The Selling of the Babe by Glenn Stout Page B

collection of four-play slams at the end of the campaign would be forty-four.”
    Everything came to a head on July 2. After Barrow and Ruth argued about Ruth taking the mound again and Ruth refused, he came to bat in the sixth inning with the Red Sox trailing the Senators 3–0. Washington’s Harry Harper was having no trouble as the Red Sox hitters seemed to be going through the motions, and Barrow ordered Ruth to take the first pitch—maybe they could start to tire Harper out, or get a good pitch to hit.
    But that was not Ruth. He was already fuming over the way he’d been pitched to recently, as pitchers were beginning to figure out the best way to retire him was to let his aggressiveness work against him. It had worked, too, as over the last month his batting average had tumbled from over .400 to just over .300. He was becoming an “all or nothing” hitter, something the savvy gamblers in the stands—and the pitchers—were starting to realize. Ruth ignored Barrow, swung at the first pitch to fall behind, then took a couple more wild swings and walked back to the bench.
    Barrow let him have it. His patience was gone. “That was a bum play,” he told Ruth, and Ruth responded by telling Barrow if he called him a bum again, he’d get a punch in the nose, although Ruth likely used a few additional adjectives. Barrow snapped back “That will cost you $500,” and Ruth stormed out of the dugout, changed into his street clothes, and after sitting in the stands for a bit left the park, showing up several hours later at his father’s saloon in Baltimore, still hot. After the game, Barrow told the press Ruth left the game because of stomach trouble, but no one was fooled for long. Ruth had become a headache.
    He had options. As his fame increased so, too, had his opportunities to make money on the side. Johnny Igoe, also a member of the Royal Rooters, Boston’s famous group of Red Sox fans made up of equal parts of politicians, gamblers, and businessmen (most of whom were all three), had gained Ruth’s confidence in money matters and acted as sort of a de facto agent. He was always alerting him to opportunities to earn a little extra. If Dutch Leonard had found it more lucrative to play shipyard ball than stay in the major leagues, what was Ruth worth?
    Barrow didn’t know it, but Ruth had already been approached by representatives of a shipyard in Chester, Pennsylvania, just south of Philadelphia. He knew enough to send a wire to their manager, Frank Miller, asking what he could get. The shipyard immediately dispatched a representative to Baltimore to work something out. The July 4th holiday was coming up, and if Ruth appeared, a big crowd was guaranteed. The Red Sox would be playing the A’s in a doubleheader in Philadelphia at the same time, but with Ruth onboard, the shipyard just might outdraw the major leaguers. While Ruth, technically, could only be paid a shipyard worker’s wage, there is little question that some kind of side arrangement was in the works—Ruth was always eager to accept offers of cash. While much would be made of his joyous behavior during public appearances, much of the time those appearances were not quite as spontaneous as they appeared but rather were accompanied by a fat envelope of hundred-dollar bills. It was easy to smile then.
    Everything was up in the air. Reporters tracked Ruth down in Baltimore while Barrow sent a representative, likely veteran Heinie Wagner, to Baltimore to talk sense to his star. In the meantime, the shipyard began to advertise Ruth’s appearance—they planned to have him pitch—and Frazee, never one to take a breach of contract lightly, threatened legal action against the shipyard. After all, he did have Ruth under contract.
    Over the next twenty-four hours, all parties tried to stake out their position. Ruth’s feeling were hurt and he complained that when he didn’t take the