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Preface
The writer has been asked frequently, or perhaps not very often at all, two vital questions regarding the letters published in this book: (1) Are they actual letters or copies of actual letters? and (2) Who is the original of Jack Keefe?
The first question seemed highly complimentary until you thought it over and realized that no one with good sense could have asked it. Some of the letters run as long as a thousand words and there is only one person in the world who writes letters of that length. She is a sister-in-law of mine living in Indianapolis, and when she sits down to write a letter, she holds nothing back. But she is a Phi Beta and incapable of the mistakes in spelling and grammar that unfortunately have crept into this volume.
As for the other question, I have heretofore declined to reply to it, as a reply would have stopped the boys and girls from guessing, and their guesses have given me many a thrill. But now there are no ball players left whom they haven’t guessed, from Noah to Bucky Harris, and I may as well give the correct answer. The original of Jack Keefe is not a ball player at all, but Jane Addams of Hull House, a former Follies girl.
An introduction to this book was written by Will Rogers, but the Scribner boys threw it out on the ground that it was better than the book. However, there was one remark of Mr. Rogers, which I think should be preserved. Referring to me, he wrote: “He is undoubtedly the biggest—” The rest of the sentence is so blurred as to be indecipherable.
The writer wishes to acknowledge his indebtedness to Mayo brothers, Ringling brothers, Smith brothers, Rath brothers, the Dolly sisters, and former President Buchanan for their aid in instructing him in the technical terms of baseball, such as “bat,” “ball,” “pitcher,” “foul,” “sleeping car,” and “sore arm.”
A Busher’s Letters Home
Friend Al: Well, Al old pal I suppose you seen in the paper where I been sold to the White Sox. Believe me Al it comes as a surprise to me and I bet it did to all you good old pals down home. You could of knocked me over with a feather when the old man come up to me and says Jack I’ve sold you to the Chicago Americans.
I didn’t have no idea that anything like that was coming off. For five minutes I was just dum and couldn’t say a word.
He says We aren’t getting what you are worth but I want you to go up to that big league and show those birds that there is a Central League on the map. He says Go and pitch the ball you been pitching down here and there won’t be nothing to it. He says All you need is the nerve and Walsh or no one else won’t have nothing on you.
So I says I would do the best I could and I thanked him for the treatment I got in Terre Haute. They always was good to me here and though I did more than my share I always felt that my work was appresiated. We are finishing second and I done most of it. I can’t help but be proud of my first year’s record in professional baseball and you know I am not boasting when I say that Al.
Well Al it will seem funny to be up there in the big show when I never was really in a big city before. But I guess I seen enough of life not to be scared of the high buildings eh Al?
I will just give them what I got and if they don’t like it they can send me back to the old Central and I will be perfectly satisfied.
I didn’t know anybody was looking me over, but one of the boys told me that
