Petition for Joe Jackson

[The Ginger Kid]

He took money for the express purpose of throwing the World Series. That in and of itself condemns him, in my book. His stats were good (.375BA,.957 OPS), but reading up on guys who threw games at the time there was a lot of padding of stats when things didn't matter, like bearing down when well behind or well ahead.

 

One telling thing that you don't hear much about is that in an eight game series, the Reds had three triples on balls hit to left field, that is, to Jackson. How many triples have you seen come from balls hit to left this season? I don't think I've seen two. And this was a guy who is considered a good defender, after all, "his glove is where triples go to die".

 

It's tough to admit it, but Joe sold out the Sox.

I don't think he threw anything. But I do agree he took money with the intention of throwing the series, but when he realized he was getting screwed on the deal by Gandil, he balked.

 

Cicotte is the guy who did the most damage. Joe Falls, a reporter with the Detroit Free Press, interviewed him in 1965 in an article called, "Cicotte, 46 Years Later" You can find it in The Best of Baseball Digest. It's pretty terrific. The last line will break your heart.

 

This isn't the entire article; I could only find part of it online:

Greeting him at the door, "Mr. Cicotte? I said hesitantly. "Yes," he said. "I'm Joe Falls of the Free Press." "Oh, yes," he said brightly. "won't you come in?" He gripped my hand . . . gripped it like a vise . . .and in that precise instant I relaxed.

 

He was dressed in a plaid shirt, blue denims, and tan shoes. His hair was white, and his eyes seemed to twinkle behind his spectacles.

 

He introduced me to his daughter and to his granddaughter--a redheaded doll of three--and for five minutes we chatted about nothing. I asked him about the Tigers and yes, he said he still followed the game, although he didn't think much "of this rubber ball they're playing with nowadays."

 

We talked about Babe Ruth. He told me how the Babe never hit a home run off him.

 

Finally, I said: "Ed, does anyone ever come around and ask about the Black Sox thing?"

 

He smiled. "Yes, they come around," he said. "From time to time they come around."

 

"What do you tell them?"

 

He sat forward on the edge of his chair. The smile was gone. He looked straight at me.

 

"I admit I did wrong, but I've paid for it," he said in a soft, even voice. "I've paid for it for the past 46 years.

 

"Sure, they asked me about being a crooked ballplayer. But I've become calloused to it. I figure if I was crooked in baseball, they were crooked in something else.

 

"I don't know of anyone who ever went through life without making a mistake. Everybody who has ever lived has committed sins of his own.

 

I've tried to make up for it by living as clean a life as I could. I'm proud of the way I've lived, and I think my family is, too.

 

"That's all I think about, my family. I think they're proud of me--I know they are. I know they look up to me. And my friends, they feel the same way . . ."

 

His daughter came into the room with a small bronzed trophy and handed it to him.

 

"Here," he said, "look at this. The Old-Timers' association gave it to me."

 

It was a plain trophy, showing a batter and catcher. The inscription read: "To Ed Cicotte. Old-Time Baseball Players' Association."

 

Those were the only words. It didn't say what the trophy meant, what it stood for. It didn't have to.

 

"They've invited me to every gathering," said Cicotte.

 

Cicotte spends these twilight years raising strawberries on the five-and-a-half-acre farm behind his house. He's not as active as he used to be, but he still runs his tractor the year round, tilling the soil in summer and clearing his neighbors" driveways in the winter.

 

He spends much of his spare time answering letters from youngsters all over the country.

 

"I still get two or three letters a week," he said, his face lighting up in delight. "I answer every one of them--every one."

 

"Do they ask you about the Black Sox?"

 

Some of them do," he said.

"What do you tell them?"

"I tell them I made a mistake, and I'm sorry for it. I try to tell them not to let anyone push them the wrong way."

He is proudest of the letter he got from a lad in Germany. "All he wanted was my autograph," he said. "Imagine that, all the way from Germany."

The hour was growing late, and Ed Cicotte was on his feet again calling for his daughter.

"Virginia, give Mr. Falls some strawberries for his youngsters. He's got five kids, and they like strawberries."

 

We shook hands again as we reached the door.

"Listen, now," he said, "if you need more strawberries or more news, you know where to come. This door is always open."

As I went down the steps, I waved good-bye to the man in the plaid shirt, the blue denim pants, and the tan shoes, but what I noticed for the first time were his socks.

They were white.