Billy Sullivan Jr.’s Rookie Year in the Big Leagues
Picture credits: South Side Sox
Billy Sullivan Jr. tells all about the Yankees, spitball pitchers and his first time playing in the big leagues.
A 6’1”, 170-pound left-hand pull hitter with a .289 career BA, Billy played every position but shortstop, center field and pitcher with seven teams – White Sox, Reds, Indians, Browns, Tigers, Dodgers and Pirates, in 12 seasons between 1931 and 1947, with three years in the navy. About half his games were as a catcher.
His father, Billy Sullivan Sr, had been a catcher with the Boston Beaneaters (1899-1900), and the White Sox (1901-1912), managing the club in 1909. Junior caught Bobo Newsom’s three starts in the 1940 World Series, becoming with his father (1906) the first father-son duo to see World Series action.
This is the story of his first big league season, as he told it at his home in Sarasota, Florida, in 1990.
I signed with the White Sox while I was a student at Notre Dame, where I played first base for two years. After I graduated in June 1931, I got on a train to join the team in Washington. Overnight trains always arrived early the next morning.
I got to the Wardman Park Hotel, a scared kid, sat in the lobby a couple hours, saw some tanned young men going by, got a cab to the ballpark by myself. The manager, Donie Bush, says, “Go to the clubhouse and have them give you a locker.”
Now they’re going to have a pregame meeting. I’m way off in a corner sitting on top of two uniform trunks, knowing I’m not going to play, overwhelmed but enjoying it all. Bush is telling them how to pitch to the batters and how the fielders should play them. Then he reads off the lineup – so and so, so and so, and then he says, “Billy Sullivan, right field.”
I nearly fell off the two trunks. I’d never played outfield in my life. And I’m batting fifth.
Alvin Crowder was pitching for Washington. After I struck out, I came back and said, “Boy, he’s fast.” The veterans all said, “Fast? No, he’s one of the slower ones.”
We were down about eight runs after the bottom of the eighth. In those days you left your glove out on the field. I tossed my glove back of where the second baseman plays. Joe Cronin, the Washington shortstop, is standing on second base. He says to me, “Hey, kid,” tosses me my glove and says, “If you get eight runs you can bring it back out.”
I got my first hit in the ninth inning, a line drive to center field. We go to New York and I’m rushing to get the New York papers to read about my hit. It said, “Billy Sullivan got a scratch hit in the ninth inning.” Those New Yok writers could be a sarcastic bunch.
The Yankees
I walk into Yankee Stadium and that big ballpark was awe-inspiring. And there are all these players whose names are just magic to me: Ruth, Gehrig, Dickey. So here I am again out in right field. There were so many home runs going over my head I got a sore neck.
After two games in right field, I’m in the lineup at third base. I had never played third before either.
"Boy, was Ruth hot." Picture credits: Etsy
I remembered that Eddie Collins always emphasized the importance of the little things in baseball. Now that I’m playing third, I paid attention to whether base runners touched the base when they went around third. A lot of times they didn’t.
One day the Yankees had runners on first and second with two outs. Ruth line a bullet off the right field fence. Two runs score. Ruth comes into third on his spindly legs. I went to the mound and told the pitcher to give me the ball. I went back to third and stepped on the bag and the ump says, “The runner missed the bag. he’s out.” Force out. No hit. The two runs don’t count. Boy, was Ruth hot.
The Spitball
Red Faber was one of the spitball pitchers who had been grandfathered in when the pitch was banned in 1920. One day in Yankee Stadium I was playing third base and the ball was hit to me. I gripped it where this glob of slippery elm was and threw that ball into the camera balcony that hung from the second deck.
"Faber was a very smart pitcher." Picture credits: Baseball Hall
Faber was a very smart pitcher. Once when Babe Ruth was up, Faber moved me to play in front of the shortstop, challenging Ruth to hit to left field. Then he pitched him in on the fists and Ruth was so anxious he just hit a little blooper right to me.
Lefty Grove
In September Lefty Grove was going for his sixteenth win in a row. First inning I hit a home run. He’s following me around the bases cussing me out. That was the only run we scored.
Traveling By Train
Train travel made for team cohesiveness, a fellowship that’s gone with air travel. Now that has to develop in the clubhouse.
The food on the trains in those days was magnificent, the best chefs. Many trips were overnight; we boarded around six, had a great steak dinner. Breakfast was a big deal with the players; you didn’t eat lunch. Night ball threw that schedule all off.
Jimmie Foxx
There was a camaraderie among ballplayers, not just teammates. Some players went out of their way to be kind to me. One day before a game with the Athletics I was taking some infield practice at first base, still using my glove from Notre Dame, when Jimmie Foxx walks by.
"There was a camaraderie among ballplayers, not just teammates. Some players went out of their way to be kind to me." Picture credits: Pinterest
He stops and says, “Hey Kid, let me see that glove.” I gave it to him and he says, “We don’t use a glove like that up here. It’s too little.” I said, “That’s all I could get in South Bend.” Next day he hands me a glove and says, “Here.” It was broken in, better than brand new.
Ted Lyons
I thought I was pretty sharp about manners and etiquette and such, but I learned a lesson early about life and tipping.
In the Depression a quarter was a lot of money. One day on the train I saw Ted Lyons tip a porter a dollar. I said, “You gave him a dollar tip?” He said, “The difference between a quarter and a dollar is only 75 cents. At the end of the year maybe it amounts to 15 or 20 dollars. It helps that fellow a lot and think what it does to your image.”
