“Commy”

Title: “Commy:”  The Life Story of Charles A. Comiskey, The “Grand Old Roman” of Baseball and for Nineteen Years President and Owner of the American League Baseball Team “The White Sox”

Location: Google Books       Date: 1919

There have been several biographies written about Charlie Comiskey (1859-1931) over the years, but this early one is intriguing because it was published in 1919, before the World Series Scandal (no mention of the World Series which would be expected) of that year and because of its title. Comiskey was most often called, “The Old Roman.” But, his friends called him “Commy.”

And, it is the final chapter of the book, titled BY ” COMMY ” HIMSELF, that is most interesting because Charlie talks about his own character and addresses some of his critics.

It is fitting that the man who has furnished the subject matter for the preceding chapters should have a hearing on his own account. Up to this time he has had a chance only to vouch for the facts, so permit the ” Old Roman ” to speak for himself:

By Charles A. Comiskey.

Having a biography prepared has always seemed to me as either superfluous or in the nature of an epitaph. The omission of both sometimes would seem to be of an advantage to the living. Also the ” story ” of a man should denote some achievement. I hope that what I have accomplished has been in the open, so it cannot be considered new. If it has not been out of the commonplace it should not be called noteworthy. Others have done as much as well, so I must consider it a special compliment of the author and publisher to have taken the chance they have in producing this book. I can furnish no secret documents from hidden archives but I can make the statement that the world has given me a square deal — possibly more than I am entitled to. I can think of no exception. It has been all the same whether I have been a temporary or a permanent guest in any community in which I have lived.

I was perfectly satisfied with the West Side of Chicago when I was in knickerbockers. I hope it was with me. They treated me fine in Milwaukee, in Elgin and Dubuque. No one could have been given more consideration than I was in St. Louis. It is impossible to register a kick against Cincinnati and it is with pleasure that I recall my five-year stay in St. Paul. I think I left with a fair share of the population my friends.

Naturally Chicago has seemed different to me from the rest. It has never ceased to be my home. 1 was born here and here I hope to finish. If the people think as much of me as I do of them there can be no grounds for disagreement There is no sectional feeling in my allegiance to the city of my birth because there happens to be a White Sox family on the South Side. I have as many personal friends on the West and North sides as I have on the South.

Words cannot express my real feelings towards the people of Chicago. Did I have the power of expression that others possess I would completely fail in voicing my appreciation of what they have done for me. They encouraged me when I first came to the city. Since then they have built a ball park for me and made it possible for me to get together teams which, at different times, have been fortunate enough to repay them for their outlay. Not I or my managers have won pennants for Chicago. The fans alone have raised the flags which have flown on the South Side.

Occasionally I have been charged with the crime of ” buying ” pennants. If I am guilty it has been for the sake of those who furnished the money. I have been counted a hard loser. My friends wanted me to have a winner. The fans have insisted upon it. The winning of individual ball games contributes to the total and without more victories at the end of the season than anyone else there would have been no championships.

I have fought for every point because, through bitter experience, I early learned that one lost decision sometimes may mean the loss of a pennant. It is the small things in life which count; it is the inconsequential leak which empties the biggest reservoir.

Many have spoken about my luck. I admit that I have been fortunate in many of my undertakings but I do not think that success is governed by the throw of the dice. I do not claim that I have been more foresighted than others. I have had my reverses but I have tried not to lose my appetite.

The real secret of my good luck has been that I could always figure on support. You can do wonders when you have everybody with you. I may not be able to figure out why my friends have been with me but they have. Perhaps it is because I have tried to be on the level with them. That should not be a source of pride to me as it is part of good business. No one has any license to brag because he is honest. That should be natural instinct and, besides, if you are not, they put you in jail. Honesty is merely a form of insurance.

I have been given credit, sometimes entirely unearned, for doing many things for the advancement of the game. I have fought for it because the game deserved it. Baseball is the greatest sport in the world. It is the cleanest, besides affording more people the right kind of amusement than any other. I do not say that because I have made my living at it. I say it from the heart. There have been reports now and then that I contemplate disposing of my ball club. I never had any such intentions. I would be lost without my team. I have spent my life in the game and I have no regrets. To me it has not been misspent.

Formerly sport was not regarded as a proper calling for young men. It is beginning to assume its rightful place in society. To me baseball is as honorable as any other business. It is the most honest pastime in the world. It has to be or it could not last a season out. Crookedness and baseball do not mix. It has become immeasurably more popular as the years have gone by. It will be greater yet. This year, 1919, is the greatest season of them all.

The reason for the popularity of the sport is that it fits in with the temperament of the American people and because it is on the square. Everything is done in the open. What the magnates do behind the screens the fans care nothing about.

Year by year a higher and higher class of players come into the game. This is not meant as a slur on those of the earlier days, the pioneers, but. it is a proof of the attraction it has for young men. The rewards of today are, of course, more in keeping with the efforts than was the case when I broke into the game. I started in at $3 a day. Now some players get that much a minute, counting their actual playing time.

As to a comparison between the players of my days and today there is no way of arriving at a conclusion. It is quite possible to pick a ” greatest team,” but the selection would be based purely on personal opinion. I think I had wonderful players in Caruthers, Foutz, Bill Gleason, O’Neill, Bushong and others, but it would be a matter of opinion to compare these with such stars as Ed “Walsh, Billy Sullivan, Jiggs Donohue, Joe Jackson, Happy Felsch, Eddie Collins, Ray Schalk, Eddie Cicotte and a score or more equally as good who have played for me on my Chicago teams.

We have Ty Cobb, Walter Johnson, Christy Mathewson, Babe Ruth, Grover Alexander, and a host of others. How would they have stacked up with Radbourne, Sweeney, Ramsey, Williamson, Barnes, Pfeffer, Anson, Clarkson, Kelly, and such outstanding figures? It is hard to tell. Batting averages and pitching records do not give the answer, as conditions under which they played were different from those of today.

Personally I think Ty Cobb of the Detroit team is the greatest player of all time. This is no disparagement to others. Ty is in a class by himself. He is a wonderful batter and would have been able to hit any kind of pitching in the old days as well. He is one of the speediest men in the game. He is as good a fielder as one would want, but above all he is a thinker when in the game. His mind works every minute and he carries the team along with him.

In sportsmanship there is little to differentiate the Eighties from the present. We fought to win then. The right kind of team does so now. Perhaps we were a little rougher about it than they are now and it seemed that we could stand harder knocks then than can players of today. I do not mean that the boys have less grit today. I have some of the gamest players in the world on my own team, but then there was less arnica on tap.

The spirit of the game remains the same and that is why I take pride in being identified with it. “With me baseball will never grow old. In my own estimation it may not have improved so much as many believe, but regardless of everything it is the same good old game. If I have contributed to its success I do not refer to this in the sense of boasting. I had to or fall out of the ranks. It was a fast game when I played it and the pace was hot. As the fans know, I have often had trouble in keeping up with it since then, but they have been forebearing. What I have tried to do has been my level best.

Photo Credit: CHARLES “THE OLD ROMAN” COMISKEY, The Chicago Black Sox Trial

Memorial of Robert McCormick

Title: Memorial of Robert McCormick: Being a Brief History of his Life, Character and Inventions

Location: Google Books       Date: 1885

This little book is a memorial to the inventor of the reaper, the machine that changed the West. His name was Robert Hall McCormick ( June 8, 1780 – July 4, 1846). Cyrus Hall McCormick  Sr, the man usually credited with the invention, ( February 15, 1809 – May 13, 1884)  was his son.

According to the publisher, “This book is a photo-engraved reprint of a pamphlet printed in Chicago in 1885. As it contains much valuable history, it is thought to be a suitable compliment to ” Overlooked Pages of Reaper History, Chicago, Illinois, 1897. The name of the author is not given in the original publication, but the contents show plainly an effort to establish the fact that to Robert McCormick and Leander McCormick of Virginia belongs the credit of inventing the McCormick reaper.”

J. Russell Parsons,
Lewis Miller,
John F. Steward.

Chicago, Illinois, June, 1898

Following is a statement from Robert’s nephew, William:

By William S. McCormick, of Wayne County, Missouri.

My name is William S. McCormick. I am seventy-six years of age. I was born in Augusta county, Virginia.

I am intimately acquainted with the invention of the McCormick Reaper. I saw this great machine progress step by step from the unsuccessful experiment, my uncle, Robert McCormick, first tried prior to the fall of 1828 or spring of 1829, when I went to live with my uncle, Robert McCormick. This machine was a small two wheeled reaper, drawn by a horse in shafts, with stationary cutters. This failed to work and it was laid aside by my uncle.

And I was personally present when my old uncle, Robt. McCormick, the father of C. H. [Cyrus] and L. J. McCormick, first conceived the idea of his second reaping machine, subsequently patented. This was in 18291 or 1830. I myself and one Samuel Hite were the men who did the work for Robert McCormick while he invented and experimented with the machine. I know that Robt. McCormick was the sole inventor of the reaping machine. His skillful brain invented each parcel of the reaper in the order I now name:

The machine was drawn by horses in front by the standing grain. It had a master-wheel, say three feet in diameter. The sickle was vibrating and driven by a crank which got its motion from gear wheels from the main axle. The sickle was supported by projecting fingers about three inches apart. Behind this sickle there was a platform on which the grain fell, where it was swept back by the revolving horizontal reel to the sickle and cut, and was faked by a man. The reel was supported by posts at each end and was driven by a band from the main axle.

The foregoing described machine was invented solely and alone by my uncle Robert McCormick. This I know. There can be no doubt about it whatever. I was present. I lived with my uncle and worked with him on this machine. He gave his orders and they were followed by myself and other workmen. He made his suggestions and we followed them. He directed changes and we made them. I know that the conception and creation was wholly from his own brain. I never heard, his right as the ‘ inventor of this machine questioned by any one, nor did I hear any one else at that time claim any of the invention. On the contrary I know that my uncle, Robt. McCormick, claimed the invention of the machine, He was endowed with a mind skilled and inventive, and he had invented other matters.

In witness of the foregoing statement, I have. hereunto set my hand this 5th day of June, 1880.

(Signed) Wm. S. McCormick.

March 4, 1880.

Cyrus McCormick  improved on the reaper built by his father and gain a patent for the machine in 1834, but he was not the inventor.

Hands Up! In the World of Crime

Title: Hands Up! In the World of Crime or 12 Years a Detective by Clifton Rodman Wooldridge

Location: Google Books       Date: 1901

Clifton Rodman Wooldridge was, in his own words, “Chicago’s famous detective” and served on the Chicago Police force from 1888 to July of 1901. Much of his career was spent cleaning up the notorious Custom House Levee, now known as Printer’s Row and the former home of the city’s most famous publishing houses. Hands Up! is a fascinating look back at a time and place where getting “booked” on Printer’s Row had an entirely different meaning.

PANEL HOUSES.

DESCRIPTION OF THOSE NOTORIOUS RESORTS OF VICE WHICH WERE BROKEN UP BY DETECTIVE WOOLDRIDGE.

So much has been said in the public press about “panel houses” that it is deemed expedient to devote a few pages in this work to a detailed description of them. With the accompanying illustration it is believed a very clear conception can be had of them by the reader.

A panel house is the invention of thieves of both sexes, and in them hundreds of thousands of dollars have been stolen from the unsuspecting victims of vicious women. They thrived a long time in the levee district of Chicago, which is that portion of the city bounded by the river on the north, Twenty-second street on the south, Lake Michigan on the east, and the Chicago river on the west.

The police gave these places the name of panel houses, the proprietors calling them simply houses of ill-repute or sporting houses. A panel house may contain two or more rooms, a whole flat, or an entire building, and is adapted to the accommodation of a few or a large number of visitors or victims according to the designs of the owner.

The rooms for guests are usually small in dimension, and contain but one bed. If there is only one door, holes are bored in this, in order that every move of the visitor may be seen by some one on the outside, to whom a signal is given at the proper time to enter and secure the visitor’s money.

This signal is usually given by a movement of the hand or foot of the companion of the intended victim.

The victim is always told to lock the door himself, which he does and is satisfied that it is safe and securely fastened against intruders. He is sadly in error, however, because the bolt of the lock can be worked from the outside. This is done by the use of a small nail or any piece of metal or wood which will fit into the slot in the woodwork of the door where the lock is. This slot is about an inch and a half long and one sixteenth of an inch wide. A small hole has been made in the bolt of the lock, and the tumbler or spring in the lock, which is operated by turning the key, has been partly filed away to permit the bolt to be worked back and forth by the use of the nail without causing the key to turn or to make any noise.

This slot in the door is so small that it can never be discovered except by accident or close inspection.

The hinges of the door have been well oiled, and it is opened without attracting the attention of the victim, who is occupying the bed at the opposite side of the room. If perchance any noise is made by the thief, the lights are instantly extinguished by a confederate, and the intended victim is held fast until the thief makes his or her escape.

If no noise is made the thief gets all the money and valuables to be found and goes out quietly, and the victim upon dressing discovers that he has been robbed. He finds the door securely locked and knows that his companion did not go near his clothes, and therefore could not have taken his money.

Sometimes he is induced to believe that he was robbed before he entered the place, or that he had lost his money, and goes away without complaining to the police. A three-room flat with doors opening into each other on the side is the best adapted to working the above described panel game. Although no panels are used in this case, it is included in what is known as panel house robberies.

Another method used by panel house keepers is to have secret closets built in their rooms in which the thief conceals herself until the proper opportunity presents itself to rob the victim.

Another method, and the one which gave these houses their name, is a moving or sliding panel. These are placed ingeniously in the walls or doors and are operated by secret and invisible springs.

These panels are usually concealed by pictures or curtains. In the room containing these panels, there is only one chair or sofa, which is placed against the wall or door beneath the panel. This is done for the purpose of forcing the victim to place his clothes, when he has undressed, near the panel, he being compelled to use the sofa or chair for a clothes rack.

The thief keeps informed of everything that occurs in the room by peering through the holes in the wall or door, and at the proper time quietly slides or removes the panel, reaches in for the victim’s clothes, rifles them of money and jewelry, puts them back in their place, and when the poor dupe discovers his loss, he is confronted by a mystery which he is unable to solve.

In some cases long poles are used to get the victim’s clothes. If they are by accident or intention laid off beyond reach of the thief’s crafty hand, this pole with a hook frequently accomplishes the designs of the robber. Of course, in every case the plunder is divided with the companion of the victim.

The lock used on the doors of these rooms is the enterprise and ingenuity of a well-known saloon keeper who at one time owned several panel houses. He sold a number of these locks to the keepers of other panel houses, for which he received several hundred dollars each.

In cases of robbery keepers of panel houses try in many ways to prevent their victim from complaining to the police. One of these plans is to have a man or boy stationed in front of the houses, who is called a trailer. When the victim of robbery leaves the house this trailer is informed by signs made from a window, how much money has been taken. The trailer then follows the victim, and if it is ascertained that he is going to the police station he is intercepted and taken back to the scene of the robbery, it having been suggested that he may be able to get some of his money back or to get some assistance. If it is found that the victim is a stranger in the city, she will offer to procure his transportation to his home, declaring that he was robbed by an outsider and protesting that she could not possibly afford to allow such a thing to occur in her house. Sometimes this stops a complaint at the police station, and the victim leaves the city a poorer but wiser man.

To show the vast extent to which this panel house thieving is carried, it is only necessary to state that $1,500,000 were stolen annually in 1892, 1893 and 1894.

Ten thousand dollars have been taken this way in the levee district in one night, and from fifty to one hundred cases of larceny have been reported to the police in twenty-four hours.

Ten thousand dollars have been offered by these panel house keepers and those who shared their ill-gotten gains for the removal of Detective Wooldridge from the secret service work of the city. These thieves often had the protection of a certain class of politicians, and it is said of some officials also, who participated in the profits of their highway robbery.

It is but giving credit to whom it belongs, however, to say that Mayor Carter H. Harrison, during his several terms as the city’s chief executive, gave support and encouragement to all efforts to wipe out these panel houses. He, like other good citizens, looked upon them as a burning disgrace and a low form of lawlessness that should be exterminated.

Detective Wooldridge, in his vigilance and determination, closed fifty-two of these panel houses in 1896. He closed and broke up forty-five of these places in the latter part of 1898, and in 1899 he secured the indictment and conviction of twenty-eight panel house keepers at one time. Following this, he secured the indictment of the property owners who rented houses to these thieves, and this last stroke put an end to the panel house business in Chicago.

Through the excellent work of Detective Wooldridge, seven of the toughest strong-arm footpad women in the world were sent to the penitentiary. Their thefts, according to the police records, are said to have amounted to $425,000. The names of the women follow: Emma Ford, Pearl Smith, Flossie Moore, Minnie Shouse, Mary White, Alice Kelly, and Mattie Smith.