Ernest Vaughn could be excused if his head was spinning a bit.
Five meetings in five cities in six days. Meetings with city fathers in Milwaukee, Des Moines, Columbus, Indianapolis… all of whom asserted that yes, they would love a major league baseball team, but no, they didn’t have any interest in making the necessary financial commitments. Ernest was beginning to doubt whether his dream of freeing himself from his family’s stifling control would ever be realized.
The family had had varied reactions to his plan to move the Doves. His mother, still in shock from the loss of her husband, had retreated into herself to the point where she seemed barely aware of the world. His brother Duke expressed skepticism; “You realize, old fellow, that business affairs in Chicago will keep me from guiding the team”. That’s the whole point of it, thought Ernest. Sister Muriel seemed resigned; “Well, if you’re going to tarnish the family name, I suppose it’s better that you do it in some other city.”
The outlook had seemed gloomy. And yet, suddenly, here he was in Cincinnati, the last stop on his tour, and the city fathers he was meeting with seemed downright seemed downright enthusiastic. Hope began to rise like a phoenix in his breast as they spoke.
“Well, of course this town is baseball-mad, and we’ve already begun clearing land for a new stadium at Findlay and Western on the west side. We were planning on building a wooden ballpark there to house the local Cincinnati Snappers of the Negro League, but if we had a chance to get a real major league team, I think we could convert it to a modern concrete and steel structure without too much trouble. And making it a bigger project would certainly be popular with the local building trades.”
“That sounds wonderful”, said Ernest. “Would it be possible to name it Jack Vaughn Park, after my late father?”
The city negotiators looked at each other. “Well, I’m afraid not. It’s not just that the name Jack Vaughn wouldn’t mean much to the Cincinnati public. It’s that the mayor has already announced that the new stadium will be called Rhinelander Field.”
“Rhinelander Field???”
“Yes… The German-American influence is very powerful here, and the mayor owes his election to their support. He decided that giving the new stadium a name that honors their heritage would be a way to retain their goodwill as he prepares to run for re-election.”
“Oh… I suppose that will be all right, then.” Ernest would have agreed to almost anything at this point to consummate the deal.
“We can probably put up a plaque or something to recognize your father… Now, about the team name… We have come up with a few ideas. How about the ‘Cincinnati Porkopolitans’, to honor our history as a meat-packing center. You know, one of the nicknames for our city is ‘Porkopolis’. Another one we though of is the ‘Cincinnati Soapmakers’ which would make our corporate partners at Proctor and Gamble very happy”.
“Well… in all honesty, I’d very much prefer to keep the nickname ‘Doves’. My father picked it out, and it would be about the last link to him I’d have left. I’m giving in to you on the stadium name issue; I’m afraid if you won’t give me this, I’ll have to take one of the offers I’ve had from other cities.” It weas a bluff, of course, and he surprised himself when the words left his mouth.
The city negotiators huddled briefly, then returned to the table. “All right,” said the chairman.… “Beginning in 1913, it will be the Cincinnati Doves of the Legacy Baseball League. Doves…the more I hear it, the more I actually like it. Maybe someday our friends at Proctor and Gamble will name a soap after the team.”