by David Fleitz

This is the summary of a presentation that I gave at the SABR conference in Toronto on August 4, 2005.  The presentation dealt with the brief and unsuccessful theater career of baseball's biggest star, Adrian (Cap) Anson, the longtime first baseman and manager of the Chicago Colts, the National League ballclub now known as the Cubs.  Anson was, as far as I can determine, the only baseball player ever to star in a Broadway play.

Adrian Constantine (Cap) Anson led a very interesting life.  He was baseball’s greatest player and manager of the 1876-1900 period, starred in other sports as well, and pursued a political career after he left baseball.  He was also the only active ballplayer (that I know of) to star in a play on Broadway, which he did in December of 1895.  Professional baseball was, at the time, a quarter-century old, and the stars of the game had attained a national celebrity that made it conceivable for a man like Anson to headline a Broadway play.

The reviewers speak:

“Its plot was preposterous … ‘A Runaway Colt’ was driveling stupidity” – Chicago Tribune

 “[Anson] is scarcely an actor, but he was thoroughly in earnest.” – The New York Times

 “I called it ‘A Runaway Colt.’  It was a case … of a runaway audience after the first night.” – Charles Hoyt, author of the play

 “I may be a rotten thespian, but there are others!” – Cap Anson

David Fleitz's latest book, Cap Anson: The Grand Old Man of Baseball, is available now from McFarland.  It's the first full-length bio of Anson since the player published his autobiography 105 years ago.  Call 1-800-253-2187 or go to McFarland's web site to get your copy today!

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Cap Anson began his career in 1871 with Rockford of the National Association, then played for the Philadelphia Athletics for four seasons.  In 1876 he joined the Chicago White Stockings (now the Cubs) of the new National League and helped the team win the pennant that year.  He was a utility player in his early career, spending time at C, 2B, 3B, LF, and RF.  In 1879 he became manager, put himself on first base, and won pennants in 1880-81-82-85-86.  At the same time, he was the heaviest hitter in the game; he was the National League batting champ 1879-81-87-88.

By 1895, his 25th season of professional ball, the 43-year-old Anson was baseball's all-time leader in games played, times at bats, runs, hits, runs batted in, doubles, and wins by a manager.  He was the last National Association player, and the last to play in the NL’s first season of 1876, to remain in the major leagues on a regular basis.  He was called “Captain Anson, the Grand Old Man of the Game.”  He had assembled a team of young players after the Players League disruption in 1890, and throughout the decade the White Stockings were popularly known as “Anson’s Colts.”

Anson was also a top-level performer at trapshooting, billiards, cricket, and bowling.

Personally, he was loud, opinionated, bigoted, and stubborn, and appeared to have a high regard for his own talents.

It would seem only natural that Anson would be drawn to the stage, probably because he enjoyed attention.  Anson had many friends in the theater world, and he believed that his stardom on the diamond could translate to the stage.

Charles Hoyt, one of the most popular light comedy writers of the 1890s, was both a baseball fanatic and a friend of Cap Anson.  Hoyt was constantly looking for new ideas, and the captain suggested on many occasions that Hoyt write a play about baseball.  In May of 1895 Hoyt approached Anson with a proposal for a play in which Anson would portray himself as the manager of the Colts. The captain liked the concept, and Hoyt set to work, returning in two months with a script.  The full title of the play was "A Runaway Colt: A dalliance with facts, folks, and other things pertaining to the noble game of baseball."

Broadway was a different business then.  Today, the simplest of plays cost millions of dollars and require years to write and stage properly, but Hoyt often staged two or three plays a year.  Most plays which reached Broadway ran for three weeks or so, then went on the road and made most of their profit there.  In August, Hoyt arranged for “A Runaway Colt” to play on Broadway for three weeks, starting in the first week of December.

The play concerned a handsome young man named Manley Manners, and his fiancé, Mercy Given.  You can already tell how bad the play will turn out to be, can't you?

Anyway, Manley Manners is a minister’s son and college baseball player who receives an invitation to pitch for Chicago, but runs into opposition from his parents, who view baseball as a low-class sport and an unfit calling for the son of a reverend.  The local bishop, however, is a baseball fan, and invites a “Mr. Adrian” to dinner to meet the Manners family, who do not know that their guest is actually Cap Anson, manager of the Colts.  The captain extols the merits of baseball life, impresses Manley’s parents with his deportment (especially when he turns down a glass of wine), and ultimately succeeds in changing the father’s opinion of the game.

Later in the four-act melodrama, a rival suitor devises a scheme to steal Manley’s fiancée.  He convinces Manley’s brother, a bank teller, to wager $2,000 of bank funds on the Colts to win an upcoming game against Baltimore, all the while planning to bribe Anson to throw the contest and bring shame to the Manley family.  The villain would then demand Mercy’s hand in marriage as his price for getting the Manley family out of its jam.  Anson, of course, is too honest to lose a game for money, and decides to trust the youngster to pitch the big game. "You mustn't worry," he tells Manners. "He can't do anything to you, and if he tries, I'll stand by you."

Manley replies, in the typically stilted dialogue of 1890s melodrama, "Thank you, Captain. In a case of trouble, I'd rather have you for a friend than any man on Earth! I won't worry and I'll pitch pennant ball for you as long as my arm lasts."

Hoyt was known for his witty dialogue, and the script includes several examples of his style of humor.  When Manley’s sister suggests to the bishop that they pray for victory with Anson at bat and the game on the line, the bishop replies, “My dear, it is too late to pray.  Make all the noise you can and rattle the pitcher."  Hoyt also made a joke at the expense of the weak-hitting New York Giants.  Anson, concealing the nature of his vocation, explains to the Manners family that he wants to hire Manley “to handle leather goods and in certain cities to deal with strikers.”

“There are no strikers in New York, are there?” asks Mrs. Manners.

Anson replies, “There haven’t been any this year in my business.”

Another inside baseball joke occurs in the third act, set at the Colts’ spring training in Florida.  A love-struck hotel maid follows Anson around all day, and the captain orders Manley not to leave his side.  “Don’t leave me alone with her,” commands Anson.  “If you do, I’ll expel you – or worse yet, trade you to Louisville.”

The final act takes place with the audience behind the grandstand at the West Side Grounds, with slapsticks creating the sound of ball on bat and on-stage characters describing the action on the field.  In the final scene, the Colts are down by a run in the bottom of the ninth inning against the Orioles, but Bill Dahlen (actually, the actor playing him) singles, bringing Anson to the plate.  The captain saves the day with a home run, ending the play on a happy note.

Anson did not begin rehearsals until October, at the conclusion of the baseball season.  After a few weeks of rehearsal and tryouts in Syracuse, Troy, and Brooklyn, Hoyt did some frantic re-writing of the play.  He decided to open up the field in the last scene; instead of having characters describe the action, he showed all the field and added Orioles, Colts, and an umpire to the cast.  The additions added costs to the production, but Hoyt made the changes and hoped for the best.  On December 3, 1895, “A Runaway Colt” began a three-week New York run at the American Theatre.

The New York critics, surprisingly, treated the novice actor Anson gently.  The New York Times gave the production a good, though not a rave, review and stated that Anson “made a home run at the American Theater last night.”  The Times praised Anson’s presence, both in the on-field and off-field scenes, and said, “Mr. Hoyt knew Mr. Anson when he wrote the piece, Mr. Anson knows what Mr. Hoyt wrote, and somebody has taught him what to do when he is not on the diamond.”

"He speaks his lines with the directness of an artillery officer, no matter whether he is accepting an invitation to dinner or defending the good cause of professional base ball," the New York Dramatic Mirror wrote. "He is quite as good as most of the people on stage with him."  The Herald was less enthusiastic, suggesting that Anson was “prone to imitate an Illinois Methodist preacher giving out the long meter doxology.” 

On the third night of the show, several members of the Baltimore Orioles attended, greeted Anson backstage beforehand, and were enlisted to play themselves in the climactic ballgame.  They donned uniforms and took their positions on the “field” as Anson hit the home run that ended the play.  Of course, the Orioles could not allow this opportunity for mischief go by without playing a joke on their longtime rival.  As Anson rounded third base, one of the Orioles tripped him on the way home. 

Another difficulty involved umpire Tim Hurst, a longtime Anson opponent who was hired to play the arbiter in the play’s final scene.  One day, Hurst deviated from the script and called Anson out at home.

These problems mirrored the box-office performance of the show, which drew smaller audiences as the engagement continued.  Despite the fair-to-good reviews the American Theater was half-full on good days, and Hoyt soon realized that he had a money-losing proposition on his hands.

After the New York run, the company moved to Chicago, where the play opened at the Grand Opera House on December 23.  Though Anson was the longtime star of the local team and one of the best-known men in Chicago, attendance was small, though some of the notices were good.  "The audience took about a minute upon his first appearance to let [Anson] know that he still had hosts of admirers,” said one paper, “… ‘A Runaway Colt’ is a hit, if last night's auditors were fair umpires."

Not all the local critics were amused, and the Chicago Tribune gave the play one of the most scathing reviews in theater history.  . "Week before last,” stated the Tribune, “Charles H. Hoyt presented to the patrons of that theater a drama (may heaven forgive us for calling it thus!) designed solely to exploit a dull and uneducated professional athlete.  Its language was slangy, its fun was the fun of the tavern, its plot was preposterous, its actors were mostly 'variety' performers.  Mr. Hoyt has put together some entertainments that were really clever, but 'A Runaway Colt' was driveling stupidity."

Hoyt pulled the plug after only a week in Chicago, and after the last performance on December 29, cast and crew hit the road for Milwaukee, Minneapolis, and other Midwestern cities.  The people of Wisconsin and Minnesota were unimpressed with Anson as an actor, and on January 8 word reached the papers that “A Runaway Colt” would cease production.  Anson and the rest of the cast were dismissed.   “As an actor, Anson is a failure,” proclaimed the Washington Post.

Sadly, the failure of the play ended the friendship between Hoyt and Anson.  Said Hoyt, “I called it ‘A Runaway Colt.’  It was a case … of a runaway audience after the first night.  Anson used to boast to me what a magnetic chap he was; how he could draw thousands to see him play ball, and he was sure he could draw in the theater.  Why, to tell you the truth … every time Anson walked on the stage it began to snow.  I was thinking of having a snow scene painted, to be used when Anson was acting, but he objected.  He said it would destroy his magnetism.”

Frank McKee, Hoyt’s producing partner, blamed the failure on Anson’s lack of personality on stage.  “Anson was such a frappe that every time he entered the theater the steam pipes perspired ice water,” complained McKee.  “He’s such a chill that he could put on a linen duster and golf hat and discover the North Pole.” Anson replied that Hoyt and McKee should have booked the play into larger cities after New York instead of the smaller Midwestern towns in which the show appeared.  If the play had been seen in National League cities, where people knew baseball, reasoned Anson, it might have found success on the road for months.  In February Anson, ever the optimist, announced that he intended to buy the rights from Hoyt and McKee and produce it himself, but nothing came of the offer, and “A Runaway Colt” never again saw the light of day.

Worse, the play gave opposing players more than enough ammunition to use against Anson for the remainder of his career.  Bill Joyce, manager of the Giants, teased Anson about it one day.  “I notice, Anson, that when you were playing last winter you didn’t use any signals at all.”

“How’s that?” asked the captain.

“Why, when you played in ‘A Runaway Colt,’ no one was on the coach line to signal you when to act.”

Early the following spring, when Anson was out of the lineup with a sore arm, he used powerful magnets to speed the healing process at the suggestion of a Chicago doctor.  “Anson could use some magnetism,” said one player.  “He found that out in ‘A Runaway Colt.’”

Anson, despite the failure of the venture, was proud of his brief stage career.  In his later years, he wrote his letters on personal stationery that bore the inscription:

A Better Actor Than Any Ball Player

A Better Ball Player Than Any Actor

However, when Anson produced his autobiography a mere four years after his Broadway debut, he made no mention of “A Runaway Colt” at all.  Clearly, Anson was disappointed by the experience, and grew defensive about the subject whenever the sportswriters brought it up.  “I may be a rotten thespian,” boomed Anson one day, “but there are others!”