New Baseball Hall of Famer Frank Thomas and the 'magical, misty night at Tiger Stadium'

Tim Raines and Frank Thomas at Tiger Stadium

We've told this story before, but it's worth repeating as we celebrate the election of our non-Met hero Frank Thomas and Met Tom Glavine to the Baseball Hall of Fame.

Will and I were huge Frank Thomas fans even before I came into possession of the glorious sphere now known as "The Frank Ball."

The slugger came onto the scene just around the time both of us had moved to Flint. And we believed the tall first-baseman with the mega-watt smile would be the person to finally lead the moribund White Sox to better things.

We both had the life-sized poster of Frank — his last name was unnecessary by now — gracing our homes and collected his cards.

But actual contact with our hero was elusive.

We were on the field before the final game at Comiskey Park, rubbing elbows with Sox catcher Ron Karkovice and reliever Scott Radinsky, but Frank was nowhere to be found.

A year later we waited on a long cattle-chute autograph line at the White Sox Winterfest, snaking back and forth while Frank signed, smiled and posed with other fans — only to have the slugger heart-breakingly replaced with other signers as we inched closer. Minnie Minoso and then-manager Gene LaMont are nice guys, but we wanted Frank.

And at one Tigers-Sox game, an early afternoon shower washed out batting practice, leaving players lots of time to sign autographs. Two-thirds of the Sox signed a ball for me — but Frank remained in the clubhouse.

So when the White Sox were in Detroit for a series with the Tigers in early 1992, we weren’t discouraged by the showers that fell throughout the day.

In fact, we liked going to Tiger Stadium in such conditions. The vast majority of the lower deck is covered, and the rain kept a lot of people home, especially early in the season. We’d buy the cheapest tickets and sit pretty much wherever we wanted.

My favorite spot was section 224, right behind the visitors’ dugout on the first-base side and with easy access to a concession stand. That night Will and I were joined by friends John and Emily — my wife wanted no part of damp, cold nights at the ballpark.

There was a miserable drizzle that fell through most of the night, light enough to keep playing and wet enough to either send people home early or keep under cover. We sat toward the back of the section, bundled up and well under the overhang.

I wore a 1980s-era Sox cap — with a purpose, of course.

The new, black cap with the Old English lettering was all the rage, even with people who didn’t follow baseball. I wanted to show I was an actual Sox fan — such things are important.

I’ve followed the team as a secondary favorite since Tom Seaver played for them from 1984 to 1986, and had to stand out from the bandwagon-jumping cap-buyers. The tri-color 1980s cap, with the futuristic S-O-X, is so brutally ugly that only a real fan would be caught with such a thing. Keep in mind, this was long before the retro craze that made all things ugly popular again.

By later in the game, the drizzle diminished into more of a mist and there was probably less than a thousand people in the stands. Emily and I decided to move down to the row of seats directly behind the Sox dugout during the eighth inning. The orange-capped Tiger Stadium ushers had long-since lost interest in chasing seat-hoppers.

Frank was playing first base, so we were able to get a close look. After the inning ended Frank walked back toward the dugout and glanced up. We weren’t hard to see since all the other seats were empty. That, and we were screaming his name.

I think Frank heard us.

I think people in the left field stands probably heard us.

He looked up, flashed the mega-watt grin.

We had made eye-contact with Frank. Yes!

We were not leaving those seats.

The Tigers went meekly in the bottom of the ninth. Out No. 3 was a routine grounder to short with an easy throw to our man Frank at first. Game over.

Walking back to the dugout, Frank looked up, making eye contact a second time. Yes!

Then the unthinkable happened.

As he got closer, Frank took the gameball from his glove. "HEY!" he said in my direction, then tossed the ball — a soft arc through the mist to my outstretched left hand.

It took a nano-second for the gloriousness of the moment to sink in. Frank Thomas, the elusive Frank Thomas, had just given me a ball that ended a Major League game.

I remember yelling "Thanks, Frank!" and some guy saying "Hey, can I have that?" As if.

I’d once snagged a foul ball at a New Britain Red Sox game, and had a batting practice ball from the Rochester Red Wings from when I was on the field for an interview. Valued treasures, to be sure. But this one was special.

Frank’s career with the Sox had ups and downs, but he had an impressive career, with two Most Valuable Player awards and more than 500 homers. Congrats to the baseball writers for getting it right and enshrining Frank on his first try. (And a loud boooo for continuing to deny Mike Piazza.) The game ball is enshrined in plastic with a card from that year, an permanent exhibit in the baseball room of what has come to be known as the "magical, misty night at Tiger Stadium."

So much more than another vacant lot in Detroit

A pre-Opening Day visit to Tiger Stadium for a story in 1991 allowed access to all kinds of places we'd never again get to -- like the visitor's bullpen.

I want to send out a quick word of thanks to two folks who linked to the post about Will and me trespassing, err, paying tribute to what remains of one of our favorite ballparks, Tiger Stadium.

Paul Lukas of the always amazing Uniwatch , who linked to us on Monday, which led to someone sending us to Craig Calcaterra of NBC Sports' Hardball Talk .

Together, they absolutely obliterated the previous daily hit record for the blog, kindly introducing us to a wide audience. I'm grateful.

And it also had me thinking about that great old stadium, and some of the adventures there that were told here long ago. I wanted to share some again in case any of those new visitors come back, and I'd love to hear their stories about what happened at the corner of Michigan and Trumbull.

First can only be one of my favorite baseball moments of all time, when we finally established contact with my favorite non-Met, Frank Thomas on what can only be descrbed as a magical, misty night.

I spent one of the best birthdays ever when colleague John Munson and I had the run of the entire stadium as crews prepared for Opening Day. We saw some amazing things that most fans never got to watch, and explored just about every inch of the ballpark.
I'm sure Dennis Eckerlsy was more graceful getting out of the visitor's bullpen.


Then I had one of my most memorable moments as a reporter on the field, interviewing Hall-of-Famers Frank Robinson and Jim Palmer, plus original Met Al Jackson in preparation for a story about Mickey Weston.

Andrew and I had a wonderful time in roaming around centerfield and getting tips from Tigers players and coaches.

We had some non-baseball adventures at the stadium, too. Kiss kicked off its 1996 reunion tour with a massive spectacle at Tiger Stadium that ended up being a little dangerous.

There were other memories, inclunding the first interleague game between the Mets and Tigers, and the day we met a number of Negro League stars and learned a valueable lesson.

Josh Pahigian listed Tiger Stadium as Place No. 68 in his
101 Baseball Places to See Before You Strike Out and I used that opportunity to run some of my favorite photos of players we've seen play there over the years. The best part about Tiger Stadium was that you could get so close, especially in the bullpen area.

The James Earl Jones lines about baseball in Field of Dream were all true, especially the one about memories so thick that you practically have to swat them away. I thought about that as Will and I wandered around what to some people was a vacant lot at the corner of Michigan and Trumbull earlier this month. Truth be told, it is so much more.

Finding little but our memories on the spot where Tiger Stadium stood

These Tiger Plaza gates and the flagpole are all that remain of Tiger Stadium.

I’ve stood on the field in Tiger Stadium a number of times -- each time thrilling.

Several visits were for stories, including interviews with Jim Palmer and Frank Robinson. Another was a pre-game clinic with Andrew, where we listened to Tigers players and coaches offer tips and posed for photos in centerfield. And the most dangerous was sitting in the 27th row in right-center dodging chairs as Kiss launched its reunion tour.

Some of those adventures can be found here.

And the most memorable day at the park might have been when Will and I were present for the last game at the corner of Michigan and Trumbull in 1999.

But Saturday afternoon we stood on the field where Ty Cobb and Al Kaline played, and Trammell and Whitaker turned double plays. Gone were the fans and the stands, the bustle and noise. All that remained was the flagpole in centerfield, the infield with a somewhat tamped down mound and a grassy field slowly losing a battle to weeds.

We were in Detroit to see the Diamondbacks play the Tigers, and with some time to kill before the Comerica Park gates opened we headed over to the site of the stadium where we watched so many games together in the 1990s.

Exiting I-75 to get a closer view, we noticed that the large gate in the chain-link fence surrounding most of the site was wide open.

As with the Astrodome in October, an open gate is practically an engraved invitation to a couple baseball adventurers.

The whole area was deserted, and we decided that should a security guard appear, we’d easily see him coming.

We bravely walked out along what was the third base line. Tall weeds and some construction rubble dotted where the stands once stood, but we were surprised at how intact the playing field remained 10 years after the final out.

The infield dirt looked especially good, as if a good raking from the grounds crew would make it playable again.

We took turns standing on the mound, which was lower than it should have been but still identifiable as the spot where Jack Morris and Mickey Lolich fired fastballs.


Will paid tribute to the late Mark Fidrych by tending to the mound. Tom Seaver pitched two games at Tiger Stadium as a member of the White Sox, and I believe the scene looked like this.

We moved to the spot where home plate was removed in a ceremony after that final game, and the mound seemed closer than I would have imagined. I can see how intimidating it must have been for a Tiger batter to stand there and see Randy Johnson scowling and dealing.

Research shows that Tow Seaver pitched two games in Detroit, both of them impressive performances.

He beat the Tigers 7-1 on May 5, 1985, a complete game. Then Tom and Jack Morris went toe-to-toe on July 10. Both went the distance, and Morris got the win when the Tigers scored one run in the eighth inning, with Tom Brookens doubling home Lou Whitaker.

Of course I ran the bases.

We walked out to the flagpole in center, famous for standing 125 feet tall and 440 feet from home place – and standing in fair territory.



I’m glad the city left something standing, but the pole will need some work if its going to function ever again. Some of the wires that held the flags were twisted in a pile of knots at the base. Someone scrawled a tribute to Ernie Harwell.


We explored a little more, picking up some rubble with flecks of blue paint for souvenirs, before taking a last look and heading back through the gate.

Detroit is a disaster. There have been stories lately about the city looking at things to do with the open space at the corner of Michigan and Trumbull. I hope they keep the field there, even if it’s just for community games – or even for a couple fans to wander around and remember good times.

Baseball place No. 68: Tiger Stadium

The famous flag pole that was in play out in centerfield was the only thing remaining of Tiger Stadium when I drove past the site along I-75 last month.

Detroit started tearing down the glorious stadium last season, leaving the portion stretching from dugout to dugout. But the plans to save even that part were, like so much of Detroit, cast aside.

Josh Pahigian taps the stadium at thet corner of Michigan and Trumbull as place No. 68 in his "101 Baseball Places to See Before You Strike Out."

Tiger Stadium was my baseball home away from home, second only to Shea in terms of games attended. Adventures there have been all over these places.

Rather than recount those, I thought it would be more fun to share some photos from the vault. Back in 1990 and 1991 BC -- before children -- I'd make it to a game each homestand, arrive early and take photos. The bullpens were open, near the stands and fans could get within 10 feet of pitchers warming up.

I'd also try to snag some autographs, but got tried of the professional collectors pushing in and being rude.


One of my favorite shots. Rock Raines and Frank Thomas were posing for someone else, and I started snapping away.

Nolan Ryan and Goose Gossage came to town with the Rangers.


Roger Clemens in pre-bat-chucking days.



Brett Saberhagen


I'm not sure who is in the middle, but that's Dave Henderson -- another favorite -- and Reggie Jackson. Henderson always seemed to have fun with fans. I remember once yelled out, "Dave, you're on my Rotisserie team!" and he smiled and said, "I know! That's why I'm doing so well!"
George Brett

Cecil Fielder was chatting with Dave Stewart -- who shot me the evil eye.


Bob Welch

Mike Moore
Julio Franco

Ron Karkovice and Milt Cuyler were favorite players even though they weren't stars.

Baseball Place No. 44: Ty Cobb Museum; No. 44A: Ty Cobb plaque and statue, Comerica Park

Can you separate the player from the person?

That’s the struggle with Ty Cobb. Clearly he’s one of the best players to ever play the game.

But he’s also remembered as a racist hot head pushed by his inner demons to fight and claw his way to being the best.

Folks in Cobb’s hometown of Royston, Ga. work pretty hard to tell about his softer side. He donated hundreds of thousands of dollars for scholarships, and contributed to a hospital in his hometown that is now Ty Cobb Healthcare System.

Josh Pahigian tags the Ty Cobb Museum on the medical center’s campus as spot No. 44 in his “101 Baseball Places to See Before You Strike Out.”

I didn’t get to see the museum on my pass through Georgia, but I have seen how the Detroit Tigers have worked to honor Cobb.

Alternative spots No. 44: Cobb plaque and statue Comerica Park

My favorite meeting spot at Tiger Stadium was the large Ty Cobb plaque that hung outside near the team’s offices. Everyone knew where it was.

Tyrus Ryamond Cobb
1886 – 1961
Greatest Tiger of them all
A genius in spikes

But that was about the only reference to the player that you saw, and he was rarely spoken about. Not that the Yankees are a model of proper behavior, but you couldn’t swing a foam No. 1 finger without hitting some reference to the Bambino.

Showing off my sweet game-used Bristol Tigers jersey before the final game at Tiger Stadium.

The plaque moved to Comerica Park in time for the All-Star Game in 2005, but it hung on the abandoned Tiger Stadium for five years after the team moved.

Here’s a good trivia question. Who was the last major-leaguer to play a game without wearing a uniform number? That would be Gabe Kapler.

For the final game of Tiger Stadium, the starting lineup wore the number of the best Tiger to play at their position. Cobb played before players wore numbers, and Kapler trotted out to centerfield without one on his back.

The Peach was one of the players honored with statues in the new park, and the team didn’t duck the reputation. He’s depicted sliding into a base with spikes high.

Baseball Place No. 30: Negro League fields; Alernative place No. 30A: Negro League salutes at Tiger Stadium and Comerica Park

There aren’t many tangible links to the Negro Leagues remaining.

Josh Pahigian takes us to Pittsburgh for some traces of history as spot No. 30 in his “101 Baseball Places to Visit Before You Strike Out.”

But it sounds like anybody making the trip would be disappointed.

There just isn’t much left of the places where Josh Gibson, Cool Papa Bell and Oscar Charleston called home.

West Field in Munhall is dilapidated, but is the most intact, with bleachers, dugouts and locker rooms remaining.

There’s a plaque commemorating Gibson where Ammon Field once stood, and another marking the Crawfords is in front of the Crawford Grill, which has stood since the 1920s and was popular with black musicians and ballplayers.

I’ve never been to a Negro League game, and never sought out any of these plaques. But I have seen people play baseball in Negro League uniforms.

That brings us to:

Alternate place No. 30A: Salutes to Negro Leagues at Tiger Stadium and Comerica Park.

Tigers closer Mike Henneman

I love it when the Tigers don the uniforms of the Detroit Stars. I’ve three games where the team saluted the Negro Leagues, twice against the Royals wearing Kansas City Monarchs uniforms, and once against the Reds reborn as the Cincinnati Buckeyes.
Travis Fryman and Sparky Anderson show off their Detroit Stars uniforms.

The game on July 8, 1995 stands out, and it’s a little embarrassing. Here’s a tale from the archives.

We were excited because some of the Negro League stars would be on hand to sign autographs. Historic uniforms and free autographs – that’s all good. I have a lot of respect for these players.

I never will be able to imagine how frustrating and hurtful it must have been to be prevented from playing in the Major Leagues because of their race.

Wally Joyner looked sharp as a member of the Kansas City Monarchs.

Will and I arrived early and hopped on the line where Ted “Double Duty” Radcliffe, Lester Lockett and Dennis Biddle were signing; all were in good spirits and sharing stories about their playing days.

There was a woman sitting behind the table, too. Some people were asking for her autograph, which I thought was strange. I didn’t know if she was a player’s wife or an assistant. We made polite small talk while waiting my turn to pass a ball to the next player.

Signatures secured, we slipped down to the field to watch batting practice and snap some photos of the players in their Negro League uniforms.

I miss Tiger Stadium. What a great plce to see a game.

One of things I enjoyed most about old Tiger Stadium was that you could get right down near the field.

Before long, “Double Duty” then 93, was brought on to the field for some television interviews.

Ted "Double Duty" Radcliffe was 93 at the time.

Before the game, the Tigers brought each of the Negro Leaguers out on the field, and I noticed the woman walked out with the rest.

The Tigers announcer introduced her as Mamie “Peanut” Johnson, one of three women to play in the Negro Leagues in the 1950s.

Will looked over and said “Oops!”I was deeply embarrassed, exposed as both ignorant and sexist in one swoop.

Later I did the research. Johnson -- a right-handed pitcher -- and teammates Toni Stone and Connie Morgan played for the Indianapolis Clowns. Johnson posted a 33-8 record and credits Satchel Paige with helping her with her curve ball.

She was called "Peanut" after Monarchs third baseman Hank Bayliss came to bat against her and called out “You're nothing but a peanut!” Johnson struck him out and the name stuck.

Remember that scene in “A League of Their Own” when the black woman picks up and overthrown ball and whips it back on to the field? That’s a tribute to Johnson, who was turned away from a tryout when All American Girls Professional Baseball League would not allow black women to play in the all-white league.

Johnson taught me a lesson that day, and she’s still teaching, speaking about Negro League history around the country.The other players I met that day also have interesting stories.

Radcliffe got his nickname in the 1932 Negro League World Series, when he caught Paige in the first game of a doubleheader, then pitched a shutout in the second game.

Biddle, who pitched for the Chicago American Giants, tied Bob Feller’s record of winning five games as a 17-year-old in 1953, turned 18 and won 10 more. He injured his arm and was out of the game by 19. Today he is an executive with the Helmar Brewing Company.

Lockett played during the 1930s and 1940s with the Birmingham Black Barons, Philadelphia Stars, Cincinnati Clowns, Chicago American Giants and the Baltimore Elite Giants, hitting more than .400 twice.

I humbly apologize to Mrs. Johnson, and if I ever have the opportunity I’d be honored to have her sign my Negro leagues ball.

Unlike Tiger Stadium, Shea will go quickly

If you think the Mets are doing a lousy job with the final days of Shea, let me tell you about what's happening to Tiger Stadium.

The corner of Michigan and Trumbull was my baseball home-away-from home for nine years before in 2000 the Tigers moved downtown to Comerica Park, which is, well, lacking.

Rather than tear down Tiger Stadium, the city spent years debating what to do with it, as assorted schemes were thrown about, like turning it into condos or a shopping area.

The stadium was an urban park, but unlike Wrigley, it's surrounded by dirt parking lots and a neighborhood that was even less safe to park in than the parking lots. Oh, and there was one glorious old souvenir store that had things on the shelves since the 1970s.

So the idea that people would want to live or shop there was pretty much a fantasy.

As these ideas were kicked back and forth, the city did nothing to maintain the stadium, allowing it to tumble into disrepair.

Finally, demolition crews moved in late this season, preserving three things -- the stands from first base to third, the field and the flagpole that was in-play in centerfield.

This week the Detroit City Council discussed last-ditch efforts to save even those things.

So when my daughter and I went to see the Tigers in the next-to-last game of the season, I made sure we swung past the old stadium for one last peek while there was still something there.

What I saw was even more heartbreaking than seeing it in decline.

We parked next to a remaining souvenir store -- not the old glorious one, which closed -- and walked past an old store front that became a mini-souvenir stand on game days. It looked like the building was about to collapse. It might have looked that bad back in the day, too. But I was distracted by the souvenirs.

The first part of the park we saw looked pretty much same, except that the Tigers logo was even more faded and peeling.

Like when I went to Shea this summer, the memories came rushing back.

But we walked up the block a bit and saw the building just abruptly stop. Like an open wound, you could see the steel skeleton. The seats in the lower level were gone, but there were still many in the upper deck.

There's a pedestrian bridge over I-75 that lfted us high enough to see above the construction fences and look into the stadium. The field was there, though the grass was not manicured. And there was the flagpole, standing alone.

We were soon joined by other fans taking photos from the perch, all of us snapping photos.

I have no idea what the city could possibly do with that remaining part of the stadium. Saving the field might be fun, so kids can play ball on the same spot where Ty Cobb spiked, Dirty Kirk jumped and Kaline and Greenberg roamed.

Seems a little better than a parking lot, but at least it won't take the Mets eight years to bring Shea down.

Here's the famous Tiger Stadium in-play flag pole that was about 440 feet from home plate.