Read Online Terror in the City of Champions by Tom Stanton - Free Book Online
Authors: Tom Stanton
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joining a secret society, enticed to a meeting by word that a black family was moving onto a nearby street. He said he had been forced to take an oath at gunpoint. He now feared he would be killed. After his initiation Jones had told an acquaintance that he didn’t like the group and wanted no part of it. Mayor Markland and others had heard and confronted him. They had warned that he would face serious trouble if he didn’t keep his mouth shut. Jones told Kingsley all of this and recalled parts of the Black Oath, the threats of floggings and murder, and the evil things happening within the group.
Kingsley found the story unbelievable but shared it with the new mayor. He thought it inconceivable that anyone in their city would resort to murder over politics. Still, he told Jones to report it to the office of county prosecutor Duncan McCrea. He did. But no one there was interested. Jones went to the Detroit bureau of the Federal Department of Justice. Agents viewed his story as a bag of mumbo jumbo. No one believed “Little Arly” Jones. They wondered if he had been hallucinating. Agents directed Jones to file a complaint with the Highland Park Police. Weeks earlier, Jones had spotted Highland Park cops at a Black Legion gathering in the basement of a church, two blocks behind Mickey Cochrane’s apartment. The cops belonged to the secret society. He knew better than to complain to them. So he let it go.
Not long after his defeat, former mayor Markland found work as an investigator—for Prosecutor Duncan McCrea.
It Hurt for Days
Early spring’s optimism wilted after the Tigers fell into fifth place. Mickey Cochrane juggled his lineup throughout April and May, trying to find a combination that could win consistently. Every few days he gave someone new a whirl in the leadoff spot: first Billy Rogell, then Jo-Jo White, then Pete Fox, then back to White, then Frank Doljack, then Fox again. When Cochrane made out a lineup, the only players assured to be hitting in the same positions were the last two, Marv Owen and whoever was pitching. For a long while Cochrane batted himself third, the spot frequently reserved for the team’s best hitter. But he struggled, hitting sixty, seventy, and eighty points below average. Midway through the fifteenth game, he pulled himself out of the lineup. He stayed out only for a day and a half. Cochrane’s frustrations mounted. Aside from Charlie Gehringer, none of the stars started strongly. Greenberg managed one home run in the first twenty-seven games. Goslin scuffed out a hit every four at bats or so. The pitchers faltered too. Even psychologically.
Schoolboy Rowe faced booing from Tigers fans in his third appearance. The greeting staggered him as he charged toward the mound in the ninth inning of a relief assignment. He said he felt like running straight to the train depot and jumping a car to Arkansas. “Boy, I’m just telling you, it was terrible,” he said. “I could feel those cold chills playing leapfrog up and down my spine. I like to died.” Fox, one of his friends, said Rowe had been longing for Edna, his sweetheart back home. They had been together for eight years. She was his first love and he hers. In school they used to write love notes behind their textbooks. Rowe hinted that they might marry. “I’m going to surprise all of you guys,” he said. Two weeks later, with Rowe still floundering, Cochrane debated whether to demote him to the minor leagues.
Mental mistakes plagued the team. Forgetting there were two outs, rookie pitcher Steve Larkin fielded a grounder and pivoted to throw to third base. When he realized he had no chance to get the runner, he turned in a rush and flung the ball wildly beyond Greenberg at first. A run scored. Base runner Heinie Schuble also lost count of the outs, thinking there were two when Fox hit an easy pop to second. Schuble, running full throttle toward home, got doubled off third base.
And then there was Gee Walker. No one could
Kingsley found the story unbelievable but shared it with the new mayor. He thought it inconceivable that anyone in their city would resort to murder over politics. Still, he told Jones to report it to the office of county prosecutor Duncan McCrea. He did. But no one there was interested. Jones went to the Detroit bureau of the Federal Department of Justice. Agents viewed his story as a bag of mumbo jumbo. No one believed “Little Arly” Jones. They wondered if he had been hallucinating. Agents directed Jones to file a complaint with the Highland Park Police. Weeks earlier, Jones had spotted Highland Park cops at a Black Legion gathering in the basement of a church, two blocks behind Mickey Cochrane’s apartment. The cops belonged to the secret society. He knew better than to complain to them. So he let it go.
Not long after his defeat, former mayor Markland found work as an investigator—for Prosecutor Duncan McCrea.
It Hurt for Days
Early spring’s optimism wilted after the Tigers fell into fifth place. Mickey Cochrane juggled his lineup throughout April and May, trying to find a combination that could win consistently. Every few days he gave someone new a whirl in the leadoff spot: first Billy Rogell, then Jo-Jo White, then Pete Fox, then back to White, then Frank Doljack, then Fox again. When Cochrane made out a lineup, the only players assured to be hitting in the same positions were the last two, Marv Owen and whoever was pitching. For a long while Cochrane batted himself third, the spot frequently reserved for the team’s best hitter. But he struggled, hitting sixty, seventy, and eighty points below average. Midway through the fifteenth game, he pulled himself out of the lineup. He stayed out only for a day and a half. Cochrane’s frustrations mounted. Aside from Charlie Gehringer, none of the stars started strongly. Greenberg managed one home run in the first twenty-seven games. Goslin scuffed out a hit every four at bats or so. The pitchers faltered too. Even psychologically.
Schoolboy Rowe faced booing from Tigers fans in his third appearance. The greeting staggered him as he charged toward the mound in the ninth inning of a relief assignment. He said he felt like running straight to the train depot and jumping a car to Arkansas. “Boy, I’m just telling you, it was terrible,” he said. “I could feel those cold chills playing leapfrog up and down my spine. I like to died.” Fox, one of his friends, said Rowe had been longing for Edna, his sweetheart back home. They had been together for eight years. She was his first love and he hers. In school they used to write love notes behind their textbooks. Rowe hinted that they might marry. “I’m going to surprise all of you guys,” he said. Two weeks later, with Rowe still floundering, Cochrane debated whether to demote him to the minor leagues.
Mental mistakes plagued the team. Forgetting there were two outs, rookie pitcher Steve Larkin fielded a grounder and pivoted to throw to third base. When he realized he had no chance to get the runner, he turned in a rush and flung the ball wildly beyond Greenberg at first. A run scored. Base runner Heinie Schuble also lost count of the outs, thinking there were two when Fox hit an easy pop to second. Schuble, running full throttle toward home, got doubled off third base.
And then there was Gee Walker. No one could
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