“I don’t know how I win. As a fact, I don’t care how I win, if I win, beyond winning by clean methods and not asking favors”
Said Frank Chance, as part of a series of syndicated articles by Chicago journalist Joseph B. Bowles which asked some of baseball’s biggest stars to talk about “How I Win.”
“It is all in the man himself. There are many great ballplayers who are not winning ballplayers…I know I go into a game confident of winning and the confidence never ends. The harder they beat us the harder I work and if a manager keeps working and fighting all the time his players will be with him. If he quits or weakens, his men will do the same. I try to get the best work out of myself and my players, to fight and keep fighting to the finish, and then try to forget the game and work for the next one.”
Frank Chance
He said remembering the previous day’s game “is a bad thing,” and explained how he prepared for games:
“The first thing to do is to study the weaknesses of the other club and to recognize its strength and then, allowing for its greatest strength and least weakness, to figure out how to beat it at its best.
“I make a close study of opposing pitchers and plan the attack upon the weakest point of the other team. I always give the opposing team credit for having brains enough to strike our weakest point and try to fortify that point by adapting the team work to the conditions.”
Chance said “the hardest work” of a manager was how to use pitchers:
“I want to know exactly the condition of the pitcher who is going to work, and if there are two or three in top condition, I study which one is best against the team we are to play.”
During a game, he said he tried “to outguess the other said all the time and to do things and have my men do things,” that would not be expected:
“I believe in taking chances at bat, in the field, and especially on the bases, and I think taking chances with men in games has won for me…I and my team have won because we have worked harder and more earnestly to win than other teams have. It isn’t ‘swelled headedness’ to say that. We have worked all the time and I believe that hard work and constant practice, condition and working together for the good of the team rather than for the good of ourselves, has been the secret of the past successes of the Cubs.”
Frank Chance, as seen through the eyes of Oscar Cesare, cartoonist for The New YorkEvening Post; the sketch appeared along with a 1911 feature article by Homer Croy of the International Press Bureau:
“Frank Chance is the “Peerless Leader” to all America with W.J.B. (William Jennings Bryan) just coming in sight around the bend. W.J. may be the last syllable when it comes to a crown of thorns, but what does he know about first base? When it gets down to real peerlessness, Chance of Cook County has got the Lincoln leader lashed so tightly to the mast that he can’t move an eyebrow.”
Croy noted Chance’s fear of the “hoodoo:”
“He is one of the most superstitious men in baseball, but having 13 for his lucky number. When on a Pullman it would take a straightjacket and a new cable to make him sleep anywhere except in lower 13; if the club gets a car with only twelve berths he writes 13 on the door and doubles up in the stateroom. He refuses to change his shirt as long as the Cubs are winning; he’s very firm about this and cannot be won over with either pleading or powder.”
It was widely assumed that American League President “Ban” Johnson had a hand in the transactions that resulted in Frank Chance coming to New York to manage the Yankees in 1913—Chance was claimed off waivers by the Cincinnati Reds in November of 1912, then waived again and claimed by the Yankees a month later.
Ban Johnson
William A. Phelon, the sports editor at The Cincinnati Times-Star noted “(T)he strange fact that all the clubs in the older league permitted him to depart without putting in a claim,” as evidence of the fix being in. And, in “Ban Johnson: Czar of Baseball,” author Eugene Murdock said “Johnson masterminded a series of intricate maneuvers,” to bring “The Peerless leader” to New York.
Chance’s arrival in New York was heralded as a turning point for the franchise, and he made no effort to downplay his confidence. On January 9, 1913, The Associated Press reported that chance told Yankees owner Frank Farrell:
“I will win the pennant for you before I get through in New York. That may sound like a bold statement to make at this time, but I ask you to remember my promise.”
Frank Chance
Despite the maneuvers on Chance’s behalf and Chance’s own confidence, he failed miserably in New York. The club finished seventh with a 57-94 record in 1913. The following season, the team was 60-74 when Chance resigned. The resignation came after a tumultuous season which included charges by Chance that the team’s failures were largely the result of scout Arthur Irwin’s failure to sign decent players. He also secured a guarantee of his 1915 salary from Farrell before he resigned.
Two months after Chance’s exit, the man who “masterminded” the moves that brought him to New York, unleashed his wrath on the former manager to Ed Bang of The Cleveland News:
“You can say for me that Frank Chance stands forth as the biggest individual failure in the history of the American League. That’s the sum and substance of what B. B. Johnson, president of the American League said a short time since when “The Peerless Leader” came up for discussion, ‘and what’s more, you can write a story to that effect and quote me as strong as you’d like,’ Ban continued.
“President Johnson had great hopes of Chance molding a winner in New York, and when, after almost two years as the leader of the Yankees, he quit a dismal failure, the blow all but floored Ban for the count. The American League has always played second fiddle to the Giants in New York, and Ban and other American Leaguers figured that Chance was the man to bring about a change in the condition of affairs.”
Bang said Johnson took Chance’s failure “to heart,” because he believed he “made a ten-strike” for the league when Chance came to New York. Johnson told him:
“’Chance had the material in New York and I think any other man would have made a success og the venture,’ said Ban. ‘Surely no one could have done any worse. Of all the players that were on the New York roster in 1913 and 1914, and there were any number of likely looking recruits, Chance failed to develop even one man of class. Why, it was an outrage.’
“’And then when he made up his mind that he was a failure, or at least when he was ready to step down and out he had the unmitigated nerve to ask for pay for services that he had not performed. That surely was gall, to say the least.”
Johnson finished by comparing Chance unfavorably with the Yankees’ 23-year-old captain who replaced him and guided the team to a 10-10 finish:
“’Why, Roger Peckinpaugh, youth though he is, displayed far more class as manager of the Yankees in the short time he was at the helm than Frank Chance ever did.”
Roger Peckinpaugh
Irwin left the Yankees in January of 1915 when Farrell and his partner William Devery sold the team to Jacob Rupert and Cap Huston. Peckinpaugh remained captain but was replaced as manager by Bill Donovan, who guided the Yankees for three seasons–a fifth, a fourth and a sixth-place finish with an overall record of 220-239.
By 1912 Hall of Famer Frank Chance had been hit in the head so many times by pitches that he had developed blood clots on his brain and left the Cubs near the end of the season for surgery, and left him deaf in one ear.
Frank Chance
Chance, who was known to crowd the plate, was hit by pitches 137 times during his big league career; on May 30 1904 he was hit five times in a double-header—one of which rendered him unconscious– with the Cincinnati Reds.
It appears his plate-crowding ways, and his propensity for being beaned, predated his professional career. In April of 1894 the 17-year-old was catching for a team in his hometown of Fresno, California against a team in nearby Visalia. The Sacramento Record-Union said:
“Frank Chance, Fresno’s catcher, was hit on the head by Charles Button, Visalia’s pitcher, in baseball game this afternoon. Chance was knocked senseless, and believed to have suffered concussion of the brain. He regained consciousness and vomited freely, and is better. The outcome of the accident is mere conjecture.”
Four years later Chance began his professional career as a catcher for the Fresno franchise in the Pacific Coast league.
“Connie Mack, and my information comes from men in the American League, directs the play of his team by a series of signals given from the bench.
“We will say, for instance, that a Philadelphia player reaches first. From that moment he has two things to do. First, he must watch the pitcher. And with a man like (Mordecai) Brown on the slab, this alone is sufficient to keep a man busy. In addition to this, he must also watch Connie Mack, who, by a signal, given with a scorecard, by the crossing of his legs or something of the sort, tells him that he must steal on the next ball, that the hit and run will be tried, or signals some other play. That method keeps the base runner’s attention divided between the bench and the pitcher. He dares not take his eyes off of either.
“With Chance it is different. He has his signals so perfected that all the base runner must do is to watch the man following.
Frank Chance
“Say that Cub player reaches first. When the next batter goes to the plate he has been instructed as to what is expected of him and also what is expected of the base runner.
“And it becomes his duty to signal the man on the bases concerning his duty.
“Maybe Chance has told the man going up to try the hit and run on the second ball. The batter slips the signal to the man on the base…And since (the batter) and the pitcher are on a line, you can see that the whole process is simplified.”
Evers said Chance’s system was better because “it makes it all the more difficult” for opponents to steal signs.
He said his manager was also not rigid in his orders, which “won him the enduring friendship of his men.” And Chance rarely sent players to the plate “with ironclad instruction.”
Evers said:
“He tells you to do the unexpected, and that if you believe you can catch the enemy unawares to do it. That is the reason that the Cubs ‘pull off’ plays.”
Evers said of managers in general:
“I have played under the playing manager and under the man who manages from the bench, and I can’t for the life of me see where the latter is nearly as effective as the playing leader.
“(Frank) Selee was a bench manager and a good one in his prime. Yet he was never part of the play as Chance is, and the reason was because he was not on the field. Even after the ball is hit the playing manager has an opportunity of instructing his players.
“He can tell where to make the play. It’s utterly impossible for a bench manager to do this. Again, the playing manager at a critical stage of the game, and especially if he is playing an infield position, as Chance does, can issue instructions to the pitcher, telling him what and where to pitch. He can do this in a natural manner and without attracting the attention of the crowd.”
Evers noted that for Mack to do the same:
Connie Mack
“(H)e would have to stop the game and send some player to the diamond. That procedure never did any pitcher any good.
“Say that there is a man on second or third and that a dangerous man is up. I have heard Chance tell the pitcher to make the batter hit a bad one, and if the man at the plate refused that it would be alright if he was passed. Mack could not do this. It would be too complicated for signals. About all he could do would be to signal the pitcher to pass the man.
“Connie Mack may have excellent judgment in the selection of his pitchers and in appraising the value of his men, but I am confident that he has nothing on Manager Chance in this department of the game.
“The Chicago man is adept at picking the man who is ‘right.’ Time and again I have known the fellows to pick a certain man to pitch and Chance would select some other. But he usually picked the right one, and there is absolutely no doubt in my mind but that he will pick the right ones in the big series.”
The bench manager beat the playing manager in the 1910 series; Mack and the Athletics beat Chance and the Cubs four games to one.
On the eve of the 1910 World Series, Chicago Cubs second baseman Johnny Evers made the case in The Chicago Herald that his manager was better than the manager of their American League opponent:
Johnny Evers,
“It is but natural that I should favor Chance. Just the same sentiment alone does not sway me when I say that he will outwit Connie Mack and that his managerial ability will be one of the greatest assets of the Cubs.
“Chance is without an equal in putting fight into a team. Here is a concrete example of his ability to fight against odds. Incidentally, it throws a mighty interesting sidelight into our fight for the pennant of 1908.
“In the latter part of the season, we were playing in Philadelphia. We lost a game which seemed to put us hopelessly out of the race.”
After losing 2 to 1 to the Phillies on September 18, the Cubs dropped 4 and ½ games behind the league-leading New York Giants.
“In those days we were riding to and from the grounds in carriages and we were pretty thoroughly licked that evening.
“We didn’t have a thing to say, for it seemed that our last hope had vanished and that we could not possibly get into the World Series.
“I think it was (Joe) Tinker who finally broke the silence. ‘Well, cap, we are done and we might as well celebrate our losing tonight,’ he said.
“Chance thought a few minute. ‘No, we won’t,’ he answered. ‘Boys, we have been pretty good winners. Now let’s show the people that we can be good losers. Let’s show then that we never give up; that we are never beaten. Let’s show then we play as hard when we lose as when we win, and that we fight for the pure love of fighting, whether it means victory or defeat.’
“Well, sir, you can’t imagine how that cheered us. We did fight and the baseball world knows that we won.”
Frank Chance
The Cubs went 13-2 after that loss to the Phillies, setting the stage for the October 8 game with the Giants to decide the pennant—the replay of the September 23, Merkle’s boner game:
“Chance’s ability as a fighter is not his only asset, for he mixes shrewdness with his fighting.
“And to my mind, he never gave a better illustration of his shrewdness than he did on that memorable afternoon that we met the giants in that single game.”
Evers said “a scheme had been framed up to beat” the Cubs, and when the team was six minutes into their allotted 20 minute of batting practice:
“(John) McGraw came up with bat and ball. We were told that we had been given all the time that was ours and would have to quit. Well, we were careful to find out just how long we had been batting, and Manager Chance then went up to protest.
“Joe McGinnity, the old pitcher, shoved him from the plate and struck him on the chest with a bat. The first impulse of Chance was to strike back. He restrained himself, and, looking the old pitcher squarely in the eye, he told him that he would smash his nose the first time they met outside the ballpark.
Joe McGinnity
“Chance returned to the bench and we talked it over. Chance guessed the scheme in an instant, and within a few hours what we suspected became a fact. McGinnity was there to invite an attack. Had Chance fought him, a policeman would have been called and both men would have been escorted from the field. The Giants would have lost a man they had no intention of losing, while the Cubs would have lost their manager as well as their first baseman, and the team would have been demoralized.”
Evers said Chance’s restraint “gave me a better insight into his real character than anything I ever witnessed before.”
Evers continues making his case for Chance on Wednesday.
“First, you have to have the horse, and next the driver that can get the best out of him, and is the best judge of speed and pace. I try to lay back and let them trot their heads off then go to the whip down the stretch and finish strong. Of course, I get set down for a bad ride in one or two heats each season.
“I don’t get excited about these ball games. If they beat me today, I know there’ll be another game tomorrow, and if a fellow can keep up the old confidence he’ll come along somewhere. Every horse is allowed one break in a heat, if it isn’t too long, and still can win. In a race a fellow oughtn’t go to the whip too soon, and it’s the same in baseball.”
Frank Schulte
Schulte addressed criticisms about his low-key demeanor on the field, which led some to question his dedication:
“Lots of people think I don’t like this game because I don’t get excited, but the fact is I want to win just as much as anyone does, only it affects me differently. I try to keep thinking and waiting until some of the excitable fellows swing wide from the rail, then I make a drive for the pole and come through on the inside…A team out there in the front running their heads off and working themselves out oughtn’t to discourage a team that is trailing along and doing pretty well. I just say: ‘Old boy, we may never get up where you are, but you’ll come back to where we are,’ and keep plugging along.”
[…]
“The only way I know how to win a game is to get the hit when it is needed and to make the throw when you have to, wasting as little effort as possible and saving up strength for the time when it is necessary. I try not to wear myself down early in the season, and to come strong toward the finish, when games count more, and to drive harder in games that are important than in others, and to ease up and save myself after a game is safely won; that is not to take the chances in easy games I would take in hard ones.”
Schulte said “a fellow ought to be able to take a philosophical view,” of the game:
“Keeping cool and thinking helps a lot…If I strike out three times, I come back to the bench and say: ‘Old boy, you keep pitching that way to me and I’ll claw one pretty soon.’ And then maybe I get hold of the ball good just when it helps the most, instead of getting discouraged or worried. And when one of those fellows who want to run themselves to death and tire out before a game is over, and reduce to shadow before the season ends, yells: ‘I got it, I got it!’ I say, ‘Take it, I’ll trot back. Then when I have to be I’m fresh.”
When Frank Carter Bancroft died in 1921 at age 74, “Spalding’s Official Baseball Guide” said:
“His executive ability and Knowledge of Base Ball, combined with the fact that he was for sport first and the show element of Base Ball secondarily, rendered him one of the most competent of men to handle the affairs of a professional team.”
Frank Bancroft
While working in the front office of the Reds in 1892, Bancroft talked with Harry Weldon, sports editor of The Cincinnati Enquirer about some of the players who got their start with his teams. He also didn’t seem to mind taking a swipe at a couple former players:
“Probably no man now before the public except Harry Wright or Adrian C. Anson have had a longer or more varied experience with the intricacies of the great National Game than Frank C. Bancroft. He never wore the spangles, like a great many other managers, but he has been connected with the game in a managerial capacity since the early seventies. ‘Bannie’ is one of the wittiest men in the profession and he has a fund of anecdotes about players and plays that are well worth hearing. Many of the great baseball stars now before the public made their debut under Mr. Bancroft’s management. Many of them who are now drawing $4,000 or $5,000 a season worked under Bannie for about one-tenth that amount and were glad to get it. Bancroft was one of the leading lights in the original New England League, which graduated a great many of the stars of today.
“At the present time Mr. Bancroft is business manager of the Cincinnati Reds. He has nothing whatever to do with the players. All of that part of the club’s affairs being under the supervision of Captain (Charlie) Comiskey. All Bannie has to do is look after the gate, railroad rates and dates. The other evening the veteran manager was in The Enquirer office and grew reminiscent. His recital of the details of the debut of some of the stars is worth reproducing.
“Harry Stovey, one of the greatest ballplayers today, began his professional career under Manager Bancroft. He began his career in the pitcher’s box and graduated out of the ranks of a Philadelphia amateur team called the Defiance in 1877 (the Philadelphia Defiance were a professional team, part of the league Alliance). Manager Bancroft heard of him, and in 1878 engaged him as a change pitcher for the New Bedfords. G. Washington ‘Grin’ Bradley was the regular pitcher of the team, and as he was an every-day pitcher Stovey was never allowed an opportunity of displaying his pitching abilities on the New Bedford team. He had to be content with warming the bench until fate was kind and he had a chance.
Harry Stovey
“‘Stovey played his first game with our team at Baltimore,’ said Mr. Bancroft. ‘we were making an exhibition tour when John Piggot, the first baseman, was taken ill, and as we only carried ten men, Stovey was called on to make an attempt to play first base. His maiden effort was a brilliant one—so brilliant that it lost Piggott his job and made Stovey a fixture on first. He had at least twenty putouts, no errors and several cracking hits to his credit that day. He played the season with us, and his fame spread so that he was signed by the Worcester (Ruby Legs) League team and afterward with the Athletics Stovey’s salary the first season in New Bedford for $50 a month. Now he is paid nearly that much a game.’
“George Gore, the crack center-fieder of the New Yorks is another player who came into prominence with the New Bedfords that year. Gore’s home was in Maine, at a little town called Saccarappa…Gore was about as green a specimen as ever stepped into the business. He played a few games with the Fall Rivers, and then the New Bedfords got him. He was a big, awkward country boy then, but he could run like a deer and hit the ball like a trip hammer. Gore signed with the New Bedfords under Manager Bancroft for $50 a month, but he did not stay with them long. His terrific batting attracted the attention of the whole baseball world, and soon the more prominent clubs were after him. While the Chicagos were in Boston the late lamented (William) Hulbert, President of the National League, who was with them, ran up to New Bedford to have a talk with Gore. Luck was with big George. He had his eye with him, and made three home runs in the game. That feat settled his fate. Before Hulbert left New Bedford he had Gore’s name to a contract to play in Chicago in 1879 at $150 a month. His career since that time is well known. Today he is yet a great hitter, and reached first base as frequently as any player in the business, by either hits, errors or bases on balls. His ability to reach first causes him to be selected to head the battery list of the New Yorks.
“Arthur Irwin is another player whom Manager Bancroft put in the business. ‘He made a grand impression in his opening game with me,” said Manager Bancroft. ‘I was then manager of the Worcester League team, and we were on the hog train for a while, owing to Charlie Bennett’s glass arm and Buck (William “Farmer”) Weaver’s faint heart. Matters were so bad that a crisis was at hand. A meeting of the stockholders of the club was called, and it was voted to place the team in my hands for one month, and if no improvement was shown at the end of that time I was to be given the chase. It was a dying chance for me, and you could gamble that I had my eyes and ears open for a savior of some kind. Arthur Irwin was then playing with an amateur team called the Aetnas, of South Boston, and I engaged him to play short with the Worcester. (J. Lee) Richmond, the once famous left-handed pitcher, who played here with the Reds in 1886, was then with the Brown University team and he was telegraphed to come for a trial. We played the Chicagos that day, and we shut them out, only one man getting first base. Irwin made a great hit at short, and Richmond was a wizard. Irwin was a fifty-dollar-a-month man, and that was the start of his professional career. Richmond is now a physician at Geneva, Ohio.’”
The game Bancroft referred to was an exhibition between Worcester (a member of the National Association) and the National League’s Chicago White Stockings played on June 2 in Worcester. Richmond walked the first batter, Abner Dalrymple, and then retired the next twenty-one before the game was called after seven innings. The Chicago Tribune said Richmond struck out 8. Worcester tagged Frank Hankinson for 12 hits and 11 runs (Chicago also committed 11 errors). Bancroft was correct that Richmond became a physician, but by 1892, he was no longer practicing and was working as a teacher in Toledo, Ohio.
J. Lee Richmond
“Big Roger Connor of last season’s New Yorks, but now of Philadelphia, received his professional introduction under Manager Bancroft. ‘It sounds queer to say that such a cracking hitter as Roger Connor was ever released for poor batting, but such was the case’ said Manager Bancroft
“’I had him with the New Bedfords in 1878, but he was hitting so poorly that I released him. He afterward signed with the New Havens the same season, but the disbanded. Roger left New Haven and went to Waterbury, his home, where he joined an amateur team in that city called the Monitors. Up to that time he had batted right-handed, but he decided to turn around and try it left-handed. The change saved his life. He blossomed out as a great slugger, and his reputation has been growing ever since.
“Connor, like Stovey, began his professional career at $50 a month, and has since climbed to the top rung of high salaried players. Many young players of today should look upon these as examples for honest and temperate habits have enabled them to remain at the head of the profession, while the path is strewn with a multitude of others who might have been where they are if they had not thought this world was a continuous round of gaiety and fun and discovered their mistake when it was too late.”
Franklin Pierce Adams’ famous poem “Baseball’s Sad Lexicon” appeared in The New York Evening Mail in 1910 and immortalized Chicago Cubs shortstop Joe Tinker, second baseman Johnny Evers and first baseman Frank Chance—within three years, the above cartoon appeared in newspapers along with a new, less well-known, poem written by Adams’ colleague at The Evening Mail, James P. Sinnott.
By 1913, baseball fans became aware that Tinker and Evers had barely spoken to each other since 1905, and the rivalry among the three exploded in public. The former teammates, now all managers, Tinker with the Cincinnati Reds, Evers with the Cubs, and Chance, the recently deposed Cubs manager, with the New York Yankees.
In February Chance told reporters that Tinker was a better player than Evers; Evers responded and accused Tinker of trying to “tamper” with pitcher Larry Cheney and other members of the Cubs, as for Chance he said:
“I do not know whether Chance is jealous of my getting the position of leader, and I do not like to think so, but from the remarks he is making, I am forced to.”
By March, Hugh Fullerton said in The Chicago Examiner that Evers was unable to control his players; he said “Chance could whip any man on (the) team—Evers can’t,” and predicted a fourth place finish for the Cubs (they finished third). Tinker’s Reds finished seventh in the National League; Chance’s Yankees were seventh in the American.
Sinnott’s poem appeared at the end of September:
“A Manager’s life is tough!
Said Tinker to Evers to Chance—
‘A manager’s road is rough!’
Said Tinker to Evers to Chance—
‘Here are we three, a lookin’ on
The big world’s series game,
In which we once were principals,
In which we gained our fame’
‘A manager’s life is no cinch!’
Said Tinker to Evers to Chance—
I’d almost as soon be Lynch!’
Said Tinker to Evers to Chance.”
“Lynch” was Thomas Lynch, who was about to be replaced as president of the National League.
It would not be until 1924, shortly before Chance’s death that the three reconciled. Chance had been hired to manage the Chicago White Sox, but became too ill and returned home to California; he was replaced by Evers.
Chance summoned his former teammates to California that spring, where the three spent several days together. Chance died in September. Tinker, Evers and Chance, were inducted into the Hall of Fame together in 1946.
After winning 139 games during a 12-year major league career, Fred Toney’s professional career came to an abrupt and unceremonious end after appearing in nine games (4-3 4.09 ERA) for the Nashville Volunteers in 1925.
Munce Pique, a long-time figure in Southern baseball—he had a long career as an umpire as a brief one as a player—told the story to Blinkey Horn of The Nashville Tennessean in 1935:
“They were in Mobile, and a runner was on third when a Mobile batter his a long foul. The Nashville left fielder—I can’t remember his name—caught the foul and the runner scored.
“Fred Toney walked out of the box, went over to the dressing room, knocked the lock off the door with a bat and put on his clothing and went home.
“So it wasn’t the case in Munce Pique’s opinion, of a sore arm, but rather that Fred Toney was sore at his left fielder for making a dumb catch.
“You could hardly blame him.”
The story had become relevant in Nashville 10 years later because that summer Toney returned, The Associated Press said:
“The other day the hurler, now 45 [sic, 46] and weighing 270 pounds, walked to the mound in Nashville’s ballpark and began throwing a ‘mighty small ball’ down the slot in batting practice.
“Not even the ever-enthusiastic local fans knew that the middle-aged giant out there was Fred Toney, in new shoes and a drab grey uniform.”
Toney, who had a farm and operated a tavern and gas station on Hydes Ferry Pike in Nashville, and had recently attended his first baseball game in a decade; he, “Never liked baseball so much when he was in it,” but now wanted back in the game as a coach.
Toney pitched in a couple semi-pro games in Tennessee in the summer of 1935, and in the spring of 1936 continued his quest to coach, but even he admitted it was his second choice, telling The Nashville Banner:
“I’ve been trying to get on the Nashville police force, but that has just about fallen through. If I can’t make that I want to start dickering for a coaching job.”
The prospects were dim for 47-year-old, 270-pound rookie cops and for coaches 10-years removed from the game
In September of 1936 Toney’s name was back in the news when the farm, filling station, and a “trophy room (containing) valuable relics from his baseball days; pictures, autographed baseballs, and gloves went up in smoke.”
Toney lost his home, one of his businesses, and every piece of memorabilia he had saved from his career.
The next summer, while working at a local nightclub he continued to seek a coaching job but seemed to have been annoyed by the prospect of interacting with modern players. The told The Associated Press:
“Pitchers today don’t do as they should, because they can’t. They are soft. They can’t take it.”
The pitchers of his day were, “farmers, coal miners, cotton pickers. They were physically equal to the strain.”
Toney concluded that, “young men who live normal lives, going through school and having things pretty easy can’t possibly develop into great pitchers.”
By early 1941, bed ridden with the flu and with no job prospects, Toney made another pitch for a baseball job through The Tennessean, telling a reporter:
“I’ll be up soon and all I ask is a chance.”
The best prospect for a job came from the Kitty League, Shelby Peace, the league president sent a wire to the paper:
“I would be glad for you to notify Fred Toney that if he is willing to accept a job as an umpire in the Kitty League, I will be very glad to send him a contract.”
Toney, in 1949, shows a group of minor leaguers his grip on a ball purported to be the one he used to record the final out in the 17-inning no-hitter in 1917; except more than a decade earlier, Toney was said to have lost every important piece of memorabilia in in afire.
That job never materialized, not did a coaching position. Toney spent his final years working as a security guard and later as a bailiff in the Davidson County Criminal Court House.
Toney died in March of 1953; shortly before his death, and appropriate for his personality, he did not call either his 17-inning minor league, or 10-inning major league no-hitters his greatest moment. His greatest moment was born out of revenge. He told The Banner:
“When I first came up to the Chicago Cub from Winchester in 1911, my manager was Frank Chance. I have no doubt I’d have spent my entire career with the Cubs if Chance hadn’t left and gone to the American League.
“Johnny Evers, who was known as ‘the Crab.’ And I never got along. I never could go for a brow beating manager. Evers sent me back to Louisville and I had to battle my way back to the big leagues with Cincinnati in 1915.
“Evers was then managing Boston. In my first start against him, boy, I beat him good. That one win did more for me than any other.”
Unfortunately, Toney’s greatest moment wasn’t quite accurate either . He lost three decisions to the Braves in 1915 before beating them with a one-hitter on September 1.
Baseball History Daily 