So today we have another installment of “cool stuff from various databases.” (I previously did a couple such posts here and here.) I perused a few of them and came across ones compiling the archives of two Jewish newspapers: The Jewish Advocate, based in Boston, and The Jewish Exponent, based in Philadelphia.

I decided to search these archives for articles and commentaries about Negro League baseball, integration of the sport, and race issues in general in the national pastime. I found some pretty good stuff, and I noticed one trend in particular: the columns and articles of Haskell Cohen.

Cohen was an extremely deft, incisive reporter and scribe who’s most well known for his key involvement in the growth and strengthening in the 1950s and ’60s, serving as the nascent league’s publicity director for nearly two decades. He also created the NBA All-Star Game, which he modeled after the MLB All-Star contest.

But he was also a prolific journalist, including as sports editor for the Jewish Telegraphic Agency, a news wire service, for 17 years, and as a contributing editor to several magazines, such as Parade and Spot.

In addition, Cohen founded the United States Committee Sports for Israel (now Maccabi USA); served as the first chairman of the International Jewish Sports Hall of Fame’s selection committee (he’s also an IJSHOF inductee); and was a member of the Naismith Basketball Hall of Fame board of trustees, and the U.S. Olympic Basketball Committee.

But for our purposes here, we’ll focus on the reporting and commentaries he provided for the Jewish Telegraphic Agency and various newspapers and similar publications. Through the archives of The Jewish Advocate and The Jewish Exponent, I first collected some columns he wrote for the JTA, then branched out a bit from there.

One running theme in Cohen’s columns was covering the activities of several Jewish executives, promoters and owners in Black baseball, particularly Abe Saperstein of Chicago, Philadelphia’s Eddie Gottlieb, and Syd Pollock of New York, all of whose involvement in Black ball circles, especially as promoters, was somewhat controversial at the time, and continues to be somewhat today. 

(Supporters argued that the influence and financial backing they brought to the table was a positive for the Negro Leagues, while critics asserted that the Jewish executives bumped African-American promoters and executives from crucial roles in the sport, exploited Black talent, and siphoned revenue that could have been going to Black-owned teams and promotion services.)

In September 1946, Cohen reported on the financial difficulties being then experienced by Saperstein in Black baseball promotions, including the quick folding of the West Coast Negro Baseball Association, a short-lived league that Saperstein oversaw with Olympic hero Jesse Owens. However, Cohen added that Saperstein hoped to turn things around when he took his Black all-star team to Hawaii for an extended tour. (For more on that Hawaii tour, check out this article.)

In a column from June of the following year, Cohen noted the attendance of Gottlieb and Pollock at the joint meetings of Negro American League and Negro National League in New York City. Cohen also often also reported on Saperstein’s connections as a scout with the Cleveland Indians (now the Guardians), whose owner, Bill Veeck, paid Saperstein to comb the ranks of Black baseball for potential talent for the MLB team; Cohen asserted in a November 1948 column that it was Saperstein who bird dogged Satchel Paige for Veeck and the Indians.

Cohen then, in July 1950, reported that it was now Gottlieb who was promoting Paige; Cohen wrote that “Paige is now under contract to Eddie Gottlieb, who is securing $1,500 to $3,000 weekly for the aged pitcher’s services.”

But Cohen was also willing to take Jewish sports executives to task, such as in July 1945, when he sharply criticized the antics of the Cincinnati Clowns, including relatively harsh words in particular for the team’s owner, Pollock.

“Sid [sic] [has] a funny team but his burlesque of Negro people, for gag purposes, is in very bad taste,” Cohen wrote. “… Sid [sic] is beginning to tone down on this stuff and if he goes all the way in refining his talent[,] the Clowns are really going to come into their own as one of the nation’s funniest ball clubs.”

With that, we’ll use a nice segue to Cohen’s occasional mention of who, at that time, was the biggest Jewish name in baseball – Hank Greenberg, of course. In December 1949, Cohen reported how Veeck had sold his interests in the Indians, and the columnist pondered what role, if any, Saperstein would retain with the club, including his activity as a scout of Negro League talent.

But the main thrust of Cohen’s piece was how Greenberg was going to stay on as the general manager for the team, as opposed to the original plan for the Hebrew Hammer, which called for him to be team president.

Then, in February 1951, after the integration of organized baseball had gotten well underway, Cohen quoted Greenberg discussing the latter’s view of racism and bigotry in baseball, particularly in Cleveland, where, Greenberg said, open-mindedness and acceptance were the rule. Cohen quoted Greenberg saying:

“We in Cleveland have adopted the motto that ability counts, not race, color or creed. It is only natural, therefore, that the Cleveland Indians lead the way by judging players on performance only. Our daily lineup includes two Irishmen, an Englishman, a Scotsman and two Mexicans, Protestants, Catholics and Jews, Negroes and Whites and all Americans who work and play together in perfect harmony. This speaks for itself.”

A few years earlier, in May 1947 – just a month or so after Jackie Robinson had stepped on the field for the Brooklyn Dodgers – Cohen noted in a JTA column that Greenberg, and Jews in general, had been steadfast in their support of Robinson. Penned Cohen:

“Jewish baseball fans in Flatbush are keeping a wary eyer open watching the progress of Jackie Robinson, Negro first baseman with the Brooklyn Dodgers. Since the Brooks do not have a Jewish player on the roster, the many Jewish inhabitants of the batty baseball borough, have more or less adopted the colored lad. His every movement on the field and at bat are applauded by the fans who are predominantly of Jewish extraction.”

Cohen added that since his Brooklyn debut, Robinson “has been finding the going rather tough in more ways than one. … As yet, he has not been accepted by members of the league, not even by his own teammates.” However, the scribe continued, Greenberg was one of the solitary figures in the majors “who has extended a welcome hand …”

The scribe added that during a recent contest between the Dodgers and Greenberg’s Pittsburgh Pirates, Robby and Greenberg had collided on a play, soon after which Greenberg had asked Jackie if he’d been hurt in the incident. Robinson said he was OK, and, according to Cohen, “Greenie then remarked, ‘Stay in there, you’re doing fine, keep your chin up.’ These were the first words of encouragement Robinson had heard since the beginning of the season. He told newspapermen: ‘I always knew Mr. Greenberg was a gentleman. Class always tells.’”

In addition to Jewish publications and wire services, Cohen occasionally even did a little stringing for The Pittsburgh Courier, one of the most prominent African-American newspapers of the day.

For example, he covered a Baltimore Elite Giants doubleheader sweep over the New York Black Yankees at Yankee stadium with an article in the May 26, 1945, issue of The Courier; and in the Sept. 4, 1948, edition of the paper, Cohen reported that two members of the Negro National League’s New York Cubans – pitcher Jose Santiago and future National Baseball of Famer Oresto Minoso, later, of course dubbed Minnie – had been sold to the Cleveland Indians for an undisclosed amount.

Finally, Cohen contributed a lengthy feature article to Spot Magazine in July 1942, about none other than legendary Josh Gibson. In the piece, Cohen detailed Gibson’s career trajectory, achievements and impacts on Black baseball. Because Josh’s exploits have already been well chronicled elsewhere and, as we know, quite numerous, I won’t refer to Cohen’s reporting on that subject. I’ll just wrap up this post with a hefty quote from the first section of Cohen’s article, and I think Cohen’s words will speak for themselves:

“When then isn’t [Gibson] in the National or American League, catching for the World Champion Yankees, the Dodgers or one of the other pennant contenders? An unwritten law of the majors bans from its fields all colored – a prissy prohibition that is out of line with big time baseball’s reputation for sportsmanship. Thousands of fans, both famous and humble, have strenuously objected to Jim Crowism on the diamond, pointing out that it is ironical to find discrimination in America’s national game, that the big leagues deprive themselves of much valuable talent, and that it’s not quite logical for a sport that had a Black Sox scandal to exclude representatives of a race that boasts such outstanding sportsmen as Joe Louis, Henry Armstrong and Jesse Owens. Be that as it may and many another colored star can’t play with white boys.

“After 12 years in colored baseball, and at the age of 30, Gibson has compiled so many records with his hickory stick that it is doubtful if the great Babe himself did any better.”

Before any more time passed since my previous post about the 100th anniversary of the lynching of African-American baseball team owner Fred Goree by two law-enforcement officers on Aug. 1, 1925, in St. Louis County, Missouri, I wanted to return to the subject, as promised.

One of the subjects surrounding the Goree tragedy on which I wanted to explore is the other people involved in the story. Revolving around the two main actors – Goree himself and the man who primarily committed the murder, St. Louis County deputy constable Clarence Bennett – was a small cast of side characters.

At the top of that cast list is Frenchie (or Frenchy) Henry, who was accompanying Goree in the latter’s new Buick when Goree was pulled over for very specious “official” reasons (but more likely for “DWB,” or Driving While Black), which led to his murder.

Because Goree was driving to a game scheduled near St. Louis for the baseball team he owned (likely the Chicago Independents), it’s been assumed that Frenchie Henry was a player on the Independents, but I haven’t been able to confirm that. (That inability to nail down Henry as a player is largely the result of the lack of clarity or dearth of information about the Chicago Independents team itself, a topic I explored in my previous post.)

So who was Frenchie Henry? His story begins in the Deep South town of Yazoo City, Miss., where he was born in June 1906 (some sources say 1904) to parents Anderson and Mollie (or Mary) (nee Grant) Henry. At different times, Anderson worked as a farm laborer or a carpenter.

Pre-Civil War Census slave schedules show several slaveholders with the last name of Henry in Yazoo County; the white Henrys might have belonged to the same family, with a man named Dixon (or Dickson) Henry as a patriarch. It’s likely that Anderson Henry, or at least his parents, were owned by one of the slaveholding white Henrys.

An Anderson Henry appears in the 1870 Mississippi state census in Hinds County, which is adjacent to Yazoo County, although if that was our Anderson Henry, he would have been around just 15 years old. Mary Grant is listed in Yazoo County in the 1880 U.S. Census. 

While Anderson Henry and his family lived in Yazoo County for maybe a couple decades, they at some point moved, with young Frenchie in tow, to Montgomery County, Mississippi, eventually settling in the county seat of Winona, which at the time was about half the size of Yazoo City, population-wise. (In 1920, Yazoo City had about 5,200 people.) Frenchie was one of a whopping 17 siblings, 11 of them apparently older than him, and five younger.

Also living in Yazoo City at the time was the Moore family, which included Cora Lee, Frenchie Henry’s future wife, who was born around 1907 to Edward and Maggie (nee Tillman) Moore. Edward worked as a brick mason. Given that Yazoo City was a relatively small town/city at the time, it seems likely that Frenchie and Cora knew each other as kids.

Like the Henrys, the Moores had left Yazoo City by the time of the 1920 Census, which has them listed in the Mississippi Delta city of Clarksdale in Coahoma County. Clarksdale was arguably the locus of early blues history, lore and tradition, including, just outside of town, the intersection of Highways 61 and 49, where Robert Johnson allegedly sold his soul to the devil in exchange for musical genius. (A few years ago I did an interview with author Michael Lortz about his book, “Curveball at the Crossroads,” which tells a variation of the Johnson crossroads legend.)

Sometime between 1920 and 1930 – likely before 1925, when the Goree tragedy took place –  Frenchie (and, apparently, one or more of his siblings) joined the Great Migration and moved to Chicago, where he likely met Fred Goree and began playing on Goree’s baseball team(s). It was in this decade that Cora Moore headed north to the Windy City as well.

I wasn’t able to find Frenchie taking part in any more baseball activity beyond Goree’s Chicago Independents, unfortunately. As far as what he did for employment, I’m also not really sure. According to media coverage from the Goree murder, Henry worked at that time as a car washer for the Pullman train company. His World War II draft card, which was signed Feb. 16, 1942, states that he was unemployed at the time, while the 1940 Census, when he was still living in Chicago, lists him as a “cement worker.”

Now, what precisely happened to Frenchie and Cora Henry in the 1920s and ’30s is, well, unclear. Like I stated earlier, I wasn’t able to find any definitive, or even circumstantial, evidence that Frenchie was involved in baseball besides being with a team owner at the time that said owner died. (Also remember that I haven’t found any further concrete evidence – besides the coverage of his murder – of Goree’s involvement in the sport, and I’ve likewise found only scant mentions of any team called the Chicago Independents or some variation of that name. I detailed those media references in my previous post.)

However, regarding Frenchie’s personal and/or non-baseball activities during that nearly two-decade span, there does appear to be a fascinating, and maybe even unseemly, possibility.

The 1930 Federal Census seems to have no listing for Cora and Frenchie living together in Chicago. However, it does list a Cora L. Henry, born in Mississippi in roughly 1907, residing by herself in Chicago at a boarding house on Bowen Avenue. She’s listed as married and working as a houseworker for a private family.

So I think it’s safe to say that that is indeed Cora Lee Henry. But what about Frenchie? Where was he? In another example of a recurring theme here, I found no Frenchie (or Frenchy or French) Henry in Chicago in the 1930 Census.

But … I did turn up one Frank Henry listed as a 23-year-old (so born in about 1907) African American from Mississippi. Given that Frenchie is a somewhat common nickname for Frank (or, less regularly, vice versa), this could very well be our friend, Frenchie Henry.

But then why is he listed separately from Cora Lee?

Because Frank Henry was living in the Cook County House of Correction.

That’s right: Frenchie might have been incarcerated.

On the other hand, though, I’ve come across no articles or other documents that call him Frank, so maybe the jailbird Frank Henry isn’t, in fact, Frenchie. (But just as an aside, there was a Frank Henry in Chicago at the same time who, let’s just say, ran afoul of the law once and again. He worked as an undertaker with several funeral parlors and allegedly stole some money from the Elks Club. He then was accused of embezzlement from a funeral home, but the case was eventually thrown out. Whether or not this Frank Henry was the one in Cook County jail, I’m not sure conclusively. However, I’m reasonably sure that the undertaker Frank Henry was not, in fact, our ol’ Frenchie.)

Regardless of the status of their relationship in 1930 – or Frenchie’s legal situation – Frenchie and Cora had their first child, daughter Pauline, in 1932, followed by four more children, all daughters – Dorothy, Cora Lee, Yvonne and Betty.

By 1940, Frenchie and Cora were back together and living on St. Lawrence Avenue in the Windy City, and by the time Frenchie Henry registered for the World War II draft in February 1942, he was living at 508 E. 38th St. His older brother, Elias Henry – and not, notably, Cora, his wife – was listed as the person who would always know Frenchie’s address.

That curiosity might make the fact that the 1950 federal Census denotes only Cora with their five daughters, and Cora’s marital status is listed as separated and living on Chicago’s 38th Street – seemingly right next door to where Frenchie was living in 1942. I couldn’t find Frenchie in the 1950 U.S. Census, unfortunately. 

But there’s something else strange, however. The 1940 Census seemingly lists Cora Lee and her daughters twice in different locations in Chicago. In addition to the one I already mentioned, Cora and the girls – and, notably, not Frenchie – are placed living on St. Lawrence Avenue, just a block down from where the 1940 Census also lists the whole family, including Frenchie. 

All these different but strangely similar addresses seemingly cloud the picture of Frenchie Henry’s time in Chicago, and we can add that to the already substantial list of other mysteries, like how Frenchie connected with Fred Goree; what Frenchie did for a living; and if he played any further baseball besides Goree’s Independents.

The elder Cora Lee Henry died in September 1984, after serving many years as a community rights activist, according to an obituary article in the Oct. 2, 1984, Chicago Defender. Her community efforts included working with the Ida B. Wells tenant organization, the Parent-Teacher Association and the Maryland Avenue Baptist Church, the last of which she did missionary work for, according to the article. The story also noted that she was a graduate of Wendell Phillips High School, Chicago’s first major high school for African-American students.

(Interestingly, the Defender piece noted that Cora moved to Chicago when she was 8, which would have made it around 1915, but the 1920 Census lists Cora still living with her family in Clarksdale, Miss.)

But what happened to Frenchie Henry himself? I couldn’t find much info at all about the latter years of his life, just that he died on Jan. 28, 1977, more than seven years before his wife. Unlike Cora Lee, Frenchie didn’t get much of a sendoff when he passed, just a standard, eight-line, block obituary in the Feb. 1, 1977, issue of the Defender.

He was buried in Alsip, Illinois‘ Burr Oak Cemetery, a somewhat famous burial ground that includes the graves of dozens of African-American athletes, musicians, artists, politicians and other famous figures, including a bunch of Negro Leaguers, some of whose graves received markers through the Negro League Baseball Grave Marker Project.

Several of Frenchie’s siblings joined him in Chicago at varying points. As stated, Elias Henry, who was a few years older than Frenchie, moved to the Windy City and apparently remained close with his little bro. Elias worked at Carnegie Illinois Steel, located in Joliet, Ill., at one point, and he also was employed as a laborer at what a Census taker called a “food manufacturer.” Elias lived in Chicago with his wife, Roberta, for most of his life, but he died in Detroit, Mich., in 1974 at age 72.

Another older brother, James, spent the majority of his life in Mississippi (including a stint in Bolivar County, Miss.) with his wife, Mattie, but he died in Chicago in 1964 at 60 years old. Frenchie’s oldest sibling – and the first of Anderson and Mary’s children – Elizabeth married the Georgia-born Frank Harris and lived, like James Henry, for a while in Bolivar County before the couple moved to Chicago before 1930. Elizabeth died in the Windy City in 1957 at the age of 71. In addition, Alberta Henry got married (I’m not sure to whom) and divorced and lived in Winona before moving to Chicago, where she died in 1979 at 81.