high-class Roosevelt heard about the incident. Oscar Vitt suspended Rollie, tacking on a significant fine. The regular season had not yet begun, and Hemsley had already started to rack up discipline penalties. Fans began to wonder if the hard-living Rollie would be on the club on opening day. Gordon Cobbledick wrote in the Plain Dealer, “[Hemsley’s] leadership along the primrose path might take some other Indians astray, and there probably aren’t any other who can stand the pace he sets.” The question remaining was whether the nervous front office could stand the pace either.
With Hemsley’s status in the air, the Indians left New Orleans to make the long trek back to Cleveland. On the way were exhibition stops in many of the southern cities. For the fifth year in a row, the New York Giants traveled with the Indians, providing the opposition at many of the locations. There were games in Alexandria, Louisiana; Birmingham, Alabama; Meridian, Mississippi; and several other cities and towns. Crowds averaged between three and five thousand per stop. The clubs got a large share of the gate from local promoters eager to host a Major League ball game and make something of a profit. It was win-win for all concerned, particularly the fans who traveled from all around the southern states to see a Carl Hubbell or a Bob Feller pitch three innings. In the days before television, the exhibition games were a once-a-year delight for the populations that lived great distances from the Major League cities.
The extended barnstorming trip had its finale in Charleston, West Virginia. From there the Indians rode home to Cleveland to prepare themselves for the opener. The starting lineup had one significant change in it. Oscar Vitt penciled in a new third baseman with just two years of minor league experience. He had shown immense promise in spring training, enough to win the job outright. His name was Ken Keltner.
Kenneth Frederick Keltner was born on the south side of Milwaukee on October 31, 1916. He attended high school there, playing just about every sport available, including ice hockey. While a member of the football team, a nagging ankle injury prompted him to concentrate on baseball alone. Keltner played amateur ball for several different teams, including one backed by a mortuary. When the season ended, he switched to fast-pitch softball, garnering all kinds of attention for his exceptional talent.
In 1936 a local umpire noted Keltner’s skills and accompanied him on a visit to Allen Sothoron, the manager of the Milwaukee Brewers. A brief tryout convinced Sothoron, a one-time Major League pitcher, to offer a contract. Keltner signed and was sent to Class D Fieldale, Virginia, a member of the Bi-State League. Though a long distance from home, Keltner quickly developed into an outstanding ballplayer. In one season at Fieldale, he batted an impressive .360 while powering 12 triples and bashing 33 home runs. The Brewers were satisfied enough to bring Keltner back to Milwaukee for the 1937 season. He made the transition flawlessly, knocking out 27 home runs and hitting .310. At this point the Indians became interested, securing Keltner’s contract for the large amount of $40,000 and three players.
Keltner reported to the Indians spring training in something less than top-flight condition. The Cleveland News observed that “Keltner is a chunky German of the type that put on weight rapidly.” The reporter did mention that the new third baseman had great hands, a strong arm, and excellent reflexes.
The Indians sorely needed a dependable third baseman who could handle his position without the glaring errors of his predecessors. Sammy Hale’s bum arm led to a move to second base, allowing Keltner to show off his well-above-average fielding skills. He helped nail down a roster spot in the course of the exhibition tour with the New York Giants. In the first two games, Keltner walloped three home runs, convincing Slapnicka and Vitt they had indeed found their man.
With the addition of Ken Keltner, the Indians were primed and ready to open the season at Municipal Stadium. Fans had to get used to the idea of driving their cars or hopping on a bus to find their way downtown toward the lakefront. Alva Bradley predicted record attendance, as well he should, with an 80,000-seat facility. The weather cooperated with blue skies and an unusually warm April day. Though a strong wind came blowing off Lake Erie, the temperature steadily climbed to a pleasant seventy-seven degrees. Men discarded their winter overcoats to arrive at the stadium in shirtsleeves.
At nine o’clock in the morning the concession staff was already hard at work. The mouthwatering roast beef and corned beef had to be cooked and simmered for at least six hours. Bags of popcorn were being produced at a rate of fifty bags every two minutes. Bread trucks lined the streets with several thousand loaves of warm fresh bread and hot dog buns.
At least ten tons of ice were needed to cool the thousands of soda and beer bottles. An opening-day crowd had the capacity to devour up to 34,000 tasty sandwiches. including hot dogs, cool off with 3,000 or so bricks of ice cream, and wash it all down with refreshing lemonade, soda pop, and beer. Several hundred vendors, from small boys to grown men, handled the concession sales for 10 percent of the gross. Selling beer had the potential to earn more than a few bucks, while hot dogs had the greater volume. Vendors were always looking to hawk the higher-priced items, leaving the popcorn and candy bars for the youngest boys. The ten- and eleven-year-olds stood in a line, their oversized vendor coats falling far below their waists.
There was money to earn even after the game finished, in the “blow-off sales,” where vendors lowered their prices and sold items to fans needing food for the drive home. Men on their way back to the office might want a hot dog and a cold beer to get them through the overtime hours. There were many ways to make a buck.
The crowd assembled on April 19 added up to 31,600. It was a new record for the Cleveland Indians, yet still left almost two-thirds of the stadium seats empty. Major League attendance for opening day, including Cleveland–St. Louis, reached 250,000, a robust start for the new season. Owners looked ahead to a money-making summer. They had scrimped and saved for quite some time, and prospects were now bright for a continued stretch of profitability. The red lines in the company books were beginning to give way to black ones, much to the relief of the clubs that had struggled mightily throughout the Depression of the 1930s. The team owners could now sit back in their private boxes, shaking hands and counting the dollars about to be added to their savings accounts. Even Judge Landis might be seen cracking a small grin. Though probably not.
The opening-day ceremonies at Municipal Stadium were nothing out of the ordinary. Manager Vitt received an authentic Native American headdress from a rodeo troupe that was performing at the midtown Cleveland Arena. The Indians and Browns marched to center field for the raising of the flag. And that was all the pregame pomp. The Indians took the field with a few of the players wearing their new windbreakers under their jerseys. Owner Bradley had paid the pricy amount of $16.50 each for the cold-weather protection. If nothing else, his boys were the best-dressed players on the field.
Jack Graney sat behind the WHK microphone for his seventh year as the Indians’ play-by-play announcer. The veteran now had a partner, Pinky Hunter, to handle the between-innings conversation. This addition allowed Graney a short break while the teams exchanged positions on the field. Soon broadcasts would ease into the two-man format that allowed fans to acquire the maximum amount of information each and every game. Hunter contributed scores from around the American League, did updates, handled some of the live commercials, and provided a somewhat comic foil for Graney’s observations.
At the Cuyahoga County Jail, 450 prisoners enjoyed Graney and Hunter’s broadcast of the opening game, thanks to the county sheriff and his deputies, who hooked together fifteen loudspeakers to relay the play-by-play. It is safe to say there were no prison breaks or mass riots from the time Johnny Allen threw his first pitch.
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