, eschewed the experiment. Senators owner Clark Griffith bemoaned night baseball as “only a step above dog racing.”4
Returning home from Hawaii, Cochrane found a good omen waiting for him in his mailbox. It was a letter from the Michigan Secretary of State. Earlier, while still on the islands, Cochrane had sent in an application requesting license plate number 101. The implication was obvious, since the Tigers had won 101 games in 1934. The letter informed him that the number was already taken; the Secretary’s office, however, had gone ahead and reserved number 102 for Cochrane. “That’s all right,” he figured. “That will give us a new goal to shoot at next season.”5
Tigers pitchers and catchers were scheduled to report to Lakeland, Florida, on March 3, to be joined in a week by position players. Cochrane was betting that, unlike in previous years, they had kept up an exercise regimen over the winter and would need less time to round into shape. The Tigers’ brass clearly liked its spring training digs enough to return for a second season. The Detroit Free Press reported, “The Lakeland training camp is one of the best in the citrus belt. The climate is ideal, the grounds large and well kept and the location all that could be asked.”6
Navin was confident of success in 1935, but he knew the competition would be tougher. “The Yankees are the team to beat,” he remarked in January. “The records show that last year they had the best pitching in the league and pitching is, of course, the main requirement. I also understand that the Yankees have some first class material coming up from the minors. They are going to give us plenty of trouble, but I think we will finish ahead.”7
Although he did not give names, the “first class material” Navin was referring to was Joe DiMaggio, whom the Yankees had purchased from the San Francisco Seals of the Pacific Coast League back in November. DiMaggio, however, would not be spending his summer in the Bronx; New York insisted that the 20-year-old remain with the Seals for one more season, in order to prove his full recovery from a knee injury. The Yankees were a team in transition. With Ruth gone, Lou Gehrig would be the big man at Yankee Stadium in 1935. The days of DiMaggio, however, were looming just around the corner.
From his home in El Dorado, Schoolboy Rowe made headlines in February when he refused to return his signed contract for 1935. In those days before the empowerment of players, before the collapse of the reserve clause and the arrival of sports agents, team owners held all the cards when it came to salaries. A player’s standard contract would arrive in his mailbox every winter, with the salary already filled in by ownership. The player was expected to sign dutifully, even if his salary was reduced. If the player did not like the terms, his options (unless he was a big star), were limited: Either sign or find some other line of work. Holdouts, forced to bargain from a position of weakness, were portrayed negatively by the press, which often was no more than a mouthpiece for ownership. Players found little sympathy from the public, especially during the Depression when millions were already out of work.
Nearly every other Tiger had already signed and returned his contract, making it all the more conspicuous that Rowe had not yet put pen to paper. He insisted he was not a holdout in the strict sense of the word. In his view, the terms of the contract were simply not satisfactory. “I will talk with Mr. Navin at Lakeland next month and I am sure everything will be all right.” He added cryptically, “There are a few things I want to find out about before I sign.” Schoolboy headed off to visit his mother in Dallas, where he re-affirmed his stance to scribes, without getting into the specifics of what it was he wanted to “find out.” He boasted that all the hunting he had done over the winter had kept him in tip-top shape. He predicted that he would win 25 games in 1935. As for Navin, he conceded that every player had the right to make the best deal possible for himself. Until the owner received word that Rowe would not report to Lakeland, he was not considering him a holdout and remained confident the two parties would come to terms.
On February 17, Navin headed south for a brief vacation in Miami before rendezvousing with Cochrane in Lakeland. The two planned to discuss the upcoming campaign; no doubt, Schoolboy Rowe would be one of the topics of conversation.
A lot had happened to Babe Ruth since nearly being offered the Tigers’ managerial post a little over a year ago. He had hit his 700th home run in Detroit in July. He had played before legions of adoring fans on the post-season all-star exhibition tour of the Orient. He had parted ways with the New York Yankees. And on February 26, 1935, he officially became a member of the National League’s perennial doormats, the Boston Braves.
He would be more than just a player, however. Judge Emil Fuchs, team owner and president, had lured The Bambino back to Beantown, where he had begun his career, by promising him the title of vice-president and assistant manager. Ruth was also given a three-year contract at $20,000 per, along with a portion of profits. The Sultan of Swat saw it as his chance for one final hurrah and a stepping-stone to his dream of managing a big league team one day. The Yankees, on the other hand, were thrilled to have gotten rid of the aging slugger, whose waistline had increased while his power had decreased. No longer would Ruth pester Jacob Ruppert about wanting to manage the Yankees. No longer would he try to undermine Joe McCarthy’s authority. From now on, Ruth was Judge Fuchs’s problem.
No sooner had the Tigers begun the trek down to Lakeland than they received some unfortunate news: East Lansing resident Luke Hamlin had crashed his automobile into a tree on the campus of Michigan State University. He had survived, but his left (non-pitching) arm was fractured in two places, and doctors were saying it would be two or three weeks before he could start heading south.
Hamlin had won only two games in 1934 with a 5.38 earned run average, and he was a longshot to make the team. Still, many viewed his mishap as an omen that Detroit’s incredible injury-free run was about to end. An additional red flag flew when Marv Owen underwent surgery for a recurring sinus infection, delaying his Florida arrival. All winter long, the baseball Jeremiahs had predicted that bad fortune would finally catch up with the Tigers in 1935. Hamlin and Owen, they now believed, would be just the first dominos to fall.
In February, the Tigers signed Dixie Howell, a 22-year-old fresh out of the University of Alabama. An All-American at halfback, he had recently starred in the Crimson Tide’s victory over Stanford in the Rose Bowl. Howell was also a promising baseball player. Eddie Goosetree, the Tigers
’ scout who had signed Schoolboy Rowe, had been hot on Howell’s trail for nearly a year. The kid could run down fly balls with the best of them and reminded Goosetree of Tris Speaker. Howell also played short and third at Alabama, and that’s where the Tigers wanted to test him out, figuring he still lacked the offensive power required of an outfielder. Howell, blessed with movie-star looks, had ventured to Hollywood for a series of screen tests. Universal Studios liked what they saw and wanted to sign him up for a new, football-themed serial based on the Frank Merriwell stories. Howell opted to give baseball a chance first. He showed up in Lakeland to much fanfare, which made him nervous from the start. “I didn’t know my arrival would create such fuss. I came here merely to learn.”8 Howell was nothing if not raw, prompting Cochrane to make a few adjustments to his left-handed swing. “He looks like a fellow who will be hard to fool,” the manager beamed. “He probably won’t knock the cover off the ball, but he should get plenty of hits…. He’ll give pitchers many a headache.”9 The hope was that Howell was talented enough to make the jump from college straight to Detroit.
Schoolboy Rowe’s arrival also made big news. He felt better than he ever had in his life. “If I win 25 games, I’ll be quite satisfied.”10 As for his contractual holdout, it ended with a whimper. On his first day in camp, Rowe huddled with Navin for all of two minutes, and the owner emerged with a 1935 contract displaying Rowe’s signature at the bottom. Terms were not divulged, but Schoolboy conceded that he was pleased with the outcome. Cochrane, as well, had some unfinished financial business. Early in the 1934 season, when the team was struggling, he had promised to buy every player a new pair of baseball spikes if they won the pennant. The promise had been overlooked during the exciting closing weeks of the season, but now that it was back to the business of baseball, he remembered to fulfill his vow.
Motor City Champs Page 18