Monday, February 8, 2016

213. Jimmy O'Connell: The Other Side of a Scandal

Over the years I've been fortunate enough to hear from several of the players whose portraits and stories I've included on my website, and that continued after my book "The League of Outsider Baseball" came out in May. One of the most memorable letters I received from a relative of Jimmy O'Connell. He's in the chapter entitled "The Bad Guys" due to his being thrown out of organized baseball for offering money to an opposing player to throw a game. Jimmy's great-niece wrote to say how bittersweet it was to find her great-uncle Jim in a chapter with a title of "Bad Guys". After telling me about how much she enjoyed the book she added this poignant passage: "So I'd like to put in a word for Jim O'Connell and let you know what a good guy he was. Devoted to his wife, my Aunt Esther, a loving uncle to my mom and her sister and madly in love with the game of baseball, long after it turned its back on him. ". 

Those words stuck with me ever since. These ballplayers I illustrate and write about had families who loved them. The letter made Jimmy O'Connell not just a name from old newspaper articles and box scores, but a very real person. I want to thank Jimmy's relatives for taking the time to write this great piece. The story of Jimmy O'Connell and the 1924 pennant scandal is often told, but never to my knowledge has it been told from the family's perspective. I'm both honored and humbled to be able to showcase this story here on my website. and without further delay, here the O'Connell family's "guest author" post on the old ballplayer they called "Uncle Jim"...

We all know the curdled feeling you get when your ball team loses. It is always at its most intense when the game hinges on a single error and your team ends up sinking a bit deeper in the loss column. But brighter tomorrows come easily in baseball. With its lengthy season and ambling games that always breed hope, the crummy feelings dissipate and faith is restored with one swing of a bat. But for New York Giants outfielder James "Jimmy" O'Connell, a single error of judgement in the 1924 pennant race meant a lifetime ban from professional baseball. The stamp of his poor decision stayed affixed to him and his name has traveled down nine decades of baseball history with a scandal attached.

But for me, the name Jimmy O'Connell doesn't exist solely in places like Gary's excellent book The League of Outsider Baseball. He was also my mother's "Uncle Jim", her lovable, generous and incontrovertibly optimistic uncle, friend and hero. My mom Mary June, her sister Margaret and cousin Bette always kept stories of dashing Uncle Jim alive for their combined 21 children. Although they never denied the fact that in the pennant race of 1924, Jim offered another player $500 if he didn't "bear down too hard ", they also handed down the story, detailed in their aunt's anguished letters, of heartbreak and misguided faith in the men of baseball who held Jimmy's fate in their hands. They told us, too, about the life Jim lived after the scandal, spent on dusty Outlaw League diamonds, and then back in California where some of the shimmer of his days as a San Francisco Seal stood him in better light with old fans and admirers.

In 1921, my grandmother's sister Esther moved from Montana to San Francisco to look for work. She found a secretarial job at accountants Price-Waterhouse and one day she noticed a photo of a young ball player named Jimmy O'Connell in the newspaper and set her heart on him. The handsome Irish-American was a member of the San Francisco Seals and Esther, chaperoned by her visiting mother, left a note for the first baseman at Recreation Park. "We went down to 14th Street and Valencia and left a note at the Seals office. I asked him to call on me at the Palace Hotel, if he wished. I got a call that afternoon," said Esther in an interview recorded on cassette tape before her death in 1978. Their first date was spent at the Pantages Theater seeing comedian Georgie Jessel. Recalling the evening, Esther said, "In his monologue he said, 'Did you ever see O'Connell hit one?'"

The young couple was married on October 2, 1922 and not long after their honeymoon, O'Connell was in the newspapers on both coasts due to the record-breaking sum paid by the New York Giants for his contract. "Babe Ruth Has Nothing on Seals $75,000 Beauty" and "N. Y. Giants $75,000 'Rookie'" sang the headlines. O'Connell went straight to work at the Giants' training camp, gearing up for a switch to the outfield.

The early 1920s were a glittering time in New York City and Esther was a faithful correspondent, describing to her mother and sisters the glamorous Broadway revels and pure excitement of the Polo Grounds. A family of inveterate newspaper clippers, Esther's sisters saved every mention of Jimmy O'Connell from printed game stats to the items in the society page depicting the young O'Connell and his smartly dressed wife on the town.

Then the 1924 season came to a staggering end and with it, the baseball career of Jimmy O'Connell. Books like Judge Landis by J.G. Taylor Spink and John McGraw by Charles C. Alexander have reported the details of what happened on Sept. 27, 1924 and the ensuing meetings held in Judge Kenesaw Mountain Landis' office. The main fact was thus: In a game whose win would only be an insurance policy in a National League pennant race they had nearly captured, NY Giants rookie outfielder Jimmy O'Connell approached Philadelphia shortstop Heinie Sand and whispered, "It will be worth $500 to you if you don't bear down too hard against us today."  Aghast, Sands refused and went straight to his manager to report the offer.  Word traveled swiftly to the ears of baseball commissioner Landis and O'Connell and coach Cozy Dolan were immediately summoned to explain their part in Sands' accusation. (And as it turned out, the Giants didn't need any funny business to win their "fourth straight flag". "Why offer Philadelphia $500 to lose?" one wag quipped. "They're happy to lose for free.")

Esther's side of the story was delivered in a long, tear-stained letter she composed to her mother after sitting out all night with Jim in Central Park to avoid the hordes of reporters that had descended upon their residence.  "He didn't want to but when he asked the older men what to do he was told, 'You know how thick McGraw and Dolan are, so it is orders.'" McGraw was brusque Giants owner John McGraw and those "older men" were future hall-of-famers Frank Frisch, Ross Youngs and George Kelly, who all denied saying anything and escaped punishment.

For a time, the couple remained hopeful. Jimmy never denied having made the offer to Sands, saying that he was told by coach Dolan to send out a feeler. And there is nothing that has ever been published (to my knowledge) that states that Jimmy O'Connell was solely responsible for the offer. Several baseball writers have asked, "Who put together the money?" and a couple have wondered aloud whether it was all a prank against a credible greenhorn. But adjudication was solely in the hands of Judge Landis and he handed Jimmy O'Connell and Cozy Dolan lifetime bans from professional baseball.

Stunned, Jim and Esther left New York and returned to Northern California. Esther wrote to her sister, "Jim has youth and health and we have each other and we can start over again in time." Jim's love for baseball (and his terrific athletic ability) drew him down to New Mexico to play outlaw baseball in a small league that hosted several other banned players and was looked upon with scorn by organized baseball. The Fort Bayard team was sponsored by a group of World War One vets, most of whom were bedridden with lingering wounds and tuberculosis in the post hospital. Jimmy was so popular with the fans and the vets that he eventually formed a team for the Southwest New Mexico League called "Jimmy O'Connell's All-Stars". Throughout his six years in New Mexico, Jim thrived in his roles of team captain and raiser-of-spirits to the men of Fort Bayard Hospital.

There was no shortage of calls and petitions for the reinstatement of Jimmy O'Connell made to Judge Landis. None other than the colorful writer Damon Runyon asked Landis to reconsider. "Don't you think this boy has been punished enough, Judge? I believe the public would be with you if you reinstate him." But Landis never budged and eventually Jim and Esther left the Southwest and headed back to California to begin another chapter in their lives. Jim took a job with Richfield Oil and enjoyed a long career with the oil company, starting as a refinery worker and ending his career in public relations, promoting the development of the Alaska Pipeline.

My mother, Mary June, described a visit to Uncle Jim and Auntie Esther in her 1940 diary, composed when she was nineteen years old. She flew from Cheyenne, Wyoming to San Francisco and stayed for a week in the O'Connell's Sausalito home. Each day she recorded a marvelous sightseeing trip with her Uncle Jim, culminating in a visit to the World's Fair. My mother always treasured the souvenir photograph that Uncle Jim gave her that day. And with good reason. There aren't many photos of Jimmy O'Connell in our family collection and very little memorabilia outside of a silver "Open Gate" medallion given to Jim by the NY Giants in 1924.

When Esther O'Connell returned home from Jim's funeral in Bakersfield in 1976, there was a baseball collector waiting in the driveway. Brushing past him and his inquiries, Esther made a bonfire in her backyard and threw Jim's mitts, uniforms and memorabilia on the flames. Jim had allowed himself to move on, but Esther's anger at baseball had never subsided. Mom's cousin Bette managed to save one box of Jim's things from the bonfire, but Esther had already torn the photos in two. A team photo of the SF Seals, a press photo of Jim and Sox player Willie Kamm, and a photo of Jim shaking hands with John McGraw were poignantly pieced back together with transparent tape. It is a small, but cherished, collection that I hope will spur the curiosity and baseball fever of my grandnieces and nephews as it has mine.

I am so very grateful to Gary Cieradkowski for including Jimmy O'Connell in his book and for creating such a wonderful illustration of Uncle Jim. I wasn't sure if I was just dispatching an email into the wild blue yonder when I wrote to Gary about another side of Jimmy O'Connell's story. HIs gracious reply has allowed me to share these personal reminiscences of my family and provide another view of a man who, by all surviving post-scandal accounts, was admired by just about everyone he came across.

I have been encouraged to write about Uncle Jim for many years by my Aunt Margaret. At 92, she is in full possession of her detailed memories of her beloved Uncle Jim.  I dedicate this blog post to her. She is the last person in our family (and perhaps the world!) to have seen Jimmy O'Connell play baseball. She saw him play on the Richfield Oil company team on a visit to California in 1935. She was eleven years old.

I spoke to her on the phone the other day and asked her if Jim ever talked about his regrets or suffered from the anguish that plagued Esther. She said, "He never said a word about it. It was all in the past. When he walked in the room, he'd look me and Mary June in the eyes and say, "Shall we get an ice cream cone, girls?"

A Note About the Illustration: I wanted to show Jimmy back before he joined the Giants, circa 1923 while with the San Francisco Seals, when his future was bright and the sky was the limit for him. I depicted him in the time-honored baseball chore of "boning" his bat with a horse shoe. This was done back before players used 100's of bats each year. Players would spend spare time rubbing a horse shoe, Coke bottle or steak bone on the bat which closed the pores of the wood, making it rock-hard and less likely to break.

Tuesday, February 2, 2016

212: Tomás Romañach: Afraid of being what the Americanos call "the lemon"

In the spring of 1913, Cincinnati Reds fans, players and management were finally confident their club was turning a corner. Two years earlier, in what was thinking outside the box for the time, the Reds signed Cubans Armando Marsans and Rafael Almeida to fill holes in their roster. Now they were awaiting the arrival of another Cuban to solve their shortstop problem. Tomás Romañach had hit .300 in the minors the previous summer and big leaguers that played against the kid in Cuba said he was another Johnny Evers in the field. Reds owner Garry Herrmann decided to sign him and instructed Armando Marsans, who was teammates with Romañach in the minors and in Cuba, to get his signature on a contract. However, as spring training progressed Romañach failed to report. The Cincinnati beat writers looked to Armando Marsans for answers. The cheery Cuban outfielder pondered the question, turning it from English to his native Spanish and then reversing the order for his reply:

"It is of this way with Tomás Romañach - he is proud and sensitive. If by reason of youth he should fail, the people of dear old Habana they would not understand. They would cry "Ah Tomás, he is what the Americanos call the lemon".

Before he retired in the early 1920's, Tomás Romañach would have several flirtations with the Major Leagues, be one of the few men to play in both the white minor leagues and the Negro leagues and would be remembered as being one of the best shortstops in outsider baseball.

Although newspapers usually reported his age two to four years younger than he actually was, records show Tomás Romañach was born in Havana, Cuba in 1890. His nickname while playing ball was "El Italiano" - "The Italian" - which supposedly reflected his ancestry. However contemporary newspapers have him as being of Basque origin. He seems to have come from an affluent family and one newspaper article claims that his father was the major of Marianao. Romañach was reported to be an architect and he must have been attending university in Cuba when he began playing pro ball in 1908. That year he signed with the Rojo club and appeared in one game. Two years later he was with Almendares where the 20 year-old got into 8 games and hit a soft .182. 1911 he came into his own as Almendares' regular second baseman and he showed off his skill playing against American big leaguers that toured the island that winter.

His performance in Cuba brought about an invitation to play in the U.S. The New Britain Perfectos of the class B Connecticut League was one of the few minor league clubs to actively recruit Latino players. As far back as 1908 the team was liberally stocked with Cubans and no less than three - Armando Marsans, Rafael Almeida, and Alfredo Cabrera - would go on to play in the majors. When Romañach joined the team in 1912 he was most likely sorely disappointed with the conditions he found there. It was reported that opposing fans perpetually harassed the Cuban imports and there were endless inquiries into the familial background of all the Cubans to make sure there was no Black ancestry. Having failed the background check, the great Luis Padron had been hounded out of the league in 1909 even though he was the team's best hitter. So it's no wonder that Romañach didn't last more than a few games with the Perfectos. He was an educated man from a good family - he didn't need all this needless hassle so he headed south to Long Branch, New Jersey where he joined a team in the Atlantic League called the Cubans. Unlike the Perfectos who had a mixture of Latino and American players, the Long Beach Cubans were entirely made up of players from the island nation. The team was put owned and managed by Dr. Carlos Henriquez, a Cuban national practicing medicine in New Jersey. In this familiar environment Romañach flourished. He successfully made the switch to shortstop and he finished the season hitting over .300. He was blessed with lightning speed and began hitting in the leadoff spot. This got the big league scouts on his trail and when he tore up the Cuban League that winter with a .362 average and comparisons to the great Johnny Evers, the Cleveland Indians and Chicago White Sox dispatched agents to sign him.

This is when Garry Herrmann and Armando Marsans swooped in to snatch up Romañach and sign him to a Reds contract. As we already know, the shortstop failed to report to the Reds. For their part, Cincinnati tried everything to convince the shortstop to report, to the point of Reds manager Joe Tinker promising to keep Romañach with the club all season and not farm him out to a minor league team. Described in the American newspapers as shy, coy and timid, it appears he sat out the summer back in Cuba, presumably working as an architect.

During the winter the Brooklyn Dodgers played an exhibition series in Cuba and the team's captain Jake Daubert was so impressed that he sent reams of telegrams back to Brooklyn begging owner Charlie Ebbets to sign this guy. John McGraw of the Giants heard of the Johnny Evers comparison and immediately dispatched someone to sign him at any cost. By the time he tracked Romañach down in Havana he had verbally committed to Brooklyn and the Giants man went home empty handed. Brooklyn may have been pleased to outfox McGraw and the Giants but their elation was short-lived. When Garry Herrmann got wind of Brooklyn's coup he produced the Cuban's contract from the previous year that effectively made him property of the Cincinnati Reds. Now while Ebbets began battling Herrmann for the right to sign him, Romañach began demanding an extravagant signing bonus of $2000 on top of his $3000 salary. Ebbets countered with a $1000 bonus but eventually tired of the whole affair and gave up. The Reds also lost interest and that's when Dr. Henriquez breezed into Havana and convinced Romañach to play the 1914 season with his Cubans.

The summer of 1914 proved to be Romañach's finest. The Cubans began the season in Newark but returned to Long Branch in July where there was a bigger fan base among the beach going vacationers. The Cubans had a powerhouse that year - of the five players in the Atlantic League who would go on to play in the majors, three were on the Long Branch Cubans. In a pennant race that went right down to the last week, the Cubans finished second and Romañach's .372 average put him at number 8 in batting leaders. Playing so close to New York meant that big league scouts were ever-present and Romañach's off season was again filled with tantalizing offers from Brooklyn and the outlaw Federal League - all of which he turned down after excruciating negotiations.

By now Romañach was being called the best (white) shortstop outside the major leagues. Besides being compared to Johnny Evers he was now said to be on par with Rabbit Marranville of the World Champion Boston Braves, another future Hall of Famer. It must have galled the Major League owners that they could do nothing to convince this lanky Cuban Evers-Marranville clone to sign a contract.

Spring of 1915 saw him return to Long Branch. The Atlantic League had folded during the off-season and the Long Branch Cubans were now part of a loose league called the Eastern Independent Clubs. This move is significant because this put Long Branch in what was essentially a Negro league and Romañach became one of the very few ball players pre-1947 that played in both the white minors leagues and the Negro leagues. The shortstop hit a resounding .377 and in August it looked like he was about to sign with the Brooklyn Tip Tops of the Federal League. Like he always seemed to do, Romañach held out for a big bonus, but this time he refused to sign unless the Tip Tops signed a second Cuban to keep him company. These time consuming negotiations and the precarious financial status of the Federal League precluded Romañach ever appearing for Brooklyn.

The following summer Romañach again played for Dr. Henrique who moved his team to Jersey City. Romañach was the team's best hitter with a .333 average against Negro league and semi-pro competition that again attracted big league scouts. With an unfulfilled hole in their middle infield, the Cincinnati Reds never gave up on the wiry shortstop and during the winter they sent a representative to try once again to coax Romañach to the big leagues.

To everyone's surprise, Tomás Romañach signed on the dotted line. But signing was only half the battle - the question on everyone's mind was whether or not the Cuban would show up in the Reds camp that spring. That's why when he got off the train in Shreveport, Louisiana he was the focus of all the beat writers. During the exhibition season Romañach reversed expectations by performing sub-standard in the field but tearing the cover off the ball at the plate. He still had to beat out weak hitting starter Larry Kopf for the shortstop job and things looked good when the Reds headed to Cincinnati for Opening Day. Sometime after they got to the Queen City Tomás Romañach was standing dead center just behind manager Christy Mathewson in the second row of the official team photo of the 1917 Reds. Then, without ever appearing in a league game, he was sold to Montreal of the International League.

As an aside, Romañach's appearance in the official team photo without ever playing a game has baffled historians for years, just as Joe Styborski would with his presence in the famous photo of the 1927 Yankees.
With his demotion to Montreal, Tomás Romañach's worst fears were realized - he was, as the Americano's say, "the lemon". The shortstop never appeared in a game for Montreal and he played only sporadically over the next few years. He returned to America's Negro leagues in 1920 with Alex Pomez's Cuban Stars and hung up his spikes for good afterwards. Although he never made the Majors, Romañach's play against American big leaguers was one factor that brought real credibility and respect to Cuban baseball. The talent he displayed each winter season in Cuba led to his being enshrined to the Cuban Baseball Hall of Fame in 1948.

Those who have met me in person know I'm not the kind of guy to toot my own horn. In fact, much to my detriment, I'm lousy about promoting myself. That's why it's hard for me to ask this, but this is something that needs to be done: if you bought a copy of The League of Outsider Baseball, can you please take the time to write a review of it on Amazon, Barnes and Noble or Good Reads? It would mean a lot to me and most importantly give future publishers an idea of what the book reading public thinks of my work. Almost all of the existing reader's reviews have been flattering, but every once in a while some crackpot writes a clunker out of jealousy or boredom. I for one often look at the reviews on those sites before I spend my money on a book. Reviews aren't the only thing I rely on in my purchasing process but it's certainly a factor, and that's why I'm asking you to please take the time to write your thoughts about my work. 

Wednesday, January 20, 2016

211. Claro Duany: The Giant

When I was doing the press for my book "The League of Outsider Baseball", one of the most often-asked questions was which chapter was my favorite. That was tough question - I liked them all for different reasons. "The Bad Guys" was chock-full of great stories like murderer Blackie Schwamb and "The Odd Balls" had Victory Faust. "The Bush Leaguers" featured some of my best research with the story of Lou Gehrig's summer playing in New Jersey under an assumed name and "The Could Have Beens" had the too-good-to-be-true Steve Dalkowski. Yet when pressed I inevitably said my favorite was "The International Game". In that chapter I was able to tell the stories of all the players who spread the game throughout the world - Cuba, Puerto Rico, Taiwan, Russia, Japan... I guess I really gravitated towards these players because their stories were often overlooked in the big-picture of baseball history. Despite the dozens of players I put into that chapter, I had many more I just couldn't fit in because the book would have been twice the size of its eventual 240 pages. One of the guys who had to be cut was Claro Duany, the 4-time batting champ of two different countries...

Mexico City, July 25, 1946. 

Mickey Owen, former catcher for the Brooklyn Dodgers, warily watched the big Cuban standing 90 feet away on third base. Before putting his mask back on he wiped the sweat from his forehead and eyeballed the man they called "El Gigante" - "The Giant".

Owen had made it known that he did not like playing with or against Black ball players. However, the Mexican League was completely integrated with Blacks, Latinos and Whites, and Owen's opinion was in the minority. Still, he did his best to accommodate his rapidly out-dated way of thinking. As manager of the Veracruz Blues he traded away all the darkest hued players for appropriately lighter ones, a move which angered fans and gained him nothing more than a second-division ball club. With the Blues at the bottom of the standings, he was canned and demoted to just a catcher. Despite struggling at the plate, Owen was the catcher for the South team in the Mexican All-Star Game. When Booker McDaniels, an American Negro Leaguer who was leading the league in strike outs took the mound, Owen refused to catch him. The South team's manager Ernesto Carmona had to threaten Owen with arrest to get his keister behind the plate. When McDaniels gave up 2 quick runs and failed to strike out a batter in three innings, it got around that Owen was telling the batters what was being thrown. Whether it was true or not didn't matter. Owen was now persona non grata and the press and opposing players had made him the laughing stock of the Mexican League. Owen knew it was only a matter of time before some player decided to make a statement at his expense.

Looking at El Giagante 90 feet away, Owen knew that time was now.

When the pitcher released the ball, Owen could see the big man start chugging towards home. As the ball popped into Owen's mitt, he pivoted to block the plate and waited for the impact. Instinctively Owen smashed the mitt into the charging ball players mug. Then came the crash with the two men tangled up under a cloak of dry dust. Owen scrambled to his feet and swung ineffectively at El Gigante, who reeled back and floored the ex-Big Leaguer with a left hook. Then the benches cleared and fans began climbing over the fences to get in on the action. 

By the end of the day, word of the fight had crossed the border and made the U.S. newspapers. This was 1946 and Jackie Robinson was still a season away from crossing the Major Leagues' color line. At the time of the Mexican League fight, Robinson was in Montreal trying to prove Blacks and Whites could play in the same ballpark without causing a race war. The Mickey Owen-El Giagante fight seemed to illustrate the segregationist's darkest fears...

The man called "El Gigante" was born Claro Duany y Hiedra in the port city of Caibarien, Cuba in 1917. Claro spent his youth as a stevedore, loading sacks of sugar onto the ships that filled the harbor. The hard work gave the 6'-2" kid broad shoulders and bulging biceps - the perfect build for a future slugger. Like most Cuban kids, Claro played baseball year round and it wasn't long before he was the star of his stevedore union's baseball team. With his local fame came a series of better jobs in the local sugar mills. From the 1910's through the 1940's these mills fielded powerful semi-pro baseball clubs that acted as a sort of minor league for the Cuban League. The winter of 1942 marked his debut as a professional with the Alemendres Alacranes. The big rookie was a fourth outfielder on the team that won the Cuban Championship that winter. With Alemenderes already stocked with top-shelf talent, Claro was traded during the 1943-1944 season to the Havana Reds. After the season ended he ventured north to America where he joined the New York Cubans of the Negro National League. 

The 1944 Cubans were a battle-tested veteran club. Guys like Tetelo Vargas, Poncho Coimbre, Dave Barnhill and Schoolboy Taylor played pro ball year-round and the big Cuban soaked up all the advice he could get from these wizened ball players. Claro's size made him down-right slow on the base paths so he learned to make contact and hit for distance. While he was never strictly a home run hitter, Claro learned to power his scorching line drives all over the field. He hit a solid .333 in 39 league at bats.

When the 1944-45 Cuban League started, Claro - now called "El Gigante" - was ready. Splitting the season between Alemenderes and Marianao, Claro led the league with a .340 average. With a batting title under his belt, El Gigante was able to shop his talent around and in 1945 the most money a dark skinned Cuban ball player could make was in Mexico.

Veracruz importer Jorge Pasqual had taken over the helm of the Mexican League and was determined to make it into a circuit rivaling the Major Leagues. His first step was to actively recruit the best players in outsider baseball, and since 1940 the Mexican League attracted Negro League legends Josh Gibson, Satchel Paige, Leon Day, Roy Campanella, Monte Irvin and Wild Bill Wright. Claro's 1945 batting title made him prime outsider baseball property and Jorge Pasqual wanted him bad. The big Cuban didn't disappoint. Playing for the Monterrey Industriales, Claro's .375 average not only led the league but his 100 RBI was the second highest in the history of the league - only Josh Gibson's 124 in 1941 was better. As a guide to how dominant El Gigante was in 1945, Negro Leaguer Ray Dandridge, often named as the best hitting third baseman of any color, was playing in Mexico that summer. The future Hall of Famer, at this point in the prime of his career, finished a full nine points behind Claro. 

The big man returned to Cuba for the 1945-46 winter league. The defending batting champ only managed to hit .288 but finished second in RBI. It may be that El Gigante's weight began to catch up with him. At 6'-2", Claro was large for his time but he was also prone to packing on the pounds. It's not out of line to suspect that the 2-time batting champ might have done some celebrating in the off season that caused him to get out of shape. Whatever the cause for his sub-.300 season, he was back in Mexico for 1946.

While Jorge Pasqual was pleased with his league's progress so far, he still had dreams of elevating it to the same par as the Major Leagues. Negro League and Latino stars were fine, they were as good or better than many white Big Leaguers, but they were still outsiders and not many knew who they were. Pasqual wanted marquee names - and that meant white Major Leaguers. The end of the Second World War meant the return of all the big leaguers who were away in the service. This forced hundreds of guys who kept the game going during the war back into the minor leagues and the stars who returned now demanded more money from the owners. Big league baseball was threatened with strikes as disgruntled players faced off with owners trying to maintain the status quo. Into this mess stepped Jorge Pasqual. 

With an endless supply of cash from his family import operation, Pasqual coaxed several big leaguers south including bona-fide stars like Vern Stephens of the Browns and Mickey Owen of the Dodgers. For the first time on a large scale, white big leaguers would be mixing it up on a ball field against Negro Leaguers and Latin ball players. With the Dodgers having just signed Negro Leaguers Jackie Robinson and Johnny Wright to a minor league contract, the baseball establishment watched what was going on in Mexico with a watchful eye.

As it turned out, Mickey Owen, Vern Stephens and most of the other white imports turned out to be a bust. The oppressive heat, language barrier, altitude sickness and unfamiliar food all combined to make the former big leaguers sag in the statistical columns. Vern Stephens fled north after a few weeks and Mickey Owen's racial intolerance and minuscule batting average made the former All-Star a joke both north and south of the border. When he fought El Gigante that afternoon it was the last straw for the former Dodger catcher - he and his wife soon took a $250 taxi ride north to the U.S. border.

Claro not only won the fist fight but also finished the season with his second consecutive Mexican League batting crown. Back in Cuba his .368 led the Cuban League and he had his fourth batting crown in two different leagues and countries. 

Back in Mexico, Jorge Pasqual's league was imploding. His big league imports didn't come close to producing like he expected and in fact became an embarrassment. When he announced he was going to cut salaries for 1947 the best players looked elsewhere for employment. Now a 4-time batting champ, Claro was a hot commodity and America was the place with the most money. 

The Negro Leagues were experiencing the last of their boom years. Jackie Robinson's debut with the Dodgers sent Negro League turnstiles clicking as black and white fans rushed to see the players the Major League teams were scrambling to sign. Claro attempted to re-join the New York Cubans, but there was a problem. 

The Negro National League, just like the white Major Leagues, were hit hard by the Mexican raids. As punishment, both leagues had banned all the players who played South of the Border from re-joining the fold. The Major Leagues, who had the luxury of a bottomless talent pool to choose from, slapped a stringent 5 year ban on the rebel players and stuck to it. Mickey Owen, for example, had to wait until 1949 before he was allowed to play organized ball again. The ban caused him to miss three prime years and by the time he was reinstated in 1949 he was a well-traveled 33 and past his peak. The 4-time All-Star played a few seasons for the Cubs and Red Sox before ending his career as a footnote

The Negro Leagues on the other hand, depended on big-name stars to fill ball parks. That's why after initially banning Claro from appearing in the Negro National League, the owners folded and allowed the 4-time batting champ to join the New York Cubans. He was going to put butts in the stands.

The New York Cubans of 1947 were relatively un-touched by both the Mexican raids and the Major League rush to sign Negro Leaguers. Claro joined forces with veterans Silvio Garcia and Dave Barnhill and newcomers Ray Noble and Minnie Minoso to form a potent Cubans squad. In 75 league plate appearances Claro hit a nice .429. As a testament to his danger at the plate, pitchers walked the big Cuban 12 times, giving him a resounding .520 on base percentage. Claro was selected to start the first of two East-West All-Star Games held that summer. In the first he went 0 for 2 with an RBI and in the second he failed to get a hit in a pinch-hitting appearance. The Cubans went on to break the Homestead Grays' 6 year stranglehold on the Negro National League pennant and faced the Cleveland Buckeyes in the World Series. Claro performed magnificently, hitting .428 in the 4 games to 1 rout of Cleveland. 

Back in Cuba, El Gigante's .306 was the tops on his Marianao team and his 20 doubles led the league. He also hit a home run when he met his future wife Aida after a game in Havana. Claro and teammate Minnie Minoso were driving home in a new Packard sedan when they passed two pretty sisters walking in the same direction. Minoso asked the women if they'd like a ride and the lure of a new Packard and two star ball players proved to be too much for the two sisters to turn down. Claro married Aida in 1950 and the pair had two daughters and a son. 

With the Negro Leagues in quick decline and the Mexican League drained of all the good talent, Claro joined the Canadian Provincial League. Not part of organized baseball, the Provincial League provided a haven for Black ball players whose ages precluded them from being signed by Major League teams. Many hoped that a good season in Canada would convince a big league scout to take a chance on them. El Gigante joined the Sherbrooke Athletiques. Although his .365 average and 27 homers helped his team clinch the pennant, no Major League scouts appeared with contracts. 

By now the thirty year-old El Gigante was starting to show his age. In Cuba he hit a disappointing .244 but still finished second in home runs. Back in Canada for 1949, Claro led the league in RBI but still no scouts wanted to take a chance on him. His bat still had some potency and he continued to play in Cuba in the winter and alternated between Canada and Mexico in the summertime. Finally in 1952 at the age of 33, he was given a shot by the Washington Senators. Claro and Dave Barnhill became the first Black players in the Florida International League. The aging Cuban hit .243 but his 13 homers was good enough for second in the league. With hundreds of younger Blacks and Latinos available, no other Major League team was willing to take on Claro and he retired after the 1955-56 Cuban Winter League season.

After Castro took over Cuba in 1958, Claro and his family fled to America where he settled in Evansville, Illinois. The former slugger started a very successful trucking company and retired in 1982. He was elected to the Cuban Baseball Hall of Fame in 1997 and he passed away later that year at the age of 79.

Despite fears at the time, the Mickey Owen-El Gigante fight didn't derail the integration of the Major Leagues. For his part, Owen later opened up a baseball school and taught the game he loved to kids of all races, including a young Michael Jordan. When Mickey Owen was managing in the Puerto Rican Winter League in the mid-1950's, he received high marks from all the players on his integrated team.

Although there isn't much found in one place on El Gigante's career in English, two books were very helpful in bringing Claro Duany's Mexican story to life. "Mexican Raiders in the Major Leagues" by G. Richard McKelvey and "South of the Color Barrier" by John Virtue. Both books deal mainly with the American players who went south to play ball in Mexico but due to his batting titles Duany makes appearances throughout. McKelvey's book relates the threat the Mexican League posed to Major league baseball and Virtue's explores the American Negro Leaguers who played in Mexico. Both are indispensable to anyone interested in the story of the Mexican League, but I've always thought that since the 1946 season was the first large scale fully-integrated league, this remarkable story should be told in its entirety - which means including all nationalities and races in the story. This may have already been done in Spanish, but not in English - at least not yet... 

Those who have met me in person know I'm not the kind of guy to toot my own horn. In fact, much to my detriment, I'm lousy about promoting myself. That's why it's hard for me to ask this, but this is something that needs to be done: if you bought a copy of The League of Outsider Baseball, can you please take the time to write a review of it on Amazon, Barnes and Noble or Good Reads? It would mean a lot to me and most importantly give future publishers an idea of what the book reading public thinks of my work. Almost all of the existing reader's reviews have been flattering, but every once in a while some crackpot writes a clunker out of jealousy or boredom. I for one often look at the reviews on those sites before I spend my money on a book. Reviews aren't the only thing I rely on in my purchasing process but it's certainly a factor, and that's why I'm asking you to please take the time to write your thoughts about my work.