I hope to go into detail more about both of these soon, but here are a few interesting things I’ve discovered about a couple blackball pitchers who have captured my attention …

First up is Alex Albritton, to whom Gary Ashwill alerted me as part of my research into the 1948 death of Cannonball Dick Redding at a Long Island psychiatric hospital. While I initially had questions into how Redding died under reportedly “mysterious circumstances” — subsequent investigation and patience on Gary’s part revealed a death certificate that claims syphilis was the cause of death (not sure I’m buying that) — at Pilgrim State Hospital in Islip, N.Y., Gary suggested I look into the tragic death of Albritton — who pitched for Hilldale, the Philadelphia Giants and other minor teams, mainly in the 1920s — at Byberry State Hospital in Philadelphia in 1940.

Unlike the vagaries surrounding Redding’s end, the death of Albritton has never been in any doubt — he was beaten to death by an attendant whom Albritton had smacked over the head with a broomstick. I’m currently working on a story about the incident for philly.com for a sort of macabre, creepy and tragic story for Halloween.

While Albritton’s death was big news in Philly and in the black national press — how he died was never in doubt — the attendant, Frank Wienand, who was initially arrested and charged with homicide by the local coroner, was eventually cleared and absolved of all blame in the matter, thanks to a ruling that said he more or less acted in self-defense in a corrupted, underfunded hospital system for which he shouldn’t be blamed.

The insane asylum that was Byberry

During a cursory glance through history, I’ve found a few noteworthy points about “Brit.” One, the death certificate Gary, and now I have doesn’t include an official cause of death — it’s just stamped with “INQUEST PENDING.” That in itself is eerie.

Two, if we thought Pilgrim hospital was bad … apparently Byberry had an even more horrific history of abuse, torture and death. Over a matter of just a few decades in the mid-20th century, possibly over 100 violent, mysterious, sudden or otherwise unexplained deaths at the hospital. Its conditions were attributed by some government officials to poor institutional oversight and a woeful lack of funding that resulted in an insufficient amount of staff that was already underpaid.

Finally, and this could be the oddest item I’ve uncovered … according to both Seamheads.com and his death certificate, Brit was reportedly buried in Eden Memorial Cemetery in Collingdale, Penn. Eden is one of the most historic African-American cemeteries in the country, with numerous black luminaries interred there, including baseball figures Octavius V. Catto and Stanislaus Kostka Govern.

From the Eden Cemetery Web site

However, I wanted to confirm that Albritton is, in fact, buried there, and I also wanted to track down a suspicion that he, like so many Negro Leaguers, was laid to rest in an unmarked grave. But after calling the cemetery offices, a staffer there found … absolutely no record at all of an Alex Albritton interred there in 1939, 1940 or 1941. Is something fishy …?

For Albritton, you’ll have to wait until my story comes out. 🙂

OK, the other pre-integration pitcher I was to touch on is one-armed New Orleans wonder Edgar “Iron Claw” Populus, about whom I’ve written recently. Although Iron Claw was mainly a local NOLA semipro and sandlotter, his story has fascinated me, not only because of his disability, but because he flashed like a comet across the N’Awlins blackball heavens in a magical 1931 season, then seems to have largely disappeared from the local hardball scene. (I’ll chronicle that season in an upcoming post, hopefully this weekend, but I’ll see.)

But as I dug into Populus’ familial heritage, I found something perhaps even more fascinating than Iron Claw himself — his ancestry. This is something I’ll also try to go into more depth soon, but I discovered that Edgar Populus’ family tree stretches back into New Orleans history for numerous generations. While a lot of it is still muddled and unclear at this point, the Populus line, and many of its offshoots, are biracial — or, in other terms of the day, Creole or mulatto — in nature, the obvious mixing of wealthy white owners, who were probably largely French, and their slaves.

1810 federal Census report featuring one of Iron Claw Populus’ direct descendants

Edgar Populus’ line in New Orleans can be traced back at least to his great great great grandfather, Vincent Populus, who lived from 1759 to 1839. While I have yet to uncover proof that Vincent or anyone in his direct line of descent to Edgar owned slaves, it appears that many of Vincent’s early relatives were, in fact, biracial men who owned slaves themselves.

All those factors immerse local pitching great Iron Claw Populus’ ancestry firmly in the murky, complex and sometimes downright confusing racial, social and class history of perhaps the most culturally and ethnically diverse cities in the country. While I do have a cursory knowledge of that interwoven sociology, much of it is and will be new territory for me to explore down the road, and I’ll chronicle it the whole way …

I know this isn’t directly about the Negro Leagues, but I wanted to congratulate and say thanks to one of the biggest, most loyal supporters of my work into the Negro Leagues, David Hammer.

Tonight, David will become the first inductee into the Ben Franklin High School football hall of fame in NOLA at the school’s homecoming game. David is a couple of years younger than me, and he was a much better athlete than I ever was. He started at quarterback for Franklin — which is perhaps the best public high school in New Orleans — for several years and even once played against a team led by none other than Peyton Manning.

David won multiple city student-athlete awards as a Franklin Falcon, and he went to Harvard for college, as did his father (his mother went to Duke). From what I recall, he played freshman football for the Crimson, but eventually decided to focus on his studies and student media. That’s also where he met his lovely wife, Lucia Paredes. They now have a cool little kid named Teo, who’s a HUGE Beatles fan and can also play “Smoke on the Water” on guitar.

David himself, meanwhile, has moved up the investigative-reporting ladder and is now an award-winner investigator at WWL TV here in his hometown. To say that I’m extremely proud of him is a massive understatement. But I did teach him everything he knows. 🙂

But as soon as we met way back in 1997 in good ol’ Holyoke, Mass., in the summer of 1997, we became fast, close friends and have remained so for, wow, 17 years. Can’t believe it’s been that old, and how old both of us are. We bonded over Public Enemy, and it only grew from there.

David has also always been a huge supporter of me, my work and my life, and he’s consistently been there for me during all of my personal and professional struggles. There’s no doubt in my mind that I wouldn’t have made it this far without him and his support and love.

One of the biggest areas in which David has supported me has been my passion for, research into and writing about the Negro Leagues. he has encouraged me and cheered me on from the beginning, and his support over the years has been invaluable to my spirit and my heart. He and Lucia bought me a hardbound copy of “Only the Ball Was White,” a Negro Leagues Legends poster, and a Negro Leagues game.

So many, many heartfelt and grateful thanks to David (and Lucia and Teo) for all they have done for me in my quest, and hearty congrats to my pal on his honor tonight. I love you, man.

Lyman Bostock Sr.

To shift gears a wee bit away from Cannonball Redding, I’m working on an article for Alabama Living magazine about the new Negro Leagues museum being built and opened in Birmingham, and the story will feature some of the lesser known — at least lesser known to the general public and readers of the magazine — Negro Leaguers from the state.

Many people in Alabama know, for example, that Satchel Paige was from Mobile, and that Willie Mays  began his pro career with the Birmingham Black Barons, but many readers of the magazine might never have heard of ‘Bama natives Dizzy Dismukes, Ted Radcliffe or Otha Bailey.

Or the man I’m going to spotlight in this post, Lyman Bostock Sr., who was born in Birmingham in 1918 and enjoyed a generally successful career from the late 1930s into the early ’50s. (Note that throughout the tale Bostock’s career crosses paths with that of Winfield Welch, a Louisiana native whom I’ve highlighted frequently on this blog.)

Many baseball fans have heard the name Lyman Bostock, but usually it’s Lyman Jr., who was a budding Major League star in the 1970s until he was murdered in 1978 in a case of mistaken identity.

But the younger Bostock inherited his love of and aptitude for baseball from his father, a star in the Negro Leagues in the 1940s …

Lyman Wesley Bostock Sr., according to Social Security records, was born on March 11, 1918, to parents John and Lilly (Greenwood) Bostock. John was an Alabama native, né 1886 in Daleville, but Lilly was born in 1890 in Georgia. Lilly died in 1980, far outliving her husband, who passed away in 1941 in Birmingham.

Little Lyman appears to have spent his earliest years living with his mother and her parents, Robert and Annie Greenwood, in Birmingham. But by the 1930 U.S. Census Lyman had joined his father, mother and siblings on 15th Street in Birmingham. John was a public school teacher, while Lilly was a housekeeper with a private family.

When it was time for the 1940 Census, the 22-year-old Lyman was an iron pipe worker along with his father and still living on 15th Street in Birmingham. By 1941, though, Lyman’s Negro Leagues career was already blooming. A first baseman for the Black Barons under skipper Winfield Welch, Bostock was voted into the prestigious East-West All-Star game in Chicago in 1941.

Bostock also took park in a special North-South doubleheader in August 1941, when the Barons took on the New York Black Yankees at Yankee Stadium. The Aug. 9, 1941, issue of the Norfolk New Journal and Guide featured a large photo of Bostock with the tagline “Star Player” over it. The cutline below the photo called Bostock “one of the top notch veterans the Southern team will throw in against” the Black Yanks. Bostock ended up scoring a run in the Barons’ 2-1 win that day.

Bostock’s hardball career was interrupted in April 1942, when he enlisted in the Army to join cause in World War II; he was one of almost a dozen Black Barons who answered the call to serve.

By 1946, with the war won and military veterans coming home, Bostock restarted his baseball tenure, but a salary dispute with the Black Barons’ owner, Tom Hayes, Bostock was tempted to bolt from the Birmingham squad, which had already lost Welch, who had resigned as manager of the squad.

But Bostock apparently ultimately remained in the Birmingham fold, and in July 1946, in a doubleheader against Welch’s barnstorming Cincinnati Crescents team, Bostock bashed a home run, added a single and scored to runs in the Barons’ 4-2 victory, which completed the two-game sweep of the Cincinnatis.

Bostock did end up leaving the Black Barons later on, but after a stint with the Chicago American Giants, he seems to have returned to his hometown — he joined up with another former Barons manager, Tommy Sampson, on the latter’s Birmingham-based Sampson All-Stars in 1948.

Bostock enjoyed another career highlight in October 1948 when he was asked to join Jackie Robinson’s barnstorming all-star team as a capable outfielder.

The following season, though, Bostock was back with the American Giants, who were now skippered by none other than Winfield Welch (who by that point in his career had picked up the nickname Gus). Welch shifted Bostock from the outfield back to the latter’s natural position, first base.

In 1949, still as a Giant, Bostok was among the leaders in hits in Negro American League. In July of that year, Hall of Fame sportswriter Wendell Smith reported that Bostock might be signed by the San Diego Pacific Coast League to replace the injured Luke Easter at first, but that didn’t come to pass, and Bostock remained one of the best first sackers in black baseball. In its Aug. 9, 1949, issue, the Atlanta Daily World published a large photo of Bostock, calling him the “hard-hitting Chicago American Giants’ first base man … Bostock is hitting .346 and critics consider him the best first sacker in the Negro American League. He is a big man with plenty of power. Weight 200 lbs, 6’1″ tall and will hit the best of pitchers.”

The 1949 campaign ended on a low note for Bostock, though: He became the last out in the NAL championship series between the American Giants and the Baltimore Elite Giants, who completed a four-game sweep over the hapless Windy City squad.

Bostock then floated around blackball until retiring in 1954. He remained close to the game, however; in spring 1956 he joined Goose Curry as the heads of a Black Barons tryout school for prospective signees, for example.

Bostock remained in his hometown until his death on June 23, 2005, at the ripe old age of 87. Unfortunately, he had tragically outlived his son.

In the days following this post I put up, a lively discussion popped up on the Malloy conference Facebook page about whether the fact that the great fireballer Cannonball Dick Redding, according to an unredacted death certificate, died from syphilis at Pilgrim State mental hospital in Islip, N.Y., on Long Island in 1948.

While Pilgrim was indeed notorious for poor living conditions, questionable medical practices, and shoddy and at times violent treatment of patients at the facility, Redding’s death certificate appears, at least on the surface, rule out any foul play in his heretofore unknown cause of death.

But Professor James Brunson at Northern Illinois University made some very valid points and somewhat sharp criticism on the fact that my blog indicated that Redding died from the long-term psychological effects of a sexually-transmitted disease. Professor Brunson, an expert in the representation of African-American ballplayers in the mainstream media, believes that by revealing syphilis as the cause of death only reinforces the negative stereotype of the hypersexual —and, therefore, dangerous — black male in America. It was this image and representation, for example, that was, some argue, the real reason for the century-long existence of Jim Crow segregation in the South, i.e. the desire to keep “colored brutes” away from fair white maidens.

Hence, Professor Brunson feels that simply saying Redding died of “natural causes” at a mental hospital is sufficient, that there is no need to further reinforce negative stereotypes of African-American males.

However, I argued — and Dr. Ray Doswell at the Negro Leagues Baseball Museum very gently supported this argument — that the cause of death, regardless of what it is and how politically correct it might or might not be, is relevant to the chronicling and piecing together of the final years, months and days in the life of a legendary Negro Leagues pitcher who some put on a par with Satchel Paige and Joe Williams. Facts are facts, and all of them, ugly or not, must be known to provide a complete picture of any person’s life and unfortunately premature death.

(In addition, just saying “natural causes” prompts readers, historians, etc., to naturally wonder, “OK, well, what does that mean? What type of natural causes?”)

I also referred to my tendency — call it the Fox Mulder effect — to suspect conspiracies and resulting cover-ups of said conspiracies. I put forward the theory that the doctors and staff at Pilgrim knew that the stereotype of a hypersexualized black male not only existed, but was prevalent and feared, and those doctors possibly used that negative image to cover up what could have been the true cause of Redding’s death — foul play, mistreatment or lack of treatment. There are enough discrepancies — many of them very subtle — between the two death documents that cause me to suspect the Cigarette Smoking Man (or at least the powerful powers-that-be that he represents in general) had a role in all this.

Further, I lamented the fact that Redding’s syphilis went undiagnosed and, therefore, untreated for so long that it caused his premature death. That speaks to a tragic gap in medical care between the haves and the have-nots, who, both in the 1940s and still running into today, are often African Americans. Perhaps the real racism in this story is not the reinforcement of a stereotype but the idea that Dick Redding died because he was poor and black and didn’t have access to the type of health care that could have saved his life in the first place.

Also factoring in here, I believe, is the stigma that historically — and, sadly, contemporarily — was and is still attached to mental illness. While treatment and views of mental illness have certainly improved since Redding died in 1948, nearly seven decades ago they were primitive and all too often tragic. How much, we must ask, has this really changed by 2014?

I subsequently sought the input from Gary Ashwill, who received the unredacted copy of Cannonball’s death certificate in the first place. I asked him if he was buying this official “syphilis” line. Gary answered that, with the lack of any hard or even circumstantial evidence to the contrary, he’s inclined to accept the death certificate at face value.

But Pilgrim State Hospital had a very macabre history when it came to the treatment and fate of patients, with mysterious deaths — and occasionally brutal — deaths taking place.

(That fact, by the way, will hopefully lead to a new post about a player to whom Gary tipped me off — Alex Albritton, a pitcher for the Hilldales and other squads who was, in fact, beaten to death in a Philadelphia asylum in 1940. More soon.)

So, what are your thoughts on all this?

David and Jesse L. — call me!!!

So as I’ve mentioned before, I’m a huge fan of “The X-Files,” for better or worse. I particularly like the episode from season 6 called “The Unnatural,” about an alien in the 1940s who defects from his people because he falls in love with the game of baseball.

In order to hide his true nature from the authorities, he takes the form of an African-American player for a barnstorming Negro Leagues team called the Roswell Grays (a reference to both the great Homestead Grays as well as the notorious mythology of a crash of an alien ship at Roswell, N.M., in 1947).

This alien, played by the very handsome Jesse L. Martin (in his pre-“Law & Order” days), is hunted by other aliens because they believe he betrayed them by joining human society and shunning his “true race.” The character is named Josh Exley, a power-hitting catcher very obviously modeled after Josh Gibson.

(The episode also posits that all the great players — including Mantle, Ruth, Williams and other whites — were all actually aliens. Yeah, it’s “The X-Files.” It’s weird.)

That’s all I’ll say about the plot of the episode — I don’t want to play spoiler. But I highly, highly recommend it, because it’s both a touching tribute to the racism faced by Negro Leaguers as well as an installment in the series’ overarching mythology about an impending alien invasion of Earth. Again, keep in mind that this is a sci-fi series based on complex, weird conspiracy theories.

But the episode was written and directed by series star David Duchovny, aka FBI agent Fox Mulder, and Martin delivers a stellar performance. It’s actually a very heartbreaking, bittersweet tale, and from the time it aired 15 years ago, it’s gotten rave reviews and has been consistently ranked in the top 10 greatest “X-Files” episodes ever.

So … one of my wild dreams has been to interview Duchovny and/or Martin about the episode. So if but some extremely slim and random chance that either or both of them read this, please contact me!!!

OK, I’m going to write a few scattershot posts today, just some random thoughts that have been rattling around in my head. Or maybe that’s the hamster on his squeaky wheel …

First up … the somewhat semi-annual meeting of the Louisiana Schott-Pelican chapter of the Society for American Baseball Research is scheduled for Nov. 1 at the Holiday Inn Westbank. I’m planning on raising a minor ruckus about the complete, shameful and persistent ignorance and lack of understanding about the very rich heritage of African-American baseball in New Orleans and Louisiana as a whole.

The very fact that the local SABR chapter is named the Schott-Pelican chapter — in obvious reference to the New Orleans Pelicans, the city’s long-time minor league baseball team that, along with its league, the Southern Association, stubbornly refused to integrate right up until their demise in 1960 — is insulting.

I’ll give a report of the meeting if I do get up the gumption and follow through on my plans for the meeting. I’m trying to attract media attention to it.

So, if there’s anyone reading this who lives close to NOLA and has an interest in the Negro Leagues here and across the state, drop me a line at rwhirty218@yahoo.com.

Thanks to the patience and persistence of Negro Leagues researcher extraordinaire Gary Ashwill, we finally have an answer to how fire-throwing pitcher Cannonball Dick Redding died in Pilgrim Psychiatric Center/Mental Hospital on Long Island on Halloween 1948.

That’s because Gary FINALLY received an unredacted copy of Redding’s death certificate. The cause of death? Syphilis of the central nervous system. There’s also some illegible text under other portions of “cause of death,” with a statement that a test was performed, but for what reason or to what result is illegible.

As noted before, the certificate is signed by Dr. Ludwig Kris, a resident psychiatrist at Pilgrim, who lists the duration of the condition as “unknown.” But there’s also an entry under “other conditions,” but it’s also illegible, except for a word that seems to be syphilis or something close to it. However, the duration of  condition is also listed, unlike the primary cause of death, with the figure being one year, nine months and two days, which is longer than Kris states he attended to Redding. It’s somewhat odd that the major cause of death doesn’t state a duration, but the “other condition” does.

I can try to have a little more comment on this in the coming days, but right off the bat, it could be worth noting that this is a different form than the one Gary, I and others previously had. This one is a “certificate of death,” while the earlier one (shown below) is a “register of deaths.”

Aside from the differences in format of the two documents, they do share much of the basic information, although the handwriting in this new document is visibly much poorer than the first one (and I say that as someone with notoriously horrible handwriting himself).

One other note: If syphilis was indeed the cause of death of the great Dick Redding, it’s almost the exact some thing that caused the passing of the great Rube Foster, as revealed in Larry Lester’s recent book. Foster, who started out as one of the best pitchers of the early 1900s before becoming the grand architect of the formal Negro Leagues.

Just had this article come out in San Francisco Weekly, an alternative newspaper in, well, San Francisco. I’m pretty proud of it — much time, effort, research and revising went into it:

http://www.sfweekly.com/sanfrancisco/berkeley-international-league-baseball-byron-speed-reilly/Content?oid=3188878

Wow, it’s been almost two weeks since my last post, so my many apologies on that count. I had a couple deadlines, and my mom had major surgery — she pulled through just fine and feels great — so I was a bit preoccupied with some other stuff.

But I feel ready to get back in the game — put me in, Coach, as it were — and let’s start, actually, with a little track action …

I’ve been wondering what happened to Byron “Speed” Reilly — the mastermind behind the Berkeley Colored League and the Berkeley International League — after about 1940 or so, because all references in the media to either league pretty much dry up by that year.

Why? Well, it seems Mr. Reilly really was a sports Renaissance man, and he allowed his attention to drift after the BIL kind of faded away. Or maybe the BIL and Speed’s baseball promotion career ended because he just lost interest. Or maybe the Depression, then the war, necessitated the ceasing of his career as a baseball mogul. We don’t know at this point.

But … what did happen to Speed? The answer: It looks like he truly lived up to his nickname when he took up a sort of second career as an … auto racing announcer, record keeper and official.

A page from the April 4, 1960, Oakland Tribune, featuring a group photo including Speed Reilly at the top of the page.

In the ’40s he did a few other things, like serve as an emcee at Northern California boxing matches and, beginning in spring 1946, organize and promote an inter-city high school basketball all star game with a Gilbert D. Eaton. After the event, the pair sent a thank-you note to the Oakland Tribune for help putting the game on. “The contest, say the two gentlemen, was a tremendous success and will be an annual event,” Trib sports editor Lee Dunbar wrote.

But by 1947, Speed was fully into the car racing scene. He had an almost-daily show, “Race Results and Sports with Speed Reilly,” on KLX radio, and in July 1948, new Tribune sports editor Alan Ward called Reilly a “tub thumper for auto races at the Oakland Stadium …”

By 1953, Reilly had re-styled his radio show on KLX and now called it, “Speedway News with Speed.” An April 1953 article in the Oakland Trib stated:

“The program features auto racing results from speedways and interviews with leading drivers and owners.

“Speed is an old hand at sports announcing. His racing broadcasts go back to the Old Neptune Beach days when he did the midget racing program from that speedway.

“He came to KLX in 1942 to broadcast fights and wrestling.”

Two years later, though, Reilly ran into a little medical issue. Reported the June 9, 1955, Tribune:

“Friends of Byron (Speed) Reilly, Oakland boxing writer, master of ceremonies and radio announcer, will be happy to learn the doughty warrior is recovering at the Merritt Hospital from an operation. He should be able to leave the hospital in a few days.

“For awhile [sic] Reilly, if not actually on the verge of a kayo, was groggy. Numerous pints of blood were needed to save him. He should be back in action in three or four weeks.

“Reilly writes columns for Pacific Coast boxing periodicals. For years Speed broadcast … the Oakland fights for KLX, the Tribune station.

“Reilly’s a good man at the microphone or in front of a typewriter.”

Speed also founded the California Auto Racing Fans Club, which rewarded him for his efforts in January 1959 with a “special trophy.”

Two months later, Reilly was honored again, this time with a testimonial dinner at Topp’s Restaurant in Oakland. Reported the Tribune’s Ward:

“Unlike so many recipients of our town’s dinners, Reilly is not an athlete, past or present,” wrote Ward. “But he has been closely  identified with athletics for a generation. His voice is known to thousands. He has been a boxing broadcaster and an announcer at automobile races throughout Northern California.

“It can be said Reilly pioneered fight broadcasting here, long before television made its appearance. From a small beginning the radio phase of boxing became an important factor in Bay Area sports entertainment.

“That, of course, was in an era when fights were held each Wednesday night at the Auditorium — when many of the great ones, and some who were only mediocre, consistently drew big. Gates of $8,000 were the rule and receipts of $18,000 not uncommon. …

“For years Reilly and this writer broadcast Auditorium fights. There wasn’t, and still isn’t, a better blow-by-blow man than Speed. His knowledge of the sport, plus a brisk, dramatic delivery, gave listeners a thorough understanding of what was transpiring in the ring.

“Over the years Reilly has been a tireless worker for the promotion of sports, devoting time and money to that end, making countless public appearances and talks. It is high time his efforts are receiving the public recognition they deserve.”

Unfortunately, Speed’s wife, Vivian, died in October 1961. But he kept grinding it out work-wise, and early in 1962, he was named editor of the Referee, a boxing and wrestling magazine.

But on July 12, 1967, Byron “Speed” Reilly succumbed to a long illness at the age of 65 in his beloved Oakland. In the Haywood Daily Review a week later, columnist Al Auger, a frequent co-announcer with Reilly at car races, rhapsodized eloquent about the man who brought so much to the East Bay:

“For I don’t know how many years, it seemed that to attend an auto race in the Bay Area meant you would be hearing the rasping voice of Speed Reilly over the public address system.

“Byron ‘Speed’ Reilly was the voice of auto racing in the Bay Area. Last Wednesday, this voice was stilled at the age of 62 [sic] after a long illness.

“Thinking back to the years of my youth, I can vividly recall the many races at so many tracks, such as the old Oakland Speedway, Pachoco, Antioch, etc., where Speed held his verbal court.

“It wasn’t until much later when I got so deeply enmeshed in the sport that I realized that nowhere could you find anyone who knew more about the race cars, drivers, officials and traditions of racing than the little man sitting hunched over the microphone in the announcers booth.

“You also realized no one could love the sport more.

“Just a few months ago — at the indoor midget races, his frame wasted by the lingering sickness, a surgical mask to keep out the stinging fumes of rubber and fuel — ‘Speed’ would be at start-finish every night.

“Between races it was as if nothing had changed as he would talk about the drivers and their car’s performances. A good word here for a skillful display, a sharp, disdainful criticism for a poor job and it was very seldom he was wrong.

“‘Speed’ was a 100 percent sports-oriented man, through his public relations firm in Oakland and the hundreds of East Bay fights he covered with a blow-by-blow description on the radio.

“Outside his work, his pet was the California Auto Racing Fans Club (CARFC), which he founded as an outlet for the fans lo have a truly personal connection with the sport.

“Since that time, many similar clubs throughout the country have emulated ‘Speed’s’ brainchild.

“Having worked the business end of a mike at races, I know it is far from an easy task to bring a word-picture of an auto race to the spectators, one that keeps everyone knowledgely [sic] informed as to what’s going on lap after lap.

“Byron ‘Speed’ Reiily made it seem very easy.”