Curveball (35 page)
Authors: Martha Ackmann
Former baseball commissioner A. Bartlett Giamatti once said, “Baseball is one of the few enduring institutions in America that has been continuous and adaptable and in touch with its origins. As a result, baseball is not simply an essential part of this country: it is a living memory of what American Culture at its best wishes to be.”
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Syd Pollock’s son, Alan, who rambled on the Clowns bus in 1953 and watched Toni’s lonely walks into the woods during rest stops, believed that as much as baseball tried Toni’s spirit, it also brought out the best in her. “I suppose the number of women who could travel and play like that, discriminated on the basis of race and sex the whole time, would be few,” he said. “And to do it with the energy and intensity of Toni Stone evidenced the power and beauty of the human spirit and made me proud to know her.” No one loved the game more or sacrificed more to play it, said San Francisco sportswriter Ron Thomas.
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If there were a scale to accurately weigh how much a baseball player loved the game, he wrote, few would top Toni Stone. Modern female athletes such Sheryl Swoopes and Venus and Serena Williams owe her a debt of gratitude for challenging stereotypes, umpire Bob Motley said.
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They stand on her shoulders.
Ernie Banks, who went from the 1953 season with the Kansas City Monarchs to eighteen years with the Chicago Cubs and eventually to baseball’s Hall of Fame, always wished he had known more about Toni Stone during their playing days. “I just wanted to know her and learn from her and her life. I missed that,” he said. “I didn’t see all of her struggle, but I saw some of it. She stood tall, didn’t give up and was very determined. It was rugged for her, but she dealt with all her stuff.” Banks credited Toni with helping him understand more about the inequity women face. “She kind of triggered my interest,” he said. “Young people, especially women of all races could learn something from her, from her self-esteem and self-worth. From standing up for what you believed in and dealing with unfairness.” Years after they had played together, Banks saw Toni at a San Francisco baseball game, but he didn’t get a chance to speak to her. “She was so talented,” he said.
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Of all the recognition Toni began receiving late in life, nothing meant more to her than the phone call from Cooperstown. There would be no induction, but Toni and other African American players were invited to the first official recognition of the Negro Leagues in the Hall of Fame’s history. “For the Love of the Game: A Reunion of the Major League Players of the Negro Leagues” convened over a long weekend in August 1991. Seventy-five former Negro Leaguers from the Cleveland Buckeyes, the Chicago American Giants, the Birmingham Black Barons, and the Kansas City Monarchs made their way to Cooperstown with walkers and wheelchairs, on the arms of wives and grandchildren, for a gathering that many said was as much about healing as it was recognition. “As the eighth commissioner of baseball,” Fay Vincent began, “I say to you with sorrow and regret, I apologize for the injustice you were subjected to. Every decent-thinking person in this country agrees. Your contribution to baseball was the finest kind because it was unselfish.”
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Old friends saw each other for the first time in decades. Henry Aaron met up with his old opponent Piper Davis from the Barons. Davis slapped the fifty-seven-year-old former rookie on the back. “Hey, the bat that used to whistle,” he said to Aaron. “Whistle—just like mine,” Davis joked. Players edged their way into the exhibit room, quietly and with reverence. “That’s my glove!” one gasped and nudged an old pal next to him.
USA Today
sent sports reporter David Steele to cover the event. “Do you know we had a woman player?” he heard Aaron say. “It didn’t cross my mind there could have been a woman,” Steele said. “I was shocked and felt stupid.” But when he saw the strong-looking woman with a thick head of dark hair and the carriage of an athlete, Steele admitted he “should have realized she was not one of the wives.”
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Stone exuded a powerful personality, Steele said, and was surrounded by well-wishers. Her good humor spilled over to mischievousness and playing tricks on old friends. Ralph “Big Cat” Johnson, an infielder with Toni with the Creoles and later the Monarchs, was eager to see her again. He walked around the room asking, “Has anyone seen Toni Stone?” People kept pointing him in different directions as he surveyed the crowd. “Ralph Johnson, you looking for me?” Toni asked, from right beside him. “Toni!” Johnson cried. She eyed him with amusement, saying, “‘Yeah, you tried to kill me, didn’t you?’” remembering the night in Iowa when Johnson’s forceful throw to second ripped through her glove and knocked her unconscious.
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Later in the weekend, players gathered in a ballroom for presentations of medallions by Henry Aaron. Some questioned Cooperstown’s commitment to inducting additional former Negro League players into the Hall of Fame. For the seventy-four men and one woman in the room, the unfinished work of equality was much on their minds, and they continued to prod. As the Hall of Fame representative concluded his official remarks, a small, high-pitched voice straining from the back of the room asked to be recognized. “Could I say something now, huh? I would like to thank those people who let me come to this deal,” a woman began. As her words began to flow, it was as if Toni had found what she hoped to say in the book she never wrote. “This is Toni Stone Alberga. I had an opportunity to play with some of the finest guys in the whole country. I started out in New Orleans…. It was barnstorm. Hand hungry. Just like Hank said. Tighten your belts up. That was it. Now when you get on the old bus you was hungry after that two dollars, you know. They thought I would leave and not come back, ’cause things were tough. Nuh uh. Baseball is my game. And I have seen a lot of these old-timers that I have to thank. Sometimes they pat me on the back, next time they use the foot. But I’m thankful! I’m thankful! Because I learned when I was in school. They told me Babe Ruth was a great guy. He’s a great guy, alright. But I had Josh Gibson. He’s a great guy, too. So, I feel highly honored and thanks … to all of you guys for seeing I was here, OK?”
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Like many athletes who can’t recall the date of an individual game from fifty years ago, but who can remember the exact arc of a single curveball, Toni could conjure up the happiest day of her life. It was a Sunday. She was barnstorming. Old Satchel Paige was on the mound playing a game for cash, then catching a train to pitch with his own team. As he often did, Satch would ask batters what pitch they wanted: fast or slow, inside or straight up the middle. So confident of his abilities, Paige would serve a player the ball just the way he liked it—then smile as the opponent swung wildly and missed. When Toni came up to bat, she knew Paige would give her the same treatment. “Hey, T.,” he yelled. “How do you like it?” Toni was nervous, shaking even, but played along and yelled back, “It doesn’t matter. Just don’t hurt me.” Satchel wound up. Would the pitch be Paige’s famous hurry up ball, the bat dodger, the two-hump blooper, or the bee ball? All Toni could see was Satchel’s big front shoe rearing high for the kick. He let loose. The pitch raced toward her, buzzing like a swarm of bees, and broke inside. She swung, connected, and the white ball sailed over second base for a hit. Toni was so surprised and happy with the single that she started laughing on her way to first base. When she turned around Satchel was laughing, too. “It was a lulu,” Toni said. The first baseman, none too pleased that a woman had a hit off Satchel Paige, mumbled as she rounded the base. “You’re a fool,” he said. “The hell I am,” Toni responded, and kept on running.
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Toni Stone Alberga died November 2, 1996, in Alameda, California. The cause of death was heart failure.
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The Kansas City Monarchs also hold the distinction of having fourteen former players and club owner J. L. Wilkinson enshrined in baseball’s Hall of Fame. The players are Ernie Banks, Cool Papa Bell, Willard Brown, Andy Cooper, Willie Foster, Pop Lloyd, Jose Mendez, Satchel Paige, Jackie Robinson, Bullet Rogan, Cristobal Torriente, Turkey Stearns, Hilton Smith, and Willie Wells.
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Ernest Withers (1922–2007) took some of the most iconic photographs of the U.S. civil rights movement, including images of the 1962 integration of Ole Miss, the funeral of Medgar Evers, the Little Rock Nine, and Martin Luther King Jr. at the Lorraine Motel after the 1966 March Against Fear. Withers also documented the Memphis music scene and photographed Ray Charles, Sam Cooke, Aretha Franklin, Elvis Presley, Tina Turner, and others.
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Roy Bryant and J. W. Milan, the acquitted defendants in the Emmett Till murder trial, later boastfully confessed to the killing in
Life
magazine.
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The Boston Red Sox were the last major league team to integrate when they signed second baseman Elijah Jerry “Pumpsie” Green in 1959.
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Connie Morgan’s grave is Block 1, Lot 138, Grave 2 in Mount Lawn Cemetery in Sharon Hill, Pennsylvania.
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The 1972 legislation brought more equitable treatment to women and girls in educational programs receiving federal assistance. The most well-known aspect of the Educational Amendments of 1972 was Title IX, which called for equal funding of girls’ and women’s sports programs in federally funded schools. Since Title IX became law, girls’ participation in high school sports has increased 904 percent, 456 percent on the college level. Research also has shown that high school girls participating in sports are less likely to use drugs or become pregnant and are more likely to earn higher grades and graduate than their non-participating counterparts (data from Women’s Sports Foundation).
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The baseball complex in Toni Stone’s name is located at 1227 Marshall Avenue in Saint Paul’s Dunning Field Complex. It was dedicated in 1997. Roger Nieboer’s play
Tomboy Stone
premiered in Saint Paul in January 2007.
I
have been the lucky recipient of much help in writing
Curveball
and would like to thank family, friends, colleagues, and fellow baseball researchers for their generosity in making this book possible. Their advice made this book better; any errors are my own. Members of the Society for American Baseball Research (SABR) showed me a zeal for the study of baseball that I found enormously fun and inspiring. I would like to recognize Jean Hastings Ardell, Tom Garrett, Leslie Heaphy, Kyle McNary, Wayne Stivers, and Stew Thornley for their assistance. Larry Lester deserves special recognition. His attention to detail, suggestions, and encouragement (“Go, Toni, Go!”) meant the world to me.
Research for this book took me all over the country—into archives, bookstores, barbershops, libraries, newspaper offices, jazz halls, baseball parks, church basements, museums, and people’s homes. It was a great way to spend a couple of years. For their help, I would like to thank Leah Aquillar, Ernie Banks, Maria Bartlow-Reed, Donna DeVore, Ray Doswell, Doug Grow, Brendan Henehan, Steve Horn-bostel, Wendell Maxey, Roger Nieboer, Naja Palm, Andrew Salinas, David Sanford, Miki Turner, and Walt Wilson. I also would like to acknowledge Christopher Benfey, Constance H. Buchanan, Tara Fitzpatrick, Suzanne Juhasz, Donal O’Shea, and Susan Perry for paving the way for this book. The wonderful Research and Instructional Support (RIS) staff at Mount Holyoke College’s Williston Memorial Library, particularly James Gehrt, Chrissa Godbout, and Leigh Mantle, cheerfully bailed me out and plugged me in. My 2008–2009 year at the Radcliffe Institute for Advanced Study was a dream come true and I am grateful for generative conversations with my “fellow fellows,” especially Gail Mazur. Friends, of course, offer help of a more personal kind, and I am grateful for the support and good humor of Christina and Sara Barber-Just (who also suggested the book’s title) as well as James Fitzpatrick, Donna Gaylord, Janet Schulte, Sherril Willis, and Kathy Dempsey Zimmerman.
Uncovering this forgotten story proved to be a prodigious challenge, and I was aided by exceptional research assistants. Mary McClintock has long been my go-to detective for locating difficult-to-find materials. At the Radcliffe Institute, Harvard students Rachael Goldberg ’12 and Spencer Lenfield ’12 brought both results and joy to the research process. Mount Holyoke College student assistants Betsy Johnson ’11, Megan Mallory ’04, Rachel Mallory ’07, and Tse-hay Shaw ’06 were dedicated researchers, especially when it came to reading endless reels of microfilm. During her four years at Mount Holyoke, Becca Groveman ’09 stayed with this project from start to finish and showed up at my office door always with a smile on her face and an important idea to share. I would be remiss if I did not recognize the help of my father, Florenze Ackmann, who offered a hand whenever I needed research back home in Missouri. My nephews, Christian Ackmann and Jonathan Ackmann, brought their keen eyes and impressive knowledge of baseball in helping me research the Kansas City Monarchs.
Over the years my literary agent, Ellen Geiger, has given me an endless supply of ideas and encouragement. I appreciate her potent combination of persistence and open-mindedness. Cynthia Sherry, Michelle Schoob, and Gerilee Hundt of Chicago Review Press have made this book tighter and sharper. I am lucky to have an editor like Cynthia Sherry who believes, as David Halberstam once observed, that every great sports story is also the story of a nation.
The gift of time is one of the most valuable beneficences a writer can receive. I would like to acknowledge several organizations that have afforded me that luxury. This work is supported by the John Simon Guggenheim Foundation, Mount Holyoke College, the Radcliffe Institute for Advanced Study at Harvard University, the Society for the Study of American Baseball Research, and a Collaborative Gender and Women’s Studies Research Grant awarded to Scripps College by the Andrew W. Mellon Foundation.