It’s playoff time in Major League Baseball. Right now, there are 12 teams marching toward the World Series. One of those teams, the Detroit Tigers, is heading to the playoffs for the second year in a row following a decade-long drought. The Tigers are one of the most storied franchises in MLB history. Since they became a major league franchise in 1901, the Tigers have won four World Series championships, 11 AL pennants, and four AL Central division championships. From 1912 to 1937, the Tigers played their home games at Navin Field in the Corktown neighborhood of Detroit. Corktown is a traditionally Irish settlement named so because nearly half of its settlers traced their lineage to County Cork, Ireland. Corktown is the oldest neighborhood in Detroit.
In 1911, the new Tigers owner Frank Navin ordered a new steel-and-concrete baseball park to be built that could seat 23,000 fans. Navin Field opened on April 20, 1912, the same day as the Red Soxs’ Fenway Park in Boston and just 5 days after the RMS Titanic sank. Another ominous portent is the fact that Cleveland Naps player “Shoeless” Joe Jackson scored the first run at Navin Field. Jackson was later banned from baseball as a member of the Chicago “Black Sox” team, accused of throwing the 1919 World Series. The $300,000 price tag for Navin Field translates to about $50 million today. The ballpark featured a 125-foot flagpole in center field that, to this day, is the tallest obstacle ever built in fair territory in a major league park. 26,000 fans crammed into the park for Navin Field’s opening day, postponed two days from its planned inaugural date because of rain. Despite that Motor City milestone, most of the attention was knocked from newspaper headlines the next morning by the sinking of the Titanic.
Navin Field Detroit ,MIchigan.
The week before that milestone grand opening day, some 3,700 miles away, a nine-year-old British boy named Frank John William Goldsmith was preparing for the trip of a lifetime. Frankie was born in Strood, Kent, England, the eldest child of Frank and Emily Goldsmith. Between 1908 to 1911, most of the extended Goldsmith family emigrated to the US, settling in Detroit. In the spring of 1912, Frankie’s parents decided to join them. The Goldsmith family boarded the New York City-bound RMS Titanic in Southampton as third-class passengers. During the first three uneventful days aboard ship, Frankie spent his time playing and exploring the ship with other similarly aged English-speaking third-class children. The boys ran the decks, climbed the baggage cranes, and wandered down to the boiler rooms to watch the stokers and firemen at work. Of these boys, only Frankie and one other survived the sinking.
RMS Titanic.
Unsurprisingly, Goldsmith (1902-1982) remembered the exact moment his personal Titanic trauma began for the rest of his life. In a speech to the Rotary Club in 1977, he recalled that he was lacing up his shoes in his third-class passenger cabin when a Titanic officer knocked on, and then opened, the cabin door at about 1:30 a.m. The officer pointed to the ceiling and informed them to put on one of the lifejackets located there. Earlier, Frankie’s father woke his family and informed them to get dressed and prepare to make their way up to the prow of the ship. Ironically, Frankie’s family likely made their way up from their cramped F-deck third-class quarters via the opulent Grand Staircase of the ship. Upon learning that the “Unsinkable Titanic” had struck an iceberg, the family made their way to the forward end of the boat deck, where the “Collapsible C” lifeboat was being loaded. Frankie remembered the lifeboat being surrounded by a ring of crewmen who were only letting women and children on. Collapsible C was the second to last ship to leave, carrying 41 passengers and departing at 1:47 a.m.
Frank Goldsmith as a young child (l) and a collapsible lifeboat from Titanic, possibly carrying him.
Goldsmith wrote of the experience: “Mother and I then were permitted through the gateway. My dad reached down and patted me on the shoulder and said, ‘So long, Frankie, I’ll see you later.’ He didn’t, and he may have known he wouldn’t.” Goldsmith Sr. died in the sinking; his body was never recovered. Goldsmith wrote a book about his Titanic experience, published posthumously by the Titanic Historical Society in 1991. That book, Echoes in the Night: Memories of a Titanic Survivor, remains the only full account recorded by a third-class passenger.
Frank John Goldsmith with his parents & younger brother, Bertie, around 1907
As their lifeboat floundered in the Atlantic Ocean, to keep her son’s young mind off the unfolding tragedy, Frankie’s mother instructed him to turn his back to the sinking ship and care for an invalid survivor. For forty agonizing minutes, the screams of the doomed passengers echoed across the water. By 2:20 a.m, the RMS Titanic was totally submerged, but helpless survivors lasted another 10 minutes before surrendering to the icy waters. The ship sank two hours and 40 minutes after impact with the iceberg. Collapsible C was picked up by the RMS Carpathia around 6:30 a.m. During those four anguished hours asea, Mrs. Goldsmith busied herself sewing clothes from blankets for women and children who had left the ship in only nightclothes. After being rescued, young Frankie was initiated by RMS Carpathia’s boiler-stokers as an honorary seaman by having him drink a mixture of water, vinegar, and a whole raw egg. Frankie swallowed it in one gulp, and from then on, he proudly considered himself a member of the ship’s crew. Nine-year-old Goldsmith remembered the crewmen telling him, “Don’t cry, Frankie, your dad will probably be in New York before you are.”
Frank John Goldsmith Jr. Passport Photo.
Growing up, Goldsmith clung to the hope of his father’s survival. It took him months to understand that his dad was really dead, and for years afterward, he dreamed that “another ship must have picked him up and one day he will come walking right through that door and say, ‘Hello, Frankie.’” Alas, he never saw his father again. Throughout Goldsmith’s life the Titanic became both a dream and a nightmare. At times, he would suddenly start talking uncontrollably about that midnight, how he grabbed some candy when leaving their cabin; how, as his descending lifeboat passed a porthole, he saw teen-age crew members playing hide and seek; how the Titanic shot off rockets as if it were the King’s birthday. An adolescent memory of his lifeboat rowing hard after the receding lights of a foreign fishing boat, fleeing the disaster lest its illegal presence become known. The endless, anxious nail-biting sick-feeling of survivor’s guilt that never goes away.
Titanic disaster announced in New York City.
Upon arrival in New York City, Frankie and his mother were cared for by the Salvation Army, which provided train fare to reach their relatives in Detroit. They moved to a home near the newly opened Navin Field, home of the Detroit Tigers. However, unlike most 9-year-old boys, Frankie was never a big fan of baseball. Within easy earshot of the new ballyard, every time Frankie heard the crowd erupt in cheers during a game, he cringed. The sound reminded him of the screams of the dying passengers and crew in the water just after the ship sank; as a result, he never attended Tigers baseball games. Although the acronym PTSD is a more recent generational term, it is nonetheless real. Post-traumatic stress disorder exists as a mental health condition caused by an extremely stressful or terrifying event. PTSD can be caused by either being a part of it or by witnessing it. PTSD may include flashbacks, nightmares, severe anxiety, and uncontrollable thoughts about the event. Nearly everyone knows someone who has suffered from, or continues to battle against, the mysterious (often undiagnosed) condition. It can be a combat war veteran friend who avoids July 4th celebrations or a family member who avoids hospitals due to the loss of a loved one to cancer or another devastating disease. The point is, as I’ve always preached, history matters, and many of the daily hardships we face today have been outlined by our ancestors.
Frank John William Goldsmith 1943.
Frankie married Victoria Agnes Lawrence (Goldsmith) in 1926, and they had three sons: James, Charles, and Frank II. During World War II, Frankie served as a civilian photographer for the U.S. Army Air Corps. After the war, he brought his family to Ashland, Ohio, and later opened a photography supply store in nearby Mansfield. Goldsmith died at his home in 1982, at age 79. His ashes were scattered over the North Atlantic, above the site where the Titanic rests.
Frank John William Goldsmith 1902-1982.
Frank John William Goldsmith Jr. was just another immigrant child when he survived the tragic sinking of the Titanic. For the remainder of his life, the fatherless boy could never enjoy the cheers of a crowd, regardless of the occasion. Every loud exuberant roar transported him back to that dark April night in 1912. To Frankie, the sound echoed the screams and cries of passengers fighting for their lives in the icy Atlantic. Goldsmith carried the weight of that association with him for the rest of his life. So my friends, when you encounter a neighbor, a friend, a relative, or an immigrant, remember you take them as you find them. Their story might run a little deeper than you think.
As many of you who have read my columns over the past two decades will recall, I am a collector. Many of my columns center around collectibles, some valuable, some historic, and some for sheer folly with no lasting value other than a momentary nostalgic smile. I often visit regular antique shows, events, and roadside markets looking for whatever I can find. I recently visited a regular haunt and once again found my hands inside of boxes containing an assortment of papers and bric-a-brac from a lifetime ago. Sometimes, I run across something serendipitously, as if it was placed there specifically for me to find; one step away from the trash heap.
In this box, there were two 8×10 thick & heavy leather-bound books, each titled “National Diary”, although they have 1967 & 1968 cover dates, I believe they’re from 1968 & 1969 (likely a frugal “clearance” purchase by a struggling band not hung up on the concept of time, man). When I opened the initial book, the first thing I saw was a bright red business card pasted to the top of this page, emblazoned “Paul Bearer and the Morticians” with Anderson & Muncie, Indiana phone numbers inset. I quickly flipped through the first few pages to see what it was, as a wide-eyed smile slowly crept across my face. Not the best poker face, I told myself as I slammed the book closed and decided that these were going home with me. There they sat beside my “writing chair” waiting for me to devour them. Life gets in the way sometimes, so it took me a minute to get there. Oh, I would occasionally pick one of them up, flip through the pages, and whet my curiosity whistle, until I finally had a day to devote to a full read.
Turns out, what I had accidentally stumbled over was a day-by-day accounting of an Indiana garage band as detailed by one of its members, Larry Scherer, aka Paul Bearer himself! Larry Phillip Scherer was born Sept. 19, 1946, in Anderson and passed away on Jan. 23, 2004, in Greenfield. By all accounts, while growing up, Larry lived an ideal Hoosier childhood. He was active in Cub Scouts and Boy Scouts and played football and Little League baseball. He graduated from Anderson High School in 1964 and later earned his BA and MA in Counseling Psychology from Ball State University. He was the lead singer of the band, Paul Bearer and the Morticians. Not a lot is known about this band. A few references can be found on the net, including a 45 rpm single and a single publicity shot of the 5-man band posed around a hearse in a cemetery surrounded by their instruments. The single’s A-side is a song called “Barbara,” and the B-side is “Don’t You Just Know It.”
Each book begins & ends with a calendar page, both jumbled by hurried circles, arrows, and scribbles denoting sporadic gigs every week. Flipping through the pages, one can almost feel the high hopes of the band melting away during those first formative winter months. The entry for January 1 notes that the band took some publicity photos, which must have boosted their hopeful confidence immensely. Then reality sets in. The pages from January to February are filled with depressing notations of inactivity: “Nothing” and “Nada” on nearly every page, like a road to nowhere. Around Valentine’s Day, things were looking up, but not musically. Feb. 10, “Went to see Paul Revere + the Raiders-they were great-got a tip at where they were staying + buzzed out there. Holiday Inn-Got all their autographs…Jack talked to Mark Lindsay…We should have some great pictures.” On Feb. 17th, “Played at McPherson’s Dance Inn [in Anderson] over 300 showed up, we made $100 clear (about $1,000 today)…Thank God…we each got about $14 per man.”
Bolstered by this modest success, the boys begin to practice regularly on original compositions (Town of Evil) and covers (Cream’s “Sunshine of Your Love” and “Outside Woman Blues”) in preparation for a desired gig at a “Hullabaloo”. A Hullabaloo was the franchise name for teen dance clubs spinning off the popular NBC musical variety show of that era. The TV series originated in London and was hosted by The Beatles’ manager Brian Epstein before hopping across the pond to America.
These trademarked “Hullabaloo” nightclubs were usually found near colleges (Ball State, IU, Purdue, Notre Dame, etc.) and larger high schools. On Feb. 27, the band played the Conservation Club in Anderson and received $140. “[We] sounded like a professional group, surprised everyone but me…First time we used Saxophone-sounded real good-going to use it a helluva lot more.” The success of that gig led to an audition for the Teen Time Lounge in Hartford City. March 3: “Notified to play Teen Time Palace…Sounded Great. KIds ate us up. Nothing much happened except some clown busted a $200 glass door. Some girl asked for autographs.” The band was paid $75 and by now Paul Bearer and the Morticians had a set list of 41 songs: “35 good ones-6 stand bys” including covers of the Rolling Stones “Under My Thumb”, Junior Walker’s “Pucker Up Buttercup”, Spencer Davis Group’s “Gimme Some Lovin”, and Wilson Pickett’s “In The Midnight Hour.”
By mid-March, the band was looking ahead to a gig at Anderson’s Peppermint Lounge. March 15, “Tim came over to get some money to finish the coffin-Paid $5.” The Morticians were paid $115; by the time they left the stage, the boys made $7 each after expenses. On March 22, the band hoped to land a $125 gig at the Hullabaloo in Muncie. March 27 entry reads: “James Hendrix plays at the Hullabaloo Club in Muncie.
Should be a real sweet night.” The very next night, the Morticians take the stage. The band is fielding inquiries for gigs at Rensselaer ($115 payout), Hartford City ($50), Fairmount ($100), and Lapel ($85). April 1: “Best critics in Anderson-my friends-said we were whats happening-I agree!! The guys sounded great. I know we can make it to the top-just a matter of time—is on my side, yes it is.” On April 5, the Morticians book a gig to play at the Hullabaloo Club in Dayton, Ohio: for $150. On April 8, the boys again played for Anderson’s Conservation Club. “Blast it was too!! The band finally hit what its worth-a cool 40 beans apiece!! There were 267 kids there-about half sniffen glue-haha. Split the profit.”
On April 11th, the diary lyrically notes, “Poor, Poor Paul. He caught the axe. Boy, did he fall. For 40 days he cried cause in that jail, he damn near died!!” For the next 40 pages, every day is denoted as “Black Monday, Black Tuesday, Black Wednesday, etc.” On May 20, another lyric, “Oh!! Did you hear what they say. Oh Paul’s out now, and their on their way. Dunt Dunt Dunt Hey!!”
The band starts up again, practicing regularly at “Rick’s”. May 21: “[We] need more work. Changed out style somewhat on some songs but we’ll soon socket to em!” May 26th “Play at Van Buren tonight. (expecting small crowd) We may be surprised, I hope so. I need a good one for a change.”
May 27, “Conservation Club Tonight $100.” On June 5th, the band joins the American Federation of Musicians for $102.50. June 29th, “Practiced at Rick’s house + thusly decided to kick out Rick. One Mortician is buried.” July 7, “Found the band outfits at a Brand X store in Indianapolis. Sweet as hell for a mere 5 beans.” August 6, “Got our publicity pictures taken today at the graveyard in back of North Drive Inn [Anderson] 14 in all. Two sets of clothes. Outta be cold, cold shake cool. Blimey Govnor.” The entry on August 8 is actually the handwritten lyrics to a song: “There is a man from L.A., That is hard to understand. People tell me he’s an uncertain kind. In California where kids blow their mind. He has come to Hoosierland to waste his time. There are two things that he loves, an old truck and a jail to sleep. Some call him little Bo-peep. Since coming to the Midwest, he is always losing his job, because of this he can’t afford my little nest. Maybe someday he’ll be persuaded to stay around, he’ll be downgraded. No home to go to weep or food to eat. This is a man from L.A. who sleeps in the hay. He is a different brand, but now a lighting man.”
August 14th, another song, not much better than the first: “Hey Baby, why don’t you love me anymore. Hey Baby, I been here all alone eh. You know I love you, But you don’t realize, you will love me, when I look in your eyes. Oh, you got to love me, baby, then love me all the time. In the morning, in the evening, in the summer, in the winter, you gotta love me. Hey baby, I’ll buy a house + settle down. Hey, ask your mom, tell her I love you. If there’s any doubt, Baby believe me, everything I say is true. If you don’t love me, I’ll try to be true. You got to love me in the bathroom, in the kitchen, in the basement, in the sink, in the backyard. You gotta love me.” August 17, “Practided! Worked on a couple new songs. Two friends of Phil’s who own the Acid Land nightclub came to watch us. Played a lot of Psychedelic stuff.” August “Paul went to labor at the Delco Remy Salt Pits…Won’t last long.” September 3: “Played at Greenfield. 87 people showed up. We made $38. Each got $7. Tim + Phil conspired to leave us-formed the Liverwurst Steel Convention [band].” By mid-month, the Morticians were practicing new songs, mostly by The Who: “Whiskey Man” & “Pictures of Lily”.
The band booked a Sept. 30th gig for $125 at McKay’s Drive-In nightclub known as the “Psycadelic Sounds at The Place” on Highway 67 in Fortville, after which they were signed as the “House Band”. October 1st, “Played at Fortville, made $2 per. If fortune doesn’t straighten up, we’re going to drop McKay. Not enough crowd…Learned two more songs: “I Need You”-By The Beatles + “Tired Of Waiting For You”-Kinks.” Oct. 18th: “We really psyched out on Fortville. I can’t explain. Had Better Be Ready.” Oct. 21: “Fortville-Decisive Performance-To Play or Not to Play. GLOOM. We psyched them out but only less than 60 showed. Getting tired of McKay’s.” Nov. 4, “Dance scheduled for McKay’s but he screwed us up again + cancelled the dance cause his roof wasn’t fixed.” Nov. 8, “We play at the Beeson Clubhouse Country Club [in Winchester] on Saturday Next. Nice Place. We get $75. Auditioned for the Hullabaloo Club in Muncie tonight. They thought we were BEAUTIFUL!! They dug the Jimi Hendrix stuff we played.” Nov. 11: “McKay’s Drive In. This could be it. McKay cancelled again-who cares??? We played at Beeson’s Clubhouse in Winchester, Indiana tonight. $75.” Nov. 15: “We found out the WHO will be in Muncie on Thanksgiving night + there’s a chance we might play alongside them. It may all depend on our performance at the barn Saturday night.” Nov. 23-Thanksgiving day. “The Who played at the new barn. All of us went to see them-they were greater than ever. We got to talk to Pete Townshend a little bit-he was really cool. Mike got some great pictures.”
By December, the Morticians set list included 39 songs including JImi Hendrix “Hey Joe” (which they performed twice back-to-back), “Give me some lovin'”, “I can’t explain”, “Mickey’s Monkee”, “Bring it on home to me”, “Louis Louis”, “Money”, “Little Latin Lupe Lu”, “Hold On”, “We gotta get out of this place”, “Purple Haze”, “Fire”, “Foxey Lady”, “MIdnight Hour”, “The Letter”, “House of the Rising Sun”, “I’ve been loving you too long”, “Lady Jane”, and an intriguing original song titled “Ban the Egg.” On Christmas Eve, the boys “Played at Winchester for $75. The crowd dug us bad. Michael Eddie screwed up Purple Haze 3 times that night-Used Pete Townshend’s guitar strap.” The Morticians practiced but did not gig for the remainder of the year, resulting in the Dec. 31st entry: “A very dull New Year’s Eve Indeed.” Year-end receipts totaled $1899.50 (just under $20,000 today), averaging out to $70.70 per gig. Split between a rotating lineup of five musicians per night, it doesn’t take a mathlete to figure out that none of these guys could quite their day jobs.
Paul Bearer and the Morticians-An Indiana Garage Band Story.
In part I of this article, I detailed one of my latest “Finds”, a 1968 diary from the leader of a 1960s Anderson, Indiana garage band known as “Paul Bearer and the Morticians.” I love that it landed in my lap just before the official spooky season in Irvington commences. I wanted to share it with you, the readers, because I thought that it might stir the chords of mystic memory for other Circle City hippy kids like myself.
Jan. 13 [1969]: Played at the Loft in Muncie for a mere $75. A real good crowd showed up + there were only a few meager fights. Jan. 25: “Conservation Club [Anderson]- “Not too good of a crowd. We only made $47.50.” Jan. 27: “We played at Winchester, Ind. for $85. That’s all I’m going to say!!” On Feb. 17th, “Played at McPherson’s Dance Inn [in Anderson] over 300 showed up we made $100 clear (about $1,000 today)…Each Poison (sic) got $14 apiece.” By March, the band was looking more official than before. This second diary book includes a few of the original typed contracts between the venues and the band, all signed by Larry Scherer as the band’s representative. March 15th, 1968, is for a gig at Rensselaer High School for $115. The diary entry reads: “It was a hick dance at a school, but they liked us. Wild night in the motel there-almost got kicked out. We also had a lot of car trouble-flat tire, breakdown, etc etc.” Another contract is for the Muncie Hullabaloo Club on Kilgore near Yorktown. It netted $125 for the band and stipulates that a fee of $25 “per half hour late starting” will be enforced. The band played two sets for a “real good crowd. Our first set was a little ill, but we smoked on in the second + third. We wiped a*s on Foxey Lady.”
The May 1st entry finds an interesting partial lyric composition: “Wednesday, such a mellow day. Blowing wind + the children play!! I see the glowing sun shining down, I feel the pain and I wear a frown. It can’t be a dream, It’s not what it seems. But I am dying now.” In the Spring of 1968, the band was carving out its own identity, trying hard not to be just another cover band, by writing and practicing original compositions. Their set list now included seven new songs: “Rize Up”, “Charlotte”, “Fool of Cotton”, “Dance the form Evil”, “Turn on Green”, “Impression in F”, and their newest song, “Good Things for our Minds”. May 4th’s entry announced that the Morticians would be playing a gig at the Hullabaloo Club in Muncie alongside the British pop group, The Cryin’ Shames, who had a minor hit with the remake of the 1961 song “Please Stay” by The Drifters. The Drifters’ claim to fame (and ultimate demise) came when they turned down a managerial offer from Brian Epstein, manager of The Beatles. The April 15th entry describes, “We play the first set + they play the second, we play the third + they play fourth. We’re supposed to use our equipment and they theirs. We will definitely have to completely wipe them out. We will increase their draw by 200 people. There’ll be a lot of people discussing recording records etc. It should prove to be a very exciting evening.”
May 13 entry: “Started tonight playing the Sugar Cube for $100 [per night]. Tired as hell afterwards!” The Sugar Cube nightclub was located close to Marhofers Meat Packing Co. on Granville Avenue in Muncie. The Morticians gigged at the Sugar Cube from May 13th to the 18th for a whopping $400 paycheck! Paul Bearer and the Morticians played the “In Club” in Van Wert, Ohio for $125. May 25th: “Jack quit the band. We have to look for a new drummer-probably get Roy Buckner.” May 31, the band played a show at the Youth Center in Syracuse, IN. for $125 payday. “There were a lot of teeny boppers there that dug us bad. We will definitely go back later this summer.” By June, the band was adding more original songs to their setlist: “Manic Depression”, “Little Miss (Over)”, “Come on in”, “Talk Talk”, “You Don’t Know Like I Know”, and “When I Was Young”. June 15: “McPherson’s probably for $150…The clown only went $130.” June 21, the boys played the YMCA in Peru, In. for $150. During a dry spell for the band, one entry reads: “Went to the fabulous Anderson Fair (cow dung everywhere) + then bopped over to Phillips Swimming Hole in Muncie-It was real coooool man.” Muncie’s Phillips public swimming pool opened in 1922 and was closed in 1961 and thereafter used for training by the Muncie fire department.
July 5th, 1968, finds the band playing “The Hub” in Celina, Ohio, for $125. “We didn’t get a good reaction at first, but the third set was real good. Wiped up with Purple Haze, Fire, Foxey Lady, + You Know. I would go to Russia, Vietnam, Belgium, France, The Congo, Brazil, but NOT THE HUB.” A month later (August 3rd), a diary entry reads: “There was an atomic attack on Celina, Ohio today. Luckily, no one was saved. Praise Allah.” July 6: “Found out The Who are back in the United States for a 9-week tour. They’ll def. pass thru here. The Fab Beach Boys are in town along with the Union Gap + The Human Beings.” July 11, the band is playing at the Honeywell Pool in Wabash, In, for $150. Two days later, they are playing in Shelbyville for $150. “We def. will not play for less than $150 beans from now on. $25 raise when we cut the record. They bought us on our gimmick-Dry Ice- fog during our performance.” Despite that entry, days later, on June 21st, the band was once again appearing at the Hullabaloo in Muncie for a $130 payday. In the end, the band netted $57 and paid out $15 per band member. August 8: “Rick quit the band, supposedly, then came crawling back 3 days later, acting like it was all a gag! HAR.”
August 9th, 1968, finds the band playing at Jefferson Landing, 127 E. Main St. in Crawfordsville for $150.”It was a real sweet place, but NOBODY showed up-cause it’s Tuesday, no doubt. We got a real good report from here though.” Five days later, the Morticians were once again playing The Place in Fortville for $150. “We finally are going back to play at Fortville once more. It will really bring back old memories. Har de Har de Har!!! All they could say was that it was too loud.” On August 25, Paul Bearer and the Morticians played the Indiana State Fair [likely a warmup for The Cowsills]: “They were really digging our music.” Sept. 3rd finds the band playing a dance at the Bridge Vu Theatre in Valparaiso, IN,. for $175. October 4, 1968: “Today is the 2nd anniversary of PB + M. Ain’t you proud? I found a super contact: Jeff Beck. He is supposed to speak at the Gent tomorrow.” Oct. 12th finds the band playing a Halloween party at the Kendallville Youth Center in Kendallville, IN., for $175. “Everything was going great, until old nag (blind) started raising the roof because she thought we were a bunch of maniacs, how right she was! The kids dug us so much, they clapped after every song.” The show went over so well, the band was asked to play again the next night. On Oct. 25th, the band played the Sigma Phi Epsilon frat house at Ball State in Muncie for $100. Immediately following the show, the band drove straight to New York to see Steppenwolf. On Nov. 6, the band was playing a show at “The Anchor” in Findlay, Ohio, for $125. Nov. 8, 1968: “Went to Indianapolis + saw Canned Heat + Iron Butterfly-Boy were they great. Worth every minute, they were.”
Nov. 11, the band booked a $150 gig at the Purity Inn on High Street in Oxford, Ohio. “They said we were too loud. We won’t go back def. The acoustics were totalled. We each got 20 beans apiece tonight.” Nov. 20, the band played the armory in Crawfordsville, IN., for $175. “We turned WAY DOWN but don’t know if they liked us or not. We split the diff. + each for 30 Beans.” Nov. 30 the band was once again playing the Hullabaloo in Muncie for $135. Dec. 2nd, the band played the Sigma Pi House at Purdue University for $125. “They seemed to like us quite well + I think we did one of our better gigs. They really dug it bad.” The gigs were getting fewer and farther between now and the diary entries ceased until December 29, 1968. “Played at the Muncie Haullabaloo Club today for a measly $43.57, which was 50% of the door-WOW! We’ll probably be playing there steady at jam sessions on Sundays-NO CONTRACT yet.”
Two days later, on New Year’s Eve, 1968, the diary reads: “The last day of ’68-finally. We are being completely taken over by Son Productions. This is the last day, as we know it of Paul Bearer + the Morticians. Fare thee well, my fellow compatriots.” The annual tally for 1968 totalled $5,518.07, or just over $50,000 in today’s money. The memoranda section of the diary reads: “Cut our first record in August!!-FARCE. We Are Mushroom People. We Are Dead.”
As hard as it is to find detailed information on Paul Bearer and the Morticians, it is even harder to find info on Son Records. Initial information can be found on the band’s contracts, where Larry Scherer signs as the legal representative of “Son Productions P.O. Box 78 Yorktown, Ind. 47396 (Phone) 759-9371”. One article found in the August 1, 1968, Muncie Star newspaper, notes that Son Records founder, Roger Warrum, was born in Shelbyville, attended Mount Comfort schools, graduated from Ball State University, lived in Greenfield, and settled in Anderson. Warrum had a band, The Glass Museum, and also brokered the Jimi Hendrix Concert in Muncie at the Hullabaloo Club. He formed “Son Productions” (named to honor his son Jeffrey Scott) in late 1966 and was described as the “founder-manager-chief worker” for the licensed music booking agency. The company logo incorporated sun rays jutting out of the “o” in “Son”. Warrum made his office inside the Muncie Hullabaloo building, booking bands in Indiana, Eastern Michigan, Ohio, and Kentucky. He opened a branch in Valparaiso to serve the Chicagoland & Greater Michigan, Illinois, and Wisconsin regions. The article states that Warrum planned to open more branches in Bloomington (in October) and Michigan (in January). Warrum only booked union bands and notes, “Paul Bearer and the Morticians came back [to the Muncie Hullabaloo] three times before they had a big enough, good enough sound to make the circuit.” Roger J. Warrum would go on to a successful Insurance career in Anderson, where he was elected to the City Council. He died in Hudson, Ohio in 2009 at the age of 63.
As detailed in Part I of this series, the diarist of these books, Larry Scherer (Paul Bearer himself), died at his home in Greenfield on Jan. 23, 2004, following a brief illness. After the band broke up, Larry taught school in Broxton, GA, and was Teacher of the Year three times. He relocated to Anderson in 1978 and was employed by Madison County Employment & Training Administration as an Assessment Testing Counselor and the Director of Weatherization. Larry was the owner/operator of his business as a General Construction Contractor. As for the rest of the band, Vic Burnett was the guitarist, organist, vocalist, and songwriter, and Jim Shannon was the bassist for the band. Jim Shannon’s signature appears in the diary with a comic profane inscription. Other names appearing on the pages of the diary include Tim Connelly, Jack McCleese, Phil Daily, Rick Thompson, Mike Ford, Chris Wisehart, Michael Eddie, Dave Robertson, Charlie Phillips, Dick Maddox, Steve Whitesell, Ed Wyatt (from Florida), Mike Moore, and Gary Rinker. It should be assumed that these men were members of, or closely associated with, the band.
Despite their hopes of becoming a headliner band, Paul Bearer and the Morticians were little more than a hobby, which they all hoped would turn into something bigger but never did. A thread on the net can be found from Chris Shannon (relative of bassist Jim Shannon) stating that “Paul Bearer and the Morticians made an appearance via satellite on either the Jerry Lewis Telethon or Dick Clark’s American Bandstand. Any time they played in public, the street would be packed with people listening to them play. They were hot, man!” I have spent the last month trying to connect with any family members of the men who created this band, including Chris Shannon, to no avail. So, Chris, if you’re out there, I’d love to hear from you and learn more about Paul Bearer and the Morticians. So, there you have it, the little-known story of a typical 1960s Indiana garage band.
Alan & Rhonda Hunter at MD Anderson Cancer Center.
Warning. This is a self-serving article about my hero (my wife, Rhonda) and her year-and-a-half-long cancer ordeal. During our 2023 Irvington ghost tour season, she discovered a bad spot on one of the toes on her left foot. The ring toe to be specific (the little piggy that got no roast beef). At first, she thought it was a bad case of athlete’s foot. Rhonda called around the Indy area searching for a dermatologist: no openings anywhere until Christmas. She found her savior in the form of Megan Rahn, nurse practitioner at Pinnacle Dermatology in Crawfordsville, Ind. Within two days, they got her in and diagnosed it as one of the worst cases of melanoma they had ever seen. Rhonda recalls, “Megan asked if I wanted her to tell me the truth. I said, yes, and she said, ‘It’s cancer.'” We got that news on the Friday of Halloween festival weekend. Rhonda recalls, “During that weekend, longtime regular tour guests kept coming up to me and asking, ‘What’s the matter with Al? He’s not himself tonight.’ Needless to say, it was a rough weekend.
Patti LaBelle holding the white lillies.
After the tours concluded, we traveled down to our little Ricky and Lucy Ricardo efficiency time share in Daytona Beach, Florida, a luxury we bought ourselves over thirty years ago when we didn’t have two nickels to rub together. Over the years, we discovered that soaking anything in salt water cured almost everything. But this time, it didn’t work. Our trip concluded with a live concert by Patti LaBelle. At the end of the show, Patti walked over to Rhonda and handed her a bouquet of white lilies from a vase on her piano. Traditionally, white lilies symbolize purity and rebirth. Little did we know, it was an omen.
Rhonda with Patti’s gift.
Returning to Indiana, we learned that the good folks at Pinnacle Dermatology had secured an appointment with Dr. Jeffrey Wagner, melanoma reconstruction surgeon at MD Anderson Cancer Center Community North in Indy. By now, the toe was black. Dr. Wagner, who has seen over 20,000 melanoma cases in his decades-long career, said the toe’s gotta go. Her skin cancer was now categorized as a very aggressive form of malignant melanoma, the fastest spreading of all cancers (it can spread to dangerous levels in a month). She went under the knife, and they removed the toe and carved out three more spots, two on the top of her foot and one deep patch on the back of her calf.
Rhonda at Community East.
They also removed a leaking Lymph Node in the groin. The result was two months in bed and a very uncomfortable Christmas season. We quickly learned that being diagnosed with melanoma is not unlike being an alcoholic, a drug addict, a diabetic, or bipolar: it’s a life sentence. It means a lifetime of treatment, scans, and medical supervision. We are now regulars at Pinnacle Dermatology, where we discovered that more than a few folks from Irvington are regulars. They now refer to Rhonda as “the lady with the toe.”
Rhonda at Christmas sans toe.
As pilgrims on this journey, we quickly learned that everyone has a skin cancer story. And, sadly, because of that, skin cancer is often minimized as a passing ailment that elicits a dismissive rejoinder. In our case, nothing could be further from the truth. Once everything was removed, we thought that was the end of it. That is, until we learned that a leaking Lymph Node had been detected and Rhonda needed to see Oncologist Dr. Sumeet Bhatia at MD Anderson. Coming a mere three days before Christmas, this was a devastating surprise; Rhonda wasn’t even out of a wheelchair yet. She was placed on Keytruda, a relatively new medicine used to treat melanoma. These monthly treatments, administered intravenously, were accompanied by endless blood work (that alone will make most readers cringe), and regular scans: PET Scans, CT scans, and MRIs. For all of 2024, we became accustomed to bi-weekly visits to MD Anderson, Community North, and Community East.
Rhonda at MD Anderson.
Sometimes with Oncology nurse Jennifer Chapman, sometimes with cancer navigator & advocate Andrea Oliver, and sometimes with Dr. Bhatia. As her last treatment concluded, we expected to walk out and ring the cancer-free bell. Suddenly, the treatment room door swung open, and in walked her entire team. The melanoma had now spread to her brain. Game changer.
Within moments, the nurse was crying, the advocate was crying, Rhonda was crying, and the doctor was crying. Surprisingly, the only person not crying was me, which is odd, because I’m the guy who tears up at Bambi, Old Yeller, and Steve Hartman stories. The doctor told us he’d give us time to decide whether we wanted to continue with a new treatment, with the warning not to wait too long because it could be too late. I had only two questions: Are they going to cut her and will she lose her hair? The answer was no. Long story short, our 10:30 checkup turned out to be an 11:30 fitting for a Radiation Therapy Thermoplastic Mask. Whenever I saw that mask, I couldn’t help but think of Boston Bruins goalie Gerry Cheevers. Google his mask and you’ll see what I mean.
Gerry Cheever’s mask.
Within 1 week, she underwent radiology for one spot on the brain. I expected her to be zapped (pardon the pun) of energy and looking for a long nap. Instead, she came bouncing off that table and insisted on heading to Jockamos Pizza and Midland Antiques Market for the afternoon. A few months later, after another MRI discovered she had three more spots on the brain, she underwent another radiation treatment. This time, she had to be helped off the table and out the door. It was a long procedure extending past regular business hours. I was eerily alone in the cancer center and managed to lock myself out of the office, but that’s another story. She still came out smiling, though.
Early summer 2025 was rough as we nervously anticipated a four-month wait for new scan results. Faith & Begorra, the scans were clear! There were other challenges, including an emergency weekend hospitalization for internal bleeding, but it was not cancer-related. Now you know the details of one person’s cancer journey from an observer’s viewpoint. But how about the patient’s view?
“This is the same cancer that killed Bob Marley, and it started on his toe. It got Jimmy Buffett, too. Jimmy Carter was diagnosed with melanoma on his head and neck at the age of 90 in 2015. It spread to his brain, but after a year of treatment, the spots disappeared.
Bob Marley, Jimmy Buffett, & Jimmy Carter.
He died last year at the age of 100, but he didn’t die of melanoma; he died from bleeding in the brain caused by falls.” Rhonda says. “If you get skin cancer, take it seriously. And above all else, stay out of tanning beds. Tanning beds have been labeled as “carcinogenic to humans” by both the World Health Organization and the International Agency for Research on Cancer (IARC). So, if you must have those tan lines, spray tanning is safer. Or, just rock that Disney Princess skin!”
My wife is a Disco girl and a creature of the eighties (No lie: her office has a mirrored disco ball, movie posters from Grease and Saturday Night Fever, and a velvet painting of Donna Summer). Like most young people of that era, especially girls, she spent a lot of time (and no little money) in tanning beds.
When I point out that I doubt Marley, Buffett, or Carter ever saw a tanning bed their entire lives, she answers, “Very true. Proof that the sun can damage you, too. Additionally, IARC studies show that if you’ve ever had a severe sunburn before the age of 18, you are 60% more likely to have melanoma, and that tanning-bed use before the age of 35 drives up the risk of melanoma by 75%. Worse, 70% of all melanoma travels to the brain. I never knew how aggressive this type of cancer was until I got it. Back then, not only were there tanning huts in every strip mall, but people of our generation remember using baby oil, cocoa butter, and tanning oil with no SPF whatsoever, straight up turkey basting! Even with all the bad publicity about the dangers of tanning bed use over the past quarter century, the Journal of the American Medical Association reports that 30% of white, female high school students and women ages 18 to 34 have used a tanning bed in the past year.”
I asked Rhonda to retrace her cancer journey, both highs and lows. She answered, “The lows are pretty much what you would expect: fear, discomfort, and pain. I never smoked. I never did drugs, not even when they were prescribed to me. I don’t drink, so I went through a “Why me?” phase. But you get over all that in time. As for the medications, I did very well on Keytruda for the year I was on it. I was worried about it since I’d heard stories about people doing poorly on it and lasting for only one or two treatments. The Keytruda worked on my body, but not on my brain. So they switched my medication twice. They put me on Opdivo and Yervoy for two months (Jan.-Feb.), but it kicked my tail. I lost feeling in my hands and feet and experienced shortness of breath, flu-like pain all over, and I couldn’t even walk up a short flight of stairs.
They put me on steroids, which alleviated the pain but pumped me up like the Michelin Man. They weaned me off of them slowly, but it came with an unfortunate side effect. I was tired all the time, with abdominal pain, muscle soreness, nausea, and vomiting. Worse, when I quit steroids, I went through wicked withdrawals; I was dope sick, like an addict. It’s starting to go away, but now the pain and discomfort are coming back. I am now on Braftovi and Mektovi. It makes me nauseous, weak, and tired. I don’t have many good days anymore, and even the good days aren’t great (It hurts to brush my hair). But I know there are many patients in much worse shape than me, so I’m going to keep fighting.”
“I have been blessed with friends and family who love and support me. The value of those connections can’t be understated. My mom, Kathy Hudson, has been there from the beginning; diagnosis, treatment, and home-care. My dad, Ron Musick, has been a constant support, both by phone and in person. My children, Jasmine and Addison, have been better than I ever could have imagined. Addison, my mom, and you were the first faces I saw coming out of surgery. Jasmine, a former IU Med student, has made researching melanoma her new hobby. She discovered a web community on Reddit called “Melahomies” which has been quite helpful and informative. My sister Rennee, who works in the medical industry, has been a fountain of youth and support from Florida. I am equally blessed to have friends to lean on as well.
Thanks to Becky Hodson, Kris Branch, Cindy Adkins, Tim Poynter, Karen Newton, Kathleen Kelly, and Jodie Hall for being there. I am grateful for the continued support of Irvingtonians like Jan and Michelle at the Magick Candle, Adam and Carter at Hampton Designs, Dale Harkins at the Irving Theatre, and, of course, the girls at the Weekly View. Not to mention the support of your friends in the historic field. Barb Adams, Bruce & Deb Vanisacker, our Gettysburg friends and friends in the Lincoln community: Doc Temple (who passed earlier this year), Dr. James Cornelius, Bill and Teena Groves, and Richard Sloan. People like them rarely get the praise they deserve. If you ever find yourself in my position, or any traumatic medical condition for that matter, don’t be afraid to lean on your friends and family. They are as important to your healing process as the doctors and nurses. And of course, you Al, you are my rock.”
My first introduction to skin cancer came from our longtime friend, former ABA Pacers legend Bob Netolicky, and his family in Austin, Texas. Bob, Elaine, and Nicole have offered support and counsel throughout this journey. Neto has been battling skin cancer since being diagnosed during our first ABA reunion in 1997. Neto says, “I spent a lot of time in the sun when I was younger. Annual checkups are now a part of my routine.” Longtime readers of my column might recall that rocker Warren Zevon has been a constant in our relationship since the beginning. On his last appearance on David Letterman’s Late Show, Zevon, who passed away from cancer in 2003, advised his fans to “Enjoy every sandwich.”
So, I asked Rhonda if she had any advice of her own. “I worry about people like me who had no idea how serious this thing is. Joggers, walkers, golfers, bicyclists, people who work or spend time outdoors professionally or recreationally. Skin cancer can sneak up on you, and it is serious. Don’t take it for granted. If you’re outside, wear a hat and make sunscreen a part of your daily routine. My Buc-ee’s straw hat is now a part of my regular gear. And it looks pretty cool.”
Rhonda’s white lillies presented to her by Patti LaBelle are now framed and hanging in her office alongside an autographed microphone from Ms. LaBelle.
Last week, I ran a story about Cleveland Indians phenom Bob Feller’s pitched foul ball that hit and injured his mother during a game against the White Sox at old Comiskey Park in Chicago. That got me thinking about other foul ball stories and legends I’d heard about. Growing up, I spent a lot of time at old Bush Stadium on 16th Street in Indy. My dad, Robert Eugene Hunter, a 1954 Arsenal Tech grad, had worked there as a kid selling Cracker Jack/popcorn in the stands during the Victory Field years. He recalled with pleasure seeing Babe Ruth in person there and could name his favorites from those great Pittsburgh Pirates farm club teams from the late 1940s/early 1950s. I can’t tell you how many RCA Nights at Bush Stadium he took me to back in the 1970s during the team’s affiliation with the Cincinnati Reds Big Red Machine. During those outings, nothing was more exciting than chasing foul balls.
Not all foul balls are fun adventures, though; some are crazy, and others are just plain scary. Growing up, I loved reading about the exploits of those players who played before World War I. Back in those days, baseballs were considered team property and quite expensive. Fans were expected to return any ball hit into the stands (including homeruns), and balls hit out of the stadium were meticulously retrieved. In 1901, the National League rules committee, as a way of cutting costs, suggested fining batters for excessively fouling off pitches. Beginning in 1904, per a newly created league rule, teams posted employees in the stands whose sole job was to retrieve foul balls caught by the fans. Fans had a keen sense of humor, though, and they would often hide them from the “goons” or frustrate the hapless employees by throwing them from row to row. Sometimes, the games of keep-away in the stands were more fun to watch than the ones on the field. But those early WWI stories mostly involved the exploits of the players, not the fans. There were some characters in the league back then. Some of them are long forgotten and some made the Baseball Hall of Fame.
Rube Waddell 1905.
One of my favorite players from that hardball era was a square-jawed eccentric left-handed pitcher from the oil town of Bradford, Pa. named George Edward “Rube” Waddell (1876-1914). Rube played for 5 teams in 13 years. His lifetime 193-143 record, 2,316 strikeouts, and 2.16 ERA landed him in the Hall of Fame. And if there were a hall of fame for flakes in baseball, Rube would have been a first-ballot electee. If a plane flew above the field, Rube would stop in the middle of a game. If Rube heard the siren of a firetruck, he’d drop his glove and chase it. He once left in the middle of a game to go fishing. Opposing fans knew that Rube was easily distracted so they brought puppies to the game and held them up in the stands to throw him off. Rival teams brought puppies into the dugout for the same reason, knowing that Rube would drop his glove and run over to play with them every time. Shiny objects seemed to put Rube in a trance. His eccentric behavior led to constant battles with his managers and scuffles with bad-tempered teammates. Even though he was a standout pitcher, Rube’s foulball stories came off his bat, not out of his hand.
On August 11, 1903, the Philadelphia Athletics were visiting the Red Sox. In the seventh inning, Rube Waddell was at the plate. Waddell lifted a foul ball over the right field bleachers that landed on the roof of a Boston baked bean cannery next door. The ball rolled to a stop and became wedged in the factory’s steam whistle, which caused it to go off. It wasn’t quitting time yet, but the workers abandoned their posts, thinking it was an emergency. The employee exodus caused a giant caldron full of beans to boil over and explode. Suddenly, the ballpark was showered by scalding hot beans. Nine days before, on August 2, another foul ball off the bat of Waddell hit a spectator, supposedly igniting a box of matches in the fan’s pocket and ultimately setting the poor guy’s suit on fire and causing an uproar.
Waddell’s 1903 E107 Card.
George Burns Detroit Tigers.
Still, a foul ball hit by the aptly named George Burns of the Tigers in 1915 is worth mentioning in the same breath. His “scorching” foul liner struck an unlucky fan in the area of his chest pocket, where he was carrying a box of matches. The ball ignited the matches, and a soda vendor had to come to the rescue, dousing the flaming fan with bubbly to put out the fire.
Richie Ashburn Philadelphia Phillies.
Richie Ashburn figures in many of the best foul ball stories in baseball lore. A contact hitter, Ashburn had the ability to foul off many consecutive pitches till he found one he liked. On one occasion, he fouled off fourteen consecutive pitches against Corky Valentine of the Reds. Another time, he victimized Sal “The Barber” Maglie for “18 or 19″ fouls in one at-bat. ”After a while,” said Ashburn, “he just started laughing. That was the only time I ever saw Maglie laugh on a baseball field.” Ashburn’s bat control was such that one day he asked teammates to pinpoint a particularly offensive heckler seated five or six rows back. The next time up, Ashburn nailed the fan in the chest. On another occasion, Ashburn unintentionally injured a female fan who was the wife of a Philadelphia newspaper sports editor. Play stopped as she was given medical aid. Action resumed as the stretcher wheeled her down the main concourse, and, unbelievably, Ashburn’s next foul hit her again. Thankfully, she escaped with minor injuries.
Luke Appling Chicago White Sox.
Another notable foul ball hitter was Luke Appling, the Hall of Fame shortstop with a career batting average of .310. As the story goes, Appling once asked White Sox management for a couple of dozen baseballs, so he could autograph them and donate them to charity. Management balked, citing a cost of several dollars per baseball. Appling bought the balls from his team, then went out that day and fouled off a couple dozen balls, after which he tipped his hat toward the owner’s box. He never had to pay for charity balls again, the legend goes.
1934 Cardinals The Gashouse Gang: Pepper Martin, Terry Moore & Ducky Medwick.
Another great foul ball story involves Pepper Martin and Joe Medwick of the St. Louis Cardinals famous Gas House Gang teams of the mid-1930s. With Martin at bat, Medwick took off from first base, intending to take third on the hit-and-run. Martin fouled the ball into the stands, and Reds catcher Gilly Campbell reflexively reached back to home plate umpire Ziggy Sears for a new ball. Then, just for fun, Campbell launched the ball down to third, where Sears, forgetting that a foul had just been hit and that he had given Campbell a new ball, called Medwick out. The Cardinals were furious, but not wanting to admit his error, Sears refused to reverse his call, and Medwick was thrown out-on a foul ball!
Cal Ripken, Jr.
The great Cal Ripken Jr. made life imitate art with a foul ball in 1998. In the movie The Natural, Roy Hobbs lofts a foul ball at sportswriter Max Mercy, as Mercy sits in the stands drawing a critical cartoon of the slumping Hobbs. Baltimore Sun columnist Ken Rosenthal faced a similar wrath of the baseball gods after he wrote a column in 1998 suggesting that it might be time for Ripken to voluntarily end his streak, at that point several hundred games beyond Lou Gehrig’s old record, for the good of the team. Ripken responded by hitting a foul ball into the press box, which smashed Rosenthal’s laptop computer, ending its career. When told of his foul ball’s trajectory, Ripken responded with one word: “Sweet.”
Another sweet story involves a father and son combination. In 1999, Bill Donovan was watching his son Todd play center field for the Idaho Falls Braves of the Pioneer League. Todd made a nice diving catch and threw the ball back into the second baseman, who returned it to the pitcher. On the next pitch, a foul ball sailed into the outstretched hands of the elder Donovan. “I was like a kid when I caught it,” said the proud papa. “It made me wonder when was the last time that a father and son caught the same ball on consecutive pitches.”
One day in 1921, New York Giants fan Reuben Berman had the good fortune to catch a foul ball, or so he thought. When the ushers arrived moments later to retrieve the ball, Reuben refused to give it up, instead tossing it several rows back to another group of fans. The angered usher removed Berman from his seat, took him to the Giants’offices, and verbally chastised him before depositing him in the street outside the Polo Grounds. An angry and humiliated Berman sued the Giants for mental and physical distress and won, leading the Giants, and eventually other teams, to change their policy of demanding foul balls be returned. The decision has come to be known as “Reuben’s Rule.”
While Berman’s case was influential, the influence had not spread as far as Philadelphia by 1922, when 11-year-old fan Robert Cotter was nabbed by security guards after refusing to return a foul ball at a Phillies game. The guards turned him over to police, who put the little tyke in jail overnight. When he faced a judge the next day, young Cotter was granted his freedom, the judge ruling, “Such an act on the part of a boy is merely proof that he is following his most natural impulses. It is a thing I would do myself.” The tide eventually changed for good, and the practice of fans keeping foul balls became entrenched. World War II was another time when patriotic fans and owners worked together to funnel the fouls off to servicemen. A ball in the Hall of Fame’s collection is even stamped “From a Polo Grounds Baseball Fan,” one of the more than 80,000 pieces of baseball equipment donated to the war effort by baseball by June 1942.
Marine Private First Class George Benson Jr.
One of those baseballs may well have been involved in one of the strangest of all foul ball stories. In a military communique datelined “somewhere in the South Pacific,” the story is told of a foul ball hit by Marine Private First Class George Benson Jr., which eventually traveled 15 miles. Benson’s batting practice foul looped up about 40 feet in the air, where it smashed through the windshield of a landing plane. The ball hit the pilot in the face, fracturing his jaw and knocking him unconscious. A passenger, Marine Corporal Robert J. Holm, muttering a prayer, pulled back on the throttle and prevented the plane from crashing, though he had never flown before. The pilot recovered momentarily and brought the plane to a landing at the next airstrip, 15 miles away.
President Jimmy Carter.
In 1996, at the age of 71, former President Jimmy Carter made a barehanded catch of a foul ball hit by San Diego’s Ken Caminiti, while attending a Braves game. “He showed good hands,” said Braves catcher Javy Lopez.
With foul balls by this time an undeniable right for fans at the ballpark, what are your actual chances of catching a foul ball at a game? Well, to start with, the average baseball is in play for six pitches these days, which makes it sound as though there will be many chances to catch a foul ball in each game. While comprehensive statistics are not available, various newspapers have sponsored studies which, uncannily, seem quite often to come down to 22 or 23 fouls into the stands per game.
That seems like a healthy number until you look at average major league attendance at games. In the year 2000, the average game was attended by 29,938 fans. With 23 fouls per game, that works out to a 1 in 1,302 chance of catching a foul ball. With numbers like that, no wonder it feels so special to catch a foul ball. Nevertheless, those who yearn to catch a foul ball can improve their chances. I have listed some tips to help you bring home that elusive foul ball. Good luck!
So what did you get for Mother’s Day this year? I hope it was something fun, delicious, or useful, but just in case the answer was nothing, this article might make you feel a little better. Every year, as the boys of summer take the field anew, I try to dig up a baseball story that you may have never heard of before. Or, if you’ve heard of it, perhaps you’re not familiar with or don’t recall all the details. I was lucky enough to meet Baseball Hall of Famer Bob Feller on several occasions. I suppose the most memorable was on July 27, 1984. That was the day of the Cracker Jack Baseball Old-Timers Dream Game at the Hoosier Dome Downtown. I was midway through my term as Deputy Auditor for the state of Indiana, and my office was a short walk to the Dome and an even shorter walk to the Embassy Suites Hotel where the players were staying. So I strolled over and took an extended lunch hour to see if I could meet any of the players as they checked in. I was fortunate that day and had the opportunity to meet Joe DiMaggio, Sal “The Barber” Maglie, Billy Williams, Tony Oliva, Don Larsen, Minnie Minoso, Don Newcombe, Luke Appling, and Bob Feller. Mr. Feller was a gentleman and we talked for a little bit after he checked in. I told him that in my opinion, he was (along with Nolan Ryan and Bob Gibson) one of the three greatest pitchers of my lifetime. I asked him if he could still throw (I think he was 66 at the time) and if so, how fast can he bring it. He answered, “Well, I could still hit 85-90 mph, I guess. If I didn’t want to comb my hair for a month.”
Bob Feller of the Cleveland Indians.
This story is about Bob Feller and his mom on Mother’s Day 1939. Robert William Andrew Feller, nicknamed “the Heater from Van Meter”, “Bullet Bob”, and “Rapid Robert”, was born on November 3, 1918, in Van Meter, Iowa. As a teenager, Feller was a shortstop/outfielder, but by the age of 15, he began to pitch and never looked back. In 1936, Feller was signed by legendary Cleveland Indians scout Cy Slapnicka for one dollar and an autographed Indians team baseball. A prodigy who bypassed baseball’s minor leagues, Feller made his Major League debut at the age of 17 in a relief appearance against the Washington Senators on July 19, 1936. A month later, on August 23, Feller made his first career start against the St. Louis Browns. Feller struck out all three batters he faced in the first inning on his way to recording 15 strikeouts (highest ever at the time for a starting pitcher’s debut) and earned his first career win. Three weeks later, he struck out 17 in a win over the Philadelphia Athletics, tying Dizzy Dean’s single-game strikeout record. He finished that first season with a 5–3 record over 14 games, 47 walks and 76 strikeouts in 62 innings. Then, Feller traveled back to Van Meter for his Senior Year of high school. The governor of Iowa met him at the door on that first day.
For the start of the 1937 season, Feller appeared on the cover of the April 19, 1937, issue of Time magazine. Rookies appearing on magazine and video game covers have been a longtime curse in the sports world. Feller was no different.After that Time cover, during his first appearance of the season on April 24, Feller blew out his elbow throwing a curveball. He spent April and May healing and traveled back to Van Meter to graduate high school in May in a ceremony that was aired nationally on NBC Radio. For the 1937 season, Feller finished 9-7 despite his 0-4 start. He allowed only 116 hits while striking out 150 batters against a paltry 106 walks pn just under 149 innings.
Bob Feller’s 1938 Goudey Card.
For the 1938 season, Feller led all pitchers with 208 walks and 240 strikeouts. Feller pitched in 39 Major League games during the 1938 regular season finishing with 17 wins, 11 losses, and 1 save. He allowed 225 hits and finished with a 4.08 E.R.A. with no hit batters, no wild pitches, and no intentional walks. On April 20, 1938, Feller pitched the first of his 12 career one-hitters in the Cleveland Indians’ 9-0 win over the St. Louis Browns. His biggest fan, his mother Lena, was bedridden and sick with pneumonia, so she could only listen to her son’s milestone game on the radio and cheer from home. It was the Indians’ second game of the new season Cleveland’s fireballing right-hander was nearly unhittable. The only hit came in the sixth inning off a weak grounder back to the mound by St. Louis Browns’ catcher Billy Sullivan who beat out an infield hit. Two-time all-star and 1935 batting champion Buddy Myer told the papers, “Bob Feller’s fastball comes at you looking like a shirt button-and as easy to hit.”
The Feller Family.
Since it was her son’s first game of the season, the Feller house was full of Iowa newspaper reporters, hungry for quotes and reactions from the phenom’s parents. “That’s fine,” Feller’s mother said to her husband, “but it’s a shame he couldn’t have had a no-hit game.” Her nonplussed reaction was no surprise when it came to her son’s prowess on the mound. Lena C. Feller was quite used to her son’s greatness and habit of throwing no-hitters. In 1936, he pitched five no-hitters for Van Meter High School before he went on to help the Indians in the season, all before graduating high school in 1937. Growing up on a farm west of Des Moines, Feller developed great strength and broad shoulders while performing his daily chores. That work helped him throw blazing fastballs. When he was 8 years old, he threw a baseball so hard it broke three of his father William Andrew Feller’s ribs. The elder Feller built his son a ballfield one-quarter mile east of the farmhouse, complete with bleachers and a concession stand. The ballfield has been called the “original Field of Dreams”. That farm was federally designated as a historic site in 1999. In his 2012 biography, Feller stated that if he could relive any moment of his life, it would be “Playing catch with my dad between the red barn and the house.”
Bob Feller in 1939.
Although already an all-star, 1939 was Bob Feller’s breakout season. He would lead the American League in wins (24), complete games (24), and innings pitched (296 and 2⁄3), and he led the majors for a second consecutive year in both walks (142) and strikeouts (246). And while Feller would repeat as an all-star in 1939, it was an incident on Sunday, May 14, 1939, Mother’s Day, that would be remembered by baseball fans for generations to come. Lena and Bill Feller, along with their 10-year-old daughter Marguerite and over 700 fans from Van Meter, made the 5-hour, 350-mile trip from Iowa to Comiskey Park in Chicago to see their 20-year-old hometown hero pitch against the White Sox in front of 28,000 fans. The Feller family sat in front-row box seats on the first baseline behind the visitors’ dugout.
Lena Feller and her son Bob.
In the last half of the third inning, Indians up 6 to 0, Feller delivered a pitch to right-handed palehose 3rd baseman Marv Owen. Feller threw a fastball at which Owen swung on hard but late. The foul ball screamed towards the first baseline and into the stands behind the Indians’ dugout, and a horrific CRACK! echoed onto the field. Instinctively, Rapid Robert Feller watched helplessly as the ball struck his mother above her eye, breaking her eyeglasses. News accounts differ as to whether it was her left eye or right eye, but the result was certain: the lenses shattered, lacerating her nose, eyes, and forehead. Blood poured from her eyelid and forehead. The crowd gasped, the Iowa fans shrieked, and Bob Feller froze on the pitcher’s mound. For a few moments stood “stark still,” visibly shaken and agonizing over the drama in the stands. Bob dashed to the box and watched helplessly as she was led off to Chicago’s Mercy Hospital, where stitches were required. The game was delayed as Cleveland Indians trainer Max “Lefty” Weisman rushed into the stands to tend to Mrs. Feller. Lefty escorted her “to a spot below the stands” where he gave Mrs. Feller emergency treatment.He assured his young pitcher that the wounds were not serious before, aided by Lena’s husband and daughter, helping her to a nearby car and driving her to Mercy Hospital. As soon as Lena was safely on her way, Feller retook the mound and struck Owen out. “There wasn’t anything I could do,” Feller later said, “so I went on pitching.” The incident shook him up, and unable to fully concentrate on the game, Feller allowed the White Sox to score three runs before he regained his composure. Settling down, Feller won the game 9 to 4.
William, Marguerite, and Pitcher Bob Feller Visiting Lena at the hospital.
At the hospital, 45-year-old Lena received six stitches to close the deepest cut. Doctors determined that Lena probably suffered a mild concussion,but luckily, an X-ray examination determined that her skull was not fractured and no bones were broken. The hospital announced that they expected her to make a full recovery. With the game now over, Bob sped to the hospital to check on his mom. He walked into Lena’s hospital room to find her sitting up in the hospital bed with her head swathed in bandages. He rushed to the bedside and embraced his mother in a hug and she said, “Everything is all right, I just didn’t see that ball coming.” Seeing that his mom was battered and bruised, but otherwise all right, Bob reminded her of his promise to win the game as a Mother’s Day present, which he did. Ironically, it was Bob Feller Day at the ballpark, so Bob was the one who received a gift that day in the form of a brand new portable radio presented before the game from the Iowa delegation. It was his sixth victory of the season, and Feller held the White Sox to six hits, seven walks, and struck out six batters. Another visitor to Lena’s room that day was Kennesaw Mountain Landis, former Hoosier (Delphi & Logansport) and sitting Commissioner of Major League Baseball, whose office was in Chicago.
Bob Feller’s no-hit game against the Chicago White Sox.
One newspaper, the May 15, 1939, Lancaster (Ohio) Eagle-Gazette, snarked off after the incident. “Bob Feller will ring up around $10,000 (in today’s money) on the side this year from his endorsements of candy, baseball equipment, breakfast foods, and what have you. That little sum should take care of Master Robert’s [problems].” As detailed above, Feller would recover nicely from the incident and have one of the best seasons of his career. It must be noted that the next year on April 16th, Opening Day of the 1940 season, Bob Feller threw his first no-hitter against, you guessed it, the Chicago White Sox at Comiskey Park. This time Marv Owen was not in the lineup, having been sold to the Boston Red Sox in December 1939, and Feller’s parents were safely at home listening to the game on the radio.
Alan E. Hunter 