Albritton, who pitched for several African-American baseball teams during the segregated era in the 1920s before seemingly having a nervous breakdown and being committed to the horrific Philadelphia State Hospital, a notoriously inhumane psychiatric facility, where he was beaten to death by an orderly in 1940.
In addition to the article I wrote in 2014 for the Philadelphia Inquirer, I’ve discussed Albritton’s life, career and death on this blog several times, such as here. But this current post is a continuation of the one here in which I examined his actual performances on the baseball diamond.
In the baseball-centric Albritton post, I initially concluded that, despite a significant career as a pro and semipro pitcher, he was never an official major-leaguer because he never pitched in any official league games, i.e. games between teams in the same league that counted to league standings.
However, after I’d drafted my post, my SABR friend Kevin Deon Johnson emailed me that my conclusion – that Alex Albritton was never a major-league player – wasn’t accurate. Kevin, it turns out, did find several official league contests in which Albritton competed, meaning that yes, Albritton was, in fact, a major league pitcher.
Kevin found nine such games that took place between 1923 and 1925, all in the Eastern Colored League. Four of the games were from the 1923 season, while Albritton was hurling for the Baltimore Black Sox. Then three of them happened in 1924, when he took the mound for the short-lived Washington Potomacs. The final two contests took place in 1925, while Alexander pitched for the recently-moved Wilmington Potomacs.
Across those nine contests, Kevin’s spreadsheet shows, Albritton went 0-2, with one save. His only complete game came on Oct. 7, 1923, when Albritton pitched for the Black Sox against the Hilldale Club. The Darbyites tagged Albritton for 11 hits and eight runs over the nine innings, with Alex picking up the loss in the 8-3 contest.
Albritton was hung with his other major-league loss on Aug. 25, 1923, against the New York Lincoln Giants, when he pitched four innings, gave up four runs (all earned) and got tagged for five hits.
He then notched his sole major-league save a couple weeks later, on Sept. 9, 1923, versus the Lincoln Giants after hurling for a single inning during the contest, which the Black Sox ended up winning, 12-8.
One of the reasons I had trouble identifying Albritton in game coverage was that he frequently went under different names in articles and in box scores. At times, box scores for the games in which he played as an official major leaguer listed him as “Allbritton,” with two Ls; as “Britton”; or even just “Britt.” One article identified him as “Al Britton.”
Baltimore Sun, Aug. 26, 1923. Notice Albritton’s abbreviated name at first base and George Britt as a pitcher for the Black Sox.
To make extra sure that all of these names and spellings referred to the same person, Alexander Albritton, I double checked with Kevin Johnson, who told me via email that there were Negro Leaguers with those shorter surnames, such as George Britt and John Britton.
And in fact, George Britt, as a utility player, did suit up for the Black Sox while Albritton did in the early to mid-1920s. Moreover, to muddle things up even more, Alex Albritton’s common nickname was “Britt,” while apparently George was listed in game reports as “Britton.” (Fortunately for our purposes, John Britton played professionally in the 1940s and ’50s, well after the primes of Alex Albritton and George Britt.)
All of that confusion can make it even more challenging to parse through box scores and game reports, a task already made difficult by the lack of comprehensive record keeping and reporting during the heyday of the Negro Leagues.
Now, tangential to the spelling of his name in game coverage was his relative versatility on the diamond; many times boxscores had him playing first base, for instance, on days he wasn’t starting on the mound.
Here’s an example … in the Baltimore Sun’s Aug. 26, 1923, coverage of a clash between the Lincoln Giants and Black Sox (the former won, 12-3), the Baltimore section of the score listed a “Britton” leading off and playing first base for the Black Sox. However, “Britton” only had two at bats.
Then, further down in the chart, a pitcher named “Britt” is listed but shows no at bats or other hitting statistics. These listings could be interpreted to mean, say, that Alexander Albritton started the game at first base but was later called on in relief on the mound. Or it could be read to mean that George Britt pitched in relief but Albritton manned the initial sack for much or all of the game.
Other moniker oddities: during the summer 1924, the Wilmington Evening Journal, in its box scores of Washington Potomacs games, listed Albritton as Albritt, particularly when he pitched. Meanwhile, the Harrisburg papers referred to him in box scores as Britton.
Thus ends my haphazard, somewhat comprehensive retelling of the tale of Alexander Albritton, a man whose fortunes shined for a brief stanza of time before everything turned horribly, horribly wrong and tragically fatal. I wish I, and we, knew more about exactly how his life crumbled and his mind decayed, about the man who ended Albritton’s life, about Alexander’s all-too-brief career as a major-league pitcher, about the decrepit, horrific, inhumane institution in which his life was snuffed out by madness and medical malpractice.
“The Negro league’s like a light somewhere. Back over your shoulder. As you go away. A warmth still, connected to laughter and self-love. The collective black aura that can only be duplicated with black conversation or music.”
— Imamu Amiri Baraka, in his autobiography
Imamu Amiri Baraka
Here’s another quick placeholder post based on random databases that caught my eye while I work on longer projects. This one is about Imamu Amiri Baraka, an influential and often controversial poet, author, thinker and cultural commentator, often dubbed the poet laureate of the Black Arts Movement and a key figure in the overall Black Power Movement.
The database in question is Baraka’s career and personal papers. I first learned about Baraka more than 20 years ago during my time in grad school at Indiana University when I was working on what I had hoped would be a dual master’s in journalism and African-American Studies. (That never came to be, sadly. The School of Journalism was recalcitrant the entire way and in effect blocked me from finishing the AAS half of my degree. And actually, if there’s anyone who knows a relatively simple, low-cost way of finishing my AAS master’s, please let me know!) My professors Fred McElroy (RIP), John McCluskey and Portia Maultsby were keys to my education about Baraka.
The papers in the online archive include interviews with Baraka and other people close to him and involved in the Black Arts Movement and Black Power Movement. One such Q&A was conducted in January 1986 by Komozi Woodard, a prolific author who’s currently a history professor at Sarah Lawrence College.
At one point in the interview, Baraka discusses his childhood watching Newark Eagles games and seeing the players in person.
(Editor’s note: I’m quoting these interviews more or less verbatim from the digital versions that exist in the Baraka papers. The text is probably from a direct transcription, so the grammar isn’t great and many of the names and places aren’t included or are spelled incorrectly.)
Here’s one excerpt:
BARAKA: … [W]hen there was black baseball before integration killed black baseball and our players began to play with those other folks, Newark was the world champions, the last year of the black baseball league Newark Eagles were the world champions.* Down at [left blank, but presumably Ruppert] Stadium, the bloods took the seats, these cushions they were sitting on and threw them all out in the field. But it was a hotel called the Grand Hotel on Market Street, a black owned hotel on West Market Street; right there now where they are going to build the vocational school, right across from there right in the Grand Hotel where all the baseball players and the fast light people used to hang out. My father used to take me there because we used to go see black baseball every Sunday. Whenever the Eagles were in town we would go down there. And afterwards they would go up there and have a little drink and he would walk me around. This is Monty Irving [sic] this is Larry Doby, Pat Patterson and I got to meet all those …” **
(**Baraka expanded on these thoughts in his autobiography. For more info on that, see the end of this post.)
Ruppert Stadium
The database’s files also feature an interview conducted by Woodard of Honey Ward, a friend of Baraka’s and an influential Black rights and urban-renewal advocate in his own right. Ward was born in Key West, Fla., but he and his family moved to Newark when he was 2. Here’s an excerpt of that interview:
KOMOZI: Were there a lot of black sports institutions in Newark at that time?
HONEY: Well you had your oldtimers, you had baseball like the Homestead Grays and the Newark Eagles and you had the Kansas City Monarchs that Satcho [sic] Paige came out. Marvin Irwin [sic] played with the Newark Eagles. Larry Doby came out of a black team. Jackie Robinson even played in the black league. The New York Black Yankees and down in [Ruppert] Stadium which is torn down which was owned by the Newark Bears [a longtime white minor-league team] … . My father would take us down on Sundays to see, Ray Dandridge’s father [?] they were baseball players. I remember seeing Satcho Paige playing down there on Sundays, it was all black.
KOMOZI: Were there a lot of people down there?
HONEY: Yeah, the blacks would go down there and watch black baseball because at that time baseball was jim crowed too. Blacks were [not] allowed to play in the majors, the white majors.
Baraka’s papers included references to other authors’ works that themselves mention Black baseball. In notes on Robert C. Weaver’s 1948 book, “The Negro Ghetto,” Baraka lays out this direct quote from Weaver’s book:
“Newark’s deterioration dates from the 1930s, at a time when there was often-repeated praise for the fine department stores, the great insurance companies, the excellent schools, the cleanliness of Broad Street, the influence of its newspapers, and even the vaunted abilities of the Newark Bears, the finest minor league team that baseball had ever seen. [The] [I]nept, politic-ridden [sic] government did little to stem the tide of decline after World War II.”
The database documents also include brief references to baseball in general as a potential source of political activism and focus of efforts toward racial and social justice. Particularly, Baraka’s commitment to communism and Marxism appears to have led him to write his own work as well as examine and cite the texts of other communists in America. And, quite naturally, baseball inevitably, if briefly or tangentially, intersects with such topics. (For example, one of the most passionate and forceful advocates of integration in major league baseball was Lester Rodney, the sports editor of the communist newspaper The Daily Worker, who played a key but somewhat unsung role in the successful entrance of African Americans into Organized Baseball.)
Thus, it’s not surprising that Baraka’s papers, for example, feature a copy of a 1933 essay, “The Struggle for the Leninist Position on the Negro Question in the U.S.A.,” by Harry Haywood, a lifelong, staunch Stalinist/Maoist thinker, writer and activist.
In the essay, Haywood outlines, point by point, the communist platform as a means toward racial and social equality and justice, and one of the points involves sports and athletics, including baseball. In the essay, Haywood wrote that communists demand:
“The right of Negro athletes to participate in all athletic games with white athletes, including rowing, swimming, inter-collegiate basketball, football, major league baseball, etc.; against Jim-Crow policies of the AAU in swimming pools, etc.”
Harry Haywood
Also found in the Baraka archives are issues of “Main Trend,” a publication of Baraka’s Student Organization for Black Unity (SOBU) and Youth Organization for Black Unity (YOBU) from 1978-81. One of the editions features an article titled, “Baseball Belongs to the People,” which goes through the history of the national pastime – from its professionalization and early attempts at players’ unions in the 19th century, through the reserve clause, commercialization of the sport, segregation and desegregation, and the advent of free agency.
Overall, the article heavily criticizes the team owners and other powers-that-be – the piece dubs them “the capitalists” – in the sport for exploiting both the players and the fans to maximize profit and enrich the owners’ own coffers.
“The history of professional baseball cannot be separated from the history of capitalist exploitation in the U.S.,” the article stated.
However, the article also stresses that for as long as capitalists have allegedly tried their damnedest to treat baseball as their own personal piggy bank, “the people” – the players and fans – have been resisting and fighting for their rights and their share of the proverbial baseball pie. It concludes:
“So long as there is exploitation in baseball there is resistance to exploitation. And it is up to us to support this resistance. Us – be people who invented baseball and who fill the rosters of every team in the major leagues. Us – the most exploited and most revolutionary class in capitalist society.
“Baseball belongs to the people!” [italics in original].
As part of its analysis and repudiation of extreme, unjust capitalism in the national pastime, the article notes that during the late 19th century and into the 20th, as the owners were tightening their grip on the game, “[I]t was during this period that racism ‘triumphed’ [quotes in original] in professional baseball, as the owners refused to hire black players, condemning them to the Negro Leagues until Jackie Robinson broke the color barrier in 1947.”
The piece also refers to the court fight of Curt Flood, a Black player who unsuccessfully challenged the major leagues’ stifling reserve clause. It also asserts that “racism is still rampant, despite all the black and Spanish players,” citing lingering pay inequality and the hostility Reggie Jackson received at the time for supposedly getting notorious Yankees manager Billy Martin fired.
**Now, back to Baraka discussing the influence the Negro Leagues had on him and on the African-American community as a whole in, “The Autobiography of LeRoi Jones/Amiri Baraka,” originally published in 1984. (LeRoi Jones was his original name.)
In the book, Baraka further recalls his experiences with his father at Newark Eagles games, and explains why the team, and Black baseball in general, had so much impact on him and the Black public.
“Very little in my life was as heightened (in anticipation and reward) for me as that,” he stated. “What was that? Some black men playing baseball? No, but beyond that, so deep in fact it carried and carries memories and even a politics with it that still makes me shudder.
“But coming down through that would heighten my sense because I could dig I would soon be standing in that line to get in, with my old man. But lines of all black people! Dressed up like they would for going to the game, in those bright lost summers. Full of noise and identification slapped greetings over and around folks. ’Cause after all in that town of 300,000 that 20 to 30 percent of the population (then) had a high recognition rate for each other. They worked together, lived in the same neighborhoods, went to church (if they did) together, and all the rest of it, even played together.
“The Newark Eagles would have your heart there on the field, from what they was doing. From how they looked. But these were professional ball players. Legitimate black heroes. And we were intimate with them in a way and they were extensions of all of us, there, in a way that the Yankees and Dodgers and what not could never be!
“We knew that they were us – raised up to another, higher degree. Shit, and the Eagles, people knew, talked to before and after the game. …
Leon Day
“That was the year they had Doby and Irvin and [Lennie] Pearson and [Bob] Harvey and Pat Patterson, a schoolteacher, on third base, and Leon Day was the star pitcher, and he showed out opening day! But coming into that stadium those Sunday afternoons carried a sweetness with it. The hot dogs and root beers! (They have never tasted that good again.) A little big-eyed boy holding his father’s hand.
“There was a sense of completion in all that. The black men (and the women) sitting there all participated in those games at a much higher level than anything else I knew. In the sense that they were not excluded from either identification with or knowledge of what the Eagles did and were. It was like we all communicated with each other and possessed ourselves at a more human level than was usually possible out in cold whitey land.
“Coming in that stadium with dudes and ladies calling out, ‘Hey, Roy, boy he look just like you.’ Or: ‘You look just like your father.’ Besides that note and attention, the Eagles there were something we possessed. It was not us as George Washington Carver or Marian Anderson, some figment of white people’s lack of imagination, it was us as we wanted to be and how we wanted to be seen being looked at by ourselves in some kind of loud communion.”
Baraka further describes the Eagles, the Negro Leagues and the Black community a fair amount, but I’ll close with his thoughts about Jackie Robinson and integration overall. He was conflicted, to say the least:
“But you know, they can slip in on you another way, Bro. Sell you some hand magic, or not sell you, but sell somebody somewhere some. And you be standin’ there and all of a sudden you hear about – what? – Jeckie Rawbeanson. I could tell right away, really, that the dude in the hood had been at work. No, really, it was like I heard the wheels and metal wires in his voice, the imperfected humanoid, his first words ‘Moy nayhme is Jeckie Rawbeanson.’ Some Ray Bradbury shit they had mashed on us. I knew it. A skin-covered humanoid to bust up our shit.
“I don’t want to get political and talk bad about ‘integration.’ Like what a straight-out trick it was. To rip off what you had in the name of what you ain’t never gonna get. So the destruction of the Negro National League. The destruction of the Eagles, Greys [sic], Black Yankees, Elite Giants, Cuban Stars, Clowns, Monarchs, Black Barons, to what must we attribute that? We’re going to the big leagues. Is that what the cry was on those Afric’ shores when the European capitalists and African feudal lords got together and palmed our future. ‘WE’RE GOING TO THE BIG LEAGUES!’
“So out of the California laboratories of USC, a synthetic colored guy was imperfected and soon we would be trooping back into the holy see of racist approbation. [Robinson actually attended UCLA, not USC.] So that we could sit next to drunken racists by and by. And watch our heroes put down by slimy cocksuckers who are so stupid they would uphold Henry and his Ford and be put in chains by both while helping to tighten ours.
“Can you dig that red-faced backwardness that would question whether Satchel Paige could pitch in the same league with … who?
“For many, the Dodgers could take out some of the sting and for those who thought it really meant we was getting in America. (But that cooled out. A definition of pathology in blackface would be exactly that, someone, some Nigra, who thunk they was in this! Owow!) But the scarecrow J. R. for all his ersatz ‘blackness’ could represent the shadow world of the Negro integrating into America. A farce. But many of us fell for that and felt for him, really. Even though a lot of us knew the wholly artificial disconnected thing that Jackie Robinson was. Still when the backward Crackers would drop black cats on the field or idiots like Dixie Walker (who wouldn’t even a made the team if Josh Gibson or Buck Leonard was on the scene) would mumble some of his unpatented Ku Klux dumbness, we got uptight, for us, not just for J. R.”
What do you think of Baraka’s controversial take on Jackie Robinson and integration?
Benjamin Albritton’s Pennsylvania death certificate.
Well, I’ve done it once again. I’ve gone down a research rabbit hole and am trying to climb my way back out by writing and posting a couple more pieces about Alex Albritton that are hopefully not ridiculously long. (Past ones are here, here and here.)
As of late, i.e. the last week or two, the particular rabbit hole down which I’ve plummeted has been investigating Albritton’s family, including his ancestral roots and where he came from. However, the idea for this post originally germinated when I happened to notice that a black cloud seemed to follow the family.
As in, several of Alexander’s relatives also either died tragically young, or were involved in some pretty grim stuff.
Let’s begin with Alex’s older brother, Benjamin Davis Albritton, who was born in South Carolina but made his way to Philadelphia after several years in Georgia with the rest of the family. In Philly, Benjamin worked as a locomotive repairer for a railroad company, which is one of the coolest jobs I’ve come across in all my Negro League research.
But Benjamin’s life was also short – he died on Oct. 14, 1918, at the age of 33. His death certificate lists cause of death as lobar pneumonia, a severe type of lung infection. However, the deadly Spanish flu pandemic at the end of the 1910s was in full force by October 1918, and, given that many of the deaths in the pandemic actually resulted from a secondary infection of lobar pneumonia, Benjamin Albritton was very likely a victim of the Spanish flu pandemic.
A Spanish flu hospital ward during the height of the pandemic.
Another of Alexander Albritton’s sons, Ralph – in fact, his first-born child – was at an even younger age at death than Benjamin was – Ralph was only 19 on May 10, 1935, when he was struck down by percardial effusion, or a build up of fluid in the pericardium, the sac around the heart. Ralph worked as a bricklayer at the time, according to his death certificate. I don’t have much more information about Ralph or his death.
Then there’s the case of Alex Albritton’s namesake, Alexander J. Albritton, who died at the fairly young age of 46 on Dec. 9, 1963. While that death age isn’t as saddening as 19 or 33, it’s the flippant way in which the Philadelphia medical examiner at the time filled out Alex Jr.’s death certificate. In particular, cause of death was limited to “not determined,” and manner of death stated as “presumably natural.” The coroner also couldn’t be bothered to find of Alexander Jr.s Social Security number, which simply a question mark filling in that space.
Next was John Clarke Jr., Alexander Albritton’s grandson; he was the son of Alex’s daughter Ruth Albritton and her husband, John Clarke Sr. John Jr. was only 16 in early December 1960, when he was stabbed in the heart with a penknife by 18-year-old Luther Dockery during a brawl reportedly instigated by Dockery. At the time, John Jr. was a sophomore at Edward W. Bok Technical High School, a vocational school in Philadelphia.
(It might be worth noting that Luther Dockery apparently liked stabbing people, because roughly two years before he killed John Clarke Jr., he stabbed another young man, this time in a gang fight, and was given probation.)
But members of the Albritton family weren’t just victims of tragedies – they sometinmes were the perpetrators, beginning with Frances Albritton, another of Alex Albritton’s children. In September 1966, 37-year-old Frances stormed into Herb’s Friendly Bar in the Glenwood section of Philadelphia and fatally shot Rita Widner (or Wynder) in the chest, then wounded Widner’s husband and a bystander.
The women reportedly had an earlier altercation that resulted in Frances, reportedly nicknamed Goldie, holding a significantly angry grudge against Widner. Roughly three months after the shooting, a jury convicted Frances of the killing. I was unable to find out any further information about what happened to Frances following the murder and conviction.
But 28 years before Frances committed her crime, her older brother (and therefore Alexander’s son) Joseph allegedly shot and killed Martin “Gutty” Supplee, who was apparently somewhat of a star on the local Philadelphia basketball scene.
The reason for the shooting seems to have been a little hazy and more than a bit unsavory; according to the Sept. 22, 1938, Philadelphia Tribune, Albritton had reportedly hit it big in a “numbers” drawing but was then assaulted and robbed by Supplee and Supplee’s friend, Matthew Fields, who were unhappy that Albritton wouldn’t split the winnings with them.
The alleged attack and thievery left Albritton hungry for revenge, so, after searching for his attackers for three hours, stated the Tribune, he walked into a tap-room bar where the alleged robbers were hanging out and shot Supplee in the head and wounded Fields with a shot to the leg. Albritton reportedly absconded after the shooting and couldn’t immediately be found.
Philadelphia Tribune, Sept. 27, 1966
But Fields, after going to the hospital for treatment to his shot leg, said he and Supplee didn’t assault or rob Albritton, while Supplee’s mother alleged that “Albritton thought he was bad – a gangster. He killed my husband for nothing.”
Unforttunately, I was unable to find out any further information from after the initial media coverage of Supplee’s murder, so I don’t know if, when or how Alexander Jr. was caught and what subsequently happened to him as a result of Supplee’s death.
With the subject of organized crime and numbers running, we actually circle back to Alex Albritton Jr., who also seems to have dabbled in similar illicit matters. In September 1950, Alexander Jr. was sentenced to six months in the county prison for gambling-related charges.
All of these incidents, early deaths and instances of violence combine to make one wonder if the Albritton family was cursed in some way, beginning, of course, with Alex Albritton Sr., a baseball star who ended up dying violently in a notorious psychiatric hospital. Having run through that depressing family tree, let’s take a little look at where the Albrittons came from and how they made their way to Philadelphia.
We can begin with Alexander Albritton Sr.’s parents, D. Matthew Albritton and Charlotte H. Albritton (nee Williams). They’re listed in the 1880 Census as living in Charleston, S.C., but while Charlotte was apparently born in South Carolina, Matthew’s birth place is stated as North Carolina.
Given that Matthew was roughly 27 years old as of 1880, his approximate birth year of 1857 would have him, a person of color, likely born into slavery. I found several slaveholders with the last name of Albritton in Pitt County, N.C., in the 1860 Census.
Then, in the 1870 Census, I discovered a 17-year-old Black man living in Pitt County with a name that appears to be, at least on the Census sheet, Mort or Most Albritton, but could very well be Mat or Matt Albritton, living in the community of Pactolus in Pitt County.
The 1870 Census sheet that includes what might have been Matthew Albritton listed (near the top of the sheet).
Meanwhile, Charlotte Williams was living in Fairfield County, S.C., with her parents, John and Sylvia, and family after being born in roughly 1862. She apparently married D. Matthew Albritton in 1880; however, I don’t know how Matthew and Charlotte came to meet – or, perhaps more precisely, how Matthew ended up in South Carolina to marry Charlotte.
The couple were living in Charleston County, S.C., as of the 1880 federal Census, which listed no children for them at that time. But sometime between 1880 and the 1900 Census – the vast majority of the 1890 Census records were destroyed by fire in 1921 – Matthew and Charlotte moved to Irwin County, Ga. According to the 1900 records, the couple had four children, including 8-year-old Alexander, the youngest of the quartet. But while Alex’s three older siblings (John, Benjamin Davis and Edith) were born in South Carolina, Alexander himself was born in Florida – specifically, the town of Live Oak, Fla., in Suwannee County.
The family then shifted to Ben Hill County, also in Georgia; the 1910 Census also indicates that Matthew and Charlotte have three children with them, including the youngest, Alexander.
However, Matthew appears to have died between 1910 and 1920 – the ’20 Census has Charlotte living alone aside from one boarder in Ben Hill County, and her marital status is stated as widowed.
Meanwhile, Alexander in 1920 is by now living in Philadelphia, with his wife, Marie (nee Brooks), and their two sons, Ralph and Alexander Jr. The family is stated as living just a couple doors down on Ellsworth Street from Alex Sr.’s brother, John, and John’s wife, in what appears to actually be a largely Italian neighborhood. (What’s odd, though, is that while John’s last name is spellecdcorrectly, Alex is listed as Alek Albrim, for some weird reason.) After that, the Albrittons rermained in Philadelphia.
The one remaining primary to the Albritton family puzzle is Marie, Alexander Sr.’s eventual wife. According to multiple sources, Marie Brooks was born in March 1902 to John and Addie Brooks in Georgia; the family lived in Muscogee County before Marie struck out on her own and apparently rented a room in Dougherty County, Ga., in 1920.
She and Alex Sr. married in the mid-1910s, when Marie was still only roughly 15 and Alexander was 19. I’m not sure how Alexander and Marie met. From what I can ascertain, Alex and Marie’s first two kids, Ralph and Alexander Jr., were born in Georgia, before the family moved north, while the rest of their offspring – they had five additional children – were born in Pennsylvania.
The 1940 Census sheet on which Marie and those last five kids lists Marie as widowed, meaning the document was filled out after Alex Sr.’s tragic death. Marie appears to have eventually moved to East Orange, N.J., at some point later, dying there in August 1975.
The Negro Leagues Up Close 