Remembering the Pitch That Killed a Major League Ballplayer

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Sowell front coverSowell back coverThe Pitch That Killed: The Story of Carl Mays, Ray Chapman, and the Pennant Race of 1920 is one of the best baseball books I’ve ever read, or been involved with publishing. It chronicles the only fatality ever caused by injury during a baseball game. Ray Chapman was a great Cleveland Indians shortstop who died after struck in the head by a pitch thrown by NY Yankee Carl Mays. The tragedy occurred in the same season that the Tribe won their first World Series, somehow overcoming the loss of one of their best players. I’m glad that Cleveland Plain Dealer sports writer Bill Livingston, @LivyPD, chose to write about it today, the Sunday before Opening Day. Livingston reports that a film based on the book, “Deadball,” may be in the works.The Pitch That Killed is still in print today, in an edition from Ivan R. Dee, independent publisher in Chicago.

Macmillan, where I worked in the late 1980s, was a hotbed of excellent baseball publishing, anchored by The Baseball Encyclopedia. Titles I was responsible for included Two Spectacular Seasons: 1930–The Year the Hitters Ran Wil and 1968: The Year the Pitchers Took Revenge by William B. Mead and the Twentieth Anniversary edition of Jim Bouton’s classic Ball Four, an edition that’s still widely available today, including from Powell’s Books, the affiliate bookseller for this site. Colleague and friend Rick Wolff, who edited The Pitch That Killed and The Baseball Encyclopedia also worked on You Gotta Have Wa: When Two Cultures Collide on the Baseball Diamond, Robert Whiting’s enlightening examination of baseball in Japan. As baseball season begins, it’s fun to celebrate some great baseball books.

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So Sorry to Lose Jay Smith, Rock n’ Roll Musician

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I’m still shocked and saddened with Wednesday’s news that Jay Smith–guitarist in the great rock band led by Matt Mays–died suddenly, only hours after the group played a live show in Edmonton, Alberta. His death was disclosed in this Facebook message from Matt Mays:

Folks,

Our guitar player and dear friend Jay Smith passed away this morning in Edmonton. As you can all imagine, we are completely devastated. However, in our heart of hearts we know that we need to Play on. Jay’s family as well as the band know he would have wanted it that way. All the proceeds from the remaining shows will be put into a trust for his two beautiful children. Jay’s wit, charm, and unparalleled love of music will never be forgotten.

He was our brother and he will live in our hearts and song forever.

Matt, Serge, Damien, Adam and Matt

A cause of his death has not been announced. Exclaim magazine reports “no foul play is suspected.” Smith was 34 or 35 years old (b. 1978).

When I visited Toronto last June for the North by Northeast festival (NXNE) I heard Matt Mays and band play live at Lee’s Palace, a tremendous show. Jay Smith was a key part of the group that night, and I remember the steaming guitar solos he played. I’m sure the band will be a long time mourning his loss, personally, creatively, musically, and humanly. Photos from that show are published below. Smith had had a lengthy career as a rocker and presence on the music scene of Canada’s east coast, haling from Cape Breton, Nova Scotia, with a band called Rock Ranger, that Mays featured in a song of his own, “Rock Ranger Record.” In fact, the group played it last June at Lee’s Palace, and Smith seemed to take special delight in playing on a song that was, after all, about an alter ego of his own. Mays is also from Canada’s east coast, a native of Dartmouth, Nova Scotia, a locale he wrote about in a 2002 song, “City of Lakes.” Unaccountably, the song ends with these lines:

“I lost a friend here in this past year/I miss his guitar playing in my ear/Be a friend, take away all my fears/Nice and easy, nice and easy, nice and easy.”

Those lyrics, in turn, prompted me to reflect on the episode in 1972 when Danny Whitten, then the lead guitarist in Crazy Horse with Neil Young, died of a heroin overdose. I’m not presuming any similar reason for Jay Smith’s death–in fact have heard from someone close to the band since I posted this item that it definitely was not drug-related–only imagining what it’s like for a band to lose a brother in arms, as this extremely tight band now sadly has. To understand the dimensions of their loss, please see the photos below where in one the whole band literally took a bow with arms linked, and then waved goodnight to the jubilant crowd. These reflections prompted me to tweet the message shared above, as a prelude to this post.

Jay Smith album artSmith released a fine solo album in 2011 that I’ve been listening to often in the days since his death. You can listen to it at his bandcamp.com, where I bought a download of it for $7. It’s really a terrific recording, deserving of airplay for such standout songs as “My Luck,” “Partner in Crime,” and “Perfect View.” Please note also that at his website Matt Mays has set up a donation page for those who want to contribute to a trust for Jay Smith’s wife and two children, at this link. My sincerest condolences to his family, friends, and bandmates. RIP, Jay Smith. Please click on this link to see all photos.

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#FridayReads, March 29–‘Heretics: Adventures with the Enemies of Science’

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Saturday update–


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Heretics#FridayReads, March 29—The Heretics: Adventures with the Enemies of Science by British journalist Will Storr. I posted this book as a #FridayReads March 8, so it should be clear it is not a quick read. However, it should also be clear that I’ve stayed with it because reading it is a very rewarding experience. Storr’s investigation blends spot reporting from such locales as a revival meeting in Australia led by a creationist preacher with consideration of the placebo theory and homeopathy and its detractors. Like Jon Ronson, another British author with whom I’ve compared Storr, the author of this book is an affable guide who successfully inveigles his way on to a tour bus of Holocaust deniers led by disgraced former historian David Irving and in to a conversation with the churlish defender of Hitler. I’m reading the last 40 pages now where Storr probes the question of whether James Randi deserves the status he’s widely accorded as the ‘world’s most noble skeptic.’ Storr, shall we say, has some doubts. I recommend this thoughtful and nuanced book most highly. I first read about this book in the Guardian last January and I’m glad I was able to get a copy from Picador, Storr’s obliging UK publisher.

Please note: you may visit a ‘buy page’ for this book at the website of Powell’s Books–the affiliate bookseller for The Great Gray Bridge–by clicking on this book link: The Heretics: Adventures with the Enemies of Science.

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Some Early Spring Hudson River Views

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Looking northward to the GGBFollowing many days of late winter gloom and cold winds off the Hudson River where I regularly ride my bike things brightened up a bit today. With temps edging over 50 degrees and light to moderate winds, I wasn’t forced to don the usual gear I’ve been wearing on my rides since the fall. More lightly clad than usual, I pedaled north along the river, stopping for a break about even with 140th Street. Perched atop an old picnic table I read my current book, Heretics: Adventures With the Enemies of Science by British journalist Will Storr; phoned my sister to wish her a happy Passover; and took these pics of the Hudson and the Jersey side of the river. Even with the noticeable warming, there were still a lot gray, glowering clouds hanging low in the sky, but maybe now we’re in for a spell of fair weather. Please click here to see all photos from my bike ride.

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A Deranged Shooter, a Blues-loving Author, and Reflections on Aesop–3 Great Reads in Sunday’s NY Times

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After reading three terrific and interesting pieces in the NY Times this morning, I tweeted about them and so as night falls now want to share them here too. I’ll add a bit more about each story below the original tweets.


The ballplayer Waitkus was a member of the 1948 Philadelphia Phillies; he recovered, though spent several months in a wheelchair after the deranged shooter wounded him. Steinhagen had never met him till that day, and had become weirdly fixated on him. She was institutionalized for some years afterward, but never went to prison, and was then released. She outlived all her relatives, and just died in Chicago last December. The Times obit by Bruce Weber explains her death would have gone unreported had not it been discovered in the course of unrelated reporting. Weber suggests that Bernard Malamud was aware of the incident when he published his novel The Natural in 1952, in which protagonist Roy Hobbs (Robert Redford in the 1984 movie) is shot by a female fan.


Hamid, author of the new novel How to Get Filthy Rich in Rising Asia, is very worldly, and his responses in the Times’ weekly feature, ‘Download’ about what he’s currently reading, listening to, following, watching, and appreciating, are very interesting, with good recommendations. I had not heard of online cultural aggregator 3quarksdaily, and it looks cool. I was delighted to see he’s a big fan of the blues and had not thought about denizens of river cities being especially susceptible to the charms of the American music.


Hoagland’s essay is not only important, in a planetary sense, it also has some of the most surprising and interesting linguistic invention and wordplay I’ve encountered in a long time. There’s a lightness to the way it’s written that reminded me of E.B. White. Hoagland lives in Vermont’s Northeast Kingdom, also home to writer Howard Frank Mosher, author of the great novel of the region, Disappearances, and while it’s not White’s Maine, Hoagland and Mosher are also writers steeped in a powerful sense of New England place.

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NYC Pet Owner Grooms Dog in Park, Lets Fur Fly

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Walking from the #5 bus stop at the Fireman’s Memorial opposite Riverside Park in my Manhattan neighborhood on a recent morning I saw a woman combing her dog on one of the site’s marble benches and letting the white fluff fall where it might. Walking past the bench, I picked a tuft of the furry detritus off my wool coat and asked her why she was making no effort at containing the mess. She said, “Oh, don’t you know, the birds use it in their nests.” Having in the past encountered this form of urban littering–and the same birds’ nest rationalization, a seeming urban legend subscribed to by some dog owners–I once asked a NYC park ranger about pet grooming in the parks. He answered that regardless of whether or not animal fur is used in birds’ nests, the stuff stays around forever and that they do ticket pet owners for such carelessness. On Thursday, I told the woman that actually she was littering and could be ticketed for it, and asked that she make the effort to clean it up. She ignored me and went on combing her dog, with white hair flying around like so many dandelion puffs. I walked away stiff-jawed, gobsmacked at how willing to break the urban social contract some city dwellers are.

I have heard some New Yorkers say they believe that commuters who clip their fingernails on public transit, a startling act, if you’ve never observed it, or heard it, may be the most anti-social conduct engaged in by our fellow urbanites. On the other hand, this pet-grooming–rationalized with the self-serving assertion that they’re somehow helping birds thrive–is, outside of violent crime, in the running for the most selfish and outrageous of all urban behaviors.

I think it’s fair for readers here to wonder why I’ve bothered chronicling such behavior. I’m not sure, except for the fact that I kind of still can’t believe a fellow NYer would do something like this, and then bat away responsibility with such an airy rationalization. By sharing it and calling attention to it, I’m hopeful it may lead to more social opprobrium. Sadly, though, this woman was incapable of embarrassment or shame, always a problem when anti-social behavior is afoot.

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#FridayReads, March 22–“Things Fall Apart,” Chinua Achebe

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#FridayReads, March 22–Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe, who died Thursday at age 82. I read the book in college, the very copy shown here. It’s a classic, richly deserving of its status. Things Fall Apart backThings Fall Apart front cover

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NYC Sandhog Trapped in Quicksand Rescued from Treacherous 2nd Avenue Subway Tunnel

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MTA photoFirefighters and emergency workers went to extraordinary lengths to rescue the construction worker I tweeted about earlier, mired as he was in a veritable pool of quicksand 100 feet under Second Avenue and 95th Street in Manhattan. In addition to the NY Times article by reporters Matt Flegenheimer and Marc Santora, the latter also appears in a video at the Times site discussing the incident, and there’s a graphic (below) that shows the unusual configuration below ground that led to the peril for the worker. From the article:

[Joseph Barone] became trapped midway between two entrance points used by construction workers, a distance of about 150 feet.
The situation was complicated by the fact that Mr. Barone was pinned at an awkward angle beneath plywood that had sunk into the mud with him. While some stretches of tunnel south of 96th Street have been poured over with concrete, according to the authority, the area where the worker lost his footing remains muck-filled.
Above him were two heavy bars used to brace the walls of the tunnel.
“The first units who got there were concerned about him slipping down more, so they got him roped up,” Chief Hayde said.
With the ropes slung over the struts, initial attempts to simply pull Mr. Barone out of the muck failed.
“There was a tremendous amount of suction pulling him down,” Chief Hayde said. . . .
Rescue workers considered using a cofferdam—essentially a plywood box, which would be constructed around Mr. Barone—but decided that in order to do so, they would have to detach him from the ropes, which they feared could result in his sinking entirely.
So firefighters also dug by hand, trying to scoop out two handfuls of muck for each one that seeped back in.
All the while, Lieutenant Goyenechea tried to keep Mr. Barone talking. He asked about his family, his favorite sports team and how he had come to be stuck.
Mr. Barone said he had simply lost his footing, and once his leg was trapped, there was little he could do.
The Rev. Stephen Harding, a chaplain with the Fire Department, said he was summoned to the scene to provide support to the emergency workers. But after spending over three hours above ground, he said, he asked to be escorted into the tunnel.
There were scores of emergency personnel, he said, covered in grime as they struggled to free Mr. Barone in the dim light. Mr. Harding approached, carefully, and extended his hand to grasp Mr. Barone’s. He could barely make out the worker’s face, which was caked in mud, he said. But a voice emerged.
“He said, ‘I’m hanging in,’ ” Mr. Harding recalled. “And I just held his hand.”
Subway graphic

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