The Local Boys. Joe Heffron
to play growing up on the sandlots and dirt infields of Cincinnati.
Cincinnati has been called a “little” big city because of its hometown feel. So people in Cincinnati take pride in a hometown kid who makes it big. One reason Cincinnati grows so many Major League players is the quality of its amateur baseball programs. One of the drivers in quality amateur baseball in Cincinnati is the Midland Baseball organization, namely, Papa Joe Hayden. I think four of the six local Reds players from that 1986 team played for Midland at some point in the their amateur years.
I found out that it is not always easy playing for your hometown team. In terms of pressure, it can wear on you, especially during slumps. When you don’t perform well, you feel like you are not only letting down the team and the fans, but also your family and close friends, who seem to live and die with every at bat or pitch. I knew that every day someone would stop my mom or dad and offer congratulations or condolences, depending how I pitched in my previous game. Knowing that added a little extra incentive and some extra pressure. But soon the novelty of the hometown boy makes good wears away and you approach the game as a professional. You have no choice. I mean, the free ride doesn’t last long. I had a mediocre season and was released along with Pete Rose in the following November. The only difference was that Pete was brought back to be manager and I was looking for a job. Honeymoons don’t last forever. But it was great while it lasted.
One hometown player who will always hold a special place in the hearts of Reds fans is Joe Nuxhall. He played his first Major League game at age 15, of course, and stayed with the Reds nearly his entire life. He loved to promote the local guys because he knew how special it is to play for your hometown team. I remember a game in 1981 when I pitched a shutout against the Reds and Joe invited me on his famous “Star of the Game” show. I knew then that I had made it big. After all, I spent my youth listening to Reds games on the radio and rarely missed his post-game show. In the interview with me, Joe asked more about my roots in Cincinnati than the game I just pitched. That showed me he had a deep respect for his hometown and Cincinnati ballplayers. We talked, laughed, and rambled, and I kept pinching myself to make certain I was really on Joe Nuxhall’s show.
The moment that stands alone for me as a Red was July 5, 1986, when I pitched a complete game win against the Philadelphia Phillies. I hit a home run in that game, and as I trotted the bases and rounded third I looked up and saw Pete Rose. He was waiting at home plate with my jacket. My awareness became fuzzy and my jog to the plate turned magical. There he was, Pete Rose, my boyhood hero, everybody’s hero, the player who I most admired growing up in Cincinnati, waiting at home plate to give me a high five for hitting a home run. Just for a moment, time stopped as a Cincinnati Red.
INTRODUCTION
IT’S A COMMON DREAM AROUND HERE—from the tiny towns that cling to the river-banks of Northern Kentucky, to the farms of southeastern Indiana, to the streets of Cincinnati’s urban ring, to the sprawling suburbs spread out, across, and well beyond the city’s seven hills. In the past nearly 150 years, probably a million boys from these places have vowed, “Someday I’m going to play for the Reds.”
Since 1869, when the Red Stockings, the world’s first professional baseball team, played its inaugural season, 105 local boys have achieved that dream. Some found great success—Hall of Famers Buck Ewing and Barry Larkin come to mind. Others only took a sip of the proverbial cup of coffee. Like Moonlight Graham in the film Field of Dreams, Eddie Hunter, for example, played just one inning and never got to bat. Some began their careers here but went on to success elsewhere. Still others were stars for other teams before coming home for a last hurrah. Most fell somewhere in between.
In the team’s long history, only once have more than three seasons passed without a local guy wearing red. That time is now. Since Junior left late in 2008, the team has not had a player from the Greater Cincinnati area suit up and take the field.
Only 15 seasons in franchise history have lacked a local player—a staggering feat. No statistics are kept on the subject, but a smart betting fan might want to place money that no other market can make the same claim. Why? Well, in part, because those markets don’t care as much. They don’t place the same premium on featuring local players. “I don’t know if, per capita, there have been more in other markets, but I’d say there’s more pride in those players here,” Greg Rhodes, the Reds’ team historian, told us. “In bigger markets you don’t get that same sense of ownership.”
Though one of the smaller markets in Major League baseball, Cincinnati has produced far more than its share of big leaguers, and many have played, at some point in their careers, for the hometown team. Though more than two million people live in the area, the city retains a certain small-town sense of itself. And it holds in high regard a local boy in a Reds uniform. No dream is better understood as hoping to play for the Reds.
The Local Boys tells the story of the men who achieved the dream. From Ethan Allen to Don Zimmer, from Charlie “Bushel Basket” Gould, who played on the first team in 1869 to Junior Griffey. Alongside big-name stars such as Dave Parker and Buddy Bell, you’ll find Ralph Kraus, an 18-year-old local kid, whose heroic moment with the team occurred in 1945 when he rushed out of the dugout and into the stands at Crosley Field to club a rat scurrying among the fans.
To tell their stories, we moved beyond statistics available online. We dove into newspaper and magazine databases and wound through library microfiche. We pulled together genealogical research, which sometimes led to interviews with family members. Efforts were made to contact every living local Red. Most of them generously agreed to talk. A few didn’t respond. A couple we simply couldn’t find. Our goal: to provide a clear picture of the local boy—professionally and personally.
But first we had to define “local boy.” After much thought, we included only those players who grew up in counties bordering Hamilton County. Reds players from just beyond those borders—Dayton’s Dave Burba, for instance, or Springfield’s Brooks Lawrence and Will McEnaney—fall outside the zone. We also had to define what being “from” the area truly means. A number of Reds who were born here—such as Rudy Hulswitt, Tom Hume, and Eduardo Perez—left very early in their lives and never called Cincinnati home again.
Through the years, many local guys played in the Reds organization but never made it to the big league team. And there have been many local big leaguers who never donned the red and white, such as Jim Bunning, Jim Wynn, David Justice, and Kevin Youkalis. Local heroes all—but not local Reds. Russ Nixon of Western Hills managed the Reds, but because we’re focused here on “players,” we didn’t include him.
In compiling our local boys, Joe began years ago with Lonnie Wheeler’s classic 1987 book The Cincinnati Game, which includes a list of local guys who played in the major leagues, with a very short summary of each. We hadn’t heard of most of the names and wanted to know more. We kept adding to the list as new local Reds arrived on the scene.
And speaking of the scene—because this book is about local guys, it’s written with local fans in mind. We know you know that Newport is located across the Ohio River from downtown, for example, and that you’re well acquainted with Over-the-Rhine. You know what’s meant by “eastside” and “westside.” No explanation is needed—or given. We hope you enjoy browsing through the stories of players who share with you the connection of a city, a team, and a dream.
A BRIEF HISTORY OF LOCAL REDS
WHEN THE CINCINNATI RED STOCKINGS suited up back in 1869 as the first professional baseball team, one of the players was a local guy, first baseman Charlie Gould. So good was Gould at catching whatever was hit or thrown his way—not easy in a time before players wore gloves—that he earned the nickname “Bushel Basket.” Whether or not he was particularly appreciated for his Cincinnati roots is hard to determine, but he started a tradition, and, in a way, a fraternity.
Since Gould’s debut on that first Reds team, 104 local boys have followed him, with varying degrees of on-field success. In the Reds nearly 150-year history, the team had played only 10 seasons—and never more than three in