![](https://cdn.hourdetroit.com/wp-content/uploads/sites/20/2012/03/baseball1.cx_.png)
At the ballpark or away, Germany Schaefer was always putting on a show.
Tigers fans have enjoyed a passing parade of crowd-pleasing jokesters and flakes, including mop-haired Mark Fidrych, fun-loving Norm Cash, the irrepressible Dave Rozema, and boogying groundskeeper Herbie Redmond. For the mythic Schaefer, one has to reach much deeper into the past, back to an era when players wore pancake gloves, slept two to a bed, and traveled to games in horse-drawn coaches. Baseball was still a pastime of absurdity, melodrama, comedy, and improvisation, a far cry from the self-conscious and over-engineered industry it is today. Nobody embodied the free-minded spirit of the times better than Schaefer, a favorite of such popular raconteurs as broadcaster Ernie Harwell and newspaperman Malcolm Bingay, the Detroit Free Pressβ original Iffy the Dopester.
βEverybody loved the jovial, droll, pock-marked Chicago Dutchman,β said Fred Lieb, the influential New York sportswriter who also helped spread Schaeferβs legend. To Bingay, who covered the Tigers in the early 1900s, Schaefer was βthe soul of baseball itself, with all its sorrows and joys, the born troubadour of the game.β He was a natural showman. He had a quick wit, a strong baritone voice, and was a master of mimicry. However, Schaefer also was βa strange, moody guy,β Bingay admitted, βa comedian with the soul of a tragedian.β
Itβs tough to envision Schaeferβs brand of theatrical antics happening today, in this, the 100th anniversary year of Tiger Stadium (Navin Field).
Protesting an umpireβs decision to keep a game going in fading light, for example, Schaefer trotted out to his position carrying a lantern. On rainy days, he carried an umbrella onto the field, wore a raincoat and boots to the plate, or splashed barefoot in the puddles. He tip-toed along the foul line like a tightrope walker and rowed across the outfield grass using bats as oars. And, most famously, he occasionally stole first base β a maneuver that exploited a loophole in the rules.
Schaefer first pulled off his signature stunt in a game against Cleveland, most likely in 1908 (the exact date is unclear). βThey say it canβt be done,β Tigers outfielder Davy Jones told author Larry Ritter many years later, βbut I saw him do it.β
Jones was on third base in the late stages of a tied ballgame. Schaefer was on first base. Hoping to draw a throw that would allow Jones to race home with the go-ahead run, Schaefer stole second. However, the catcher, wise to the strategy, held onto the ball.
βSo now we had men on second and third,β Jones recalled. βWell, on the next pitch Schaefer yelled, βLetβs try it again!β And with a blood-curdling shout he took off like a wild Indian back to first base, and dove in headfirst in a cloud of dust. He figured the catcher might throw to first β since he evidently wouldnβt throw to second β and then I would come home same as before. But nothing happened. Nothing at all. Everybody just stood there and watched Schaefer, with their mouths open, not knowing what the devil was going on.β
Even if the catcher had thrown to first, Jones said, he was too flabbergasted to move. βThe umpires were just as confused as everybody else. However, it turned out that at that time there wasnβt any rule against a guy going from second back to first, if thatβs the way he wanted to play baseball, so they had to let it stand. So there we were, back where we started, with Schaefer on first and me on third. And on the next pitch, darned if he didnβt let out another war whoop and take off again for second base. By this time the Cleveland catcher evidently had enough, because he finally threw to second to get Schaefer, and when he did I took off for home and both of us were safe.β
A man who steals bases in the opposite direction should be accustomed to reverses, and Schaefer certainly suffered his share during a truncated lifetime. He was born Feb. 4, 1876, to immigrant German parents on Chicagoβs South Side. Growing up in the poor and vice-ridden Levee District, he fell victim to one of the deadly smallpox epidemics that regularly swept through the tenements. As a result of the diseaseβs progression of blisters and scabbing, survivors are marked for life, some more severely than others. Schaeferβs pleasant face, habitually split by a wide smile, was left badly pitted.
Schaefer was understandably sensitive about his looks, but dermal fillers, chemical peels, microdermabrasion, and other cosmetic procedures were unknown then. Shortstop Charley OβLeary, Schaeferβs lifelong pal and double-play partner, remembered a streetcar conductor calling the disfigured youngster a βsauerkraut-faced boob,β one of the gentler insults regularly tossed his way. To survive in the hard-boiled world of sandlots and saloons where Schaefer came of age, one had to respond forcefully to taunts β sometimes with an exaggerated insouciance, sometimes with a biting wit, sometimes with fists. Schaefer, who as an adult was a solid 5-foot-9 with muscular legs and a broad set of shoulders, took on all tormenters. A correspondent in Sioux City, Iowa, where Schaefer played semipro ball in 1898, later recalled the young playerβs βhabit of climbing into the grandstand to whip a rooter because of remarks about his pock-marked face β¦. Sometimes it took the combined efforts of his teammates and a couple of policemen to pry him loose from the rooter.β
Schaefer was a right-handed batter and thrower. He was quick, agile, and versatile, and eventually played every position except catcher. After stints with Kansas City and St. Paul in the Western League, he signed with his hometown Chicago Cubs in 1901. As a Cub, he became a footnote to a historic event. On Sept. 13, 1902, he was the third baseman as the fabled double-play combination of βTinker-to-Evers-to-Chanceβ (shortstop Joe Tinker, second baseman Johnny Evers, and first baseman Frank Chance) was configured for the first time. The trio, immortalized in verse by Franklin P. Adams, ultimately made it into the Baseball Hall of Fame. Meanwhile, the odd man out in the Cubs infield moved about for a couple of summers. Schaefer was playing for a minor-league team in Milwaukee when he attracted the eye of Frank Navin, business manager (and future owner) of the Detroit Tigers.
![](https://cdn.hourdetroit.com/wp-content/uploads/sites/20/2012/03/baseball2_cx.jpg)
![](https://cdn.hourdetroit.com/wp-content/uploads/sites/20/2012/03/baseball3_cx.jpg)
Navin wasnβt sure he really wanted to sign the mercurial shortstop, who during his baseball travels had already acquired a reputation as a βjakey,β slang for a hard-core alcoholic. βI have heard so many conflicting stories about Schaefer that I am somewhat dubious regarding him,β he admitted. Nonetheless, in November 1904, Navin sent popular infielder Clyde βRabbitβ Robinson and $2,500 to Milwaukee for Schaefer. The newcomerβs feistiness accounted for the Tigersβ unexpected third-place finish in 1905, claimed Chicago White Sox owner Charles Comiskey. βWith old Schaefer in there, fighting all the while, there has been a marked difference in their playing.β
It was against the White Sox that Schaefer pulled off one of his most memorable stunts. On June 24, 1906, the visiting Tigers were losing, 2-1, and down to their last out. Charley OβLeary was on first base when Schaefer was sent up to the plate to pinch-hit against βDocβ White, one of the toughest pitchers in the game. Just as he was about to step into the batterβs box, Schaefer turned around, took off his cap, and addressed the large Sunday crowd. βLadies and gentlemen,β he announced, βyou are now looking at Herman Schaefer, better known as Herman the Great, acknowledged by one and all to be the greatest pinch hitter in the world. I am now going to hit the ball into the left-field bleachers. Thank you.β
Lost in the folklore surrounding this incident is that Schaefer, who claimed to be βpsychic,β often entertained the crowd by telling them what was going to happen on the field. Fans either hooted or cheered; it was part of the give-and-take between the babblative ballplayer and the public. Nobody kept track of the number of empty boasts or failed predictions. This time, though, Schaefer delivered, sending Whiteβs second pitch into the bleachers, as advertised.
Schaefer, a .258 career hitter with a paltry total of nine home runs in 15 big-league seasons, may have been the most surprised person in the park. He jumped with glee as the ball cleared the fence. Seizing the moment, he bolted like a racehorse toward first base β then dived headfirst into the bag. He got up and shouted, βAt the quarter, Schaefer leads by a head!β He slid into second, yelling, βAt the half, Schaefer leads by a length!β He then slid into third, announcing, βSchaefer leads by a mile!β He concluded his gallop around the bases with a fancy hook slide into home plate and a cry of βSchaefer wins by a nose!β He dusted himself off, doffed his cap, and bowed. βLadies and gentlemen, this concludes this afternoonβs performance. I thank you for your kind attention.β The Tigers won, 3-2, and another chapter in the legend of Germany Schaefer, the βclown prince of baseball,β had been written.
Schaefer seemingly was pals with everybody he met. He took the field against black players in offseason exhibitions in such places as Harlem and Cuba, happily exploring the local culture in post-game revelries, and back-slapped stern-looking dignitaries as if they were old friends. A few years ago, an album of century-old snapshots by Tigers outfielder Matty McIntyre came up for auction on eBay, creating a minor stir among collectors. It was a rare and remarkable peek into the everyday world of baseball, circa 1905. Unsurprisingly, Schaefer is the center of attention in many of the candid βKodaks.β He is seen approaching a washwoman on the sidewalk of an unidentified Southern city, talking animatedly with a bearded Jewish peddler in downtown Detroit, and mugging with a black family in Georgia. The knee-jerk impression is that Schaefer was having fun at their expense while McIntyre snapped away with his $1 Brownie camera, but contemporary accounts of Schaeferβs shenanigans insisted his humor was never cruel, belittling, or patronizing. βWith all his βkiddingβ and fun-making Schaefer is never offensive,β the Cleveland Plain Dealer observed in 1908.
![](https://cdn.hourdetroit.com/wp-content/uploads/sites/20/2012/03/baseball10_cx.jpg)
The silver-tongued Schaefer was relentless. Cobb, who came up to Detroit as an 18-year-old rookie in 1905, recalled how Schaefer would position himself on the back step of the tally-ho taking the team to Bennett Park and hold running conversations with strangers. βMy, what a pretty infant!β heβd call out to some lady pushing a carriage on the sidewalk. βWhatβs his name?β
βAugustus!β the startled mother would shout. βAnd how old is the little darling?β Schaefer would bellow as the clopping horses continued to put distance between them.
βTen months!β
βIs he an only childβ¦?β
βBy now,β Cobb marveled, βall street traffic would have stopped to listen open-mouthed to the dialogue and Germany never considered the stunt a complete success unless he still had the mother screeching answers when we were half a block away.β
The high-strung βGeorgia Peachβ had few friends on the team, but Schaefer, who admired Cobbβs competitiveness and craftiness, was one of them. The two were key cogs in Detroitβs 1907-08-09 pennant winners, though Schaefer would be traded late in the 1909 season. βAs a drawing card, Herman ranks second only to Cobb,β Harry Salsinger wrote in The Detroit News. βSchaefer gives the comedy, Cobb the thrills.β It was a measure of Schaeferβs savvy that, on a roster studded with future managers and Hall of Famers, manager Hughie Jennings named him the Tigersβ field captain. This responsibility came with an extra $500, a significant amount of money at a time when most players made $2,000 or $3,000 a year.
Money was on Schaeferβs mind when, acting as the playersβ representative, he asked what seemed to be an inconsequential question at a meeting with baseball officials before the start of the 1907 World Series. βUnder the rules, the players share in the gate receipts of the first four games,β he said. βIf there is a tie game among the first four, do we share in the gate receipts of the fifth game? We think we should because it would be a game that would have to be played over again.β The issue had never come up before. There had never been a tie game in World Series play. Officials huddled and, deciding that the odds of such an occurrence were slim, agreed to the new provision. The next afternoon, Detroit and Chicago played to a 3-3 tie that was called after 12 innings because of darkness. Schaefer later said the question had come to him in a vision.
The 1908 campaign was Schaeferβs all-around finest, though, once again, the Tigers lost the World Series to the Cubs. He finished third in the league in runs, stolen bases, and sacrifice hits, as the Tigers squeaked by three other teams in the final week to win a second straight pennant. That June, during an evening of drinking in the bar of the Brunswick Hotel, a loudmouth disparaging the Tigers took a swat at Schaefer. Schaefer βlost his usually calm temperβ and administered βa thorough beating,β reported the Free Press. After sobering up, the victim wrote him a letter, apologizing for his loutish behavior and saying how much he admired the combative team leader.
Aside from drinking, Schaeferβs major vice was gambling. Once, during a convivial gathering at a friendβs place, he asked the lady of the house if there were any playing cards around. βNo, Mr. Schaefer,β she said, βwe donβt have card-playing here.β
βWell, have you got some dice?β
βI tell you,β the woman said, βwe donβt allow gambling of any sort.β
βWell,β he said in exasperation, βhave you got any washtubs in the cellar?β Told that there were a half-dozen tubs there, he said, βWell, for the love of mud, get me three tubs and Iβll work the three-shell game!β
In August 1909, Schaefer was sent to Washington as the Tigers revamped their infield. In the waning days of the pennant race, American League president B. Bancroft βBanβ Johnson ordered him to sit out Washingtonβs final series against Detroit. Johnson was worried that Schaefer, who had been told by the Tigers that he would receive a World Series share, might be tempted to go less than full-bore against his ex-teammates. The Tigers clawed their way to a third straight pennant. Just before the Series opener against Pittsburgh, Schaefer was spotted trying to get a bet down on his old team. A few minutes later, he entered Bennett Park to cheers from the grandstand. He watched the Tigers lose a third straight Series from the Detroit bench.
Schaefer stayed with the Senators for the next five seasons. In a 1911 game against the White Sox, he again stole first base, with the umpire insisting afterward that Schaefer had βa perfect right to go from second back to first.β According to a 1912 issue of Sporting Life, βSchaefer is such a hit with the crowds that the umpires are giving him every liberty to do as he pleases.β He spent more time in the coaching box, where in addition to his comedy routines he was a first-class sign-stealer.
Schaefer occasionally worked the vaudeville circuit, appearing at Detroitβs Temple Theater with Broadway actress Grace Belmont just before Christmas in 1911. During that tour, the vaudevillian-ballplayer was sharing a compartment on an overnight train when he drew the ire of his fellow passenger for keeping a lamp on while reading. After a prolonged exchange of unkind words, Schaefer turned off the light and patiently plotted his next move in the dark. It wasnβt until the following morning, when his antagonist got up, dressed, and left the train, that Schaefer realized he had thrown his own shoes out the window.
Schaefer never married. He preferred tossing dice, telling stories, and drinking with his buddies to settling down. Like many bachelors, his βbest girlβ was his mother, to whose Chicago flat he often returned in the offseason. Sophie Schaeferβs death had a bit of dark slapstick to it, the 73-year-old widow tumbling out of a second-story window one Sunday morning in 1913. That year, Schaefer was a member of an all-star team that toured the world. He was a natural ambassador. In Tokyo, he glibly addressed a crowd of 10,000 Japanese for a half-hour. βThey had no more idea what he was saying than he did,β Malcolm Bingay wrote. βBut they cheered him wildly.β
Now approaching 40, Schaefer was slowing down as a player. After Washington let him go, he joined Newark, a team in the short-lived Federal League, for the 1915 season. He then worked as a coach for the Yankees, managed by ex-Tiger teammate βWild Billβ Donovan. With World War I raging and patriotism on the upswing, Schaefer announced he was changing his nickname from Germany to βLibertyβ Schaefer. Fans still appreciated his schtick, but sometimes he was feeling too poorly to perform his usual tricks.
![](https://cdn.hourdetroit.com/wp-content/uploads/sites/20/2012/03/baseball4_cx.jpg)
Schaefer joined the Cleveland Indians as a coach in 1918. During the Tigersβ home opener against Cleveland, his voice β once described as being able to penetrate 6 inches of chilled steel β could scarcely be heard by his old friends in the press box. The fall-off in volume and vitality was attributed to a cold. In reality, he was dying of what was known as βconsumptionβ (pulmonary tuberculosis). βEven in his later years, when failing health and straitened finances took much of the joy out of life, Schaefer could still see the funny side,β Fred Lieb wrote. βPatronage fell off, and to cut expenses Coach Schaefer was let out. βNow, see what you birds have done,β he said half in anger and half in jest. βYouβve run your losing streak so far youβve run me right out of a job.ββ
New York Giants manager John McGraw put the sickly prankster on the payroll as a scout. On the morning of May 16, 1919, Schaefer was aboard a train in upstate New York when he suffered a brain hemorrhage. He was rushed to a hospital at Saranac Lake, but within an hour, he was dead at 43. Some said there was a trace of a smile on his face. βBecause he was a βkidderβ and a baseball comedian, Schaefer never got full credit for his baseball brains,β eulogized the Free Press. βHe was a good fielder and a fair hitter, but his real strength was in his baseball brain and in his gameness.β A few months later, baseballβs rules committee issued an overdue clarification: βA base-runner having acquired legal title to a base cannot run bases in reverse order for the purpose of confusing the fielders or making a travesty of the game.β The clause was officially known as Rule 52, Section 2, but most people in baseball referred to it as the Germany Schaefer rule.
Schaefer rests at St. Boniface, a small German Catholic graveyard on Chicagoβs north side. Heβs among 14 family members crowded under a weathered 19th-century monument. The simple inscription, βHerman W. Schaefer,β is nearly indecipherable. The stone is badly pitted.
Chummy and unadorned suits the man. Once, asked what he intended to do after he retired from baseball, Schaefer said that heβd like to buy a little corner saloon. βNot a big gaudy place,β he said, βbut a cozy spot where my friends can enjoy a glass of beer and a sociable evening. And along about 10 oβclock every evening I want one of my pals to say to the bartender on duty, βWhereβs old Schaef tonight?β And I want my bartender to be able to say, βHeβs upstairs, drunk.β
If you enjoy the monthly content in ΒιΆΉ·¬ΊΕ Detroit, and/or for more frequent updates.
| Μύ |
|