No Money, No Beer, No Pennants. Scott H. Longert

their way to Snohomish. The scouting business was fairly unorganized and likely to be hit-and-miss. If you played baseball in places like Bellingham, Everett, and the surrounding area, chances were you were likely to stay there. Team officials and managers relied on tips from fans, former players, and sportswriters to augment any scouts they may have had on the payroll. The likelihood of a team in Chicago, Boston, or New York discovering a prospect hundreds or thousands of miles away was slim.

      Earl Averill found himself in a difficult situation. No matter how well he played for the Snohomish Bearcats, he had little chance of being noticed. The local folks realized Earl had a rare talent that might just enable him to earn a living playing professional baseball. In the early 1920s they took up a collection and gave Earl enough traveling money to get him on a train to Seattle. Once there, he would report to the ball club for a tryout. The Snohomish fans believed it would be just a matter of time for Earl to be in Major Leagues.

      To everyone’s shock and anger, the Seattle manager deemed that the new kid was another small-town boy and sent him packing. Averill was just about average height and weighed somewhere between 150 and 160 pounds. The Seattle boss took a quick glance and believed Earl did not have the look of a ballplayer. Several years later he would kick himself for the hasty decision. Averill hopped on a train back to Snohomish, wondering if he would ever get his chance.

      Even though the Seattle trip went poorly, Averill was not the type to throw in the towel. In 1924 he saved a few dollars and loaded his ancient Oldsmobile for a trip south to San Francisco. He brought his glove, bats, and uniform in hopes of getting another tryout, this time with the San Francisco Seals. Regardless of his skills, Earl did not have any formal training in the art of baseball. He knew little of fundamentals, which the Seals coaches noticed right away. They did recognize his skill at driving a baseball and his cannon of a throwing arm. He was not ready for the Pacific Coast League, but he was signed to a contract and sent to the Bellingham club for the summer. Back in a familiar setting, he played well, learning how to throw to the right base and hit the cutoff man. For his efforts he received fifteen dollars per game.

      The next year, the Seals retained their rights to Earl, transferring him to a club in Montana. He blossomed there, hitting .430 for the season. San Francisco had Lloyd Waner, the younger brother of Paul, playing center field. Waner did not hit well there, which led the Seals to seek another outfielder to replace him. In 1926 it would be Earl Averill.

      The fans back in Snohomish had to be ecstatic that one of their own was a step away from the big leagues. Earl became one of the best all-around players on the West Coast. The Seals had a superb outfield with Averill, Smead Jolley, and Roy Johnson. Before long the trio began attracting scouts by the dozens. Billy Evans did not hesitate, and the Indians finally got a center fielder the likes of which they had not seen since Tris Speaker.

      While those in the Cleveland front office were congratulating themselves, a slight problem developed. Averill informed the Seals he wanted a piece of the action: part of the sale price. Some ballplayers who were sold for a considerable amount of money took a hard stand with management. A number of them believed they were responsible for the sale in the first place and should be cut in on the deal. The ones who had been around a while knew to ask for a clause in their contract that guaranteed part of the sale price. This was done in the event the player was sold to a Major League team. Ultimately, most of the players had almost no leverage with the owners on anything and a situation like this was one of the few chances to cash in.

      Averill made it absolutely clear to the Seals he was not reporting to Cleveland until he got his share. One point in his favor was that the Seals had originally signed him without having to pay another club. Averill came to them as a free agent and real bargain. On the Seals’ side was the contract, which did not have any language spelling out that they would have to pay Earl extra if he landed with the big leagues.

      The uncomfortable situation prompted action from Billy Evans. Once again he boarded a train for the demanding cross-country trip to San Francisco. Upon arrival he met with both parties and found a way to end the crisis. With the Seals now out of the picture, Evans went over some spring training details with his new player. He needed to order bats for Averill and rolled his eyes when Earl told him he only used a forty-four-ounce bat. The heaviest bat in the American League was owned by Babe Ruth and that weighed forty ounces. Evans tried to explain that a lot of the pitchers in the majors threw fairly hard and a forty-four-ounce bat would not cut it. Averill would not be moved. He told his boss that, if anybody could throw the ball by him, maybe he would consider a lighter one. Averill did not lack confidence in his ability, a trait that would carry him a long way.

      In the first week of December, Evans and Peckinpaugh traveled to Toronto for the minor-league winter meetings. It was a time to catch up with old friends and maybe buy a player or two. Evans did not waste a moment in purchasing thirty-four-year-old pitcher Jimmy Zinn from Kansas City. The Indians wanted to add an experienced pitcher to the staff to complement such youngsters as Willis Hudlin and, possibly, minor-league hurler Wes Ferrell. Zinn had won forty-eight games the previous two seasons and did have some big-league experience with Pittsburgh and Brooklyn.

      With the business completed, Evans and Peckinpaugh spent time chatting with old friends, including Tris Speaker, Steve O’Neill, and former Cleveland Spider Jesse Burkett. Speaker was present as the new manager of the International League’s Newark Bears, while O’Neill was set to manage the same league’s Toronto Maple Leafs. They swapped humorous stories about their playing days and incidents that had happened on the diamond. The best story told was about Joe Cantillon, the former umpire and manager. One day Cantillon brought two friends with him to Comiskey Park in Chicago. When they reached the ticket taker Cantillon said, “These are two friends of mine. I’d like you to pass ’em in.” The ticket man yelled upstairs to Charles Comiskey, “How about passing a couple of friends of Mr. Cantillon?” The reply came down for everybody to hear: “It’s a lie! No umpire has got two friends!”

      Attending the Toronto meeting were the Cleveland scouts, Cy Slapnicka, Bill Rapp, and former Naps Bill Bradley and Charlie Hickman. Bradley was an excellent third baseman, while Hickman was a good-hitting slow runner nicknamed “Piano Legs.” These four gentlemen were responsible for covering the entire United States. Despite their enormous territories, each scout would find some first-rate prospects in the coming years.

      The Cleveland club either owned or had working agreements with four minor-league franchises. They owned outright the Frederick, Maryland, team of the Blue Ridge League. This was Class D ball, where the most inexperienced recruits would go. They had working agreements with Terre Haute and Decatur of the Three-I League, which was Class B, and with the New Orleans club in Class AA, or one step from the majors. With these four clubs, the Indians could shuttle players back and forth and keep close watch throughout the season.

      Once the Toronto gathering ended, the Indians contingent moved on to Chicago for the American League meetings. Alva Bradley was already there, waiting for his top men to arrive. Here in the Windy City was where any possible major trades might occur. Dozens of names were thrown about, but nothing eye-opening took place. The Indians announced the George Uhle trade to Detroit, and that was the big moment for them. The team owners did reach an agreement to start the regular season on April 16, a week later than the previous year, and set a date of September 29 to finish the campaign. The late start was agreed upon due to the poor weather in early April. A week’s delay might not help much, but the owners hoped there might be a few days of sunshine rather than Midwest snow flurries: a few degrees up the thermometer would likely bring out more fans. The owners rarely failed to find ways to improve the take at the gate.

      While the Indians continued to improve their club, news came that Western Reserve University had invited Yale to play a football game in the new Cleveland stadium. Ground had not been broken yet, but the proposed game was to be played in 1930. The local college was rumored to be negotiating a home-and-away series with the mighty Ohio State Buckeyes. Ambitious college grads in the area were contacting their former schools to schedule games at the new stadium. Among the colleges being courted were Syracuse, Nebraska, and Cornell. City Manager Hopkins was elated at the news. He had visions of 80,000 fans packing his new facility, not to mention the downtown hotels and restaurants. His stadium plan might just be exactly what his city needed.