The Draft and the Dodgers

Pint-sized Charles ("Rabbit") McVeigh came home from World War I hard of hearing and full of fight. Like many another Canadian, he turned to U. S. hockey for a living. A star forward, the scrappy little fellow made a name for himself as a rough-&-tumble player, who never minded how big they came. Some time ago National Hockey League Linesman McVeigh, fractious as ever, called a close one on the Detroit Red Wings. Up streaked burly Ebbie Goodfellow, Red Wings captain, to give the umpire a piece of his mind. Calmly eying the big man hovering over him, McVeigh waited until he paused for breath, then let him have one. "Listen!" said he icily, "In the last war I got a dollar ten a day for killing big tramps like you!"

Last week, many a professional athlete and club owner had another war on his mind. The draft act put a horrid fear into the minds of sports promoters: that the draft would rob them of their bread winners. Recently loud Larry MacPhail, a World War I veteran who tried to kidnap the Kaiser after the Armistice, made a plea for his Brooklyn Dodgers, asked that ballplayers caught in the draft be deferred until the season's end. Otherwise, said he, they would lose two seasons' play --and pay. It has cost a fortune to build the team up, and this was to be the year the Dodgers won their first National League pennant in 20 years.

The athletes themselves were in a tough spot. Unlike other businessmen, whose earning power increases with age, they had to get theirs while the getting was good. Moreover, as national heroes, they were expected to set a shining patriotic example. A hero could not ask to have his military training deferred.

Last week the whole question was exemplified in the case of one of baseball's highest-paid players ($35,000 or more)-- Tiger Henry ("Hank") Greenberg, homerun champion (41) and "most valuable" player of the American League last year. Outfielder Greenberg, 30, unmarried, no dependents, local draft No. 621, was due to be called in midseason. With him, Detroit was a formidable ball club; without him, it might be just average. In Manhattan last week, on his way to join the Tigers, Hank Greenberg spoke a marmoreal mouthful: ". . . When my number comes up, I'm going."

Outfielder Greenberg was not to be baseball's only sacrifice. The Phillies stood to lose their best pitcher, Hugh Mulcahy. The Cleveland Indians learned with mixed feelings that Outfielder Beau Bell, 32, had been deferred because of varicose veins. Their star pitcher, Bobby Feller, 22, had Order No. 2,857, was almost certain of getting through the season uncalled.

Hockey was practically unaffected. In all big-league hockey there were only about eight Americans, and the Canadians had already served their training period (one month) in the off season last year. Professional football stood to lose about 10% of its players, but good football players were a dime a dozen. Prize fighting's best prospect was Heavyweight Champion Joe Louis--No. 378 on his local draft board and ready, willing and able to respond to an early call.

The definitive word on the subject came last week from Brigadier General Ames T. Brown, New York's Selective Service director. Said he: "Baseball players must realize that any local board is liable to have in mind, in considering an appeal for deferment during the coming season, that the player had an opportunity to solve this problem himself by volunteering before the season began."

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