Howdy all, I apologize I haven’t posted anything for a week and a half. Unfortunately, it might be a little while longer before I can write something. I have a couple pressing deadlines over the next couple weeks, plus, well, yeah I’m a horrible tax procrastinator. Ain’t proud of it, but at this point, it is what it is.

In the meantime, I’ll extend another invitation to anyone else out there who might want to post and/or send something in. I’ve already gotten a couple offers, and if you want to follow through, definitely shoot me another e-mail at rwhirty218@yahoo.com! I’m open to pretty much anything and everything you might have, as long as it’s connected to the Negro Leagues.

Thanks for the patience, my friends. Stay the course, and I will, too. 🙂

Andy Cooper’s WWI draft card

Following up on this recent post from about Andy Cooper and the Texas Sports Hall of Fame, I’ve been trying to delve into Cooper’s family roots, youth and young adulthood in Waco and beyond before he signed on with Rube Foster’s Chicago American Giants in 1920, the same year as the formation of the first Negro National League.

These posts coincide with the 75th anniversary of Cooper’s sudden death coming up this July, as well his continued omission from the TSHOF despite being inducted into Cooperstown in 2006.

For many years, it’s been believed that Cooper, one of the greatest pitchers in Negro Leagues history, was born in 1898 in Waco. He did spend much of his life in Waco and McClennan County, he went to J.A. Moore High School in Waco, he died there and is now buried there in historic Greenwood Cemetery. In addition, many contemporary documents and media reports state that he was a Waco native.

However, I have reason to believe that he might not have been born there — and perhaps not in Texas at all.

In addition, many of the biographical sketches of him don’t include much in the way of his early baseball career — namely, between the time he was a student at Moore HS and when he was inked by Foster in ’20 — so I’ve been trying to discover how he made that leap and what baseball activity could have bridged that chronological chasm.

Because I’m still trying to put the pieces of Cooper’s genealogical puzzle together, this entry will focus somewhat on his pre-American Giants hardball career, with maybe a little tease at the end about his familial background. …

When Andrew Lewis Cooper died in June 1941 — almost 75 years ago — the Chicago Defender printed a commentary by columnist Russ Cowans in which the writer recalled watching the future Hall of Famer pitch. The article contained this paragraph:

“Born in Waco, Tex., April 24, 1896, Cooper came to the Detroit Stars, April 4, 1920. He started his career with the Waco Navigators in 1916, remaining until 1918. The following year Cooper was at Paul Quinn College.”

I’ll discuss Cooper’s attendance at that HBCU in Dallas a little later in this post, but as to the claim that Cooper competed for the Waco Black Navigators in the mid- to late-19-oughts, I haven’t found any evidence — and least not yet — that he ever did so.

In fact, the earliest article I’ve found referencing Cooper donning the spikes for any professional squad in Texas is an April 12, 1919, report in the Dallas Express, a former African-American paper. The story discuss the upcoming season for the Dallas Black Giants, who were entered in that season’s Texas Colored League.

The article lays out the Giants’ tentative lineup for the upcoming campaign. Among the team’s pitching staff is Andrew Cooper. (The rotation also includes Dave Brown, probably the one who went on to fame and fortune in the highest levels of the Negro Leagues before becoming entangled in a murder investigation in New York, after which he went on the lam and became one of the great mysteries and enigmas in baseball lore.)

Express reporter J. Alba also listed the Navigators’ lineup and outlined the Waco squad’s prospects for 1919. Nowhere in discussion is any reference to Cooper ever playing for that squad. Stated Alba:

“The Navigators this season will present fans of Texas with a practically new club with exception of a few veterans whose faces are familiar to fandom and with the installation of new blood in their line-up it is rumored Waco should be quite a formidable outfit for the coming season.”

However, nowhere else, in archives of Texas papers between roughly 1915 and 1920, could I find any mention of Andy Cooper whatsoever. That includes some coverage of the Waco Black Navigators from that time period. That includes a handful of articles in the Houston Post and the Waco Morning News from 1915 and ’16.

None of that means for certain that Cooper didn’t don the flannels for teams like the Black Navs or other squads, of course, but it doesn’t do anything to clear up his pre-Negro National League days.

It doesn’t look like Cooper even considered himself a professional baseball player during this time period; he doesn’t even seem to have identified himself thusly in any official records from the era. His WWI draft card from June 1918 lists him as “unemployed,” with an address of 2603 South 9th Street in Waco, which appears to have been the future home of his mother, Emma, and next door to his brother Henry’s abode.

However, there’s evidence that, at least from the mid-1900s onward, Andy Cooper didn’t maintain an official residence in Waco; instead, he “lived” in Dallas. The 1930 and 1940 federal Censuses document an Andy Cooper living in that city with a wife, also Emma, and an age pegged in the late 1890s. In 1930, his occupation is “farmer,” while in 1940 it’s stated as a laborer on a WPA construction project (which an extremely intriguing notion).

In addition, several Dallas city directories from the 1910s and 1920s list an Andrew Cooper at various addresses in that city, including one with a wife named Emma. On top of that, the May 7, 1921, issue of the Dallas Express reported that a boy was born to a Mr. and Mrs. Andrew Cooper, whose address matches up with one listed in a Dallas city directory.

All of this could make sense, because Paul Quinn College is located just south of Dallas, and because Dallas would probably offer more employment opportunities, such as the Black Giants.

On the other hand, I’ve found no newspaper reports that list him on the Paul Quinn roster during this time period, including a clash in May 1920 between the school and, as it turns out, the Waco Black Navigators.

So I’m investigating Cooper’s connection to Paul Quinn, as well as his high school, Moore HS, a segregated African-American institution in Waco.

However, of course, that, to some extent, is admittedly speculation on my part. But from what I’ve found so far, that’s the best theory I could assemble at this point.

Now, on to Cooper’s genealogical background. And, naturally, I’ve again run into some confusion, starting with his birthdate. Various published biographies online place it as April 24, in either 1896 or 1898.

Further, his death certificate also pegs it as April 24, 1898. (Coincidentally, the document also lists him as a “ball player.”) And Cowans’ June 1941 article about Cooper’s death asserts that his birthdate was 1896, as do a selection of ship manifests.

But … his WWI draft card states it as April 24, 1897, as does a Social Security record. So what’s the real story?

And that, my friends, leads us into my next post about Andrew Lewis Cooper — one that explores his familial and geographical roots. For years, it’s been believed that he was born and grew up in Waco, but now I don’t think that’s the case. From records I’ve dug up, he spent his childhood in …

Ahh, we’ll have to keep that a mystery … for now. 🙂

“The Newark club will probably place a novelty in the field next season in the shape of of a ‘colored’ battery. Stovey, the pitcher, and Walker, the catcher, are both colored men. Stovey played with the Jersey City club last season and showed he was a great pitcher. Several of the League managers contemplated signing him last season, but the prejudice against his colored prevented. Had he not been of African descent he would have pitched for the New York club last fall.”

— Dec. 18, 1886, issue of The Sporting News

“There is another Stovey in the field. The new man is named George, and he is a colored left-handed pitcher, just brought from Canada by the Trentons, late Cuban Giants.”

— June 23, 1886, issue of Sporting Life

Such was the introduction of ace African-American pitcher George Stovey to much of the base ball loving public in America. Stovey, a native of Williamsport, Pa., was one of the early “colored” stars in what had already become the national pastime.

As a hurler in the still evolving sport, Stovey was good enough to play for several squads in Organized Baseball before the final, firm drawing of the color line. He was also associated as a manager and organizer with some of the greatest 19th-century black teams, including the seminal Cuban Giants and the Page Fence Giants, making him a trailblazer in many ways.

So, the question is this: Does George Stovey belong in the National Baseball Hall of Fame?

This is another entry in my ongoing series of posts highlighting some of the legendary segregation-era, African-American players, managers and executives who have, for whatever reason, so far been shut out of the the halls of Cooperstown.

One of the key reasons for this historical cold shoulder is the HOF’s continuing, almost decade-old policy that the hallowed institution is no longer admitting any pre-1947 African-American candidates, despite the continued existence of a committee that occasionally votes in white players from the same era.

In recent weeks I’ve argued the cases of Bruce Petway and Frank Warfield, and now it’s Stovey’s turn. I’m focusing on George today especially because it’s the 80th anniversary of his death — March 22, 1936, in Williamsport — and because the 150th anniversary of his birth is rapidly approaching next month.

So, what’s the case for Stovey? I’ll let SABR’s Brian McKenna chip in with an excerpt from his bio of George:

“George Stovey came of age just as overhand pitching became legal. A left-hander, he hit the top minors in 1886 at the age of 20 and dominated, winning 50 games over two seasons. He struck out more than 300 batters and posted stellar 1.13 and 2.46 earned-run averages, respectively. Surely, a major-league club could use a young lefty with an array of curves. It was not to be, though, not because he blew out his arm or drank himself out of the game; Stovey couldn’t crack ‘The Show’ because the men who ran the game and those who played with and against him rejected him because of his skin color. Stovey was a mulatto and as such was soon forced out of Organized Baseball and the white minor leagues altogether.

“Considered “the first great Negro pitcher” by historian Robert Peterson, Stovey finished his career with the Cuban Giants, the New York Gorhams and other barnstorming black clubs. His career was spent exclusively with East Coast clubs. As often happens in baseball, the best African-American pitcher of the 19th century manned the box for some of the best black teams of the era.”

And just a couple weeks ago, Clinton Riddle wrote in The Baseball Magazine:

“He was six foot tall and most certainly taller than many other players of the time, as reaching that height one hundred years ago would be somewhat akin to 6’5” in the present day (average height at that time would be closer to 5’5”-6”). Highly athletic and quick, he in all likelihood would have performed well as an outfielder, but it was “in the box” that he found his calling. Generally known as a curveballing artist, Stovey was as likely to strike out an opposing batsman as he was to induce a ground ball and simply glide to cover first for the out. In short, he was an accomplished hurler and seemed to be a shoe-in for the pro ranks.”

What particular fascinates me about Stovey’s career and life is his lifelong connection and devotion to his hometown of Williamsport, which is today widely renowned as the setting of the Little League World Series, a sign that the Pennsylvania burg has always savored its hardball tradition.

Because of that appreciation for the national game, Williamsport seems to have held native son Stovey in high regard, at least for a “colored” man of the time. The local media did a decent job of relating his baseball activities about town after his retirement as a player. For example, the Sun-Gazette newspaper of May 8, 1901, stated: “George Stovey’s Williamsport base ball team was organized Tuesday evening and now challenges any team in Central Pennsylvania.”

Apparently, one reason the town showed a soft spot for George is that, in his golden years, he tutored numerous other aspiring players. In August 1910, the Sun-Gazette detailed how Stovey had taken local lad Lleweylln Wyckoff under his wing, a key factor in the up-and-coming right-hander’s jump from the area Trolley circuit into the prestigious Tri-State League.

But, IMHO, the thing that places Stovey a cut above other contemporaries was his late-life maturation into a highly sought-after umpire; once he donned the officiating gear circa 1900, he was selected by various local white teams as their official ump.

Other aggregations held an affinity to the Williamsport guy; in July 1903, the Sun-Gazette noted that one manager, after rejecting the assigned umpire, specifically requested Stovey, saying, “He is a good umpire and will do what is right. I will be satisfied with him.”

That same summer, the S-G stated: “Umpire Stovey is one of the best umpires officiating at independent games when he wants to be …”

Apparently, Stovey presented an authoritative, stentorian voice. “Stovey’s fog horn voice sounded natural as he called the balls and strikes,” the paper reported after a 1902 contest.

He was also wise to any tomfoolery. “Campbell made a great bluff on Willig’s hit to center, but Stovey was too foxey and it didn’t work,” the Sun-Gazette printed after a July 1903 clash.

Stovey was officiating into the 1910s; in 1911, the S-G stated: “The teams that have Stovey to umpire are always certain of good work from from the ‘ump.’”

Besides the quality of his umpiring work, his presence behind the plate made him the second known African-American ump to officiate games with white minor-league teams, a feat of no small stature.

George died 25 years later after a, shall we say, colorful personal life in Williamsport, one that included occasional violent scrapes and run-ins with the law, employment at a sawmill, liquor bootlegging, organizing youth teams, and an instance of almost drowning while fishing.

While the arguments for Stovey’s Hall of Fame candidacy center around his multitalented skills as a pitcher, manager, organizer and ump, there are also several weighty factors working against him — a lack of verifiable statistics and shoddy record-keeping, often paltry media coverage on a national scale; hopping around from team to team and region to region; sometimes shaky performances against white competition; and, most importantly, never playing in the Majors.

True, those evidences against his possible induction are indeed significant; however, several, if not all, of them, were the direct result of the bigoted color line that kept him in the shadows of the national pastime for much of his career. And that’s certainly not his fault.

In the end, I certainly like George Stovey and admire the way he fought and clawed his way to a measured amount of baseball prominence, the way he persevered in the face of prejudice and racial exclusion, and his blossoming into a highly respected umpire.

But because of the dearth of concrete stats and records, his inconsistent efforts against white competition, and the fact that there are so many other qualified 19th-century black candidates — such as Bud Fowler and Grant “Home Run” Johnson — I’d have to say, No, Stovey doesn’t merit induction into Cooperstown.

What do you think?

Topeka Jack Johnson

It’s weird, in 2016, to envisage the Midwest and Great Plains as “the West,” including when it comes to the sport of baseball. It’s been almost 60 years since the Dodgers and the Giants and the A’s bailed on the East Coast and headed to California, and the Pacific Coast League has existed for 113 years.

In fact, with Japan, Korea, Australia and other countries on the Pacific Rim continuing to nurture and grow their already beloved and well established baseball cultures and traditions, the concept of the West in hardball circles has been rendered almost moot.

But things were quite different way back in 1910, especially when it came to segregated African-American baseball in the middle of our then-still-expanding country. (Of course, most of that expansion occurred through war, violence and duplicity, and decimated the Native-American population and cultures, not to mention the blatantly imperialistic Mexican War. But that’s neither here nor there for the purposes of this post.)

By the end of the 19-oughts, a bunch of black baseball teams — all of them mostly barnstorming and independent aggregations — had established secure roots in the East  and blossomed, making baseball a staple of African-American life on the upper Right Coast. In addition, several teams were starting to crystallize and establish stability.

What about the Midwest? There, too, existed a large handful of successful, independent and touring blackball squads in Midwestern burgs like Chicago, Kansas City and Minneapolis-St. Paul. And the frontiers of the far West? Aggregations had already popped up in Salt Lake City, Los Angeles and the Pacific Northwest.

However, nowhere in the nation were any long-lasting, stable blackball leagues that could parallel the circuits in so-called Organized Baseball. There had been a series of attempts to do so in various parts of the country, but all them invariably collapsed at the end of their first seasons — if they had even survived that long.

(That’s fully professional, multi-state leagues, however; many cities and states had local African-American semipro, industrial, sandlot and amateur loops that featured vigorous competition and solid attendance in terms of the scale of the ventures.)

Surprising, then, is the fact that many of the nation’s regional blackball circuits sprouted up — or tried to, anyway — in the Midwestern and Plains states, areas that were, in many ways, still getting their footing and prosperous permanence in terms of economies and populations that could support such a league.

True, it was Rube Foster’s seminal Negro National League — featuring mostly Midwestern teams — in 1920 that emerged as the first long-lasting black league in the country. (An East Coast-based companion loop came about in 1923 in the form of the Eastern Colored League.)

But there had been and would later be multiple other attempts at establishing a steady blackball league in the region, many of which have already been uncovered and studied by researchers.

One coagulated during the last week of December 1910 that actually stretched into the South, with more-or-less formal headquarters in the Windy City and projected franchises in Chicago, Kansas City, Louisville, NOLA, Mobile, St. Louis and Columbus.

The circuit had the hearty involvement and/or involvement of influential entrepreneurs and baseball magnates like Foster and Topeka’s Jack Johnson, who wasn’t related to the similarly named black heavyweight champion but who would become arguably the Midwest’s most passionate, proactive and expansive African-American hardball enthusiast, promoter, player and manager.

Unfortunately, the loop never really got off the ground during the ensuing, proposed 1911 season, and there doesn’t seem to have been another earnest attempt at a “Western,” i.e. to the left of the Mississippi River, until 1922 — two years after the formation of the NNL — when the nascent Western Colored League tried to get off the ground during an organizational gathering in Wichita in May of ’22.

Jack Johnson (the baseball one) was named president of that circuit, but even his enterprising leadership couldn’t secure the WCL’s survival, and the league disintegrated a short time later.

Those two aborted endeavors have probably been the two earliest, highest-profile, most well known black baseball leagues to exist — or at least attempt to exist — in the Midwestern and Plains states during the first quarter of the 20th century.

But there was another two, heretofore unknown, that tried to materialize in the summer of 1910, six months earlier than the one that tried to form in December of that year for the 1911 season.

One of the primary reasons for the 1910 circuits’ anonymity — which has lasted through today — is a seeming lack of coverage at the time of the loops’ coalescence; in fact, the best, most detailed account I could find of one of the mid-1910 leagues was in the June 10, 1910, edition of the Nashville Globe, even though that city didn’t even have an entry in the entity.

Calling the June confab “an enthusiastic meeting,” the Globe stated:

“Plans for the formation of a league, ‘The Western Colored Baseball League,’ were perfected last week at St. Louis, Mo. …

“The following cities have secured franchises in the league: Kansas City, Mo.; Kansas City, Kans.; St. Joseph, Mo.; Topeka, Kans.; St. Louis, Mo.; Springfield, Ill.; Peoria, Ill.; and Chicago.

“The officers of the league have arranged a salary limit not to exceed $1,000 per month for each club for the first year.

“It is planned to begin playing this season, and the schedule is being arranged to open June 15th or 20th. The schedule will be ready for publication sometime next week, as will the names of the managers of the eight clubs.

“Mr. [W.H.] King, the vice-president stated that two well-known St. Louis players had already been dispatched to the South to round up players for the St. Louis team.

“Negotiations are under way for players by the other managers, and as the business of the League will be ably managed, there is no reason why it should not be a financial success.”

In addition to King as VP, other circuit officials included George Washington Walden as president, David Wyatt of Chicago as secretary, and J.W. Spence of Chicago as treasurer.

Wyatt was a could have been a critical cog in the operation; as a prominent correspondent for the Indianapolis Freeman, he had the eloquence and the medium with which he could spread the word about the black baseball world and predict and hope for its future success.

In fact, in the April 16, 1910, edition of the Freeman, Wyatt published a lengthy diatribe to that effect, one that also perhaps foreshadowed the June 1910, league organizational meeting. He predicted that the 1910 campaign would be a banner year with teams like the Chicago Giants, the Leland Giants, the Philadelphia Giants, the Brooklyn Royal Giants and the Kansas City Royal Giants.

In the missive, Wyatt also asserted that African-American players and teams were the equal of any in major league baseball. However, he also urged black franchises to follow white teams’ lead in utilizing public relations and cozy ties with the media to strengthen blackballs popularity and, therefore, its financial prospects.

Wyatt wrote:

“Reports from all sections of the country have been coming in and all convey fresh information of gigantic plans under consideration of the promotion of baseball. If the many plans which have been hatched are brought to a healthy life we take it to mean that the new year of 1910 will be the banner year in Negro baseball. …

“… There is no profession which is a greater leveler of the races and there are none which will tend to mold a higher standard of moral character than our national game. …

“The class of baseball that the Negro is putting up at this time is very evidence that he is giving his moral and physical welfare the proper amount of attention. He has advanced far beyond that brand in which comedy plays the leading part, and has now captured the attention of persons in all walks of life who appreciate intelligence. These same persons have thrown down the gauntlet to all agitation of the time-worn color line and have openly declared the Negro baseball player the equal of the best and worthy of the same loyal consideration which has been shown the white players. …

“We should speedily eliminate the prevailing methods of selfishness in baseball and we should awake to the realization of the fact that the more towns and players that we can put upon the map, the better and more substantial our financial resources become. Negro baseball has been at a stagnation for years and for no other reason that the game has been confined to a select few. We at this time demand that all be given a chance and if a city or town is worthy of financial consideration it should be worthy of having their business placed in print. … Why our colored managers insist on maintaining such an amount of silence and secrecy concerning their operations and plans is part of baseball that years of experience has taught me against the wisdom of. …

“If we intend to do anything in baseball we must not be backward and dull in getting our plans before the people. Months in advance we are put in touch with the doings of big league clubs, and by the free use of the daily press their plans are heralded far and wide. These are the methods that bring success.

“By the time this letter reaches the eyes of the people we will have some definite reports on the Negro in a real contest. We sincerely hope that all clubs will have the largest and most prosperous that has ever befallen the lot of the Negro in baseball.”

However, on top of that league (and also perhaps presaged by the type of optimism for blackball espoused by Wyatt), there seems to have been another 1910 that endeavored to get off the ground, with a short account in the June 18, 1910, issue of the Leavenworth Post, with a Topeka dateline:

“Next Sunday marks the local opening of a new baseball league at League park, according to a report this morning. Arrangements have not yet definitely been made but will be announced tomorrow. The league is to be known as the Colored Central Western baseball league.

“The towns included are reported to be Omaha, Chicago, St. Louis, Kansas City, Kan., Topeka and St. Joseph [Mo.].”

The article states that St. Joseph’s W.S. Carrion was chosen president, while Tobe Smith of K.C. was tapped treasurer. Finally, Topeka Jack Johnson, whose ubiquity on the Midwest African-American baseball scene is well documented, was selected secretary.

In fact, the Post asserted that Johnson was now making his home in Kansas City, Kan., and that, “It was largely through his efforts that the league was organized.”

Neither of these distinct and valiant undertakings stuck at all, but they do, however, mark one of the  earliest and previously uncovered attempts at unity and cohesion in the nebulous world of black baseball in the first couple decades of the 20th century.

In addition to the brevity of each circuit’s existence, one key, common variant running through their parallel story lines is the involvement of men from both halves of Kansas City — namely, Jack Johnson, Tobe Smith and George Washington Walden. The trio were both collectively, variously and separately responsible for two popular franchises in those twin cities circa 1910, the Kansas City Giants and the Kansas City Royal Giants.

George Washington Walden’s WWI draft card

The two franchises, and the three owners, intermingled and formed alliances at certain times, and were at other times passionately competitive as sworn enemies who played out their dramas not just on the field, but also through the media (namely, the influential Indianapolis Freeman).

The story of early-20th-century African-American baseball in KC is a complex, convoluted and fascinating saga in the years leading up to the rise of the legendary K.C. Monarchs. It’s a narrative that’s already been well researched to some extent, such as this piece is Baseball History Daily.

Also noticeable in the articles about each league is the inclusion of two cities in both entities — Topeka and St. Joseph — which raises a question of whether the squads from each city were in fact in both leagues, and, correspondingly, if the presence of the two cities in both proposed circuits are a hint that what we’re dealing with were differently reported versions of the same, i.e. only one, league.

Those pontifications remain unclear and without concrete answers, However, in my next post about the trailblazing but short-lived Western colored leagues of summer 1910, I’ll focus on those two overlapping cities — Topeka and St. Joseph — that helped create the two loops —or the one loop.

Frank Duncan Jr. (courtesy of Julian Duncan)

Here’s an email I received last month from reader Guy Provenza after I had an article about the Duncan family published in the Kansas City Star. Guy related his incredible personal experiences with the different generations of Duncans. Here’s his message:

“My name is Guy Provenza and I just read your article in the Kansas City Star about the Duncan family of the Negro Leagues. I can’t tell you how excited I was to read this! For a few years I worked with Frank Duncan III in Southfield, Mich. He was the doorman at the Radisson Hotel, and I worked for an audio-visual company located inside the hotel. We spoke daily and had lunch together at least three times a week in the cafeteria.

“I used to love his stories about Satchel Paige, Count Basie, Jackie Robinson, Charlie Parker and other Kansas City celebrities that he had known through the years. In fact, I gave Frank the news one morning that Roy Campanella had died. After he told me how close they had been, I felt like a jerk for delivering Campy’s obit to him so cavalierly.

“In 1999 I left that company and learned shortly after that Frank had passed. Since then, I have become a Negro League fanatic and tried to read everything I can about those times, especially Frank III. I have a Google alert set for ‘negro baseball,’ which is how I saw your article. So many questions I wished I could have asked Frank. I am happy to learn that Julian still lives in the Detroit area and will try to look him up.

“I can verify the stories about Frank’s modesty. He told me the same thing about being the first father-son battery that he told Brent Kelley, saying the newspapers made a bigger deal out of it than it really was.

“Frank said that Satchel liked to bring this ‘raggedy ass guitar’ he had over to the house ‘because my mom liked to sing.’ He had told me that his mom sang in a band with his uncle, George E. Lee. Typical Frank understatement! I learned after he died that his mother was Julia Lee, who not only ‘sang,’ but was invited to the White House to perform for President Truman and was quite a star in her own right!

“Please forgive me for the long email. I have never been able to track down an article that mentioned the father-son battery, but thanks to you I know to check out the New York Amsterdam News. Since looking you up online I’ve bookmarked The Negro Leagues Up Close blog and plan on reading more of it this weekend.

“Thanks again for making my day!”

Many thanks to you, Guy, for making my day with your email, and thanks for letting me post it! Keep reading if you can.

This June 3 will mark the 75th anniversary of the death of Hall of Famer and Negro Leagues legend Andy Cooper in Waco, Texas. Thus, I’ve been angling to land a magazine or newspaper assignment about that milestone in Cooper’s legacy, and to that end, I did some googling to find a few publications in Texas to which I could send pitch emails.

When I tried to enter “texas sports magazines,” one of the options the ever-friendly Google filled in for me was “texas sports hall of fame.”

“Ooh,” I thought to myself, “let’s see when Andy Cooper was inducted into the Texas Sports Hall of Fame.”

When I went to the TSHOF Web site and checked out the list of inductees, I found, much to my dismay, that Cooper isn’t in that particular Hall of Fame.

And, to my further consternation, I discovered that several other Negro League Texas natives and Cooperstown inductees — including Biz Mackey and (I thought) Joe Williams — weren’t on the list of those enshrined in the Texas Hall.

I was almost immediately incensed — and, let’s be honest, also sensing a juicy story as well — and fired off an admittedly angry and indignant e-mail to Jay Black, the TSHOF’s vice president of museum operations. The contents of my message — which was typed ever so eloquently and sent from my phone at the Dairy Queen on the Westbank Expressway in Gretna, La. — are contained herein:

“Dear Mr. Black,

“I’m an award-winning freelance journalist who is planning on writing a blog post and/or article about the fact that the three members of the National Baseball Hall of Fame — all of them, coincidentally, Negro Leaguers — are NOT in the TSHOF, which, at first glance, is a severe oversight and injustice that reflects very poorly on the TSHOF.

“I was wondering if someone with the TSHOF would like to offer comments regarding this omission so I can include the Hall’s side in my article.

“Thank you very much,

“Ryan”

First off, I readily admit that the inclusion of the term “award-winning” was absolutely self-aggrandizing and somewhat gratuitous. However, I do include such chest-puffing in many of my e-mails to both publications and possible sources so I can ramp things up and better encourage the receiver of the e-mail to write me back.

Beyond that, as I stated previously, that e-mail wasn’t exactly the most level-headed and so-called journalistically “objective” missive I’ve ever issued. (I want to note, however, that in recent years many scholars and media types, of which I probably am one, have advocated for an end to an increasingly outdated, toothless concept that defines “objective” as simply including the views of “all sides” or “both sides” in an article or broadcast. We feel that, in place of that crumbling standard, a new paradigm should be established and nurtured, one that values not just the non-critical regurgitation of information and viewpoints but also an interpretative evaluation and appraisal of that conceptions. But, of course, I digress …)

Jay Black, in response, was extremely gracious but also firmly championing his organization’s mission and efforts in this e-mail:

“Hello Ryan,

“Thanks for your email. There are eight Negro Leaguers from Texas in the National Baseball HOF. Four of these men have already been inducted into the TSHOF and there were three Negro League players on last year’s ballot. In fact, Smokey Joe Williams was inducted as part of our class of 2016. So I respectfully disagree with your premise that the TSHOF is willfully trying to exclude Negro League players.

“I could make the case that it is easier to gain entry into the National Baseball HOF than the TSHOF since we are an HOF that includes all sports – not just baseball. While I have great respect for the National Baseball HOF, just because an individual is in that HOF doesn’t mean they should automatically be in the TSHOF. Our members must go through a nomination and voting process.

“As you know, HOF voting can be subjective, with many deserving candidates lined up to get in (especially in a large state like Texas). I attend the nomination meetings and members of our selection committee have campaigned and reminded each other to vote for Negro League players. It is tough to get in since only two candidates are selected from our 12 person veterans ballot.”

Black then listed the Negro Leaguers who were in one or both of these HOFs and when they were so inducted. He also listed this year’s nominees for the Texas Hall:

   Cooperstown    TSHOF
Andy Cooper        2006
Rube Foster           1981                       1998
Biz Mackey             2006
Louis Santop          2006
Hilton Smith           2001
Willie Wells             1997                       2010
Smokey Joe
Williams                   1999                       2016
Bill Foster                1996                       1998

2016 VETERAN BALLOT NOMINEES
ANDY COOPER (deceased) – Baseball / Waco
KEN GRAY — Football / San Saba
LESTER HAYES — Football / Texas A&M University
KING HILL (deceased) – Football / Rice University
BILL HOWTON — Football / Rice University
LUCIOUS “LUKE” JACKSON — Basketball / Pan American College
DAVE MARR (deceased) – Golf / Houston
CYNTHIA POTTER – Diving / Houston
JAMES SAXTON (deceased) – Football / University of Texas
HILTON SMITH (deceased) — Baseball / Giddings
FLO HYMAN (deceased) – Volleyball / University of Houston
“SMOKEY” JOE WILLIAMS (deceased) – Baseball / Seguin

So they had three NBHOF Negro Leaguers on the ’16 ballot, and one, Joe Williams, got in, Black said.

I haven’t, in order to draw a more “apples to apples” comparison, been able to look up the national or international halls of fames in each of those other sports to see which members on the TSHOF 2016 ballot have been enshrined in their sport’s larger HOFs.

Plus, being a Negro League historian and writer, I’m manifestly at least a little biased in my original view that Texas blackball legends are getting short shrift from the Texas Hall.

Thirdly, as evidenced by the presence of five gridiron stars on that ballot, Texas is, as widely known, is bonkers over football, which has always seemed to loom and lord over the athletic scene and traditions in the Long Horn State.

Finally, Black is dead-on when noting that the Texas Hall must include all sports when it considers each year’s enshrinement class. On that note, the TSHOF ballots and votes include both genders (and, hopefully, the transgendered, but that’s surely problematic in such a diehard red, almost reactionary red state as Texas), unlike Cooperstown, which, thanks to lingering and unfortunate dearth of successful women at the highest levels of baseball, in reality has a miniscule pool of female talent from which to choose.

Given all those factors, it’s certainly understandable that all baseball figures, not just segregation-era African-American players, take a backseat to football folks in the TSHOF voting.

Which is not inherently or necessarily a bad thing.

So, the queries remain: 1) Can any sort of parallel be drawn between the National Baseball Hall of Fame’s current policy of excluding further Negro Leaguers from induction and the Texas Sports Hall of Fame’s practicality and situationally induced lack of blackball figures within its doors? and 2) Is it therefore fair to protest the lack of Negro Leaguers in the TSHOF and actively lobby for those circumstances to change?

But then, perhaps, there’s an even larger question here: Does it even really matter? Do such luminaries as Andy Cooper, Louis Santop, Biz Mackey and Hilton Smith need to be enshrined in a state athletic hall of fame to have their legacies and greatness burnished or validated? In the grand scheme of history, is it truly that important?

Those are the questions I pose to you today, and feel free to voices your thoughts either on this blog, on Facebook or via e-mail to me at rwhirty218@yahoo.com.

Now, hopefully, I’ll draw up an ensuing post that looks at Andy Cooper’s back and family roots in Texas in general and Waco in particular.

Here’s a photo off the late Walter McCoy of San Diego, who passed away late last year at the ripe old age of 95. It was sent to me by Bill Swank, a longtime friend of Walter whom I interviewed for my upcoming article about Walter, John Ritchey and the Negro Leagues in sunny San Diego for San Diego Magazine. Many thanks to Bill for all the help, including this photo!

Howdy all, just a quick post before the weekend. I hope everyone is well and digging spring training. I’ve been eyeing the Cards camp — I became a St. Louis fan through my cousin Cory, who lives a few minutes from the city and has been a bonkers Cards fan his entire life — and am not sure about the team’s prospects. I’ve seen some online evaluations that show optimism, and some with a more pessimistic slant. We shall see.

Anyway, for the next couple weeks I might step back a bit from Home Plate Don’t Move — I need to focus on some article deadlines and, hopefully, a couple long-term projects, including the effort to research and publicize the fact that Hall of Famer Cristobal Torriente is buried in a mass, unmarked grave in Queens. That’s something Ralph Carhart and Gary Ashwill have been helping me with.

I have a couple more posts I’m working on — I hope to have them up next week — but other than that, I’d like to publish any guest posts or photos from y’all out there. You could write about pretty much anything Negro Leagues-related, but I’m especially looking for articles about figures you think should be in Cooperstown, as well as personal narratives about your personal experiences.

If you’re interested, shoot me an email at rwhirty218@yahoo.com!

I’ll close today with the photo above of former Negro Leaguer Sam Allen. It was sent to me by Mark Aubrey, who snapped it in July 2010 at historic Rickwood Field in Birmingham, Ala. Allen played for the Raleigh Tigers, among other squads. Many thanks to Mark for sending it!

Again, I want you! Email me if you’d like to contribute something!

Last week I looked at the Hall of Fame case for Negro Leagues catcher Bruce Petway. This week the focus is on Frank Warfield, an Indianapolis native who gained fame — and notoriety — as a second baseman and manager from the mid-1910s to the early-1930s.

The argument for Warfield’s inclusion in the Hall is a bit more tenuous than that of Petway because, unlike the latter, Warfield had a reputation for volatility and ill-temperedness that occasionally bordered on violence. His penchant for ugly confrontations contributed to the hanging on him of the nickname “Weasel,” which seems less than flattering.

In addition, his achievements and status don’t seem to be as highly respected by his peers and historians. In other words, he just wasn’t as good as Petway. But we’ll try to lay things out and see where he falls.

One of the strongest arguments for Warfield is his record of overachievement — he was a little guy (about 5-foot-7) who exceeded expectations because of his grit and determination. An April 25, 1931, Baltimore Afro-American article under the headline, “They Laughed at Sox Manager When He First Sought Job,” explains his somewhat remarkable development as a player:

“Because he was  so small of stature, most baseball managers laughed at Frank Warfield, manager of the Black Sox, when he tried to get a chance to do his stuff on the big teams …

“Warfield, who is one of the best second sackers in the game, started his baseball career on the old sand lots of Indianapolis …

“After playing on these lots for a considerable time, he tried to get a job playing with the big boys, but because of his smallness, no manager would listen to his plea.”

The article goes on to list some of the many attainments:

• A key cog in Hilldale’s three-year run (1923-25) of Eastern Colored League pennants (in the article Warfield asserts the Darby team was the best for which he played);

• Guiding the Baltimore Black Sox to a crown in 1929 and to several victories over assorted white all-star teams;

• Competed for strong Santa Clara squads in the Cuban Leagues.

• Much of his Negro Leagues exploits came while he was player/manager of various franchises, reflecting his splendid baseball acumen and ability to oversee other players and get them to perform at the top of their games.

Also remarkable was the fact that he broke in with the vaunted ABCs at the tender age of 15, which evinces his gutsiness and ambition.

Finally, while with Baltimore, he combined with Oliver Marcell, Dick Lundy and Jud Wilson to form the first “Million Dollar Infield,” predating the similarly-monikered Newark Eagles foursome nearly 20 years later.

However, Warfield’s numbers seriously weaken his case for the HOF. According to Seamheads, his career batting average in the Negro Leagues was a rather pedestrian .265, while his cumulative on-base percentage and slugging figures were .a bit more substantial .336 and .342, respectively.

He was also a speed demon, amassing 147 stolen bases, 118 doubles and 44 triples 843 Negro Leagues games, numbers that boost his case for the Hall.

Defensively, Warfield posted a fielding percentage of .949 and totaled 1,467 putouts, neither of which are too shabby.

In that way, it seems, Warfield was much like Petway — an excellent fielder, baserunner and manager who was hampered by light hitting stats. However, Warfield’s achievements as a team leader appear to have been highly esteemed at the time, especially his accomplishments with Hilldale. Here’s what the Feb. 9, 1924, Philadelphia Tribune stated:

“Hustling from the rank and file of the baseball world to the leadership of possibly two of the greatest aggregations of colored ball players ever gathered together, depicts in brief the meteoric rise of one, Frank Warfield, demure and unassuming, evasive of notoriety that accompanies par excellence achievements in any given line, yet possessing all of the essential qualities that go to make up a truly great ball player and being imbued with that indomitable spirit characteristic of all leaders, the diminutive second sacker has taken his place in the calcium glare. …

“Forsaking the shores of Lake Michigan last spring for those of the broad breezy Delaware, with the express intent of doing all the second basing that would be required by the Philadelphia Hilldale Club, Frank got by with the job with so much alacrity that the owners and the majority of the fans voted him a howling success, which is about as much as any ball player could desire, providing, of course, that the monthly stipend is hitting on all six.

“Coming down the stretch of a successful season, but with the crucial test to be reached, last October, the Hilldale craft, when apparently without a ripple on the surface, suddenly listed, careened and when it righted itself the berth of captaincy yawned with the vacancy of a cavern. Ed Bolden, who guides the destiny of the Hilldale outfit, summed up the possibilities for a field leader and hunted the mantle on quiet Frank. How the club finished out in front in the league race, how they turned back the Athletics and wound up the season in a blaze of glory is now history and ere Frankie hied himself from the Quaker City, he was named as the [?] captain of the Hilldale Club. …

“Truly with each club [Hilldale and Santa Clara], ‘Weasel,’ as some of his team mates have dubbed him, he has been staked to two of the best outfits that ever sported cleated hoofs and speculation is rife, regarding which team would emerge the victor, if a possible meeting between Hilldale and Santa Clara could be effected.

“But as it requires a big man for a big opening, despite Frank’s deficiency in statue [sic], the undersized Indiana youth has attracted the fans of Cuba and the States and now ranks with the select leaders in Negro baseball.”

Aside from incredibly convoluted and unnecessarily flowery languages — “cleated hoofs”? “calcium glare”? “yawned with the vacancy of a cavern”? — that passage, while superbly encompassing Frank Warfield’s proficiency as a manager, kinda glosses over (or, truthfully, outright contradicts) Warfield’s penchant for angry outbursts and involvement in physical conflagrations.

Because, well, there’s his temper, and what a temper it was.

His most notorious … let’s call it an incident … occurred in February 1930 while he was in Cuba as player/manager for Santa Clara. While Warfield and teammate (for both Santa Clara and the Black Sox) and fellow hothead Oliver Marcell were shooting dice — some reports say they were playing cards instead — a fierce fight erupted over the proceedings while several other players looked on. Let’s let the Feb. 8, 1930, Afro-American take it from there:

“Marcelle [sic] is said to have been losing heavily and asked Warfield for some money he claimed the Black Sox manager owed him from last summer. Upon the latter’s denial of the debt, Marcelle is said to have made a lunge at Warfield, and in the ensuing scuffle, Marcelle’s nose was badly bitten.

“The injured player is said to have obtained a warrant for Warfield’s arrest. It is understood that a hostile feeling had existed between the players for some time, started during last season. On several occasions Warfield is said to have removed Marcelle from the game because he was not in condition or not up to form.

“This engendered a resentment that smouldered [sic] until its outburst here. Both players are popular here and in the United States as well and the altercation came as a distinct surprise to the fans who turned out to see them in action. The case is scheduled to come up for an early hearing but the prevailing opinion is that because both of the players are Americans, the charges will be quashed.”

Keep in mind that these two guys were teammates at the time! In addition, Marcell’s nose wasn’t just “badly bitten” — according to historical accounts, his snoot was pretty much ripped off entirely. The injury is believed to have effectively ended his career, one that could have earned Marcell himself a spot in the Hall of Fame if it wasn’t for the physical trauma and his often uncontrollable temper. (Here’s an article I wrote a couple of years ago about “Ghost” Marcell.)

But Warfield was involved in a bunch of other highly publicized meleés as well. In July 1931, for example, a game matching the Black Sox and the Homestead Grays at Baltimore’s home grounds erupted into an ugly scuffle after Grays manager Cum Posey vehemently argued an umpire’s call in the eighth inning.

Posey — who was inducted into the Hall of Fame in 2006 — leapt from the Homesteaders’ dugout and rushed the field, promoting Sox player-manager Warfield to do the same. Warfield took offense to Posey’s presence on the diamond and demanded the the Grays pilot be removed.

According to the July 18, 1931, Afro-American, Posey allegedly responded with a cuss word or two, spurring Warfield to get up in Posey’s face. Cumberland, now completely incensed, punched the Weasel in the jaw, prompting several police officers to spring into action as multiple players attempted to restrain Posey.

According to the newspaper, if the cops hadn’t have intervened “there would have been some casualties.”

The paper added that it was, at the time, unclear whether Warfield had egged Posey on with his own volley of name-calling or physical jabs. Warfield denied anything “untoward” and alleged that Posey had called him names before. So nana nana boo boo, stick your head in doodoo.

The final example of Warfield’s rough temperament came in July 1925, while Warfield was on the Hilldale roster and the Darby clan squared off against Harrisburg. Allegedly, Harrisburg’s Dick Jackson got into a rumpus with Warfield, and Hilldale’s Clint Thomas reportedly tried to separate the combatants, only to be foiled by Hall of Famer and Harrisburg mainstay Oscar Charleston, who allegedly urged folks to let the two fight.

What apparently ensued was a fracas of the highest order, and it spurred spurred legendarily prickly Hilldale owner and Eastern Colored League president Ed Bolden to fire off a lengthy lament to the Pittsburgh Courier, which had earlier reported on the scrape:

“Under the caption of Oscar Charleston and William Nunn, sporting editor of The Pittsburgh Courier, I notice some charges and uncalled for lies in an attempt to spread propaganda against the Eastern Colored League and Hilldale.

“Some charges are so absurd that they are not worth answering I am TOLD [caps in original] that on Sunday, July 18, the Harrisburg players slammed one of the umpires and fought all over the Baltimore Park. For 15 years, we have had peace and harmony at Hilldale Park.

“Jackson, of Harrisburg, called Warfield a vile name. Thomas pushed them aside. Charleston rushed up pushed Thomas aside and said let them fight. Jackson hit at Warfield, Warfield ducked, knocked Jackson down and pounced on him. I do not encourage fighting on my team.

“Charleston’s poison tongue and foul tactics will never win the pennant. Baltimore, Bacharachs and Harrisburg have been materially strengthened through the UNDERHAND [caps original] methods of [Washington Potomacs owner] George W. Robinson. If Hilldale cannot win the pennant through wholesome sportsmanship and clean baseball, I do not want it.”

(The Courier returned fire by directing an open letter to Bolden, accusing him of fraud as ECL president via schedule more games for his on team and fudging league standings. The paper claimed it was simply asking questions — the source of Glenn Beck’s catchphrase? — with its previous report and that Bolden failed to adequately respond to them. The paper charged Bolden with, essentially, sensationalizing the Warfield-Jackson fight, as well as speaking out of both sides of his mouth when it came to his policy on fighting by his players.)

The Francis Xavier Warfield story came to a conclusion (at least corporeally) quite suddenly, on July 24, 1932, in Pittsburgh. According to his death certificate, the cause was pulmonary tuberculosis that was contracted in Baltimore, where he lived while suiting up for the Black Sox and which served as his adopted hometown. The document lists his occupation as “Manager” of a “Base-Ball Team.”

His exact age at death remains a little unclear, with different records listing different dates of birth. The death certificate states his birthdate as “unknown” and pegs his age as “about 33.” His World War I draft card gives his DOB as April 26, 1898, while certain Social Security records say Sept. 14, 1894. Birth records list the DOB as Aug. 15, 1898, but Find A Grave asserts April 26, 1897. Finally, the 1900 Census says September 1889!

(What’s also unclear is the Weasel’s place of birth; while it’s clear that he did, for the most part, grow up in Indy, possible birth locations include Indy; Warrick County, Indiana; and Christian County, Kentucky, where his ancestral roots appear to have been.)

The Afro-American reported the circumstances, citing “an internal hemorrhage” as the cause. The paper added:

“Death was almost instantaneous. Warfield had been in good spirits and in apparently good health, and only Saturday night talked over long distance telephone with friends here. Early in the season, he contracted a cold, and while it did not respond to treatment as rapidly as expected, it was not thought to be of any serious consequence.

“For several weeks, Manager Warfield graced the bench during games, although he occasionally took part in practice. His place at second base was taken by [Sammy] Hughes … and the youngster handled the position so well that Warfield did not feel it advisable to take him out of the game, so he directed the team from the bench.

“Just 34 years old, Warfield was at the peak of his managerial career when death came. …”

James Riley, however, in “The Biographical Encyclopedia of the Negro Baseball Leagues,” relates a slightly different tale of Warfield’s demise:

“He was still officially serving in the capacity of playing manager when he died of a heart attack under vague circumstances. A known ladies’ man who liked to flash big money rolls, he was in the company of a woman when he was rushed to the hospital, bleeding. His death was almost instantaneous after suffering an internal hemorrhage.”

But back to the Afro article, which went on to eulogize Warfield with his achievements and personality traits, the description — such as “[a]lways quiet and modest” — of which by the paper seem to contradict the numerous accounts of his short fuse and proclivity for scrums.

However, the newspaper also assessed Warfield’s hardball faculties pretty accurately:

“In addition to having baseball brains, Warfield was a fast base runner and a good hitter, throwing and batting right handed. It has been often said of him that he could get more passes to first base than any other man in baseball. He had a knack of worrying pitchers as he ‘waited out’ their pitches and some of the best hurlers in the game used to dread to pitch to him, not because he was such a heavy hitter, but because he worried them.

“Years ago, some team mates named him ‘The Weasel,’and true to that namesake, Warfield proved to be a clever strategist. He was a master of the sacrifice bunt and he beat out many an infield hit. He studied the game and while pitchers were often credited with winning games, it was the strategy of Warfield that was really responsible.”

And this is what the Pittsburgh Courier wrote:

“Death, coming after a brief illness, robbed Negro baseball of one of its finest and most able performers and one of its most respected players by fans and officials alike.

“… His work as an infielder was brilliant but steady, and many clubs made bids for his services. His fine record as a player and a gentleman and his contribution to baseball ranks him with such immortals as Rube Foster and C.I. Taylor. …

“Possessed of a cool, even temperament, and with plenty of business as well as baseball brains, Warfield made an ideal manager. In addition to handling the team on the field, he was efficient as a business executive of the club and took charge of most of the financial affairs.

“The remains were shipped to Baltimore for burial, his present home where hundreds of messages of condolences from both high and low in the baseball world attested to the esteem in which he was held.”

And from the Philly Tribune:

“Warfield was long considered one of the most astute performers in the game. …

“It was under the banner of the Darby Daisies … that Warfield reached the heights as a player. He was termed the ‘miracle man’ and was generlaly [sic] rated as the peer of all Negro second basemen.”

So, the question could be … How do you elect to the Hall of Fame a man who bit off a teammate’s nose, who drew a Hall of Fame manager into a fight, and who helped trigger an ugly brawl on at least one additional occasion? (And that’s not to mention his relatively lightweight numbers at the plate.)

Because of the arguments that can be made in favor of him, that’s why — his incredible managerial aptitude (that were so good that he garnered comparisons to Rube Foster), his fleet-footedness, his shining defense, his record of success despite originally being dismissed as a little squirt.

Again — as with many HOF candidates, regardless of era or ethnicity — it’s quite cloudy and hazy. Greatness is never completely three-dimensional: Ty Cobb and Cap Anson were angry, racist jerks; Ted Williams and Josh Gibson were at best so-so on defense; Ozzie Smith and Bill Mazeroski were pedestrian at the plate; Nolan Ryan and Phil Niekro piled up almost as many L’s as W’s. And that’s not to mention the many greats who might always be on the outside looking in — Pete, Joe, Barry, Mark …

For me, Frank Warfield is a toss-up when it comes to Hall of Fame induction, with his stormy personality being the best argument against him, and his underrated managerial acumen the top “pro” factor.

How about you?

Kind of building on my post from a week or two ago about Frank Duncan (as well as earlier ones about Rap Dixon, Bud Fowler and others), here’s another post about a Negro Leaguer who could — or should — be in the National Baseball Hall of Fame. That is, of course, if the Hall does what’s right and once again opens its doors to segregation-era African-American baseball figures.

Today: the case for Bruce Petway.

A native of Nashville, Tenn., Petway has often been dubbed — by both contemporaries and ensuing historians — the best African-American catcher of the first quarter of the 20th century.

That’s especially true for his defensive skills; with a whip of an arm and the trailblazing ability to throw runners out while still crouched, Petway definitely deserves some love from the HOF and baseball history enthusiasts.

In early 1930, for example, legendary pitcher/manager/executive/baseball Renaissance man Dizzy Dismukes placed Petway at the top of his list of the greatest backstops of all-time in black baseball. Citing, among other achievements, Petway’s famed ability to catch a certain petulant Tiger stealing, Dizzy laid out a convincing argument. He wrote:

“Topping the list is none other than Bruce Petway, whom I claim to have been the greatest throwing catcher I ever saw. His best days were spent during the base-running craze. There were not as many fast men afoot playing baseball then as now, but there were more base runners. One could possibly count all the thefts against Petway during a season on one hand and then have a few fingers left.

“Some said Petway was not a good receiver but Petway would intentionally drop balls to encourage base runners to start, as very few had the nerve on days when he was in charge of the mask and protector. Petway himself was a great base runner and had an uncanny judgment of foul fly balls. During Ty Cobb’s palmiest days as baseball’s greatest base runner Petway, with [Hall of Famer John Henry] Lloyd receiving his throws, stopped him cold while in Cuba.”

Also chipping in with his opinion was the great Sol White, another jack-of-all-trades legend who also became a seminal author, columnist and historian of African-American baseball. In April 1927, White penned a lengthy letter to esteemed Pittsburgh Courier scribe W. Rollo Wilson, in which Solomon, like Dismukes, ranked his choices for greatest catchers. Wrote White in that dispatch:

“Bruce Petway had one of the best throwing arms I ever saw. He was a student of the game, worked hard and was always willing to try anything for the good of the team. I choose Petway for this reason — while other catchers have the snap throw they do not have it perfected like he did. Notice that some catchers use their shoulders with the ‘snap’ and that makes a ball heavy and hard to handle. Such throws are not conducive to effective baseball from the standpoint of continuous play. What infielders want and like is a ball coming to hand that they can grab, handle, touch the runner and get it away for a possible killing at another base. I want to call the attention of the fans who saw Petway in his day and ask if they can note the difference in his style to that of the leading receivers of his era, [Frank] Duncan, of Kansas City, and [Biz] Mackey, of Hilldale.

“Fleet Walker, Clarence Williams and Bruce Petway are, in my opinion, the best catchers of all time. …”

But Petway started garnering widespread acclaim by the end of 1909 — just a few years after his professional debut with the Cuban X-Giants — when the Indianapolis Freeman’s Harry Daniels gushed when naming Buddy the greatest “race” catcher of his day:

“Petway [is] … the greatest since Arthur Thomas’s time. Petway at present time is the best throwing and base-running catcher colored base ball has seen.”

Buddy also early on gained a reputation as a gutty and gritty backstop who was willing to lay everything on the field. Said the Freeman in July 1910:

“Petway, the champion colored catcher, plays with broken bones and other injuries just the same as if nothing had happened. He is a ball player of the first water.”

And what about modern-day experts? They echo the sentiments of Dismukes and White. Here’s what prolific SABR scribe Brian McKenna blogged in 2011:

“Petway’s main contribution though was behind the plate. He was the finest defensive catcher of the first quarter of the century. His skills, particularly with his arm, were admired wherever he traveled – and he traveled extensively year-round in the East, West, South, North and to the island of Cuba.

“In short, he had a strong, accurate arm and was tough on base runners. Moreover, he was particularly heralded for his fielding of bunts. Petway was naturally compared to major leaguer Johnny Kling who was renowned for the same skills. They both pegged the ball to the bases, even second, from a squat.”

Or how about what SABR Negro Leagues Committee Co-Chairman Larry Lester penned in his 2013 essay, “Bruce ‘Buddy’ Petway: A Bad Brother”:

“Buddy was the baddest brother to ever wear the tools of ignorance. Ebonically speaking, Buddy was ‘bad.’ Translation: Good is bad, and bad is about as good as it gets. His slender build allowed him to have jack-in-the-box popupability to deter potential base stealers. Down from his shin guards, up with a nanosecond snap release, his throws to second were on time, on line, low and accurate for tagging ease. ‘No way with Petway’ was the cry of many base bandits.

“Unlike most catchers with ketchup in their blood, Petway was a big threat  on the basepaths. His happy feet saddened the faces of opposing catchers. In fact, he led the Cuban League in 1912 with 20 steals as a Habana Red. The fleet switch-hitter with awesome bunting abilities and base running skills often batted leadoff, a rarity for any catcher.”

Larry concluded his essay succinctly and quite appropriately that “Bruce Petway is perhaps the greatest catcher not in the Hall of Fame.”

Why did I want to spotlight Mr. Petway? Well, there’s several reasons, I guess … One is the fact that this July — Independence Day, in fact — will be the 75th anniversary oh his death in Chicago, an important milestone in the continued blossoming of his legacy and historical importance.

A second reason is that Petway played alongside countless other blackball legends during a career that spanned 1906 to 1925. That included Hall of Famers Pop Lloyd, Pete Hill and, of course, the great Rube Foster himself, the architect of the storied Leland Giants squads of the 19-oughts and the powerful Chicago American Giants clubs a decade later. While with the Giants, Petway caught Foster and helped galvanize Rube’s distinct, influential brand of “small ball” as a crafty, slashing leadoff hitter and bunter and a wily demon on the basepaths.

But Petway also shared rosters with other blackball legends — like Frank Wickware, Spot Poles, Grant “Home Run” Johnson and the afore-mentioned Frank Duncan — who, despite stellar resumés, continue to get short shrift from Cooperstown.

Third, and connected to Reason No. 2, is that Petway, like many blackball leading lights of his day, shined in the Cuban Leagues. There is, naturally, the previously noted zapping of the Georgia Peach, but, as highlighted by Lester, Petway also starred for Cuban winter aggregations like Habana Red and graced an earlier baseball trading card.

When venturing to Cuba, Petway was in outstanding company; various ship manifests from the island show him traveling with Pete Hill, Waxey Williams, Harry Buckner, Bill Gatewood, Pop Lloyd, Tullie McAdoo and Judy Gans.

Then Reason No. 4 (I know, it’s a hefty list, but Bruce was a hefty talent and left a hefty legacy): he became a top-notch skipper and player-manager as his physical prowess waned, especially with the Detroit Stars during their circa-1920 heyday. By many accounts, Petway was a smart, crafty strategist who employed a steady hand that engendered calm and confidence amongst his charges.

Here, for example, is the caption under a huge picture of Bruce in the May 19, 1923, issue of the Chicago Defender. (The header over the photo states, “HE DID THAT THING —”):

“Manager of the Detroit Stars, who parked his team in the American Giants’ yard Sunday afternoon, kicked ‘their dog around’ in the first inning, and when things looked dangerous he sent Daniels in to do the receiving for him in the fifth and sat on the bench, where he ran the team. Things looked awful hazy in the ninth two out and three on, but ‘Buddy’ steadied his men. All Chicago wasn’t big enough Sunday night for him and Tenny Blount — ‘twas the first Sunday game the Michiganders had copped against Foster in his own grounds since 1921.”

That story illustrates both Petway’s willingness to make needed adjustments — even if that meant sidelining himself — to win and his ability to outmaneuver the greatest manager in Negro Leagues history.

Remember, too, that Rube also happened to be Bruce’s employer for many years prior, a fact that reflects Petway’s steely nerve and readiness to go toe-to-toe with a legend, even his mentor. Adding to that unflinching character was what transpired in early 1925, as Foster was coordinate the upcoming NNL season. Petway, still with Detroit, led a group of steadfast players in demanding that Foster guarantee their salaries before they signed contracts for ’25. That early step toward player rights certainly took a decent dollop of chutzpah.

The final reason to put the spotlight on Petway is that I’m utterly intrigued by Petway’s roots and youth in Nashville. The family likely traces back to a slaveowner in Nashville named William E. Petway, but that didn’t stop the freed black Petways from excelling.

Bruce Petway himself was studying to be a doctor at Nashville’s Meharry Medical College, and his father, David Petway (1852-1910) was an engineer at a saw mill after most likely being born into slavery. I’ve found evidence that one or more of Petway’s relatives attended the celebrated HBCU Fisk University, with one Petway starring in football at the school and a later-generation man named F.A. Petway was an esteemed church choir director and later a professor at Fisk.

However, several Petways in Nashville seem to have gotten into legal trouble — One named Abe Petway was hanged (!) for murder in 1910, a George Petway died in a duel in 1899, one named George W. Petway was awaiting trial for murder in 1880, and a William Petway was sentenced to 42 (!) years in prison for larceny and home breaking (although that last one’s sentence was likely so high because he was a black man in the South 100-plus years ago).

I haven’t firmly established any concrete family ties with many of those names, but it seems possible that at least some were related to Buddy Petway.

And Buddy definitely loved his hometown, if the waning days of his baseball career are any indication. In the early 1930s, after his stint as player/manager in Detroit, Petway returned to the Music City to suit up for the Nashville Elite Giants, who were at that time flitting between the Negro National League and the Negro Southern League.

While he was in the Elites’ dugout, Petway was visited by numerous newspaper reporters as Nashville barnstormed across the map. In one contest between the Elites and Cole’s American Giants in Chicago in May 1934, the Chicago Defender’s Al Monroe dropped in to chat with Buddy, who was by then one of the Negro Leagues’ most esteemed elder statesman. The scribe an the catcher chatted as they eyed the players on the field, and Monroe reported on the confab, dubbing Petway “an old-timer an easily the greatest catcher the game has ever known” as the manager called plays from the dugout. Monroe added:

“Your author was particularly interested in watching Petway as he moved about the ball park. Long, lean, and as healthy as an elephant, we just couldn’t understand why baseball no longer appeals to him, that is, as a player. Well, it does. ‘But my legs just refuse to stand up for more than a single inning,’ said the great catcher as he dodged his way through the 999 other fans, many of whom didn’t recognize the man John McGraw, Rube Foster and Connie Mack once called the world’s greatest catcher. Yes, Father Time is mighty cruel his great athletes.”

With that, Monroe ended the column on a bittersweet note — a mix of lingering joy and creeping sadness that seems to always hang like a cloud over men and women who spend the “prime” of their lives dedicated to pushing their bodies to the absolute limit for a pursuit they love.

It lasted just seven more years for Buddy.

Bruce Franklin Petway died on July 4, 1941, 75 years ago, at the age of 55, but his legacy as a pioneering catcher — especially defensively — a clutch and crafty batter and baserunner, and a shrewd and canny manager only grew from there, at least for those in the know of Negro League circles.

The Amsterdam News’ Dan Burley beautifully eulogized Bruce in a July 12, 1941, column:

“The death last week in Chicago of Bruce ‘Buddy’ Petway, the man who was battery mate of the fabled Rube Foster, reviews a host of memories … Memories gained from conversation with Old Timers who new what went on way back when … Petway was the guy who started the big league catchers throwing to the keystone sack without rising from their sitting position behind the platter … “

So, what say you? Does Bruce Petway, 75 years after his death, deserve a plaque in the hallowed halls of Cooperstown? We’re talking about one of the greatest defensive catchers in baseball history, black or white, an innovator who also had unusual speed and savvy as a base runner, bunter and overall “small ball” master. He’s a guy who also excelled as a selfless, wily and calm and coolheaded player/manager.

Scribes from both “way back when” and from modern days rained praise on Buddy, and he was liked, respected and highly-sought-after by the greats of baseball, including Rube Foster and major league signal callers.

My vote, obviously is, Yes, Bruce Petway belongs in the Hall of Fame. What do you think?