runs. In turn, the Yankees were slow to build a farm system but on November 12, 1931, Jacob Ruppert purchased the Newark, New Jersey, team just across the Hudson River, and stocked it up with Yankee farmhands. The Yankees managed to have it both ways, rolling through the 1930s by signing young stars like Joe DiMaggio and Tony Lazzeri from strong independent teams in the Pacific Coast League and elsewhere.
Rickey gave the impression of having taken a vow of poverty, but the poverty seemed to apply mostly to his players. By the end of his time with the Cardinals, his salary was said to be $75,000, plus a percentage of the price every time the Cardinals sold a player. Those terms do not sound like much this age when general managersmake multimillion-dollar rock-star salaries, but Rickey's income during the Depression was considerable, particularly for an executive who could quote the Sermon on the Mount to players asking for a raise.
According to legend, Rickey balanced the sacred and the secular, observing the Sabbath while keeping both eyes on the turnstiles. On Sundays he rented a room in the YMCA across from Sports-man's Park, training binoculars on the ticket lines. He preached ethical behavior but his Cardinals were called the Gashouse Gang because of their rough ways. They committed pranks in hotels, played Dixieland on banjos and harmonicas during long train rides, fought with the opposition or amongst themselves—and won pennants.
Shortly after the Cardinals won the pennant in 1942, the Cardinals' owner, Sam Breadon, said he could no longer afford Rickey. Moving on to Brooklyn, Rickey continued to stockpile and train young talent, particularly in spring training. In 1948, the Dodgers bought a former naval air base in Vero Beach, Florida, eventually calling it Dodgertown. Amidst the barracks and diamonds, Rickey was in his glory, personally delivering lectures on subjects like “The Cure Is Sweat” and “Leisure Time Is the Anathema of Youth.” He imposed rules on his players, many of them veterans of combat in World War Two—no cards, no liquor, no cigarettes, frequent weight checks, backed up by refusals of second helpings at the base cafeteria.
He also introduced the first pitching machines plus a contraption of strings, the size of a strike zone, to teach pitchers control without the embarrassment of an umpire, batter, and watchful fans. Many a wild young pitcher, including Sandy Koufax, was taken out behind the barracks to pitch to the strings.
For a religious man, Rickey was something of a conniver, known to leave fake contracts conveniently in view on his desk, intimidating his players by making them think the pay scale was even lower than they had imagined. More than half a century later, Rickey's frugality still rankled Ralph Branca, who had been the Dodgers' best pitcher in 1947. “I won 21 games,” Branca recalled in 2005,“and I led the league in starts with 36, but he told me I walked too many batters. Yeah, I walked 98—because I pitched 280 innings. I sent the contract back. He was mad at me.”
Rickey's time in Brooklyn came to an end in 1950, when he was pushed out by the new owner, Walter O'Malley. Rickey's teaching methods did not work with the destitute Pirates and he left after 1955. Half a century later, Branch B. Rickey reminisced about the old-fashioned life at the Rickey farm outside Pittsburgh. “We were not country-club,” the grandson said proudly, recalling the pungent odor of the livestock. The center of family life was the Sabbath midday dinner. “I can see my grandfather at the head of the table, anywhere from six to fourteen people,” the grandson said. “He liked to have out-of-towners, make them comfortable. It caused us to have dialogues mixed with social dialogues.”
In 1960, Rickey tried to build a rival league, the Continental League, which never got off the ground but did force the first expansion of the majors. He then had a brief role as advisor to the
Rickey gave the impression of having taken a vow of poverty, but the poverty seemed to apply mostly to his players. By the end of his time with the Cardinals, his salary was said to be $75,000, plus a percentage of the price every time the Cardinals sold a player. Those terms do not sound like much this age when general managersmake multimillion-dollar rock-star salaries, but Rickey's income during the Depression was considerable, particularly for an executive who could quote the Sermon on the Mount to players asking for a raise.
According to legend, Rickey balanced the sacred and the secular, observing the Sabbath while keeping both eyes on the turnstiles. On Sundays he rented a room in the YMCA across from Sports-man's Park, training binoculars on the ticket lines. He preached ethical behavior but his Cardinals were called the Gashouse Gang because of their rough ways. They committed pranks in hotels, played Dixieland on banjos and harmonicas during long train rides, fought with the opposition or amongst themselves—and won pennants.
Shortly after the Cardinals won the pennant in 1942, the Cardinals' owner, Sam Breadon, said he could no longer afford Rickey. Moving on to Brooklyn, Rickey continued to stockpile and train young talent, particularly in spring training. In 1948, the Dodgers bought a former naval air base in Vero Beach, Florida, eventually calling it Dodgertown. Amidst the barracks and diamonds, Rickey was in his glory, personally delivering lectures on subjects like “The Cure Is Sweat” and “Leisure Time Is the Anathema of Youth.” He imposed rules on his players, many of them veterans of combat in World War Two—no cards, no liquor, no cigarettes, frequent weight checks, backed up by refusals of second helpings at the base cafeteria.
He also introduced the first pitching machines plus a contraption of strings, the size of a strike zone, to teach pitchers control without the embarrassment of an umpire, batter, and watchful fans. Many a wild young pitcher, including Sandy Koufax, was taken out behind the barracks to pitch to the strings.
For a religious man, Rickey was something of a conniver, known to leave fake contracts conveniently in view on his desk, intimidating his players by making them think the pay scale was even lower than they had imagined. More than half a century later, Rickey's frugality still rankled Ralph Branca, who had been the Dodgers' best pitcher in 1947. “I won 21 games,” Branca recalled in 2005,“and I led the league in starts with 36, but he told me I walked too many batters. Yeah, I walked 98—because I pitched 280 innings. I sent the contract back. He was mad at me.”
Rickey's time in Brooklyn came to an end in 1950, when he was pushed out by the new owner, Walter O'Malley. Rickey's teaching methods did not work with the destitute Pirates and he left after 1955. Half a century later, Branch B. Rickey reminisced about the old-fashioned life at the Rickey farm outside Pittsburgh. “We were not country-club,” the grandson said proudly, recalling the pungent odor of the livestock. The center of family life was the Sabbath midday dinner. “I can see my grandfather at the head of the table, anywhere from six to fourteen people,” the grandson said. “He liked to have out-of-towners, make them comfortable. It caused us to have dialogues mixed with social dialogues.”
In 1960, Rickey tried to build a rival league, the Continental League, which never got off the ground but did force the first expansion of the majors. He then had a brief role as advisor to the
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