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Answer: Winona, Minn.
John Wesley Donaldson was arguably one of the greatest all-time baseball players, but because he was black, he never made it to the major leagues. Because his glory days predated the Negro Leagues, his star never really shone on a national level. And, because he barnstormed across the country for three decades to play the game he loved, historians have overlooked the itinerant southpaw.
Many historians discredit Donaldson’s record of more than 265 wins and 4,000 strikeouts because those wins, strikeouts and innings came in places like Winona.
Because of baseball’s color line, Donaldson barnstormed from 1911 to well into the 1930s, playing in the Negro Leagues for the Kansas City Monarchs only toward the end of his brilliant career.
On Tuesday, baseball’s Hall of Fame, in Cooperstown, N.Y., will hold an unprecedented vote that will determine if Donaldson, who died in 1970, and 39 other players will make it into the Hall of Fame, or will go back into the newspaper clippings and history books.
Donaldson’s story
John Wesley Donaldson was born in Glasgow, Mo. Some records list the year as 1892. His draft card for World War I lists another date, and his death certificate lists 1894.
What’s certain was Donaldson’s baseball talent.
Ty Cobb called him one of the greatest baseball players he’d seen.
“I think he is the greatest I have ever seen and I would give $50,000 for him if it weren’t for the color line in baseball,” New York Giants manager John McGraw reportedly said after seeing Donaldson play in 1915.
In 1911, when Donaldson started playing baseball professionally, there was literally nowhere to go. The Negro Leagues which spawned great players like Josh Gibson, James “Cool Papa” Bell, Jackie Robinson, Satchel Paige and Roy Campanella was still a decade away.
Major League Baseball’s color barrier would hold for another 35 years. So Donaldson became a pitcher on a barnstorming team, The All Nations team.
Donaldson’s barnstorming days would take him from Pasadena, Calif., to Palm Beach, Fla., where he faced local teams and semi-professional ball clubs.
Even places like Minnesota and Wisconsin were not free from racial violence. In one instance, news of Donaldson’s pitching feats appears right next to a story about a local cross burning in central Minnesota.
Donaldson never let the taunts and epithets from the crowds bother him. His charisma and cool-headedness won him as many fans as his fastballs won games.
He seemed to sense that people not only watched him because of his prodigious talent, but also because he was becoming an unofficial ambassador for his race, which was still caricatured and cruelly stereotyped in the media of his day.
Civil rights wasn’t a movement. It wasn’t even a thought. But Donaldson’s words had an unmistakably progressive ring.
“I am not ashamed of my color,” Donaldson said. “I go to my church and contribute my share. I keep my body and mind clean. And yet when I go out there to play baseball it is not unusual to hear some fan cry out: ‘Hit the dirty nigger.’ That hurts. For I have no recourse. I am getting paid, I suppose, to take that.
“But why should fans become personal? If I act the part of a gentleman, am I not entitled to a little respect?”
Winona’s connection
Donaldson came to Winona on Aug. 27, 1923.
The largest crowd of the summer came out to see the lefty, who beat the Peerless Chains, 6-3. A banner headline on the sports section highlighted Donaldson’s victory. Peerless Chain pegged attendance at 2,200.
The game was held on the East End diamond and the Republican-Herald reported: “the game was marked by hard hitting, fast fielding and brilliant pitching” - an obvious reference to Donaldson.
Donaldson struck out 13 and snapped the Chains’ home win streak at nine.
“Donaldson, famous southpaw twirler for the visitors, was touched for eight hits, but was more effective in the pinches than the home pitcher. He allowed only two bases on balls, while his wicked shoots and fast ball caused 13 of the Chains to whiff at thin air,” the Republican-Herald reported.
The guy to tell his story
Peter Gorton has always loved baseball. Like so many fans, the Minneapolis man was better at watching it than playing. So when an old acquaintance, Steven Hoffbeck asked if he wanted to write a chapter for Swinging for the Fences, a book about black baseball in Minnesota, Gorton jumped at the chance.
His assignment: Donaldson.
Gorton traveled to Bertha, Minn., a town of about 500 about 50 miles east of Fergus Falls, to begin research on Donaldson, who had barnstormed with the Bertha team. When he arrived at the Bertha Historical Society, the small curator smiled.
Another man in search of Donaldson.
It would be different for Gorton. He noticed a poster for the Bertha baseball team that featured Donaldson hanging on a wall. Below it, in a scrapbook, was a picture of the 1988 regional basketball tournament game, Bertha versus the nearby town of Staples, Gorton’s home town. In the photo was a younger Gorton.
“I knew that I was going to be the guy to tell his story,” Gorton said.
Buy the numbers
In 1952, the Pittsburgh Courier put together a list of all-time black baseball players; Donaldson made the first team, a recognition given to him by fellow players and writers who had known the stars well.
Of that team of 12, Donaldson is only one of three who isn’t currently enshrined in Cooperstown.
Gorton admits that electing Donaldson to the Hall of Fame means comparing his statistics to those of the all-time greats.
In other words, the Hall must buy into Donaldson’s statistics.
Although he was not competing against Major League players, Donaldson’s statistics are undeniably impressive.
For example, Gorton estimates that Donaldson played in more than 5,000 games, but he’s not certain because Donaldson played for so many different teams and statistics weren’t kept. By comparison, Major League Baseball’s all-time games leader, Pete Rose, played in 3,562 games.
Donaldson had in excess of 4,000 strikeouts, which would put him in the top five all-time pitchers.
His single-season statistics also stand-up. In 1924, he posted a 21-3 record, winning every game on a team that went 21-5-1. During that season, he had 325 strikeouts.
At one point, he struck out 15 batters in a row and threw 27 no-hit innings. One June 6, 1915, while pitching in Sioux Falls, S.D., Donaldson suffered a rare 1-0 loss, even though he pitched 18 innings and struck out 30.
In one brilliant streak starting in 1914 in New Ulm, Minn., Donaldson pitched 81 consecutive innings without giving up an earned run.
By comparison, Donaldson’s streak of innings eclipses Orel Hershiser’s record of 59 set in 1988.
“I don’t think we are half way,” Gorton said. “I think he had way more than 4,000 strikeouts. I think we could be talking about the all-time greatest. He was so well liked. We have never heard anything bad about him. All the papers say the same thing about him. You can’t say that about all athletes now.”
Dark times
Although Donaldson would remain a hero to the black community even after he’d hung up his spikes, it was a career not without trials.
As word of his skills spread, the major leagues started to call, pressuring him to go to Cuba. Donaldson’s light skin color meant that he could easily be passed off as Cuban, which would allow him to skirt the color barrier.
The plan went something like this: Donaldson would go to Cuba for a year. He’d learn enough to talk about Cuba. After a year there, he’d come back under a new name. However, coming to the big leagues via Cuba meant he’d would have to sever ties with his family, and scouts told him he could never associate with black people again.
Donaldson chose to remain a barnstormer and keep his family.
There is still some mystery to Donaldson’s life. Though he often talked about church and clean living, a few shy people have stepped forward believing they might be the descendants of Donaldson, Gorton said.
Gorton still can’t quite square the idea of Donaldson fathering children out of wedlock with the teetotaling baseball player he knows. It leaves him to speculate about the itinerancy of thousands of ballgames in hundreds of lonely cities. So many long, hot nights in a railroad car n the only place Donaldson could sleep because hotels refused him and some of his teammates.
Gorton’s efforts
What started out as one man’s research to write a single chapter in a book has turned into a network of hundreds of researchers across America — mainly baseball historians — looking for a mention in a local paper, or something buried in a file at a historical society.
When he first started researching Donaldson, a few historians were coy about they’d discovered, not wanting to surrender what had taken them hours of combing through microfilm and yellow clippings to find.
Slowly, as Gorton shared what he found, they begin to part with the information they’d discovered. A few stats rolled in, then more.
The more he learned, the more he was surprised.
Today more than 200 contributors continue to send Donaldson clippings.
Hall call
Though Donaldson retired before Jackie Robinson broke the color line in 1947, he owns one major league record: In 1949, Donaldson became the first black scout in the big leagues when he was hired by the Chicago White Sox.
Gorton believes that Donaldson will make it in to the Hall. At least he dreams about it.
Oh, if he would only be elected to the hall; to take his rightful place next to Satchel Paige or Josh Gibson or Jackie Robinson.
Oh, if only he could accept the honor for himself.
“He talks to me first of all. How could he not?” Gorton said. “I dig inside his head all of the time. He just played because he loved the game. You don’t do something like that without having a sincere love of the game.
“Well, there are some parallels. I love the game too and I just saw this as my opportunity to give back.”
