The Selling of the Babe (30 page)

When Huggins and Ruth did meet and Ruth asked for more money, Huggins told Ruth he couldn't talk specifics but that the Ruppert and Huston were agreeable to working out new contract terms to give Ruth his $20,000. That was all it took. Had Ruth wanted to stop the deal, with his power and influence, he probably could have forced Ruppert and Frazee to tear up that little five-page document. Ban Johnson might have even given him some help, just to stiff Frazee. But he didn't because he didn't want to.

Ruth agreed to the deal. There is nary a mention that he found it necessary to talk things over with Mrs. Ruth or anyone else, another sign that he likely knew what was coming all along.

Ruth's time in Boston was over. He would never wear a Red Sox uniform again. George Herman Ruth was no more.

He was Babe Ruth now, and he belonged to the Yankees and, soon, to New York.

Now would come the other part of the selling of the Babe. But first, everybody had to sell the sale.

 

9

Welcome to New York

“I told you Boston was some town, but this [New York] is the real one. I never seen nothing like it and I been going some since we got here.”

—Ring Lardner,
You Know Me Al

There was, perhaps no better time to be a young man of means coming to New York City. The Roaring Twenties were just getting under way and New York was the epicenter. Over the next decade, no other place would roar as loud and as often. Prohibition was right around the corner, sparking the era of the speakeasy, dresses were creeping up, morals were loosening, and young people were taking over. The city was electrified and suddenly never slept, Broadway was on the precipice of a golden age, the Jazz Age was tuning up, and prosperity was right around the corner. Horses disappeared from the streets, a million cars would be added to the city, and the last great public works building boom was about to get under way, as in the next decade the West Side Highway, the Holland Tunnel, the Triboro and George Washington bridges would all be built or start construction. Buildings with central heat, running water, and indoor toilets were replacing tenements. The nose-to-the-grindstone philosophy of life was being replaced by one that valued leisure and excitement. The middle class was starting to grow. Manhattan supported eleven daily newspapers and Brooklyn had four of its own. Every street corner featured a newsboy screaming out the headlines.

Over the next decade, no name would be on their lips more often than that of the Babe, that one name the epitome of the age, larger than life, limitless and over the top all at once. In a city that worshipped personality, celebrity, and oversized everything, the Babe was all of that and more. His roar may well have been the loudest and most sustained of them all. Journalist Westbrook Pegler dubbed it “the Era of Wonderful Nonsense,” a time when flagpole sitting and dance marathons and long-distance swimming would soon capture the public's fancy. If there was ever an athlete made for a particular place at a particular time, it was Babe Ruth and New York City in the 1920s. Any account of either the city or the man must include a portrait of the other. The city made Ruth and Ruth helped make the city. They were inseparable, and together, they remade the game.

In January of 1920, Boston and New York could not have been more different, and the reaction to the sale in each place speaks to those differences. Boston, a city that still clung to its self-image as the Hub of American democracy and everything else despite the fact that it had been usurped in almost every category by not only New York but other more vibrant cities such as Philadelphia and Chicago, feigned shock.

After not having turned out for Ruth like they had in New York, and after Ruth himself had intimated that he would like to be sold or traded, when the deal broke Boston acted as if something had been stolen, the sale a kind of moral affront. It was a blow to the city's self-image, not just as the home of championship baseball—for if one included the Braves, Boston teams had won the crown in five of the last eight seasons—but of everything else. New York had already taken over as the center of American commerce and culture; now this.

The headlines screamed, and no one took it more to heart than Boston's sportswriters, who suddenly realized that over the past year or two Ruth had made their lives a whole lot easier and a whole lot more entertaining. Now that he was gone, well, they had to get to work again, and that wasn't going to be much fun.

It was front page news, bumping Governor Calvin Coolidge's announcement that he would not seek the presidency because “the presidency must seek the man” to the side rail. So it was with Ruth. If Boston would not seize him, then New York would.

Reaction in the Hub was best epitomized by two cartoons, one emblematic of the knee-jerk, emotional reaction to the sale, and the other by those few who bothered at all to try to understand what had taken place, not just over the past few weeks, but the past few years, and not just in Boston, but all baseball. The first, in the
Boston Herald
, showed Ruth as the latest Boston monument being toppled by an ax-wielding caricature of Frazee, with “For Sale” signs posted in front of revered Boston symbols such as the Boston Public Library, Boston Common, and a statue of Paul Revere. A sign in front of Fenway Park read “House Lots for Sale” and was captioned, “Why not finish the job?”

The second, which appeared in the
Boston Post
, offered the alternate view. Titled “The Bull in Frazee's China Shop,” it showed Ruth, a bull amid shattered glass labeled “team discipline,” “team morale,” and “disgruntled players.” As Frazee desperately held tight to the bull's tail, Jake Ruppert magnanimously held open the door, a bag of cash in hand, saying, “This way out, Harry.” But only one day later a third, more evenhanded appraisal appeared in the
Herald
. This one showed Ruth being dragged away by two cops, Frazee and Barrow, one saying, “We can't manage him.” In the background a fan muttered, “Well, get somebody who can.”

For most of the Boston press, over the next few days they did the most reporting they had done in months, finally starting to put together the basic framework of Frazee's situation in context, and taking a longer view of Ruth. Some almost seemed astonished finally to realize that the Red Sox had finished sixth with Ruth in 1919. Despite the 1918 world championship, their record over the past two seasons with Ruth more a hitter than a pitcher was 147–133, barely above .500.

In a rarity for the time, some writers actually went out and asked fans and notable baseball figures of the city what they thought about the deal. Baseball insiders like former players Fred Tenney and Hugh Duffy, and ex-manager Bill Carrigan, all supported the deal. Most fans, such as Royal Rooters supreme Mike Nuf Ced McGreevey and Charley Lavis offered the opposite view. “I figure the Red Sox is now practically ruined,” said Lavis. But the breakdown is telling. Almost to a man, the ex-ballplayers viewed the deal in terms of the team, while the fans, whose love of Ruth had come to replace their love of the Red Sox, usually spoke only of how much they would miss watching the Babe. They hadn't cared that the team had finished sixth. They may not have realized it yet, but they loved the home run more than winning baseball, and for much of the next century that would be their only solace.

Although history would try to tell a different story, and present the entire city in an uproar, prepared to chase Frazee through the streets and string him up, in reality reaction was split. The
Boston Post
seemed unable to decide which side to take and stayed more or less neutral, while the
Boston Globe
(whose owners, the Taylors, stood to benefit financially from the deal) and the
Boston Transcript
supported the sale. Of the others, the
Herald
and the
American
were most critical.

An editorial in the
Boston Post
managed to capture the scope of the sale better than just about anything else. Admitting that there were reasons that both supported the transaction and argued against it, the editorial also noted, “this is not the first time Boston has been shocked by the sale of a wonderful player—Cy Young and Tris Speaker went their ways, much to the disgust of the faithful, but the club did not suffer materially. But Ruth is different. He is the class of ballplayer that flashes across the firmament once in a great while and alone brings crowds to the ballpark whether the team is winning or losing.” Really, for the first time, now that he was gone, it was finally possible to acknowledge Ruth's unique appeal. He was beyond the game, but that had only become apparent toward the end of his Boston reign, and was not yet completely certain.

Interestingly enough, no current Boston player made a public comment at the time, nor would one for some months, until long after Ruth had reached success in New York. Like Barrow, players like Harry Hooper would wait until the verdict of history was in before claiming, after the fact, to have been on the right side all along. But their silence at the time is telling. Shannon noted in the
Post
that “it is believed that practically every man on the Boston team is pleased at Ruth's sale to New York. Popular as Ruth was, on account of his big-heartedness, the men nevertheless realize that his faults overshadow his good qualities.” That was Ruth, as teammate, the past two seasons.

Frazee didn't remain silent. He knew that if he didn't provide some explanation, others would put words in his mouth. That eventually happened anyway, but it didn't stop him from trying. Besides, Boston was owed an explanation. He released a statement on January 6 to the
Boston Post
that, without revealing much at all about the financial and political aspects of the deal, which were both not yet complete and litigious, gave his logic for the trade:

Ruth had become simply impossible, and the Boston club could no longer put up with his eccentricities. While Ruth without question is the greatest hitter that the game has ever seen, he is likewise one of the most selfish and inconsiderate men that ever wore a baseball uniform., and the baseball public, according to press reports from all over the country, are beginning to wake up to the fact.…

Some people may say that the Boston club sold Babe Ruth simply because of the tremendous sum of money handed over by the New York club, but let them listen to a few facts and perhaps they will change their mind. Ruth is a wonderful box-office attraction and he drew many thousands of people to see the Sox play all over the circuit. Had he been possessed of the right disposition, had he been willing to take orders and work for the good of the club like the other men on the team I would never have dared let him go, for he has youth and strength, baseball intelligence, and was a popular idol. But lately this idol has been shattered in the public estimation because of the way in which he has refused to respect his contract and his given word. But I shall enlighten the public some more.

Twice within the past two seasons Babe has jumped the club and revolted. He refused to obey the orders of the manager and he finally became so arrogant that discipline in his case was ruined.

He left us in the lurch many times and just because of his abnormal swatting powers and the fact that he had been given such tremendous advertising by the newspapers he obeyed none but his own sweet will. At the end you could not talk to him.… Fans, attracted by the fame of his hitting, went out to Fenway Park unmindful of the steady work of [Stuffy] McInnis, [Harry] Hooper, [Wally] Schang, [Everett] Scott and others who were playing the same steady and brilliant ball, oftentimes handicapped by injuries that should rightfully have kept them out of the lineup. There was no longer any interest in the pennant race. And these same faithful, loyal players really felt it.…

How many games can you point out that he [Ruth] won single-handed and unaided last season? He won some, I will admit, but many a time it has been some other player on the team that contributed the deciding smash. Only Babe's long hit always got the credit. We finished in sixth place in spite of Babe and his 29 home runs. This will bring out, I think, very clearly the fact that one star on a team doesn't make a winning ball club. Cleveland had the great [Nap] Lajoie for years and couldn't win, Detroit has its Ty Cobb and Boston had its Ruth. A team of players working harmoniously together is always to be preferred to that possessing one star who hugs the limelight to himself.…

Harmony had departed when Ruth began to swell and I doubt if we could have kept out of the second division this year with Ruth in the lineup. After all, the baseball fans pay to see games won and championships achieved. They soon tire of circus attractions. And this is just what Ruth has become.

I might say in conclusion that the New York club was the only outfit in baseball that could have bought Ruth. Had they been willing to trade players, I would have preferred the exchange, but to make a trade for Ruth, Huggins would have had to wreck his ball club. They could not afford to give me the men I wanted.

Although Frazee would later release a longer, even more nuanced statement to
Baseball Magazine
, and news about his protracted battle with Johnson provided additional context to his remarks, this would mostly be ignored in Boston, where over time the sale would be viewed through an ever more distorted lens, ever more out of the context of its time. Once Ruth succeeded, once he became THE BABE in New York, none of that really mattered.

In New York, reaction was far different.

There it was all huzzahs and champagne corks and streamers, celebrations and brass bands. The press had been waiting for SOMETHING to happen with Yankee baseball for years, and it never had. They had all spent the last twenty years writing the legend of Giants manager John McGraw over and over again: they were pretty much sick of it, and sick of him. And while Ban Johnson had been promising to “help” the Yankees become a competitive team for almost twenty years, apart from 1904, when they lost the pennant to Boston on a wild pitch thrown by Jack Chesbro, that had never happened.