Sam Chapman: How a Letter from Ty Cobb Changed My Career

Sam Chapman was a star running back and infielder at the University of California before he became a popular hard-hitting outfielder for the Philadelphia Athletics 1938-1950.

In 1941 he batted .322 with 25 home runs and 106 RBIs, at a time when 37 homers led the league. Then, serving as a flyer in World War II cost him four prime years, as it did many players.

Chapman originally intended to sign with the New York Yankees, when he received a letter from Ty Cobb, written in Cobb’s trademark green ink.

He told his story at his home in Tiburon, California, north of San Francisco, in 1997. – Norman L, Macht

The spring of 1938

Just before I graduated in the spring of 1938, I had three offers to play baseball.

The New York Yankees and Cincinnati Reds each offered me a $9,000 bonus; the Philadelphia A’s offered me $6,000. All three offered the minimum $2,500 salary for the season.

Then I got this letter from Ty Cobb, whom I’d never met. He said the best thing for me to do was to sign with Connie Mack [owner/manager of the A’s.]

Cobb said he’d played 24 years in the big leagues and learned more about the game in the last two years with Mr. Mack than in all the other years he played. I followed his advice.

[Both the Reds and Yankees won pennants in 1939, the Reds repeating the next year and the Yankees in 1941, so the decision may have cost Chapman a few World Series shares and a winners’ ring or two.

The A’s finished seventh or eighth in six of the nine years he was with them.

I would have signed with the Yankees if it hadn’t been for Cobb’s letter, but I have no regrets. It wouldn’t do any good if I did have.

Besides, I might have been injured, or sent down to the minors, or traded or who knows what.

That summer I was drafted by the NFL’s Detroit Lions. They wanted me to play football and baseball in Detroit, but Connie Mack wouldn’t trade me, so I never played pro football.

I joined the As in Cleveland and never saw the minor leagues until I finished up with three years in Oakland in the Pacific Coast League in the early 1950s.

I’d been an infielder in college and played just a few games in the outfield. I don’t think any of Mr. Mack’s scouts had seen me. Cobb probably recommended me to him.

Chapmans’ first day with the A’s

My first morning in Cleveland I overslept and Mr. Mack had to call me to tell me he was waiting for me. Great beginning, I thought. Little did I know what else would happen that day.

I was a little in awe of him. I was 22; he was 76, a real father figure.

He said to me, ‘You’re the left-handed outfielder from California,’ and I said, ‘No sir, I’m the right-handed infielder from California,’  That didn’t faze him. He said, ‘You’re starting in center field today.’

That shook me up a little. I went out and bought a sweatshirt and some equipment. I was so green I didn’t know they supplied that stuff.

So I’m in the clubhouse wearing a red-sleeve sweatshirt and they’re all wearing blue sleeves. The clubhouse boy took me in hand.

Fortunately, in the outfield, I was flanked by the team leaders, Wally Moses in right field and Bob Johnson in left.

They coached me and soon all I was hearing was ‘Take it, Sam’ from both sides. That was okay; They were veterans and I liked to run.

He led American League outfielders in total chances per game in 1939, in putouts, assists, errors and TC/G in 1942. But that first day he thought his big league days – if not his life – might end abruptly.

They gave me those glasses you flip up and down for the sun. I’d never seen them before. Line Drive Nelson, a former fighter, was pitching for us.

We had a one-run lead in the seventh. There was a man on first and a pop fly was hit to me. I flipped those glasses up and down, and finally threw them off.

The ball almost hit me in the head and popped out of my glove. The batter was headed for third when I picked up the ball and threw it about six rows up in the seats and the winning run scored.

Baseball icon Sam Chapman

I went in and sat in the farthest corner of the dugout I could find. Mr. Mack called me over to where he was sitting at the other end.

‘Chappy,’ he said to me, ‘don’t worry about that. You showed us that you have a strong arm, anyway.’

After the game I waited until everybody else was out of the shower, but I could hear Nelson in there saying, ‘If that college so and so does that to me again, I’ll brain him.’

[Chapman made another enemy that day in his first time at bat. He slammed a line drive that struck the pitcher on the shin.]

It was Johnny Allen, a mean right-hander who loved to knock batters down. Every time I faced him after that he knocked me down on the first pitch.

Playing baseball post-war

When the war ended, I got into nine games at the end of 1945. The next spring I received a contract for the same money I’d made in 1941. ‘You have to prove yourself,’ wrote Mr. Mack. ‘Take it or leave it.’

[He took it, and put in five more solid years with the A’s, though he never hit .300 again.]

Early in 1951, I was traded to the Indians. Al Lopez was the manager there. He told me they wanted me mainly to play in Yankee Stadium.

They had Larry Doby and for some reason, he didn’t play well in that ballpark.

[With the Indians, he picked up a second-place World Series share, which was some compensation for what might have been with the Yankees or Reds.]

When they didn’t offer me any more money in 1952, I quit. [General Manager] Hank Greenberg wrote to me and said, ‘If we lose the pennant by one game it’ll be your fault.’ They lost it by two.

After 17 years as an inspector for the Bay Area Air Pollution Control District, I’m retired and do some carpentry and play some golf, despite two bad knees – one from football and one from baseball.