Forgotten Greats: Jim Fogarty

Jim Fogarty 

                                                                                                                                    One of the 19th century's top defensive outfielders and an absolute terror on the basepaths, Jim Fogarty, despite his accomplishments, is statistically easy to overlook—that is, unless you do some digging. A .246 hitter over parts of seven big-league seasons (1884-90) spent primarily with the Philadelphia Quakers, Fogarty was nonetheless a very productive batsman. Said by one scribe to possess "the patience of Job," Fogarty was a pitcher's worst nightmare, able to foul off deliveries and "wait 'em out" like few others—which wasn't easy considering it took five or more balls to constitute a walk before 1889. For an idea of what a pitcher (and catcher) was up against, look no further than his 1887 statistics—an NL-best 82 walks to go along with 102 stolen bases.

More than just a pest, Fogarty could make a pitcher pay if they got careless. For his career, the multi-talented speedster averaged 23 doubles, 11 triples, 66 RBI, 104 runs scored, 72 walks, 92 stolen bases, and 38 outfield assists per 154 games played. Yeah, you read that last number correctly. Primarily a right fielder, Fogarty gunned down 171 baserunners during his career—this despite playing only 685 games in the outfield! However, it wasn't Fogarty's arm that drew the most attention; it was his incredible range and penchant for spectacular, tumbling catches. The stats more than back up his reputation among contemporaries. He paced NL gardeners in range factor on three occasions; fielding percentage, putouts, assists, and double plays two times apiece.

In an 1890 interview with the Cincinnati Times-Star, former Boston manager Jim Hart—when asked to name "the finest fielder living"—gushed: "Fogarty is the king of them all. He can lay over Dickey Johnston or anybody else you could name. . . . Fogarty has no rival as a general fielder. Curt Welch, do you say? Why Curt is great in center field, but that is the easiest of the three to cover. . . . [W]hile in right and left, you have to do considerable gymnastics in a game. Fogarty can take a ball on the dead run and fire it home without a second's hesitation. He doesn't lose a moment in recovering."

James G. Fogarty was born on February 12, 1864, in San Francisco. A well-liked, whip-smart lad, he later attended Saint Mary's College of California. Jim began his major league career at age 20 with the 1884 Philadelphia Quakers; he posted a meager .212 batting average but starred in the field, finishing second among NL gardeners with a .915 fielding percentage. Fogarty hiked his average to .232 in 1885 and amassed 26 outfield assists while once again ranking second in fielding percentage. Having bulked up considerably during the off-season, the 5-foot-10-inch, 180-pounder came into his own in 1886, hitting .293 with 13 doubles, 47 RBI, 54 runs scored, and 30 stolen bases in only 77 games.

Fogarty's 1887 statistics—as they looked at the time—were breathtaking. He hit .366 with career-highs in doubles (26), home runs (8), stolen bases (102), and runs scored (129). However, this was the year bases on balls were tallied as hits—a rule that Fogarty, who led the league with 82 walks, took full advantage of. Take away the free passes, and his average drops over 100 points to a more pedestrian .261—which is how baseball-reference.com and most record books list it.

As you might expect, the new rule was quite unpopular, except with the once middling batsmen who suddenly found themselves hitting .400. An editor with the Sporting Life was not amused: "That lying perjurer, the base-on-ball-base-hit, is seriously injuring the game with patrons," he complained. "The invitation given to the batsman by the four-strike-five-ball business to tiresomely wait for a base on balls and be credited with a base hit is wearying spectators and prolonging the game and bringing censure on the umpire. It is making record players."

With the rule rescinded, Fogarty fell back down to earth in 1888. The 24-year-old posted an anemic .236 average; however, he ranked among the league leaders with 58 steals (6th) and 53 walks (7th). One of the high points came on August 31, when he spoiled Jim Whitney's no-hit bid. In its coverage of the proceedings, The Pittsburgh Dispatch noted: "The only home player who could connect with 'Grasshopper' Jim's delivery was Fogarty, who secured a single and double."

Fogarty would enjoy one of his best all-around seasons in 1889. He hit .259 with 17 triples, 107 runs scored, and an NL-best 99 stolen bases. In the outfield, he had no equals, finishing first among senior circuit gardeners in putouts (303), assists (42), range factor (2.76), and fielding percentage (.961). Fogarty, among the more vocal members of the Brotherhood of Professional Base-Ball Players, pro baseball's first union, jumped to the upstart Players' League in 1890. Popular and well-respected amongst his brethren, Jim was named player-manager of the circuit's Philadelphia franchise.

From a statistical standpoint, the 1890 season was about par for the course: Fogarty played in 91 games, hit .239, walked 59 times, and stole 36 bases. As for his managerial career, that lasted only 16 games when the new club president, Henry Love, replaced him with pitcher Charlie Buffington. Fogarty, who claimed that Love physically threatened him, was incensed: "I shall not play ball again with the Philadelphia club as long as Mr. Love has anything to do with it," he said. In response, Love wrote an open letter to the press: "The statement that I shook my fist in his face is a malicious lie. The statement that I stated that I was his equal—intellectually, morally and physically—is a malicious lie." (Despite the drama and his previous declaration, Fogarty finished out the season.)

In February 1891, The Pittsburgh Dispatch reported that Fogarty was expected to sign with the Alleghenys (Pirates), but "is holding out for more money." The unidentified scribe predicted that the addition of Fogarty—along with veterans Ned Hanlon and Billy Sunday—would give Pittsburgh "the best outfield in the country." Tragically, it wasn't to be. Though I can find no mention of his being sick in the local press, on May 20, 1891, the seemingly healthy Fogarty died from tuberculosis; he was 27 years old. (Tuberculosis zaps one's lung capacity and energy, making his recent performance even more remarkable—if not downright heroic.)

The Pittsburgh Chronicle-Telegraph ran a glowing obituary, which read in part: "Possibly no more brilliant outfielder ever graced the profession than 'Jimmie' Fogarty, who died Thursday. He began his base ball career in his native state, California. . . . He had wonderful judgment of a fly ball, and local patrons will recall his brilliant running catches. He robbed [Jake] Beckley of a triple at Player's Park last season by taking the ball off the fence. He was a dashing base runner, fair batsman and excellent thrower. He had scores of friends and was always jolly."

Home Run Johnson

Grant "Home Run" Johnson acquired his nickname after hitting a purported 60 long balls with the 1894 Findlay Sluggers, an integrated semi-pro club out of Ohio. Though his otherworldly home run totals waned, Johnson's exploits as a professional were just as impressive. A line-drive artist with good speed and unparalleled bat control, he would earn a reputation as one of the Deadball Era's top hitters and shortstops—regardless of race. Grant claimed he "never swang for the fences," but his strategy of waiting for a good pitch and ability to live up to his moniker in big spots speaks loudly. However, he remained at his core, a pure hitter in the Willie Keeler-Ty Cobb mold. Johnson later said his approach was based upon the idea that a pitcher would prefer to "face the mighty swinger to the cool, steady batter who tries to meet the ball and place it."

Home Run Johnson 

One of Grant's most memorable long balls came during the first inning of a 1909 exhibition game that pitted the Lincoln Giants against Walter Johnson and the Washington Senators. "Lay that fastball in here, Mr. Johnson," boasted the playful slugger, "and I'll knock it over the fence." True to his word, he proceeded to deposit the first pitch of the ballgame into the left-field stands. In a 1939 interview with Shirley Povich, "The Big Train" begrudgingly confirmed the story: "I didn't like the way this 'Home Run' Johnson was crowing about his hit," he grumbled.

Aside from the obvious, Johnson shared much in common with his big-league counterpart—Frank "Home Run" Baker. Johnson stood 5-foot-10 and weighed 170-pounds; Baker was an inch taller and weighed 173. Both were defensive standouts on the left side of the infield and averaged around 10 homers per season, with each man topping out (in league play) at 12 big flies. Both were exceptional all-around batsmen who stole a fair amount of bases, rarely struck out, and routinely ranked among the league leaders in doubles, triples, and batting average. Despite their 14 year age difference, the pair's top offensive seasons (1911-13) uncannily overlap; each man passed away in 1963.

A native of Findlay, Ohio, Grant Johnson was born on September 23, 1872. Following his stint with the hometown Sluggers, he and teammate Bud Fowler—who in 1878 became the first African American to play pro baseball—formed the legendary Page Fence Giants, a Michigan-based barnstorming team, in 1895. Despite his youth, the well-liked and highly intelligent lad was named team captain; he finished the year with a .471 batting average as the club won over 100 games. In 1899, Johnson joined the powerhouse Chicago Columbia Giants, hitting .529 with two home runs and seven ribbies in only four games during their "cross-country title match" versus the Cuban X-Giants. The following year he was named captain of the rival X-Giants, who proceeded to win the 1903 colored championship.

Johnson joined the Philadelphia Giants in 1905; the 32-year-old hit .370 while pacing the club in home runs (12), walks, and sacrifices. A man of many talents, he also took the mound upon occasion and was famous for baffling opponents with his submarine delivery. In 1906, he was named player-manager of the Brooklyn Royal Giants, finishing the year with 16 extra-base hits, 22 runs batted in, and a .362/.459/.606 slash-line in 24 games versus top clubs from the East. If you count exhibitions, Johnson paced the "Eastern Independent League" with a .497 average. That offseason, he played his first of five winters in Cuba, finishing with a .347 average. A .319 hitter during his time in the Caribbean, he became the first American to win the island's batting crown in 1912 (.410) and twice led the circuit in hits.

A teetotaler who kept in tip-top shape year-round, Johnson seemed to get better with age. As a member of Rube Foster's 1910 Leland Giants, the 37-year-old hit .397. Following the regular season, Johnson put on a show for the ages: He hit .412 in a 12 game exhibition series versus the Detroit Tigers, followed by a .429 average in ten contests against the Philadelphia Athletics (Hall of Famers Chief Bender and Eddie Plank started seven of those games).

In 1911, Johnson began a three-year stint with the New York Lincoln Giants, with whom he compiled an aggregate .386 average versus all comers, including a high of .413 in 1912. As he approached his 40th birthday, Johnson—a witty, inspirational speaker of sorts—became increasingly involved as a mentor to young players, who affectionately called him "Dad." Though his best days were behind him, he continued to play and manage in the Negro Leagues until 1923. A true baseball lifer, Grant made regular appearances with semi-pro and barnstorming clubs until age 58. (Chappie Gardner—editor and publisher of the Negro Professional Baseball Guide—once marveled that Johnson was still "hitting 'em through the infield at 50.")

Following his retirement, Johnson settled down in Buffalo and took a job with the New York Central Railroad. A role model on and off the field, he touched the lives of countless neigborhood children over the years—talking baseball and warning against the evils of smoking and drinking. Johnson's life lessons proved sound; he passed away on September 5, 1963—18 days shy of his 91st birthday.

The Findlay Republican Courier ran an obituary that read in part: "Grant 'Home Run' Johnson, a former Findlay resident, died of a heart failure after surgery. . . . As a youth, Mr. Johnson became interested in baseball and formed a club here known as the Page Fence Giants. He played for a number of ball clubs after leaving Findlay. . . . Mr. Johnson was a former choir member of the AME Church and was known in the city and county for his musical ability. He was a member of Bethel Baptist Chruch in Buffalo, N.Y. A few years ago, he became totally blind and entered the Erie Home of the Blind."

✍️ Bobby King II

Walter Johnson Hurls A Silver Dollar Across The Rappahannock River

February 22, 1936: In celebration of George Washington's 204th birthday, Walter Johnson hurls a silver dollar across the Rappahannock River, estimated to be a 386-foot toss. The spectacle—it took place in the backyard of Washington's childhood home in Fredericksburg, Virginia—was one of several events staged by townspeople in celebration of all things Washington, especially the mythological tales of Parson Weems. Congressman Sol Bloom of New York, who donated a 1796 silver dollar for the occasion, declared the feat impossible, putting the odds at 20 to 1 against it. (The Chamber of Commerce wagered $5,000; Bloom refused to pay up, claiming that the river was wider in colonial times.)

A few days before the event, the 48-year-old Johnson sent a lighthearted telegram to city leaders: "I am practicing with a dollar against my barn door. Arm getting stronger, barn door weaker." On February 20, The Associated Press reported: "Unable to wait until Saturday, when Walter Johnson tries his arm against the legendary prowess of George Washington . . . citizens are trying to settle the matter among themselves—but with iron washers, not silver coins. All tries have fallen short."

After hearing exaggerated tales about the width of the Rappahannock, Johnson expressed doubts as to whether he could make good. Big Train's old battery-mate, Gabby Street, wasn't worried. "After working so closely for so many years with such a brilliant performer as Walter Johnson," he explained, "one is inclined to back him in any reasonable throwing feat he might undertake, even now."

Despite the frigid conditions (27°F), around 4,000 people gathered along the snowy river bank on the morning of the 22nd. "It looks like a mile across," exclaimed Johnson, as he cast aside his overcoat. "The Big Train" took a moment to stretch his much-celebrated right arm before giving the all-clear to the photographers on hand. He was allowed two practice throws before being presented a third coin, inscribed with his name and the date, for the official attempt. Johnson's first toss fell short, splashing down six feet shy of the bank (a man in a boat attempted to recover it); his second throw barely cleared the water. Determined to impress on his final attempt, he heaved the "pay dollar" across the river, some 20 feet onto the bank. Over 2,000 boisterous souvenir seekers scrambled for the prize.

"Well, I guess I made it," Johnson sighed, sounding more relieved than triumphant.

It was official, Washington's seemingly apocryphal childhood feat was "possible," though silver dollars weren't minted until the time of his presidency. As for the much-coveted coin, it was recovered by a man named Peter Yon, who turned out to be quite a card. "What are you going to do with the dollar," asked a reporter. "I'm gonna put 'em in the bank," said Yon, smiling mischievously. "That's what the picture men said I should do. But if you ask me again, I should have to say: 'I cannot tell a lie, I'm gonna sell it to the highest bidder!' "

✍️ Bobby King II

The Tragic Tale of "Big Bill" Brown

During the late-19th century, the average life expectancy was around 43 years, with approximately 15% of the populace living to see their 60th birthday. It's no wonder then, why so many big leaguers of this era met an early demise. One of these tragic figures is William "Big Bill" Brown, a weak-hitting catcher who transformed into a run-producing first baseman—and defensive whiz—shortly before his untimely death.

A San Francisco native, Brown began his pro career with the California League's Nationals franchise in 1882. The 16-year-old struggled and soon returned to playing semi-pro ball. In 1887, Brown joined the New York Giants; he performed well behind the plate but hit a meager .218. The 6-foot-2-inch, 195-pounder continued to be a consistently good receiver over the next few years, and by 1890 had dramatically improved his hitting, finishing the year with a career-high four home runs and a .278 batting average. (A .261 career hitter, he batted .442 in two "World Series" appearances in 1887-88.) Following a knee injury, Brown moved to first base where he performed like an old pro with the 1891 Phillies: He slugged 20 doubles while pacing big-league first sackers with a .989 fielding percentage.

"California Brown," as he was sometimes called in the press, joined the Louisville Colonels (NL) in 1893, putting together his finest all-around season. Helped by the lengthened pitching distance, he hit .292 with 26 doubles, seven triples, and 90 runs batted in; in the field, he once again paced major league first basemen in fielding percentage (.988). That November, The San Francisco Morning Call wrote that Brown's "skyrocket catches and rapid fielding" had garnered more than a few standing ovations over the past season. The same article noted that "Big Bill" should lose "thirty or forty pounds of superfluous flesh" before it becomes "difficult to tie his own shoes." Another local scribe opined: "When a man of Bill's size tries to knock a ball over the center-field fence . . . the wear and tear on his well-rounded physique must be awful."

Following his breakthrough 1893 campaign, Brown, along with several other major leaguers, was invited to play in a winter exhibition series. Feeling under the weather, he politely refused, citing a desire to get some much-needed rest. "I do not feel like jeopardizing my chances of being in good form in the spring," said Brown. The San Francisco Morning Call ominously wrote that perhaps Bill was afraid of injuring himself or "contracting consumption [tuberculousis] from the large mouth fulls of fog on a damp day."

As Louisville's 1894 season got underway, it was obvious that something was seriously wrong with their star first baseman. Lethargic and short of breath, Brown sometimes found it a chore to jog out to his position. He waved at easy grounders that he'd have once skillfully snagged, and his Herculean strength had vanished—he weakly offered at one fat pitch after the other. After posting a paltry .193 average through 16 games, "Big Bill" was given his release and finished out the year with the Eastern League's Wilkes-Barre Coal Barons. In 1895, Brown was diagnosed with an unidentified lung ailment (possibly tuberculosis) and was directed to take some time off to recuperate in a dryer climate, which was thought to be beneficial for TB patients.

After several months of rest beneath the Arizona sun, Brown felt well enough to attempt a comeback with the Seattle Rainmakers of the New Pacific League. He looked to be in good form, hitting .288 with a home run while catching all 15 games in which he appeared. Sadly, the 30-year-old would never play baseball again. In search of relief from his increasingly severe breathing difficulties, Brown moved to Hawaii in 1897. That July, a reporter with Honolulu's Pacific Commerical Advertiser tracked down the former "crack ball player" at his residence in Waikiki. In the ensuing interview, Brown shared his thoughts about the quality of baseball played in Hawaii:

"The baseball you are having down here surprises me," declared Brown, whose shockingly emaciated appearance (165 pounds) belied his child-like excitement. "The first game I attended here was the one on Saturday . . . and I was surprised at the boys. They handle the ball as well as the average league team, though the games played in the States are, perhaps, a little more scientific and are played in a shorter time. In the league, we had to run in and run out, but here I notice that when a side is out, they walk in. It's a good thing funerals are not drawn over the ground or the players would be run over with the hearse. I don't think the spectators like these long-drawn games. . . . [But] the boys play well together. I enjoyed the game . . . and I've got a lot of enthusiasm bottled up for the game on Saturday."

In the weeks and months following the interview, Brown's condition steadily worsened. By mid-October, Bill was confined to his bed; however, no matter how sick, he insisted upon having the sports page delivered to his room each morning. Sensing the end was near, Brown returned home to California that November. He passed away on December 20, 1897. The San Francisco Chronicle, among others, ran the following obituary:

"William Brown, known to all lovers of baseball throughout the United States as 'Big Bill' Brown, is dead. About two years ago, Brown, once a perfect specimen of physical manhood, became afflicted with lung trouble. He sought relief in the Hawaiian Islands, Southern California and Arizona, but in vain, and yesterday the end came at his home in this city. Deceased was 32 years of age."

✍️ Bobby King II

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Sources: https://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov + https://www.newspapers.com + https://www.baseball-reference.com + https://en.wikipedia.org