Once again Allen enjoyed outstanding support in the 15–3 win over the White Sox. Hal Trosky homered, Earl Averill hit a three-run shot, and newcomer Moose Solters slammed a bases-loaded home run far over the right-center-field wall. The game was a coming-out party for Solters, who had four hits in five trips and five RBIs to lead the offense. The Cleveland front office let out a sigh of relief over Solters’s huge performance. Alva Bradley and Cy Slapnicka had taken some intense heat from the fans for swapping hometown hero Joe Vosmik for Solters. They expected some big hitting from Moose to justify trading their All-Star left fielder. It would take more than one big day at the plate to silence the critics, but the grand slam gave them a boost in the right direction.
Moose Solters was born in Pittsburgh on March 22, 1908. His family came from Hungary and settled in Pennsylvania, where his father found work in the coal mines. As a young boy, Moose spent a great deal of time shagging batting practice fly balls for the Pittsburgh Pirates. When old enough, he joined his father and two brothers laboring in the dangerous mines. Education was not in the picture, though Solters did attend Fifth Avenue High School for a year, where he was able to play football as a hard-running halfback.
Out of school while still of high school age, he played Sunday baseball for the Colonial Mine #4 club in the Frick River League. Moose was a big boy now, nearly six feet tall and weighing over two hundred pounds. He had black hair and brown eyes to go with a big grin whenever he spotted a friendly face. Not the stereotypical “Moose,” he was able to run quite well while showing lots of agility in the outfield. He was once timed at 3.6 seconds running from home plate to first.
In a short while, Moose became one of the top players in the Frick League, swatting tremendous home runs wherever he played. In the spring of 1927, a telegram arrived at the Solters home, addressed to J. Solters of the Colonial Mine team, offering a tryout with Fairmont, West Virginia, of the Mid-Atlantic League. Moose thought about it, then urged his older brother Frank, a fair ballplayer himself, to report instead. As a loyal brother and dedicated to his family, Solters wanted Frank to get a shot at the minor leagues. Moose believed his own time would come soon, so why not let his brother get an opportunity first?
Frank reported to Fairmont and homered his first time up. He then fanned three straight times, and the manager became suspicious. This did not look like the scourge of the Frick River League, and Frank reluctantly admitted the same. He soon packed his bags and went home to Pittsburgh, thanking his younger brother for the chance. Moose, satisfied his brother had gotten the tryout, quickly traveled to Fairmont for his professional debut. The early results were far from overwhelming. Solters had an awkward batting stance, sometimes swinging while he was off-balance. His first season he hit only .271, not quite terrorizing the pitchers of the Mid-Atlantic. He remained at Fairmont for the next two seasons, slowly raising his average to a respectable .294. In the fall and winter months Moose did some hard labor, driving and unloading a delivery truck and working odd jobs in a grocery store and bakery.
For the next three seasons he became a baseball nomad, playing for Shreveport in the Texas League, then Albany and Binghamton in the New York–Pennsylvania League, and finally the Baltimore Orioles of the International League. Moose played there for a meager salary of $150 a month. The team had low expectations of their new outfielder, starting him off as an occasional bench player. An injury got him into the regular lineup and Moose went on a tear, boosting his average to a splendid .363. He also managed to score 123 runs, catching the interest of the Boston Red Sox.
Moose eagerly signed a contract to play for Boston in the 1934 season. After a good showing in spring training, he appeared in the opening day lineup, playing right field and batting sixth. He remained a starter, delivering timely base hits and driving in his share of runs. On May 23, the Red Sox faced the Indians, with Mel Harder doing the pitching. The Cleveland ace threw one of his sharp-breaking curveballs, which bore in on Moose and struck him in the hand. Umpire Charley Donnelly claimed the ball hit the bat, not allowing Solters a free trip to first. Within moments the hand began to swell, forcing Moose out of the game. Later he went for an X-ray, which revealed the hand was indeed broken. The injury sidelined him for almost a month.
With the hand not healing well, Moose had difficulty swinging the bat for the remainder of the season. Still, he batted .299 for the year, an acceptable total for a first-year player. He had shown more than enough ability to receive a contract for the 1935 season. Moose got off to a slow start in his second campaign, batting less than .250. After only twenty-four games, the Red Sox shipped him to St. Louis for second baseman Oscar Melillo. The change in scenery proved to be a great move for Solters. He finished the year with 18 home runs and 112 RBIs. In a game against the Detroit Tigers, Moose showed awesome power, crushing three straight home runs off Elden Auker. In his next trip up he lined a pitch deep toward the right-field wall. Pete Fox raced back and made a leaping catch to keep Solters from at least extra bases. Even with Fox’s circus catch, Moose still had a tremendous day, gaining notoriety as one of the American League’s better power hitters.
Living in St. Louis, Moose had the opportunity to pal around with Joe Medwick, his counterpart with the Cardinals. Solters would proudly tell anybody listening that the two of them were the only Hungarian American ballplayers in Major League Baseball. Whenever they met, one would yell, “Hey Polack!” The other would yell back “How ya’ doin Hunkie?” Then both would sit down, have some laughs, and catch up on the latest gossip.
In 1936 Solters played to an even higher level, knocking in 134 runs, good for fifth in the American League. Manager Rogers Hornsby worked with Moose to get him to set his feet in the back of the batter’s box. The new stance allowed him to see the ball just a fraction longer. The results were positive, allowing Solters to make better contact and become a real threat. Cleveland took notice, starting talks with the Browns front office to acquire Moose. It would take a six-player deal, but Cleveland got their man for the 1937 season.
With Johnny Allen seemingly healthy again and Moose Solters asserting himself, the only Cleveland player still unable to contribute was Bob Feller. He had seen an army of doctors, yet his elbow still badly ached whenever he tried to throw. The first week of June, Cy Slapnicka announced Feller was leaving town to visit friends in Milwaukee and get some additional rest. Stuart Bell, the sportswriter for the Cleveland Press, did not buy any part of the story. Bell had been around the block more than a few times and knew when something other than the truth was being peddled. Investigating the flimsy tale, he discovered that Feller had an appointment with a specialist in arm injuries. The physician had invented a machine that could take one’s arm and massage it for an extended period. Though the treatment was experimental, Slapnicka had run out of ideas on how to fix the most valuable arm on the Indians pitching staff.
Cleveland reporters were constantly badgering the general manager on why Feller’s arm issues were taking so long. Frustrated, he tried to arrange the Milwaukee trip without arousing suspicion. But after Stuart Bell foiled his secret plans, all the Cleveland papers had stories about exactly what the Indians were up to and why Feller had to leave the city.
On first glimpse, the Milwaukee trip seemed to be a success. Feller had several mechanical treatments that significantly reduced his constant elbow pain. Back in town, the moment came to test his throwing arm under game conditions. Feller returned to League Park and started throwing off the pitching mound. Within minutes the same discomfort returned. Slapnicka had few choices remaining before declaring Feller on the shelf for the rest of the year. The only possible solution was to see the bonesetting doctor Lefty Weisman had earlier recommended. Ironically, his office was just a home run’s distance from League Park. Feller took the short walk and had Dr. A. L. Austin do a thorough examination. After some manipulation, the physician believed the ulna bone, connecting to the elbow, had been dislocated. He firmly grabbed Feller’s wrist with one hand, then popped