Karl and Walther Boeselager walked through North Philadelphia along Jefferson Street. It was noisy as the three-story buildings surrounding the road trapped the sounds of horse-drawn carts on cobblestone and the chatter of hundreds of people who had just finished their shifts or came from school. The Boeselagers arrived at Jefferson Street Grounds and bought tickets to see their first baseball game. It was June 8, 1871, and the Philadelphia Athletics faced the Chicago White Stockings.
“Did you look into the Philadelphia Athletics and their players?” Walther asked as they neared the ballpark.
Karl shook his head. “No, I’ll wait and see for myself.”
Walther had invited him to the game, knowing it was the only way to get Karl to watch. Karl didn’t like large crowds and hesitated with new experiences, but Walther’s persistence had finally worn him down.
The brothers, both 19 years old, had been living in the United States for over two years. After emigrating, their father, Wilhelm, quickly found work as a brewer in a small brewery on the outskirts of Philadelphia. In 1870, after gathering sufficient materials, manufacturing all the equipment himself in his spare time, and taking out a risky loan from the bank, Wilhelm opened his own brewery. Since then, his sons helped run the business, now known as Boeselager & Sons Brewery.
Growing the business was complicated at first. The budget was thin, competition was fierce, and the lack of qualified personnel made it stressful to brew enough beer to meet demand from nearby pubs. When the Franco-Prussian War broke out in July 1870, the German Corner Pub, a hotspot for German immigrants, desperately needed beer to quench their patrons’ thirst. Ironically, the war was a blessing for Wilhelm, who had emigrated to avoid military service for his sons. Wilhelm agreed to supply the pub, signing a contract that secured their business until 1899.
Within weeks, the Boeselagers realized they couldn’t keep up with demand. When a local brewery folded, Wilhelm took it over, along with its personnel, and brewed enough beer to expand to other pubs in downtown Philadelphia. This required another bank loan, but cementing their place in the Eastern United States beer market was worth the risk. After the German states beat the Second French Empire and proclaimed the German Empire in the Versailles Palace in January 1871, there was a week of celebration in the German-speaking neighborhoods of Philadelphia. It was a busy but profitable time for the Boeselager brewery and turned the rather small brewery into a well-known brand.
Karl and Walther were identical twins in appearance but completely different in personality. Karl enjoyed physical activities and sports, while Walther had a sharp business mind. Unbeknownst to Karl, Walther had a secret motive for attending the baseball game: he saw it as a potential opportunity to grow their brewery’s reach.
After paying for admission, the brothers made their way to the third-base stands and sat down on one of the black wooden benches. The seats were hot from the sun, and they had to stand every other minute as more people squeezed past to find their places.
“You finally got your workout,” Karl teased. Walther, wiping sweat from his brow, muttered something inaudible. The flow of people ebbed as the game was about to begin.
“Stay put, brother,” Karl said, rising to fetch drinks. As he climbed over his neighbors, he heard sighs and muttered complaints.
Karl walked down the narrow stairs, scanning for a beer stall. The closest one was near the corner of the ballpark. He grimaced when he saw the sign: McCabe Red Ribbon. After seeing they charged seven cents for a cup, he muttered, “What a rip-off,” under his breath. But he remained calm, dropped four pennies and a dime, and took the two tin cups of beer.
When Karl returned, he handed one to Walther and took a sip of his own. He nearly spat it out. “Garbage” he muttered.
“Disgusting,” Walther agreed, wrinkling his nose. “Poor ingredients, poor quality.”
Their father had raised them to prioritize quality above all else, even if it meant selling their beer at a higher price. When the brewery first opened, this philosophy had made it difficult to attract customers. It took months of Mundpropaganda—the German word for word of mouth—before their reputation for quality spread.
A roar from the crowd pulled Karl back to the present. The second inning had ended poorly for Philadelphia, and the score was 0-5. Chicago added another run in the third inning, making it 0-6. George Zettlein, the pitcher for the White Stockings, had walked two batters when a towering figure stepped up to the plate.
“Who’s that?” Karl asked, leaning forward.
Someone behind them shouted, “Get ’em, Levi!”
The hitter swung at the first pitch, and the ball soared over the right-field fence. The crowd erupted, cheering as the batter rounded the bases.
“Levi Meyerle,” Walther said, answering Karl’s question. “They call him Long Levi. One of the best in the game.”
The Athletics rallied, scoring several runs in the following innings. By the end of the sixth inning, they were leading 11-6. Karl scribbled names and notes into his notebook, clearly enthralled.
“Did you know the Brooklyn Athletics once beat the Cincinnati Red Stockings in front of 20,000 people?” Walther asked casually.
Karl looked up, surprised. “Since when do you know anything about sports?”
Walther smirked. “Do you see those advertising boards?” He pointed toward the right field. “Imagine it: Boeselager & Sons Brewery in big, bold letters.”
Karl laughed. “And next, you’ll tell me we should have our own baseball club, call them the Germantown Brewers, and play at the Boeselager Rennbahn.”
Their laughter caught the attention of a man sitting nearby. “I hope my son grows up to be a professional player one day,” he said. “Imagine earning a living playing a sport. What a dream.”
Karl leaned forward. “Would you mind explaining the game to us? I’m afraid we’re still learning.”
The man introduced himself as Michael McKenzie, who worked in a quarry just outside Philadelphia, and enthusiastically guided the brothers through the basics of baseball. He explained tactics, the rules, and the star players. By the end of the game, the brothers had not only enjoyed themselves but had also formed a budding friendship with Michael.
Over the next few weeks, the Boeselagers and McKenzie met regularly, sometimes to watch games and other times to play baseball themselves. Inspired, Karl and Walther rallied brewery workers to form a team, which played against other local recreational teams, including Michael’s group of quarry workers. Their father was initially skeptical but eventually supported the idea, seeing the benefits to the workers’ physical fitness and morale.
Karl quickly emerged as the team’s star player. One day in 1873, Michael mentioned that one of his coworkers, Patrick O’Shea, played as an amateur for the Philadelphia Athletics. During a match between the brewers and the quarry workers, Patrick had noticed Karl’s skill and suggested that he should try out for the team. At Patrick’s recommendation, the Athletics invited Karl to a training session. Karl’s natural talent impressed the staff, earning him a spot as a second baseman. He played three games that season, and his performance was solid enough to have him on the roster the following season. Meanwhile, Walther’s ambitions grew. By 1874, he had negotiated a deal to serve Boeselager beer at Jefferson Street Grounds. An affront to New Jersey beer and liquor mogul Timothy McCabe, who had exclusive rights to the ballpark’s existing food and drink stands. A loophole in the contract couldn’t prevent building a Boeselager stand behind third base.
The rivalry with McCabe intensified after the Boeselager’s Third Base became a popular spot at Jefferson Street Grounds. When lowering the prices didn’t improve the situation for McCabe, he turned to other methods to get the Boeselagers out of the ballpark. Lawsuits, smear campaigns, and surprise inspections plagued the brewery, but loyal customers and the brothers’ resilience helped them weather the storm. Despite the brewery’s growing success, Karl’s professional career stalled.
The Athletics made him the regular second baseman for the 1875 season, because he was one of the few middle infielders on the roster, but a long slump sent him back on the bench. A few weeks before the 1876 season, he fell off a ladder while fixing some gas lamps. He shattered his shoulder and further injured his spine and knee. Wilhelm and Walther rushed to his side, but Karl drifted in and out of consciousness before being taken to the hospital.
For him, the hospital was hell. He could barely move for weeks. Luckily, the injury wasn’t life-threatening and the injured spine didn’t leave him with permanent paralyzation. But the pain, immobilization and monotony of the extended hospital stay got to him.
A young nurse named Sue took notice of Karl’s deteriorating mental state. She began spending her breaks with him. Her warmth and humor became a lifeline for Karl, pulling him out of his depression. “You’re too stubborn to stay down,” she teased one day, handing him a cup of coffee. “If you can’t play, you can still coach.”
Once discharged, Karl moved back home, where his mother took on much of his care. Despite everyone’s advice to rest, Karl’s stubbornness got the better of him. He began a rigorous and often reckless rehabilitation routine, determined to return to the field. But smaller injuries piled up, further delaying his recovery. By the time the Athletics folded in 1877, Karl had accepted that his playing days were over.
The end of the Athletics also meant the end of sports investments for the Boeselager family. Wilhelm urged expanding past Philadelphia borders and began looking into New York. This strategy wouldn’t allow “leisure investments”. Walther didn’t like his father’s decision and couldn’t get over about how he didn’t see the business opportunity.
Karl didn’t care about what was happening on the management level. He continued working at the practical end of the brewing business. It allowed him to not think about his short-lived baseball career. Still, baseball remained a central part of his life. Karl took up a coaching role for local amateur teams, passing on his knowledge to the next generation of players. He and Sue grew closer during this time. While Sue didn’t share the same enthusiasm for baseball, she cared for Walther and his passion. Occasionally, they watched amateur games, and often, they walked through parks where children played baseball. One of those parks was near the brewery and they always saw Michael McKenzie playing catch with his young son. Karl was slightly jealous and wondered if his relationship with Sue would expand his family’s Stammbaum. The kid enjoyed the game and Karl nodded. Michael has done well.
“Alright, let’s practice batting!” Michael’s son tossed the glove next to a tree, picked up a small bat, and waited for his father’s pitch.
“Remember the hip!” Michael pointed at his hip before slowly throwing the ball. Karl gazed at the swing, which was near perfection. The sound of the contact and the resulting line drive over Michael’s head seconded his thought.
Sue witnessed how Karl and Michael threw their arms up simultaneously, almost as if that hit won an imaginary game. Then she saw Karl smile when Michael cheered: “Great hit, Leo!”