Arnie Kanter

The inside cover of my red, leatherette autograph book reads, in a child’s printing, “Dec 9, 1950 Arnold Kanter eight years old 3B.”

It was an open secret to baseball nuts my age back then that teams visiting Chicago to play the White Sox, with one exception, stayed at the Del Prado Hotel in Hyde Park. The exception was the Cleveland Indians, the only American League team with a Negro ball player, Larry Doby. Since the Del Prado would not admit Doby, the Indians all stayed downtown. I loved the Indians for that.

But that racial prejudice never stopped a large flock of kids from surrounding the hotel, autograph books in hand, accosting other teams’ players as they entered or left.  Occasionally, a kid would try sneaking into the hotel lobby, but the bellmen would always catch him and deposit him back outside.

I was the only kid allowed inside.  Friends of our family ran the lobby cigar/newsstand, which was visited by virtually every player.  Enthroned behind that stand with our family friend, I sat with my red leatherette autograph book. 

I scored autographs from famous ballplayers, including Joe DiMaggio, Bob Feller and Mickey Mantle.  But my favorite, written in a shaky hand, reads, “With best wishes for a long and happy live (sic) is the wish.”  The person signing it was Cornelius McGillicuddy, better known as Connie Mack, then 88-years-old.  Mack was a light-hitting catcher (5 home runs in 11 seasons), but his 3731 wins as a manager are almost 1000 more than any other manager in history.

What most endears Mack to me, though, is his 3948 losses, 1700 more than his nearest competitor.  As a lifelong Cubs fan, I treasure Mack’s autograph as evidence that you can lose a lot and still live, long and happy.