Over the course of his career, Joe Jackson found ways to improve his game-play, sharpening his skills and curtailing any bad habits. He was embarrassed by on-field mistakes—never wanting to show any kind of mental slip before the public—and worked extra hard to avoid repeating the same blunders. Hitting always came naturally, but on defense he faced a number of challenges, and no one who watched him, reported his games, or played alongside him would have called Jackson a brilliant outfielder. In fact, a reporter for the Washington Post said he was an “ordinary fielder” in 1914, while another journalist referred to him as “mediocre” in The Sporting News the same year.1 More often than not, he was overshadowed by his sensational outfield mates like Joe Birmingham or Happy Felsch, but Jackson was fully capable of creating memorable moments of his own.
He was known to launch pinpoint throws from the outfield to double up a greedy runner, and that included players testing his arm trying to score. Jackson prided himself on his distance throwing and would entertain fans by hurling the ball from around the outfield wall to the plate when there was no direct need to do so. Oftentimes he was just being showy and drawing applause by demonstrating his arm strength.2 Jackson made smart choices, too, bluffing in certain instances to draw runners into a false sense of security, only to make the out. In 1916, he recorded 17 assists from the outfield—his most in several years—but also knew when to play it safe and avoid potential trouble. While his arm strength was never in question, he was often hindered by the sun when chasing fly balls to a great degree and never really got the hang of it. As a result, Joe was shifted on occasion, depending on the stadium, to give a better versed player rule of the “sun-field.”
Chicago manager Clarence Rowland later denied such a practice. “Every one of my regular outfielders is a sun-fielder,” he exclaimed in 1917.3 But across baseball, Jackson’s limitations were common knowledge. Playing the left- and right-field lines, Joe did remarkably well and was quick to cut off extra-base hits. He learned to deal with the various heights of stadium walls, some of which were quite short (like Shibe Park in Philadelphia), and handled tricky caroms with increasingly better expertise as the years went by. But in those same years, he came face-to-face with the reality that he just wasn’t as fast as he used to be. Whether he was chasing a ball or running the bases, he was a few steps slower and unable to perform many of the feats that had once come easy to him. There was a time, years earlier, when he was considered one of the fastest men in baseball. In 1910, a New Orleans pundit declared Joe was circling the bases at a clip “that no base-runner in America could have beaten.”4
An eminent sportsman in Cleveland, George Dietrich, who worked at a major horse track and deemed an expert timer, made a few startling proclamations in 1911. After recording Joe’s trip from the plate to first in 2.25 seconds, he stated: “If this is not record time, it is precious close to it. I have timed a good many other players over the same route, and I never caught another man under 2.75 seconds. I really believe Jackson to be the fastest man in running out a hit that has ever been seen in baseball. I know he is the fastest man I ever have seen and I have been watching the major league boys more than twenty years.”5 Of course, the outspoken Ty Cobb had something to say to these claims, calling it the “worst kind of buncombe.” He said: “I have timed a great many men to first and have never yet seen the feat accomplished in less than 3.4.”6
Dietrich may indeed have been wrong. Jackson was timed at 4.2 seconds during spring training in 1911, and his former teammate, Fred Blanding, verbalized to a reporter in 1914 what many insiders had already realized.7 “Jackson isn’t a fast man going down to first base,” he explained. “He is thrown out on many a hit that any ordinarily swift base runner would beat out. He’s a light-footed person after he has turned first; not even Cobb himself [would] make more bases on a long drive. But it takes time for him to get started. By the time he is rounding second base on a trip, say, or a possible homer, Jackson is going just about as fast as any man in the American League can cover ground. But that doesn’t help him to any singles. It handicaps him, too, as a base runner. Jackson looks to be a long way off first most of the time and he is. But he’s not very often in the right position to steal.”8
Nevertheless, Jackson did get his steals. He grabbed 41 in 1911 and another 35 the following year, including swiping home twice in the same game against New York on August 11, 1912. (A major league record he still holds to this day, although tied with ten others.) But in the years that followed, his numbers dropped to 26 in 1913, to 22 in 1914, and to 16 in 1915. Proving that he was recharged in Chicago, he stole eight more bags in 1916 than the previous year, but his dwindling speed—or other miscues—led to being caught on the paths 14 times. Going into the 1917 season, opposing pitchers didn’t have to worry much about Jackson looking to take an extra base, as his threat to run was clearly not what it had used to be. Clark Griffith, manager of the Washington Senators, simply said that Jackson did “not shine as a base-runner,” but had no problem publicly acknowledging his many other attributes.9
In the case of the Chicago White Sox, the baseball gods smiled upon its franchise that winter, at least in the opinion of several sportswriters. It was no secret that the team had struggled with stabilizing the first base position for some time, as Clarence Rowland played five different players at the position in 1916. The sizable Jack Fournier, who hit .322 the previous year, was the primary aspirant, but he slumped both at bat and in the field, making 22 errors in 85 games at first and hit a lowly .240. Rookie Jack Ness was also rotated into the spot, but his .267 average and 15 errors were only a shade better than Fournier. The Sox wanted a proven commodity, an experienced battler, and someone who could add an additional punch to their lineup. When Rowland and Charles Comiskey heard that Cleveland was looking to shed some excess after signing a rumored prodigy from the Pacific Coast League, they swooped in and purchased the type of man they were looking for, a six-year veteran of the major leagues.10
The player, Arnold Gandil, incidentally, was an ex-member of the Sox, having begun his big-league career with the organization in 1910. At that time, he was a rough-around-the-edges rookie and toiled in vain to meet the cunning deliveries of expert pitchers. Gandil, better known as “Chick,” had outward potential, but Comiskey sold him to Montreal of the Eastern League, believing he needed more refinement.11 The Washington Senators later acquired him and profited from his maturation, as Gandil hit .318 in 1913, and was a critical factor in the club’s second-place finish. However, his batting average fell below .300 the following year, and he often butted heads with manager Clark Griffith, occasionally displaying his aggressive personality. These factors made him dispensable, and he was sent to Cleveland prior to the 1916 season. But his discord with management continued there and his lack of significant production (.259 batting average) again weakened his job stability.12
Despite all the negative talk about Gandil, Comiskey liked his first base work.13 He felt the possible benefits outweighed the risks, and “Chick” was purchased in late February 1917 for $3,500.14 John Alcock in the Chicago Daily Tribune was thrilled, telling readers, “Get Your Seat for [the] ’17 Series!”15 He apparently believed the addition was the final piece in the White Sox machine to complete a championship-caliber club. But not all writers agreed with that sentiment. Mark Shields in the Chicago Day Book declared that the arrival of Gandil did “not materially change the first base situation.” He insisted that “Chick” was “woefully slow,” having had “trouble with his legs for two or three years.” Shields instead recommended Fred McMullin for first base, stating that the latter had the “ability to make good at any infield position.”16 While it was true that Gandil had previous knee problems and wasn’t the nimblest first baseman in the majors, he was being brought in to start for the Sox, regardless of various opinions.
On March 5, 1917, Joe Jackson appeared in Mineral Wells, Texas, with his wife, ready to begin spring training. He was joined the next day by a majority of his teammates, as the special train from Chicago pulled into town.17 The aforementioned strike being deliberated by the Players’ Fraternity fizzled out and everyone but Jack Ness, who decided to retire after receiving a contract for $500 less than he received in 1916, was seemingly satisfied with the money Comiskey offered. Spirits were high, even with the looming threat of American military action in Europe on the horizon. To incorporate a sense of patriotism and discipline into their preseason rituals, the Sox brought along an army sergeant named Walter Smiley to act as a part-time military instructor for the players.18 Other teams did likewise. The athletes took it in stride and accepted the marching and rifle drills without objection.
The military training worked miracles for the Sox. Not only did it contribute to their physical health, but strengthened their minds and built a remarkable sense of teamwork and camaraderie. The added layer of discipline almost singlehandedly prevented the rise of damaging cliques and kept the men working toward the same goal. Jackson was among those to experience physical gains, and he unloaded a homer during an exhibition in the small town of Smithville, Texas, on March 23.19 While his body was ready for the upcoming grind, he suffered a bit of bad luck when injuring a tendon in his ankle, and was later cut in nearly the same location by an opposing player’s spike.20 His ailments were serious enough to sideline him, and even though a physician told Joe to rest, it was hard to keep him away from the field.21 He was back in the thick of things within a few days.
In the press, there was usual support for Jackson in the coming batting race, and syndicated sportswriter Grantland Rice featured a blurb from a supposed correspondent named “Carolina Pete” in a March column. The latter said: “It is Joe Jackson’s time to reach the top this season, as he is long overdue. He has an average for five or six years above .360. He came back again last year after a slump, and if he doesn’t finish in front of Cobb and Speaker this time, I’ll eat his bat.”22 It was obvious that Jackson’s loyal fans were ready to see him finally win league honors. Too many years had passed with too many close calls, and aside from his ankle troubles, Joe was believed to be in the right kind of condition to initiate a historic campaign. These hopes remained in place when the Sox opened its season at St. Louis on April 11, 1917, but it was soon apparent that Jackson wasn’t himself at the plate. His confidence, and the famous consistency that drove his average above .350 earlier in his career, were both absent.
By May 6, Jackson was batting a mere .217 and some of his teammates—Eddie Collins, Chick Gandil, and Ray Schalk among them—were performing even worse. Swede Risberg, a highly touted rookie from the Pacific Coast League, who did so well during spring training that he earned the starting shortstop spot, was hovering around the .130 mark. None of the poor hitting made sense considering the kind of talent Chicago possessed, but strangely, in spite of the feeble offense, the Sox were still winning. The club won nine of its first 11 games and held first place for most of April. Pitching and overall teamwork, with small contributions from everyone—including utility players—were giving them the edge. When Jackson and Collins failed to hit in a pinch, guys like Eddie Murphy, Nemo Leibold, and Shano Collins stepped up. Buck Weaver and Happy Felsch continued to play their usual roles, and the united effort was producing amazing results.
During the first week of May, Joe was handicapped by illness, missed one game at Cleveland, and was fatigued in at least two others.23 He certainly recognized his own ineffective play and upped his small-ball game to aid the team. That meant more bunting, sacrificing, and improved base-running. But some of Jackson’s ideas were good in concept, though not in execution. For instance, against the Yankees on May 10, he tried to stretch a single into a double against Elmer Miller and was gunned down at second.24 Two days later, in his enthusiasm, he ran past second a little too far on a tight play, and was thrown out by Home Run Baker before he could return safely to the bag.25 In yet another game, he was nailed at second trying for a stolen base, but had he resisted the urge, he would have scored when Felsch doubled later in the inning.26
The fans in Chicago witnessed some exciting moments in support of their team. On May 24, 1917, the Sox and Washington Senators matched up in what the Chicago Daily Tribune called, “one of the most brilliant defensive battles ever at Comiskey Park.” The two teams entered the bottom of the 12th without a run on the board, but the Sox were determined to bring things to a satisfactory conclusion. It started when Jackson got himself aboard with a base hit to right field, followed by Felsch sacrificing him over to second. George Dumont, on the mound for the Senators, then threw a wild pitch to Gandil and the ball sailed to the wall behind home plate. Jackson saw nothing but the victory ahead of him and raced around third looking to score. As the voices in the stadium cheered in unison, Joe scraped across the plate by the skin of his teeth and brought home the 1–0 victory.27
Although last in the league in hitting, the Sox were still at the top of the standings, which was evidence enough that manager Clarence Rowland and coach Kid Gleason were inspiring their players to pull out all the stops.28 Jackson boosted his average into the .270–.285 range, and though no one on the club was much over .300, their bats had certainly begun to warm up.
Pitching was a saving grace throughout this period of dismal offense, and thirty-three-year-old Eddie Cicotte was leading the staff with exceptional control. En route to 28 victories for the season, he was one of the most dominant pitchers in 1917, and nearly every team he faced succumbed to the effects of his supposed “shine ball.” But the “shine ball” was mythology, according to Cicotte. He claimed it was something he devised along with Happy Felsch. “The idea was to rub the ball in a peculiar way to make the batsman think I was doing something to it. I wasn’t really, but others thought I was,” he told a reporter.29
Cicotte might not have wanted to admit it, but the shine ball was, in fact, very real. He had originally learned it from Dave Danforth, and by 1917 was practicing the pitch with perfection.30 However, everyone in baseball at the time was confused, unsure if it was real or plain fiction. Some rivals believed it to be an illegal delivery and wanted league president Ban Johnson to investigate. That led to balls being sent to labs for examination, but there was never any evidence of wrongdoing. But that did not stop the rumor mill. Sportswriter Fred Lieb actually heard from members of the Yankees who claimed to have seen a sponge jutting out from Cicotte’s pocket and cited the latter’s use of talcum powder as part of his trickster repertoire.31 “Cicotte has been accused of using everything from English breakfast tea to crude petroleum on the ball,” wrote Louis Lee Arms in 1917. “Yet those balls which umpires captured have shown nothing. The shine ball is an extra knuckle ball, and that is all there is to it.”32
New York writer Damon Runyon called Cicotte a “chunky right-hander,” and described his pre-pitch motions as first taking the ball to a spot on his knee, then rubbing it on his shirt prior to delivery. He also reminded his readers that nothing was ever found to support the accusations that he was doing anything illegal.33 But just Cicotte’s actions of rubbing the ball were enough to drive opposing batters and managers crazy, even if it was just a ruse when throwing his shine ball. To that degree, it had great psychological effects, and psychology was an important part of Chicago’s success beginning in 1917. The smarter baseball men on the team, beginning with Kid Gleason and funneling down to the likes of Cicotte, helped perpetuate a system of coordinated methods to win the mental war during a ballgame. That included the art of trash-talking, a custom Gleason was a master at. But there were many other tricks in his bag.
During a game against Cleveland on August 15, 1917, Cicotte was taking some abuse on the mound and Gleason decided to interject. He appeared from the dugout carrying a mysterious white handkerchief, rushed over to Fred McMullin at third base, handed him the cloth, and returned to the bench. It was a swift maneuver, but everyone, including the Indians, noticed. McMullin then brought it to Cicotte and returned to his spot on the field. Gleason’s thought was that the handkerchief would represent a certain “replenishing” of the “dope” Cicotte used to make his pitches so effective. Whether it was some kind of jelly or other foreign substance, Gleason gave it to his pitcher so he could return to his unbeatable self, or at least that was the psychological intention. It was most likely just an ordinary handkerchief, but in this case the ploy didn’t work and the Indians continued to beat up on Cicotte. Finally, Jim Scott was called in to win the game for the Sox, which he did in 10 innings, 5–4.34
The United States entered World War I on April 6, 1917, and the White Sox were incredibly patriotic all season. Under the guidance of Sergeant Smiley, they continued to reap the rewards of studying the Butts’ Manual of Arms, a method of physical training using real Springfield rifles. They learned more complicated drills and began to execute them before games, confident in their abilities before large crowds while donning regulation army khakis. It was hard not to be impressed by their uniformity, and the same teamwork that shined while marching was demonstrated during games. Crowds, rivals, and even military units appreciated their fine work, and when the Sox marched out during Military Day at Comiskey Park on August 23, the fans didn’t immediately recognize their baseball heroes, as they looked like a real company of soldiers.35 Interestingly, a military judge awarded a special $500 prize to the St. Louis Browns as the best American League squad in competitive drill, with the Sox finishing fourth.36
On occasion, the Sox performed special exercises for the amusement of audiences. At Philadelphia on June 5, players, from their initial marching stance, bounded into “marine maneuvers,” and ran across the diamond, dropping down to the ground into firing positions. According to the Chicago Daily Tribune, “the boys finished by marching to the home plate, where they sang ‘The Star-Spangled Banner.’”37 This extraordinary scene was repeated in other cities, and the respectful adulation was the same each time. They were utterly impressed; but that wasn’t the only way the Sox were impressive. After a striking victory at Navin Field, a Detroit fan was overheard as saying, “I don’t see how any team can beat those fellows out of the pennant. They certainly looked good.”38
Jackson was plagued by lumbago (a sore lower back) into July and his weakened condition likely contributed to his failure to produce with the bases loaded on two occasions against Detroit on July 5.39 He delivered a timely home run in the first inning of an important game against the Boston Red Sox on August 1, helping Chicago win, 4–0, and breaking a tie with Boston for first place. From this juncture, the White Sox never surrendered its hold on the top spot.40 Jackson and his teammates won 17 of 21 games during a homestand between August 17 and September 3, and ran two different strings of nine straight wins in the closing weeks of the season. Boston quickly fell out of contention and, by the end of the season, was nine games behind.
Red Faber, the tall right-hander from Cascade, Iowa, pitched the White Sox to the pennant on September 21, 1917, and had the race been any closer, Fenway Park would have been packed from pillar to post. As it was, less than 5,000 fans cared to see their local team meet Chicago in what was destined to be a pennant-winning contest for opposing Sox. Nevertheless, it was a memorable 10-inning game, and Larry Woltz of the Chicago Examiner said it would “always occupy a prominent page in Beantown baseball history.” Ironically, an Irishman from Boston, Shano Collins, put Chicago ahead in the top of the 10th. Collins’s single scored catcher Ray Schalk, giving the White Sox a 2–1 lead. In the bottom half of the inning, twenty-two-year-old Babe Ruth, who went 24–13 on the mound with only 142 plate appearances on the season, had an opportunity to deliver the game winner for the Red Sox, but grounded into a double play as Chicago captured its first league pennant since 1906.41
As the White Sox left Boston for Washington, Jackson remained behind to participate in a special benefit for the family of Tim Murnane, a well-known sportswriter who had passed away in February. Actually, on the whole, it was a way to give Joe a couple days rest. The benefit, in the form of an exhibition match, took place on September 27. Jackson was fired up to play alongside a contingent of American League All-Stars, and stood alongside Ty Cobb and Tris Speaker, which was arguably the strongest outfield combination in baseball history. But Boston proved to be more spirited, giving the fans a good show in a popular 2–0 victory.42 At one point during the exhibition, Jackson displayed his powerful arm by throwing out Dick Hoblitzell at the plate. This effort, combined with his pregame distance-throwing victory during a series of field events, demonstrated that Joe still maintained one of the greatest arms in baseball.43
Jackson rejoined the White Sox in New York for the final three games of the season beginning with a doubleheader on September 29. In the second contest, Chicago won its 100th game, which was a proud milestone for manager Clarence Rowland and the franchise. With an array of substitutes in the lineup, the Sox lost the other two games to the Yankees, and finished the season with a 100–54 record. Notably, the New York press was on hand in full force to see Chicago perform and littered newspapers with columns in succeeding days, contrasting the style of Sox players with that of John McGraw’s Giants, the National League champions and their World Series opponents. For at least one of the games, three Giants superstars—third baseman Heinie Zimmerman and outfielders George Burns and Benny Kauff—also scouted the Sox from the crowd.44 Chicago had the same idea, as Kid Gleason, Eddie Collins, and Eddie Cicotte took in a Giants game at Philadelphia on October 2.45
As could be expected, New York pundits were overwhelmingly in favor of the Giants over the Sox. Damon Runyon predicted the latter would win “with comparative ease,” and other writers could hardly give Rowland the advantage in terms of strategy over McGraw, winner of six league pennants and one World Series championship (1905).46 After all, who could really argue? McGraw himself was even confident of victory.47 But reporter Hugh Fullerton of Chicago, who each year provided in-depth Series analysis for a syndicate of newspapers, believed in the Sox and predicted Rowland’s men would win in six games.48 His pro-Chicago stance was predictable to a certain degree—especially since he was close to club owner Charles Comiskey—but he wasn’t always impartial in his player-by-player breakdowns to those wearing Sox uniforms. In fact, he asserted that Eddie Collins had played “sloppy, careless, and at times seemingly indifferent baseball” for most of 1917, and minced no words when it came to Joe Jackson.49
To sum it up, Fullerton insisted that Giants left fielder George Burns was more valuable to his club than Jackson was to his, and referred to Joe as the “White Sox fading star.” Of course, he made mention of Jackson’s lack of mental power, stating Burns could “give Joe two brain revolutions the start and beat him to a given thought.” Fullerton, on the other hand, did marvel at Jackson’s hitting, and admitted that he was always dangerous at the plate. As far as all-around players went, Burns was simply better, the writer explained, and the statistics did support these claims.50 However, Oscar C. Reichow, a journalist for the Chicago Daily News, wondered if Jackson was going to step up and become the “hero” of the upcoming Series. “Jackson is one of the most important factors on the South Side club because of his tremendous driving power and his hitting will be depended upon in the pinches by the Sox,” Reichow explained.51
But, overall, the truth couldn’t be ignored. Joe wasn’t the rabid base-stealing threat, the defensive prodigy, and apparent successor to American League batting champion Ty Cobb that he was earlier in the decade. The comparisons to Cobb had diminished, and although he was fully capable of breaking up a game with his slugging, his looming presence was not what it used to be. At the same time, no manager would ever take him lightly, especially during a critical moment in a game. As far as Joe was concerned, he was sensitive to the criticism, but didn’t live and die by what was being printed in the papers like some of his peers. Most of it, perhaps luckily for him, went over his head and didn’t weigh on his conscience. He was usually carefree and allowed his natural abilities and extreme might with a bat to do the talking for him. That was his normal reply to the wordy journalists for their sometimes unwarranted disparagement.
To a larger extent, Fullerton attributed the Sox pennant to the fine work of Ray Schalk, Chick Gandil, and Buck Weaver, but there was no denying that the team had come together and won the championship as a unit. They fought hard, backed each other up in tight spots, and supported their pitchers. While they weren’t the strategic and intelligent team New York had proven to be, the Sox were able to win a contest in many different ways. They had the slugging, the defense, and even the small-ball game to win a pitcher’s duel. And with Eddie Cicotte, Red Faber, and Reb Russell expected to start, with Lefty Williams and Dave Danforth available out of the bullpen, the pitching outfit was not only strong, but physically ready for their National League opponents. The Giants were prepared as well, and the entire sports world was captivated by the first-ever World Series meeting between the two most populated cities in the country.
The Sox left New York after the season ended and ventured to Jackson’s old stomping grounds in Cleveland, where a special tune-up exhibition was scheduled to help them limber up for the Series. The willingness of the Indians to aid the Sox was not just a friendly gesture, but stemmed from the fact that Cleveland was owned in part by several members of the Woodland Bards, a famous White Sox rooter organization. The principal owner, James C. Dunn, who bought the club from Charles Somers in 1916, was a longtime supporter of the Sox and a close ally of Charles Comiskey. On top of that, Comiskey and American League President Ban Johnson were silent partners in the purchase of the Cleveland franchise. This somewhat scandalous information was withheld from the public, and later, after the secret was revealed, it was noted that their money was just loans as they did not purchase specific stock in the club.
Fans in Chicago eagerly awaited the arrival of their champions and, following an 8–5 victory over the Indians on October 2, the pennant-winners boarded a train home. For Jackson, he arranged a room for him and his wife at the Great Northern Hotel in the downtown area of Chicago, as did Lefty Williams and his spouse.52 Jackson and Williams were quickly becoming inseparable friends. They shared ideals and perspectives and, of all his teammates, Joe liked spending time with Williams the most. Born in Southwest Missouri, Lefty grew up in the Springfield area and developed as a pitcher in regional leagues. His productivity increased in 1917 and he closed out the year with a 17–8 record and a 2.97 ERA. No one considered him a primary starter in critical games—at least not yet—but the twenty-four-year-old had come a long way and was definite relief help against New York.
The days just prior to Game One of the World Series were a whirlwind. On October 3, at the Edgewater Beach Hotel, players were regaled by speeches, fed exquisite cuisine, and given hearty congratulations by members of the Woodland Bards and other loyal fans.53 The next day they were out at Weeghman Park to see the Giants warm up in an exhibition against the Cubs and, finally, on October 5, the team went through its final workouts. Afterwards, they gathered for a special clubhouse meeting to discuss their scouting reports of Giants players and probable strategies. Along with Kid Gleason and Eddie Collins, Clarence Rowland encouraged and motivated his players, preparing them mentally for the challenge ahead. The words of Collins, who was entering his fifth Series, were undoubtedly valuable. When Rowland briefly talked with a reporter on the way out, he boasted: “Just tell the Chicago fans that my ball club is fit and we are going to beat the Giants!”54
Jackson and his teammates were greeted by a welcoming audience of more than 32,000 for the initial contest against New York on October 6 at Comiskey Park. It’s hard to imagine that Joe wasn’t a little overwhelmed by the pomp and circumstance surrounding his first-ever trip to the Series, and, at the plate, he went hitless against the Giants’ tall left-hander, Slim Sallee. Though struggling at bat, he executed what Oscar Reichow called, “the most sensational play of the day” with a shoestring catch off Lew McCarty in the seventh inning, likely saving a run. Jackson did it in style, too, turning a somersault in the process which was greeted by a roar from the crowd.55 Giants second baseman Buck Herzog said the catch was “the turning point of the game,” which ended with a 2–1 victory for the Sox. “I know Jackson is a brilliant ball player and I certainly have no desire to rob him of any glory,” Herzog later said, “but he may never make another catch like that in his whole career.”56 Happy Felsch’s home run in the fourth and the pitching of Eddie Cicotte were also critical reasons why Chicago was able to overcome their National League adversaries.
Jackson’s bat came alive in Game Two on October 7, and he singled his way on base in the second, third, and fourth inning. The latter drive to center field scored two baserunners, and his 3–3 performance was rounded out by a walk in the sixth inning. The Sox were assisted on the mound by Red Faber’s masterful throwing and won the game, 7–2. Notably, aside from his pitching, Faber went above the call of duty when he dubiously tried to steal third in the fifth inning with Buck Weaver already standing on the base. “What are you coming down here for?” Weaver asked, according to reporter George S. Robbins. “Search me,” Faber replied. “Guess I’ve pulled a boner.”57 Weaver laughed, and Faber, because of his winning pitching, was quickly forgiven.
The series turned to New York for Game Three, but rain postponed the action until October 10, leaving the men to mosey around the Hotel Ansonia and nearby entertainment venues. Rowland was happy about the wet weather since it allowed his ace, Cicotte, a full three days’ rest between outings. The time off to mend worked, and Cicotte allowed only two runs on eight hits. Unfortunately for Chicago, the extra day’s rest cooled their bats, and the Sox offense was completely ineffective against Rube Benton, who pitched a complete game shutout. Jackson went 0-for-4 and the Sox managed only five hits in the 2–0 loss.
The next day, Benny Kauff’s two home runs and Ferdie Schupp’s complete game shutout helped New York tie the Series at two games apiece. Once again, Chicago was held scoreless and Jackson repeated his 0–4 showing, dropping his Series batting average to .214.58
Some believed the tides in the Series had turned and that the Giants had the momentum heading back to Cleveland, though the championship was still far from being decided. “We have to win, that’s all there is to it,” Jackson told a reporter on the train back to Chicago. “I figure either Cicotte or Russell will trim the Giants at home.”59 Jackson was right. Russell started Game Five on October 13, but it took four pitchers to win for the Sox that afternoon. In addition to Russell, Cicotte, Williams, and Faber were finally inserted to conquer New York, 8–5. Chicago scored three runs in the seventh and eighth innings to come from behind and Jackson went 3-for-5 with two runs. Fans at Comiskey Park went ballistic at the finish, and Hugh Fullerton wrote: “It probably will go down in history as the worst, and yet the most exciting game ever played in a World’s Series.”60
Over the subsequent hours, trains packed with players, reporters, and fans departed once again for the “Big Apple” for Game Six at the Polo Grounds. Thousands of miles away, American soldiers were involved in a global conflict and fighting for their lives. The trenches were being bombarded by mustard gas and the horrors of warfare were taking their toll on a generation of young men. Major League Baseball, to that point, had so far escaped a far-reaching edict calling to service the healthy military-age men within their ranks. But that didn’t mean a government order was completely out of the question in the near future. That meant men like Joe Jackson could possibly be drawn into the national army and away from baseball. While the thrilling World Series of 1917 wasn’t yet over, the brutal World War being fought overseas was unquestionably on the minds of all Americans, and the future remained uncertain for all.