Introduction .

There is a historic parallel between the African-American athletes of the early 20th century’s Negro Baseball Leagues and black jazz musicians performing during the same era. They share a common, regrettable bond. Both were loose-knit confederations that gave us some of the greatest talent this country has ever produced. Yet most all of that talent was forced to showcase their skills in second-class environments beneath the cultural plateau they deserved. These individuals comprise an indeterminate, largely anonymous list. One such man was hitting phenomenon Josh Gibson. If Gibson had the good fortune to be born fifty years later, he’d have a place alongside well-known modern-day sluggers: Sammy Sosa, Manny Ramirez, Alex Rodriguez, Barry Bonds – homerun machines who also hit for average. Those who do know his story have already placed him in the exclusive company of Hall of Famers: Mike Schmidt, Reggie Jackson, Hammerin’ Hank Aaron, Mickey Mantle, Frank Robinson, Stan Musial, Willie Mays, Ted Williams, Joe Dimaggio, Lou Gehrig and the Bambino himself: “Babe” Ruth. Josh Gibson is without question one of the best all-around hitters to ever play the game. And yet, so few do know his story.


Part I . The Rise of the Legend

In the story of Josh Gibson’s life it’s often difficult to tell where reality ends and legend begins. Along with his exceptional talent, a good deal of personal tragedy and his eventual self-induced destruction are very real. But the legend often overshadows all of this. The public exaggeration of “Gibson, legend,” by Negro League club owners, black and white sportswriters, even fellow players, began almost as soon as he began playing organized ball (“organized” a relative term when describing the notoriously loose structure of the Negro Leagues). But Gibson never seemed to give his celebrity status much air-time. He simply loved to play baseball. Off the field, his demeanor was almost reclusive. On it, his presence was intimidating. It is quite possible that Gibson himself just liked the “on field Josh” that he read about in the papers more than what he knew to be real. Either way, his notable indifference to the whirling publicity that followed him goes to suggest that his reality was an all-consuming one. Baseball proved to be his sanctuary. In The Power and the Darkness, author Mark Ribowsky writes: “. . . baseball, with its promise of emotional shelter, may have been Josh Gibson’s most obsessive, most rewarding, and most bedeviling narcotic.” His vices would eventually pull him down; but he made the most of his appetite for baseball. He was one of the fiercest power hitters of his era, black or white.

National Baseball Hall of Fame

Josh Gibson was born in Buena Vista, Georgia, on December 21, 1911. In the early 1920s, Gibson’s father Mark moved to Pittsburgh in search of work in the steel mills. A few years later, he brought up the rest of the family and they settled on the north side of the city. By all accounts Josh was raised in a stable, but less than ideal environment. His mother drank, a disposition that would manifest itself in Josh soon enough. Gibson’s love of baseball kicked in during his teens. Aside from vocational schooling – which led to his first jobs as an electrician and factory hand – he was always playing pick-up “sandlot” ball; and playing it well. By the time he was 16, Josh had landed a slot playing with the amateur Pleasant Valley Red Sox. He also played for a team sponsored by the Gimbel’s Department Store. Gibson’s talent was obvious early. He treated pitchers rudely wherever he played. And this was being noticed.

In 1928 he met one of the two men who, for better or worse, would be central to his career. That year professional hustler, Gus Greenlee, put together the first of his Pittsburgh “Crawford” teams (named for a north side bathhouse). Greenlee scouted and pulled in local talent from the bustling amateur scene in greater Pittsburgh. . . . . Amateur baseball was an active feature of American life in the first half of the 20th century. Industrial / company leagues existed wherever they could field teams. These teams were a popular source of recreation and entertainment, even serving as a source of company and local pride. On occasion, they also served as an unofficial minor league farm system. (Possibly the most famous such recruit was “Shoeless” Joe Jackson, discovered while playing for a mill team in South Carolina). Greenlee utilized amateur teams throughout Pittsburgh to his advantage, filling the Crawfords’ roster by nabbing a lot of their best talent. Josh Gibson was one of his pick-ups.

By 1930 the Crawford “Giants” (their first team name) was a semipro fixture in Pittsburgh and the region, scratching by on meager donations taken in from “passing the hat” amongst fans. It remains a feat of endurance that the early years of the Depression didn’t wipe out “blackball” entirely – semipro and professional – considering the rationed financial state that all segregated teams were forced to endure prior to 1929. Many teams did fold. Few if any thrived, but a good deal at least survived the tightest years. The Crawfords were one, the team living a fitful life that saw them rise into the professional ranks of the Negro Leagues (this prior to a rapid collapse). The “Craws” competition would always be the Homestead Grays. Run by the slick, yet no less cunning Cumberland “Cum” Posey, the Craws and Grays would compete for the loyalty of Steel Town’s blackball faithful throughout the 1930s. And to that end, Cum Posey was already at work by 1930. No sooner had Greenlee assembled his impressive roster than Posey swooped in to play his own brand of hardball. Of course, one of the players Posey had targeted was Josh Gibson. The second owner that would be central to Gibson’s career – in the end proving more influential – Posey, not only found a willing young Gibson, but several blackball stars-to-be set to make the jump to the professional level. Common among the buccaneer-style racketeering atmosphere in which professional blackball owners operated, swiping or “raiding” players from rival clubs was almost a sport unto itself. And in 1930 Posey had the upper-hand, signing players virtually at will. 1930 would also be the first year of Josh Gibson’s professional career; and he would join one of the most formidable line-ups the loose-knit Negro Leagues would ever produce.

As mentioned, Gibson was a modest type off the field. The demeanor of his youth has been described as mellow and hard-working. In early 1930, he married his then pregnant girlfriend Helen Mason. He and his new wife, modestly, moved in with Josh’s parents – a necessity more than selfless choice. 1930 would bring the highest highs and lowest lows for Gibson. It would also view the beginning of the legend-making exaggerations that would always follow his career, starting with his first “pro” game. The legend has it that regular Gray’s catcher Buck Ewing hurt himself, and Gibson was called out of the stands to fill-in, thereby cementing his future behind-the-plate in the Negro “bigs.” Buck Ewing did split a finger in the first game of a doubleheader on July 25, 1930; but Gibson – aside from not being in the stands, enthusiastically jumping to the field and suiting up on the spot – was actually brought over from the Crawford Giants to catch the second Gray’s game that night. Though a deal was reached, Posey’s sway at the time was enough to publicly steal one of the top prospects from the known “numbers man,” Greenlee. With Gibson in his sphere, Posey would not let him go. Gibson performed well that first night, playing against the Kansas City Monarchs under the lights of Pittsburgh’s Forbes Field – certainly a thrill to the rising star. There were many more such games to come.

That was one of the highs. August 11, 1930, marked one of the lowest points in Gibson’s entire life. His wife Helen had endured a very difficult pregnancy, her life often in the balance. On that day in August she succumbed to a chronic kidney condition and died. Twins – Josh Jr. and Helen – would be born prematurely and live. But his young wife’s death was a devastating blow and clearly influenced his future problems. Helen would be Gibson’s only true love, though he would have other relationships. The remainder of Gibson’s life would view him as distant and removed from the life of his children (who were raised [even named] by their aunt, Helen’s sister). Most who have written about Gibson attribute this estrangement as much to the twins’ serving as reminders of Helen’s tragic death as to a personal irresponsibility that would manifest itself and ultimately consume the man. Providing financial support was one thing, but providing actual support in life to his children was not a part of the immense talent of Josh Gibson. Further, it is safe to say that this was the point when Gibson realized baseball could be his sanctuary; because he went right on playing through the tragedy and wound up having a very impressive “rookie” year for Pittsburgh’s Homestead Grays.

Gibson became an official Gray late that summer and was instrumental in helping them finish the year among the Negro Leagues’ best. World Series style championships had been at best spotty throughout the existence of blackball, often a result more of deals brokered between owners than a natural playoff system. Despite their place as two of the best teams, the end of the 1930 season saw not a championship but promotional series between the Grays and New York’s “Lincoln Giants.” A good deal of the 10-game series was held in Yankee Stadium. His talent on display in one of baseball’s hallowed halls, Gibson lit up the Lincoln Giant’s pitching staff. One homerun hit in the Stadium was measured at nearly 500 feet. It was the longest homerun recorded there that year, in any league. Later dubbed the “blackball shot heard round the world,” that one hit did more than any other accomplishment in launching the legend. There would many more “moonshot” homeruns to come too.

To students of the game, descriptions of Gibson’s play reflect a natural fundamental soundness – as if there was little thought involved. It does seem he played the game on an instinctual level, as if it was what he was put on this earth to do. At his prime, Gibson was 6’ 2” 190 lbs. Crawford player-manager Hooks Tinker compared him to “sheet metal.” He was a muscular mountain of a guy behind home-plate and was so strong that he swung a 40 oz. + bat (the standard today is in the low 30s). Two different takes on his stance and swing give us an idea of what it must have been like to watch him. In his biography of Gibson, William Brashler describes him as standing upright, flat-footed, relying on upper body strength, a short stride, a compact swing. Being so compact and quick Gibson was rarely fooled, for he could wait on a pitch longer than most. Ribowsky records the second description of Gibson, given by Tinker: “He was like a reflex, a nerve jumpin’ all at once.” He was smart about “going with a pitch” away and “inside-out” on a pitch inside. In other words he could adjust, a sign of an intelligent hitter. One reason was the strength of his wrists. He could simply muscle a ball without relying on leg momentum and stride. He had an accurate eye (represented in his outstanding on-base percentages); and as mentioned could hit singles and doubles, as well as monstrous tape-measure homeruns. What is often overlooked is the fact that he was a pretty good catcher, as well – which is without argument the toughest position to play day-to-day. Gibson worked hard to improve as a “receiver.” It shouldn’t be a surprise that he took to the basic skills required to catch rather instinctively: developing a rifle arm for throwing out runners and a shrewd understanding of how to strategize pitch selections – keeping hitters guessing, thereby keeping the advantage with his pitcher. He had All-Star qualities across the board. Inside of a year of joining Homestead, Josh Gibson was one of the most recognizable Negro baseball stars.

The single most recognizable name in Negro League history came to Pittsburgh in 1931, that being Satchel Paige. The careers of Paige and Gibson would be linked in their timing. The two would be teammates, but would more often lock horns as competitors over the next fifteen years. Paige was to blackball pitching what Gibson was to hitting, i.e. the best. But there the similarities end. A smooth-talking master of self-promotion, Paige was his own man – a condition clear to every owner who ever signed him to a contract only to see him skip out for a week or two at a time on barnstorming tours across the country. These trips were always lucrative, Paige showing up to don his contracted team’s uniform just in time for a highly anticipated meeting of two top clubs, or a big weekend series where the draw at the gate promised better revenue. This aside, Paige could pitch. Rare was the night that he didn’t roll through formidable Negro League line-ups. His uncompromising taunts and biting wit were often enough to rattle anyone inside the batter’s box, Gibson included. But Paige was full of praise for Gibson in recalling his one-time battery-mate, Brashler recording this comment by Paige on pitching to Gibson: “You look for his weakness and while you looking for it he liable to hit 45 homeruns.” Paige’s uncompromising autonomy was a common condition of the Negro Leagues that just did not occur in the rigid monopolistic all-white Major Leagues. Blackball advanced a notoriously loose structure, to the point where actual leagues ascended, faded, added and subtracted teams on a yearly basis. For many years during the 1920s, there was no official Negro League. No doubt the financial reality of Jim Crow America was the main factor, that and the institutional clampdown on any form of black autonomy and / or enterprise (Ribowsky referring to it as “. . . the plantation of segregated baseball”). This loose fly-by-night nature led to conditions that seemed hardly legitimate. But the one thing that does seem fair is that at least the players realized this too. One only had to look to Satchel Paige to be reminded: “to the entrepreneurial went the spoils.” As if the player raids of competitors weren’t bad enough, owners often watched signed talent disregard contracts and “jump” to another team that would offer more money. In comparison to the Major Leagues – in which players were ironically much more like slaves to their owners – blackball players had a certain amount of leverage in tune with their level of talent, Ribowsky summarizing it well: “all [Negro League] players were free agents.” A major issue would be the enticement and draw of African American ballplayers south-of-the-border, where decent pay in the Caribbean Islands, Mexico, Central and South America was augmented by cultures that advanced no bias towards these talented black athletes. In fact, it was quite the opposite: they were treated like kings. Both scenarios were in the immediate future for Gibson, Satchel Paige no doubt introducing both contract autonomy and out-of-country opportunities to him and other blackball stars – if only by example. Gibson would grow more bold in pursuing said opportunities as his star ascended. But Josh Gibson found life as a pro in Pittsburgh comfortable enough during the early-mid 1930s. His homerun totals reflect as much.

Over the next few years Gibson confirmed the buzz, littering outfield stands with homeruns wherever he played. Most were on small stages, non-league games across Pennsylvania, the Midwest and the South. One such was in Moneseen, Pennsylvania, the ball exiting the stadium entirely, traveling well over 500 ft. – the distance confirmed by no less than the mayor of the town. In the mid 1930s, Gibson would begin to dabble with baseball south-of-the-border, playing in winter leagues. During one particular tour in Puerto Rico he crushed another 500 ft. stadium-busting homerun that landed in an adjacent prison yard. But there were some grand stages that brought much publicity to the legend. One in particular was a blast in Chicago’s Comiskey Park, at what would become an annual East vs. West Negro League All-Star Game. The homerun is rumored to have exited the field on a line drive and stuck in a loudspeaker, again some 500 ft. from home plate. It was no secret that Gibson loved to play at Yankee Stadium; and rare was the time that he didn’t give the segregated fans in attendance something to remember. . . . . Many of the blackball stars from the time wished to show their skills not only to a wider audience but to prove them to white Major Leaguers, the opportunities missed just part of the larger social failure that allowed prejudice to relegate athletic equals to second-class status because of skin tone. Yet under what were often humiliating conditions (Grays players were not allowed to use the Major League Pirates’ locker room at Forbes Field having to suit up down the road in a YMCA, the bigoted slights they experienced barnstorming the South too numerous to list) these individual talents plied their skill with admirable toughness. The rough-and-tumble dealings of Negro League team owners found its way onto the field. It was by all accounts a more physical, scrappy brand of baseball: base-stealing, spitballs, slight-of-hand, hit-and-run, overt taunting, etc. Power hitters like Josh Gibson were not as prevalent as the homerun laden Majors, which is perhaps why his star stood out. But then 500 ft. homeruns would certainly make a player stand out, Gibson reported to have once said: “A homer a day will boost my pay.”

Gibson first asserted the mentioned autonomy prior to the 1932 season. A day after signing to play for Cum Posey that year, he jumped to play for Gus Greenlee’s Crawfords. The pay increase would net Gibson $100 extra per month. Having acquired Paige the year before – on what was in reality a part-time basis – Greenlee now had the two most famous blackball stars on his team. His influence changed over night. One of the draws for Gibson was Greenlee’s construction of a stadium for the Craws. Greenlee Field would open in late April 1932, making the Crawfords one of the very few Negro League teams to ever have their own “home.” Rankled, but without legal clout, Posey had to watch Gibson go. And Gibson, feeling his new found freedom, had a break-out year. It almost didn’t happen at all. On the way to the Crawford’s spring training camp in Hot Springs, Arkansas, Gibson’s appendix burst. It was successfully removed, and Gibson recovered fast enough to accompany the Crawfords on a major barnstorming tour during the first half of the season. It was quite the tour, games played against every level of competition – a number of the biggest draws against Negro Southern League teams like Birmingham and Nashville. In all the team logged 17,000 miles, playing 94 games by July. This kind of schedule was not uncommon and required a great deal of personal toughness, black ballplayers most often forced to eat poorly and stay in segregated dives while on the road. But to Josh Gibson and most of his cohorts they would rather be doing nothing else. The year was good to Josh, if not blackball in general (the defunct Negro American League having been replaced by the Posey sponsored Eastern League, which likewise folded). The Craws had become a dominant team overnight, even dispatching of the Grays in multiple series that year; a bad year for Cum Posey, but a good year for Gibson - who aside from hammering pitchers all year added another 500 ft. + legendary blast to the grist of legend, this one coming against a semipro team in York, Pennsylvania. Josh Gibson would finish the year near the .380 mark, with 40 + / - homeruns. The Crawfords, having assumed the title of best Negro League team, finished with a remarkable – if unofficial – 99-36 record. That winter, Gibson went to the Caribbean for the first time. It would be the first taste of a life that would eventually consume this monster talent.


The Story of Josh Gibson > Part II . The Fall of the Man