1919, Tris Speaker
became player/manager. A year later the Indians won their first World Series.
They got there enfamille.
The '20 Tribe hit .303. Speaker rapped a record 11 straight hits. In August,
New York's Carl Mays beaned Ray Chapman at the Polo Grounds. The ball
broke the Cleveland shortstop's neck, fractured his skull, and rebounded to
Mays on the fly. In the clubhouse, Jack tried to revive his roommate. "Give
him a pencil, something to hold on to." Dropping it, Ray died 12 hours later:
baseball's first fatality from a thrown or batted ball.
Bill Wambsganss played second base. A scout was asked, "What's he got?"
Response: "The funniest damn name I ever heard"-German for a kind of
overcoat. In the Series, a writer told Wambsganss, hitting .154, to "Stay with
it. This [Game Five] could be your day." Brooklyn's Pete Kilduff and Otto
Miller led off the fifth inning safely. Clarence Mitchell lined to Wambsganss,
who touched second, tagged Miller, and effected the first Classic triple play.
Next year, Graney hit a career-high .299. In 1922, he retired, later managed a Western League team, and, buying a Ford agency, left baseball "to
make some money." At the time there was a lot to make.
By 1929, the average of common prices on the NewYork Stock Exchange had leapt 123 percent since 1926. On October 29, 16,410,030 shares were
traded: thousands of speculators threw holdings in the pit. Depression
knocked "the legs out from under me," Graney said. For a while, he sold used
cars. For escape, he bought a radio.
In 1931, 32 million homes owned a wireless. "It was cheap," mused
Buck, "filled the hours, the one medium Depression hadn't crushed." That
fall, the Indians joined WHK, whose Ellis Vander Pyle flopped. General manager Billy Evans's square peg fit Graney's round hole. "I was broke, and he
needed an announcer," said Glad. "Before my first game, I was so nervous I
almost changed my mind and ran out of the booth."
At League, the Tribe ran out of room. In 1932, vast Municipal Stadium
became a holiday/weekend home. Jack liked the old. Girders cloaked the
right-field wall. Hitting one, a ball stayed in play. "Away I'd re-recreate,"
often waking in a lather. Had he botched a name, put a man on the wrong
base, reversed two Indians scoring? "I'd get letters: `It's Trosky, then Averill,
not the other way around!' "Telegraphy favored him. "Having played, I knew
each park."
In 1934, CBS gave Glad the Series. "Too partial," huffed Landis. "He
played in the American League." Graney wrote a letter: "I am now a sportscaster, and should be regarded as such."
Next season, he became the first ex-jock to cover the Series and All-Star
Game. "I just follow the ball, leave knocks to others." What Jack didn't leave
was Cleveland.
On August 23, 1936, Bob Feller, 16, fanned 15 Browns in his first big-league
start. He won 266 games, led the A.L. seven times in Ks, and had a record
12 one-hitters. Glad saw each. Feller opened 1940 at Chicago. "Grannie
Mack is on the ground with one knee, scrapes it up with his glove hand, flips
it over to Trosky at first," Graney said. "A close decision-and he's out! Bob
Feller has his first no-hit game! Boy, listen to that crowd!"
In 1941, Joe DiMaggio's single began a 56-game hit streak. On July 17,
baseball's then-largest night crowd, 67,648, packed Municipal. In the eighth,
DiMag lashed Jim Bagby's 1-1 pitch. "On the ground to shortstop! Boudreau
has it. Throw to second, on to first! Double play! The streak may be over!"
Players soon streaked to war. "Look out, Bud [forties partner Richmond]!"
Jack said, striking the desk to denote a foul. "Whew! That was a close one."
The hitter took a pitch. "Strike through the center." Next: "A hot smash! It's
a h-i-g-h throw!"
Graney's was "a high voice, but distinctive," said Buck, in bobbed rhythm
with his game. The Indians hadn't won since Verdun. Said Glad: "I'm tired of
having the patience of job."
"Remember," Bob