Ray Morehart: Lucky to be a 1927 Yankee

1927 Yankee Ray Morehart

Ray Morehart was a career AAA-level second baseman except for 177 games with the White Sox (1924, 1926) and one of baseball’s greatest teams, the 1927 New York Yankees.

During that time he was involved in a no-hitter and played before the king and queen of England.

He was one of three surviving members of those ’27 Yankees when we visited him on July 24, 1985, in the house in Dallas he had bought with $3,500 of his 1927 World Series share. - Norman L. Macht

Our Team in 1927

The reason the 1927 Yankees were considered such a great team is that they had a strong bench. Anybody who was crippled or left the game early, there was somebody who could take their place and still win. I was a second baseman.

When shortstop Mark Koenig was out for two months, Tony Lazzeri moved to short and I played second.

It was a team of friendship, no fuss, no fights. Miller Huggins never said anything on the bench, unless somebody spit tobacco juice on his shoes.

Then you’d hear him. He was a gentle, quiet person, who almost always had a smile. ‘Course, winning like he did, there wasn’t much reason not to smile.

Babe Ruth

Babe Ruth had a great arm, and was accurate. I took throws from him at second base from deep right field; you wouldn’t have to take one step either way to catch it. I’ve seen him beat out bunts when the defense wasn’t expecting it.

One day at Yankee Stadium he hit a triple and stole home. In the same game, I hit a ball to the opposite field. It hit the fence on the first hop and caromed around the flagpole.

I ran all the way, my only big league home run.

Big League Debut

I originally signed with Pittsburgh as a second baseman. After two years in the minors, the White Sox bought me in June 1924. I reported the next morning and played a doubleheader – at shortstop.

Talk about it being poured on you. My first day in the big leagues and they tried to make me into a shortstop overnight playing two games. My first year I hit a triple against Walter Johnson.

I slid into third base and when I looked up, there was Johnson looking down at me. He said, “Nice hitting, kid.” All he wanted to do was get a good look at me, make sure I didn’t get another pitch like that.

Touring Europe

In the fall the White Sox and Giants toured Europe. We played a game in London. The royal family was there. The Giants had men on first and third. The ball was hit to me at second. I bluffed Frisch back at third, threw to second for one and the throw to first got the batter.

Meanwhile, Frisch tried to score and was thrown out at home. Those English people didn’t know what was happening, but while we were up to bat the triple play was explained to them.

So when we went back on the field, they gave us a standing ovation. Imagine the king and queen and Prince of Wales standing up and applauding me.

We shook hands with them afterwards, except the queen; you didn’t shake hands with her.

No-Hitter

I threw out the last batter when Ted Lyons pitched his only no-hitter. Was there any pressure on that last hit? I never thought about it. If you think about it, you’re liable to boot it. When you’re in the major leagues, you don’t think about things like that.

The first baseman dove for it and knocked it over my way. I slid in front of it and made sure I had it. Then I got on one knee and threw it to Lyons covering first. If I’d waited to stand up, it would have been too late.

Ted came over and hugged me and the first baseman.

Ty Cobb

Ty Cobb was still managing Detroit. One day he was sitting on the bench, crying like a baby. We’d beaten the Tigers and had to go through their dugout to get to the clubhouse.

He says to us, “Just listen to my friends up there in the stands. They’re all booing me.” They loved for him to win, but they’d boo him when he lost.

Fans booed Ruth, too, when he didn’t hit a home run. But it never bothered Babe.

Fights

The only all-out fights I was ever involved in were in games between Minneapolis and St. Paul in the 1920s. A lot of gangsters lived in that area. They were great fans. They’d come out of the stands to fight for the home team.

When it broke up, there’d be a couple six-shooters lying on the field.  The police would pick up the guns and later give them back to the owners. They knew who they were.