_________________________________________________________ F A M E F O R U M N E W S L E T T E R N A T I O N A L W O M E N 'S B A S E B A L L H A L L O F F A M E National Syndicated Column (contents are protected) Copyrights(c), NWB Hall of Fame, 1998-2008 TXU877085, TXU959430, TXU973266, TXU013972, TXU986753, TXU949885, TXU004037, TXU022893, TXU026161, TXU047111, TXU050230, TXU061149, TXU088068, TXU120937, TXU148132, TXU163784, TXU170668, TXU196853, TXU211917, TXU216769, TXU234252, TXU253116, TXU260664, TXU276615, TXU288273, TXU311442, TXU348663, TXU346055. Issue Number 00396 _________________________________________________________ Volume XI, Number 02 Publisher and Author February 2, 2008 Richard C. Jaffeson Washington, DC HallFame@usa.com http://www.eteamz.com/hallfame _________________________________________________________ 2007 NWB HALL OF FAME INDUCTION KRIS "LEFTY" RANISZEWSKI SEE THE WEBSITE FOR ALL "HALL OF FAMERS" http://www.eteamz.com/hallfame/albums DIDRIKSON, HOWARD, SCHILLACE, DANCER, FERGUSON, WINTER, WRIGHT, LUKASIK, MILLIKEN, BALLENTINE, GEYER, WALLACE, CIULLA, GUIDACE, MACURIO, SHELDON, BEAUCHAMP, HUDSON, BRENNEMAN, FERENO, SWEENEY, NELSON, DOMINGUEZ, TRIOLO TED WILLIAMS WEBSITE http://www.saveted.net _________________________________________________________ A. COLUMN: BASES LOADED REMAKE Yes, this is venerable Chain Bridge crossing the Potomac, a modest stone, concrete, and steel structure leisurely carrying three lanes of traffic over the shallow rippling current separating the District from Virginia situated within a quiet park-like setting sufficiently upstream a few miles to avoid most of the controversial steamy politics originating downtown, or so I thought. From this vantage point driving beside the canal on the eastern approach, it looks as if I could wade across if the weather was warmer, or easily toss a silver dollar to the opposite shoreline. During this time of year, river flow is always diminished, and volume has become much less than years ago because of the considerable water diversions over many decades to support the ever increasing population and expanding urban development throughout the region. Even the mighty Potomac at this point is insignificant compared to its former glory. But, each spring the river recalling its past will mount a magnificent charge through these palisades, and wash away without a trace any refuse or carnage which may have accumulated during the winter within this shallow gorge. Today, however, anything or anyone thrown into that timid flow should be clearly visible and would remain partially submerged until extricated by those faithful public servants who officially are charged to perform the responsibilities associated with such an unpleasant assignment. Little did I know that within a few hours I would find out the river is deeper than expected at this point, because I would be in it face down with two neat bullet holes in the back and one in the chest. But, by the time I'd hit the water, I wouldn't be able to tell how cold or fast it was flowing. When I finally got my chance to see the river gorge close-up, by then it didn't matter. Sure, they'll be sirens screaming and lights flashing, and many types of emergency vehicles scattered all over the place. Under such circumstances, they seem to care much more about the dead than the living, and at first they'll be shouting at each other trying to decide who has jurisdiction, the District or Virginia authorities. I imagine it depends upon the position of the body, and where I happened to land. Personally, I hope it's not the Park Police. Although they may disregard the boundary, their ever-efficient officers would be sure to botch the investigation, but perhaps that would be intended. As for the District, I don't particularly want to lie around the DC morgue with bullet holes in my back and some water in my lungs. If I'm taken downtown, they might even claim cause of death was accidental drowning and that dresser tucked underneath the bridge was mine, but we'd know better. You see a tragic accident has just occurred near one of those mansions along the 100 block of Chain Bridge Road, and the person in question is deceased. You'll hear about it on the morning and afternoon talk radio shows, but it won't be in the late editions, because they don't print them anymore. This happened on the property of an old-time celebrity; she was not exactly a politician or entertainer, but was engaged with some of the biggest. So, if you want to know the truth and learn the facts, let's go back about twelve hours to yesterday evening when this started to get the unvarnished details before they are distorted and rearranged like that corpse down there in the river. Well, here it is, you've certainly come to the right party. Sunsets are early in February, and I noticed long shadows falling as I started across Chain Bridge yesterday driving from Maryland a little after 5:00 PM on Friday evening. This seems long ago almost like a strange distant dream. "Lots of history here...," I thought looking ahead at the empty traffic lanes and abrupt low tree-lined escarpment appearing on the opposite southern shore. Leafless bare limbs leered upward like beckoning ghosts to come hither in the rapidly approaching cold twilight. Before the Beltway was completed in 1964, this was an important crossing, and the only bridge over the Potomac between Georgetown and US-15 at Point of Rocks in distant Frederick County. I often like to play a little game while driving around town of, "Who was here before?" it helps pass the time. And, after all, one of my credits is a regional history written in 1995 for Blair Lee IV, the son of the former Maryland governor. His edition contained considerable information reflecting upon the prominent Blair and Lee families and tracing their accomplishments back a couple of centuries. The subsequent third edition published in 2005 offered additional historical tidbits. No best seller here, lots of obscure facts and dates, the type of details that some lifetime members of the chambers of commerce and boards of trade love to read. Several copies probably found their way eventually into county public libraries and local high schools, while not surprisingly the surviving Blair and Lee relatives quickly snapped up about 80 books of the first edition. Thus, no matter where I went, I had some notions that although roadway orientations and geologic features may not have changed, it's interesting to imagine the parade of historic personages who may at one time been at certain places around town. I dutifully obeyed the 35 mph speed limit across the brief span. Ahead and far below the river's west bank marked the Virginia boundary. Arlington originally was part of the District of Columbia, the ten mile square which took two years to survey beginning in 1790. George Washington himself picked the exact site for DC, and this little bridge is near its northwestern boundary. The District could not be considered complete until its boundaries were accurately measured. Those surveyors, engaged in a honorable profession for a growing nation, crossed the narrow Potomac at this point to continue measurements along the Maryland side. They started delimiting the boundary in Alexandria and followed current Route 7 towards Falls Church for the first ten mile leg of the diamond, and turned eastward to what was to become Bethesda. They had to cross the river near this site, but the bridge wasn't built until 1797 after the survey. It was the first bridge across the Potomac. There have been four Chain Bridges at the escarpment, the original and three others rebuilt after major spring floods in 1804, 1874, and 1938 when the Potomac was less tame. The 1938 version remains and was reinforced with chains, thus it acquired its nickname. This rendition endured thanks to improved concrete construction, reduced river flows, and enhanced surge controls upstream. A long time ago this span was important, and it retains some of that faded glory because bridges are not built like this any more with massive concrete abutments and light poles set into gated steel guard rails. Like many things around town from the 1930's, it has not outlived its usefulness even though it is hidden away within the city among the shallow upper reaches of the Potomac. As I approached a red light on the Virginia side, I knew to the right is the beginning of Chain Bridge Road which becomes Dolley Madison Boulevard before the CIA entrance, while Glebe Road and Military Road commence on the left. I was turning right for a meeting at Tysons Corner, but at this intersection I had to wait for a green signal. A another car pulled up along side apparently bound for Glebe Road. The passenger was tapping on the window and pointed to my left front tire. My car seemed slightly low on that side, and was pulling to the left while crossing the bridge. I quickly stepped out to look, and sure enough it was getting flat fast and I saw the reason, a large silvery nail head in the tread. There was no place to stop on the end of the bridge and at the base of Chain Bridge Road. When the light changed, I made an immediate right turn into the adjacent driveway, and nursed my limping car up the hill to the main house. I figured maybe they'd let me use their telephone to call the auto club, since I never bothered to get a cell phone, and there aren't any working pay phones anymore. This was one of those rare aging two-story mansions nestled in along the edge of the Potomac overlooking the palisades with a red tile roof, white stucco exterior, and magnificent view of the river, gorge, and bridge. But, the immediate surroundings had an abandoned look permeated with a strange chilly sensation one often gets when seeing vacant property. There also seemed to be balconies and verandas everywhere, as I scanned the premises for the front entrance. The place had seen better days, but its ornate elegance was still present. I'd guess it was built during the 1930's, and speculated that it had been occupied by an ambassador or possibly some senator. But, I was late, it was getting dark and cold outside, and I needed a telephone. There was a light inside, and I heard a voice calling apparently to me... "You there! Why are you so late?! You have kept me waiting!" a woman's voice with a mature dignified unidentifiable accent demanded from an open second floor window. She pronounced precisely every syllable making her query clearly known if not altogether understood. I wasn't in a position to respond, but needed a telephone and proceeded towards the house after parking in the driveway. The front door swung open emitting a beacon of light into the courtyard, and there appeared to be a maid or butler, I wasn't quite sure given the distance and conditions. One hand with a white glove was motioning me to come forward, which is exactly what I intended to do without any encouragement. "Come quickly, madame is waiting," the hand beckoned further. "Sorry, I had car trouble, and...," I apologetically attempted to explain, but was abruptly cutoff. "No excuses necessary," the hand revealed a face and lips of an autocratic individual not accustom to taking "no" as an answer. "In here! You must come immediately! She is waiting for you!" "OK, but look I just need to use the phone...," I again pleaded. "Step inside! Wipe your feet!" the brusque voice commanded and the white glove pointed. I did as I was told, at least it was warm inside, and they must have a telephone somewhere in this huge antique palace. "Max, bring him to the living room. I will be down momentarily." the voice directed from upstairs. Later, I found out Max was short for Maxine, a faithful servant for decades who in earlier years had been more intimate with the current proprietor of the household. I walked silently through a long parlor dutifully following the pair of white gloves, and into a massive living room filled with numerous historic pictures and athletic trophies from a bygone era in many shapes and sizes displayed on the walls and tables. Perhaps, I stumbled into a gold mine, this dame, the icy voice from upstairs probably was somebody really big once, maybe like Babe Didrikson. She definitely wasn't a diplomate or politician. So, I waited for her grand entrance, and temporarily forgot all about the pressing need to call the auto club. I couldn't help but notice her name on most of the photographs and statuettes. Yes, I recalled she was a baseball star in the mid-1940's with lots of potential, but didn't stay long in the midwest league. Naturally, I began wondering why she was here, while playing an inside version of my history game. And, with a little luck, I might soon find out. She exploded into the room, "Where are the images and charts?!" "The what?" I stammered surprised with her abrupt appearance and unexpected pronouncement. "How do you expect me to buy a new companion from you without first examining personal photographs and the pedigree lineage?" she elaborated upon her initial question. "New what?" I tried not to look bewildered. "Yes, with all that talk about the Armani monkey in Rockville," she continued, "I decided I should have a new chimp. They are intelligent, obedient, faithful, and do whatever I want." "OK," I agreeably nodded and concurred, and considered there are stranger house pets than chimpanzees. As a diversion, I decided to mention the only one I sometimes visited. "Ham was at the National Zoo for years," I offered. "He was the first chimp into space, and smart as a whip." "Yes, he was! Did you know him?" she followed my lead on this topic which I suspected was one of her favorites. She had asked the question about Ham half expecting some degree of familiarity, and I wasn't going to disappoint. "I saw him, occasionally. I can't say we were acquaintances, but I knew Ted Reed the zoo director. Back then he lived near Massachusetts Avenue just inside Little Falls Parkway. His son Mark is my age, and we called him 'The Breeze.'" "Ah, Dr. Reed," she surmised. "You realize of course conditions here will be far superior to anything found in public captivity. Ham's cage was barbaric. However, whomever I select, will have the run of the household and considerable attention." "Dr. Reed brought us white tigers and the first set of pandas back in 1972," I interjected. "At first, they kept the rare white tiger cubs at home, and like kittens Mark and his mom would take care of them. Dr. Reed greatly expanded the zoo, similar to one of his predecessors Dr. Mann in the 1930's who actually went on an African safari for the Smithsonian." "When he returned, the safari was featured in Gil Grosvenor's magazine." I continued, "I missed that one, it was a little before my time. But, in the 1970's, I visited India with S. Dillon Ripley. He would spend every February there to attend wildlife and conservation conferences and commiserate with ornithologists. He was an expert on birds of India, as well as secretary of the Smithsonian." She wasn't listening to the exact details, but stared at an elegantly framed photo of a chimp on a side table. I could barely read the inscription, but its name was "Pierre," and I assumed he was this palace's previous furry primate. "I see," she returned to me, "you were with Dr. Ripley," she seemed impressed with the credential. "I believe we may be able to do business regarding my new chimp. I warn you that I expect a fair price and a healthy companion. Do not think because I am rich you can take advantage of me!" "I know who you are," I noted, "but I didn't believe baseball players from your era made a lot of money." "I see you have reviewed my citations," she glanced about the living room briefly surveying the remnants of past glory. "Sure, you're Gloria Diamond!" I snapped. "I've written plenty of articles on teams and players in your league in the 1940's. And, here you are in person, one of the greatest there ever was, and everyone then knew your name. You were famous!" "I AM famous!!!" she emphatically corrected me. "They never forget the stars! They may have abandoned the league, but will never forget me! These trophies speak for themselves. I still receive dozens of letters daily from my adoring fans, and Max constantly provides more photos for me to sign." "You were with Kokomo, wasn't it?" I offered a contribution. "Yes, I was the star shortstop for the Collies, the finest on any team, and hit .347 my rookie year against some of the best pitching staff with Racine, Rockford, and South Bend." "Sure, I know some stories about you," I agreed and laughed, "and read how you got your nickname." "Yes, we had colorful monikers," she recalled, "depending upon what we accomplished on or off the field. I acquired the name in 1943 sliding into third in an away game against the Belles. I like being comfortable, it was an unusually hot July and in a late inning. The stands were empty, it really didn't matter. You see we all wore knee length dresses and high-topped socks. This was a dare and not a bet, and the nickname stuck." "But, enough about me," she concluded. "You must have a list of prospects. I am prepared to spend $100,000, if necessary, but he must be the very best." "Lady, I'm not an animal curator," I confessed. "I'm a writer." "Animal?! I hate that word! It is companion!!!" she gasped. "I think you've mistaken me for someone else," I attempted to tactfully explain. "I had a flat tire crossing Chain Bridge, and needed to use the phone. I'm sorry I can't recommend any one named Cheeta, Balaloo, Klaatu, Bonzo, or Clyde to replace your precious Pierre." "Max! Show him to the door!" she demanded. "Bertie would make a nice name!" I laughed. "Maaax!" she screeched apparently unaccustomed to any feedback. "Madame requests you leave," Max calmly stated in droll fashion. "You must follow me." "OK, I'm going," I wasn't looking for trouble with Max, but added, "She sure has a hot temper, but was a great baseball player." "Gloria Diamond was the greatest player of all in the leagues," Max proudly announced sufficiently loud for her mistress to hear. And, furthermore she quietly confided, "I know because in those days I was there as her personal trainer and constant companion. She hit better than anyone, and 'Blazing Beaver' was unstoppable on the basepaths. Sophie Kurys and Faye Dancer could not match." We reached the front door, but suddenly heard her calling again, "Wait, Max! Bring that person back." "Madame is temperamental," Max solemnly indicated, "sometimes she has a change of mind. It is best we return to the living room." As we approached, she called out, "You said you were a writer? Well, are you? What do you write?" "Articles and stories mostly," I casually replied, "hundreds of them for various publications." "Go on..." she motioned for me to sit down. "Three books," I uncomfortably followed her request not knowing what to expect. "One is a local history originally for Blair Lee in Montgomery County." "I know the family name, continue," she directed. "Another in 2005 was on Ted Williams," she raised an eyebrow with the mention of a baseball hero, "the disposition after his death. You know that cryonics nonsense. This was a collection of short stories, some of which I wrote to help Bobby-Jo Williams Ferrell, the slugger's eldest daughter. There's also a related website." "He was my contemporary, and almost as good," she coyly smiled. "I adored Ted Williams, it was the way he held his bat. There was a man, the 'Splendid Splinter.' Now deceased and beheaded, I could bring him back to life. Like John the Baptist, I would pick up his severed head from its stainless steel container and kiss those cold frozen lips." She was becoming a bit melodramatic on me, so I changed the tune a little. "The book's purpose is to get him out of the deep freeze, his remains, I mean. He wanted to be cremated and have his ashes spread by the winds. You know like Barbara Stanwyck, Viven Leigh, Steve McQueen, Rock Hudson, Henry Miller, John Steinbeck, and William Holden..." "Stop there," she smiled. "This interests me, there is something which I have been working on, it's a combination novel biography. I have not decided which. I would like your opinion." "What's the working title?" I inquired. "Bases Loaded," she reached into a desk and produced a collection of loose typewritten sheets. "I already have a forty page outline. Tell me, how long should an autobiography be?" "A lot depends upon the person and subject. My Ted Williams is 164 pages, but it was on a specific theme." I speculated further, "Most biographies are 300-400 pages. Since you ARE important, I'd expect it would be at least that long." I played to her ego. "Yes, it must be a masterpiece," she mischievously smiled, "and I started with the baseball league, and included my move here to Arlington. I have seen quite a lot over the decades, and have kept quiet like that river out there, but I could speak volumes." "This house we are in, it was built for me by Joseph P. Kennedy," she abruptly proclaimed. "Fascinating!" although I could not understand the connection. "Of course it is, this is MY story," she gleefully acknowledged, "and it all should be in the book. I believe you should write it for me. I assume you are interested and available." Since I was between assignments, this seemed reasonable, but I didn't want to appear too eager. "I will make it worth your while," she observed my feigned hesitation, "and my name on the cover will guarantee success. Eminent publishers will beg for the rights." "OK, let me see what you've written, and then I can decide." I figured forty pages wouldn't take too long to read. And, if she was correct, they'd clamor to publish it, and maybe eventually make it into a movie. I wondered who would be compatible with a Betty Hutton role these days. So, I settled into a large cushioned chair to read the text. Her pages were single spaced in a small font, and it was not an outline. There was more information than expected. She began with the Kokomo Collies in 1943, and how during the preceding autumn she was the third player to sign with Philip K. Wrigley after Claire Schillace. Apparently, Wrigley had a romantic interest in the Beaver even before she earned her nickname. Some claim Wrigley's passion was not only baseball but also in acquiring a personal harem, which is why he financed the league. When he found out they didn't share his concern, Wrigley sold the entire franchise and all the teams after two seasons to Arthur Meyerhoff for a loss, a mere $10,000 in 1944 dollars. He already spent more than twenty times that amount on his high hopes. At first the Beaver went along, but then discovered she had real talent in the ballpark, and enjoyed the company of her teammates. Max was there, too. She didn't like Catalina, and finally gave the big chewing gum king the brush. I continued reviewing the draft. She had some intriguing statistics about the game as it was played by the league. This wasn't exactly hardball. In fact, the ball measured 11"-12", and basepath distances started at 65' and remained at 72' throughout the 1940's. In the initial four years, pitching was underhand, and the mound varied from 40'-43' to homeplate. Sure, I like those details, but I advised her that I wasn't certain most readers would. There were also several sections which needed additional explanation and expansion. "I thought you said you came to DC because of Kennedy, but you've written in a margin it was due to Griffith. I don't get it, D.W.?" "No, silly," she was starting to become somewhat pleased with herself, "it was Clark. You know, the Senators." I should have guessed and continued, "Is that how you met Joseph Kennedy through Clark Griffith?" "Yes, Clark was more interested in who attended the games rather than whether or not the Senators won, which worked well for me. For Kennedy, it was love at first sight, and I greatly enjoyed his company. I could have him laughing for hours when I would mimic his Boston accent." "He built this palace for me, a million dollars back then, when this was a small town. In many ways, so it remains. This is convenient to Georgetown and Pennsylvania Avenue, but removed sufficiently enough into a secluded suburb. Looking out the windows, you would never think this was in the city, and it retains the charm of the palisades." I continued reading, "I see you've fast forwarded to a more recent incident nearby at Fort Marcy Park." "Yes, I was just working on that section today before you arrived, while some ideas were fresh," she indicated and appeared a little anxious. "Before we get to that part, what do you think so far?" "Well, it needs more organizing," I summarized. "Themes should be separated as chapters, and everything placed in chronological order so the actions fit and flow together. For example, I expect this part about Fort Marcy Park should be towards the back of your novel." "Quite true," she concurred, "but as in movies sometimes later scenes are shot first, and subsequently placed in proper sequence. It may depend upon actor's schedules, available locations, director's intuition, and sometimes even the weather. I wrote this from my heart, and not a calendar. You should remove the rough edges and help refine and polish my thoughts." "I'll do what I can," I agreed, "but tell me more about Fort Marcy Park. I believe that unusual incident was in 1993, June or July." "July 20, 1993 about 6:00 PM," she cavalierly informed me. "Pardon me, madame, but I advise caution," Max whispered. "Max, how many times have I told you not to interrupt my creative moments," she briskly snapped at her servant. "Go bring us something to drink." "I see you raise several unanswered questions," I continued reading, "about lack of sufficient blood, no skull fragments, and the bullet was never recovered. In the margin, what's this handwritten word, 'gum?' Wrigley again, or Fellini?" "It is 'gun,' I was referring to the Army Colt 38 Special, which was found next to the body with one round discharged. The problem is that it was found in his right hand, and Vince Foster was left-handed. Also, with such suicides, and I am familiar with similar attempts, the fatal weapon is not retained in the perpetrator's hand. Recoil forces it some distance from the body. Arrangement of the gun and body appear artificial. Also, there was no soil on his shoes from the park path. He was shot elsewhere!" "Isn't that circumstantial?" I conjectured as Max poured three glasses of champaign. "The park is across the street," she vaguely waved in the general direction. "Max often walks Gunston there." "A monkey, I presume?" she was not humored by my remark. "No!" she snapped. "He was a prized purebred Weimeraner. Max saw the body rolled in a heavy blanket brought into the park where it was purposely positioned. He knows who conducted the heavy lifting. They both were there for in such delicate matters no one else could be trusted. They are inextricably and eternally tied together." "Madame, I must protest," uncustomarily Max adamantly intervened privately in a subdued manner while serving her a glass of champaign. "In your present excitement, madame you revealed too much to a total stranger, and I fear created a grave problem. No one should restate these things, especially for publication." "Perhaps, you are correct Max. What do you propose?" she whispered to her faithful servant. "He must be disposed," Max calmly informed her. "No one must ever know he talked to you. We know nothing about the car for there are often abandoned vehicles. Madame, you must be protected, and your reputation preserved." "All right Max, you handle this matter," she concurred. She turned her attention back to me, while I continued reading the manuscript unaware of their decision. "You are nearly finished," she calculatingly observed, "and I grow fatigued. We are not accustom to visitors. You mentioned something about car trouble?" "Yes, a flat tire," I replied, "I originally came here to use the phone and call the auto club." "And, you contacted no one?" she sneered and I nodded in polite confirmation. "Good! There is no need for that," she volunteered. "Max is capable and has proper tools in the garage. She will fix your tire, and possibly you may return tomorrow." "Max," she called her servant who fully understood the nature of this assignment. "Come with me," Max pointed to a side door with one of those white gloves. "I will fetch tools from the garage." The path between the main house and garage traversed a narrow lane overlooking the palisades with a spectacular view of lights from the bridge reflecting off the water. But, this time Max allowed me to lead the way. I was pleased to finally be going, and Max looked capable of handling any manual repair. "Well, that's some lady," I casually commented while we walked outside along the path. "She was the greatest of them all," Max assuredly replied. "You do not know and are too young. You will never know." "Well, I certainly turned into an interesting driveway." "You did indeed, sir!" Max's last words to me were like a solemn refrain as three muffled shots were fired from an old Army Colt 38 into the cold wintry darkness. "It is done, madame!" [Scene fadeout as an unidentified object falls in slow motion over the peaceful palisades with the lights from the bridge twinkling in the background and as silent traffic continues across the historic span.] Note: Significantly modified from the 1950 movie "Sunset Boulevard," directed and co-written by Billy Wilder; starring William Holden as Joe Gillis, Gloria Swanson as Norma Desmond, Eric von Stroheim as Max von Mayerling, and Cecil B. DeMille as himself. Books by the author alluded to in the article include: "Silver Spring Success," 2003 paperback, 2005 hardback. http://www2.xlibris.com/bookstore/bookdisplay.asp?bookid=17803 "Saving Ted Williams," 2005 paperback. http://www2.xlibris.com/bookstore/bookdisplay.asp?bookid=22773 "Ted Williams" (website) http://www.saveted.net B. NWB HALL OF FAME PRODUCTS These baseball items are available from the NWB Hall of Fame: commemorative buttons (2006, 2005, 2004, 2003, 2002, 2001, 2000, and 1999), t-shirts, caps, and bats. Free commemorative ribbons are also available. The website main page has an order form, and the photo page displays several items. http://www.eteamz.com/hallfame C. HISTORIC TIMELINE January 31, 1919 Jackie Robinson birthdate, MLB Hall of Fame. January 31, 1931 Ernie Banks birthdate, MLB Hall of Fame. January 31, 1947 Nolan Ryan birthdate, MLB Hall of Fame. February 1, 1944 Paul Blair birthdate, MLB player. February 2, 1876 National League established. February 2, 1905 Ann Rand birthdate, author. February 2, 1923 Red Schoendienst birthdate, MLB Hall of Fame. February 2, 1936 Cobb, Ruth, Wagner, Mathewson, and Johnson; first inductions into MLB Hall of Fame. February 3, 1890 Larry MacPhail birthdate, MLB executive. February 3, 1918 Helen Stephens birthdate, 1936 Olympic gold medalist, "World's Fastest Woman." February 4, 1969 Bowie Kuhn elected MLB Commissioner. February 5, 1891 Roger Peckinpaugh birthdate, MLB manager. February 5, 1934 Hank Aaron birthdate, MLB Hall of Fame. February 6, 1895 Babe Ruth birthdate, MLB Hall of Fame. February 7, 1949 Joe DiMaggio signed first $100,000 contract. February 7, 1969 Diana Crump first women jockey at Hialeah. February 8, 1937 Clete Boyer birthdate, MLB player. February 9, 1914 Bill Veeck, birthdate, MLB Hall of Fame. February 9, 1925 Vic Wertz birthdate, MLB player. February 10, 1884 Billy Evans birthdate, MLB Hall of Fame. February 10, 1894 Herb Pennock birthdate, MLB Hall of Fame. February 10, 1898 Judith Anderson birthdate, Emmy award. February 11, 1941 Sammy Ellis birthdate, MLB player. February 12, 1917 Dominic DiMaggio birthdate, MLB player. February 12, 1926 Joe Garagiola birthdate, sports broadcaster. February 13, 1918 Patti Berg birthdate, championship golfer. February 13, 1944 Sal Bando birthdate, MLB executive. February 14, 1913 Mel Allen birthdate, sports broadcaster. February 15, 1820 Susan B. Anthony birthdate. February 15, 1948 Ron Cey birthdate, MLB player. February 16, 1866 Billy Hamilton birthdate, MLB Hall of Fame. February 17, 1908 Red Barber birthdate, sports broadcaster. February 18, 1975 Ila Borders birthdate, professional pitcher. D. FAME FORUM ISSUES Volume XI, 2008 Season Publications Number 02, Bases Loaded Remake (Sunset Boulevard), February 2. Number 01, That Was the Year That Was, January 2. http://www.eteamz.com/hallfame/handouts E. NWB HALL OF FAME PROGRAMS The National Women's Baseball Hall of Fame, an independent not-for-profit organization established September 1998, is situated in suburban Washington, DC. The objective is to recognize achievements of women in regulation baseball. The NWB Hall of Fame offers these programs for participants in regulation baseball with organized leagues. Managers are are encouraged to recommend recognition awards and suggest articles on their teams, players, or events. Applications are available through email and are posted on the website. NWB HALL OF FAME INDUCTIONS Nominations for the NWB Hall of Fame are due September 30. Inductions may include four current and one previous players by formal application or candidate statement. NATIONAL MVP AND MANAGER AWARDS MVP player and manager award requests are due December 31. Season nominations should be by a manager or administrator. One MVP player per team may be selected annually. Membership covers transmission of newsletters, announcements, invitations, applications, and access to all website pages. Membership is $9.00 renewed annually, and an application is available on the NWB Hall of Fame website. _________________________________________________________ NATIONAL WOMEN'S BASEBALL HALL OF FAME Richard C. Jaffeson, Executive Director PO Box 15282, Chevy Chase, Maryland 20825 301-847-0102 HallFame@USA.com http://www.eteamz.com/hallfame "National Women's Baseball Hall of Fame" is a registered trade name with the State of Maryland. MD672265, October 19, 1998. Programs, articles, and contents presented herein are protected under provisions of the U.S. Copyright Office, Library of Congress. Fame Forum registrations are listed below. TXU877085, TXU959430, TXU973266, TXU013972, TXU986753, TXU949885, TXU004037, TXU022893, TXU026161, TXU047111, TXU050230, TXU061149, TXU088068, TXU120937, TXU148132, TXU163784, TXU170668, TXU196853, TXU211917, TXU216769, TXU234252, TXU253116, TXU260664, TXU276615, TXU288273, TXU311442, TXU348663, TXU346055. Copyrights(c), NWB Hall of Fame, 1998-2008 __________________________________________________________