Ball players from the Bay: San Francisco’s Fertile Sandlots

From the day in 1882, when an outfielder named Bob Blakiston left San Francisco to join the Philadelphia Athletics in the American Association, for the next 100 years more major league ballplayers – many of them Hall of Fame and All-Star caliber -- came out of the playing grounds of San Francisco than from any other city in the country.

“In fact,” claimed George Stanton, onetime president of the Bay Area Old Time Baseball Players Association, “more players went to the big leagues from Golden Gate Park alone than from any other park in the world.”

A Hypothetical All-Star Team from the Bay Area

Their ranks would make up a formidable All-Star lineup by itself: George “Highpockets” Kelly at first, Tony Lazzeri at second, Joe Cronin at shortstop, and Willie Kamm at third.

How about an outfield of Joe and Dom DiMaggio and Harry Heilmann?

On the bench: Lefty O’Doul, Mark Koenig, Frank Crosetti, Ping Bodie and Vince DiMaggio.

The entire Cincinnati infield of 1922-1924: Lou Fonseca at first, Sammy Bohne at second, Ike Caveny, shortstop, and Babe Pinelli at third, came out of the park.

Joe DiMaggio- one of many baseball greats to come out of San Francisco

The Reds finished second to John McGraw’s Giants in two of those years,

“The DiMaggios played ball in North Beach,” Stanton said, “but the rest were Golden Gate products. For some reason, we didn’t develop many pitchers or catchers.

To complete an All-Star team we’d have to cross the San Francisco Bay to pick up Ernie Lombardi as our catcher and for pitchers, Lefty Gomez from Rodeo, George Pipgras and Dutch Ruether from Alameda, Jim Tobin from Oakland and Duster Mails, who was born in San Quentin – outside the walls.”

Golden Gate Park

Mark Koenig, shortstop on the 1926-28 Yankees powerhouse, grew up a block away from the park. “The city was full of baseball fields. Golden Gate Park had ten diamonds back to back.

A big wire fence separated them. We had to sign up with a city parks scheduler. There were ten pickup games going on at one time. It wasn’t organized into leagues or anything.

We’d just choose sides and play.  One corner of the field, at Ninth and Lincoln, was reserved on Sundays for the Park Bums. They were the elite, the big-time in the park rank.

There were always scouts hanging around.”

Stanton said, “There was a lot of interest among businessmen. They’d sponsor teams, providing shirts and equipment.”

The San Francisco Seals

Another factor in the diamond productivity of the city was the San Francisco Seals, one of the most successful minor league operations in the history of the game.

(For several years the city supported two PCL teams, the Seals and Missions.}

They signed dozens of hometown prospects and sold a steady stream of them to the major leagues.

But not all Golden Gate products became Hall of Famers or even made the big leagues.

George Stanton, for example. A funny thing happened to George on the way to the 1924 Olympics. Somebody tossed him a baseball.

“I’d won the 56-pound weight throw in the 1921 national games. Finished second in the javelin. Somebody told me I could make the ’24 Olympic team.

Go over to the park,” they told me, “and shag flies, work out to stay in shape.

“I was 21, and had never touched a baseball. Lived out on 19th Avenue. We didn’t have a ball field near us. We spent our time chasing rabbits in the dunes and selling them, two for a quarter.

So I went over to the park and got into a game of catch, drew some attention [he was 6-foot-5, weighed 225], and got invited to play for the Park Bums one Sunday. That was a big honor for a beginner.”

He was immediately touted as a left-handed Walter Johnson. “They said I could throw as fast as Johnson, but I was wild. Couldn’t find home plate.

Word got around that there was a big fireballer in Golden Gate Park. Pretty soon I had five big league offers.

“My father said New York was where the money was, so I signed with the Giants. Showed up at spring training in San Antonio, Texas, in 1922. It was the biggest ballpark I ever saw.

“One day I’m pitching batting practice and the manager, John McGraw, steps into the box to take some swings. By this time he was a little heavy around the middle.

I could throw lightning bolts, so I was scared to death of hitting him. I lobbed the first pitch up like a girl.

“McGraw started cussing – the air was usually blue around him, anyhow. ‘Put something on it,’ he yelled. The coach standing behind me told me to throw as hard as I could. The catcher yelled the same thing.

“So I reared back and poured it on. McGraw never saw it. The ball plonked him in the ribs, and almost knocked him down. He held himself up by leaning on the bat.

“He stood back in there and again they told me to cut loose. So I fired away. Hit him in the same spot. He went down like he’d been poleaxed.

There was dead silence. Nobody moved. They didn’t dare try to help him up.

“After a few minutes, he pulled himself up and staggered off. That was the last batting practice he ever took. And it was the closest I ever got to the big leagues.”

Stanton played in the minor leagues until 1929.

The Washington Monument Stunt

Another off-beat chapter writer in the city’s baseball history was Joe Sprinz, who caught for the Seals from 1938 to ’46.

His contribution to the baseball lore of the city came during the 1939 World’s Fair at Treasure Island. This is his story:

“We’d read where Gabby Street, the Washington catcher had caught a baseball dropped from the top of the Washington Monument. So we thought we’d pull the same stunt at the fair.

Lefty O’Doul went up in the tower, about 400 feet up, and dropped a ball. I caught it, caught five in a row.

“’ Well,’ we thought, ‘this is too easy.’ So Duster Mails says, ‘The Goodyear blimp is flying over the fairgrounds. Why not get those guys to throw out a ball?’

“We give the ball to the pilot and he takes off. He’s hovering about 1,200 feet up and drops the ball. It comes down weaving around like a belly dancer.

I get a bead on it, then – wham, it hits me in the head. I wake up in the hospital with a broken jaw. It’s my birthday – August 3, 1939.”