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Generally speaking, the judicial proceedings spawned by the corruption of the 1919 World Series are not accurately related or well understood in the Black Sox canon. In a forthcoming book to be published by McFarland, the writer will attempt to remedy this situation by offering a comprehensive, non-partisan factual account of Black Sox- related grand jury proceedings, the Black Sox criminal trial, and ensuing civil litigation involving scandal principals. Legal analysis will also be provided on certain aspects of these actions. This article is drawn from that work and recounts events attending late-September 1920 grand jury hearings, focusing on a four-day period when the simmering Black Sox scandal finally exploded. An introductory summary of preceding scandal developments is designed to place the article's narrative in perspective.Preceding Scandal DevelopmentsSuspicions about the bona fides of Chisox play were raised in post-1919 World Series columns by syndicated sportswriter Hugh F. Fullerton and a few other scribes.1 But for the most part, sportswriter concerns did not generate great public interest and the matter had become mostly forgotten by the time that the 1920 season commenced. Rather, the exposure of the Black Sox scandal was largely a byproduct of investigation of an altogether different Chicago baseball contretemps: the alleged fixing of a meaningless August 31, 1920 game between the Cubs and the Philadelphia Phillies. Shortly after the existence of an internal investigation of the contest was revealed by Cubs President William L. Veeck, Sr., the judiciary stepped in. On September 7, 1920, the suspect game was brought to the attention of a Cook County grand jury by Illinois Circuit Court Judge Charles A. McDonald, newly appointed chief justice of the local criminal courts and an avid Chicago baseball fan.2 In time, the scope of the grand jury's probe expanded into other matters: game-related skullduggery attributed to Hal Chase, the operation of baseball betting pools in the greater Chicago area, and the rumored fixing of the 1919 World Series.Early proceedings were slow-moving and unfocused but gathered steam following testimony about the alleged Series fix from White Sox owner Charles Comiskey, Chicago Tribune sportswriter James Crusinberry, and New York Giants pitcher and Chase teammate Rube Benton, all of which was immediately leaked to the press. Probe developments were also supplied by lead grand jury prosecutor Hartley Replogle and grand jury foreman Henry H. Brigham, both of whom spoke openly about matters revealed during the proceedings. All of this was highly irregular, if not unlawful. By statute and case law, grand jury proceedings are strictly confidential and proceeding principals, like the prosecutor and panel members, take an oath to keep grand jury testimony and other proof secret.3 Stranger still, this disregard of grand jury protocol appeared countenanced by Judge McDonald. According to one report, "officials of Chief Justice Charles McDonald's court, desirous of giving the national game the benefit of publicity in its purging, lifted the curtain on the grand jury proceeding." 4 By September 25, the transparency of grand jury proceedings permitted press publication of the names of eight White Sox players believed targeted for indictment- Eddie Cicotte, Chick Gandil, Lefty Williams, Swede Risberg, Happy Felsch, Joe Jackson, Fred McMullin, and Buck Weaver-and the nature of the charge likely to be preferred against them: conspiracy to defraud.5 But details of the series fix as well as the roles of the accused players in it remained unsettled. That would change two days later, for in Philadelphia, a figure from baseball's margins was giving the interview that would blow open the corruption of the 1919 World Series.Publication of the Billy Maharg StoryOn September 27, 1920, sportswriter James Isaminger provided readers of the Philadelphia North American with the first insider's account of the abasement of the 1919 Series. …

Quietly nestled among the renowned sports names charged in the Black Sox scandal is that of an obscure figure: one Rachael Brown.1 Based on surviving evidence, it appears that Brown was indicted by the Cook County grand jury almost entirely on the word of Lefty Williams, who identified the negotiators of the fix as "two fellows introduced as Brown and Sullivan ... the gamblers from New York."2 Defendant Brown, however, was never taken into custody on the indictment. Nor did he ever make an appearance, either personally or via counsel, in a Chicago courtroom. From the time of the scandal until today, Rachael Brown has remained largely a cipher, a scandal actor whose identity has never been conclusively established. In the order in which they appeared on the public stage, here are snapshots of the most likely candidates for the role of Black Sox defendant Rachael Brown.1. Abram Braunstein, Commonly Known as Rachel BrownA contemporary of Arnold Rothstein, Abram "Rachel" Braunstein was a smalltime Manhattan gambler who first came to public attention via his connection to Louis "Bridgie" Webber, a key prosecution witness in the trial of the notorious Rosenthal murder case. Those proceedings culminated in conviction with death sentences for five men, including corrupt NYPD Vice Squad Lieutenant Charles Becker. While in a jail cell awaiting his fate, Becker claimed that Rosenthal's killers had had an earlier target, namely "'Rachel' Braunstein, Webber's partner in a 42nd Street gambling house and known in the gambling fraternity as Rachel Brown."3 According to Becker, a prospective new trial witness named Jack Sullivan would testify that Rosenthal's slayers had plotted to kill Rachel Braunstein and take his half of the gambling partnership. Sullivan "learned of it ... told Braunstein and escorted him to a steamship" on which Braunstein escaped to Spain, as reported in the Boston Globe, The New York Times, the New Brunswick (N.J.) Times, and the Washington Post, Oct. 29, 1912. In due course, this allegation precipitated the issuance of a subpoena for "Rachel Brown of 123 Manhattan Avenue," served while Brown was appearing in magistrate's court to answer a disorderly conduct charge that stemmed from a fight. Indignant, Brown disclaimed knowledge of the reason why the subpoena had been issued and "asserted that since the Becker trial he had been hounded and threatened on many occasions," as per The New York Times, Mar. 6, 1914.After that, Brown apparently tried to stay out of the public eye. But four years later, "Rachie Brown, the old partner of Bridgie Webber" was back in the news after being netted in a police raid of the newly opened Picadilly Club in Manhattan. The arrestee identified himself as fish dealer Aaron Braun but vice detectives immediately recognized him as "the genuine 'Rachie Brown'" (Boston Globe, Dec. 9, 1918). The following summer, Brown was in custody again, arrested during a raid on a disreputable gambling resort in Saratoga, as reported in the Saratogian, Jul. 29, 1919. After much foot-dragging by local officials cozy with gaming interests, a specially convened Saratoga County grand jury returned gambling-related indictments against 48 targets, including Abram (Rachie) Brown, as per the Saratoga Sun, Aug. 20, 1920.4None of the above received mention when newspapers nationwide ran stories about the forthcoming indictment of Joseph "Sport" Sullivan and Brown, "an otherwise unidentified gambler from New York City," in connection with the Cook County probe of the 1919 World Series (see, e.g., Chicago Tribune, Sept. 30, 1920). Within days, however, it was reported that "Rachie Brown, a gambler said to have been deeply involved in the Series plot, has left New York City and gone to Europe. His departure is regarded by underworld gossips as proof that he was mixed up in the baseball plot. He [Brown] had been known as a 'steerer' for Rothstein's gambling operations" (see unidentified news item reprinted in The Sporting News, Oct. …

They had been bitter antagonists, frequently clashing in the councils of National League team owners. They had even come to blows in the barroom of a posh New York hotel. But in October 1899, Andrew Freedman, the NL's wealthiest magnate, and John T. Brush, its most influential one, reconciled their differences and began working in concert. The resulting collaboration would be a fearsome one, with far-reaching (if mostly unintended) consequences for the turn-of-the-century baseball world.The two were an unlikely pair. Brush, the oldest of the league's team owners, was a dour man whose gaunt, afflicted frame concealed a resilient nature and an iron will. Generally tight-lipped in public, Brush exercised his considerable power over fellow magnates via backroom cajolery and relentless scheming. Although his maneuvers were invariably self-interested, Brush also possessed a genuine love of baseball. He actively participated in the administration of league affairs and served on virtually all important NL committees, privately reveling in the game's management controversies, many of which he stirred up himself. For the last 25 years of Brush's life, baseball was the centerpiece of his existence.Freedman was an entirely different case. A capable but difficult man, Freedman treated baseball-team ownership as a pastime, a diversion from the weighty business and political concerns that dominated his life. When he deigned to attend, Freedman was a faction unto himself at NL executive gatherings, by turns sullen or combative when his proposals encountered resistance. The stewardship of his team was likewise mercurial, with Freedman alternating the issuance of ultimatums, fits of pique, and the display of an incendiary temper with lengthy periods of indifference to his baseball interests. Disliked in almost equal measure by players, fellow magnates, the sporting press, and fans alike, Freedman was easily the most hated figure in the game.In due course, this article will assay the most noteworthy of the Freedman-Brush joint ventures: (1) the campaign to contract the 12-team NL into an eight-club circuit; (2) their infamous baseball trust plan; and (3) the plot to gut the Baltimore franchise of the new American League (AL) and thereby cripple that fledgling rival to the NL. The story begins, however, with a recounting of the biographical and sporting circumstances that drew our protagonists together.John T. Brush: Self-Made Man and Baseball MagnateThe inner character that sustained the magnate was forged in the rural poverty of upstate New York. Born in Clintonville on June 15, 1845, John Tomlinson Brush was named for the father who died some three months before his birth.1 The death of mother Sarah Farrar Brush four years thereafter made orphans of young John and his three siblings. Taken in by their paternal grandparents, the children were raised on a farm in remote Hopkinton where cramped living quarters forced John and older brother George to sleep in an unheated barn. Escaping farm drudgery as a teenager, Brush grew up quickly. By age 20, he had attended business college in Poughkeepsie, gotten his first taste of the retail clothing trade in Boston, and served as an artilleryman in a New York regiment of the Union Army. Mustered out of uniform at the Civil War's end, Brush proceeded to Troy where, in time, he was befriended by George Pixley, a principal in the newly formed retail clothing business of Owen, Pixley & Company. Within a few years, Brush advanced from clothing salesman to store manager to firm partner in Owen, Pixley.2 Along the way, Brush met and married Agnes Ewart. But the union was not a happy one and the couple divorced shortly after the birth of daughter Eleanor in 1871.In 1874, Brush was dispatched to Indianapolis as the firm branched westward. Benefiting from Brush's retailing acumen and his improbable flair for promotion, the new outpost prospered, rapidly expanding operations from a modest storefront to an elegant four-storey building that commanded a city block. …

The effect that morning in May 1911 was part comic, part surreal. Seated somewhat anxiously in a packed courtroom were such baseball notables as National League Secretary John Heydler and team owners Charles Comiskey, Frank Farrell, and Barney Dreyfuss. On all sides was a baseball-savvy gallery eager to see blood spilt at the trial of the libel suit that retired star John Montgomery Ward had instituted against American League president Ban Johnson. The proceedings had just gotten underway, however, when the mounting tension was shattered by the presiding judge. A look of bewilderment on his face, the judge inquired, "What are the White Sox?"1Happily for the litigants and for posterity, that judge, the brilliant federal jurist Learned Hand, proved a quick study and the case was well tried. Its outcome, a modest $1,000 judgment in Ward's favor, was a reasonable one and afforded both parties the chance to claim vindication. The verdict also cleared the air between two of baseball's most prominent figures and, in time, provided the basis for a reconciliation of sorts between them.This article takes a look back at the now almost hundred-year-old case from two perspectives. One is courtroom specific and describes the roles played in the proceedings by Ward, Johnson, Comiskey, John T. Brush, Clark Griffith, and sportswriter/ humorist Ring Lardner, among others. The other attempts to place the litigation in the broader context of turn-of-the-century baseball strife. The central event here is, of course, the fierce conflict between the established National League (NL) and its new competitor, the fledgling American League (AL). Although ostensibly settled in January 1903, interleague hostilities, both public and private, flared up for years thereafter. In a very real sense, the conflict did not finally come to rest until two of its foremost combatants had had it out before Judge Hand in 1911-the Ward v. Johnson libel case thus becoming the last battle in the Great Baseball War.The Brush ConnectionAlthough both had long been important figures in baseball, John Montgomery Ward and Ban Johnson were not personally well acquainted. At trial, Johnson would testify that he had only met Ward a few times and that he harbored no animus toward him.2 What the two did have in common were paramount roles in the formation of professional baseball leagues: Ward, the Players League of 1890; Johnson, the American League in 1901. Another thing that Ward and Johnson had in common-and which eventually contributed to the 1911 lawsuit-was longstanding, often adversarial, relations with another formidable member of the baseball scene: the influential (if unloved) team magnate John T. Brush. While largely forgotten today, Brush was the dominant NL owner for more than twenty years. A self-made man whose wealth derived from the operation of a large department store, Brush was the principal owner of NL franchises in Indianapolis (1887-1889), Cincinnati (1891-1902), and New York (1902-1912). Along the way, Brush had made his share of enemies. Perhaps the foremost of these was Ban Johnson.The rancor between the two men can be traced to Brush's tenure as Cincinnati owner. There he was frequently the target of criticism from Johnson, then the young sports editor of the Cincinnati Commercial-Gazette. The situation only worsened in 1894 when Johnson assumed the presidency of a newly reconstituted Western League (WL). Among the owners whom Johnson had to deal with was none other than John T. Brush, owner of the league's premier Indianapolis team. Taking ruthless advantage of his simultaneous ownership of a major league team, Brush wreaked havoc in the WL by revolving players between his two nines. The competitive imbalance in the WL fostered by Brush's methods continued until the conclusion of the 1897 season when Johnson and the other team owners finally compelled Brush to relinquish the Indianapolis franchise.3John Montgomery Ward's relationship with Brush also began on an adversarial note. …