Baldwin High School - Piper Yearbook (Birmingham, MI)

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9 WITH F RED GOLDSHITII HI-Olsgf I-1Es!i4iUEKEHfUH,1QjA7 DISCOVER!! OF' THE CURVE S the last curve broke across the plate to retire the batter and end the baseball game, a very different scene was taking place in another section of the ball park. Fred Goldsmith, the inventor of the curve ball was being besieged by reporters and photographers. He had come to see a baseball game, a ball game as it is played todayg but his fame was too far-reaching to permit him his much desired peace. The ball game became a- secondary matter as news reporters proceeded to get their stories. This is the picture that came to our minds as we sat in a typical little Michigan farmhouse situated about fifty miles north of America's greatest baseball city. There we found eighty-two-year-old Fred Goldie Goldsmith, coiner of that famous saying, He's a sucker for a curve ball. - He greeted us warmly, and as soon as our mission was made known, a battered traveling case packed with clippings, pictures, and souvenirs was spread be- Photo by courtesy of International News Service BALL fore us. Everything we looked at had a story which our host eagerly related. Fred Goldsmith was born in New Haven, Connec- ticut, during the 18S0's. Throughout his youth, he was constantly using his playmates as backstops for his pitching efforts. When only eleven, he made the unusual discovery which later brought him fame and fortune. By holding the ball in a certain position and snapping the wrist in a peculiar manner, he managed to make the ball go in a curved path. This defied all the existing laws of science and soon aroused the interest of Henry Chadwick, president of the National League and greatest baseball editor of all time. Chadwick invited fifteen-year-old Freddie to come to New York and prove his claim. So before a crowd of 14,000 curious fans, he gave the first exhibi- tion of his wonderful discovery which was to revolu- tionize baseball. Upon his return home, the owner of the Tecumseh Club in London, Ontario, offered him a job at 300 dollars a month. Fred's father strongly opposed base- ball as a career, but with the fine salary which was offered, the chance seemed too good to miss. So in 1876, Fred Goldsmith joined the Tecumseh Club. During those three years in which I played with them, I pitched every game and we won the International League Championship three years in succession. In 1878 we challenged the Chicago White Stockings, the champions of the National League to a playoff series. In that series, I pitched and won three successive games to make the Tecumseh Club the First World Champions. , The following year saw me in a Chicago uniform under the management of Pop Anson. In the three seasons when I was with them, we won two World Championships. While with that team, we played a three-game series at Indianapolis. The first game, played in the morning, was called at the end of nine innings, a scoreless tie. After fourteen innings in the afternoon, the game was again called, another scoreless tie. The next day we won the third game by a score of 1-0, and I had allowed only one hit in the entire series. 4 While pitching against Boston in 1883, my arm suddenly went dead and began shaking violently. It CContinuea' on Page 982 -.5-..

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Swiss Evening Night's dark shades have almost Blanketed the countryside. At our feet a surging mountain Stream tumbles down, down, down, Disappearing at last into The growing darkness. Nestled deep in a valley, Between two verdant mountain Slopes, lies a tiny Swiss village. Its lights twinkle like hundreds Of friendly little stars, seeming To beckon, beckon us home. And above the sound of the torrent, From some wandering musician In the village below, drifts the Soothing refrain of a song, Borne to us on the wings Of the evening breeze. It is at times like these That men are glad to be alive. When they meditate upon scenes like This, they forget their cares And thrill to the beauty And glory of the Creator. -B. Averill -4- i J

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Perchance to Dream E sat alone in the rear of the rick- ety little coach, one of three pas- - sengers traveling over this now 2 almost-forgotten route. Ahead of him m the car two salesmen laughed and joked nosily with the conductor He started unseeing D W ' ' out of the window. Seventy years had passed above his finely moulded head, and his hair was as white as the snows that fall upon the Vermont hills through which the rusty little engine was laboriously wending its way. His delicately chiseled features were stamped with the mark of a man who has followed his path through life quietly and serenely, untouched by an age that has swept past him. His hands, folded in his lap, were soft and white like a woman's and their backs were traced with fine blue veins. Stately black covered his thin shoulders and a bit of black string was knotted at his throat. He was going home. For iifty years he had moved vaguely through the murk and smoke and grime of a great city, following its strange ways, rubbing shoul- ders with its hurrying press of peopleg and all that long time he had been living in a dream. A dream of green fields and green trees, of blue sky and blue water, of golden grain and golden sunshine. A dream withal of home-his home and his world, encompassed within the bounds of a small New England village tucked away in the hills. Leaving that home had wrought a strange change in the boy of twenty who had turned his youthful face to the West long years ago. The boy, become a man, lived within himself. Shy, reticent, marked by his tenement neighbors as queer, he worked long hours at his lowly position in a great bank. His job was his only contact with the world. His mild blue eyes were filled with the inexpressible longing of a man who has been close to Nature, and who, suddenly snatched away, dreams always of returning. And then he had been retired. They had given him a gold watch on the case of which was engraved his name and the words In token of fifty years' faithful service. He had drawn his life's savings from the bank and packed his bag that same day. Twenty-four hours later he was on his way. He was going home. The dream had become a reality. His mind struggled with the misty cobwebs of memory. Clearest in his recollections was the village. Red roofs, towering maples, great sprawling lawns of lush grass, rambling old white frame houses. It seemed he was walking its quiet streets even now. But first, of course, the tiny engine must grind noisily over the old wooden bridge that spanned Carver's Creek QHow often had he lished from and swum under that old bridgelj , pant wearily up the long hill, and with a sigh and a wheez, chuff slowly down into the valley on the other side and come to a heaving halt at the little station. Old Man Shea, the venerable station master who wore red elastic arm bands and carried a roll of snuE under his upper lip, would saunter nonchalantly from the murky depths of the little wooden building to greet him, saying in his highly nasal drawl, Well, Jim, you've come back to us, have you? The boys are get- ting up a cribbage game at the station house tonight. Shall we count you in? He would nod eager assent. And then Willie Rog- gin, who drove the chaise from the station to the Brownell House, would roll up and laugh and crack his big whip and holler, Well, jim! You just come along with me naow! We folks at the Brownell 'll treat you right! You 'member how I used to let you drive my horses! You just come along with me! He would laugh and say to Willie, Nem'mine, Wil- lie, I'm walking today! And then he would be walk- ing up the shaded dusty'street, feeling again the touch of the cool spring breeze on his cheek, and breathing deep of the rich spring air. The broad maples would cast splayed leafy shadows in the road, and he would -5.-