106.  Interruption

              Back to third base for a paragraph.   At the other positions I summarized the dominant players at the position in rough form, ignoring one-year aberrations and smoothing out gradual transitions.  I forgot to do that at third base, so let me.  . .

              In 1900 we could say that the best third baseman in baseball was Jimmy Collins.  After Collins it was Bill Bradley, then Art Devlin, then Home Run Baker, then Heinie Groh, then Pie Traynor, then Stan Hack, then Bob Elliott, then Al Rosen, then Eddie Mathews, then Dick Allen, and then for a period of several years no one in particular although the field of third basemen was very strong, but with no one dominant player.   After that era the best third baseman in baseball was Mike Schmidt, then Wade Boggs, then Matt Williams or Ken Caminiti, then Chipper Jones, then Scott Rolen, then Alex Rodriguez, then Evan Longoria, then Miguel Cabrera, then Josh Donaldson. 

107.  Arky Vaughan

              Regarding Bob Elliott (Third Base) I commented that in the 1930s and 1940s an influx of stars from California swept into the game.   Both Cronin and Arky Vaughan were part of that—as was Vern Stephens, who will be on our list a tomorrow.   Although born in Arkansas and nicknamed "Arky" by his childhood friends, Vaughan grew up California and played High School Baseball in Fullerton.   He played only one season of minor league baseball, dominating the Western League at Wichita, and was the youngest player in the National League early in the 1932 season.  

              He became the starting shortstop early in the season when (a) Tommy Thevenow broke a finger, and (b) Vaughan got red hot, hitting .379 in his first nine games in the major leagues.  Although his average would drop as low as .222 three weeks later—and although he made quite a number of errors—Vaughan held the job.   He was hitting .318 by the season’s end, and that would be his major league average.  The Pirates hired Honus Wagner to tutor Vaughan on playing shortstop, and Vaughan and Wagner actually roomed together on the road early in Vaughan’s career, becoming close friends; Honus was proud of Arky, and said that of all the players he had tried to help, Arky was the one who went the furthest.  

              It is difficult to overstate how wide-ranging Vaughan’s offensive skills were; he was a lifetime .318 hitter who would be among the National League leaders at various times in everything except homers.  In 1933, aged 21, he was fifth in the National League in total bases and RBI, third in on base percentage.  In 1934 he was fourth in runs scored, third in doubles, fifth in batting average, and led the league in on base percentage.   In 1935, hitting .385, he also led the National League in walks, 97, on base percentage, .491, and slugging percentage, .607; the .491 on base percentage was and still is a record for a Pittsburgh Pirate, and is also the major league record for a shortstop.   He was hitting .401 on September 10.  He reached a very, very high peak value, and was the #1 shortstop in baseball for eight years:

              Noting that the 1940 list contains four Hall of Famers—Vaughan, Appling, Boudreau and Cronin.  Vaughan had an injury season in 1941, although he still hit .318 and had a .399 on base percentage.   After the 1941 season he was traded to Brooklyn for four players.  

              In Brooklyn he was playing for Leo Durocher.  Vaughan and Durocher did not get along well.    In July, 1943, there was a famous incident; I will quote this account of it from Vaughan’s SABR Biography, by Ralph Moses:

On July 10 of that year, manager Durocher suspended pitcher Bobo Newsom for insubordination. Dodgers second baseman Billy Herman remembered, "I was having breakfast together with Augie Galan and Arky Vaughan at the New Yorker Hotel. Vaughan was a guy who always had everybody’s respect, as a ballplayer and as a man. He never said too much, but everybody admired and respected him." Vaughan read a newspaper interview in which Durocher made accusations against Newsom. Herman recalled that Vaughan was quiet, but seemed to be upset by what he read. Later, at the ballpark, Vaughan angrily confronted Durocher, who confirmed that he had given the interview. Herman recalled, "Arky didn’t say another word. He went back to his locker and took off his uniform—pants, blouse, socks, cap—made a big bundle out of it, and went back to (Durocher’s) office.

"Take this uniform," he said, "and shove it right up your ass." And he threw it in Durocher’s face. "If you would lie about Bobo," he said, "you would lie about me and everybody else. I’m not playing for you."

Most of his teammates sided with Vaughan and decided not to play that afternoon against Pittsburgh. Durocher, with help from general manager Branch Rickey, eventually persuaded all the Dodgers—except Vaughan—to play. Arky and Newsom watched the start of the game in street clothes from the right field stands. Rickey asked Vaughan to return to the team, and he did. Arky was back on the bench in uniform before the end of the game.

              After the 1943 season, however, Vaughan retired.   He was only 31, and he had had a tremendous season, hitting .305 and leading the National League in runs scored (112) and stolen bases (20), and ranking as the #1 shortstop in the National League, although behind some American Leaguers. Moses’ biography says that he retired to his ranch in northern California; other sources, presumably less authoritative, say that he retired to take a wartime job in a factory.   

              Certainly the conflict with Durocher had something to do with it.  To put this in context, a manager in that era had more power relative to a player than he does now, and managers—like all people given power—sometimes abused their power.  This was true not only in baseball, but in society in general.  With the growing strength of the unions and broadening of democracy, this was becoming less tolerated, and less tolerated in sports.  In 1940 the Cleveland Indians revolted against the abusive behavior of their manager Ossie Vitt.  Managers in that era would demean their players in public, and in the press.  Durocher was one of the worst offenders.  After the Dodgers traded Luke Hamlin, who had won 20 games for Durocher in 1939, Durocher said that he thought he deserved extra credit for winning the National League pennant in 1941 with Luke Hamlin on his roster.   (Hamlin was traded after the 1941 season, as part of the package traded for Arky Vaughan.  Hamlin, by that time 37 years old, didn’t really add value to the package; the Dodgers were just getting rid of him.) 

              In any case Vaughan was out of baseball for three seasons, eventually returning in 1947, when Durocher was suspended for the season for associating with gamblers.  (The Dodgers’ under baseball law at that time still owned exclusive rights to Vaughan, although he was not on their roster.  Also, I believe that Vaughan returned to the team before Durocher’s suspension.)    Vaughan hit .325 as a part-time player in 1947, helping the Dodgers to the pennant.  He did not have a good season in 1948, and left the majors after the 1948 season, although he played another season of minor league ball in California, back closer to his home. 

              Vaughan died in a boating accident in 1952.   He was just a few feet from shore when his boat capsized; reportedly Vaughan, who was a good swimmer, drowned while trying to save the other man in the boat, who could not swim. 

              While Vaughan did eventually make the Hall of Fame, it took an astonishingly long time for that to happen, and we must observe honestly that Vaughan never did achieve star status commensurate with his on field performance.  I would be surprised if there is anyone else who was the #1 player at his position for 8 years, but waited 37 years after retiring to be selected to the Hall of Fame. Our compulsive need to understand compels us to ask why this was true.  

              I see several contributing factors, but have no idea how to weight them:

              1)  While there is relatively little doubt that Vaughan could have gotten close to 3,000 hits had he played through to the end, his retiring with only 2,103 hits—and relatively modest counting numbers in other areas—no doubt lessened his historic stature.

              2)  The giant shadow of Honus Wagner as Pirate shortstop may have lessened the impression left by Vaughan.

              3)  Leaving the game early as he did deprived Vaughan of what we could call the myth-making years.   An aging player, as he nears the gold watch, sometimes benefits from three years of hagiography—Derek Jeter, for example, but also Brooks Robinson, Greg Maddux, Roberto Clemente, and others.  Vaughan skipped that portion of his career.

              4)  Although Frankie Frisch managed Vaughan for a couple of unhappy years in Pittsburgh, Vaughan was certainly not a part of the St. Louis Cardinal/New York Giant cabal that controlled Veteran’s Committee selections in the 1970s. 

              But these four factors could have shaped how Vaughan was perceived AFTER his career, not DURING his career.   The problem started during this career.  He didn’t do well in MVP voting, compared to his performance.   Dick Bartell was the starting shortstop for the National League in the All Star game in 1933 (Vaughan did not play), Travis Jackson in 1934 (Vaughan was a backup), Leo Durocher in 1936 (Vaughan did not play), Dick Bartell in 1937 (Vaughan played third base), and Durocher in 1938 (Vaughan did not play).  Vaughan started SOME All-Star games, but he wasn’t an every-year starter like he could have been.

              One factor is that his walk totals and on-base percentages, so impressive to us now, would have been entirely invisible in that era.   Fans would not have known how often he walked or what his on base percentage was; the reporters covering the Pirate team would not generally have known, although they might have occasionally known.  Another factor probably was that the Pirates, although they had talent, were a messed-up organization that never won the National League in Vaughan’s era, although they finished second and third several times. 

              The fact that Vaughan sometimes led the league in errors, in that era, would have been noted much more often than the fact that he often led in walks.  Although he did lead the league in errors three times—his first two seasons, and one season later—he also led in putouts three times and assists three times.   His career fielding percentage at short, .951, is the same as Joe Cronin’s and three points higher than the other Hall of Fame shortstop of his era, Luke Appling. 

              He just didn’t break through with the public as the player that he was.   This is all that I can really conclude.

108.  Old Luke

              Luke Appling was actually four years older than Arky Vaughan.   Through age 28 Vaughan led Appling in career hits by 885 (1,591 to 706); from age 29 on, Appling led Vaughan by more than 1,500 (2,043 to 512).  Appling emerged as the best shortstop in baseball in 1941, when Vaughan had his first significant injury, and reigned as the best shortstop in baseball for three years:

              Obviously anyone who is a Hall of Fame baseball player was a good athlete, but Appling did not strike people as a great athlete.   He was a grinder.   He just got the job done.   He was a lifetime .310 hitter who drew 122 walks in 1935—and 121 walks in 1949, when he was 42 years old.  He fouled off pitches until he got one that he liked.  If he didn’t get one he liked, he took a walk. 

              Chicago for much of a 45-year span had the Lu Aps at shortstop—Luke Appling and then Luis Aparicio.   Appling wasn’t an Aparicio style player in any sense, not a flashy shortstop or a stunning baserunner.   He was much closer in style to Aparicio’s double play partner, Nellie Fox.   He just made the plays.

              Appling was a sharp guy and a very cheerful man, well liked; he was a successful minor league manager, and it was sad that he didn’t get a chance to manage a real team in the majors, just moved up from the coach’s box to finish out the year with a Kansas City A’s team that had shot their manager in mid-season.  I think the perception of the time was that Appling was too upbeat, too friendly, to be a major league manager.