Buck's Curse
No one could believe the news when it hit the stands or when it was broadcast over the radio. They found the very idea preposterous! Buck Krandall, the greatest player to ever don the uniform of the Boston Red Sox, had been traded to the New York Yankees for a rookie pitcher and an undisclosed sum of money. Boston fans were outraged. How could Hershel Fields do such a thing? The sportswriters openly accused the Red Sox owner of trying to destroy the team and even hinted that he was being paid by organized crime figures to do so.
Hershel Fields, however, was a businessman, not a criminal. His major league baseball team was only one of his many interests. When presented with an irresistible opportunity to make millions of dollars in the motion picture industry, Hershel had to come up with a large amount of cash quickly. He did so by disposing of one of his most valuable assets: his contract with Buck Krandall.
There was little doubt that Buck would be sorely missed in Boston. He was one of the key players, crucial to the team's recent successes. He was Rookie of the Year in his first season with the Red Sox and helped them win four World Series championships. The hard-hitting Krandall went on to win four batting titles and was named the league's Most Valuable Player twice.
As upset as the fans and sportswriters were, the hardest hit by the news of the trade was Buck himself. He loved playing for the Red Sox, even though he would undoubtedly make more money with the Yankee organization. However, Buck had been born and raised in Scituate, just thirty miles north of Boston, and he had been a Red Sox fan since he was a small boy. His childhood dream had been to follow in the footsteps of the former Boston Americans' Chick Stahl.
Playing for the Yankees would never be the same as being the hometown hero. In Boston, he had only to look out into the stands to see familiar faces from Scituate: childhood friends, former classmates and teachers, neighbors and both close and distant relatives.
Regrettably, Buck played in the days before free agency, a time before there were "no-trade" clauses written into some players' contracts, an era when players, like soldiers and priests, went where they were told.
* * *
On a blustery New England winter afternoon, Buck Krandall drove to his parents' house on Beaver Dam Road to say goodbye to them. Later in the day, he would take a bus to Boston's South Station and board a train bound for New York. The old Krandall homestead was packed with well-wishers, and his mother had prepared a roast turkey with all the trappings.
"What's this?" Buck asked with amusement after kissing his mother on the cheek, "Thanksgiving in February?"
"I can't have you going off to New York on an empty stomach," Mrs. Krandall said, spooning a generous portion of homemade cranberry sauce onto her son's plate.
"You know, Mom, they do have food in New York. I'm sure it's not nearly as good as yours, but it's food nonetheless."
"Hmph!" his mother grunted, dismissing city cooking as being far inferior to her own. "I'll bet that isn't all they have in that sinful place."
"Come on, now. You talk like it's Sodom and Gomorrah."
"It's an evil place, Buck. I read all about its crime and street gangs. I wish you would stay here in Scituate where you belong."
Buck lowered his eyes in sadness and slowly shook his head.
"I'd love to keep playing for the Red Sox, but I don't have any say in the matter. I've been traded to the Yankees."
"I'll pray for you every day, son," Gladys Krandall solemnly promised.
If his mother's prayers were for his baseball career—which Buck seriously doubted—then God had indeed heard and answered them; but if she had been praying to preserve her son's innocence, then her prayers had apparently fallen on deaf ears. Once Buck Krandall moved to New York City, he fell in with what his religious-minded mother would have considered a wild crowd. Not long after leaving Massachusetts, Buck, like many professional athletes of the day, began to drink and consort with women of questionable morals.
Thankfully, his playing off the field had no adverse effect on his playing on the field. On the contrary, after Buck was traded to the Yankees both his hitting and fielding improved. While he had been a great ballplayer in Boston, he became an outstanding ballplayer in New York. In fact, he was considered by many sports enthusiasts to be the best player in all of baseball.
During his first year with the Yankees, Buck set a record for the most home runs in a single season, and he finished the year with a .402 batting average. Thanks to his exceptional play, he was given another MVP award. With Buck Krandall playing centerfield, knocking the ball out of the park and driving in runs, the Yankees won not only the pennant but also the World Series. The Red Sox, on the other hand, ended the year in fifth place.
Over the next decade, the New York Yankees became a sports dynasty. They won ten straight pennants and eight out of ten World Series championships. Buck, their star player, continued to set records and garner accolades. There wasn't a ballplayer in history who could match his stats or even come close to them. Furthermore, the people of New York—with the possible exception of Giants and Dodgers fans—loved him. The men respected and admired him, the women adored him and the children idolized him. A larger-than-life figure, Buck Krandall was a hero to true baseball fans both in New York and throughout the world.
Up in New England, however, the Yankee great's name was rarely spoken. None of the Red Sox fans wanted to be reminded of the painful fact that their team's owner had traded the best hitter in all of baseball history for a second-rate pitcher who went back to the minor leagues after only half a season in the majors.
Hershel Fields never admitted his mistake either publicly or privately and steadfastly ignored the fact that Buck had started his phenomenal baseball career in the Red Sox organization. Besides, the owner had enough to worry about without second-guessing his past actions. His team had yet to finish higher than fourth place since he traded Buck to New York. In all fairness, the Red Sox owner did spend a great deal of money on both young prospects and proven veterans, but none of them could help break Boston's losing streak.
* * *
Meanwhile, the Yankee Dynasty continued: New York won five more pennants and four more world championships. Regrettably, time was not on Buck Krandall's side. He was almost forty years old, and his drinking and carousing were beginning to take a toll on his health.
"You know, honey, you can't play baseball forever," noted Buck's second wife, Selma, a former nightclub dancer and a woman twenty years his junior.
"I realize I can't keep playing, but baseball is all I know. I guess in a couple of years I'll have to hang up my cleats and glove and take a job as a coach or in the front office."
The day Buck Krandall retired marked the end of an era in baseball. The New York Yankees organization, which had benefited for almost twenty years from Buck's phenomenal talents, had a huge celebration to honor its favorite player. The famed stadium was packed; there was not an empty seat in the place. Both the mayor and the governor were present. Not only were all Buck's teammates on hand to wish him well but also great veterans from both leagues showed up to pay tribute to the greatest ballplayer to ever swing a bat.
New York Mayor Fiorello LaGuardia declared the day Buck Krandall Day. After the game, there was a parade, and all sorts of honors were heaped on Buck's strong shoulders. His number was retired by the team, a statue of him was erected outside the main gate of the stadium and the city named a new athletic field after him.
Gladys Krandall, Buck's elderly mother, who was on hand for the festivities, looked at her son with unabashed pride.
"You even got a telegram of congratulations from President Roosevelt!" she exclaimed.
Her son nodded but then turned away, remaining stonily silent.
"What's wrong?" Selma asked. "Is it that you have to stop playing?"
"No. I'm getting old, and this is a game for young men."
"Then why are you so sad?"
"There's a representative from every team in baseball here today, except the Red Sox."
"Boston? Who cares about them?" his wife laughed. "They finished in last place the past three years. I know you don't like to read the sports columns, but do you know what they have been saying about your former team?"
"No. What are they saying?"
"That the Red Sox have been cursed. One Boston sportswriter has dubbed it 'Buck's Curse' since the team hasn't been able to break .500 since you were traded."
"That's nonsense! I don't hold any grudges against my old team."
Selma and Gladys both looked at Buck's eyes and knew he was lying.
* * *
When Hershel W. Fields died at the ripe old age of ninety-seven, he left his various business interests in the hands of his son and three grandsons. After the four beneficiaries met with Hershel's attorney for the reading of the will, they held an informal meeting in the family home to discuss the disposition of the old man's many assets.
After deciding what should be done with the movie studio, the publishing house, the radio and television stations and various real estate holdings, Hershel W. Fields, Jr., who was the president of his own business, asked his three sons, "What do we do with the Red Sox?"
"Why don't we sell them?" asked Monte, the middle son, who, after attending Harvard, was pursuing a career in politics.
"Who would want to buy a losing team?" laughed his older brother Marcellus, a well-respected physician at Massachusetts General.
Vaughn Fields, the youngest of the family, who had a reputation for being a playboy and a squanderer, shocked his father and older brothers by suggesting they keep the team.
"What on earth will we do with a baseball team?" his father asked. "Especially one that loses money the way the Sox do."
"You have all told me I should get a job and become more responsible, so why not let me run the Red Sox?"
"You're joking, right?" Marcellus asked. "We were thinking more along the lines of your becoming a lawyer, an investment banker or an engineer or maybe even a journalist."
"I couldn't be more serious."
"And what makes you think you're qualified to run a major league baseball team? Aren't you better suited to racing sports cars and chasing Hollywood starlets?"
Surprisingly, Monte took his younger brother's side.
"What harm can it do to let Vaughn try to manage the team?" the politician asked. "None of us wants it, and we certainly won't get much for it if we try to sell it."
"I suppose we ought to give him the opportunity to prove himself," Marcellus conceded. He then added with a laugh, "Besides, he certainly can't screw things up too badly. The Red Sox are already the worst team in baseball."
* * *
The following week Vaughn Fields traveled to Fenway Park to meet with the upper management of the Boston Red Sox organization to discuss his plans for the team.
"I think we might be able to get Buddy Stokes from the White Sox for a couple of good, young players from our farm team," the general manager announced. "The White Sox are desperate for some young pitchers."
"I'm not approving any trades this year," Vaughn announced imperiously. "We're going to stick with the players we have."
The other men seated around the large conference table remained silent, but the looks on their faces spoke volumes. Not one of them believed that Vaughn Fields was taking his job seriously. Furthermore, they all doubted the young millionaire cared or even knew anything about baseball. But Vaughn did know something about the sport; he knew a great deal, in fact. Unbeknownst to his father and brothers, he had secretly followed the game all his life. To him, a baseball team was not merely a business concern, as it had been to his grandfather. Vaughn viewed his new position as owner as a solemn obligation to both the Red Sox players and their fans. He would try his hardest to give them what they wanted most: a winning team.
To do that, he would first have to put an end to Buck's Curse.
* * *
Vaughn recognized the elderly woman when she opened the door. He had seen her face so often that he felt as though he knew her personally. In the six decades following her husband's death, Selma Krandall had become a good luck charm for the New York Yankees. She was invited to every season-opening game, every Old Timers' Day and every postseason series in which the team appeared. Most importantly, she had a major role in the annual Buck Krandall Day at Yankee Stadium.
Baseball fans admired her loyalty to her deceased husband. Sports photographers loved to catch Selma sitting in her box seat next to the Yankee dugout, eating a hot dog, drinking a beer and cheering her late husband's team on. Above all else, she had become a symbol of the days when the Yankees were practically unbeatable.
"Mrs. Krandall? I'm Vaughn Fields, the new owner of the Boston Red Sox."
Selma graciously shook his hand and invited him inside.
"I'm pleased to meet you, Mr. Fields. I admit I'm quite curious as to why you came all this way to talk to me."
"I'd like to invite you to come to Boston for this year's opening game," Vaughn replied.
Selma laughed.
"Forgive me, Mr. Fields. I don't mean to be rude, but I fail to see why you would want me to go to a Red Sox game."
"Because you're Buck Krandall's widow."
Selma's good humor disappeared.
"That's precisely why I'll never set foot in Fenway Park. The Red Sox organization broke my husband's heart."
Vaughn was not at all surprised by Mrs. Krandall's anger.
"I suspect Buck never forgave my grandfather for trading him to the Yankees."
"That's not it at all. Oh, sure he wasn't happy about leaving Boston, but my husband was a sensible man. He knew clubs traded ballplayers all the time. Even though he loved being on the Red Sox, he never held it against anyone for trading him."
"Then why do you?"
"I don't care about the trade. In fact, I'm glad he went to New York. I probably would never have met Buck if he'd stayed in Boston. But I can't forgive the way your grandfather and the others treated him after the trade."
"I don't understand."
"When my husband retired from baseball and the Yankees held a city-wide celebration, representatives from every team showed up for the festivities—except the Red Sox. Buck received thousands of telegrams including one from the president of the United States, but not a single word from your grandfather. The same was true when he was inducted into the Hall of Fame. Even when he died, and the Yankees held a memorial service at the stadium, there wasn't a word from his former team. My husband started out in your organization. He was Rookie of the Year and MVP when he played in Boston. He helped your club win four World Series championships. Of course, you're too young to remember the Red Sox as anything but perennial losers."
Vaughn smiled, taking no offense at the criticism of his team.
"That's true. I wasn't born at the time, but I've heard stories about those days."
"My husband is considered by most sports fans to be the greatest baseball player that ever lived. Yet not once in all the years since he was traded, did the Red Sox ever acknowledge his greatness."
"That's because my grandfather was primarily a businessman, Mrs. Krandall. He cared about making money, not winning ballgames. He was also a very proud and foolish man who would never have admitted to making a mistake. But he's dead now, and I'm going to run the team. I'm here to admit to you that trading Buck Krandall was the biggest mistake ever made in the history of professional sports, and I intend to tell the entire world that. I will further concede that Buck Krandall was the greatest baseball player to ever grace the diamond and that he was the backbone of our early team."
Vaughn paused a few moments before continuing.
"That is why we are going to hold a Buck Krandall day in Boston, and why we are going to erect a memorial plaque to him at Fenway Park. It will be a constant reminder to future generations of Red Sox fans that the great Buck Krandall, although an icon of the Yankee organization, began his baseball career in Boston. Unfortunately, it is too late to show our appreciation to your husband. That's why we would like you there to act as his representative."
Selma wiped a tear from her eye.
"On behalf of my husband, I accept your offer, Mr. Fields. For myself, I thank you. I'm glad you're not a pig-headed horse's ass like your grandfather was."
* * *
Opening day at Boston's Fenway Park was an unprecedented success. Most of the baseball community turned out to honor the late, great Buck Krandall. After riding on a float in the gala parade, Selma Krandall went to the stadium where she had the honor of unveiling the memorial plaque featuring her husband's likeness. Also in attendance were Vaughn Fields, his father, the mayor of Boston and the commissioner of Major League Baseball.
Shortly after the ceremony, Vaughn escorted Selma to the pitching mound where the widow had the added honor of throwing out the first pitch of the game.
It was to be the octogenarian's last public appearance. Selma Krandall died quietly in her sleep three weeks later.
* * *
Vaughn Fields was never sure if the Red Sox were in fact playing under a curse all those years or whether his grandfather's indifference had an effect on the morale of the team and thus on their performance. Maybe it was neither of these, but at the end of the baseball season that began with Selma Krandall throwing out the first pitch on opening day in Fenway Park, the Boston Red Sox defeated the Yankees in the American League playoffs, and went on to win the World Series.
Twenty-eight-year-old Vaughn Fields, whom the sportswriters proclaimed "the golden boy of baseball," stood alone in humble admiration before the plaque of Buck Krandall.
"On behalf of everyone who loves the game," he said solemnly, "I want to thank you, Buck. Ironically, while my grandfather's world was limited to assets and liabilities, he was blind to the fact that you were the greatest asset not only to his team but to all of baseball. Every ballpark in this country should have a plaque to honor your memory."
As Vaughn turned to walk away, the last rays of the setting sun reflected against Buck's image. It looked to the owner as though the former Red Sox centerfielder was smiling.
While the events and characters in this story are purely fictional, the story was inspired by the "Curse of the Bambino" that involved my favorite team (the Yankees) and my second-favorite team (the Red Sox).
The image in the upper left corner is of Yankee great, Lou Gehrig.
Don't let our Massachusetts neighbors know this, but Salem and I are die-hard New York Yankees fans!
