You might recall the story I posted three weeks ago about baseball’s ultimate rulers and the Hall of Fame. “There’s no compelling justification for the inclusion of commissioners in the hall’s renowned gallery,” I wrote.
Well, the same goes for front-office executives and league presidents.
There are a few exceptions, of course. Branch Rickey, Larry MacPhail, and Bill Veeck were innovative geniuses who changed the course of baseball. They clearly belong in Cooperstown.
But that’s not true for most of the other 37 men who have been inducted in the “pioneer/executive” category. They either benefited from running clubs with bottomless treasuries in the nation’s largest market (Ed Barrow, Jacob Ruppert, and George Weiss), or they served time in high-ranking positions without significant impact (Clark Griffith and Will Harridge), or they were competent, albeit colorless, general managers (Pat Gillick and John Schuerholz).
All of these men were successful, yes, but do they belong in the plaque gallery? I’m not certain, though I’m inclined to say no.
But I feel more strongly about a few other executives in the hall. It’s extremely difficult for me to understand how the six honorees discussed below successfully navigated the road to Cooperstown. Their stories, to be blunt, simply defy logic.
Cooperstown at the Crossroads
Read about the Hall of Fame’s checkered history (and uncertain future)
Morgan Bulkeley (1937)
A new committee was added to the Hall of Fame’s selection mechanism in 1937. The grandly titled Centennial Commission comprised Commissioner Kenesaw Mountain Landis, the presidents of the American and National Leagues, and three other functionaries. “They were, in short, the people who held the power in baseball at the time,” wrote Bill James, “and pretty much could do whatever the hell they wanted to.” Which is what they did.
Landis & Co. proceeded to make one of the most absurd selections in Hall of Fame history. Morgan Bulkeley had been appointed as president of the National League in 1876 after his name was drawn from a hat. Bulkeley served for a single year as a figurehead for William Hulbert, the real power behind the NL, and then left to pursue a political career. He left no imprint whatsoever on baseball, yet the Centennial Commission — for reasons that were never explained — decided to immortalize him on a plaque in Cooperstown.
Warren Giles (1979)
Giles, who was the president of the Cincinnati Reds, came close to being elected the commissioner of baseball in 1951. He ran neck and neck with Ford Frick on 16 ballots, with neither candidate able to secure the necessary two-thirds support. The selection meeting was entering its 10th hour when Giles finally withdrew.
He received a pair of consolation prizes. The first was the presidency of the National League (1951-1969), a job that came with an august title but few responsibilities. The second was his election to the Hall of Fame by the Veterans Committee in 1979.
Giles was a pleasant man with nothing exceptional on his resumé. “I thought Warren was a jolly, kind of dumb guy,” said renowned sportswriter Red Smith. “Friendly, very likable. Kind of a dummy.” Giles’s Hall of Fame plaque amounted to nothing more than an award for long and faithful service.
Tom Yawkey (1980)
The Veterans Committee’s 1980 choice of Tom Yawkey was truly baffling. Yawkey had owned the Boston Red Sox between 1933 and 1976, presiding over long periods of mediocrity while dragging his heels on integration. The Red Sox waited until 1959 to employ a black player, the last big-league club to do so. There was nothing in Yawkey’s record that made him even vaguely worthy of induction.
But Yawkey had one strength, a pleasant disposition. “I never remember anyone ever saying anything bad about him personally,” marveled a fellow owner, Walter O’Malley of the Los Angeles Dodgers.
Two of Yawkey’s former players, Birdie Tebbetts and Joe Cronin, served on the Veterans Committee in 1980. (Cronin had also been a manager and general manager of the Red Sox.) The pair pushed their friend through. “He never bothered anybody,” Cronin said in defense of Yawkey’s selection. “He had a great feel for the players and often would drop in the clubhouse to talk to a player who might be having some problems.” It was a very thin reed indeed.
Lee MacPhail (1998)
Lee MacPhail, who was tapped by the Veterans Committee in 1998, served as president of the American League and in front-office roles with the Baltimore Orioles and New York Yankees. He was the first son of a Hall of Famer to join his father in the plaque gallery.
Larry MacPhail, inducted in 1978, had been a bombastic and creative executive, truly worthy of inclusion in the hall. His son was mild-mannered and patient. He also lacked his father’s compelling credentials, which made his induction a bit surprising.
“Unfortunately, a person with Dad’s talent comes along only once every 50 years,” the younger MacPhail conceded. “I’ve never thought of imitating him.”
Barney Dreyfuss and Walter O’Malley (2008)
The Veterans Committee stirred itself into rare frenzy in 2008, choosing an unusually large group of five inductees, including a pair of club executives.
The selection of Barney Dreyfuss came as a shock. The owner of the Pittsburgh Pirates was nothing if not obscure. He had been dead for 76 years.
Walter O’Malley was well-known, yet overrated. His plaque hailed him as a “visionary owner who inspired baseball’s move west” by shifting the Dodgers from Brooklyn to Los Angeles, a claim that was overly generous.
California’s economic potential had been evident to everybody long before O’Malley hit the road in 1957. “Capital of the movie industry, center of styles, a city of some million and one-half, Los Angeles cannot be denied its place in the sun,” the ever-cautious Sporting News had concluded as early as 1941.
O’Malley was obviously a successful owner, but he most certainly was not a man of vision. Yet there he is in the Hall of Fame, along with Barney Dreyfuss, Tom Yawkey, and all the others.
Go figure.