Vintage Brew: "An Inside Pitch" - Mickey Heath

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Minor Wilson "Mickey" Heath was the first baseman for the Milwaukee Brewers from 1937 through 1940 (their player/manager for 1939-40), became the voice of the Brewers on local radio stations, and was a willful participant in the promotional antics of Bill Veeck in 1943… but lest we forget, he was also a family man…

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"An Inside Pitch" – Mickey Heath
by Paul Tenpenny
(Tencentz@aol.com)
Copyright 2020 Tencentzports
Printed with permission of the Author

Author's Note: while Borcherfield.com has written several stories on Mickey Heath, this one is special because it comes from his family. Nothing pleases us more than to hear from the people associated directly with Milwaukee’s baseball past and I want to personally thank grandson, Robert W. Bigelow for sharing this with us.

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Memories of a Baseball Brat
By Dona Heath Bigelow McCauley

*Adapted from a speech about growing up the daughter of a baseball player.

Publicity shot of Dona Heath, Mickey Heath and Stan Heath in Milwaukee

My dad was Mickey Heath, a first baseman born in Toledo, Ohio in 1903. When he was 9 years old, his father died, leaving his mother alone with 8 children. When he was 12, he went fishing with his brothers, rolled into a campfire and was burned severely over half of his body. The doctors told him that he would never walk without crutches as the muscles of his right leg were so badly scarred that his foot couldn’t reach the ground. This man, my dad, went on to play professional baseball.

Dad came from a close-knit family who supported him through an arduous recovery. Though he would wear the scars for the rest of his life, he did recover. It wasn’t long before he was able to play sandlot ball and soon moved on to a local Toledo team called the Daisy Velvet Ice Cream Co.

Daisy Velvet Ice Cream Co. team- Mickey Heath leaning in back-still with physical issues from fire

A scout for the Detroit tigers saw him in a game where he hit a home run, a triple and two doubles. For the sum of $175, the scout signed my dad for the month remaining in the 1923 season. I’m sure he would have signed the contract for $1.00. He felt that baseball was what he was born to do.

Ottumwa Cardinals- (Mississippi Valley League) Mickey still wearing a local Toledo uniform

Dad’s professional baseball career began in Ottumwa and through Birmingham (Barons-Southern Association) and then Toronto.

Mickey Heath (Toronto Maple Leafs -International League)

While playing in Toronto, he married my mother, Mona. She was a Canadian who loved the game of baseball. According to family lore, she never missed a game. They met on a blind date. Dad was tall, red-headed and had a smile that lit up the room. Many of the wives of players stayed at home while their guys played ball. Mom didn’t. Wherever Dad went, Mom went. It wasn’t long before my brother, Stan, was born in Toledo, Ohio. A year later I joined up in Long Beach, CA while Dad was having great success for the Hollywood Stars of the Pacific Coast League.

Mickey Heath - Cincinnati Reds 1931-1932

In 1931, Dad was sent to Cincinnati, the “big leagues”! He did well enough in spring training and in the first few games of the regular season to win the starting spot at first base. In an away game at Pittsburgh very early in the season, the opposing team’s shortstop hit a slow roller to second base, it was picked up and thrown to Dad at first who caught it, but his arm had gone between the runner’s legs and it was broken just above the wrist. The doctors put on a cast and that was the end of his season with Cincinnati. The club paid for us to drive back to Toledo to stay with Dad’s mother.

In one of my earliest memories, bolstered by family recollection, the family piled in the car, Dad with a cast up to his shoulder, and Mom a nervous wreck, driving too fast because she really didn’t know how to drive. We were pulled over by a cop and Stan and I started crying. The policeman took one look at the scene and walked away. This is a family story and the only real memory I have, being a toddler, is seeing Dad in the car with the cast on his arm and me crying up a storm. So it must be true.

The doctors suggested we go back to Long Beach for the warm climate which we did. Bad luck struck again. Dad pulled the electric cord out of a dried-up Christmas tree and it sparked and set the tree on fire. He started carrying it outside through a laundry room, but it was filled with gas from a blown-out pilot light and the whole tree exploded. I have a distinct memory of Stan and I hosing the burning tree in the front yard and later bringing neighborhood kids in to “show off” my father covered with bandages. Dad went into the next season in very poor health.

The Cincinnati club kept him as long as they could but after a tough start, they traded him to Rochester, who traded him to the Columbus Red Birds during the following season. We were in Columbus all of 1934 and then Indianapolis all of 1935. We started 1936 in Indianapolis, but Dad was traded to Montreal during the season. We moved, a lot.

Columbus Red Birds - American Association

Unlike Navy or Army brats who move maybe every two or three years, baseball brats move every six months and more often if traded. We would move to one city for spring training and another for the season. The ball club would only pay transportation for Dad, not the family, so he would collect the train fare and use it for gas to drive the whole family. The car would be loaded down with us and everything we owned.

Dad would wake us up at 4:30 a.m., pack us all into the car, and off we’d go, stopping only to eat and look for a motel when it was dark. A motel in those days was a group of small cabins outside of town, just like the cabin stayed in by Clark Gable and Claudette Colbert in the movie “It Happened One Night”. Depending on our next ball club, the road trip would take from 4 to 5 days. Mom would sleep the whole way as she hadn’t learned to drive, and Stan and I would take turns teasing each other. We played games and tried not to be like kids stuck in a car for hours. No iPads, no TV to watch, no cell phones. We played “In My Trunk” , “License Plate Poker” and a favorite of mine “Animal, Vegetable, or Mineral “ Our only distraction was when we stopped at gas stations as there was always something out of the ordinary on display, like an anteater or a two-headed snake. On one occasion, I saw the sign advertising the snake a few miles out of town, I couldn’t wait to see it. It had two heads all right, but it was in a jar. I thought it was a dirty trick to play on a kid, but it enticed people to stop and buy their gas, which was the whole idea.

During our grade school years, Stan and I averaged three schools a year. I loved the nomadic life. As we arrived at the new schools at odd times of the year, we received special treatment and caused a stir. The Eastern schools were usually more advanced, so we’d repeat classes, making it easier to get good grades. We’d be moved up a grade when we went West and were also given mini-celebrity status by the kids. We’d shine in geography since we’d lived in or passed through most of the states. Of course, it didn’t hurt having a ball player for a father.

During the season, we lived mostly in hotels. My mother managed to carry a few things to make each hotel room a bit homey. The rooms usually included a small kitchen, but she didn’t like to cook so our meals were simple.

My brother Stan frequently had the job of ballboy, so he was on the field with the players. I was pretty jealous so at all the ballparks I’d pester Dad to let me have a tour of the clubhouse locker room when the players had all left. He always said no as it was off limits to a girl. I did manage to see it, though… the hard way. We were at one of the ballparks and the seats in the family section had folding chairs. During one game, I tilted my chair back and was daydreaming, looking up at the clouds, when suddenly I saw a ball three feet away coming straight for my head. Too late to duck, the foul ball landed on my cheek bone and knocked me out cold. I woke up to see the ball club trainer hovering over me. I sat up, looked around and started laughing. Yep! I had made it into the… locker room.

My most vivid memories begin when we settled in with the Milwaukee Brewers.

Milwaukee Brewers Spring Training – Biloxi Mississippi, 1937

Mickey Fielding at First Base

1937 team photo - Mickey in 2nd row, behind Ken Keltner

When we first moved there, we lived at the Ambassador Hotel.

Years later, we rented a house in Shorewood, a suburb just outside of Milwaukee. We lived there through our high school years; it was the longest time we had ever stayed in one place. Dad played ball for the Brewers for 4 years.

I became a hotel brat both home and away. I would sneak into the hotel’s parties sometime joining the staff serving, and sometime mingling with the guests until someone figured out that I didn’t belong. I helped in the hotel drug store and one day I stole a pack of gum. I had the nickel, but I guess I just wanted to see if I could pull it off.... I didn’t. Mom took me back to the store, I paid the nickel, and believe me I never wanted to be that sorry about anything again. I did figure out how to find kids. I would do this by going to the nearest church in whatever town we were in. It didn’t matter the denomination, because all of them had Sunday school. I’d find the right room and join in the fun crafts and listen.

On the road, I think Mom would get bored or lonely. Sometimes, she and I would get in the car and drive to the busiest part of town and park. We’d sit for hours just watching the people walk by. We’d be doing what she called “people watching.” I don’t remember talking, so I don’t know what she got out of it unless it was to just be out of the hotel for a few hours.

The craziest thing I ever did was while we were living at the Ambassador Hotel in Milwaukee. I climbed the tall neon sign on top of the hotel roof spelling out the name of the hotel. I had given myself the challenge to climb it and I did …, but that sign was really tall, old, and the ladder to the top was rusted metal. The point was to look at the city from the top, but when I got there, I was too scared to look.

Dona Heath on the balcony of the Ambassador Hotel, Milwaukee

Early on, one of the local newspapers wanted a shot of Dad, Stan and me. Stan looks like a budding ball player, Dad a proud father, and me a funny looking kid with burnt hair. Mom heard it was going to be a publicity shoot and she thought I’d look better with curly hair, So she bundled me off to the beauty parlor, where they put rollers in my hair and put me under a dome-like contraption that had clamps on the ends of wires, like a giant jelly fish. They attached the clamps onto the rollers and turned on the heat. I don’t remember it, but Mom said I cried the whole time. I couldn’t hold my head up; it was all so heavy. She held my head up with her hand under my chin. That I remember. When the rollers came off… burnt hair. Mom was horrified, but I didn’t care. When the photographers showed up, I was happy to be with my Dad on the field.

One year, Dad hit 30 home runs and for each home run he was given a case of Wheaties, the “breakfast of champions”. A case of those little individual packets. We had Wheaties for breakfast, Wheaties for lunch and Wheaties for dinner. Sometimes a steak. Ballplayers are extremely superstitious and one of Dad’s was - If he had a good day on the field, we had the same dinner every night…. Great if it was steak, but not so great if it was Wheaties. We lived with the usual superstitions, no black cat crossing your path, no hat on the bed, no walking under ladders, spill salt…throw it over your left shoulder. Added to those, we had superstitions like a day without Dad getting a hit, no talking when he came home, and we’d have to wear the same clothes every day until he got a hit. Saved Mom from a lot of laundry.

As manager of the Milwaukee Brewers, setting the lineup in 1939

Dad would go on to become manager of the team. Once, while Dad was managing the Milwaukee team, Stan came up with the idea of making money by cleaning up the trash at the ballpark, Borchert Field. The idea was that Stan would get his buddies together and after a night game, about 10 pm, they would gather up all the empty beer bottles, paper plates with half eaten hot dogs, peanut shells and candy wrappers. Real trash and plenty of it. Stan and his buddies started out ok but by about midnight they found it wasn’t fun, and no matter what Stan was going to pay them, they all left. Stan came home and woke up Dad, who woke up Mom, and the three of them went out to Borchert Field and worked until the job was done. I was just coming down for breakfast when they got home. Stan headed for bed, but Dad steered him right out the door again. It was time for school. Stan never asked for the job again, and he learned that if you accepted a job, you finished it.

Dad would play catch with Stan every chance he could, hoping he would become a ball player but in Stan’s Sophomore year of High School he played football, as quarterback, and it was plain for everyone to see that he was going to be one of the great passers. I hated watching the games, as I’d have to see my brother being tackled, with the other team’s fans chanting “kill the quarterback”. After high school he had a stint in the Navy, came home and went to the University of Nevada in Reno, where he became the Wolf Pack’s first ever All-American. One year, he led the nation in passing. Stan would become an inaugural member of the University of Nevada Athletic Hall of Fame and one of the quarterbacks on Nevada’s Team of the Century. In other words, he was a star. The Green Bay Packers hired him, but his success did not continue. Stan did poorly, lasting only one year. He moved on to play ball in the Canadian League.

After his stint as manager, Dad was hired to broadcast the games on the radio.

Broadcasting on WISN Radio

At the mic - WEMP Radio

He would broadcast the home games from a small booth on top of the ballpark's roof. Sometimes I’d sneak past the guards and go up and watch the game with him. It was special, as I had a bird’s eye view of the game and listened to Dad describing it at the same time.

No TV for the out of town games, so he came up with the idea to make it fun for the fans by setting up a glass booth in the basement of a local movie theater where the fans could come and watch him broadcast He would get the bare facts of the game on a ticker tape and would then invent the action. He made the game come alive, and the fans loved him for it.

Glass booth in basement of movie theater, broadcasting game off ticker tape for WEMP

He became so popular they named a bread after him: “Heath’s”. I spent many a night doing my homework in the studio listening and watching Dad.

In Milwaukee, our lives changed when Bill Veeck bought the Brewers. That’s when the fun began. Veeck hired Dad to coach and do promotional work while keeping up his broadcasting.

Mickey and Red Smith packing up Manager Charlie Grimm for Spring Training April 4, 1943 (Author’s Collection)

Veeck was a showman and his sole focus was to fill the seats at the ballpark. I loved going to the games, since I never knew what he and Dad would cook up to entertain the fans. Veeck declared every day a special occasion where baskets of food, live chickens, live piglets, and cakes of ice were given out to the fans by calling out a seat number. The lucky ones would carry the "prize" back to their seats. Even the live ones. The fans ate it up and filled the stands.

1943 “Band Practice” before a game
(Author’s collection)

They formed a “band” with Charlie Grimm (manager) on banjo, Herschel Martin (outfielder) on an upright piano, and pitcher Hank Oana on ukulele. Veeck would play a sliding whistle, Rudy Schaffer (club secretary) on a single string base wash tub, and a real set of drums for Dad. They would set the band up at home plate before the games and people would come just to see them having fun. Veeck gave Dad a “Mickey Heath Night” because he knew that the fans loved Dad and it would fill the stands. It did. That night Veeck presented Dad with a trophy that was taller than me and we used it as a doorstop.

Dad would broadcast the Brewers’ games until 1950, when his baseball career ended. He was, what I called, a minor celebrity. We’d walk down a Milwaukee street and people would yell “Hi Mickey!” They would come up to him, shake his hand and tell him how much they loved his broadcast of the games. Until he died, he would receive envelopes in the mail every week with an index card and a self-addressed envelope… asking for his autograph. He signed them all.

After retiring Dad played golf with a 5 handicap and was a bit of a hustler at 8-ball pool. Like father, like daughter, but I don’t hustle, not yet. We moved to California, and Dad wrote a book titled “Baseball Before Money”. His highest salary was $6,000. Now the salaries are in the multi-millions. I never heard him say he would have preferred to do anything else, though. He loved the game and I loved living it with him. I guess if you asked me now, I’d have to say that my childhood was anything but normal.

He taught me to play by the rules, play fair, and always, always play to win.

As Dad would say, “Thanks for listening.”

Dona

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Editor's Note: I am so thrilled to present this family history to you; this is exactly the kind of tale BorchertField.com was founded to tell. Thank you so much, Dona and Robert, for sharing your memories with us! We will do our best to tell Mickey's stories and keep his legacy alive.

And thank you again to our amazing collaborator Paul Tenpenny, for recording this story and making it available for all baseball fans to enjoy.

For more on Mickey Heath, please check out SABR’s bio on Mickey, written by Robert W. Bigelow JD, PHD.

"Meet Milwaukee's New Mr. Baseball", 1950

This beaming fellow is Bob Coleman, who in early 1950 was introduced to the press as the Brewers' new manager.

The former catcher had been managing in the Braves' system for thirteen years; he started as the skipper of their Class A club in 1937 before taking over their affiliate in Evansville, Indiana the following year. He was given a chance to manage the big club in 1943, but after finishing 68-85, 65-89, and 67-85 in his first three seasons, they shipped him back to the Evansville Braves.

Four years later, they were ready to give him another promotion, and Boston Braves general manager John Quinn brought Coleman to Milwaukee to take over the top minor league affiliate.

The Milwaukee Journal liked this picture enough to splash it over a half-page on Sunday, February 5, 1950:

It's a nice fit, Bob Coleman finds as he tries on his Brewer uniform for thr first time. The new manager, from Evansville, Ind., is pictured on his first visit to Milwaukee when he met the press and radio. Next month his hopefuls begin training in Texas.

Interesting; our copy of the photo is cropped, and you can't see the tail of the "Brewers" script. But what a gorgeous jersey it is.

That's the classic "Brewers" script in red trimmed with navy against the cream-colored flannel. The wordmark was first introduced by Bill Veeck in 1942, the first time the nickname had been featured on the jerseys. They gave him an old jersey for the press conference; by Opening Day these uniforms had been replaced with a wordmark in the same style as the parent club.

Coleman wouldn't be smiling so broadly for long. Under his leadership the Brews stumbled to a .444 finish and 6th place in the American Association. That 68-85 record was the exact same as the Boston Braves his first year in charge there, but Quinn wasn't willing to give Coleman the same three years he had been granted in Boston. "Milwaukee's New Mr. Baseball" was once again sent back to Evansville, where he managed for seven more years before retiring.

To restore Milwaukee's place at the top of minor-league baseball, Quinn brought back former Brewers manager Charlie Grimm as skipper and longtime coach Red Smith as GM. Jolly Cholly and Red immediately turned things around in 1951, finishing with a 94-57 record, a seventh American Association pennant and a Little World Series trophy.

"Good Luck" From the Gov

These pictures come from the Milwaukee Journal's coverage of Opening Day, 1935.

Let's take a closer look at the two pictures.

Kloza Safe on Triple—Phil Wishes Al Luck

JACK KLOZA gave the opening day crowd at Borchert Field one of its thrills in the third inning when he pounded out a triple and hit the dirt going into third base. Kreevich is shown trying for the out. The umpire is Johnson.

That could be the cap we were wondering about, that Brewer trainer Doc Buckner was wearing in the 1937 photo.

Navy cap, white block "M", white squatchee. Minor mystery solved.

The second photo shows the classic confluence of baseball and politics, as the mayor and governor were both in attendance that day.

The lower picture shows Gov. Phil La Follette, who came in from Madison to pitch the first ball to Mayor Dan Hoan, wishing Manager Al Sothoron a lot of luck. (Journal Staff Photo)

Governor La Follette, known simply as "Phil" to many Wisconsinites, was just beginning his second go-around in the Wisconsin Governor's Mansion. He had served in the office from 1931-33. After losing the Republican primary in 1932, he co-founded the Wisconsin Progressive Party with his brother and ran again in the next election. He had been sworn in just three months before heading down to Borchert Field.

Today in 1944, "Jolly Cholly" Steps Down, the "Old Perfessor" Steps Up

Today was a momentous day in 1944, as popular Brewer manager Charlie Grimm officially stepped down from his post in the Borchert Field dugout to take the vacated Chicago Cubs managerial job.

But never fear, Brewer fans, Jolly Cholly wouldn't leave without a carefully-chosen successor in place. Grimm chose Casey Stengel to take over.

Stengel is well-known to modern baseball fans; he led the New York Yankees to seven World Championships between 1949 and 1958, gave the expansion New York Mets instant credibility, and had his number #37 retired by both clubs. After retiring from managing after the 1965 season, Stengel was elected to the Baseball Hall of Fame. He is widely considered one of the greatest managers the game has ever produced.

But that was all in his future. In 1944, Casey Stengel was seen as washed-up, a has-been coming off two failed managerial stints. He had been skipper of the Brooklyn Dodgers and Boston Braves for a total of eleven seasons, never finishing higher than fifth place with either club (this in eight-team leagues). Hardly the big name Milwaukee fans wanted to see take over their first-place Brewers.

Grimm recognized something in Stengel, though, and chose him to safeguard Grimm's investment in Milwaukee. How well the Old Perfessor would do with it, well, we'll see soon enough.

1936 Junior World Series Wire Photo - Shaking Hands

As the Red Sox look to close out the World Series against the Cardinals tonight in Boston (a prospect which dismays the Brooklynite in me as much as it thrills my Milwaukeean side), we take another look at Game 1 of the Junior World Series in 1936.

Here are the two managers shaking hands before the game:

MILWAUKEE BEATS BUFFALO IN "JUNIOR SERIES" OPENER

The opening game of the 1936 renewal of the "Junior World Series" between the Milwaukee Brewers, champions of the American Association, and the Buffalo Bisons, champs of the International League, was won by the Brewers 7-5. The game was played at night in Milwaukee. The above photo shows the managers, Allan Sothoron of the Brewers, left, and Ray Schalk of the Bisons, shaking hands and looking worried as the series opened.

Boy, the caption tells the story, doesn't it? Neither looks particularly excited about the game.

Quite a pair of gorgeous dugout jackets, though. 

Sothoron was in his third season at the Brewers' helm, and guided the team to its first American Association pennant in twenty years.

Schalk was also a familiar figure to Milwaukee baseball fans; he came up through the Brews in 1911 and was sold to the Chicago White Sox midway through the 1912 season. He was one of the honest players on the Black Sox team that threw the 1919 World Series. 

Just a few years after this photo was taken, the Brewers were looking for a new manager, and Schalk returned to Borchert Field, this time as skipper. 

This Week in 1913: After the Flood, Before the Storm

Editor's Note: This is the second in a series of posts chronicling the Brewers' first pennant-winning season.

The 1913 Milwaukee Brewers

In the first week of April, 1913, Milwaukee was preparing for the the Brewers were finishing up spring training in Owensboro, Kentucky. The Journal's columnist William Wallace Rowland, who wrote under the name "Brownie", was covering the Brews in their Old Kentucky Home.

For the third year in a row, torrential rains caused flooding across the region, disrupting travel in and out of the camp. With his usual relish, Brownie reported to his readers that he had seen "a live mule on the roof of a house, while in another direction could be seen a dead horse caught on the top of a telegraph pole along the wires."

If he was less-than-enthusiastic about the Brews' decision to hold camp in the Ohio River flood district, he was encouraged by what he saw when he got there. Although the Brewers would undoubtedly feel the departures of outfielder Nemo Liebold (sent to Cleveland) and catcher Ray Schalk (sold midway through the 1912 season to the White Sox), Brownie liked what he saw from new skipper "Pep" Clark. The longtime Brewer third-baseman had been promoted to player/manager in an attempt to stop the revolving door of managers that had hampered the club. Clark, who was reportedly as beloved by his fellow players as he was by the fans in Milwaukee, had instilled "a fighting spirit" to the Brewers, "a spirit which was sadly lacking in some of last season's contests."

So, with the start of the season just four days away, Brownie wrote:

"It's impossible to try to dope out the Brewers' position, but on the whole they look like a stronger aggregation than last season's bunch."

If that wasn't enough, Cream City baseball fans would have a second team to follow from Athletic Park's wooden grandstands. In 1913, Milwaukee would field an entry in the Wisconsin-Illinois league, a minor-league circuit with teams in Madison, Racine, Green Bay, Oshkosh, Wausau, Appleton and Rockford. The new team was organized and owned by Milwaukee businessman Charles F. Moll, who had been president of the league from 1907 until early 1912.

In the days before official nicknames were de rigueur, Moll's new team was referred to by different names in the various papers; the Journal called them the "Schnitts" or even "Assistant Brewers", the Evening Wisconsin tended to report on the exploits of the "Creams", while in the pages of the Milwaukee Sentinel and other papers they were known as the "Mollys", after their owner.

While the Brewers were away in Kentucky, the Mollys were preparing to hold their own spring training closer to home, in Oconomowoc. There was no word on the flood levels in Waukesha County.

For a regular season home, the Mollys struck an agreement to use Athletic Park when the Brews were on the road, giving baseball fans a full slate of games to look forward to.

One hundred years ago today, on the front page of the Journal's Sunday, April 6th edition, in between news of riots at suffragette rallies and President Woodrow Wilson's proposed tariff cuts (and above a critique of Cubist art) was this cartoon:

Milwaukee was ready for baseball. And so were the Brewers.

"Such Respect for Bright Colors": the 1904 & 1905 Road Uniforms

By Dennis Pajot and Chance Michaels

Milwaukee Public Library

This handsome fellow with the impressive mustache is Brewer manager "Pongo Joe" Cantillon in his 1904 Brewer road uniform.

We tend to think of baseball in this era in either sepia tones or shades of gray; rarely do we have an opportunity to learn much about the teams' actual colors.

An article in the February 16, 1905 Milwaukee Journal talked of the Brewers' new 1905 uniforms, and gave us a rare color description not only of the new duds, but the outgoing color scheme as well:

The matter of uniforms is another of the hundreds of details of running a ball team which has been decided on, and in the matter of dress this year the Brewers promise to be just as many as any of the teams in the association. Their at-home uniforms, of course, will be white, the same as usual, with black trimmings and caps. When it comes to their traveling suits, there is to be a change. The black and yellow combination which has afforded opportunity to the fans of the home cities to make all sorts of comment, will be displaced by a neat Oxford grey, with maroon trimmings and cap. The Oxford grey was agreeable to both (team owner Charles) Havenor and Cantillon, but when it came to the trimmings there was a hitch. Dago Joe, as he is sometimes called by those who know him pretty well around the log cabin in Chicago, held that owing to the remarks made by some of his fellow countrymen in regards to the "yellow" of last season, they thought it was time that Cantillon was declaring himself, and so for a long time Joe argued that green was the proper color for the trimmings, and it was not until the census of the Milwaukee population had been shown him was he convinced that the green trimmings were not the proper thing for a Milwaukee team. It was a hard blow, but at last Joe consented, and so the Brewers' traveling uniform will be Oxford grey with maroon trimmings.

So there you have it. The suit "Pongo Joe" is wearing in the photo above is black, with a yellow "M". Clear to see how that combination might have inspired opposing fans "to make all sorts of comment" when these Brewers came to town (something similar would happen with Bill Veeck's first road uniforms nearly four decades later). Also interesting is the back-and-forth between Cantillon and team owner Charles Havenor as they each intended to put their own visual stamp on the club.

This is the home uniform that black-and-yellow road suit was paired with in 1904: white with black trimmings and an elegant "Milwaukee" script across the chest:

Milwaukee Public Library

And this is the 1905 home uniform, white with dark trim, that would replace it:

Is that maroon, as the article indicated Cantillon wanted? Or black, or possibly navy blue?

Cantillon had very strong ideas about baseball uniforms, and not just about their color schemes.

In 1906, the Toledo News-Bee reported that Cantillon had laid down guidelines on how the players should act while in uniform, specifically that they should refrain from profanity. The article also mentioned that Cantillon had exempted himself, as he would "attend to all the indelicate language" for the entire team.

Following the 1906 season, Cantillon was hired away from the Brewers to manage the American League club in Washington, DC. According to press reports of the time, he intended to bring his same "respect for bright colors" to the big leagues, with his 1907 Nationals wearing "something entirely original in that line."

As far as I can tell, it was not to be.

Looking at the Baseball Hall of Fame's online uniform database (which is based on Marc Okkonen’s book Baseball Uniforms of the 20th Century), the Nats looked much the same after Pongo Joe took over as before.

Graphic courtesy of Marc Okkonen

Based on the limits of that database, it appears his major change was to replace navy blue with black on the home uniforms. Hardly the radical changes promised from a man with such a love for "bright colors". Perhaps Washington owner Thomas Noyes wasn't as progressive-minded as Milwaukee's Charles Havenor.

For the Brewers' part, they eventually settled on blue as the primary team color (no later than 1913), and Milwaukee ballclubs have been "true blue" ever since (sometimes more so than others). Today it seems inconceivable that our Brewers would wear black or green or maroon, or even that maroon trim would be considered a more "proper thing for a Milwaukee team" than green, but that was the fluid and experimental nature of baseball in the early days of the 20th century. The sport was finding its balance before rules and equipment, not to mention æsthetics, would settle into the tradition we now recognize.

We haven't yet been able to find a photo of the Brewers' 1905 road uniforms which, according to that Journal article, were going to be "Oxford grey with maroon trimmings." We will post a photo of the uniform if we come across one as we continue to research the 1905 team.

1953 Old Time Ballplayers' Banquet Program

February of 1953 was an exciting time for Milwaukee baseball fans. The Brews were coming off their eighth American Association pennant, and that success had drawn interest in the Cream City as a major league market. Former Brewer owner Bill Veeck had tried to move his St. Louis Browns back to Milwaukee, but was blocked by the Boston Braves, in a move seen as reserving the market for their own relocation. It was only a matter of time before Milwaukee was big league again.

While looking to that future, baseball fans could also remember the past. On February 12, the Old Time Ballplayers Association of Wisconsin held its 16th Annual Banquet at the Elk's Club in Milwaukee.

The Toastmaster for the event was Charlie Grimm, then the manager of the Boston Braves and two-time former skipper of the Brews.

That's Brewer manager Tommy Holmes on the cover; he and Jolly Cholly had a complicated history. Holmes had been a popular outfielder with the Boston Braves for nearly a decade who had briefly been the club's player-manager before being fired partway through the 1952 season and replaced with "Jolly Cholly", then in his second stint managing in Milwaukee. The Braves then hired Holmes to manage the Brews, taking over full-time for Grimm, at the end of the season.

There were many notable men on the dais that day, none more so than former major leaguer and Milwaukee native Al Simmons. Born Aloisius Szymanski on the South Side, Simmons came up on the city's sandlots and played for the Brewers in parts of the 1922 and 23 seasons before being signed by Connie Mack of the Philadelphia Athletics, where he had a stellar 21-year career. Simmons had been elected to the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown only two weeks earlier, and Wisconsin was flush with pride in its first Hall of Famer.

On the back of the program is a word from Fred Miller (who supplied the banquet with programs and beer) and the notation

"Good Luck to the Milwaukee Brewers during the 1953 Season"

As we know now, it was not to be. Barely a month later, on March 18th, the National League approved the Braves' move to Milwaukee and the Brewers were out.

Tommy Holmes, the Manager Who Never Managed

This is Tommy Holmes, in a photo taken from an early 1950s banquet program. He's listed as the manager of the Milwaukee Brewers, but you won't find his name in any of the club's score cards.

His road to Milwaukee began with the Boston Braves, the Brewers' parent club since '46, where Holmes originally made his mark. The Brooklyn-born slugger broke into the Braves' lineup in 1942 at the age of 25 and instantly made himself at home. In 1945, he had a monster season at the plate, leading the National League in hits, doubles, home runs and total bases.

Holmes in 1945

The fans at Braves Field loved him, especially those who frequented the right field bleachers, known as the "Jury Box." When Holmes retired after the 1950 season, his nine years in a Brave uniform had made him was one of the most popular players in team history. Perhaps in recognition of that popularity, he was immediately given the opportunity to be the player/manager of the club's low-level Eastern League affiliate in Hartford. The early returns there were very good, and on June 20, 1951, with less than half a season under his belt, Holmes was called up to manage the big-league team.

The Braves had been floundering in mediocrity since winning the National League pennant in '48. The club was stocked with promising young players (many of whom had been developed in Milwaukee), but they failed to produce on the major league stage. The fans were short on patience and so was owner Lou Perini. After consecutive fourth-place finishes in 1949 and 1950 Perini had enough, and skipper Billy Southworth was out, replaced by the fan-favorite Holmes.

The new regime was short-lived. The Braves continued to struggle on the field and, even worse, at the gate. Unable to produce the instant results that Perini demanded, Holmes was about to find himself on the receiving end of his employer's mercurial style.

Holmes was officially relieved of his duties on May 31, 1952, fired as impulsively as he was hired. The Braves' owner blamed his manager's youth for the club's stuggles, insisting that "we think the world of Tommy, but we now feel he doesn't have enough experience."

Holmes reportedly cried when told of the move by long-distance telephone. By the time he talked to the press, he had collected himself.

"That's baseball.

"As a member of the organization, I must follow orders. I will abide by every decision of the Braves officials regarding by future with the organization.

"The Braves have always been very patient with me. But I must say the news of my dismissal as manager came as a complete shock."

Holmes said of his club:

"We have been experimenting with young players and I know that eventually that experiment will bear fruit."

Perini was convinced that those young players needed a veteran presence in the clubhouse, and he knew exactly where to find one: the same Milwaukee club so many had come through.

The Brewers were led at that time by Charlie Grimm, who was very much enjoying his second stint as master of Borchert Field. He had been a part-owner of the Brewers with Bill Veeck from 1941 through 1945, managing the team himself in 1942 and 43 before moving up to the Chicago Cubs early in the 1944 season.

Now in his second season back in Milwaukee, "Jolly Cholly" was initially reluctant to take the Boston job, telling the press:

"I never want to return to the majors. I like Milwaukee and it likes me."

Perini persisted, reportedly leaning heavily on the skipper's loyalty to the organization, and soon Grimm agreed to leave "his beloved Milwaukee" (and his first-place Brewers) for Boston. General Manager Red Smith, a former Brewer catcher and longtime coach, put on a Brewer uniform again to serve as interim manager while he searched for Grimm's replacement. One week later, he hired Bucky Walters, the Braves' pitching coach, to finish out the season.

The 1952 Milwaukee Brewers with new manager
Bucky Walters (middle row, fifth from left)

Smith went 7-0 in that one week as Brewers skipper, handing the new pilot a red-hot club. He told Walters:

"You won't have any worries running this team. This gang loves to win; that's why we're in first place."

Smith was right; under their third skipper of the season, the Brewers continued their run. They couldn't keep the top spot to themselves for the entire year, but they were never far out of it.

The deposed Holmes spent the remainder of the 1952 season as a pinch-hitter with his hometown Brooklyn Dodgers, planning his return to the managerial ranks.

Meanwhile, in the Cream City, Bucky Walters was having a rough go of it.

His Brewers were flourishing on the field, but he was stuggling personally. His health was failing and in August, ulcers forced Walters to leave the club during a road trip in Indianapolis for emergency surgery in Cincinnati. He rejoined the club three days later, but continued to be troubled by them.

After spending several weeks in August grappling for first place, the Brewers finally pulled away and cruised to a 101-53 record for the 1952 season, giving them a comfortable 12-game lead over the second-place Kansas City Blues and bringing Milwaukee its eighth American Association pennant.

With the 1952 season over, Holmes was determined to take charge of a ballclub again. The Dodgers offered him a chance to return to the Eastern League, this time with the Dodgers' farm team in Elmira, New York. Holmes decided instead to return to the Braves organization, his professional home for so long.

Bucky Walters had also come to a decision about his career. On the advice of his physician, and wishing to be closer to his family in Philadelphia, he told Smith that he would not be back to manage the Brewers in 1953. He would rather coach in the majors than manage in the minors.

Perini gave Walters back his old job as the Braves' pitching coach and rewarded Holmes with another managerial gig; this time it wouldn't be buried deep in the farm system but rather at the top rung of the minor league ladder. Tommy Holmes was on his way to Milwaukee, having essentially traded managerial jobs with Charlie Grimm.

A month after taking the job, Holmes was in Milwaukee posing for photographs with the 1951 American Association championship plaque and promising to win a third straight pennant. The Brewers' future was looking bright as the calendar turned to 1953; they had a new manager, lots of talent and were all set to move from the cramped, wooden Borchert Field into the brand-new steel-and-concrete Milwaukee County Stadium.

As every student of baseball knows, the Brewers' future took a turn before they ever got to make that move. Just days before the season was to start, and after fending off Bill Veeck's attempt to move his St. Louis Browns back to Milwaukee, Louis Perini announced that he was moving the Braves to Milwaukee. Tommy Holmes never got to actually manage a game for the Brewers before he, and the club, was bumped out of town.

The suddenly-displaced Brewers ended up in Toledo as the Sox, where they eventually won that third consecutive pennant. Unfortunately for Tommy Holmes, they would have to win it without him. His Sox got off to a sluggish start in their new city, and Holmes was fired twenty-five games into the season.

The youth experiment that Holmes had spoken of upon his firing from the Braves job in 1952 did indeed "bear fruit"; five seasons later, those youngsters brought Milwaukee the city's first World Championship.