Understandably, as America’s national pastime, baseball was long embraced by the public as the image of sportsmanship and wholesome competitiveness. The game was played hard but true, and the players themselves were admired for giving everything they had in order to win for the sake of their club, the fans, and their own personal honor. The high-octane energy of games was palpable throughout the stands, and it was nearly impossible not to be drawn into the action. But during its history, baseball had experienced a number of ups and downs and survived several damaging periods of scandal. One of the most explosive situations occurred in 1877, when four members of the Louisville Grays were permanently banned from the sport after revelations of dishonesty were exposed.1 The leaders of Organized Baseball worked to ensure those on the wrong side of honorable gameplay were severely punished, establishing a precedent and warning to anyone else considering a corrupt practice on the field.
For the most part, baseball avoided any backbreaking exposures of crooked work, but the suspicions of fixed games flared up from time to time. Even during the 1918 World Series, speculation about the genuineness of certain plays inspired conversation, but little else came of it. In the end, there was no firm proof. But the line between honest ballplayers and professional gamblers looking for an edge was not all that profound. In fact, big money bettors were closely situated on the periphery of baseball. In addition, shadowy figures routinely mixed with players in public situations, including in hotel lobbies and pool halls. In terms of the Chicago White Sox, gambling was prevalent among those in the Woodland Bards, the club’s official rooter organization. Notably, ex-World Featherweight champion Abe Attell joined the Bards on their special train between New York and Chicago during the 1917 Series, and the former fighter was well known for his gambling proclivities.2
Always looking for insider information, the diminutive 5-foot-4 Attell was in the right place at the right time two years later when Bill Burns was shopping around the gambling plot he discussed with Chick Gandil and Eddie Cicotte in New York. It should be mentioned that Attell was not Burns’s first choice as a co-conspirator, as he originally tried to establish a connection with multimillion-dollar gambling maestro Arnold Rothstein to no avail. Burns quickly found Attell to be far more accessible than the notorious bookmaker, who prided himself on secrecy and protected his interests by dealing with only select associates. To Rothstein, Burns might have been pitching a solid idea, but he wasn’t trusted enough to form a partnership. He was just not a syndicate man. But Attell didn’t care. He saw an opportunity to make big money and hitched himself to the Burns scheme almost immediately.
Attell sold himself to Burns as a middleman between the Sox and Rothstein, which was a complete fabrication, but smartly used to shore up a key role for himself in the scam. He even brought in his friend David Zelcer who under the name “Bennett” was said to be Rothstein’s envoy for the deal, and Burns bought the fable hook, line, and sinker. Further explaining that he’d arrange the $100,000 payment for the players, Attell was designated the primary source of funds for the fix, according to what Burns knew at the time. And for his efforts in delivering the money to the tainted athletes, Burns would also garner a percentage.3 It was a solidly laid plan, at least as far as Burns could see, and he waited to talk with Gandil and Cicotte in person to explain the specifics in detail.
However, Attell wasn’t the lone moneyman involved in the fix, thanks to Gandil’s shrewd manipulations. While the Sox were in Boston on September 19–20, 1919, he broached the subject of a Series swindle with longtime friend, forty-eight-year-old Joseph J. “Sport” Sullivan. For the greater part of two decades, the solidly built Sullivan was a prominent member of the New England athletic community. Socially adept and smooth in his operations, he confidently mingled with all types of people—from the pool hall hustlers to the wealthy in downtown hotels. Sullivan’s greatest asset was his knowledge, and he excelled in all-things baseball. His easy-going relations with ballplayers opened the door to exclusive information that aided his gambling investments and solidified his place among Boston’s leading bookmakers. Gandil figured that having “Sport” recruited would bolster the financial output of the fix, and their interests quickly merged into a separate cash agreement for upwards of $80,000.4
Most of what is currently understood about the 1919 scandal nearly a hundred years after the fact is still open to debate and interpretation. There are many different versions of what happened and it is nearly impossible to say with absolute certainty that “this or that account is exactly what occurred” between the members of the White Sox and their gambling counterparts. For instance, a number of newspaper outlets would later claim that Hal Chase, the infamous first baseman, was the linchpin for the entire conspiracy. The allegations surfaced that Chase was responsible for bringing both Abe Attell and Bill Burns onboard, and that it was Attell, not Gandil, who initially reached out to Sullivan with an assist from Chase.5 Yet another depiction claimed that Sullivan was the point of origin for the fix, and that he went to Gandil with the idea.6 But there are clear and obvious discrepancies, and enough doubt is cast to offer the necessary reminder that the story of the 1919 scandal is anything but cut and dry.
With regard to Joe Jackson, there is an important question: Did he have any other legitimate reasons to consider endangering his baseball future in such a shaky proposition other than being coerced by the statement that the fix was on whether he was involved or not? The simple answer is yes, he did. With the goal of attaining $20,000 for his participation, Jackson anticipated raking in more than three years’ salary in one series. Joe had previously admitted that he was fully content with leaving baseball behind after obtaining enough money, and that he was eager to settle into a quieter farm life.7 But that was in 1912, and Jackson was a much different man in 1919 than he was at that time. He was still interested in making money, but his baseball success had made him one of the most popular stars in the game. Leaving the sport on short notice made little sense, especially since his career was progressing so well and he was likely headed toward immortal glory with his peers in any future hall of fame.
But Jackson was much more sensitive. For a period of seven to eight months between May 1918 and January 1919, he was relentlessly abused and shamed by the press corps. Baseball writers, editorials, and other commentaries slammed his decision to work in the shipyards, condemning him in nearly every way possible. The constant remarks were humiliating, drawing into question his manhood, his ethical sensibilities, his devotion to his country, and every word took its toll. He even told a reporter during the midst of all the chaos, “I shall not attempt to go back to ball playing to make a living.”8 Jackson was undoubtedly saddened by the overwhelming backlash and knew that some of the reporter’s resentment had trickled down to the public as well. It was completely unwarranted, he felt, and he managed to live with the criticism each day. Only nine months had passed since the bulk of the condemnation ceased, and not all had been forgotten.
In fact, some fans wouldn’t let him forget. During a trip to Detroit in early September 1919, rowdy spectators yelled “shipyards!” at Jackson, hoping to interfere with his game-time concentration.9 He was usually able to ignore the drunken outbursts of instigators, but the symbolism behind such remarks did nothing but remind everyone of the cruelty he’d received. Within the White Sox camp itself, there were issues that remained unresolved, and much of it related to owner Charles Comiskey. In February, sportswriter George S. Robbins boldly declared: “Jackson has been manhandled and lambasted in a rough manner here, and President Comiskey himself is responsible for the feeling to a great degree, for Commy never has retracted in print what he said about Joe.”10 In another column, Robbins wrote: “We would like to see Commy come out in the open and give Jackson the glad hand. If Comiskey is lukewarm about Jackson, he can’t expect the fans to be any other way, especially those who panned him last summer.”11
While it is not known what, if anything, was said between Comiskey and Jackson in private, it is not believed “The Old Roman” made a public statement withdrawing his previous criticisms. That in itself was enough to leave Joe with a bad taste in his mouth about the Sox, and taking all things into consideration leaves the question: How much real passion did he still have for baseball? He played solid ball in 1919, and his natural abilities were evident as much at the plate as they were in the field. But what was his mind-set? Is it possible that he had anything but animosity toward Comiskey and the press for what he’d been put through? Did he want revenge? Or did he see the $20,000 he was to receive in the fix as a way to finally break free from the Sox and baseball forever?
His agreement to be a part of the conspiracy, and the peace he made with his own conscience as to what was about to happen, might have been predicated, in part, on that fact. But Jackson wasn’t a natural schemer, nor was he a gambler. The details of the scam were far outside his realm of understanding. He didn’t comprehend the bigger picture: where the growing nature of the fix involved dozens and dozens of components. Jackson didn’t understand that such a revelation jeopardized his good name inside and outside of baseball and made him susceptible to any number of potential dangers, including criminal prosecution. Everything he’d worked for throughout his life—his upstanding reputation, his idol status among kids, his astronomical lifetime batting average—would forever be tainted in such an instance, and Joe was either too unaware to understand or just felt the reward outweighed the risk.
A number of secret meetings about the soon-to-be-rigged Series were staged before the White Sox officially captured the American League pennant on September 24, 1919. Jackson contributed two hits in the 6–5 triumph over the St. Louis Browns, and the home crowd at Comiskey Park was thoroughly enthused by the victory.12 However, many of those same fans were equally disappointed by the performance of the Sox in their subsequent four games, which were the final contests of the regular season. Instead of finishing the campaign with a commanding display of their abilities, Chicago lost all four (one to St. Louis and three against Detroit). “I was extremely sorry to see the Sox play the manner of ball they revealed yesterday,” explained longtime fan Dad Kentmor. “It pained me deeply to see our boys play that way. It has been said they are the greatest money team ever assembled, and I guess that is the right dope. There was nothing at stake for them yesterday and they played like a bunch of amateurs.”13
It was another “money team” reference, but this time made by a fan. Kentmor went on to say, “In the World’s Series they will play wonderful ball because they have the incentive of the winning end of the melon before them.” Harvey T. Woodruff of the Chicago Daily Tribune seemed to agree, pegging the Sox to win over their National League opponents, the Cincinnati Reds. He actually referred to Kid Gleason’s club as the “greatest aggregation of money players in baseball.”14 The same went for George S. Robbins, who made a striking comment in the August 28, 1919, edition of The Sporting News in sizing up Comiskey’s players going into the series: “The Sox are great money players. Show that gang a bunch of coin and they’ll do almost anything except commit murder.”15 No one outside the secretive cabal grinding away on the Series fix knew just how accurate the words “money team” were, as the corrupt members of the Sox plotted a record monetary output for players in the event’s history. They were forging ahead without the consent of owners to their financial score, and weren’t exactly getting executive approval from the National Baseball Commission.
Chick Gandil, Swede Risberg, and Fred McMullin were motivated to go ahead with the idea from its inception. With Gandil leading the way, the trio planned a special confab for the Warner Hotel in Chicago—not overly far from Comiskey Park on the South Side—on September 29, 1919. According to the later recollections of Lefty Williams, who attended the meeting, the roster of participants included Gandil, Eddie Cicotte, Happy Felsch, Buck Weaver, plus the Boston gambler “Sport” Sullivan and his ally “Brown,” who was later identified as Rachael Brown.16 Joe Jackson wasn’t present but, by the end of the meeting, a total of eight Sox players were officially tied to the fix whether they wanted to be or not. There was no way to disavow knowledge of what was going to be attempted, and if anyone wanted to back out, the only way was to spill the beans to an outsider and throw his teammates at the mercy of the law.
For the conspirators, having Jackson involved was a major coup. His hard hitting was certainly a key to Chicago’s success, and his participation inspired confidence in their ability to follow through. But Eddie Cicotte was even more important. The right-handed pitching ace was going to start two, possibly three games during the Series, and if he was lobbing them over the plate, how could the scheme fail? Cicotte, known for his intelligence, took his time in deciding whether or not to play ball with Gandil, and thoroughly weighed his options. Money, he decided, was the answer to his problems, particularly when it came to paying off his farm’s sizable mortgage, and so agreed.17
The winner of 29 games during the regular season, Cicotte was acknowledged as one of the sport’s finest pitchers, and he told a reporter earlier in 1919 that he could easily pitch for another ten years.18 But with just half that time as a pro, his status as a future Hall of Famer was pretty much guaranteed. So, like Jackson, he had plenty to lose. Unlike Jackson, Cicotte smartly demanded $10,000 in cash up front and refused to commit his services unless the money was in his possession prior to the start of Game One. “I didn’t want any promises,” he later admitted.19 But promises were precisely what Jackson was banking on, taking Gandil at his word that increments of cash would be delivered promptly after each game.20
With the World Series fast approaching, sportswriters offered detailed analysis of the two clubs, comparing and contrasting their various styles. The Cincinnati Reds were a balanced group led by manager Pat Moran, and finished their pennant race with a nine-game advantage over the second-place New York Giants. Center fielder Edd Roush, who began his career with the Sox as a twenty-year-old in 1913, was not only leading the Reds in hitting but the entire National League with a .321 average. Third baseman Heinie Groh was fourth in the league with a .310 average, while three other starters were in the .270 range. As a club, Cincinnati was hitting .263, tied for second in the league with the Brooklyn Robins, and six points behind the Giants. Pitching was the Reds’ strength, and Moran had five reliable starters: two lefties and three right-handers. Southpaw Slim Sallee was on the losing end of the 1917 Series as a member of the Giants and was looking for a bit of revenge. His 21 regular season wins were second in the league.21
Conversely, the Sox still lacked depth on the mound, but Kid Gleason wasn’t worried. He believed in his top two pitchers, knowing that Eddie Cicotte and Lefty Williams had enough talent, conditioning, and resiliency to overcome whatever challenges they faced against the Reds. He also gave them time to recover from the strain of the regular season. “Cicotte says his arm hasn’t a trace of lameness,” Gleason told a reporter on September 30, “and that means Eddie is ready for the World’s Series of 1919. About the only worry I had was Eddie and now I have none.”22 Harry Neily of the Chicago American once wrote that Gleason knew “more about the White Sox than anybody in the world,” and if he was confident in the shape of his men headed into the Series, who was to doubt him?23 But Gleason had no clue that Cicotte and Williams were now on the take, and with his star hurlers intentionally trying to lose, the Sox were doomed before the first Series pitch was thrown.
On the political side of things, a majority of owners voted in favor of extending the Series from seven to nine games. The move was sponsored by National Commission chairman Garry Herrmann, and Sox supporters figured it was a sly way for Herrmann to assist Cincinnati because of Chicago’s limited pitching staff. After all, Hermann was also a part owner of the Reds. Charles Comiskey was the only man in both leagues to vote against the change, even though the maneuver guaranteed more money for him in the long run. However, he denied his vote had anything to do with his club’s limitations.24 Comiskey wasn’t stupid, though, and was keenly aware of how things stood. At that same time, he was holding a personal grudge against his former friend, American League President Ban Johnson, as to the way the latter and the National Commission handled the rights to veteran right-hander Jack Quinn, who was sent to the New York Yankees after Quinn had pitched for the Sox in 1918. Quinn would’ve potentially filled Chicago’s need as a third or fourth starter, and Comiskey was still sore.
The tainted members of the White Sox received their marching orders, the gamblers placed their bets, and the home plate umpire called for “play ball” on Wednesday, October 1, 1919. Over 30,000 people watched from the stands at Redland Field for Game One in Cincinnati, as Cicotte took the mound in the bottom of the first inning. Facing second baseman Morrie Rath—another former Sox castoff—Cicotte threw the first pitch for a called strike. The next sailed high and hit Rath directly in his shoulder, giving him first base.25 Only later was it revealed that Cicotte’s errant pitch wasn’t an accident, but purposeful. By hitting Rath, he silently conveyed the message that the fix was on.
Due to the nature of his state of mind in 1919, his afternoon on the mound was no better against the Reds. He pitched for 3 2/3 innings, giving up six runs on seven hits with two walks before Gleason had enough and pulled him. Jackson made his first plate appearance in the second inning, leading off against Dutch Ruether, and slashed one at shortstop Larry Kopf. The latter bobbled the ball and then proceeded to throw it over the first baseman’s head, allowing Jackson to reach second on the error. Happy Felsch sacrificed him to third and Chick Gandil singled him home for the first Chicago run … their only score of the contest.26
The rest of the game was relatively uneventful for the White Sox, with Jackson going 0-for-4 at the plate. The Reds, on the other hand, pummeled Sox pitching for nine runs and 14 hits, winning 9–1. Shano Collins, who started in right field for the Sox, later admitted that by the first game, rumors of a fix had circulated throughout the clubhouse. “I had heard some talk but we all laughed at it,” he explained. “Cicotte of course had been badly beaten in the opening game. But we were willing to make allowances for that. You see ‘Knuckles’ had been complaining of a sore arm during the last month of the regular season. [Additionally], we were willing to accept the explanation that he gave … that McMullin had scouted the Reds for two weeks and that he, Cicotte, had pitched according to McMullin’s dope, all of which he said was wrong. So we figured it was only an off day for him.”27
But Collins was in the dark to the genuine truth that his teammates were indeed crooked. In fact, behind the closed doors of the club’s hotel, Jackson inquired to Gandil about the first installment of his owed money.28 Gandil didn’t have a good answer. He reportedly was given the shaft by Bill Burns and Abe Attell, leaving the players high and dry.29 More promises were made and players were again ordered to lose in Game Two the following day. Lefty Williams went to the mound and held the Reds to only four hits, but gave up four costly earned runs. “Our second defeat … when Lefty Williams was on the rubber, was unexpected,” Collins told a reporter. “In this game we outhit the Reds better than two to one and yet we were hopelessly beaten. Of course, Williams’ wildness was mainly responsible. But long afterwards in comparing the respective scores and figuring our ten hits against the Reds four we made note of the fact that none of our ten hits came at the right time.”30
Jackson achieved his first hit of the Series in the second inning when he smashed a double to left-center, but was stranded at third when the inning closed. In the fourth, he followed Buck Weaver’s single with one of his own, but subsequent batters failed to move them along. Joe had an opportunity in the sixth to drive home a run with Weaver on second, but struck out on three straight pitches. He achieved his third hit of the afternoon in the eighth with two outs, but it had no influence on the game’s final totals.31 And with that the Reds were victorious in Game Two, 4–2. With the Series heading to Chicago for Game Three, players checked out of their hotel and boarded a train westward. While en route, they discussed the two previous games at length, trying to get a beat on what was happening, but were incredibly stumped by the turn of events.32
Once again, Jackson asked Gandil about his money, and again Chick didn’t have a response other than to blame Burns and Attell for not fulfilling their part of the deal.33 The crooked players had done their part, purposefully striving to lose the first two games of the Series.
Looking at Jackson’s performance, the question to be asked was: What had he contributed to the fix? He’d gone 3-for-8 at the plate for a .375 batting average, garnered a double and a run, and played flawlessly in the field. Twice he went to bat with men in scoring position—in the sixth inning of both the first and second games—but failed to produce. In the past, when Jackson was having a bad day or acting indifferently on the field, everyone knew it. For instance, a writer for the Cleveland Leader in 1912 noted seeing Joe “loaf” going after a ball “many times.”34 In June 1913, a reporter felt his “sulking” actually cost the Naps a game.35 His downcast attitude was obvious.
So far, for Jackson, there was no sulking, no apparent miscues, and nothing he had personally done to raise suspicion. His role in the active fix was minimal, but Joe still wanted the money he was promised. When Gandil failed to produce the cash, he was left with very few options. It wasn’t like he could complain to a reporter, and he certainly was in no position to go over Chick’s head and converse with the higher-ups. Jackson was out on a vine with his compatriots and at the mercy of those unscrupulous characters he agreed to join. But facing Gandil and Swede Risberg with any type of aggressiveness was also looking for trouble, as both were imposing tough guys. And that was a situation Jackson was going to avoid. Needless to say, the intimidation shown by Gandil and Risberg was going to prevent anyone from running off and ratting on the deal. For the time being, each of the players involved were supposed to lay low and wait it out.
But Jackson didn’t know that Gandil had collected $10,000 from Burns and Attell after the second game, just before leaving Cincinnati.36 And he wouldn’t see a dime of it. Additionally, Burns passed along Attell’s orders, indicating he wanted the Sox to win the third game to improve the overall odds for the Series. According to the testimony of Burns in 1921, Gandil and those privy to the inside information agreed, but once back in Chicago, Chick notified Burns that the third game was going to have the same result as the first two. That, in turn, motivated Burns, his pal Billy Maharg (who had been with him on the scam from the start), and Attell to bet heavy on Cincinnati, assured that the Sox were going to throw the game. However, Burns later realized Chick had no intention of losing the third game. In a double-cross fashion, as a way to punish the gamblers for not paying up, the Sox went forward and beat the Reds, 3–0.37
That version was told by Burns himself, who felt personally deceived because of Gandil’s suspected lie. Yet in 1920, Jackson claimed the crooked members of the club really tried to lose the third game, and Chicago won only because the honest Sox stepped up.38 If this was true, then Gandil never lied to Burns and didn’t double-cross the gamblers purposefully. It was just the result of the chance involved in such a scheme. With a number of nonparticipants actively trying to win, the result was never guaranteed. Going back to the third game itself, the honest Sox were more enthusiastic than ever to win, and Kid Gleason was determined to have his men in the right frame of mind before the contest began.
Shano Collins later remembered: “When we reported at the grounds, Gleason called us into the clubhouse, chased out the trainer and clubhouse boy, and then read the riot act. He told us that the word was going around that some of the Chicago White Sox had sold out the Series and that it was up to us to throttle the rumor. This talk put us on edge, and we went in against the Reds to give them a real battle. Little Dick Kerr pitched this game, and it was the first of the Series we won. We never knew, Kerr never dreamed that he and four loyal players were downing Cincinnati and half of his own team. The alleged testimony of Jackson and others has stated how little Dick won in spite of treachery by his mates. And even at that it took a couple of lucky breaks to get us the decision.”
Rookie Dickey Kerr was the star of the day. He held the Reds scoreless with his pinpoint control and the Sox offense came up with three runs to push Chicago to its first victory of the Series. Strikingly, the team was in a fighting mood; utterly refusing to relent on its path to victory. Eddie Collins nearly came to blows with Reds utilityman Jimmy Smith, and only Gleason prevented a fistfight. “Then Jackson and [pitcher Ray] Fisher had a row because Fisher shot one at Joe’s bean and Joe bunted one toward first base, daring Fisher to go over and cover the bag,” Gleason explained. “Joe was mad enough to have spiked him, too, but nothing came of that.”39 Altogether, Jackson went 2-for-3 with a run in the game, including base hits to start the second and sixth innings. He eventually scored in the second, but was caught trying to steal second in the sixth. Joe had another opportunity in the third inning with two men on, but errantly popped up his bunt attempt to first baseman Jake Daubert.40
If Gandil and his allies in the fix consciously decided to win behind “busher” Kerr in the third game, either Jackson was left out of the plan or refused to admit it based on his later revelations.41 But looking at the box score, it was obvious those players tied to the conspiracy were more motivated to win than they previously demonstrated. They contributed five of the seven Sox hits, two of the three RBIs, and all three runs. Gandil himself was responsible for both of those RBIs, and Risberg added a triple.42 Burns and Attell learned very quickly that the players had a measure of recourse if they didn’t honor their end of the deal. As for Kid Gleason, he was thrilled by what appeared to be a full renewal of his team’s unity and drive to win. Fans and local sportswriters were also revitalized by the victory, and with the usually competent Cicotte returning to the slab for Game Four, hopes were high in Chicago.
But Game Four was a lifeless effort by the Sox players. They compiled just three hits off Cincinnati pitcher Jimmy Ring and were unable to score, while the Reds garnered five hits and two runs. Cicotte, instead of building upon what Kerr had started, shamelessly disappointed, and his fifth-inning performance was the turning point of the contest. The madness started with one out and Pat Duncan at the plate. Duncan hit a grounder up the middle and Cicotte made a nice stop. He rushed his throw to Gandil at first, but the peg was way off target, allowing Duncan to reach second. Larry Kopf followed with a single to left field. Jackson made a great stop and unflinchingly threw toward home plate to prevent Duncan from scoring. Surprisingly, Cicotte stepped in front of the ball to cut it off, and it ricocheted off his glove for his second error of the inning. Duncan scored on the play and Kopf continued on to second. Greasy Neale proceeded to add to Chicago’s misery by smashing a double over the head of Jackson in left, scoring Kopf, and giving the Reds a 2–0 lead.43
“The … game was another upset,” Shano Collins explained. “I think it was here that our players really began to be convinced that there was something really wrong. We were feeling rather downcast that night. I don’t mind saying right now that some of us began to pay a little more attention to the stories that were circulating more widely every hour.”44 Jackson went 1-for-4, and his double to start the second inning initiated a potential rally, but Cicotte drew the third out with the bases loaded. After the contest, Lefty Williams visited his [Jackson’s] room at the Lexington Hotel in Chicago’s South Loop and delivered $5,000 in cash, compiled of “mostly fifties.”45 This would be the only crooked money of the entire conspiracy that Jackson would see, and was but one-fourth of his promised amount. Williams was actually given $10,000, but kept half, as it was the only cash he’d seen to that point as well.46
Jackson was bought and partially paid for by gamblers at that juncture, and nothing in history could change that ugly truth. Prior to being paid, he was definitely complicit and possibly committed to doing his part in the throwing of games. But, after cash changed hands, the famous “Shoeless Joe” was unequivocally stained by the corruptness of the 1919 baseball scandal. According to Jackson’s Grand Jury testimony, Katie first learned about the fix that same night following the fourth game, and she “thought it was an awful thing to do.”47 Nobody knows what was said between them in their hotel room that night, but it is likely Joe gained a better perspective of what he’d involved himself in from his wife than at any previous time. No one on the team was going to be the straight-shooter that Katie was, and none of his co-conspirators were looking out for his best interests like she had always done. It is within good probability that Katie informed Joe just how much trouble he could be in for his faulty thinking.
Incidentally, touching upon Jackson’s mind-set a little more, it must be noted that Cincinnati applied a heavy dose of psychological warfare during the Series. “The Reds were primed to abuse and insult certain Sox players with the idea of getting them angry,” Hugh Fullerton later wrote. Twenty-four-year-old utility player Jimmy Smith, “a hot head and fighter at heart,” was a base coach for the Reds and the lead instigator. He worked on Eddie Collins relentlessly, nearly drawing the Sox captain into a physical altercation. Fullerton noted that Jackson was targeted for abuse as well.48 Of course, Jackson was thin-skinned about his wartime duty with Harlan and Hollingsworth, and the Reds took advantage of that unique sensitivity. As the Indianapolis Star reported, “The Reds … annoyed Joe Jackson intensely by constantly referring to the shipyards league.”49 It seemed that part of his life was something he’d never live down.
With the Reds ahead three games to one, the Series appeared nearly out of reach for the Sox, but Chicago fans yearned for a turnaround. They wanted to see the real club of 1919; a team many people considered to be the best ever constructed. Things didn’t improve in the fifth game at Comiskey Park on October 6, the day after a Sunday rainout. The Sox were ineffectual behind the pitching of Lefty Williams, achieving three hits and no runs against the mastery of Reds pitcher Hod Eller, who struck out nine in a 5–0 victory. The loss left the Sox players (at least those who were trying) nearly comatose in a Series they were supposed to win.50 Jackson was completely shut down by the right-handed Eller, and went 0-for-4. Twice he went to the plate with men in scoring position, and twice he failed to bring them home.
The Series returned to Cincinnati for Game Six on October 7, and it was do or die for the Sox. Kid Gleason called upon Kerr again, and Dickey pitched 10 innings of hard-nosed baseball. In the end, the Sox won 5–4, and Chicago was able to live another day. Jackson went 2-for-4 on the day with a run and an RBI, and contributed to big rallies in the sixth and tenth innings. Twice, though, he was doubled up on the baselines after the defense made difficult catches—once by Edd Roush in the eighth and the other by Larry Kopf in the tenth. In the fourth inning, Joe made a spectacular defensive play of his own by snaring a fly by Jake Daubert and launched a perfect throw to catcher Ray Schalk to nail Morrie Rath at the plate.51 Jackson garnered another two hits the following day in Game Seven, helping the Sox beat the Reds, 4–1. This time, Joe’s clutch hitting drove in runs in both the first and third innings, and Cicotte went the distance to halt Cincinnati’s charge for a fifth and final Series victory.52
There has been ample speculation that dissatisfied Sox conspirators decided to forge ahead after the fifth game (Cincinnati was leading 4–1) and make a serious comeback attempt to win the Series outright. The wins in Games Six and Seven were indicative of a team effort, and Cicotte’s performance in the latter contest was more in tune with his regular season showing. Gamblers who’d bet on Cincinnati going all the way were dismayed by the sudden burst of energy displayed by Chicago, and it was alleged that Lefty Williams was menaced by a mysterious man prior to Game Eight to ensure the Sox would lose. If it did indeed happen, the threat to Williams and perhaps to his wife as well was cause enough for Lefty to pitch about as poor a performance as a major leaguer could. On October 9, 1919, at Comiskey Park, Williams lasted but part of the first inning and gave up four runs on four hits.
Jackson provided some excitement in the third inning by hitting the first home run of the Series into the right-field bleachers. He also added a double in the eighth which scored two runs. In the bottom of the ninth, with two outs and two men on, and the Sox trailing by five runs, Jackson grounded to second baseman Morrie Rath to end the game and the Series.53 The Cincinnati Reds won, 10–5, and captured the 1919 World Series title. Following the game, Kid Gleason told a reporter: “The Reds beat the greatest ball team that ever went into a World’s Series. But it wasn’t the real White Sox. They played baseball for me only a couple or three of the eight days. Something was wrong. I didn’t like the betting odds. I wish no one had ever bet a dollar on the team.”54
As could be expected, there was a certain amount of “resentment [by members of the Sox] toward some of the players who did not perform up to expectations,” as observed by a writer for the Chicago Daily Tribune.55 The failure of these men to execute their ordinary level of play made them possible suspects in the growing rumors of a Series fix. Of those involved, Chick Gandil batted .233, Happy Felsch .192, Swede Risberg .080, and the Sox defense committed an uncharacteristic 12 errors in eight games. So uncharacteristic, as they had made 176 errors as a team in 1919, which was the second lowest in the American League that season.
For Joe Jackson, he played well, carrying the highest batting average of the Sox regulars (.375, 12-for-32), and the most hits (12—a World Series record), runs (5), RBIs (6), and highest slugging percentage (.563). He also made no errors. Captain Eddie Collins, who was one of the Series disappointments, acknowledged Joe’s work in the Chicago Daily News, stating that Jackson “maintained his reputation with the stick.” Ray Schalk agreed, noting, “Joe Jackson hit as hard as he did during the season, or even a little better.”56
Writer Oscar C. Reichow added, “Jackson certainly demonstrated that a World’s Series makes little difference to him. He played up to his standard.”57 However, not everyone felt a high average was representative of a player truly performing on the level. “Some of the men accused of crookedness have pointed to the fact that they hit well up in the averages for this Series, and that their fielding was well-nigh faultless,” said Shano Collins. “I won’t argue with them along this line. I will only state that very few of these hits were made at the proper time and that errors were made just when they cost the most.”58 Jackson failed to produce a total of eight times when men were on base, seven of them with runners in scoring position. These facts are not definitive proof of Jackson’s contributions to the fix, but it does highlight other mitigating factors of his Series play. In truth, no one to this day can say for sure whether Jackson played honest and true baseball during the 1919 World Series. All we have are the stats, and they only tell part of the story.