The Selling of the Babe (8 page)

Ruppert needed the Yankees not only to win, but also to win the New York box office from the Giants. To do that, he needed a star, and Ruth was the best young star out there, an intriguing player who could help on both the mound and elsewhere—a particularly precious commodity in 1918.

He'd been paying attention, and entering the 1918 season, although Ruth had hit only 9 career home runs, four of them had been against the Yankees, three in the Polo Grounds, where the right field porch was perfect for Ruth's pull-hitting, all-or-nothing, swing-from-the-heels stroke. It was a small sample size, to be sure, but so dramatic that everyone had already noticed. In Fenway Park, with its distant right field fence that, except for directly down the line, was 370 or more feet from home, Ruth's drives, while impressive, resulted in outs, proverbial home runs in an elevator shaft. In New York … well, he made you wonder what he would do if given the opportunity. The Polo Grounds simply fit Ruth as a hitter in a way that Fenway Park never did. For his career, Ruth would amass a slugging percentage of .583 in Fenway Park—the worst, by far, of any park in which he played more than 10 games. In the Polo Grounds, he would slug .828. Although Yankee Stadium would also be kind to Ruth, no place would prove kinder than the Polo Grounds. Besides, New York fans, with little else to root for, had taken to Ruth. It probably didn't hurt that the young pitcher was of German extraction, either. At the time, German Americans were New York's dominant immigrant ethnic group.

Moreover, from the first time he played there, Ruth and New York seemed to fit each other. Fans responded to him in a way in New York they never quite did in Boston, and Ruth thrived under the attention. In Boston, he was like a big gawky kid in a store full of glassware, always bumping into something. There was too much scrutiny, too much tsk-tsking. In Boston, being famous was like being under a microscope and made Ruth feel claustrophobic; everybody knew his business. It was truly a small town, parochial in all the worst ways. In New York, fame brought anonymity and freedom … not to mention an endless supply of women even more eager to ignore social strictures.

If Ruppert had made an offer for Ruth, his performance at the Polo Grounds on May 3, 4, and 6 would have left the brewer salivating like a drunk watching the day's kegs roll in. After the Sox dropped the first game of the series 3–2, Ruth took the mound on Saturday opposite Allen Russell. The Yankees toyed with Ruth, who was becoming more rotund by the year—the phrase “the buxom Babe” was used by more than one cheeky sportswriter—by deciding to bunt early and often down the third base line to see if Ruth and McInnis, new to the position, could handle it. They couldn't, at least at first. Ruth made two errors and New York got an early 4–0 lead.

The Red Sox could barely touch Yankees spitballer Russell—Ruth struck out on three pitches his first time up, but in the seventh he came to bat with two out and a man on first. This time he hit the dry side of the ball, lifting a line drive down the right field line that made the second deck, but foul by inches. According to W. J. Macbeth of the
New York Tribune
, the knock put “the fear of the Lord” into the Yankees.

As he returned to the plate, the ever-confident Ruth reportedly turned to umpire Billy Evans and called his shot with godlike authority, telling him “I'll hit this one right back, Bill.” Then he did, smacking Russell's next pitch higher, farther, and fair. Despite cracking a ninth-inning double, Ruth still lost the game 5–4, but afterward the talk was not of the score, but of Ruth and his bat. The headline in the
New York Times
was emblematic, reading “Babe Ruth Is Hero, Wields Vicious Cudgel,” with the final score relegated to a subhead.

The Great War was making it tough on everyone and everything, newspapers included. Competition was keen. Readers were both desperate for war news, loath to receive it, and eager to forget it once they'd read it. Ruth and his exploits provided a momentary escape—who cared who won the game—did anything happen that made it possible to ignore the war?

The conflict was beginning to impact daily life in ways that no one could foresee as the government gobbled up resources needed to supply the troops and the industries that supported them. There were shortages of almost everything, and the government espoused programs like “gasless Sundays” to save resources and even the most basic goods—meat, coal, and other fuels—were in short supply. Baseball was not immune.

As American troops entered into actual combat, their supply needs changed as the military quickly discovered that some items and materials that worked during training exercises were almost useless in the trenches of France. The company that eventually became known for “Wolverine” brand boot developed a new tanning process for horsehide just before the start of the war that made horsehide the leather of choice for high-top boots, just as it was already the preferred option for most military jackets and gloves. As a result, in May of 1918 the U.S. government, through the War Industries Board, commandeered the nation's supply of horsehide. Similarly, once American men took to the field, they rapidly discovered that wool, which retains warmth even when wet, was the best choice for almost everything, and high-quality wool yarn was similarly appropriated for military use, both in manufacturing and by millions of American women who were enlisted to knit a wide variety of garments for Allied troops. The wool shortage was so acute that President Woodrow Wilson set an example by allowing sheep to graze on the White House lawn, and ball clubs replaced popular “Ladies Day” promotions with “Knitting Days,” allowing women with a ball of yarn and knitting needles into the ballpark free. The only raw material used by baseball that wasn't in short supply during the 1918 season was lumber.

Like everyone else, baseball paid a price. At the time, sporting goods manufacturer A. J. Reach was the leading manufacturer of recreational baseballs and supplied the balls to both major leagues (although the NL balls were stamped with the name of the Spalding Company). Almost overnight, the quality of materials available to the company dropped dramatically, and they produced baseballs made from lower quality leather and wool, which as any knitter can tell you, can vary widely in strength and resilience.

The impact was unnoticeable at first, as both the company and most major league clubs retained a healthy supply of the old balls, but as the 1918 season progressed, the consumers began to notice that the balls, now wound with inferior yarn and covered with lower quality horsehide, were even deader than before and wore out much faster. Reach responded by changing the setting of the machines they used to wind the yarn, winding it tighter. It helped some, but it took more than a full season before the old supply of subpar baseballs was used up. As a result, in 1918 teams began the season using the normal dead ball, but as the season progressed inferior balls that were even deader came into play. And over the course of the 1918 season, from beginning to end, there was a slow drop in power for both Babe Ruth and the Red Sox. The impact of that would extend in the 1919 season as well, in reverse fashion. Over the course of the year, as materials improved and the Reach company neglected to change back the setting on their winding machines, the ball became ever more lively and would help lead to an increase in power and offense to levels never before seen.

Of course, in early May of 1918 neither the Red Sox, Harry Frazee, Jacob Ruppert, Babe Ruth, nor anyone else in baseball knew anything about that. But they would soon learn that Ruth just might be a singular talent.

During the Saturday loss to the Yankees, Dick Hoblitzell reportedly injured either his hand or a finger, or aggravated a previous injury. At any rate, the next day, Sunday, as the Red Sox played an exhibition in Clifton, New Jersey, due to the blue laws still in effect in New York, Hoblitzell got a rest and Barrow let everyone play just about anywhere they wanted. Little used pitcher Weldon Wyckoff played the outfield and veteran shortstop Heinie Wagner, nominally an active player but as much a coach as anything else, started the game at first base. Halfway through, Ruth took over for Wagner at first, flying out and whiffing against a semipro pitcher.

When Hoblitzell showed up at the ballpark the next day, May 6, he was still unable to play. That solved one problem for Barrow, because thus far in the 1918 season, whether it was because he was hurt or distracted by his impending call-up to the military, Hobby was hitting .080, with only four singles in 50 at bats.

But replacing him still left Barrow in something of a quandary. Stuffy McInnis was one of the best first basemen in the league, but Barrow had decided to play him at third and wasn't eager to make a change. Besides, who then would play third? The logical choice was second baseman Dave Shean, but that would leave a gap there. And Heinie Wagner, who had once played a little third base, had a bad arm and could no longer throw.

So with little fanfare, Barrow, after likely talking things over with Harry Hooper and Wagner, made the next most logical decision. Ruth had played first during the spring, and had filled in one day before in the exhibition, so he might as well step in at first base now. Besides, another bat in the lineup, particularly Ruth's, especially in the Polo Grounds, was useful. So on May 6, 1918, three years to the day after he'd cracked the first home run of his career, also in the Polo Grounds, Ruth stepped onto a major league diamond for the first time as something other than a pitcher or a pinch hitter, which he had done for the Red Sox only a handful of times.

It was intended to be a temporary measure, a stopgap until Hoblitzell came around or Barrow came up with another solution. There was no indication at the time that the move was permanent, or that it was the result of some great revelation or grand design—those claims, by Barrow, Hooper, and others, would come years later. For now, all it meant was that Hoblitzell was hurt, Ruth was left-handed, and someone had to play first, so it might as well be the Babe. He hit sixth.

Once again, Ruth won the headlines even though the Red Sox lost the game. The one in the
Globe
read “Ruth Starts Rally, but Red Sox Lose.”

Ruth's noise came in the fourth after Wally Schang—usually a catcher, he was pressed into service in left field—doubled. Stuffy McInnis, up next, did what he was supposed to according to the widely accepted baseball strategy of the time and tried to move the runner to third with a bunt—it mattered not who was up next, be it Babe Ruth or Ty Cobb. It backfired, as he bunted straight back to the pitcher, George Mogridge. He put out Schang at third, leaving McInnis at first.

Ruth did not try to move the runner along. Neither did he simply try to make contact. He tried to hit the hell out of the ball. And he did.

The bat met the ball square and Ruth lifted a drive to right, not straight down the line but 40 or 50 feet fair and leaving the park, not where the fence was only 258 feet away, but where it was closer to 330, near where the second deck ended. The ball crashed into the low-hanging second deck, which was only a few feet farther back than the fence, the front facade only about 40 feet above the field of play. There, according to Macbeth in the
New York Tribune
, it “knocked the back out of the seat.”

In regard to Ruth's home runs in the Polo Grounds, it's important to remember that during his time there the second deck in right did not completely enclose the field of play, but stopped at a point estimated to be somewhere around 340 and 350 feet from home. That's significant, because at the end of the second deck the right field wall angled steeply toward center, and a ball that would otherwise reach the second deck, but struck another 30 or 40 feet more toward center field, would fall 60 or 70 feet shy of leaving the ballpark. In almost every instance, a ball hit into the right field bleachers past the grandstand was a longer drive than one into the upper deck.

Wherever it hit, it counted, and Ruth's drive gave Boston a brief lead. But Carl Mays quickly gave the runs right back and plenty more. He was pulled in the fifth and Boston fell 10–3, the only remaining excitement coming in the sixth, when Ruth pulled the ball over the roof of the grandstand, sending the crowd to its feet before they watched the fly ball curve foul, a drive that probably traveled less than his earlier home run, but appeared more impressive. Such was hitting at the Polo Grounds—a ball hit 260 feet but pulled hard down the line could fall for a home run, and a much more solid blast of 400 feet, pulled but not pulled hard, could fall short of the fence. Little wonder that as Ruth grew and matured as a hitter, he became ever more adept at pulling the ball. You got more mileage that way.

Sitting together in a box just off the field were Harry Frazee and Jacob Ruppert. The two men already knew each other from league business and both kept offices in New York and held the same opinion of Ban Johnson. If the earlier rumor of an offer for Ruth was true, it was likely discussed, and if Frazee had simply been floating the notion, on this day Ruth's performance gave him the opportunity to bring it up again.

At any rate, Ruth was certainly the object of conversation, for as Paul Shannon of the
Boston Post
noted, “Babe Ruth remains the hitting idol of the Polo Grounds.”

After the game, the Red Sox and Ruth took a train to Washington and the next day faced off against the Senators' ace, Walter Johnson. The Red Sox, having dropped three straight, were in a tailspin and Ruth started at first base for the third game in a row. So far he'd been good for histrionics, but not for wins.

It would be so again. In the sixth inning, he drove one of Johnson's fastballs over the wall in right field. Taking advantage of wartime hyperbole, the
Boston Herald
reported “it sailed on and on over the wall, messing up a war garden and scaring a mongrel pup half to death.” It did not, however, scare Johnson much, who collected three hits of his own and knocked in two runs while beating the Sox 7–2. Boston was now officially in a slump, losers for four in a row despite Ruth, their quick start to the season all but squandered.