Buck O'Neil Book Report

 With some extra time on my hands this summer I decided that I'd do a lot more reading than I had been. And I don't mean online. I'm sort of a dinosaur in that I still like the feel of a book in my hands. I'd been looking at The Athletic website (100% worth the subscription cost, btw) and came across Joe Posnanski's series chronicling the Top 100 Players in baseball history, at least according to him. It was a wonderful distraction from the lack of a season in the spring and early summer.

 He did it as a countdown, and while there were plenty of arguments to be made about where he put certain players, there could be no argument that his essays were marvelously written. Just terrific stuff, day after day. If you are not familiar with Posnanski's work, you are missing out.

When he got down to the last ten it was really fun to speculate on who would reign as #1 (it was Willie Mays). But, as I said, every player's story was so well written. Many suggestions rolled in that he publish the entire list in book form. I'd pre-order that for sure.

Soon after the series finished I check and found that Posnanski had written a book about Buck O'Neil. Entitled The Soul of Baseball, it is a travelogue of sorts which follows the year Posnanski spent on the road with O'Neil as the 90-year-old Negro League vet did what he'd been doing most of his life, spreading the gospel of baseball in general, the Negro leagues in particular.

I wasn't sure what to expect but I was bowled over as I read it. Posnanski came to really love O'Neil as they met fans at minor league parks, at baseball gatherings and at funerals of Buck's former teammates and rivals. The book made me laugh and tear up. And it made me do something I don't think I've ever done before...I went back and immediately re-read it. Not every page, mind you, but I dug through to find some of the wonderful stories that the book held. Posnanski shone a light on a one-of-a-kind human. 

Soon after I finished I shipped the book off to someone I know who will appreciate it. My guess is I won't get it back. But that's OK.

Then I went and found an authenticated signed pic of Buck O'Neil for my wall. As the book makes clear, Buck signed a lot of autographs. So many that I doubt anyone would bother to forge his signature. just no profit in it.

Buck O'Neil passed away just about the time the first edition of the book was being published. And that was not too long after the special committee that named many Negro League players and pioneers to the Baseball Hall of Fame but failed to include Buck. O'Neil himself would tell you he was a good, not great player. And while he was the first black coach in the majors, he never got a chance to step into the spotlight as the first black manager. 

But you can't possibly read this book and not see what a travesty his exclusion is. Naming an award after him doesn't make up for the lack of a plaque on those walls.

The book is available for five dollars or less in paper form at various sites. It's probably a $2 download to your Kindle. If you love baseball, or even if you want to feel better about humanity, it's money very, very well spent.

E90-1 "Chief" Bender

I've had my eye out for an American Caramel card of  'Chief' Bender for awhile and finally landed one. It's a little rough around the edges but if fell within my 'retired guy' budget. I don't need sharp corners or original gloss. This thing was in the hands of a kid in 1909 and that good enough for me.

The American Caramel sets are interesting and this one, the E90-1 is the most popular. That previous link and this one (specifically about the E90-1) are good reads.  

My copy came in a holder and because it looks pretty delicate I'm going to leave it in there. I much prefer holding my cards in my hands but I make some exceptions.

The is likewise paper loss on the back, and if the front had this much I would not have bought it, but the more pristine copies I found were twice the price.

I became interested in 'Chief'' Bender some years ago when I came across this book. Highly recommended!

My Bender card collection is slowly growing. I have one of his T206 cards and am trying to pick up a 1940 Play Ball and another T206 (he has three counting variations).

Spring Training...Spring Reading

With my Spring Training trip looming I had to decide on a book to take along. I read on planes, and at my age I won't be partaking of Florida's night life so I need something to do in the evenings at the hotel. My choice was pretty easy actually. What better book to take along than one that centers on Spring Training in the fifties and the experiences of a young once promising prospect who failed at the game but found a better calling. Pat Jordan's A False Spring is, in my humble opinion, the best baseball book ever. It's certainly my favorite and one of the best books of any kind I've ever read.

I did a quick review of it over on my '59 blog a few years ago. I'll take the liberty to reprint some of that post here:

Pat Jordan was a high school phenom who, in the late 1950s, was signed to a large bonus by the Milwaukee Braves and began pursuing his dream of a big league career. It was a dream he never realized and one he chronicles in 1974's A False Spring, not just my favorite baseball book, but my favorite book, period. I read it when it was published and have reread it several times. I usually donate or give away books once I'm through with them. I still have my original copy of this one. A False Spring is raw, funny, fascinating and sad. And it was written by one of our best writers, who as it turns out, has a reputation as an ass.
Jordan has written for Sports Illustrated, The New York Times Magazine and numerous publications and outlets. He has other books including A Nice Tuesday which deals with his life beyond the end of his baseball 'career'. I've read it and enjoyed it, but despite Jordan's curmudgeon-ish claim that it's a better book, I found to be less enjoyable. Yes, he's a prick, but he's a fantastic writer. Here is an excerpt from A False Spring: 

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 I see myself daily as I was then, in a photograph on the desk at which I write each morning in my attic room. The photograph was taken on June 27, 1959 at County Stadium in Milwaukee, a few minutes before the Braves were to take the field against the Chicago Cubs, to whom they would lose that day 7-1. I am standing halfway between the first-base line and the home team's dugout. Behind me are the stadium's half-filled bleachers. I am wearing a Braves uniform. Although the photograph is in black and white, I see all the colors. My cap has a navy crown, a white M and a red bill. My flannel uniform is the color of cream. Shirt and pants are trimmed with a half-inch-wide, three-part stripe of black, red and black satin. The word Braves is scripted in red and outlined in black at a slight upward angle across the front of the shirt. Beneath the script is a black and gold tomahawk. Below the tomahawk in the left-hand corner of the shirt are large block numerals: 24. They, too, are in red and outlined in black. Unseen in the photograph, but clear in my mind's eye, is the small gold patch stitched onto the shirt sleeve below my left shoulder. It is the face of an Indian of indeterminate tribe, contorted by a war cry.

Standing to my right is Whitlow Wyatt, the Braves' 51-year-old pitching coach. Wyatt is smiling at me. My gaze, however, is directed to my left, to Warren Spahn, the Braves' great left-handed pitcher, who has just spoken to me. Both Spahn and I are perspiring. We had just finished running wind sprints in the outfield and apparently were on our way to the clubhouse to change shirts when we stopped to pose for this photograph. For whom? Some faceless fan leaning over the dugout roof, imploring, whose good fortune it was to catch us in an obliging mood? We strike up a pose—so casual—and wait for the camera's click. To pass this moment as he has innumerable others like it, Spahn, hands on hips, turns to me and makes some bit of small talk, a phrase meant only to fill this instant and lead nowhere. I listen. Nonchalantly, hands on hips also, I listen to Spahn. To Spahnie. To Spahnie who is talking to me, so much younger and yet, with my amused smile, looking so at ease. Today I am amazed at how truly at ease I do look, at how naturally, in that uniform, I did fit between those men, Spahnie and I, the best of friends, I, too, having done this small thing so often, having struck up this obliging pose for so many fans, waiting only for the camera's click before tossing off a remark at which Spahnie and I would laugh on the way into the clubhouse to change our shirts.

I was 18 years old the day that photograph was taken. Actually it had been arranged by the publicity department of the Braves, with whom I had just signed my first professional baseball contract. The gaudy and impressive uniform was one reason I had signed with the Braves rather than any of the other 15 teams that had also offered me a contract. There were other reasons. The Braves had agreed to pay for my college education, to pay me a salary of $500 per month during each baseball season, and to deposit in my savings account every June 27, for the next four years, a certified check for $8,750. All told, my bonus amounted to more than $45,000 distributed over a four-year period. It was one of the largest bonuses—if not the largest—any young player received from the Braves in 1959.

For my part I promised to leave Milwaukee the following morning on a flight to McCook, Neb., where I would begin my professional career as a pitcher with the McCook Braves of the Class D Nebraska State League. I pitched in the minor leagues for three years, in such towns as McCook, Davenport, Waycross, Eau Claire and Palatka, before I was given my unconditional release by those same Milwaukee Braves. I never did pitch a game in Milwaukee's County Stadium, nor did I ever again speak to Warren Spahn. I did, however, keep the cash.

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Along the way we get tales of Jordan's days in camp, rooming in the low minors with future big leaguer Ron Hunt and a lot more. Read it if you get a chance. I promise you'll enjoy it or your money back. It's available from Amazon for as little as ONE PENNY plus shipping.