He went 32-38 his first four years, playing for bad New York teams. Two years later, in 1910, he was pitching for the New York Highlanders, who became the Yankees a few years later. Even when he got to the big leagues, Caldwell worked most offseasons doing the telegraph for railroads.Ĭaldwell pitched right-handed and hit left, and his stock soared from the minute he signed with a semipro team as a 20-year-old. His mom got remarried, to a telegraph operator, and Caldwell grew up enamored with his stepfather's profession. His dad was a minister and moved to Europe - historians aren't sure what kind of relationship the two had. At a time when divorce was rare, Caldwell's parents split up. They're terrified to touch him, and nobody does.Īll of them wonder: Is Ray Caldwell dead?įROM THE FIRST time he picked up a baseball, Caldwell was a breathtaking talent with a knack for landing in no-way-that-really-happened situations. Caldwell's chest is smoldering from where the bolt burned it. Players rush to Caldwell, but the first man who touches him leaps in the air, saying he'd been zapped by Caldwell's prone body. The lightning strike had hit him directly. Caldwell is on his back, arms spread wide, out cold on the mound. The eight Indians position players are OK, but their newest teammate is not. "I didn't want it to attract any bolts toward me."įive seconds after the bolt hits the ground, everybody looks around. "I took off my mask and threw it as far as I could," Cleveland catcher Steve O'Neill says later of his metal mask. Shortstop Ray Chapman feels a surge of electricity go down his leg, and the violence of the lightning strike causes players to dive for the ground. Just as he gets set, a flash from the sky explodes down into the middle of the field. Now the wind howls, the storm fully upon the field. He gets two easy infield popouts to open the inning. So he hurriedly toes the rubber as the rain picks up. Cleveland's players, who have grown accustomed to the lake-effect weather mood swings, take their positions and hope to grind out three more outs before the skies really open up. The pitch is still legal, and Caldwell has incredible command on this day against the Philadelphia Athletics the A's are flummoxed for two hours, managing four hits and a walk through eight innings.īut then the clouds roll in - fast - off Lake Erie. But he mostly falls back on his devastating out pitch: one of baseball's best spitballs. Players call Caldwell "Slim" because of his 6-foot-2, 190-pound frame and how he leverages every ounce of it to produce an above-average fastball and elite curve. Cleveland player/manager Tris Speaker, in a push for the playoffs, wanted to give Caldwell another chance, which looks like a genius move this afternoon. This is his last gasp.įive years earlier, he'd had been regarded as a transcendent talent, perhaps one of the greatest pitchers ever, before drinking problems moved him to the outskirts of baseball. Cleveland fans know the stakes for the right-hander: He has just been waived by the Red Sox, and the pulse of his once-promising career had all but flatlined prior to that day.
The crowd roars as he takes the mound, and the cheers only get louder as it becomes obvious that Caldwell has his best stuff today.
A story of desperation, terror, survival and redemption, all channeling through Caldwell over the next two hours. The weather is brutally hot but clear - for now - and none of the 20,000 or so fans at League Park has any idea that they're about to see something that defies belief. 24, 1919, Ray Caldwell puts on a Cleveland uniform for the first time. The incredible story of Ray Caldwell, the MLB pitcher who survived a lightning strike to finish a game
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