Baseball’s Colorful Characters
Third baseman-outfielder, Frenchy Bordagaray. Picture credits: This Day in Baseball
For a hundred years, before baseball became a game played by millionaires, the sport welcomed oddball, screwball characters.
Of course, they had to be able to hit or pitch up to major league standards – and they did, at least for brief periods. Some even wound up in the Hall of Fame. Here are a few of their stories.
George Edward “Rube” Waddell
Rube Waddell never grew up. Well, he grew up to be 6-foot-2 and 200 pounds, but he never matured.
He wrestled alligators in Florida during spring training, joined in leading marching bands when he saw parades, rode horse-drawn fire engines to help put out fires, rescuing horses from burning barns and people from blazing hotels. If he saw some kids playing ball or shooting marbles, he joined their games.
His roommate – bedmate really in the days of two-to-a-bed roommates – catcher Ossee Schrecongost, often shared in some of his escapades, although the pair had a running feud over their eating habits in bed. Rube liked odoriferous limburger cheese sandwiches; Schreck ate animal crackers, sprinkling the bed with crumbs.
But on the mound with a baseball in his left hand, Rube’s fastball and curves were close to unhittable. Connie Mack had seen Waddell pitch against his Milwaukee team in the American Association. In 1900, Rube was with Pittsburgh, but he drove the manager crazy with his antics and absences, and Mack arranged to “borrow” him from Pittsburgh club owner Barney Dreyfuss.
Rube was an immediate hit with Milwaukee fans, turning cartwheels on the field after striking out the side, and with Mack, who gave him a long leash limited by occasional tugs and heart-to-heart talks.
Rube Waddell grew up to be 6-foot-2 and 200 pounds, but he never matured. Picture credits: BT collection
Rube still belonged to Pittsburgh, who sold him to the Cubs in 1901. They had little more patience with his peculiarities and wayward behavior. Whether Rube had signed a 1902 contract is uncertain, but in the middle of that season Mack discovered that he was pitching in an independent league in California. He tracked down Rube, who agreed to join the A’s, but in the end Mack had to hire the Pinkerton Detective Agency to corral him and deliver him to Philadelphia.
No other manager could have gotten as much out of Rube Waddell as Connie Mack did over the next six years: two pennants and 131 wins with ERAs as low as 1.48. His most spectacular game was a 20-inning battle against Cy Young in Boston on July 4, 1905. Both pitchers went the distance. After Boston scored two runs in the first inning, Rube shut them out for the last 19 innings. The A’s tied it in the sixth and won it with two runs in the top of the 20th.
Throughout this time he gave A’s manager Connie Mack fits by disappearing for days at a time, gone fishing or holing up in saloons. Mack played him like a game fish, giving him slack, then tugging on the line, but never fining or upbraiding him. Rube married but neglected his wife, leaving her penniless until Mack began sending part of Rube’s salary to her. His pitching suffered as his drinking and absences increased.
His teammates got on his case as his erratic behavior cost them the 1907 pennant by 1 ½ games. In 1908 Connie Mack sold him to the St. Louis Browns “for the good of the team.” Rube responded by winning 19 games and drawing huge crowds for the Browns, who were in the pennant race for a change before fading to fourth. But within two years, he was out of the major leagues. His record: 193-143 and a 2.16 ERA.
A few years later he was living in Kentucky near the Mississippi River. When the river flooded in the winter of 1912, Rube stood in the cold water for hours stacking sandbags on the levee. He contracted pneumonia, then tuberculosis, and died at the age of 37. Connie Mack, who retained a lifelong warm spot in his heart for the Rube, paid for his final hospital care.
Though his major league career was short, it had blazed like a comet. Rube Waddell was elected to the Hall of Fame in 1946.
Stanley “Frenchy” Bordagaray
Frenchy Bordagaray was a third baseman-outfielder for 12 years and a career .283 hitter. He was also a reliable pinch-hitter. In 1938 with the St. Louis Cardinals he batted .467 in that role, with 9 RBI and 13 runs scored. But the numbers don’t convey the color that he brought to the Brooklyn Dodgers, or the heartburn he brought to manager Casey Stengel.
As an outfielder, he had some adventures juggling fly balls before he caught them. Once, during an exhibition game, his hat fell off while he was chasing a fly ball. He stopped to retrieve the hat, then continued chasing the ball. When he got back to the dugout, Stengel reminded him that his cap wasn’t going anywhere, but the ball was. “I forgot,” Frenchy said.
Third baseman-outfielder, Frenchy Bordagaray. Picture credits: This Day in Baseball
Whenever Frenchy was picked off second base – which happened more than a few times, he had a ready excuse. Once he was picked off while a relief pitcher was taking his warmup tosses.
The pitcher noticed that Frenchy was busy talking to the second base umpire and threw over to the shortstop who tagged him. Stengel went out to argue and asked Frenchy, “You were standing on the bag, right?” Frenchy said, “No, but I was only a few inches away, honest.”
Another time Frenchy was apparently standing on second base when he was suddenly tagged and the umpire called him out. Stengel went out to argue, to no avail, and when he went back to the dugout he asked Bordagaray what happened. Frenchy explained that he was tapping his toe on the bag and the infielder caught him between taps.
Way back in the old days when club owners ruled baseball, players were required to be clean-shaven, In 1936 Frenchy showed up at spring training sporty a neat closely-trimmed moustache. He took a lot of ribbing before the management ordered it removed. But during the season he kept trying to surreptitiously keep a semblance of it alive.
Cletus “Boots” Poffenberger
There aren’t many stories to illustrate just how flaky pitcher Boots Poffenberger was. Maybe that’s because he lasted only two years, with a 16-12, 4.75 ERA for the Detroit Tigers in the 1930s, followed by a brief turn with the Brooklyn Dodgers before they had enough of him. But these faint footprints in diamond history were outlived by the memories he left with teammates for years thereafter.
Boots Poffenberger was a great player, but he enjoyed his night life a little too much. Picture credits: Questmasters.us
Much of his troubles centered around his love for the bright lights and attractions of the night life in the big cities. One night he came into the hotel lobby long past the 11 o’clock curfew and Brooklyn manager Leo Durocher saw him.
The hotel had several clocks on display showing the time in various cities. When Durocher told him it was past midnight, Boots argued that it was only 11 and pointed to the clock that showed that time in another city.
Elden Auker was a pitcher with Detroit in 1937.
Elden Auker:
Our manager, Mickey Cochrane, had some crazy ones to handle. We had a pitcher, Boots Poffenberger. Never left the hills of western Maryland. Once in Philadelphia he went someplace, came in about two in the morning.
A writer saw him in the lobby. Cochrane found out and called a pregame meeting. He said, “A rule was broken last night by Boots. Word came to me that you didn’t get in until two this morning. Where were you and what the hell were you doing?”
Boots sat there all innocence. He says, “Mr. Cochrane, I refuse to reveal the identity of my whereabouts.”
Cochrane sent him home for a week.
Boots was pitching one hot, humid afternoon. About the third inning he gets the first guy out and walks toward our third base dugout, comes in, sits down, wipes off his face. Cochrane comes over, thought he was sick or something. “What’s the matter, Boots?” Boots says, “Too hot for me. Ain’t pitching anymore.”
Family members said Boots had an aversion to the telephone. He wouldn’t use it, and if it rang he ignored it.
