From Country to City: A Family Profile of White Sox Fans
July 10, 1939
CHICAGO — Baseball’s connection with family runs deep.
Stories abound of fathers introducing sons to the game by playing catch or by sitting around the radio listening to the ballgame on a Sunday afternoon. Then, if they lived close enough and had the financial means, they would take that first magical trip to a major league stadium to see the heroes play in living color.
Yesterday, I chose to forsake my catbird seat in the press box and sought out such a story among the fans at the Tigers-White Sox doubleheader. It was a crystal clear, sunny day and with a comfortable mid-70s temperature. I walked around the park during a scoreless 1st inning scouting for the ideal candidates.
Just as White Sox pitcher Ted Lyons completed his warmup tosses prior to the 2nd inning, I spotted them. The older gentleman was sharply attired in 3-piece suit and top hat. The teenager was wearing a short-sleeved white shirt with a chapeau made of straw. They had just entered the first-base corridor and were searching for their seats.
All eyes in the stadium were momentarily distracted by the sound of Hank Greenberg’s bat connecting with a Lyons’ knuckleball. It looked for certain like a home run, but center fielder Mike Kreevich tracked it the whole way and made the catch with his back against the wall.
By the time Lyons had retired Roy Cullenbine for the 2nd out, the pair were seated 16 rows up and even with the first base bag. Even better, there was an empty seat next to them, for which I made myself welcome just as Birdie Tebbetts reached on an Eric McNair throwing error from third base.
“Dat Gummit”! exclaimed the young man as I sat next to him. I would learn throughout the day that would be the most extreme of his cursing. Brief hellos were barely exchanged when Harry, the older gentleman proclaimed that if Lyons pitch to Greenberg had been anything but a knuckler the Sox would be trailing 1–0 right now.
I knew I was in the presence of baseball fans.
However, it turns out I was wrong about these being father-son relations. They were uncle and nephew. Uncle Harry Boardman is an engineer, lives on Hoyne Avenue on the South Side and works for Chicago Bridge and Ironworks. Nephew George Thomas is the son of a farmer who lives far west of Chicago in a place called Little Rock, IL.
In summers George and his sisters Charlotte, Mary, Virginia and Margaret would come to the “big city” to visit their Uncle Harry and Aunt Elizabeth or “Bessie,” as they called her. This wasn’t exactly the story I was looking for, but both these gentlemen were so interesting and engaging to talk with, two baseball games had soon passed. I also knew I had the story I needed to tell.
Before the Pale Hose batted in the 2nd, Harry was apologizing to me for arriving at the ballpark late. “They start the games earlier on Sundays when there is a doubleheader,” he explained. “We always go to church in the morning. No problem, there. However, with guests (he nodded towards George) Bess insisted on a proper Sunday dinner before we left for the ballpark. That’s a grand production of its own. He tossed up his hands in exasperation and surrender. So, we missed Teddy’s first pitch.”
It did not take long to figure out that Chicago pitcher Ted Lyons was Harry’s favorite player. “If he’s pitching on the weekends, I will try to get to the park to watch him,” Harry said. He also explained that as an engineer he loved the movement of Lyons’ top pitch, the knuckleball. “It actually defies physics principles because it doesn’t follow a pattern that can be mathematically calculated.”
Just then another “DAT Gmmmmth!” came bursting from George again. However, this time the second part of the curse was mostly self-muted as he tried to censure himself. Shortstop Luke Appling had thrown another ball away allowing Barney McCosky to reach safely with 1 out. Billy Rogell followed with a walk.
Lyons threw two knuckleballs right down the middle to go ahead 0–2 in the count against Detroit slugger Earl Averill. “Uh-oh,” muttered Harry.
“What”?
I barely got the question out when Averill swung viciously at another straight knuckler and sent it down the right field line inside the foul pole for a 3-run homer. Detroit was winning 3–0 just like that.
“How did you know?” I asked Harry.
“It’s the wind,” George answered.
“There isn’t any wind!” I exclaimed loudly.
“Exactly,” said Harry, then allowed George to finish the explanation as a proud teacher would of his prize student. “Wind currents will make the knuckleball move,” George proclaimed. The pitcher doesn’t know if the wind will make the knuckleball wiggle or waggle, but it will do something. But if there is no wind at all, it will come in straight. I could probably hit that ball.”
Despite the teenage (he had just turned 16) bravado, I liked George. He was a bit short in stature but was stout and strong. There was no doubt he was used to hard work. He was handsome with a thick head of dark brown hair. Every bit of exposed skin was either brown or red from hours of work in the sun.
Harry was the older brother of George’s mother Helen. He was educated at the University of Illinois School of Engineering and was a World War I veteran. Harry and Bessie did not have any children of their own but adored their nieces and nephews. Bessie loved visiting the family out in the country, likewise, the children enjoyed the treasures of Chicago.
George recalled the 1933 World’s Fair in Chicago and watching Babe Ruth play as some of his highlights from visits with his aunt and uncle.
The Depression had hit the Thomas family in a particularly hard way. George’s father Abner was also a graduate of U of I. He had studied agriculture. He believed that soybeans would grow and flourish in the Illinois soil. He developed his own hybrid called Thomas Manchu. To reap a crop of soybeans, a combine harvester was necessary. Abner borrowed money to buy one, putting up the family farm as collateral.
Bad timing. The banks collapsed. Loans were called in. Because Abner ethically didn’t believe in bankruptcy, the bank took ownership of the farm and just like that, the Thomases were tenant farmers. Unlike other families during the Depression, the Thomas family remained intact. In the spring of 1934 another baby sister, Roycana, was added to the family.
The first game seemed to be a microcosm of the Thomas family fortunes. Averill’s 3-run blast in the 3rd inning was a huge blow. The White Sox bounced back immediately with 2 runs in the bottom of the 3rd. McNair singled, Lyons doubled, and both scored. However, they left the bases loaded to end the inning. They were on the edge of overcoming but fell short. Detroit scored 1 more in the 5th and won 4–2.
I had to snicker at Harry’s White Sox cynicism. When they left the bases loaded in the 3rd, he predicted a White Sox loss. He knew the Tigers had their ace Bobo Newsom (7–5) on the hill and could tell he was throwing well. He was right as Newsom blanked the Sox the rest of the way. Harry has obviously been a South Side fan for a long time.
Meanwhile, George still had the sparkle in his eye of hope for the future. Despite what life had dealt to him and his family, he wasn’t giving up on his team. He was rewarded in Game Two as Chicago rebounded to win the nightcap, 7–5.
