Bad Boys, Bad Times. Scott H. Longert
home when the one of the most powerful earthquakes ever recorded leveled much of the San Francisco area. An estimated 3,000 persons died. The Vitts were fortunate to experience only minor damage, as many of the nearby homes and those around the city were destroyed or needed major repair. The study of architecture turned out to be a huge financial windfall for young Vitt. He had recently taken several courses in bricklaying, roofs, and chimney repair.
Within hours he formed Vitt and Company, offering chimney repairs at eight dollars a job. He and a friend moved around the broken city, finding work in just about every neighborhood. In only one month Vitt and Company grossed a weighty $650. A promising career in home repair awaited, yet Oscar felt the strong pull of organized baseball. After several years of semipro ball, he landed a contract with the San Francisco Seals of the Pacific Coast League. Vitt failed to hit .300, but his fielding was above average and the foot speed helped him leg out infield hits and take the extra base.
In 1912 the Detroit Tigers acquired Vitt, giving him considerable time at third base. Manager Hughie Jennings loved Vitt’s style of play. Whether diving for ground balls, running out every ball in play, bunting, or stealing bases, he was a throwback to the nineteenth-century player who fought for every square inch. They called him scrappy, peppery, a happy warrior. Jennings, in his days as a National League Baltimore Oriole, had used that type of hustle and bench jockeying to great advantage. Vitt, even though a first-year player, fearlessly shouted at both his teammates and opponents throughout each game. Although standing no more than five foot eight and weighing about 150 pounds, he had no fear of any player in the American League. Even Ty Cobb caught some of Oscar’s venom.
At certain times Cobb could be overaggressive on the bases and get himself thrown out while streaking for an extra base. After one of those incidents, Vitt yelled to him, “For Christ’s sake why don’t you carry an anchor with you!” Everyone on the Tigers bench and in the grandstand knew Cobb would not let that remark go by. A moment later the “Georgia Peach” walked over to Vitt and sharply told him, “Hey listen busher, keep your trap shut if you know what’s good for you!” Before Vitt could answer, catcher Oscar Stanage stepped in between the two and stopped Cobb from doing any harm.
Eventually Cobb and Vitt reached an understanding, enough so that the Tigers outfielder looked out for the scrawny third baseman. The Tigers were playing the Yankees when Vitt attempted to score from second on a base hit. The throw from the outfield arrived in plenty of time for catcher Les Nunamaker to block the plate. Lesser men might have tried to slide and avoid contact with the six-foot-two, 190-pound catcher. Vitt never hesitated, lowering his head and crashing into Nunamaker at full speed. Fans shuddered as Vitt careened backwards and landed hard on his back. He was out in every sense of the word. It took a moment or two to gather himself, but when Vitt reached the Tiger bench, Cobb stopped by and said, “Kid, I’ll take care of that.”
Later in the series, Cobb was leading off second base when a Tiger base hit gave him the chance for revenge. He rounded third, picking up speed as he flew down the baseline. Once again Nunamaker got the throw in time, wheeling toward Cobb to block him off the plate. The collision at home literally shook the earth. The Yankees catcher flew backwards on impact, his cap and one of his shinguards soaring through the air. Cobb scored the run, but more important was standing up for a teammate—something that Vitt greatly appreciated. When the two players met at the Detroit bench, Cobb said, “I guess he’ll be a little more careful about the right of way next time!”
Vitt hustled his way through seven full seasons for Detroit. His finest year was 1915, when he had career highs in just about every hitting category. On the defensive side, he led all American League third basemen in putouts and assists. All was not a bed of roses playing for Detroit, though. He had the unwelcome distinction of taking a Walter Johnson fastball squarely between the eyes. Vitt crumpled to the ground and lay unconscious for several minutes. He slowly opened his eyes, glad to be back among the living. Teammate Donie Bush stood above him, kicking Vitt in the legs and yelling at him to get up and quit his stalling. Sympathy was not a quality common among rough-and-tumble ballplayers in the early part of the twentieth century.
After ten years in the American League, the last three with Boston, Vitt signed on with Salt Lake City. He played two more years before putting away his glove and starting on his long managerial career. From 1926 through 1934 he ran the Hollywood Stars, winning a minor league pennant in 1930. He managed Oakland in 1935, then moved all the way across the country to pilot the Newark Bears of the International League. He had tremendous success there, winning the 1937 pennant by a staggering twenty-seven and a half games. The Bears topped off the regular season by winning the Little World Series against the Columbus Redbirds. Vitt got the attention of Major League owners, particularly Alva Bradley. He liked everything about Vitt, especially his managerial motto, “Win everything in sight and never stop winning.”
One area that Bradley may have overlooked was the incredible talent on the Newark Bears, a Yankee Farm team. With up-and-coming stars like Joe Gordon, Charlie Keller, Spud Chandler, and George McQuinn, it did not take a fabulous manager to guide them into first place. Possibly Bradley thought any manager who could win a league by such a dominating margin should be able to help the troublesome Indians. With that in mind, the reins were handed to the forty-seven-year-old Oscar Vitt.
The 1938 edition of the Cleveland Indians featured a lineup of proven veterans along with several talented young players on the verge of breaking out. The only experienced addition was Rollie Hemsley, anticipated to battle Frankie Pytlak for the starting catcher’s job. The outfield seemed already set, with five-time All-Star Earl Averill in center field, Bruce Campbell still holding down the right-field job, and last year’s acquisition Moose Solters in left. All three were capable of hitting over .300 and driving in a large share of the runs.
Big Hal Trosky had a lock on the first baseman’s job, usually leading the team in home runs and RBIs every season since 1933. Trosky had the misfortune to play in the American League at the same time as superstars Lou Gehrig, Jimmie Foxx, and Hank Greenberg, who left Trosky somewhere in the shadows. Sammy Hale had been with the Indians for six seasons, alternating between second and third base. Hale had arm issues that hampered his throwing, although his skill at the plate had not been affected. Lyn Lary entered his second year as the Indians shortstop with little competition. The front office expected him to play steady ball and be a leader out on the field.
The pitching staff had proven winners in Johnny Allen and Mel Harder. Bob Feller had shown a world of potential in his first two campaigns, and now was expected to be among the best pitchers in the game. Willis Hudlin and Earl Whitehill were the only other candidates for the starting rotation. Both pitchers were well past their primes, with Whitehall at thirty-nine years old and Hudlin thirty-two. Between them they had spent twenty-seven years in the American League. If either one had just had ten or twelve wins left in his arm, that would be enough to complement the other three starters.
Oscar Vitt’s ball club worked out in New Orleans to get in shape for the upcoming season. Normally spring training came and went without any front-page news or shocking revelations. The players sweated through workouts, talked about how great they felt, and let reporters know big things were up ahead for the new season. The sportswriters sent home optimistic stories, exhibition game summaries, and the comings and goings of the players on the fringe. There was always time for everybody to go out in the evenings and check out the swinging night life in downtown New Orleans.
For the most part the players had their fun but knew enough to get back to the Roosevelt Hotel at a reasonable hour. At the end of March, Rollie Hemsley, unable to restrain himself with all the enticing nightclubs and hot spots just a few blocks away, went out for a late-night adventure. He partied hard, waking up in his hotel room in the late morning hours too sick to take part in batting practice. He notified Vitt and the coaches, then went to his room to try and sleep it off. A photographer had followed Rollie back to the hotel. He tried to get a picture as he entered his room, but Rollie slammed the door in the photographer’s face. About a half-hour later someone knocked loudly at his door. Exhausted and hungover, he opened it to find the same man still trying to get a photo. They struggled for a moment, then Rollie pulled out a dresser drawer and smashed it over the photographer’s head. The camera fell to the floor, broken into pieces.
Soon