tomorrow?”
“Didn’t the Dallas team tell you when you bought me that I don’t play ball on Sunday?”
“This is a Sunday town,” snapped Kelley. “That’s when the money comes in. How come you won’t play Sunday ball?”
“It’s just the way I was brought up,” said Rickey. “It’s against my principles to play ball on Sunday.”
Kelley was livid. “You’re not gonna go too far in baseball not playing on Sunday. What do you think you are? You think you’re better than the other fellows?”
“That’s not it at all, Mr. Kelley.”
“Well, Rickey, whatever it is, we’re not going to make an exception for you. You will catch when I tell you to catch or you can get the hell out of here. Pick up your money and get out if you won’t play tomorrow.”
Released and returned to Dallas, Rickey learned an important lesson. From that point on, for the rest of his career in baseball, Rickey always insisted on a clause in his contract—as both a player and an executive—stating that he was under no obligation to be at a ballpark on Sunday.
In I904, Rickey was awarded a bachelor of literature degree from Ohio Wesleyan and enrolled at Allegheny College to study law and serve as athletic director and baseball coach.
Still a student, in 1905 Rickey became a member of the St. Louis Browns by way of Chicago. The White Sox had purchased his contract from Dallas and then traded him to the Browns for veteran catcher Frank Roth. He appeared in just one game for the Browns in 1905, but in 1906 batted a creditable .284 in sixty-four games. Perhaps his marriage to his childhood sweetheart Jane Moulton, a fellow student at Ohio Wesleyan, on June 1, 1906, had something to do with his playing performance. Rickey, who called his wife, a storekeeper’s daughter, “the only pebble on the beach,” claimed that he proposed to her more than a hundred times before she said yes.
It was an eventful year for Rickey. In addition to getting married and playing major-league baseball, he also served as athletic director and football coach at Ohio Wesleyan, earned a second bachelor’s degree (this time in arts), and still found time to play checkers, a game he played avidly all his life.
In 1907, the Browns traded Rickey to the New York Highlanders. Years later he recalled the excitement of arriving as a country boy in the Big Apple that April, and riding uptown to 168th Street and Broadway, where the ballpark was located. Rickey may have been spreading himself too thin, though. He missed spring training because of OWU commitments, and that season he batted just .182—and was dead last in fielding percentage among all outfielders and catchers in the American League. In one eleven-game span, he committed nine errors. On June 28, 1907, he earned an ignominious niche in the record books. Catching against Washington, he allowed thirteen bases to be stolen on him—a record for a nine-inning game. The Highlanders released him after the season ended, and he went back to Ohio and his studies.
But it was not entirely a lost summer. Rickey had an opportunity to prevail, if not in baseball, then in another form of competition. In midtown Manhattan, there was a storefront where customers could play checkers against a large mechanical hand manipulated by someone behind a curtain. The hand played four or :five games at once, and never lost.
Rickey was an old hand at checkers, having played many games while sitting astride a cracker barrel in the country store back home, and he couldn’t resist the challenge. He played the hand and beat it. The man behind the curtain emerged to congratulate the victor. To the astonishment of both men, it turned out that the “book” system Rickey employed was invented by his hidden opponent. Rickey had mastered the technique, and the master had met his match.
Back in Ohio, Rickey took over the class of his onetime mentor, Professor Grove, who had died. At the same time he studied law at Ohio State
“Didn’t the Dallas team tell you when you bought me that I don’t play ball on Sunday?”
“This is a Sunday town,” snapped Kelley. “That’s when the money comes in. How come you won’t play Sunday ball?”
“It’s just the way I was brought up,” said Rickey. “It’s against my principles to play ball on Sunday.”
Kelley was livid. “You’re not gonna go too far in baseball not playing on Sunday. What do you think you are? You think you’re better than the other fellows?”
“That’s not it at all, Mr. Kelley.”
“Well, Rickey, whatever it is, we’re not going to make an exception for you. You will catch when I tell you to catch or you can get the hell out of here. Pick up your money and get out if you won’t play tomorrow.”
Released and returned to Dallas, Rickey learned an important lesson. From that point on, for the rest of his career in baseball, Rickey always insisted on a clause in his contract—as both a player and an executive—stating that he was under no obligation to be at a ballpark on Sunday.
In I904, Rickey was awarded a bachelor of literature degree from Ohio Wesleyan and enrolled at Allegheny College to study law and serve as athletic director and baseball coach.
Still a student, in 1905 Rickey became a member of the St. Louis Browns by way of Chicago. The White Sox had purchased his contract from Dallas and then traded him to the Browns for veteran catcher Frank Roth. He appeared in just one game for the Browns in 1905, but in 1906 batted a creditable .284 in sixty-four games. Perhaps his marriage to his childhood sweetheart Jane Moulton, a fellow student at Ohio Wesleyan, on June 1, 1906, had something to do with his playing performance. Rickey, who called his wife, a storekeeper’s daughter, “the only pebble on the beach,” claimed that he proposed to her more than a hundred times before she said yes.
It was an eventful year for Rickey. In addition to getting married and playing major-league baseball, he also served as athletic director and football coach at Ohio Wesleyan, earned a second bachelor’s degree (this time in arts), and still found time to play checkers, a game he played avidly all his life.
In 1907, the Browns traded Rickey to the New York Highlanders. Years later he recalled the excitement of arriving as a country boy in the Big Apple that April, and riding uptown to 168th Street and Broadway, where the ballpark was located. Rickey may have been spreading himself too thin, though. He missed spring training because of OWU commitments, and that season he batted just .182—and was dead last in fielding percentage among all outfielders and catchers in the American League. In one eleven-game span, he committed nine errors. On June 28, 1907, he earned an ignominious niche in the record books. Catching against Washington, he allowed thirteen bases to be stolen on him—a record for a nine-inning game. The Highlanders released him after the season ended, and he went back to Ohio and his studies.
But it was not entirely a lost summer. Rickey had an opportunity to prevail, if not in baseball, then in another form of competition. In midtown Manhattan, there was a storefront where customers could play checkers against a large mechanical hand manipulated by someone behind a curtain. The hand played four or :five games at once, and never lost.
Rickey was an old hand at checkers, having played many games while sitting astride a cracker barrel in the country store back home, and he couldn’t resist the challenge. He played the hand and beat it. The man behind the curtain emerged to congratulate the victor. To the astonishment of both men, it turned out that the “book” system Rickey employed was invented by his hidden opponent. Rickey had mastered the technique, and the master had met his match.
Back in Ohio, Rickey took over the class of his onetime mentor, Professor Grove, who had died. At the same time he studied law at Ohio State
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