took a big cut at Ted Lyons’s pitch and crumpled to the ground. He was helped to the clubhouse, then straight to a Chicago hospital for X-rays. Nothing was broken, but the doctors noticed a blood clot right below the heart where the impact had occurred. Morgan had to remain in the hospital for several days. He would later say that he could not remember anything that happened before the fifth inning.
Despite the temporary loss of Morgan and Fonseca the Indians continued to win. They easily beat Detroit, 8–1, with Joe Shaute pitching a fine game. Willis Hudlin pitched well for his first win and Cleveland found themselves on top with a 3–0 record. They would arrive back in Cleveland filled with confidence for the long-awaited home opener.
The day before the League Park gates were unlocked, Alva Bradley spoke to members of the local Building Exchange. Bradley told the businessmen, “No big city is really a big city anymore unless it has a stadium and we want the biggest and best one here.” Bradley challenged the city to get going on the plans, or he and his partners would build it themselves. Billy Evans spoke up as well. He said, “At the opener [this] Wednesday we could have enough paid admission to fill this proposed stadium.” The new ownership was clearly making a strong statement that they wanted the new facility built now or they were prepared to go private and cut the city out of any lease revenue. William Hopkins quickly made a comment for the newspapers, saying, “The Cleveland Baseball Club Company will lease the stadium and be our largest tenant.” He reminded fans that he would bring football and boxing in as well, which would take care of the bond interest and carrying charges. Whether or not Bradley was appeased by this declaration would remain to be seen.
April 18 finally came around and the excited Cleveland fans converged on League Park, ready to watch the Indians battle the White Sox. Many of them were using automobiles to get to 66th and Lexington. When Frank Robison built the stately park in 1891 he could not see the future and the coming of the horseless carriage. There was no room anywhere near his park for cars and buses, so fans parked on both sides of area streets and even used up large amounts of the sidewalks. Many of the folks who lived on Linwood and Lexington Avenues opened their front lawns for parking. Fees were not reported, but we all know about enterprising people and the economics of supply and demand. No doubt the car owners paid through the nose for prime parking.
Morning temperatures hovered in the frigid low thirties, and fans who arrived early brought their overcoats with them. The game-day forecast called for a chance of rain with highs in the low sixties. For those who knew Cleveland weather, anything near fifty degrees would be more than acceptable. Freezing temperatures notwithstanding, the fans lined up early at the ticket windows. Many would have taken a glance at the Terminal Tower to make certain the American flag was flying. If the flag was up that meant the game was on. All the reserved seats were taken but plenty of grandstand seats were available. By game time the stands would be completely filled.
The man in charge of concessions, Robert Hamilton, anticipated an enormous day for himself and his vendors. The night before they had roasted a massive amount of hot dogs. Once the game started, Hamilton had twenty-five boys standing by to reheat the dogs and slap on the mustard. As soon as the food was ready, there were seventy-five men and boys to peddle it around the park. All told, there were six hundred pounds of hot dogs ready to be devoured. For those that needed a coffee fix, Hamilton brewed over two hundred pounds’ worth. To complement the hot dogs and coffee, roasted peanuts, popcorn, and potato chips were stored in hefty containers.
A number of fans were disappointed when they were told that soda pop was not on the menu. Concessionaire Hamilton decided that the receipts from previous years did not warrant serving any Coca-Cola. This news was happily welcomed by the American League umpires working League Park. Baseball fans had a long tradition of showing what they thought of bad calls by the umpire. After a few minutes of loud boos, the people in the stands took aim and heaved empty pop bottles at the hapless men on the field. An umpire had to be nimble to avoid the shower of glass coming at all speeds. At least for 1928, the men in blue at League Park could relax and worry only about flying peanut shells or an occasional hot dog.
Opening Day always featured various ceremonies before the teams took the field. Brass bands played, certain city officials were introduced, and the American flag was raised near the center-field scoreboard. Manager Peckinpaugh received a six-foot floral arrangement shaped like a horseshoe. The fans cheered while Peck waved to the grandstand. The longstanding custom of throwing out the first pitch went to City Manager Hopkins. He made an awkward throw, and it was time to play baseball. The Indians lineup went as follows:
Charlie Jamieson (left field)
Carl Lind (second base)
Sam Langford (center field)
Joe Sewell (shortstop)
George Burns (first base)
Homer Summa (right field)
Johnny Hodapp (third base)
Luke Sewell (catcher)
Joe Shaute (pitcher)
Johnny Mostil led off for the White Sox and grounded to George Burns. Pitcher Joe Shaute gave up a base on balls and hit a batter, but kept Chicago from scoring. The Indians got rolling in the bottom of the first. With one out, Carl Lind singled. Sam Langford lined a ball off the short right-field wall but was held to a single. Veteran outfielders like Johnny Mostil knew how to play balls that caromed off the imposing wall. He played the bounce perfectly, wheeled and threw to second to keep Langford from advancing. Joe Sewell got the crowd shouting by lining a double to right field. Lind crossed the plate with the first run of the home season. George Burns flied to right, scoring Sam Langford with the second run. Those would be all the runs needed by Shaute to win the home opener, although Cleveland scored five more times in the seventh inning. The big hits were a bases-loaded single by Johnny Hodapp and a double by Luke Sewell. The Indians cruised to a 7–1 victory.
It had been quite a successful day for Alva Bradley and his partners. They watched an exciting game with loads of action. Everywhere the new owners looked, there were fans yelling and applauding, thrilled to see the home season get off to a rousing start. There was still a great deal of work to do in making the club a contender, but Bradley saw the potential of putting a quality product on the field—including justification for building a new ballpark that could seat more than three times the amount of fans squeezed into League Park.
The game ended right around 5:00 p.m. Fans madly dashed to their automobiles, intent on getting ahead of the traffic. Within minutes one of the all-time traffic snarls in Cleveland history took place. The fifty police officers on duty whistled and yelled at hundreds of autos trying to get out of the neighborhood and find their way to Euclid and Carnegie Avenues. Any sense of protocol and orderly behavior was forgotten. Cars were everywhere, flying down alleys and side streets. The streetcars, special buses, and taxis moved in to pick up the thousands of people needing rides. Soon they were literally stopped in their tracks, blocked by the onslaught of Model T’s and the like. Police estimated the delays at forty minutes and climbing. The cars that somehow reached Euclid Avenue ran directly into the normal traffic jam that had begun a half-hour earlier. Motorists were able to move about three feet, then stop and wait a few minutes to move another three. The fender benders were too numerous to count. One driver shouted to police to stop the car behind him that had already rammed him twice. An officer screamed back to write it down and mail the complaint to headquarters.
At one point a streetcar managed to reach a large group of fans. Within moments it was filled. Those who hadn’t managed to climb aboard stood defiantly in the street, holding back the traffic until they spied another streetcar. To add to the chaos, a woman driver in a large auto attempted to make a left turn in the middle of Euclid Avenue. She got about halfway across, then stopped suddenly, unable to drive any further. This daring move stopped traffic in both directions, causing the male drivers let go with obscenities. Women had made significant strides by the late 1920s, but equality was still many decades ahead. The fact that the woman sat calmly in her car and chewed gum really aggravated the guys on both sides of her. It would be more than a full hour before the streets began to clear. This was Opening Day at its finest.
The following day, Willis Hudlin kept the good feelings alive by defeating the hapless White