GMS/TEAMS
SEASONS
CAREER STATS
Ostober 12, 1918
Bill Sweeney had done very well for himself since his days on the ballfield ended. He sold insurance; and he had obviously sold a lot of it; his big house in the North Florence area of Peoria was evidence of that. He had invited five of us to dinner: Tris Speaker, Rube Marquard, Larry Gardner, Donie Bush and myself. We were the last remaining Caterpillars that had played on the 1910 team that Bill was part of. After dinner and small talk, we retired to the study, as men do, for brandy and cigars, and Bill obviously had something on his mind.
He cleared his throat and began to speak. “Boys, I just wanted to invite you all here tonight to celebrate the 1918 pennant with those who kn ow the most what it means- the players who’ve been slogging it out every year since 1910. I’ve been following you ever since I retired, and I know what you’ve been through. Peoria isn’t the easiest place to play, and your owner, Mr. Momberg, certainly isn’t one of the brighter baseball minds in the league”.
“That’s putting it mildly”, said Donie Bush under his breath.
“Anyway, no matter what happens in the Series, I wanted you to know how proud I am to know all of you, and to hope you’ll raise your glasses with me in a toast to all the Caterpillars, past and present, who did their damnedest to get where you boys are today.”
“Hear hear”, several of us murmured as we clinked our glasses together.
Bill didn’t seem to be done talking, but he looked down for a bit, as though he was trying to compose his thoughts. “Actually, I wanted you over here with me tonight for another reason, though I hate to tell you on the eve of the Series. Yesterday I got a telegram from Eddie Grant’s family saying that Eddie has been killed in France- in battle, in the Meuse-Argonne Forest.”
We sat in stunned disbelief. Eddie Grant had been a backup infielder on the 1910 team, not a great ballplayer but looked on with great affection.
Clyde Milan
We called him “Harvard Eddie” because he went to school there, sometimes pronouncing it “Hah-Vahd” as if he was putting on airs, though it would be the last thin Eddie would do.
“I didn’t even know he was overseas” said Tris softly after a long silence.
“After his baseball career was over, he passed the bar and hung up his shingle. Then when the war broke out, he felt called upon to enlist. I stayed in touch with him; we were sort of ‘pen pals’” said Bill.
We all sat and stared at each other for a while longer. It seemed like the air had gone out of the room.
Finally Rube burst out. “What a bunch of shit! He could have been a judge or a congressman, or hell, even president! Instead he’s filling some muddy hole in some God-forsaken Frog field!
And what for? Just so some old European assholes can push their side of some imaginary dotted line a few miles into their neighbors’ side!”
“I was reading”, said Larry, “about how now that all the areas of the world have been claimed, the only way countries can expand is by going to war and taking territory from some other country.
I hope to God that doesn’t mean we’re going to see more of these kinds of wars.”
“Damn…Eddie Grant”, I said. “He was just a little jug-eared guy, kind of looked like Huck Finn, but he knew so much about so many things… and wasn’t stuck up about it. And this damn war looks to be almost over anyway! It makes me feel sort of like- what’s the point of playing a kid’s game, even for the world championship, in a world like this?”
“Just remember this” said Bill. “Baseball may be a kid’s game, but Eddie loved it, and he played it until they wouldn’t have it anymore. I don’t want to put words in his mouth, but I bet that wherever he is- or even if he’s no place at all, who knows- the best way to pay tribute to him is to play your butts off and do your best to bring the Series title home to Peoria.”
We raised our glasses one more time. “To Harvard Eddie Grant… and to swatting some Skeeters”.