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World War II: When MLB Players Went “Over There!”

August 14, 2009

Witte Arrmy Pic In the picture at left, that’s former Houston Buff and St. Louis Brown first baseman Jerry Witte toting his US Army duffel bag in the top center, back row position of the scene. Witte was merely one of hundreds of professsional baseball players who poured themselves into the business of fighting World War II from the very start of it all. The great Bob Feller was on his way to Cleveland to sign his 1942 playing contract with the Indians when the Japanese pulled off their sneak bombing of Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941. Instead of signing another baseball contract, Feller took the first opportunity the very next day to join the Navy and the fight.

Not everybody from the big leagues went right away – and not everyone of eligibility went until they felt the chill of the draft breathing down their necks, but they went. And they served, in combat and in programs of special morale service to all branches of the United States Military. Once FDR wrote his now famous letter to Baseball Comissioner Kenesaw Mountain Landis, declaring that keeping the big league game going during World War II was important to the morale of the American people, the level, if not the pigmentary complexion, of the big leagues began to change. Many of the minor leagues did shut down, but the President’s “keep playing” message offered no assurance that play could continue at a high quality level anywhere. Baseball players were offered no special deferment from service status based on their employment in a morale-building industry.

Over the years 1942-1945, the quality of play in the major leagues reduced considerably. How could it not? With stars like Bob Feller, Ted Williams, Joe DiMaggio, Stan Musial, and Hank Greenberg all away serving in the military, there were no replacements out there who could even come close to filling their enormous shoes. Many overage stars of earlier years, people like Lloyd and Paul Waner, prolonged their careers, playing through 1945 in limited capacities as stars who had begun MLB back in the 1920s.

With the serious wounding and weakening of the New York Yankees, Detroit Tigers, Boston Red Sox, and Cleveland Indians through personnel loss, the always lowly St. Louis Browns managed to put together a 1944 club that was good enough to nip the Tigers at the wire by a single game for what would prove to be their only American League pennant in history. Unfortunately for the Browns, their same town rival Cardinals still had players like Stan Musial playing for them in 1944 and the frequent flyer winners of the National League pennant would go on to take the ’44 Browns in the World Series, four games to two. Musial would be in the service in 1945, opening the door for the also lowly Chicago Cubs to win their most recent National League pennant.

Joe DiMaggio and Bob Feller lost three seasons to World War II; Hank Greenberg (thanks to a correction supplied me by fellow SABR buddy Bob Kienzle of Dayton, Ohio) lost the better part of four and one-half seasons; Stan Musial only lost one year. Ted Williams, on the other hand, lost three seasons to World War II and almost all of two more years later when he was called back to fly combat fighter missions in Korea. You can play all day with the numbers on what they each lost to military service, but you know dadgum what? So did all our no-big-name parents and grandparents from everyday life who also put down their ploughs and welding rods at home to serve this country in wartime. They didn’t call them the “greatest generation” for any lighthanded reason.

If you really want to grab a handle on how broad and deep this cut into baseball careers ran red, click onto this link and take an especial look at “Those Who Served” from the left hand column on the home page.

http://www.baseballinwartime.com/

I recently saw Bob Feller at the July 31st “Knuckle Ball” in Houston. Nearing age 91, the man still possesses amazing energy and alertness. I think if you asked Bob Feller today how he felt about the baseball time he lost to World War II, he’d answer with something like, “I didn’t lose anything. I gave my time to my country when it needed me to be there on the fighting line for America.”

Semper Fi!

And not just by the way, Happy V-J Day! On August 15, 1945, a jubilant announcement roared across America that Japan had surrendered, ending World War II. On September 2, 1945, the Japanese formally surrendered on the deck of the U.S.S. Missouri in Tokyo Bay. Pick either of these dates as V-J (Victory Over Japan) Day and remember what they were about while you are celebrating both. Like all our great victories for peace, V-J Day came at a great cost that is always born on the backs of our great people in the U.S. Armed Services.

Tags:Baseball, culture, History, Houston Buffs
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TELEVISED BASEBALL AIN’T WHAT IT USED TO BE – THANK GOODNESS!

August 13, 2009

tv baseball Televised baseball “ain’t” what it used to be – thank goodness! Ten years after the first televised big league game from Ebbets Field in Brooklyn in 1939, KLEE-TV, Channel 2 in Houston, our only televison station then operating locally during the pre-coaxial cable days introduced the first viewing of baseball to the few Houstonians who owned those early 10 inch screen console receving sets that sold for about $400 at places like the Bayne Appliance Store. That was a lot of money for a family to pay for television back in 1949, but it was Houston’s first year with the new medium and there were then, as now, people with both the money and ego that were large enough to buy one at the early inflated price. There were no easy credit line purchases back in the day.

Unfortunately for us, our dad was not one of these monied ego types. If we wanted to see TV, we had to scrounge up an invitation to the Sanders household. The Sanders family was the only household in our neighborhood for the longest time in 1949 that even had a TV. Lucky for me, Billy Sanders was my “best bud” and my original co-founder of the Pecan Park Eagles. Billy also loved to contemplate the future of technology with me. Our “what will they think of next” answer to what lay ahead for us all beyond television was unanimous in our poll response from the rest of the Pecan Park Eagles too. – None of us could wait for the introductions of Feelavision, Smellavision, and Tasteavision. We’re still waiting, I suppose, but I cannot speak for the rest of the Eagles. We all grew up and were lost to each other so many years ago.

tv baseball 2 Bill Newkirk handled the first televised play-by-play at Buff Stadium of 1949 Houston Buffs games. He was assisted by longtime Buff, Colt .45, and Astro engineer Bob Green in generating those early productions. Newkirk was succeeded in 1950 by Dick Gottlieb of Channel 2, which by its second year had now been purchased by the William P. Hobby family and re-christened as KPRC-TV. Guy Savage, later of KTRK-TV Sports, Channel 13, also handled the play-by-play on a number of those early baseball telecasts from Buff Stadium.

Dick Gottlieb would achieve minor notoriety-by-association fame as the only known telecaster of a a suicide in the history of the medium. At a night game in 1951, a man sidled up beside lone broadcaster Gottlieb, announced that he was going to shoot himself, and then did so. The camera man responded instinctively, turning the camera from the field of play to the figure of the slumping dead man as he made his way to the floor. I didn’t see it, but I heard it. My dad and I were at that game, sitting about twenty rows back of Gottlieb and where it all took place. I remember that we were playing Tulsa that night and that the visitors were in the field when the gunshot boomed out. I can still see Tulsa’s Roy McMillan hitting the dirt, spread eagle. Many others did the same. Those who didn’t drop fast and hard ran like mad for the nearest dugout, not necessarily their own. Amazingly, Gottlieb recovered and finished the broadcast of the game. Not even violent death stopped the Buffs.

Of course, there was nothing remotely resembling high definition picture quality available in 1949. Those small fuzzy analog pictures gave us only a blurring vision of little white and little gray colored figures moving around on a lighter grey field at night under poorly lighted field conditions. With a main or only camera directly behind home plate in 1949, we also saw through the pattern of that safety screen device as we attempted to follow the action on the field.

For a long time, there was no second camera. The effect was like it being the pong-era of televised baseball. The camera had to follow this little round white object when it was hit – and that was only possible when the ball left the bat on a grounder route, to or through the infield. The ball got smaller and disappaeared each time. On fly balls, these vanished immediately. We had to make a judgment about what we were viewing that was based upon how the fielders behaved. In the process, we always lost track of the runner since we couldn’t watch both him/them and the flight of the ball too. Sometimes the camera would swing back, hoping to catch a play at the plate. It would often get there just in time to show us a runner already running past home plate – and we would have to wait on the announcer to tell us what had happened on the play.

Early televised baseball was a lot like “radio with pictures” because the technical limitations on both our televising and receiving equpment weren’t good enough in 1949 to let a picture speak for itself. Thank goodness for a half century of incredible improvement. Thank goodness for the discovery that the view over the pitcher’s shoulder was the best primary shot on the field. Thank goodness for multiple cameras and copying technology. And thank goodness for 2009 telecasters like Bill Brown, Jimmy Deshaies, and Greg Lucas!

Tags:Baseball, culture, History, Houston, Houston Buffs
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Minute Maid Park: Making the Case for Character and Tradition.

August 10, 2009

Minute Maid Park 3 Ten seasons deep into its life as a baseball venue, the place that began as Enron Field at Union Station before its reputationally redemptive transformation into Astros Park, and then Minute Maid Park, is alive and well – and building surface patina by the layers-worth on its quirkiness as yet another one-of–a-kind home to Houston baseball. That tradition of uniqueness in Houston is steeped in the six major parks that have served as home to our professional baseball warriors since 1888.

1) Houston Base Ball Park (1888-1906). The forerunner of West End Park at 601 Andrews Street and Smith Avenue, south across the street from the lustre of local history that is Antioch Baptist Church, HBBP is about 90% certainly the same forerunner site of the 2,500 seat ballpark that followed it in service. HBBP seated about 300 people on wooden bench stands, but it offered few amenities we see as necessary today for enjoyment at the game. The problem for research here is nailing down something from one of the agate-type newspaper stories of its time that clearly notes its location beyond doubt. From my research of the real estate plattes from that era, I cannot see any other place in the near downtown area that would have served its purpose as well as the long open field on Andrews. That site is now part of the Allen Center, but no city plaque exists to mark it as the cradle of Houston’r professional baseball history. (Houston real-time base ball birth goes back to April 1861, when the first Houston Base Ball Club was formed in the room above J.H. Evans’s Store on Market Square. As soon as we are able to confirm the precise location of Mr. Evans’s Store, we will be able to petition the City of Houston to mark that spot too as the real birth site of baseball in Houston.

2) West End Park (1907-1927). For twenty-one seasons, for sure, the 2,500 seat wooden grandstand ballpark near downtown served as the home of the Houston Buffaloes of the Texas League. Rookie Buffs center fielder Tris Speaker helped cristen the place in 1907 with some dazzling play in the cavernous outfield while also leading the Texas League in hitting that year with a .314 batting average. During this same two-decade period, a young man from Austin named Fred Ankenman gradually took over running the Buffalo stampede into local hearts as chief executive under local ownership and later as President under the club’s ownership from the early 1920s by the major league St. Louis Cardinals. West End Park was a nice place, but it was never big enough to house the future plans of the fellow that ran the Cardinal operation – a fellow named Branch Rickey, the man who served as the genius of minor league farm team design and hands-on micromanager of all moves pertaining to Cardinals baseball. After the Cards won their first World Series over the New York Yankees in 1926, Rickey and Ankenman acquired a parcel of land on the rail lines that flowed east from downtown Houston. They built a $400,000 jewel of a ballpark on what was then called St. Bernard Avenue. That street later was renamed as Cullen Boulevard. The ballpark they built there was christened as Buffalo Stadium on April 11. 1928. Ironically, Union Station, at the corner of Texas and Crawford, was one of the principle places that fans caught the trains and street cars for transportation in the afternoons to Buffalo Stadium on game days.

Buff Stadium Mural 3) Buffalo/Buff Stadium (1928-1952); Busch Stadium (1953-1961). Subtract the three lost years in which the Texas League was closed down during World War II (1943-45) and “Buff Stadium” was home to Houston baseball for 31 active seasons from 1928 to 1961. I’m, of course, absorbing those few final seasons in which the place was technically renamed as “Busch Stadium” into that figure. Most of us diehard Buff fans never accepted that name change in the first place.

Seating 8,000 people originally, Buff Stadium eventually expanded down the left field line to handle as many as 11,000 seated fans – with a total gate potential of over 13,000 when the outfields were roped off to accomodate a standing room only crowd. A 1951 spring exhibition game betwen the Buffs and the New York Yankees with DiMaggio and Mantle playing in the same outifield drew well over 13,000 – and that standing-in-left-center-field gate inscluding my dad, my brother, my best pal, and me. The pictures in my mind from that day still cry out for development. I shall forever regret not having my camera with me on that storybook day.

4) Colt Stadium (1962-64). It was never intended as anything more than service as a temporary home for Houston’sn new major league club, the Colt .45’s – and it’s just as well. The place that many of fans called “The Skillet” was tough enough during the work week night games, when Houston’s vampire squad mosquitoes feasted upon this congregation of human flesh and blood, but it was worse than Dante’s Inferno on weekends under the direct fiery blaze of the sun. With no overhead protection, and with the surrounding parking cement reflecting all that heat back up into the humidor-like confines of Colt Stadium, people dropped like flies at daytime weekend games. For those conditions, the short-lived Colt Stadium earned a place in baseball history. It forced the ball club to seek permission for night baseball on Sundays, something that had been unheard of previously due to all the blue law notions about the role of baseball on the Lord’s Day, anyway. Attedance at Sunday night games in Houston was so improved that it led to other clubs playing games at that night time slot also. It wasn’t long before televised Sunday Night Baseball became a fixture among the viewing habits of fans.

We have Colt Stadium to thank for that little ripple on the wall of history.

5) The Astrodome (1965-1999). Judge Roy Hofheinz dubbed it as ” the eighth wonder of the world” once he renamed the Harris County Domed Stadium as “The Astrodome” – the new home of the newly renamed Houston Astros. Looking back now, I have to admit to something that I think almost all of us experienced back then in those more innocent and far less jaded days of big change. – The idea of a domed stadium just blew us all away. We could not imagine any ballpark that could be built to protect the game from weather – that wouldn’t also interfere with the flight of most high-arching fly balls.

As it turned out, it wasn’t fly balls hitting the roof that presented a problem. It was the outfielders being able to see fly balls as they flew into the camaflauge of the ceiling beams and roof-side window lights that was their new background. You hard core fans know the rest of this story. The Astros painted the ceiling windows to make it easier for fielders to see the flight of high batted fly balls. That action killed the grass and led to the introduction a new articial surface material called Astroturf – and many other changes from that point forward.

For, at least, the third new stadium in a row, Houston had produced venues that led to broader change; Buff Stadium became the model for the construction of upscale ballparks in minor league cities; Colt Stadium led to Sunday Night Baseball; and the Astrodome led both baseball and football to the use of Astroturf as a field covering.

Unfortunately, the Astrodome also became the “cookie-cutter” model for multi-purpose venues that would principally serve as home to both baseball and football as a cost-reducing incentive on the side of promoting public support for professional sports. Similarly dimensioned stadiums soon opened in St. Louis, Pittsburgh, Philadelphia, and Cincinnati. None of these other places had roofs, but New Orleans soon enough built a second domed stadium for football that vould have been used for baseball too, if the city had possessed a big league club.

Minute Maid Park 11 tals hill

6) Minute Maid Park, 2000-2009 & Counting. Our current downtown ballpark represents Houston’s commitment to the retropark, baseball only, or principally baseball, movement that began in Baltimore during the early 1990s. As such, MMP came to life bearing certain quirky features of three great ballparks from baseball’s early years. I like them all, but let’s parade them out there for those who may not have noticed the lineage on these particular features. (a) The Polo Grounds: Although the dimsensions of MMP are not as extreme, the short porches on the foul lines and the deep center field distance is remindful of the much steeper rectangle that governed the flight of baseballs in the old Polo Grounds in upper Manhattan. Many people who quickly notice the short distance down the line at MMP are not so quick to note that dead center in MMP is 35 feet further away than it was at the Astrodome. (b) Fenway Park: The distance down the left field line at MMP is the same 315 feet that governs the same area at Fenway Park in Boston. We don’t have a “Green Monster” wall in left, but we do have a pretty tall manual scoreboard there (another retro feature that makes playing the ball off the wall) anything but routine. That “Crawford Boxes” seating area has become one of the great places to watch baseball too. I’ll take it over the cookie-cutter wall and seating area in left field at the Astrosome any day of the week. (c) Crosley Field. We have Astros President of Baseball Operations Tal Smith to thank for the elevaed hill shown in the picture at left. “Tals Hill,” as its aptly called, is a double throwback to a feature that had been built into Crosley Field (then known as Redland Field) when it was built in 1912. Instead of leveling the field up to street height when they finsished the field, they simply covered the last few feet as a gradually climbing, fifteen degree incline to the street. Someone back there saw one of two advantages to this feature. In the days prior to warning tracks, the incline gave fielders a buit in message that they were nearing collision with a fence. The second use of the hil was to provide graduating sight lines for fans standing in the outfield during SRO games. Tal remembered the left field hill feature from his early days with the Reds organization and spoke out in favor of its inclusion in the new Houston ballpark. Thank goodness, he did. The Hill – and the on-the-field flagpole that Tal also suggested – are two of the most enjoyable features at Minute Maid Park. In the decade they have been in place, they have ended no careers – and they have produced some of the best catches we’ve ever seen.

Bill McCurdy Minute Maid Park is a monument to baseball uniqueness among all other sports. As many fine writers have pointed out, ad nauseum, baseball isn’t controlled by the clock. Theoretically, a game could go on from here to eternity, if the score remains tied at the end of each full inning. It also doesn’t play out on an even gridiron, as does football. Baseball plays out on whatever field fits the reality of the community it serves – and you cannot blame your losses on the field of battle – unless you are just a loser looking for another easy excuse for your own failures.

For example, in one of my last years of adolescent baseball glory, I played a number of games in a center field area that I shared with a pretty good sized oak tree. I’d like to blame the oak tree for my lack of success that season, but I cannot. The oak tree had no surprisingly agile moves out there in deep center. Unfortunately, neither did I.

Tags:Baseball, History, Houston, Houston Astros, Houston Buffs, Houston Colt .45s
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Clarence Beers: Quiet Man of the ’47 Buffs!

August 7, 2009

When a pitcher goes through a season garnering 25 wins against only 8 losses, you have to figure that he’s speaking loud enough alone by his performance on the field. Well, that was exactly how the soft-spoken Clarence Beers played it as the pitching ace of the 1947 Houstons Buffs. His efforts, with some considerable help from the ’47 Buffs offense, plus fellow 20-game winner Al Papai, proved plentiful enough in getting the job done. With good command of his several quality pitches, the cool-tempered 28-year old quiet man from El Dorado, Kansas had done more than enough to draw attention from the parent club St. Louis Cardinals when it came to thinking about 1948 season. Beers had been a late season call up for the Buffs in 1940, but he only got here long enough at age 22 to go 0-1. Now it was seven years later, but even at age 29, and in spite of the fact that his 25-game win season in 1947 was only the first 20 plus wins year since his career began back 1n 1937, Clarence Beers finally had earned a shot at the majors with the Cards.

The opportunity for Beers finally came in relief on May 2, 1948. Unfortunately, Clarence lasted only two-thirds of an inning against the Chicago Cubs at Sportsman’s Park in St. Louis, giving up four runs (one earned) on three hits and a walk. Beers had no strikeouts. A walk and and a wild pitch also didn’t help his cause in an early season game captured by the Cubs, 13-4.

As so often happens, that was it for Clarence Beers in the majors. He was soon assigned to Columbus of the AAA American Association. where he posted a lacklustre 10-12, 5.35 ERA record for the minor league Redbirds. In 1949, Beers was back here to play for a bad Houston Buffs club, finishing the ’49 season with a record of 11-14 and a 3.48 ERA. Clarenece Beers also began the 1950 season with the Buffs, but was soon dealt to the Beaumont Roughnecks, the eventual champions of the Texas League that season under manager Rogers Hornsby. His 7-7, 3.72 ERA in 1950 preceded a return to Beaumont in 1951, where he battled effectively through the season, finishing with a 14-15, 2.80 ERA record. 1952 would prove to be Clarence’s last full season when he went 5-18, with a 4.47 ERA for Toledo-Charleston of the American Association. Beers finished 1952 with no record and a 4.91 ERA for Seattle of the AAA Pacific Coast League. He then went 3-7 with three clubs in 1953 and then hung them up for all time.

When we add up the results of his fourteen year career (1937-42, 1946-53), we find Clarence Beers on the light side of a career record that included 148 minor lreague wins against 158 minor league losses. His statistically exceptional year came in 1947, when he also held the opposition scoring down well enough to finish with a 2.40 earned run aerage.

I only met Clarence Beers once – and that was at the 1995 Last Round Up of the Houston Buffs. I was impressed right away with his calm, quiet, cool, and steady manner. Everything I had ever heard about the man kicked in: He was a good guy to have on your side. He was about winning. He cared about the game – and he covered his teammates’ backs. No bovine bravado flowed from this man. He was just real. And it was my good fortune to have met the man who was one of the first professional pitchers I ever saw work back in 1947, the year of my baseball awakening.

Clarence Beers passed away on December 6, 2002, just three days short of his 84th birthday, in Tucson, Arizona.

Tags:Baseball, Houston, Houston Buffs
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Guy Sturdy: A Forgotten Houston Buff!

August 5, 2009

Guy Sturdy 2 It’s hard to find a good picture of fellows like Guy Sturdy, almost as hard as finding anyone other than the most arcane-interested of baseball researchers who even remember him. That’s Guy Sturdy in the St. Louis Cardinalesque uniform of the 1935 Baltimore Orioles. Guy had taken over as manager of the then AA International League Orioles in late 1934. He held onto the skipper’s job without much success until he was fired and replaced during the 1937 season. Based upon Baltimore’s 5th place finish, 13 games back in 1935, we are inclined to presume that the new Packard that Sturdy is receiving in the picture as a gift from fans must have taken place at an earlier, more wishful moment near Opening Day of that season.

Guy Sturdy’s managerial career was totally mediocre and forgettable. From 1933 thhrough 1948, Sturdy managed eight minor league clubs, hitting one 2nd place run in 1940, but never finishing any higher in the standings than fourth place in any other season. It was as a a minor league hitter that Guy Sturdy earned his right ro be remembered by hard core baseball fans. From 1922-1935, 1938-1940, Guy Sturdy amassed a minor league career that included 2,546 hits, 203 home runs, 384 stolen bases, and a career batting average of .322. His career year happened with Tulsa of the Western League in 1926 when the left handed batting and fielding, six feet tall first sacker hit .353 with 67 stolen bases, 49 homers, and 163 runs scored. – How deserving of our memory is a season performed on that level?

Here’s where it gets strange when we have little more than stat pages to go by. – Sturdy’s lights out (before they even used lights) 1926 season flowed into a return to Tulsa in 1927. His homer totals dropped to 23, but his batting average climbed to .374. That little two-year rolling parlay bought Guy Sturdy a late season call up to the roster of the ’27 St. Louis Browns. For the five games he played in his first season with the Browns, Sturdy collected 9 hits in 21 times at bat. A double was his only extra base hit, but he also walked once without striking out a single time. His production netted him 5 runs, 5 RBI, a batting average of .429 and an on base percentage of .455. Sturdy was back with the Browns in 1928, but he then hit only .222 in 54 games – with only two extra base hits ( one double, one homer) and for an on base percentage of .340. It was back to the minors and the Birmingham Barons in 1929-1930, where he would hit .297 and .317 in the then A-ball level Southern Association over the course of those two years.

In 1931, during his only year here in the Bayou City for then A-ball level Texas League action, Guy Sturdy hit .295 with 3 homers and 69 RBI for one of the greatest Houston Buff teams of all time. With his performance numbers down, however, and with hot Cardinal prospects teammates like Dizzy Dean and Joe Mewick grabbing all the local headlines, the 32-year old journeyman Guy Sturdy simply wasn’t up to getting the kind of gas he needed to rise any higher in the game than he did five seasons earlier. Sturdy would have one more monster batting average year down the road at age 39, when he would hit .359 as the playing manager for Marshall of the C-ball level East Texas League. Unfortunately, his late season physical attack upon an umpire led to a 90-day suspension that carried over into the 1939 season, when he only managed at Marshall.

Right or wrong, the old ’31 Buff, Guy Sturdy, went out fighting. Today he deserves to be remembered as a man who contributed to Houston’s 1931 Texas League pennant victory – and as a fellow native Texan who went out there and had a pretty fair country league career in the minors. Guy Sturdy was born on August 7, 1899. That means that this coming Friday is the 110th anniversary of his birth. He died on May 4, 1965 in Marshall, Texas, just three months shy of his 66th birthday.

Guy Sturdy 3

Thanks for the memories, Guy Sturdy! This blog site is no eternal flame on the history of Houston baseball, but it will have to do – until the real thing comes along.

Tags:Baseball, Houston, Houston Buffs
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My Team: Houston Buffs Forever!

July 31, 2009

A couple of days ago, I presented y choices for the All Time Buffs team, based upon career performances in the big leagues and their accomplishments with Houston. Four future Hall of Famers filled nine of those spots, but none of these guys are members of my all time favorite Buffs starting lineup. “Houston Buffs Forever” is my Buffs club, the one I grew up watching, the one I’d be willling to go to baseball war with as either a field or fantasy all star club manager. These guys were my heroes – and they all played during the years of my “open-to-role-models” years, 1947 to 1953. Anyone who played for the Buffs before or after that time frame had little to no effect upon me as a character mentor, with a few exceptions, but I did continue to learn about life and baseball from all the guys I watched play at Buff Stadium through their last year of 1961. Bob Boyd, who broke the color line in Houston in 1954, would be the biggest example of a teacher who came to me in thr middle of my adolescent years. I admired the cool-under-fire way in which Boyd handled the pressure of performing very well as the first black man to play for the previously all white Houston Buffs. I also loved watching future left fielder Billy Williams, third baseman Ron Santo, and pitcher Mo Drabowsky of the 1960 season club, but none of these guys, not even Boyd, made it to my personal starting lineup – the one I call “Houston Buffs Forever.” Here they are – my personal favorites – now and forever. I’d take on the whole baseball world with these guys – and I’d keep on trying, win or lose, with this same lineup, to excel against all odds. These guys are all a generous blend of baseball character and athletic talent.

SOLLY HEMUS, SECOND BASE: Solly was my first baseball hero back in 1947, that is, unless we don’t count my dad. but he was definitely my first role model from the professional ranks. Hemus played three seasons for the Buffs (1947-49) before going on to his very successful career in the majors with the Cardinals and Phillies. He is still going strong today in the oil business at age 86. Solly went into private business after concluding his tenure in baseball as a manager and coach, but he has stayed in touch with the game and a variety of charitable causes supported by various baseball concerns. Solly Hemus is one of the most humble philanthropists that the game has ever known. He supports a number of worthy works, but he avoids any action that will draw serious attention to his giving. If everyone we know had the heart of a Solly Hemus, and the modesty that only comes from the anonymity of the giver, the world would be a much nicer place for all of us. Solly Hemus is also the only member of the All Time Buffs Performance Club to make my personal Buffs preference team.

HAL EPPS, CENTER FIELD: They dubbed him as “The Mayor of Center Field.” His speed and defensive skill spoke to the origins of that nickname, ut he laso patrolled the Buff Stadium middle garden as though there were no term limits on his tenure of service. Long before I ever saw a Buffs game, Hal Epps played in Houston from 1936-1939 and again in 1941-1942. I first saw Hal play during his last three years in Buff Stadium, from 1947-1949. The former Philadelphia A’s and St. Louis Browns outfielder was a pivotal player for the 1947 Houston Buffs’ Texas League and Dixie Series Champions. After he left baseball, Hal Epps lived quetly in the Houston area until his death at age 90 in 2004.

LARRY MIGGINS, LEFT FIELD: Irish Larry Miggins had a four season stay in Houston (1949, 1951, 1953-1954) as a slugging outfielder for the Buffs. His 28 HR during the 1951 season were a big factor in the Buffs capturing the Texas League pennant that year. He also had a great tenor voice and was sometimes asked to sing at games on special holiday occasions. “When Irish Eyes Are Smiling” is the number I remember best. Miggins was noted for his honesty. One time, when he was playing left field for the Columbus Redbirds in a playoff game, a batter hit a ball over Larry’s head that the umpire ruled a ground rule double for landing in an unplayable area short of the stands. When the other team protested that it was really a home run that had then been dropped into the unplayable area on field, the umpire called time to ask Larry which call was correct. Larry’s words supported the opposing team’s view – that it, indeed, had been a home run for the opposition – thus, costing his own team a run. For that honesty, Miggins was almost run out of the stadium on a rail by the home crowd, but it was honesty the umpire wanted. And honesty is Mr. Miggins’s middle name – or should be. Larry Miggins is one of my dearest friends in the world. Today, at hearly age 84, he still lives in Houston with his lovely Irish wife Kathleen – and very near their surviving eleven grown children and numerous grandchildren.

JERRY WITTE, FIRST BASE: My first sacker is one of the greatest sluggers in minor league baseball history. Jerry’s 308 career home runs included the 38 he blasted to lead the 1951 Buffs to a Texas League pennant and, more incredibly for that pre-steroid era, the 50 HR he launched for the 1949 Dallas Eagles. Jerry Witte didn’t simply “”Crawford Box” these homers, he blasted them – high, hard, and faraway into the night or late afternoon skies – and in a manner that reminded of Babe Ruth. They were the baseball trajectory version of the great western Arch Memorial in St. Louis. – As a kid, Jerry Witte was the biggest hero I ever had. As an older adult, he was also my best friend. – A few years ago, I helped Jerry Witte organize and write his memoirs in a fine little book called “A Kid From St. Louis” (2003). (If anyone is interested in a copy, please contact me by e-mail for information about the purchase of a hard-bound first edition. As in all other matters, my e-mail address is houston_buff@hotmail.com . Jerry and Mary Witte were both myclose friends – and they spent most of their lives in the same East End section of Houston where I grew up, and attending the same St. Christopher’s Catchlic School that was my place as a kid. We lost Mary to cancer in 2001. We lost Jerry to a broken heart in 2002 at age 86. Jerry and Mary had seven daughters, whom I love today as if they were my own family. Jerry Witte was the most down-to-earth good man I ever met. Wish we could have kept him forever. The world would be a much better place for it.

KEN BOYER, THIRD BASE: When Ken Boyer joined the 1954 Buffs, he came with “great major league future” stamped all over his travelling trunk. He could run, hit, throw, hit for average, and hit for power. His 1954 Buffs stats included a .319 batting average, 21 home runs, and 116 runs batted in. He was too good for a second season in Houston, but he was the offensive force of that championship club while he was here. He actually performed better in Houston than Ron Santo did, six years later in 1960. Either guy is a great pick at 3rd base, but I’ll take Boyer as my personal choice – and that’s probably influenced by remnant bias in favor of people and things of the Cardinals over the same from the Cubs. I’m pretty much biased in favor of St. Louis, except for those times they stand in the way of our Houston Astros. Under that circumstance of St. Louis versus my beloved hometown, I’m for Houston all the way. Every time.

JIM BASSO, RIGHT FIELD: Jim Basso was a Buff in 1946 and for part of the 1947 season. I really didn’t get to know Jim until later in life, but that made up for a lot of lost time. Basso was one of fieriest guys I ever met. His biggest disappointment in life was his failure to reach the big leagues long enough to get into the record books as a former big leaguer. His greatest thrill was meeting and partying with Ernest Hemingway in Cuba during spring training one year in the late ’40s. – If Jim Basso were alive today, I’d want him in my lineup.

FRANK MANCUSO, CATCHER: I grew up on Japonica Street in Houston’s Pecan Park subdivision in the Est End. Frank Mancuso’s mother lived just down the street on Japonica, at the corner of Japonica and Flowers. My mom knew Frank’s mom. They went grocery shopping together in my mom’s car. Frank Mancuso and his brother Gus were everyday names in my life for as long as I could remember. The former Senator and Brown, who survived a parachute freefall in the Army during World War II – and then got home in time to catch for the only Browns club to ever visit the World Series in 1944 was another great human being. He didn’t reach the Buffs until 1953, but he was already deeply in the heart of Houston as a citizen. After baseball, Frank ran for a place on Houston City Council. He won – and then he stayed there for thirty years as probably the most honest politician to ever serve this community. He represented the East End well and he promoted the improvement of parks and sporting venues for the inner city kids who, otherwise, had little. When Frank left us in August 2007, at age 89, the people of Houston lost a man who really understood what public service was supposed to be about. Frank Mancuso was another good friend that I miss a lot, everyday. No one else could be the catcher of my “Houston Buffs Forever” club.

BILLY COSTA, SHORTSTOP: Little (5’6″) Billy Costa served two stints with the Buffs in 1946-47 and 1951-52. He was another of those Rizzuto-type pepperpot players who kept everyone on their toes, both on and off the field. When Billy came down with polio in 1951, I was crushed by the news. I promptly made all kinds of prayer and pubescent reform deals with God, if He would just cure Billy Costa of his affliction. The efforts of so many kid fans in prayer and bargaining must have done something because Billy Costa was well enough to play for the Buffs again in 1952. After baseball, Billy served a long time in politics as an elected member of the Harris County Commisssioner’s Court. I never met Billy personally, but I always liked him as a player. He died several years ago, long before the normal time span for most people. I’ll take Costa as my “HBF” shortstop, even if he couldn’t hit as well as Phil Rizzuto. Billy never made it to the big leagues.

AL PAPAI, PITCHER: On a day when knuckle balls are totally on my mind (I’m attending tonight’s Knuckle Ball Benefit Dinner downtown), Al Papai stands out as the clear choice to be my starting “HBF” pitcher. Al went 21-10 with a 2.45 ERA for the ’47 championship Buffs; he returned to go 23-9 with a 2.44 ERA for the championship ’51 Buffs. When his knuckle ball was bobbing right, nobody could hit it – and few catchers could catch it – but batters still swung at it, hopelessly, in self defense. Papai also had a wry sense of humor. In 1951, he was called upon to escort beauty queen Kathryn Grandstaff to home plate in a pre-game ceremony at Buff Stadium. When that same queen later married crooner Bing Crosby and became something of lesser light movie star, Al Papai enjoyed reminded others of his earlier service to the lady. “Just remember,” Al said, “I gave her the start that made her who she is today!” When Allen Russell was planning the last Round Up of the Houston Buffs in 1995, sadly, Papai’s invitation arrived in Springfield, Illinois on the day of his funeral. Dead at 78, the world lost another of the grandest old Buffs, but he survives here in this roll call of those who played with great heart on the field to take his rightful place with my eight other picks for the “Houston Baseball Forever” nine. As I said earlier, I’d take on the world with these guys playing for Houston in their prime.

Tags:Baseball, Houston, Houston Buffs, Personal
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History of Houston Baseball Team Nicknames!

July 29, 2009

When it comes down to baseball team nicknames, we weren’t always the Astros in Houston. Going all the way back to 1867, Houston baseball has been represented on all the various levels of competition by at least thirteen different identities – and these are simply the ones we are able to uncover with a little easy, but broadscale research smf dome “count ’em on my fingers” match. (Thirteen is the figure I got for a total after adding up all, but one of the bold type nicknames that follow in this post.)

The Houston Stonewalls are our first nickname reference. Hot on the heels of the recently concluded Civil War, the 1867 Stonewalls took their name in honor of former Confederate General Stonewall Jackson only two years after the conclusion of the war between the states, ths contributing to the idea that Houston discovered “base ball” through its association with Unionists in Prisoner-of-War camps. Not so. Remember? You’ve heard it from several times over st the old Chron.Com site: The first Houston Base Ball Club was formed at a meeting above J.H. Evans’ store on Market Square in downtown Houston on April 16, 1861. That foundation was poured only weeks after Texas already had seceded from the Union, but it happened so near the advent of conflict that base ball would have to wait until the war was done to get rolling locally. When it did, the Houston Stonewalls went into action on San Jacinto Day, April 21, 1867 and defeated the Galveston Roberts E. Lees by the runaway tally of 35-2. Yep. The Galveston nickname also helped cement the wrong understanding about when and how baseball first came to the greater Houston area. I’m not saying that no Houstonians first learned of baseball through their Civil War experiences. I am saying that we have the evidence that proves the formation of base ball activity in Houston prior to the outbreak of Civil War conflict.

Our next notable nickname came about on March 6, 1888, when the newly formed Houston Babies, the first fully professional club representing our city took the field downtown at the Houston Base Ball Park to engage the Cincinnati Red Stockings in the first local representation of our city’s name in this new venture. Team nicknames held as much permanence as a men’s dress shirt back in the 19th century. The “Houstons” simply acquired theirs by being the last club to formally sign up as a member of the brand new Texas League in its inaugural 1888 season. Hence, people in the media hooked the locals with the quickly unpopular nickname of the Houston Babies. The Babies had every reason to cry in that first game as the Cincinnatis walloped them, 22-3, and the Babies added thirteen errors, six alone by pitcher Tim Flood, to their first professional effort.

It didn’t take long for the 1888 Babies roster to rebel against their idenity with infancy. Things were fairly literal back in those days too. So, the Houston players looked down at their solid red stockings and somebody said aloud, with a smile and a finger snap too, little doubt: “Say! Why don’t we call ourselves the Red Stockings?” They played the rest, and the bulk, of their first professional season as the Houston Red Stockings, also, I feel sure, in some unconscious referential tribute to the Ohio team that whacked them at the start.

1889 was another uniform shirt-change year. The 1889 Houston Mud Cats captured the city’s first professional championship by capturing the Texas League crown under the field leadership of Big John McCloskey, the man remembered today as the “Father of the Texas League.” The Mud Cats were declared the league champion after collapsing under financial pressure in August, but only a mere three days prior to the day the whole league folded too. As the old saying goes, you can’t sing your way to the bank without any “do re mi” on hand, and the early professionals of Texas baseball suffered painfully through the dollar version of tonsillitis.

The 1895 Houston Magnolias had a mediocre season, but the 1896 Mags took the pennant of a league that now calling itself the Texas-Southern League. Apparently, Magnolia bloom and die. Without further research and discovery, I can offer no evidence of the Magnolia going foward as a Houston team nickname beyond their championship season.

The Houston Buffalos appear for the first time in 1903, when the city fields a mediocre team in the South Texas League. The nickname resurfaces in 1905-06, when the club is still a member of the South Texas League. For the first time, the city has a nickname that is strongly connected to the city. Buffalo Bayou is the principal waterway among several similar flowing streams that thread their way through Houston. Running through downtown Houston and very near the original venue for games, Buffalo Bayou personalizes the nickname identity of the club with the image of the city. Once the club returns for its long engagement in the Texas League (1907-1958), it remains the Houston Buffalos/Buffaloes/Buffs through the crack of minor league doom in Houston – and that includes the final three years of the Houstons Buffs as members of the American Association (1959-61).

In 1904, the Houston Wanderers of the same South Texas League take the field under manager Claude Reilly. Of interest is the fact the club is so-called in honor of their 1903 manager, Wade Moore, and a brief time then they were informally known as “Wade’s Wanderers” from Houston. We’ll count Wanderers as one nickname of its own, but we shall respect the rights of all who care to spend energy on making a case for two separate nicknames in this instance.

From 1924 through 1958, minor Negro League baseball thrives in Houston through one club and a two-nickname history. Houstonians John and James Liuzza establish and run a black baseball club that starts out as the Houston Monarchs and then transforms into the Houston Black Buffs. Over this entire period, Arthur Lee Williams is the lone manager in the club’s long history. The club collapses from a decline of interest in Negro League ball that bombs attendance after integration changes the face of all organized baseball.

Speaking of the Negro League declining years, the 1949-50 Houston Eagles are the death rattle editions of the proud Negro League major level club that once represnted the City of Newark, New Jersey. They ived here long enough to give us another local nickname for our tt board.

Of course, our city went into the major leagues as the Houston Colt .45s in 1962, but that identity was changed in 1965 when Judge Roy Hofheinz of the Houston Sports Association changed their identity to match up with the new space theme he was building around the new world’s first domed stadium. The Houston Astros would play in the Astrodome from 1965 through 1999. The same ongoing Astros (by nickname, at least) have continued to play forward in the National League from 2000 through the present time, 2009, at the downtown venue now known as Minute Maid Park.

One more name deserves placement on this list. Since 1947, and taking nothing away from the fine national championship program at Rice University, the University of Houston has also represented our proud city name literally. Playing all these years under only four head coaches (Lovette Hill, 1947-1970; Rolan Walton, 1971-1986; Bragg Stockton, 1987-1993; and Raynor Noble, 1994-2009 & counting). The Houston Cougars have also made several trips to the College World Series bearing our beloved identity as “Houston” in blood red letters across their uniform breasts. When they started the UH baseball program in 1947, they also shared Buff Stadium as their home park with the Dixie Series Championship club that was building on that same site with the Houston Buffs. If that combination of qualifiers doesn’t get the Cougars on this list, nothing else should. Also of sidebar note here is that one of the UH Cougars’ first ballplayers back in 1947, pitcher Bill Henry, by name, was the first UH alumnus to then go forward to a successful major league career.

What’s in a baseball team nickname? Now I’m thinking again of a more recent product of Houston Astros in search of an answer. And here it is: Sometimes it’s simply a ball club that can win games in the most exciting of ways. Maybe we should have counted the “Killer Bees” among our favorite Houston formal team nickname sobriquets!

Tags:Baseball, History, Houston, Houston Astros, Houston Buffs, Houston Colt .45s
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Roll Call of The Buffs!

July 27, 2009

From late in the 19th century through 1961, a large number of major league baseball players wound their way through Houston as up-and-coming stars of the game. Most of the names on the following list played for the Buffs on their way up the baseball ladder to the big leagues. Some came through town on their way down the rungs of the same prescious climb. A few of these even made it all the way to the Baseball Hall of Fame.

Although the list is far from complete, it’s a pretty good sample of the quality of players we have been privileged to watch here in Houston during a local baseball interest period that is now chipping its way into a third different century of life. This roll call will not thrill any of you who care little or nothing for the game, but it speaks volumes to those who care enough to get clear on one of my favorite rant-subjects: Baseball goes back to the root years of our city. The first Houston Base Ball Club was formed in April 1861, a mere few weeks after Texas had seceded from the Union – and a good twenty to thirty years prior to the introduction of football in Houston on a minor organizational level at the Univeristy of Texas and Texas A&M Proffessional baseball finally reached Houston in 1888 with the formation of the Texas League. It would take the Texas League nearly two more decades to achieve stabilty, but once it did, it became the cradle of Houston’s greatest players in history.

In short, baseball ignited Houston first. Footbal came much later, and didn’t really take hold until electrification brought “Friday Night Lights” to Texas high school football in the 1930s.

Remember that milestone pattern the next time you are forced to hear another national talking sports head TV guy say that “Houston is growing pretty fast in its knowledge of the game for a city that is basically a football town that only recently discovered baseball!” Don’t pay any attention to these idiots. These are the same ignorant people who still come to Houston expecting to see mountains on the horizon, cacti growing wildly in our neighborhoods, and tumbleweed blowing crazily down Main Street.

The quick list shown here is pretty impressive. Look ’em up individually at either Baseball Almanac or Baseball Reference (d0t.coms) and see what I mean. Most of these guys did pretty darn well at the major league level:

Luis Arroyo, Vern Benson, Ray Blades, Don Blasingame, Don Bollweg, Bob Boyd, Ken Boyer, Al Brazle, Harry Brecheen, Willard Brown, Tex Carleton, Mort Cooper, Walker Cooper, Nick Cullop, Mike Cvengos, Dizzy Dean, Paul Dean, Murry Dickson, Dick Ellsworth, Hal Epps, Herman Franks, Don Gutteridge, Chick Hafey, Wild Bill Hallahan, Solly Hemus, Larry Jackson, Eddie Kazak, Johnny Keane, Johnny Kling, Frank Mancuso, Gus Mancuso, Fred Martin, Pepper Martin, Harry McCurdy, Von McDaniel, Joe Medwick, Larry Miggins, Vinegar Bend Mizell, Red Munger, Danny Murtaugh, Al Papai, Homer Peel, Howie Pollet, Rip Repulski, Art Reinhart, Ron Santo, Al Schacht, Bob Scheffing, Cary Selph, Wally Shannon, Hal Smith, Pancho Snyder, Tris Speaker, Bobby Tiefenauer, Emil Verban, Curt Walker, Harry Walker, Watty Watkins, Del WIlber, Ted Wilks, Billy Williams, Jerry Witte, and Johnny Wyrostek.

By special request from Wade Porter, I am extending this post to include my All Time Starting Line-Up based upon the Buffs/Major Leaguer pool listed previously. These decisions were based upon each player’s ability to perform at both the major and minor league level. That means I faced a tough choice on first base, choosing between my close old now deceased friend Jerry Witte and his 38-homer season for the 1951 Buffs and Bob Boyd for his two .300 plus hitting seasons in 1954-55. Both were also men of outstanding character and fairness too. I finally had to go with Bob Boyd because of his near .400 Negro League marks and his recognition by the Negro League Hall of Fame, plus his several plus .300 or above seasons with the Baltimore Orioles after leaving the Buffs. It was the fair thing to do and I know Jerry Witte would have agreed. He was all about fairness. Jerry Witte only had two very short and not too happy trips to the majors in 1946-47. When we worked on his biography years ago, Jerry even told me: “I just want credit for the things I did. Don’t give me credit for things I didn’t do – and for God’s sake, don’t ever say I was best at something when somebody else was better.” This was one of those times, Jerry, but nobody will ever be a finer man or better person than you were. Nobody did it better in that league.

That being said, here’s my starting lineup of the Greatest Houston Buffs Ever:

Solly Hemus, 2b

Bob Boyd, 1b

Tris Speaker, cf

Billy Williams, lf

Joe Medwick, rf

Ron Santo, 3b

Johnny Kling, c

Don Blasingame, ss

Dizzy Dean, p

I must confess too. I had to go back and add Don Blasingame to fill out the shortstop position. It was hard leaving a few guys out of the starting lineup here, but as Cecil Cooper might tell you, that’s one of the tough parts about managing. Of course, if old Cecil had this talent available at peak form on the roster of the 2009 Astros, we might be running away with the NLC by now. Don’t you think?

If you see a starting lineup that you prefer, please post it below as a comment on this issue.

Have great new week everybody!

Tags:Baseball, culture, History, Houston, Houston Buffs
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Remembering Lou Mahan!

July 25, 2009

ballpark organ 3 We have Channel 13 Sports Direector Bob Allen to thank for today’s blog subject. Yesterday he sent me a nice note about his own early Houston Buff Stadium memories – and one of the names he mentioned among these jewels was Lou Mahan, the ballpark organist. Thank you, Bob! The mere mention of the talented Ms. Mahan alone simply pulls my spinal soul back to the place where it received its original baseball charge – and for people like Bob Allen and yours truly, that place was Buff Stadium on the Gulf Freeway at Cullen Boulevard, on the site of the recently closed Finger Furniture location there. If you followed my previous blog over at Chron.Com, you’ve heard me write about Buff Stadium many times. It was the home of our pre-major league Houston Buffs from 1928 through 1961.

Going to Buff Stadium during the post World War II years was a five senses, three-dimensional, technicolor immersion into everything you now read about in nostalgia accounts of baseball’s so-called glory years – and the sounds that emanated from the ballpark back in that day were as integral to the experience as all things visual.

Coming up next here is an aerial photo of Buff Stadium from the early days. As you look into it, try to allow the photo to come fully into life the way those old black-and-whites sometimes do from the early movie credits that lead us into an historical period movie. It all starts with a still, colorless, soundless picture, but the gradual awakening of certain sounds eventually brings the dull still life into full color view and energized animation. Got it? I think you do. I believe you know exactly what I’m writing about here.

Buff Stadium 001 Here comes the soundtrack … one item at a time … each new item simply adding to all others that came before it: … footsteps by the hundreds … laughter and loud voices shouting between fans who are meeting up for the game … the louder yells of early food vendors hawking hot dogs and beer to the early arrivals … the twilight ear buzz of Houston’s vampire mosquito squad … the sound of fungo bats banging baseballs into the deepests alleys of the Buff Stadium outfield … the occasionally muffled sound of private player talk, oozing into the stands as the players take defensive drill practice before the game … and one more thing – the sound of an organ playing in theme to whatever is going on upon the brilliant green playing surface of Buff Stadium.

It is the music that finally transforms the picture from black and white into color. And it is the ballpark organ that sets everything still into dynamic motion. In Houston, it is Ms. Lou Mahan, ballpark organist extraordinaire, who both follows and leads the game into three-dimensional animation, and sometimes, at the expense of getting herself in trouble. More on that little problem in a minute. First we need to set a few facts straight about the not-quite-so-ancient association of baseball to organ music.

A lot of people think that organ music and baseball go back to the early 20th century Dead Ball Era. The fact is that the organ wasn’t really introduced to baseball until 1941 when the Chicago Cubs brought one in as a one-day special event program. The music was so popular that they left the organ at Wrigley Field and began using it on a regular basis at games. Today about half the major league clubs employ a full-time organist. The rest of the clubs use those “cheater track” organ sounds of the organ doing that four-note upscale climb when a rally is needed and the like.

For more on the history of ballpark organs and their current status, check out this link:

http://www.ballparktour.com/Organists.html

In Houston, Lou Mahan served as our Buff Stadium organist from sometime after World War II through the mid-1950s. She had a theme for everything that was going on before, during, and after every game. Balls that rolled up the angled screen behind home plate got there with the help of an organ peal up the scale. Then they came down the scale on their way to the ground, with Lou Mahan throwing in an extra bump note when they finallly rolled off the screen and hit the grass.

Lou had a situational fix put-to-music for everything that happened in the game too. You had to be up on the Buffs, up on baseball, and up on the unheard lyrics to Lou’s music to “get” everything she was throwing at us too. Here are a couple of great examples from the 1951 season: (1) Buffs first baseman Jerry Witte comes to bat late in the game, nursing something like a three-week homer drought – but with the Buffs needing a long ball to win in the bottom of the ninth, trailing by two runs, with two runners on base. Lou plays the music to: “Kiss me once, kiss me twice, kiss me once again. It’s been a long, long time!” (2) Left fielder Larry Miggins comes to bat with the tying Buffs run on third – and the winning run on second, bottom of the 9th in another game. Lou Mahan plays: “Shrimp boats are a comin’, there’s dancin’ tonight! Shrimp boats are a comin’, their sails are in sight! — Why don’t you hurry, hurry, hurry home!”

Lou’s sensitivity to unfolding game themes finally got her in trouble one day. After watching the three Texas League game umpires walking in from their left field dressing quarters prior to a game for the umpteen hundredth time, Lou Mahan could resist the urge no longer. She broke into a few bars of “Three Blind Mice” as public address announcer Morris Frank was introducing the arbiter crew. I don’t know how severe the penalties spread from there, but Lou was throw out of the game for sliding into hilarity at the umpires’ expense. It was the only organ-silent game I ever watched at Buff Stadium

Of course, when the Buffs won any game in a 9th inning rally, which was pretty often in 1951, Lou loved playing a lively version of “Happy Days Are Here Again!” I told Bob Allen how I felt, and I meant every word of what I wrote to him about those Buff Stadium days. As much as I still love baseball in 2009, it never got better for me than it got back at old Buff Stadium. That was as good as any heaven on earth could ever get. Those early impressions, and every single one of them themed by the organ music of the wonderfully talented Lou Mahan, were electrically charged upon my young soul to last forever.

I wish I had known Lou Mahan personally. In fact, if any surviving family members should read this piece and be willing to fill us in about her life, I would love to hear from you. She was so much a part of the ballpark experience at Buff Stadium for all of us during the years that followed World War II.

Those were the days, my friend. We thought they’d never end. And in our hearts, they never have.

Tags:Baseball, culture, History, Houston, Houston Buffs
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Houston Buffs Baseball: The “Shorts” Version.

July 24, 2009

Jerry Witte Models Late 1950 Buffs Uniform Shorts. They weren’t exactly bad. They were just absolutely horrible. The 1950 Houstons Buffs of the AA minor-level Texas League were well on their way to a deserved last place finish due to a severe absence of talent. It was one of those seasons in which the parent club St. Louis Cardinals had pumped all the talent upstream to their higher AAA level Columbus, Ohio and Rochester, New York teams.

With winning out of the mix as an attendance booster for the games at Buff Stadium in July 1950, the Buffs had to fall back upon the creative inspiration of club president Allen Russell for their hope of avoiding the dreaded red ink that usually follows a losing club like an old airplane message sky streamer. In Russell, the parent Cardinals trusted. The man already had taken the Buffs through the 1948 winning season in which the AA Houston club had outdrawn the losing St. Louis Browns of the major American League.

Allen Russell would find an answer for the challenge of 1950. Or so everyone hoped.

When the Russell antidote was announced, Houston fans reacted with derisive laughter and obsessive curiosity. It was the curiosity factor that Russell was betting on as the ultimate winner in this mood tug-of-war when he announced that the Buffs would embark upon a “Beat the Heat” campaign for the balance of the 1950 season by switching to short pants as their everyday uniform lower garment. “May as well try to beat the heat,” some Buff fans exclaimed, ” ’cause they sure as heck ain’t beatin’ nobody else!”

The first fan reaction for the first Buffs game in shorts was not totally virginal. Russell had experimented briefly with the idea during the also fairly awful 1949 Buffs season, but without this kind of marketing promotion to the plan. Most fans were seeing the “new look” for the first time and the first wave came in droves to see what there was to see.

What the fans saw was a club that was equally capable of losing in short pants. These short pants, by the way, were little more than cut-off versions of the old blousy flannel trousers that eventually found their way to the scissors-mill. In fact, the blousiness of the Buff shorts caused them to more easily resemble a short skirt – another factor that didn’t eactly appeal to any of the ballplayers interviewed. As I reflect now upon my 12-year old memory bank of that season, all I am able to recall is the common “what choice do we have?” attitude that threaded its way through the player quotes in the Houston Post. If there were any comfortable cross-dressing Buffs on the 1950 club, they either didn’t talk, or else, they weren’t quoted in the papers of that era. At age 12, I wouldn’t have recognized them anyway.

The players really did hate the uniform shorts. Good friend and late Buffs first baseman Jerry Witte talked about this period in “A Kid From St. Louis,” a biography that I helped him write a few years ago. The pain of sliding on bare skin and the exposure vulnerability to Houston’s vampire-squad mosquito attacks were the major objections. “We produced enough (blood-scrape) strawberries to open our own fruit market,” Witte said.

The experiment didn’t last more than three weeks. Once the attendance slipped back to its previous low level and people no longer cared what the Buffs were wearing on their way to the bottom, Russell killed the campaign, allowing the Buffs to finish the season in last place, but standing tall in long pants.

Curiously, and as bad as they were, the 1950 last place in the Texas League Houston Buffs still managed to outdraw the 1950 seventh place American League St. Louis Browns at the gate. Season home attendance for the ’50 Buffs topped out at 255,809. – The ’50 Browns drew 247, 131 fans to Sportsman’s Park in St. Louis. If anything, those three weeks in shorts probably gave the Buffs the 8,000 plus extra fans they needed to again mildly pummel the Browns at the main place it counts in baseball: that is, smack dab in the pocketbook.

Tags:Baseball, culture, History, Houston, Houston Buffs
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