Alva Bradley shared that enthusiasm in two words: Bob Feller. Even though he had pitched just sixty-two innings in 1936, the eyes of the nation were focused squarely on the kid from Van Meter. They chose not to remark on the troublesome forty-seven walks or the eight wild pitches. Instead, fans remembered the smoking fastball that accounted for seventeen K’s against the Athletics and fifteen against the Browns. With all the hype surrounding Feller, a thirty-win season plus three hundred strikeouts were universally expected.
All through spring training the crowds doubled in size when Feller took the mound. Reporters and fans followed him from the diamond to the clubhouse and back to the hotel. He signed countless autographs and permitted lengthy interviews with anybody from the press. He had radio stations begging for live in-studio programs, along with ice cream companies badgering him to eat their products during National Ice Cream Week. The Cleveland writers noted that Feller went to bed by nine o’clock each night, totally exhausted from the nonstop attention.
Manager Steve O’Neill complimented his young pitcher for displaying the knowledge and skills of a true veteran. O’Neill remarked that Feller had remembered everything he was taught last season while handling batters as if he had been in the Majors for several years. The Cleveland skipper believed Feller’s curveball had become a key weapon in addition to his blistering fastball. O’Neill made no predictions but indicated big things were expected in 1937.
National columnists weighed in on Feller’s impact for the coming season. Will Connolly, writing for a San Francisco newspaper, thought the Cleveland pitcher would be beneficial for the game. He wrote, “Interest in baseball will improve in direct ratio to interest in pitching feats and that’s why I say Robert William Andrew Feller is a greater asset to the major leagues than our own Joseph Paul DiMaggio. It is a fact that Feller of Van Meter, Iowa and the Cleveland Indians, is doing more to accelerate interest in baseball than any rookie who has broken in during the past twenty years.”
Connolly had a fair point. Though Joe DiMaggio had great appeal to fans in New York and his hometown of San Francisco, it would be Feller who brought more notice to baseball in virtually the entire United States. The American League owners certainly hoped Feller would live up to the extremely high anticipation and boost ticket sales at all their parks.
On Tuesday, April 20, the Indians and Tigers opened regular season play at Detroit. Veteran Cleveland pitcher Mel Harder received the start against Elden Auker. Detroit got on the board early, scoring single runs in the first and second innings, then two more in the fourth. The big blow was a long home run by outfielder Gerald “Gee” Walker. The Indians, led by Roy Hughes and Lyn Lary, managed to score three times in the early innings. After the fourth neither team was able to plate any runs, leaving the final score at 4–3 Tigers. A good-sized crowd of 38,000 fans watched the two teams’ battle.
Typical early spring weather brought rain showers, canceling games until Cleveland’s Friday, April 23, home opener against the St. Louis Browns. During the week the team attended a press luncheon to promote fan interest in the opener. Cy Slapnicka was the master of ceremonies, handling the brief introductions for the Indians players. Slap called up Bob Feller to say “Howdy.” Feller walked to the microphone, leaned forward, and said “Howdy,” then ambled back to his seat. Of course, the script was for everybody to say a few words, then be seated. The players burst out with laughter at Feller’s unintentional humor. After that, when introduced, each player said “Howdy,” then pretended to walk away. Feller had to be prodded to return to the speaker’s podium and answer a few easy questions. Later he would understand the expectations and have a few canned sentences ready to go.
In spite of the threatening weather, the Indians front office let fans know the opener would go forward. By late morning the rain let up and a touch of sunshine broke through the overcast skies. The Cleveland fans eagerly marched into League Park, carrying topcoats in case of rain or anything else. They checked the prices at the Lexington Avenue ticket window, which showed box seats going for $1.60, reserve for $1.35, pavilion seats for 85 cents, and bleachers for 55 cents. The people with season tickets strolled behind the outfield walls, where they entered a private gate on Linwood Avenue.
The grounds crew, now run by Emil Bossard, had the field in playable shape. The infield had no large puddles, while the freshly cut outfield grass looked to be uniform in height. The bat boys were stacking the new player bats in two long rows in front of each dugout. The box seats even had new canvas covers. The only thing lacking was the ballplayers’ entrance onto the field.
While ushers in bright new red jackets helped the fans track down their seats, Bob Hamilton, the long-time head of concessions, peered out from his spot under the stands, trying to gauge the exact figure of people he needed to feed. Ready for the vendors were a half-ton of juicy hot dogs, another half-ton of freshly roasted peanuts, 400 cases of beer, 750 cases of soda pop, and, for good measure, 100 large boxes of assorted candy. Modern equipment allowed Hamilton to keep the hot dogs sizzling, the peanuts toasty, and the beer and soda pop ice cold.
A recent study in Baseball Magazine had revealed that peanuts were the number one seller at Major League ballparks, followed closely by Coca-Cola and soft drinks of assorted flavors. It seemed the fans in the sun-drenched bleachers swigged the greatest amount of cold soda and spent the most money of any portion of seats. The folks under cover did not have to deal with the bright sun and tended to load up on peanuts and popcorn. Hearty concession sales were vital for teams struggling to make a small profit. The magazine noted that concession sales kept several teams afloat during the early years of the Great Depression.
Before long the Indians jogged out to the field, splendid in their home whites with scarlet trim and the Indian chief on the left sleeve. They wore black caps with a red C and black socks with three thin white stripes. The uniforms were manufactured by Blepp-Coombs Sporting Goods Stores, a Cleveland retail giant located at 55th and Superior.
The fans cheered loudly for their favorite veterans, including Earl Averill, Hal Trosky, Bruce Campbell, Sammy “Bad News” Hale, and catcher Frankie Pytlak. They hollered for starting pitcher Johnny Allen while he tossed his warmup throws. As expected, a huge roar went up from the stands when Bob Feller left the dugout to play catch. Though he would not pitch until Saturday, all eyes were on him. He finished his throws, then had to run the gauntlet of reporters and at least one radio host with a live microphone.
The pregame revelries began with Mayor Harold Burton throwing out the first pitch. It took him four tries before he sailed one across home plate. The large crowd rose to its feet when a group of dazzling chorus girls from Playhouse Square lined up smartly at home plate. The Indians nearly knocked each other down scrambling out of the home dugout and dashing to a spot in front of the eye-catching ladies. Roy Weatherly proved he was the fastest ballplayer on the club, outrunning everybody to get a choice location for the photos.
With this appealing highlight, the pregame ceremonies ended. Allen tossed his warmup pitches and the game got underway. Through much of the 1936 season he had displayed a violent personality, ready to fight umpires, opposing players, managers, and anybody who seemingly wronged him. The Cleveland fans wondered if he would continue the outrageous behavior in the new season.
To the relief of the 20,752 patrons, the Browns went out easily in the top of the first inning. Allen faced three batters without screaming at anyone. The Indians’ new shortstop, Lyn Lary, came to the plate to face St. Louis starter Elon Hogsett. The veteran pitcher, formerly of the Detroit Tigers, eventually sported a high lifetime earned run average of over five runs per game. Lary swung at the first pitch, lining a double down the right-field line. Roy Hughes walked and Earl Averill laid down a sacrifice bunt to move the runners to second and third. That brought up slugging first baseman