Batsmen

The baseball season always begins on a cold grey day. Celebrities with stiff fingers and blue noses wish they hadn't promised to throw in the first ball. President Coolidge in a brown fedora, Mayor Walker in spats, Mayor Mackay of Philadelphia in his winter overcoat, tossed in the new white balls and in New York, Brooklyn, St. Louis, Cincinnati, Philadelphia, Washington, Boston, Detroit, Chicago, the games began. Mostly the crowds yelled to keep warm, but in Manhattan they had another reason. Before them occurred a dramatic happening.

For years the managers of the New York clubs have been trying to develop a Jewish player. There are plenty of Italians, Swedes, Irishmen in baseball--few Jews. Critics have pointed out that a Jewish star on a New York team would pack in thousands of new spectators at every game. And now, on the bright turf in front of them, the people saw a Jew begin his career--Andy Cohen, second baseman, picked from the minor leagues to take the place of the famed Rogers Hornsby. And when Cohen had brought home the first Giant run of the season, had driven in the tying and winning runs with a two bagger against the left-field fence, had had a bat in every Giant rally, fielded quietly but effectively, and made the greatest debut in the history of baseball, the spectators, chilly no longer, rushed onto the field and carried Cohen off on their shoulders. "He'll draw like Ruth or Gehrig," said Manager John McGraw.