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  Motor City Champs

  Mickey Cochrane and the 1934–1935 Detroit Tigers

  SCOTT FERKOVICH

  McFarland & Company, Inc., Publishers

  Jefferson, North Carolina

  LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGUING DATA ARE AVAILABLE

  BRITISH LIBRARY CATALOGUING DATA ARE AVAILABLE

  e-ISBN: 978-1-4766-2950-6

  © 2018 Scott Ferkovich. All rights reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying or recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Front cover: Detroit Tigers Catcher Mickey Cochrane running on field, wearing catcher’s protective gear (courtesy of the Ernie Harwell Sports Collection, Detroit Public Library)

  McFarland & Company, Inc., Publishers

    Box 611, Jefferson, North Carolina 28640

      www.mcfarlandpub.com

  To my dad,

  who loves baseball

  For whatsoever from one place doth fall,

  Is with the tide unto an other brought,

  For there is nothing lost, that may be found, if sought.

  —Spenser

  Sing a song of seasons!

  Something bright in all!

  Flowers in the summer,

  Fires in the fall!

  —Robert Louis Stevenson

  Table of Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Preface

  A Note on Statistics and Quotations

  One. “Detroit is not my lucky town”

  Two. City on the Strait

  Three. “The tumult and the shouting start”

  Four. One Hot Goose

  Five. “Get that fellow out of my sight in a hurry”

  Six. “They’ll never see another game like it”

  Seven. Winning Streak

  Eight. Schoolboy and the History Books

  Nine. “Phenomena, bordering on the miraculous”

  Ten. Heartbreak and Garbage

  Eleven. “You can’t keep a gang like that down”

  Twelve. Hammerin’ Hank Sets the Pace

  Thirteen. “Pulling game after game out of the fire”

  Fourteen. The Cubs Blow In

  Fifteen. “The most obscene language I ever had to take from anybody”

  Sixteen. “This mad, delirious city”

  Epilogue

  Chapter Notes

  Bibliography

  List of Names and Terms

  Acknowledgments

  The assistance and encouragement of so many individuals has been vital in guiding this book through it birth, maturation, and completion. I would be remiss if I did not give them my heartfelt thanks. Many of them are probably unaware of my gratitude, but that is even more reason to make mention of it here.

  First, I consider myself blessed to have such a wonderful family. During the nearly two years it took to put this book together, they have been a precious anchor.

  Gary Mitchem, my editor at McFarland, saw the potential in the book from the very beginning. His faith in its success helped get the project off the ground. His direction and expertise proved invaluable.

  To fellow writers Dan Holmes and Bob Davis, who both took the time to read the manuscript and offer sound feedback and counsel, I am especially grateful.

  Bill Nowlin, the vice-president at the Society for American Baseball Research (SABR), was an encouragement from the start.

  Mickey Briggs, the grandson of former Tigers owner Walter O. Briggs, is a fine gent if ever there was one. He is also full of wonderful stories of the 1935 champions. My gratitude for his telling them to me knows no bounds.

  To the professional staff at the Detroit Public Library, I owe a debt of gratitude. Whether I needed their help locating rolls of ancient microfilm, or loading them onto the temperamental readers, they were always eager to lend a hand. Mark Bowden, the Coordinator for Special Collections, and Carla J. Reczek, a special librarian in the digital lab, were both very giving of their time and energies in providing me with access to digital images.

  Many thanks go out to the wonderful personnel at the Purdy-Kresge Library on the campus of Wayne State University. I spent countless hours scanning their fine collection of Detroit newspapers on microfilm, and the knowledgeable staff was always ready to give aid.

  Kelli Bogan, Photo Archives Manager at the National Baseball Hall of Fame’s Giamatti Research Center, is especially deserving of mention. Her assistance with photos was vital. An additional shout-out goes to Connie Robinson, Finance Associate at the Hall.

  This has been said before, but I’ll say it again: Every baseball researcher is beholden to Sean Forman, the president and founding partner of Sports-Reference.com. His great work has made our jobs infinitely easier (and more enjoyable).

  A bevy of benevolent souls freely offered thoughtful inspiration along the way. Among those worthy of thank you notes are Phil Archer, Larry Armstrong, Alexis Battenfeld, Bob “Bronco” Bellini, Maxwell Benz, Justin Bologna, Karen Bush, Darren Carlisle, Sebastian Clay, Maurice Cobb, Molly Crapps, Peter Dunne, Frank Foy, Tom Gage, Gary Gillette, Debbie Good, Donnie Grugliasco, Enrique Hernandez, Tommy Hudson, Kostya Kennedy, Elroy Lebenne, Charles Leerhsen, Jana McBurney-Lin, Bob McGee, Jerry Nechal, Bartlett W. Neusbaum, Malcolm Oglivie, Mary Louise O’Hara, Woody Phelps, Julie Reilly, Rusty Remmerswaal, Sam Kim, John Savoy, Bob Soo, Monte Swift, Kenji Takahashi, Bruce Thurmond, Barry Vetter, Fritz Von Boors, and Robyn Wilde.

  Preface

  The world of the early 1930s could be a bleak, chaotic, and threatening place. The Great Depression had thrust global economies into turmoil. Like dominos falling, dark events in Europe and Asia would lead to a cataclysmic clash of nations in just a few short years. Hope was a rare commodity, and the future looked cheerless and unwelcoming. The city of Detroit, in particular, endured hard times. Following the events of the stock market crash of 1929, automobile production had dropped, leading to layoffs and massive unemployment. Money was scarce. Food was even scarcer. Long lines at soup kitchens were a common sight. The Motor City, however, did have one thing to feel good about, and that was its baseball team.

  As of this writing, the Detroit Tigers have won four World Series, and it is remarkable how every one of those championship teams has served as a kind of catharsis from calamity for the residents of the city. In 1984, for example, Kirk Gibson, Alan Trammell, and Lou Whitaker gave Detroit a reason to celebrate in the midst of a sour economy, a stagnant auto industry, a tanking housing market, and high interest rates. In 1968, Mickey Lolich and Al Kaline helped to heal the wounds from race riots that nearly burned the city to the ground the summer before. In 1945, it was Hal Newhouser and Dizzy Trout pitching the way to a new era of peace and prosperity following the horrors of World War II.

  In 1934, still reeling from the Depression, Detroiters fell in love with Mickey Cochrane and his colorful cast of characters who went to the World Series. They lost in seven games to the St. Louis Cardinals, but came back even stronger in 1935, beating the Chicago Cubs to take the franchise’s first World Series championship.

  Cochrane, the erstwhile catching star on Connie Mack’s pennant-winning Philadelphia Athletics teams, rode into town as the Tigers’ new player-manager for the 1934 campaign. He may have single-handedly saved baseball in Detroit. His leadership and drive transformed a group that had resembled a country club rather than a baseball team. To borrow a modern phrase, he changed the culture. He also re-ignited the passions of a fan base that had been dormant for years.

  The 1934–1935 Tigers had no less than four future Hall of Famers in their lineup. Cochrane was one. The other three, c
ollectively known as the “G-Men” (a nickname borrowed from the special agents at the Federal Bureau of Investigation), were Hank Greenberg, Charlie Gehringer, and Goose Goslin.

  Greenberg, the young Bronx native, had overcome ethnic slurs to become a slugger of the first magnitude. He had his breakout season in 1934, amassing 63 doubles and hitting .339. He also gained national notoriety when he made the tough decision to play on Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, banging out two home runs in the process. He followed it up with an MVP season in 1935, and hit Detroit’s only home run in that year’s World Series.

  Gehringer, known as “The Mechanical Man” because he was as reliable as a fine wristwatch, had already established himself as the American League’s premier second baseman. He finished second to Cochrane in the AL MVP vote in 1934, after hitting .356. By the time he retired following the 1942 season, he had amassed 2,839 lifetime hits in his 19-year career (all with Detroit), and a .320 average.

  Leon Allen Goslin was a brilliant batsman, but an atrocious outfielder. Fly balls hit his way were an adventure; with his large proboscis pointed skyward, his arms flapping wildly like a bird, it was no surprise he earned the nickname “Goose.” One of Cochrane’s first moves was to acquire Goslin, a veteran leader whose Washington Senators had gone to the World Series three times, winning once.

  In addition to the quartet of Hall of Famers, the 1934–1935 Tigers boasted a bevy of smart, aggressive position players who fought for every inch the opposition would allow.

  Hardnosed shortstop Billy Rogell was known as “The Fire Chief.” He was a fine clutch hitter, driving in 99 runs in 1934. He backed down to no one, a quality that served him well later in life when he became a longtime member of the Detroit City Council.

  Third baseman Marv Owen had a mild-mannered, professorial look about him, but he never shied away from an oncoming baserunner. His famous dustup with the St. Louis Cardinals’ Joe Medwick in the 1934 World Series led to one of the most ignominious on-field events in baseball history. Detroit’s vaunted infield became known as the “Battalion of Death,” mainly because it was the ruin of ground balls.

  Right fielder Pete Fox hit over .300 five times in his career and was also a fine fly chaser. A fan favorite, he led Detroit with a .385 average in the 1935 World Series.

  Outfielder Gerald Holmes “Gee” Walker is largely forgotten today, but he was one of the most popular players ever to don the Old English “D.” A .294 lifetime hitter over 15 seasons, Walker had good speed on the basepaths, but his lapses in concentration often drove Cochrane crazy.

  The 1934–1935 Tigers had an impressive collection of talented pitchers. The charismatic Lynwood Thomas “Schoolboy” Rowe was one of the most talked-about athletes in America. Only 24 years old in 1934, the right-hander won 16 consecutive decisions at one point, still tied for the American League record. He finished the year with 24 wins and won 19 each of the next two seasons before arm problems derailed his career.

  Tommy Bridges won 20 games three consecutive years beginning in 1934. His slight frame (5'10" and only 155 pounds) belied his bulldog nature. His virtuoso performance in the ninth inning of Game Six of the 1935 World Series remains one of the gutsiest displays of pitching in the annals of the game.

  Elden Auker, known as “Big Six,” was a former college football player who sustained a shoulder injury on the gridiron. As a result, he could only throw underhand. Football’s loss, however, was baseball’s gain. His submarining pitching style carried him all the way to the major leagues, where he won 15 games in 1934 and 18 the following year.

  The rise of these Detroit Tigers is a rousing tale of triumph. An underdog outfit at the onset of the 1934 season, they surprised the baseball world by hanging near first place in the early months. In midsummer, they took on Babe Ruth’s New York Yankees in a series of titanic clashes, and prevailed. The Tigers could have wallowed in their own failure following a humiliating loss in Game Seven of the 1934 World Series. Instead, they came back the following year with a chip on their shoulders and some unfinished business. This book will chronicle their story, from the time in 1933 when Tigers owner Frank Navin contacted Yankees boss Jacob Ruppert about acquiring a certain home run king, until the denouement two years later, when Goose Goslin strode to the plate in the ninth inning at Navin Field with a world championship on the line.

  Just how good were the 1934–1935 Detroit Tigers? Comparisons across eras make for fun conversation and debate, but ultimately do not accomplish much. The professional game that we follow today is profoundly different from the one that our grandfathers and great-grandfathers knew. There were a mere 16 teams in the major leagues in 1935, and only one of them was west of the Mississippi River. Players wore flannel uniforms, sweated out doubleheaders every Sunday, and did not know what to make of the arrival of night baseball. For the most part, they did not earn much more money than the fans who paid to watch them play. Indeed, the intimacies of the player-fan dynamic seem quaint to our modern perspective. Many players lived not far from the ballpark. They were just as likely to strike up a conversation about baseball with the fan they met on the streetcar, as they were to chat with the butcher or baker as they visited his shop on their way home from a game.

  The relationship between players and the media (although in those days it was just “the press”) was also startlingly different. They ate together, rode the train together, played cards together, and drank together. As a rule, newspapermen did not divulge the peccadillos of players in print.

  On the field, there were no designated hitters, no batting helmets, and no ninth-inning closers throwing 100 miles per hour. Pitchers went the distance or suffered disgrace. Rare was the batter who struck out over 100 times in a single season. There were no free agents, no arbitration hearings, and no three-minute, between-inning breaks for television commercials. Players today are bigger, stronger, and faster (and a whole lot richer). To its shame, Major League Baseball in 1935 was an exclusive bastion of the white player. The integration (and indeed the gradual globalization) of the national pastime was far off in the future.

  Nevertheless, the game on the field today remains virtually intact in its essence. It is still played, as it was in 1935, with a round ball and a round bat. Three strikes you’re out, four balls take your base. Nine men on defense, and 27 outs in a regulation game. The beauty of baseball is in its continuity, its dependability, even as the rest of the world undergoes changes both seismic and unsettling. Humanity may careen toward catastrophe, but baseball is a reliable respite from reality. Bart Giamatti, the late baseball commissioner, once wrote that baseball was “our best invention to stay change.”1

  The Detroit Tigers of 1934–1935 were a talented club that gave hope to a city in trying times. For that, they are worth remembering, and that is why I have written this book.

  A Note on Statistics and Quotations

  Fans of baseball have had an enduring enchantment with its statistics. In our age of computers, perceptions of the game’s numbers (and the “how” and “why” behind them) have undergone a revolution of sorts. Statistics such as batting average, runs batted in, and wins for pitchers carried much more weight 80 years ago than they do today. Primarily indicators of volume (25 home runs, 32 doubles, 15 wins, etc.), they were a limited gauge of a player’s value to his team. Today, baseball analytics is an industry unto itself, with its passionate proponents and detractors. Esoteric formulas such as OPS+, Babip, FIP, and RA9def are transforming the way we view player performance. What I have attempted in this book is to employ a mix of traditional “baseball card” statistics, infused with a fair portion of modern sabermetrics (nothing too complex or off-putting for the average fan; just enough to provide something for everyone). I hope I have done that well. All statistics I use (yes, even WAR!) are taken from the great folks at BaseballReference.com.

  While chronicling this team history, I often utilize quoted matter from newspapers of the day. I could have chosen to edit these quotes, as they sometimes do
not conform to the rules of spelling or syntax. However, I feared that doing so would rob them of their authentic, evocative voice. Instead, I have recorded all quotations exactly as they originally appeared in the source material.

  Chapter One

  “Detroit is not my lucky town”

  Our story of how a baseball team went from mediocrity to the World Series begins with a knock on a door. The date was September 23, 1933. The knocker was Bucky Harris, manager of the Detroit Tigers. The door he knocked on led into the office of Frank J. Navin, the team’s owner. Harris had some weighty news for his boss.

  Navin was not expecting the meeting, although he probably should have been. The 1933 Tigers were not a good team. Perhaps the greater sin, however, was that they played a dull, uninteresting brand of baseball lacking in discipline, which is often an indictment of the manager. Harris had hoped he could turn things around in the season’s final month. Beginning a 16-game East Coast swing on September 6, the club was in fifth place, already 22 games behind the eventual-champion Washington Senators. Still, Harris figured that a solid road trip could increase Detroit’s chances at third-place money. Instead, the Tigers went 5–11 before slouching back home, and the skipper knew he had seen enough. Less than an hour after a victory over the St. Louis Browns, Harris entered Navin’s office to announce his resignation. It was agreed that coach Del Baker would handle the final two games of the season.

  It was not as if Harris had arrived in the Motor City without a pedigree. He had, after all, won two pennants, including a World Series title as a young manager in Washington. However, in his five seasons in Detroit, his clubs had never finished higher than fifth, with a 76–75 high-water mark in 1932.