CHAPTER XXIX.
1860-1910
UP TO this point consideration has not been given to the Umpire. In this omission I have not been unmindful of the importance of that functionary to the game; nor have I forgotten how extremely difficult it has ever been to secure for him the deference due to his position from managers, players and the public. But, as the umpire has been in evidence from the very inception of the sport, and is to-day a more potent factor than ever, I have deferred treating of him and what is due to him until it might be done in a chapter devoted exclusively to that subject.
To secure the presence of intelligent, honest, unprejudiced, quick-witted, courageous umpires at all contests in scheduled games has been one of the most vexatious problems confronting those in control of our national sport. The combination of attributes required is very difficult to find in any individual. It is not easy to put one's hand upon a man who possesses any two of these several qualifications; and yet the efficient umpire must have them all.
The umpire must be intelligent. And by intelligence I do not mean that he must have education or culture. The best umpire in the National League would not shine as a scholar in a gathering of college professors. But he could outclass the entire faculty of any university in America in promptly and quickly deciding the fine points of a game of Base Ball, and that because he has the peculiar quality of intelligence required for his duties. The rules in vogue for the government of our national pastime are not so numerous that one of ordinary acumen may not be able to acquire them. However, the acquisition of information and the ability to apply it are two very different things. One may have the capacity to commit the rules so thoroughly to memory that he can repeat them forward or backward, in the order of their setting or any other order, and such freakish accomplishments may only serve to unfit him for the duties of umpire, for they may overwhelm him with an "embarrassment of riches" along the line of multiplied rules which he has no talent to apply.
He must be honest. A crooked umpire at a ball game is as offensive as a scoundrelly jurist on the bench. His power to beget disgust for the sport is even greater than that of the judge to bring the law into reproach. The umpire does not deal with unfamiliar, abstruse, legal technicalities, whose veiled meaning needs to be explained by the citations of other judges in other cases in other courts. He must hand down his decision instanter before an audience composed of hundreds who know Base Ball law as well as he—or who think they do.
He must be absolutely without prejudice. Did you ever think what that means? Consult your own feelings at the next contest you witness. Note how perfectly free you are from bias against the visitors. Put yourself in the umpire's place for a little while. Let a team bluster, and kick, and play horse, and dispute your decisions from the opening of the game. Let them play rowdy ball, seeking thereby to gain unfair advantage not only of the adversary, but of you. Let them encourage rooters in the grandstand to hoot, and howl, and insult and brow-beat you in your earnest efforts to be just. Let them encroach upon the rules far enough to strain without breaking them. Let them invite the imposition of fines for petty offenses. All this let players do—you being the umpire—and remain without prejudice, if you can. Perhaps if you are endowed with superhuman graces you may put aside the desire to give them the worst of it—not otherwise. Is the picture overdrawn? I don't think you will say it is if you have been an attendant at many games.
The umpire must be quick-witted. He may not, like the wise old owl of the bench, look over his gold-rimmed eyeglasses, inform the assembled multitude that he will "take the matter under advisement," and then adjourn court for a week or two to satisfy himself how he ought to decide. No, indeed. He must be "Johnny-on-the Spot," with a decision hot off the griddle, and he must stick to it, right or wrong—or be lost.
The umpire must be courageous. With perfect composure and dignity he must render judgment, though he knows that in so doing he is likely to precipitate a riot, with himself as the object of a cowardly mob's unreasoing frenzy. He must stand in the midst of a team of recalcitrants like "Patience on a monument, smiling at grief," listening, until patience ceases to be a virtue, to the jibes and jeers and innuendoes of all before imposing the fine authorized by the rules.
Do you wonder that, during the evolution and development of our national game, the umpire problem has been so difficult of solution? Are you surprised, with such a requisition of heaven-born attributes, that now and then an umpire fails to measure quite up to the standard of perfection called for? Do you regard it as passing strange that, in the half-century of professional Base Ball, difficulty has been occasionally experienced in finding men equal to the requirements of this most exacting position?
But I have not mentioned nearly all the attributes demanded of every umpire. Until, in the course of the development of the game, the double-umpire system was introducd into certain leagues a few years ago, it was required of the umpire that he should be not only Omniscient, knowing everything about the game; Omnipotent, having power to control players, rooters, spectators; but he must be also Omnipresent, standing behind the batter, to judge of balls and strikes at close range; behind the pitcher, to watch for infield plays; at first base, to decide when base runners beat the ball; at second base, to determine the result of a slide or a double; at third base, to note if the runner touched that sack.
When I visited England in 1874, with competing teams of star ball players, the severest criticism I met from real English sportsmen on the American game, and that which I found most difficult to answer, was that the Base Ball umpire has too autocratic power. It seemed strange, didn't it, to have men living under even a limited monarchy censuring the great American Republic's game as too autocratic? And yet so it was. And the autocracy is there all right. The umpire is clothed with absolute power. It must be so from the very nature of the game. Base Ball is governed by inflexible rules, and it is the function of the umpire to enforce the laws to the letter. Just insofar as he can do this to the satisfaction of magnates, managers, players and spectators he is efficient. It is gratifying to note that marked improvement in this respect characterizes the game of to-day over that of even a few years ago.
There was a time when the umpire was simply tolerated as a necessary evil. He was known to be essential to the playing of the game; hence he was permitted to be there in an official capacity. But he was feared and hated alike by members of both teams engaged, and was the special object of derision and abuse on the part of occupants of both grandstand and bleachers because his authority did not extend to them. He was always the scapegoat for the defeated nine and their apologists. There has been noticeable improvement in this regard. The slugging of umpires by players is no longer an essential part of the programme, and their mobbing by spectators, though occasionally indulged in, is not encouraged by public opinion.
Still later on, it became necessary to protect umpires against the outrageous machinations of club owners. The 
Some years ago unprincipled, narrow-minded men in control of league teams conceived the idea of working umpires for rulings uniformly favorable to their players by vicious methods. If the president of the league happened to be a weakling, they would manage it through him. Umpires who would not give their nines the best of every close decision would be protested and changed. The telegraph wires were kept hot with messages from such magnates demanding that this umpire be sent here, and that umpire be sent there, and the other umpire be sent elsewhere, to meet the whims and caprices of these persistent mischief-makers. The result was that upright umpires lost heart and withdrew from the game. Weak and dishonest umpires were handled at will, to the disgust of players and the public, and to the very great injury of the sport.
There was a time when the owner of the New York club practically dictated what umpires should and should not officiate at games upon the Polo Grounds of that city, and at that time this practice was general throughout leagues where weak-kneed presidents would permit it. The result of the pernicious action was shown in many ways. It caused the presence in the game of dishonest and incompetent umpires; it offered a premium on rowdy ball; it begot disgust and mistrust on the part of the public—and when that began to affect the patronage of the sport, the evil had to be checked.
The establishment of the Supreme Court of Base Ball in the organization of the National Commission, or Board of Arbitration, has accomplished wonders in the way of eradicating this abuse. The rules have been greatly strengthened by requiring this enforcement. Managers who now interfere with umpires in any way are liable to severe punishment. Players who are guilty of offense against the presiding official at any game are subject to heavy penalties, and even spectators may not go too far in the way of personal abuse; for the presence of minions of the law is now required to preserve the peace.
In closing this chapter, I desire to speak a word for the umpire of the present and the future. As I have already said, he is essential to the game. There can be no Base Ball without his presence. His position at the best is not an enviable one. In every game there will need to be close decisions. He must give offense to somebody in each recurring contest. That every umpire will make mistakes is true. What, then, is to be done about it?
First, then, I answer, we must be fair to him. We, of America, pride ourselves upon love of fair play. Former President Roosevelt's claim for a "square deal" echoed throughout the land and found an answering echo in every true American heart. Each mother's son of us is ready to shout himself hoarse in approbation of a square deal for himself, his "sisters, his cousins and his aunts." But how about this square deal for the Base Ball umpire? Is he different? Is he outside the pale for those to whom fair dealing is to be extended? We all know the nature of his duties. We know that he must give his decision with lightning-like rapidity. Is it a square deal to dub him "rotten" if he doesn't give our team the close decision every time? Is it? I have stood in the pitcher's box and seen Ross Barnes, while covering second base, take a ball thrown by the catcher, whirl, and with a motion quick as flash apparently put the runner out. Later, I have asked in a low voice :
"Ross, did you put it on him?"
And the answer would come in a whisper, "Not by a yard."
That is one of the commonest tricks of the game. In this case Barnes fooled the umpire. He had fooled me. But down the line there were spectators who had not been fooled. They could see that the runner was safe, and they howled. But was that a square deal? Was it fair play? The umpire believed he was right. I believed him to be right. Those who were in a position to see from an angle impossible to him and to me knew that he was wrong. But he had made the decision according to his best judgment. He couldn't change it. He, and not the spectators, was judge. He was standing at the time back by the catcher's box, and if I, only a few feet away, and watching as closely as possible, could not see the play, it surely was not fair nor square to dub the umpire "rotten" because he couldn't. And so, in behalf of the sport we love, and to the exploitation of which the umpire is absolutely essential; because the future success of the great American national game depends upon it; because as Americans we are committed by nature to stand for "fair play"; because as men we believe in a "square deal" for everybody, I bespeak for the Base Ball umpire always and everywhere the same consideration that we so freely accord to the wearer of the ermine on the bench, the difficult exactions of whose office in many respects are not to be compared to those of the man who holds the indicator in his hand at a Base Ball contest.
In recent years public sentiment has been rapidly crystallizing along the line of according to the umpire his proper position in the game. Time was, as I have said, when he was looked upon as a necessary evil—to be tolerated, but not respected. It is not so to-day.
As illustrative of progress that has been made in the direction of widening the scope of the umpire's jurisdiction, I recall an incident of which I was witness during the World's Championship series of 1910. It was on the grounds of the Philadelphia Athletics and upon the occasion of the first game of the series. The Chicago Cubs had captured the pennant of the National League, the Athletics being in possession of the same trophy of the American League.
The magnificent grandstand of the Philadelphia club was thronged by a mighty multitude of Base Ball enthusiasts. For several years the National League had held the World's Championship flag, and, although betting favored the Cubs, the knowing ones felt that the Athletics had more than a fighting chance to win. So the great crowd, although good natured, was highly wrought up.
Among the spectators that day, as might have been expected, were many magnates of both major and minor leagues. Chairman Herrmann, of the National Commission; President Lynch, of the Nationals, and President Johnson, of the Americans, together with other old-time and modern Base Ball lights, were present in the best places in the grandstand.
The gathering of such a galaxy of celebrities naturally attracted the camera fiend, and he was there, conspicuously, and in large force. The teams were engaged in preliminary field practice, while the batteries were warming up and onlookers were watching the play and singling out their favorites, when a very active photographer, with paraphernalia of his craft, appeared before the grandstand directly in front of the central and most crowded section. For some moments he plied his art, snapping groups here and there, when a murmur of protest began to be heard from those whose view he was obstructing. The umpire had taken his place and was about to make announcement of batteries, when the hub-bub increased.
"Down in front," "Move on," "Cut it out," "Bounce him," "Throw him out," were some of the ejaculations hurled at the artist.
The picture-taker paid no attention for awhile, but finally the remonstrance became so widespread and general that he was forced to take notice. Removing his hat, the photographer said, politely but firmly, "Gentlemen, I am within my rights here. I have the permission of President Johnson to make these exposures."
"Oh, get out; we've got some rights, too," derisively shouted someone. "I paid $3 for this seat," yelled another, "and I want to see something." And then a refrain went up from the throats of thousands: "Too much Johnson," "Too much Johnson," "Too much Johnson."
Suddenly a hush fell upon the great assemblage. The umpire was approaching the stand. The camera man turned, saw hope in the man of the indicator, and shouted out to him a repetition of his claim that he had permission of President Johnson, of the American League, to make his snap-shots.
"Time is up," called the umpire. " I am about to call the game. You'll have to get out." And he got.
I was seated near President Johnson. I had seen him arise as if to corroborate the claim of the artist, but upon the appearance of the umpire, and hearing his fiat of authority, the great Ban Johnson, blushing like a schoolgirl, took his seat, while thousands upon thousands cheered the verdict of the man in temporary but absolute control of the game.
This chapter would be incomplete without reference to the honor that has recently come to a National League umpire in his selection to the presidency of the National League and, by virtue of that office, to membership on the National Commission, the Supreme Court of arbitration in Base Ball.
Thomas J. Lynch, of New Britain, Conn., is the man thus honored. He is 52 years of age and served as umpire for eleven years, part of the time for the Eastern League, and for the National League from 1896 to 1899, when he retired from the game until his election to the presidency. He has an excellent record as umpire, both for his ability to make accurate and prompt decisions, and for his unswerving integrity in his treatment of players, management and the public.