Upon being named president of the National League in 1910, Thomas Lynch spoke to a reporter from The New York Telegraph about his experiences as an umpire from 1888 to 1902:
“The personal discussions and individual adventures I had with the old-time ball players were innumerable. In those days umpires were not nearly as well backed up as now, and they frequently had to depend on nerve and a good right swing to protect them. Brawling players—usually good fellows off the field, but wild to win by any means—were many and they made the umpire’s life a burden.”
Thomas Lynch
Lynch said, “The old Cleveland Cub,” the 1888 Spiders, who included Jesse Burkett, Cupid Childs, Jimmy McAleer, and Chief Zimmer stood out as, “pests when it came to nagging umpires.”
The team, he said, “had a queer trick—testing the umpire’ disposition to find out how far they could go and get away with.”
Burkett would approach Lynch:
“’How do, Mr. Lynch?’ He would say, ‘Nice weather we’re having. Guess we’ll have a pretty good game this afternoon.’
“If I happened to be feeling good-natured and sociable, I would naturally answer, ‘Sure. Glad to see you looking so well,’ or something along those lines.”
Burkett would then tell his teammates, “(He’s) feeling fine and happy. Work on his good nature, pals.”
Lynch said s from there, “They tried to slip something over on me every inning and tried to help my affable mood help them along.”
The would also argue louder and “start an awful howl” when disagreeing with a call, “Figuring that I was feeling too good natured to fine the or put them out of the game, they would fairly riot around me for five minutes after every decision that displeased them.”
If Lynch were in a bad mood when Burkett approached:
“Being bad-tempered or out of humor, I would either pay no attention to this greeting or answer with a grunt.”
Burkett
In that case, the team was told:
“Cheese it fellers…He’s got a horrible grouch on. Better let him alone this afternoon.”
Lynch said he was not aware of what was happening despite Cleveland doing the same to every umpire, until “Zimmer put me wise,” later in the season
Lynch said he always thought it “best not to hand then any personal abuse,” and was proud to have “never called a ballplayer any names.”
The new league president called his former colleague Tim Hurst—the two were members of the National League umpire staff together from 1891-1902— “a unique and amusing character of the diamond,” who “played the umpiring game the other way,’ and:
“(B)elieved in answering ballplayers in their own coin.”
When players argued with Hurst, “with any ornamental language,” the arbiter would, with his “ready Irish wit,” would reply in a manner “that left the offender dazed and a target for the ridicule of his own pals.”
Hurst also “wouldn’t hesitate to soak a ballplayer with his good right mitt or on a decision when he thought it was necessary to teach a disturber a lesson.”
He told of a run in Hurst had with the Orioles, “a fearful gang when it came to fighting umpires,” in Baltimore:
“One afternoon the Orioles were being trimmed and were fighting like wild cats. Presently they bubbled over and burned up the grass around the home plate with their phraseology. Tim answered them in kind, stormed all of them, chased one or two, and still they kept troubling.
“At last, Jake Stenzel slid for the plate. He looked safe to the stand and to everybody, in fact, but Tim. ‘You’re out,’ yelled Hurst. Jake sprung up and rushed at Hurst.
“’ What did you call me out for, you spiflicated rother of a lop-eared mule?’ howled Jake.
“’I called you out, you hungry-looking sheep-stealing Dutchman,’ said Tim, ‘because your face gave me a pain. Now get out of the game.’ And Jake departed.”
Tim Hurst
Lynch retold a version of a story repeated frequently, with some different details, over the years about a game in Cleveland against the Orioles. Patsy Tebeau of the Spiders indicated the “wild-eyed crowd” with only a rope separating them from the field, and said to the umpire:
“The first bum decision you give, Tim, we’ll cut those ropes and let the mob in on you.”
Hurst did not respond. Later:
“Joe Kelley came up. He hit a long foul, way off the line. ‘Fair ball,’ yelled Tim. ‘Run, Joe, run,’ Then turning to Tebeau, he shouted, ‘Now cut the ropes you four-flushing hyena.”
Hugh Fullerton told essentially the same story in 1911 in “The American Magazine.” In his version was a game against Chicago and Jimmy Ryan was the batter who hit the foul home run. In this version, as Ryan rounded the bases,
“Hurst turned and shook his fist at Tebeau, shouting: ‘Cut the ropes, ye spalpeen, cut the ropes.”
After National league umpire Tim Hurst died in 1915, his American League counterpart Billy Evans said in his nationally syndicated column:
“In the passing of Tim Hurst, baseball lost the quaintest character of the diamond. It was believed there would never be another one to approach him., but in Bill Byron baseball has a pocket edition of Timothy Carroll Hurst.
“No more fearless umpire ever held an indicator than Tim Hurst. Bill Byron runs him a close second.”
Evans said before coming to the National League in 1913, Byron was the subject “of many stories of wild minor league riots, in which Bill played the leading role without so much as mussing his hair.”
Fearless was one adjective used about Byron, but there were many others. After the 1911 season, Ed Barrow, president of the Eastern League removed Byron from the league’s staff. The Baltimore Sun said many celebrated the move:
“Byron’s chief fault is his stubbornness, and he, as well, is a bit dictatorial and oversteps his authority on the diamond…For the good of the game–in the face of many prejudices–Barrow has acted wisely in giving him the ‘can.'”
Bill Byron
Known as the “singing Umpire,” Byron’s “little ditties” were so well known that writers like L.C. Davis of The St. Louis Post-Dispatch and Willian Phelon of The Cincinnati Times-Star both wrote columns suggesting new songs for the umpire.
Davis suggested that when the Cubs Heine Zimmerman argued a call:
Heinie, Heinie, I’ve been thinking,
I don’t want none of your slack;
To the clubhouse you’ll go slinking,
If you make another crack.
Johnny Evers complained to Phelon:
“How can a guy tend to his batting when the umpire’s warbling in his ears?”
John McGraw was Byron’s biggest foil and foe, and Byron had a song for the manager of the New York Giants:
After the incident, McGraw provided a signed statement admitting to punching Byron, but blaming the incident on the umpire:
“Byron said to me: ‘McGraw, you were run out of Baltimore.”
When the umpire repeated the charge, McGraw said he “hit him. I maintain I was given reason.”
When Byron arrived in St. Louis the day after the incident to work a series between the Cardinals and Phillies, he refused to answer when asked by a reporter from The Philadelphia Inquirer if McGraw had punched him, instead:
“Bill pointed the right hand to the jaw. There was dark clot—which indicated that something landed as early as 20 hours ago.”
McGraw’s justification for the attack notwithstanding, he was fined $500 and suspended for 16 days.
McGraw responded, claiming to be “discriminated against personally,” by league President John Tener,” and that “Byron was more to blame than I was.”
He said the action taken against him would result in:
“Umpires with Byron’s lack of common intelligence and good sense, will now be so overbearing with players there will be no living with them.”
But the feud had been brewing since the umpire entered the league.
In August of 1914, in a game where the Reds scored five runs in the eighth to beat the Giants 5 to 4, The Cincinnati Enquirer said:
“The character of McGraw was shown by his getting into an insulting ruction with Umpire Byron…He was so angered at losing out that he pelted the official with vicious expletives and delayed the game for several minutes.”
In 1915, Sam Crane, the former player turned baseball writer for The New York Journal, and a close friend of McGraw, chronicled a clash between the two during a September 25 game between the seventh place Giants and sixth place Cardinals in St. Louis:
Byron was being taunted from the New York bench and decided utility infielder Fred Brainard was the culprit and ejected him:
“Brainard (in a startled voice: ‘Who me/ Why, I didn’t open my mouth, did I boys?’
“Chorus of players: ‘No, he didn’t.’
“A mysterious voice from a far corner of the dugout: ‘’Byron, you can’t hear any better than you can see. You’re rotten.’”
At this point, Byron walked to the Giants bench and gave Brainard one minute to leave.
McGraw responded, “You have pulled another boot Byron,” and accused the umpire of once ordering a player off the bench who was coaching at first base, and asked how he knew it was Brainard:
“Umpire Byron (turning pale): ‘I caught Brainard with his mouth open.’”
The Giants bench laughed at the umpire and McGraw accused him of always “guessing” at his decisions.
At this point Crane said Byron, “five minutes after he had given Brainard one minute,” removed his watch from his pocket and again gave Brainard a minute to leave and told McGraw he would be ejected as well. The manager responded:
“Why should I be put out of the game? I haven’t done anything. Neither has Brainard. You’re all tangled up. Do you know the rules? What time is it by that tin timepiece you have got there?”
Byron repeated the order and threatened to forfeit the game to St. Louis. McGraw said:
“Go ahead and forfeit. You will be in very bad if you do. Every one of my players here say Brainard did not say a word. You will be in a nice fix with Tener, won’t you. You will have a fat chance to umpire the world’s series. Go ahead and forfeit the game.”
Byron then summoned three police officers to remove Brainard, but according to Crane, the police sergeant said,” I will have to take the umpire along, too.”
This elicited more laughter from the Giants bench.
Crane’s story ends with McGraw chastising the umpire while finally telling Brainard to go, and Byron returning to homeplate while singing:
“Oh, I don’t know. The multitude and the players are enraged at me; but I gained my point. Oh, I don’t know; I ain’t so bad.”
And the game “then proceeded, and smoothly throughout.”
Crane claimed the whole ordeal took at least 15 minutes.
The Post-Dispatch didn’t mention police, implied that Byron clearly won the encounter, and said, “five minutes were consumed in this senseless argument.”
The paper scolded the umpire for the “bush league trick” of pulling out his watch, but said:
“In time, however, McGraw relented under the threat of a forfeiture, which means a fine of $1000, and Brainard went his way.”
McGraw might have gotten the better of Byron in their 1917 fight in Cincinnati, but in 1915 the umpire “landed twice” on Boston Braves third baseman Red Smith after the game when Smith renewed an earlier argument over balls and strikes September 16 in Chicago. Smith attempted to get at Byron after being hit but was stopped by the other umpire, Al Orth.
Byron and McGraw continued to butt heads and the umpire’s combative style and singing continued to draw attention.
George Moriarty, the Detroit Tigers infielder, turned American League umpire—who also wrote songs—and often included poems about players in the nationally syndicated column he began writing in 1917, said—in part–of Byron:
“It’s wonderful the way you face the throng of maddened players all season long;
While other umps get busted on the bean you pacify the athletes with a song.
You know that music charms the savage beast, and as they rush to stab you in the vest,
And tell you how they’ll tear you limb from limb, you sing like John McCormack at his best.”
Perry Werden had a reputation as an umpire baiter during his more than 20 years a professional player
His penchant for hurling obscenities at umpires was so well know that in 1895 The St. Paul Globe, in noting that the Minneapolis Millers had issued free season tickets for all the town’s clergy members said:
“Perry Werden will give them food enough for sermons to last the rest of the summer.”
In 1899, he was thrown out of a game before it began because, The Globe said, “Perry threw the ball at (Jack) Sheridan, swiftly.” That was the culmination of a several-year struggle with Sheridan, who tossed him out of many Western League games. In 1895 The Milwaukee Journal said that during one game in which Sheridan ejected him:
“(T)he actions of Werden and others were so objectionable that 200 spectators left the grounds in a body and stated they would never patronize another game as long as base ball was so conducted in their city.”
On that occasion Werden was fined $50 and escorted from the grounds by two Milwaukee police officers.
While playing for the Memphis Egyptians in 1903, Werden and teammate Al Miller were fined $25 in a Birmingham police court for assaulting an umpire; he was escorted from the field by police on at least two other occasions that season.
Jack Brennan—born Gottlieb Doering—and Werden were teammates as rookies with the St. Louis Maroons in the Union Association in 1884 and remained friends. When Werden played for the Minneapolis Millers in the Western League and Brennan umpired in the circuit, The Globe said:
“They are great friends, but Brennan puts Perry out of the game whenever he gets a chance. When Perry hurt his knee…the umpire sent the following telegram of condolence to the big first baseman: ‘I hope that you will have to saw your leg off,” To this Werden replied” ‘I sincerely hope a foul takes your head off.”’
By 1906, well past his prime at 44, Werden joined the Vicksburg Hill Billies in the Cotton States League. He had played in the same league the previous season with the Hattiesburg Tar Heels and coached the Mississippi College baseball team in the spring.
He signed with Vicksburg–who were off to a 2-14 start under manager Billy Earle–along with Jeff Clarke, who had been the ace of his Mississippi College pitching staff as soon as the season ended on May 10.
Werden was immediately popular, as he had been in every city he played.
The Jackson Daily News said he, “has made many friends,” and was rumored to be in line to replace Earle and manager.
The Vicksburg Herald said:
“The old man has a good supply of ginger left and held down the initial sack in fine form. His coaching was calculated to put life into the youngsters, and he showed as much enthusiasm as a boy. There is no doubt that his presence on the team will add materially to its strength.”
The Vicksburg American reported that Werden and teammate Tom Toner “now have a bachelor’s quarters at the ballpark.” The two lived in a tent, where “Perry is cook and woodchopper and Tommie does other chores. Both are well pleased with the outing.”
And it took only four games for Werden to be “put out of the game and fined $5 for something said to the umpire.” He was tossed from at least two more games in next six weeks.
But, after hitting .328 in the same league the previous season, Werden, who injured a leg in June, hit just .141 in 49 games for Vicksburg.
Werden
On July 8, with the team 23-43, Earle resigned as manager and Werden was released. The American said:
“Perry today stands as one of the grand old ruins of what was once a gilt-edged celebrity, and with due respect to his age and feelings he certainly may be relegated to that realm called ‘has been.’”
The Vicksburg Evening Post was less kind, claiming Earle’s resignation was because “internal dissentions caused principally by Werden made it impossible for him to get good work out of his men.”
The Herald remained in Werden’s corner, saying the club’s directors:
“(F)or some occult reason, regarded him as a disturber. Just how these gentlemen arrived at that conclusion is a mystery. If the matter were left to the patrons of the game—the persons who make baseball a possibility—Werden would have been retained.”
For his part, The Herald said Werden was “grieved because the report circulated that his is a disorganizer…he says he has played ball for twenty-three years and the charge was never made before.”
Less than a week after his release, Joe O’Brien, president of the American Association asked him to become what he hated most: an umpire.
Werden accepted, but never said a good word about his new career despite immediately receiving positive reviews:
The Columbus (OH) Dispatch said after his first game there:
“Perry Werden is a good umpire. That’s the verdict that must be rendered on his first appearance at Neil Park. He permits no idle coaching and has good judgment on balls and strikes. Pitchers get the corner of the plate when they put them there. Fans liked his work.”
The Indianapolis Sun recounted some highlights from “genial jolly Perry’s” first weeks on the job:
“Werden’s tongue bids fair to be as cutting as that of the Hibernian Tim Hurst. He has umpired but a few games, but he has already won a reputation for being a wit and a master of repartee.”
Werden was quick to return questioned call with insults—during one game in Toledo, Fred Odwell, just sent to the Toledo Mud Hens from the Cincinnati Reds suggested Werden “open his eyes,” after a call, the umpire responded:
“What are you trying to do? Kick yourself back into the big league?”
He ordered Toledo’s Otto Knabe back to his position during an argument before Toledo manager Ed Grillo, “gets next to what a four-flusher you are.”
When Mud Hens third baseman Otto Krueger objected to a call, Werden chastised him for an earlier misplay:
“No, you are a nice bone head. Anybody that don’t know how many men are out and stands like a dummy with the ball at third base while a man runs down to first, has got no business to talk to me. Skidoo.”
When Indianapolis Indians catcher Ducky Holmes questioned a call, Werden responded:
“Little boy, every ball I call you say is a strike, and every strike you say is a ball. Shut up or I’ll have an amateur catching in your place.”
Dick Padden, whose major league career had ended the previous season, and was player-manager of the St. Paul Saints had his value to his club dismissed by Werden during an argument:
“Padden, you can kick all you want to. You dead ones don’t count. When I chase a man, I’ll put out someone who can weaken the team. Stick in Dick. I know you’re tired, but I am not going to put you out.”
Having served well for a few weeks, Werden parodied his well-known umpire hatred when he told The Sun:
“There ain’t any good umpires. There never was an umpire in the history of baseball that knew anything about the rules…there never was an umpire that could tell whether a curve broke over the plate or not…All that an umpire is out there for is to make a bluff at giving the decisions.”
After his many years as a player, Werden said he was “taking the rest cure,” as an umpire:
“The rottener you are the better you get by.”
And he endeared himself to every fan who swore they could see a play better than the umpire on the field:
“I’ve often wondered how the loud-faced fellow, in the stands, at 100 yards off from the play, can see exactly what comes off, But it’s so; he can. He never makes a mistake. I’ll admit sometimes it’s pretty hard for the umpire to see when he’s right on the spot. Where the runner and the ball and the baseman are. That’s the difference between the umpire and the fan. The umpire is always rotten and a dud, while the fan is always wise, just, and correct.”
At the close of his first half season, The Minneapolis Journal said of the new umpire:
“Perry as an umpire is getting away with it in great shape. He is a popular idol around the circuit and gets along well with the players.”
The reluctant umpire was hired back for the 1907 season.
Werden, top left, with the 1907 Western League umpire staff. Standing front l to, r. S.J. Kane and Gerald Hayes tope row, Werden, W.J. Sullivan, Jack Kerwin, and John Egan.
Early in in 1907 season, The Indianapolis News, likened Werden to a mythical wise king, and asked “the Nestor of the umpires,” about his newly chosen career: among the questions and answers:
“What is the future of umpiring? Was asked.
“A fool or a martyr is born every minute.”
“Can you recommend it to the American youth?
“Has he not a friend?”
“Would you advise umpiring as a profession?
“It is more exciting that the South American revolutions and the climate is better.”
“How did you come to be an umpire?”
“I was sent up for life, but the governor changed the sentence.”
Werden’s transformation from umpire attacker to umpire came full circle during a June 11, 1907 game in Louisville, after what The Courier-Journal called a “raw mistake” by the umpire calling a runner safe at second–a call Colonels pitcher Jim “Bull” Durham objected to. The Times said:
“Werden was forced to stand abusive language and as a climax Durham struck Werden with his glove.”
Durham was suspended for a week for the attack.
Late in his second season, Werden told The Minneapolis Journal he couldn’t “get used to umpiring,” Hugh Edmund (Hek) Keough responded in The Chicago Tribune:
“Possibly it is because umpiring can’t get used to him.”
The Minneapolis Star Tribune summed up Werden’s tenure:
“The big fellow makes his mistakes, but he is honest and fair, and this is all the fans want.”
William Henry Watkins, owner of the Indianapolis Indians, rescued Werden from umpiring after it was reported that he had already signed to move from the American Association to the Western League.
The Minneapolis Journal said:
“Werden will go to Indianapolis to act as assistant manager, coach, and advisor general of the Indianapolis baseball club.”
The Indianapolis News called him “The official coacher and trainer” of the club.
Caricature of Werden as Indianapolis “Coach”
Werden was ejected for the first time as Indians’ “coacher,” during the season’s eighth game by Stephen Kane—his frequent umpiring partner the previous season.
The Indians won their first pennant since 1902 and the coach received much of the credit in the Indianapolis press and was brought back for a second season.
Werden didn’t return in 1910, though he was apparently asked back. He went home to Minneapolis to organized a semi-pro team; Werden’s All-Stars that played for several seasons in Minneapolis’ City League..
He returned to umpiring in the Northern League in 1913—he was the league’s chief umpire– and the Dakota League in 1920 and 21.
Werden was also responsible for one rule change as an umpire. The Toledo Blade told the story:
“One day last summer a couple of fans shied some cushions at the venerable pate of Perry Werden. Perry immediately hied himself to the office of President Joe (O’Brien) and reported that he had been hanged, strangled, and flayed by the Milwaukee bugs.
“O’Brien was required to obey the rule and a $100 penalty was plastered on to Harry Clark, the supposition being that Clark was field captain of the Brewers. Clark denied that he was the leader of the team, and as he produced an affidavit swearing to his statement, O’Brien was powerless to collect the fine. He allowed the matter to drop but was thoughtful enough to bring it up at the annual meeting. Under the new rule the club and not the captain will be liable.”
In his nationally syndicated column on 1909, umpire Billy Evans said:
Billy Evans
“If it were possible for the American League umpires to issue any special dispensation, they would give Cy Young the right to go on pitching forever.”
Evans said the leagues ball and strike callers liked Young so much:
“Did you ever hear of a bunch of umpires coming across with the cold cash and making a present to a ballplayer? No? Well that’s just what the American League staff did last year, and Cy was the recipient of the gift.”
Cy Young
Evans said that when the Red Sox held a benefit day honoring Young in 1908 “and gifts galore were heaped on him,” he was working the game.
The decision to give Young a gift was made by the dean of American League umpires, Tim Hurst, who told Evans:
“Well, Billy, I’ve been umpiring about as long as Cy has been pitching, and I pride myself on having a pretty good memory, but I’ll be blamed if I ever remember Cy kicking over a decision, no matter how rotten it may have been. Perhaps I’ve missed a thousand strikes on him in the last ten years, but never a protest has he uttered.
“Fellows like Cy are rather few in this strenuous game, and I tell you the umpires ought to give the old fellow some little token, just to show him that we appreciate the way he has always acted on the ballfield.”
Hurst suggested that each umpire “come across with a five-spot.”
Tim Hurst
Evans said his colleagues were all on board:
“’I’m in on the deal. Go as far as you like with money,’ was Jack Sheridan’s reply.
‘”Count me in on anything that old Cy is connected with,’ was Tom Connolly’s answer.
“’Buy anything you like and send me my share of the bill; glad you thought of the stunt,’ was (Silk) O’Loughlin’s reply.
“’Sure, count me in on anything you want,’ wired Jack Egan.”
At the game, Evans said, “In a very humble” he presented the pitcher with “a swell traveling bag to old Cy as a little gift from the umpires.”
Young told Evans:
“Well, of all the gifts, I never did expect one from the umpires, but just tell the boys for me that I prize it more highly than anything ever given to me.”
Evans said he once heard Young explain to a fan why he never argued calls:
“What’s the use of kicking? The umpires, like me, are doing their level best, and doing it honestly. Of course, they make mistakes; lots of them; we all do. On the whole, however, I think the breaks of the year are about even. Often, I pitch a ball that I think is just over the corner of the plate and is a strike, but the umpire calls it a ball. Then again, I send one up to the batter, that I figure is an inch or two outside, but the judge of play calls it a strike. No real umpire has ever been known to change a decision of judgement, so it’s simply wasting time to kick.”
Jack Clements, Phillies catcher in 1896 to The Chicago Daily News about umpire Tim Hurst:
“The reason Tim Hurst is so successful as an umpire is not only because he will break the face of any man who insults him, but because he joins in the talk behind the rubber and jollies the basemen into believing that almost everything je says is all right and that they shouldn’t kick about it.”
Tim Hurst
Ed McKean, Cleveland shortstop from 1887-1898, to The Cleveland News, 1917
“’Walter Johnson smoke—Huh! Old Amos Rusie had just as much speed and a curve ball that Johnson or no other living pitcher ever had, why that curve came over the plate with just as much speed as did his fast one.’ Thus Ed McKean settled the much mooted question as to the speediest pitcher who ever wore a glove…’I know that many will take exception to my statement that Rusie had more speed than Johnson, but I am giving you my honest opinion. I’ll admit I have never batted against Johnson, but I’ve watched him closely ever since he broke in. I have batted against Rusie when Amos was at his best, and of the two, Rusie, to my way of thinking, had more speed.”’
Amos Rusie
Dan Brouthers, while telling The Detroit Free Press in September of 1894 that the Baltimore Orioles would hold on to win the pennant, declared that teammate Kid Gleason:
“’(I)s the best pitcher I ever saw. He can pitch every day in the week and be just as good at the end as at the beginning. He is a hitter and a base runner, and an all-around player. Why, if one of the players makes an error and lets in a run, Gleason says, ‘Never mind, old man, I’ll beat those ducks myself,’ and he is more than likely to do it…They talk about Rusie and (Jack) Stivetts. They were great pitchers under the old rules, and they are very good now, but they’re not in it with this man Gleason.”
Gleason was purchased from the St. Louis Browns in June and was 15-5 in 21 games and hit .349 in 97 at bats. The Orioles won the pennant by three games.
Gleason
The St. Louis Post-Dispatch said, in 1889, a reporter asked pitcher Toad Ramsey:
“’What would you suggest would be the best way to increase batting, Mr. Ramsey?’ was asked the ‘phenom’ the other day in Louisville. The great left-hander winked his left eye in an off-hand way, but jovially declined to answer the question. ‘It ain’t my business to give points on batting.’”
Ramsey was then asked who the best hitter in baseball was:
“’Tip O’Neill,’ he replied unhesitatingly. ‘He’s the best hitter I ever saw, and he’s got the most judgement. He can’t hit harder than Browning, if Pete would take care of himself, but nobody ever saw Pete doing that,’ concluded Mr. Ramsey, as a feeling of regret for Pete’s weakness displayed itself on his face. Then he walked away with an acquaintance.”
Ramsey
George Gore told The Chicago Daily News about one of his former teammates:
“Ed Williamson of the Chicago champions was the greatest shortstop of them all. He was a wonderful thrower, probably the hardest in the business. Anson used to play first base without gloves in those days, and Ed took delight in lacing over hot ones to the old man. When anybody hit a grounder to Williamson, he would pick it up, wait until the runner was a few yards from the bag, and then line the ball to Anson like a cannon shot. The old man was nearly knocked down on several occasions.”
He had been an umpire since 1891—with the exception of one awful season managing the St. Louis Browns to a 39-111 last place finish in 1898. In 1904 Hurst retired from the National League, but months later joined the umpire staff of the Central League, and took a job in the American League in 1905.
Tim Hurst
The Kansas City Journal described the 5’ 5” umpire who was also a boxing referee::
“Hurst is a pudgy little fellow, below medium height, with sandy hair, twinkling blue eyes and a ruddy complexion.”
He was often called “pugnacious” for his on field, and off, altercations, and once told a reporter for The New York Herald how he dealt with argumentative catchers:
“Never put a catcher out of the game. If the man back of the bat is sassy and objects to your calling of balls and strikes, keep close behind him while doing your work and kick him every time he reaches out a catch a ball. After about the third kick he’ll shut up.”
The incident that earned him the most attention in 1906 happened during a May 7 game in New York between the Highlanders and the Washington Nationals. The New York Times said during the fifth inning:
“(Frank) LaPorte was declared out at first base on a close decision. Manager (Clark) Griffith rushed over to the base line, and, throwing his cap in the air, protested against the decision. He wildly gesticulated, and Hurst ordered him away. Griffith, instead of following Hurst’s instructions, stepped up to the latter, protesting all the time. In his excitement he stepped upon Hurst’s foot.”
Hurst “drew back” to punch Griffith but was held back by players from both teams.
“Hurst then took hold of the lapel of Griffith’s coat and started to lead the player-manager to the bench. The latter angrily resented this action and pushed Hurst’s hand away. Lave Cross and the Washingtons tried to pacify Griffith, and succeeded in getting him to the players’ bench.”
Hurst followed Griffith to the New York bench and again attempted to punch the manager, while Griffith “rushed at the umpire.”
Clark Griffith
According to The Associated Press Griffith claimed “’Hurst didn’t hit me.’ Then pointing to his swollen mouth he added, ‘I had this swollen lip before the game.’”
Hurst and Griffith were both suspended for five games.
The following year Henry Pierrepoint Edwards of The Cleveland Plain Dealer said Hurst had given him an explanation to “clear up the mystery” of why he reacted so violently:
“Now, it isn’t customary for Tim to wear baseball shoes on the diamond. Usually Tim appears for the fray clad in the same suit he would wear at a pink tea. His real uniform is just a cap.
“On the afternoon in question Tim purchased a new pair of patent leather shoes. The shoes glistened in the sun like a diamond and gave Tim great pleasure. Griffith forgot all about the shoes and in his rage over losing a close decision spiked and spoiled the new kicks. Great was Tim’s rage. Even greater was the clash. That’s all.”
Two months after the incident with Griffith, Hurst made what might have been the worst call of his career.
On July 7 in Washington, he was working the game between the Nationals and the Detroit Tigers. The score was tied 3 to 3 in the seventh inning, the Tigers had the bases loaded with two out and Sam “Wahoo” Crawford at the plate, facing Nationals pitcher Frank Kitson. The Washington Post said:
“’Wahoo’ lifted one a thousand miles directly over the pan. Kitson came tearing in, (Catcher Howard) Wakefield hesitated. Manager (Jake) Stahl stood still at first base. The pellet whirled in the air and finally dropped just inside the line and bounded back to the stands. (Charley) O’Leary and (John) Eubank romped home. Crawford went to second, carrying the funniest two-base hit on record. Kitson and Wakefield stood admiring each other until Hurst again yelled ‘Fair ball!’ when the boy catcher went after the bulb.”
Sam Crawford
While the Nationals argued the call, and Hurst refused to reverse his decision, The Post said “The spectators were forced to listen to the dillydallying for fully fifteen minutes, then many of them got up and left the belligerents wrangling over the decision.”
Kitson threw a wild pitch to the next batter, Matty McIntyre scoring Herman “Germany” Schaefer and Crawford. The Tigers went on to win 9 to 3. Jake Stahl filed a protest with American league President Ban Johnson.
The Washington Evening Star said:
“The only excuse that Umpire Hurst can have is that the play was an unusual one. Lave Cross admitting that he never saw its like in his experience on the diamond. Hurst was palpably rattled, and the Tigers when taking their places on the field chaffed the locals with the remark that ‘Tim certainly handed us one that time.’”
The Washington Times said it was “one of the most remarkable plays ever seen on a diamond,“ and printed for their readers rule number’s 44 and 45 from the 1906 “Reach Guide” Reach describing “A Fair Hit,” and “A Foul Hit.”
The Washington Times used “The Reach Guide” to illustrate how Hurst blew the call.
The Times said:
“(T)here seemed no possible way of calling it fair, but Hurst was obdurate, and the only explanation he would give was that the ball ‘was hit too high.” What the heighth of the hit had to do with the fact that it eventually bounded foul is still another mystery.”
Hurst’s story evolved over the next several days. The Post said his original explanation regarding the ball’s height was “to the effect that the ball was it so high it ‘settled’ inside, constituting the hit a fair one. “ This was quickly replaced by Hurst’s claim that the ball had touched Wakefield, the Washington catcher, before bounding into foul territory.
The Times’ baseball reporter Thomas Stevens Rice said of Hurst’s new story:
“This explanation is all right if it presents the facts in the case. In the press box there was not a single man who thought the ball was touched by Wakefield or anybody else.”
The Post conceded that the protest would be rejected, saying “It is almost certain that Ban Johnson will sustain his scrappy umpire, no matter what interpretation he puts on the rules,” but the paper did not let up on Hurst.
The following week when Sam Crawford brought his average up to .300, The Post said:
“Hurst last week decided that Crawford’s high rap which hit inside the base line and bounded back to the stands was fair…am would have faced the pitcher 271 times and got away with 81 hits which would have made his average .299, as it was Sam got and extra hit which brought the total to .303. He owes Tim a hat.”
Hurst was still young, just forty-one in 1906, but The Sporting Life said something had changed during that year, and by the end of the season that the umpire lacked the “Aggressiveness and enthusiasm” he had previously exhibited:
“It is feared that the cares of his office are making an old man out of Tim, who once was noted for having the finest brand of keen-cutting, kill-at-a-thousand-yards sarcasm of any umpire in captivity. Sit Timothy is very tame, and the players, even the bush leaguers who have just broken in, can tell him what they think of him and his calling.”
Hurst’s old “aggressiveness” came out in 1909. He was suspended in May for a fight with Norman “Kid” Elberfeld of the Highlanders, then on August 3 during a game between the Athletics and White Sox. The Brooklyn Eagle said:
“At Philadelphia Tim Hurst came in for considerable trouble. Hurst called Eddie Collins out at second and the Columbia youngster put up a kick.
“Whether it was with malice aforethought or quite an accident, it is a fact that the umpire distributed a mouthful of moistened union-made tobacco in the direction of the youthful Eddie, who immediately called Tim’s attention to the board of health ordinance which prohibited expectorating in public places.”
After the game Hurst had to be escorted from the field by Philadelphia police. Ban Johnson suspended Hurst, beginning two weeks of rumor and speculation about the umpire’s fate. Finally, on August 18 it was announced that Hurst had been let go by the American League.
Hurst, in poor health since 1912, died in 1915. Hugh Fullerton of The Chicago Examiner said of his passing at age 49:
“The saddest part of it is that ‘Timothy’ did not die in the blue uniform, and that during the last few years of his life he was practically blacklisted in baseball for refusing to answer or deny charges made against him for his actions during a clash with Eddie Collins…President Johnson declared that if Hurst even had replied to his telegrams of inquiry he would have kept him—but Tim, knowing he had done wrong, refused, and went out of the game.”
In 1912, Joe Kelley, former player and manager (and future Hall of Famer) told William A. Phelon, sports editor of The Cincinnati Times-Star, a story about the lack of civility in baseball and a game Kelley claimed took place when he was with the Baltimore Orioles in the 1890s:
“You can try to refine and civilize baseball all you want and you can make a parlor game out of it by giving the umpires power of life and death, but you can’t kill off the players’ tongues unless you stun ‘em with an ax.
“Years and years ago, I well remember, two ball clubs tried to pull a polite and courteous ballgame, just to see how things would work. The old Baltimores and the old Bostons (Beaneaters)—which were real ball clubs both of them—held a conference one afternoon. There had been a lot of talk and newspaper criticism about rough house work and bad language—and we wanted to show the press and public that we could be good, decent people after all. We agreed to try out the polished conversation and Golden Rule stuff for this one occasion, and Tim Hurst, who was slated to umpire, agreed to help the good work along.”
——
Joe Kelley
“The first half inning went by something lovely. Even when Tim called a strike on Tom McCarthy that was a foot over his head, there was no outbreak. Say Tom, very gently, ‘Wasn’t that ball a trifle high, Mr. Umpire?’ And says Tim, all courtesy, ‘I fear I may have erred in judgment, Mr. McCarthy. Kindly overlook it, if you will.’ And in our half, when Jack Doyle went down to second in a cloud of dust, and Tim said ‘Out,’ Jack jumped up, and red in the face, yelled ‘What the —-‘ and caught himself in time. ‘Pardon me,’ says Jack, ‘but I honestly thought that Mr. Long failed to touch me.’ And says Herman Long, equally polite, ‘I am under the impression that I did touch Mr. Doyle.
“And in the very next inning the blow-off came. Three on and two gone with Hughey Jennings batting. (Heinie) Reitz made a dash for home on what he thought was a passed ball. The Boston catcher (Charlie Ganzel) recovered it, but as he dove for the putout, Jennings wandered against him and knocked him 10 feet away. ‘Out fer interference,’ yelped Hurst—and then everybody arrived at the plate all in a bunch.
Tim Hurst
Kelley said there was a chaotic scene at home plate. Reitz was screaming at Hurst while Jennings and Ganzel nearly came to blows:
“’Fer Moses sakes remember,’ I interposed, ‘that this is supposed to be a polite courteous game, just to show how well we can behave—‘ and somebody hit me across the map with a catching glove.
“’I can lick every wan av yez,’ howled Tim Hurst, and I’ll do it, too, if you’re not back in your places inside a half-minute.’
“’You’re all a bunch of yellow dogs,’ said Herman Long, addressing the whole Baltimore team, sort of impersonally.
“and when the police arrived the rules of etiquette had been fractured so badly I never heard of their being reinstated. That was, I think, the first, last and only time that a courteous ball game was staged in big league company.”
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