Willie Kamm: Was Good field no hit, fair?

Willie Kamm - he could actually hit and he certainly could field

Find out why Willie Kamm was labelled “good field no hit”

A slick-fielding third baseman for the Chicago White Sox (1923-1931) and Cleveland (1931-1935), Willie Kamm led the league in putouts or assists more than half the time, and was voted the Sox all-time third baseman in 1954.

Despite a .281 lifetime BA, the label “good field no hit” dogged him throughout his career.

I visited Kamm one day in the spring of 1984 at his neat, well-landscaped home where he lived alone on a quiet street in Burlingame, California, about two miles from the San Francisco airport.

His wife had died a year before. His son lived nearby.

The label he didn’t agree with

I could never understand why I had that label “good field no hit.” I hit .340 with the San Francisco Seals before the White Sox bought me [for $100,000] and .292 in my rookie year.

I hit .308 one year, and over .290 a couple other years but I could never shake that tag.

I had a lifetime average of .281, but I guess in the days of Heilmann, Sisler, Ruth, Gehrig, Simmons and Cobb with their .390s and .400s, a .280 hitter was overshadowed.

The most important measures of an infielder are assists and putouts. That shows you that he got to more balls than the other guys, who may make fewer errors because they lack the range.

With the White Sox, there was a lot of pressure on our infielders. If a Yankees infielder made an error, he knew those big bats would come alive and bail him out.

But if we made an error that cost a run or two, that was the ball game. We were condemned for the day. No five o’clock lightning struck.

Playing at Yankee Stadium

I always told infielders in the American League that in Yankee Stadium the wind swirled in such a way that it caused the ball to drift toward the stands, so in going after a pop fly, always put your back toward the infield, never toward the stands.

I went back there for an old-timers’ game one time and I’m playing third base. Mickey Owen, the old Dodgers catcher, was catching.

He’d gotten big and fat. Somebody hit a pop fly down the line. Owen yells, “Take it. I can’t get up.”

So I came down the line and I’m thinking, ‘Oh my God, if I don’t catch this, my parents, my grandson are all watching on TV, now what did I used to teach . . . that’s it – get your back to the infield, keep it to the infield, and here comes the ball and I grabbed it and held on to it for about ten seconds before I turned it loose.

I threw it over to Dizzy Dean, who was pitching and got out of there.

Staying away from trouble

I was never involved in a fight. I came close a few times but managed to avoid them. Hank Greenberg came barreling into third one day. He was out by a mile.

But he got me in the chest with his spikes. The shortstop, Billy Knickerbocker, came over but I pushed him away. I was mad. Hank and I jawed a little, but that’s as far as it went.

After all, he was 6-4, weighed about 225. I weighed 165.

Ty Cobb

Ty Cobb and I were good friends, but that didn’t matter on the field. If you tried to tag him with the ball in your bare hand, he’d kick it right out. You had to hold it in your glove to hold onto it.

Once he slid into third even though he was out from here to there. Tore my socks right off with his spikes. Nicked up my legs pretty good.

So the next time he came up to bat, our pitcher Red Faber threw the first pitch at his head.  Ty went down. He got up and started toward the mound, but changed his mind.

The next pitch decked him again. He got up and started for the pitcher again, but turned back. The third pitch was right at him again. Down goes Ty. This time he got halfway to Faber before he turned back.

Now the count’s 3 and 0. Faber doesn’t want to walk him, so he throws a strike and Cobb bunts it toward first. He wanted to draw the pitcher over to field it so he could give him the business. But Faber knew better. He didn’t move.

The first baseman had to field the ball, so Cobb was safe. But he had nobody to get even with. If his mother had been at first, he would’ve cut her up.

Hidden Ball Tricks

I probably hold the record for the most hidden ball tricks. I only did it two or three times a year, about thirty-some times over my career, but that was more than anybody else.

I didn’t hide the ball in my glove. I’d go over to the pitcher and tell him, “Don’t get on the rubber or it’ll be a balk,” and I’d quick sweep the ball under my armpit and walk back to third twirling the glove in my hands.

The pitcher would stall around a little and I’d watch the runner until he took a few steps off the base, then I’d tag him.

One time I pulled it and George Moriarty was the umpire. He said to me, “If I was the manager of a team and that happened to one of my baserunners, I’d fine the coach $500.”

Well, a couple years later Moriarty was managing Detroit and coaching at third. One day I saw a chance and pulled the trick on one of his players.

When the umpire called the runner out, I turned to George and said, “Who are you going to fine the $500 this time, George?”

Nailing a triple play

I was involved in one triple play. I didn’t start it. I finished it. We were playing Cleveland. They had men on second and third with nobody out. I heard the coach remind them both not to move until the ball cleared the infield.

The ball was hit to the shortstop, who threw the runner out at first. Johnny Hodapp took off from second and made it to third, but Charlie Jamieson was still on third. I got the ball and tagged Jamieson first and Hodapp second.

The ump said, “You’re out’ without saying which one was out. In the confusion, while the players and coach were cussing each other, Jamieson strolled off the base.

I got between him and the bag and said, “Look what I’ve got, Jamie,” and put the ball on him. Of course, Hodapp was the one who was out originally. Jamieson had possession of third base.

Playing Baseball in Europe and Japan

I went on two foreign exhibition tours. After the 1924 season the White Sox and Giants visited Europe. In England we met three kings in one day: George V, the Prince of Wales who became Edward VIII, and his brother, the Duke of York, who became George VI.

They came out on the field and shook hands with the teams. That was the only day we drew a crowd. They came out to see the king, not us. The English didn’t know anything about baseball and didn’t much care.

In 1931 I was on an All-Star team that went to Japan. We got a big reception over there. In the second game, a little lefty pitcher hit Lou Gehrig on the wrist and broke it.

He missed the rest of the tour. But it healed before the ’32 season began. Otherwise, there wouldn’t have been any 2,130 consecutive game record for him.

[Kamm played for eight managers in 13 years, four of them Hall of Fame players.]

Eddie Collins was a brilliant student of the game. But he kept pretty much to himself. He never tried to teach you anything, or offer any help or tips when you were making mistakes.

The smartest manager I ever played for was Roger Peckinpaugh at Cleveland. He wasn’t necessarily the best manager, though.

I didn’t think he was tough enough with his players, didn’t keep them in line off the field. But he was open and plainspoken; I could talk to him and understand him. 

Walter Johnson was running the Indians when I was released in 1935. He was unpopular with the fans and writers.

Billy Evans, the general manager, asked me if I was interested in managing. I told him no; he should hire Steve O’Neill. The lousiest job in baseball is the manager.

Big stars often make poor managers. It was so easy and natural for them, they can’t understand why it isn’t easy for the other players.

They can’t really teach you anything about hitting, only the way they did it. If Cobb tried to teach Hornsby how to hit like Ty did, Hornsby wouldn’t bat .005.

I think the key to hitting for average is to hit up the middle. On either side of the infield, you’ve got two players between you and the outfield. But up the middle, you just have to get it by the pitcher. But try telling that to a pull-hitter.

I guess the best hitting advice was something I overheard out in the bleachers one day. A fellow said to his friend, “You were a good hitter, Sam. What’s your secret?”

Sam said, “Just hit it hard and wish it well.”

I made a mistake in my youth. I was convinced I’d always have a job in baseball, so I didn’t get into any off-season business or trade during my playing days. But it didn’t work out that way.

So I had nothing to fall back on when my baseball days were over. Luckily, I made some money in the stock market and that saw me through.