As the 1919 Legacy Baseball League season dawned, clubs and fanatics would mourn those that did not return from war, or those whose ball-playing days had to end too soon because of the injuries inflicted upon them, and they would embrace to their bosom those that returned to play again.
The Providence Angels’ rooters were most eager to see Wyatt Fairfax swing the bat again. Fairfax had been the star of the Angels, often referred to by the local press as “King of the Angels.” Since 1912 he had a batting average over .300, recording 612 hits in 626 games. His hitting had been a joy to behold — an antithesis to the painful period of consistent losing seasons. So good at the plate and hitting with such fury, a blind eye was turned to his sloppy base running and inability to field soundly. For a couple of years it looked as though he might be dethroned by Robert Carter, but Carter was shipped off to Boston for an infield prospect and Fairfax’s absolute rule was secured.
Within the club, few were looking forward to Fairfax’s return. He was a difficult man to like — often disgruntled, outspoken, bitter, unwilling to work harder than the bare minimum expected, motivated only by his paycheck. During this period the modern team spirit seen in sports teams was unimaginable; it was common for clubhouses to be divided, to see conflict and bitter rivalries. Even so, Fairfax’s negative relationship with his team was at the extreme, he had no close friends, made little to no small talk, rarely took visitors to his hotel room during road trips.
James Harvey of the Providence Chronicle had been attempting to make contact with Fairfax since he had heard of his return from Europe. Although Harvey had little desire to spend any time with Fairfax, he knew that readers would want to hear from their hero. No response ever came, so he waited outside the spring-training ground and caught Fairfax on his way in.
“Any comments on your time away, Mister Fairfax? Time for a sit-down over a coffee later perhaps?” Harvey asked politely as he attempted to keep pace alongside him.
“I was ready to fight.” That was the only comment — Fairfax didn’t even break stride.
It’s impossible to tell if this exchange is what would work the unpredictable Fairfax up into a rage but the off-hand remark would be published and only serve to further endear him to the Providence faithful.
Within an hour of his arrival at spring training, Fairfax had attempted to throw a punch at veteran pitcher Reinhold Rogers. Rogers had been dogged for a couple of seasons for his Germanic name — although born in America, to a German mother and Scottish father, his name ensured he could not escape the fervent anti-German sentiment spreading across the United States. When news of a zealous mob tarring and feathering a Lutheran minister on the suspicion of his hosting Germans and teaching the language reached him, Reinhold made the difficult decision to drop the name and go by Ronald. This was painful for Rogers; although he had never seen Germany, he felt a close connection to that distant land that he had inherited from his mother. He had been named for his grandfather who had brought the family to the United States in hopes of making a better life. As the relentless booing, jeering and even threats continued through 1918, Rogers almost bankrupted himself buying Liberty Bonds to prove his commitment to the American war effort. The Angels organisation went on a charm offensive, taking every opportunity to use Rogers in the press — promoting bond buying, visiting young Army recruits, and photographing him at work in Boase’s tool factory that was now fully devoted to supporting the war effort with its production.
As soon as Fairfax laid eyes on Rogers he went on the attack. “What is this Hun doing here?”
“I’m an American, same as you,” Rogers replied.
Fairfax immediately charged Rogers and had to be held back.
“There ain’t no war here,” Fullbrook, a fellow veteran, yelled at Fairfax as he held him from Rogers.
The Angels’ new manager, John Lee, burst into the office of General Manager Clayton Bayman.
“I do not want that man on my team.”
“You’ve met Mister Fairfax then?” Bayman replied, looking back down at some scouting reports and other paperwork that cluttered his desk.
“He’s not been back for a day and he’s trying to fight Rogers. He reeks of drink; he can’t run…”
Not looking up, Bayman responded slowly, almost thoughtfully, but as though he had not listened to Lee’s complaints: “Yes, he’d probably be the best hitter in the league if it wasn’t for the drink…”
“I do not see how even his hitting can be justification to keep that man.”
The following silence was so long Lee was about to turn and walk out of the office, believing his complaints had fallen on deaf ears — an embarrassment now creeping in that he’d made a fool of himself and had not been in the job a month.
Bayman picked up his pipe and began stuffing it with tobacco. “I agree entirely,” he said whilst seeming to consider his next words. “I detest the man, but I pay him to hit and he hits.”
“Understood.” Lee responded and turned to leave.
“I tried,” Bayman added.
Lee turned back around.
“I had an identical response to him when I met him. I found him intolerable — detestable. His drinking caused us to ban alcohol from our train car on road trips, but he still finds a way to smuggle in his liquor. As soon as I arrived I telegrammed around… offering him up for trade; there was no interest. The league is awash with solid hitting first basemen. And we cannot release him — he is universally loved by the home crowd. I suspect we’d have an angry mob on our hands if we did.”
Lee nodded, and apologised for bursting into the office. Bayman waved it away.
“No need. The man is an animal, and like all animals there is an alpha male. He was the alpha male of the clubhouse, and he has been away a year; he will just be trying to reassert himself. Your only concern is his ballgame — get him to take his anger out on our opponents, things will fall in line in time, and I will keep an eye on his drinking. If he lays a hand on a teammate, I will deal with it — you have my word.”