Jim Thorpe was near the end of a glorious athletic career in the early 1920s.

He’d already won Olympic gold medals in the pentathlon and decathlon; been a college football All-American and national champion; emerged as one of the first professional football stars; played seven seasons in the major leagues with the Giants, Braves and Reds.

He’d shaken hands with presidents, kings and viceroys; even had a meeting with Pope Pius X at the Vatican.
But by 1922, he was 34 and near the end of the line as a baseball player. Still eying a return to the major leagues, Thorpe was in his third (and final) season in the minors. On July 12, he came to New Haven as a center fielder for Hartford in an Eastern League game.

The New Haven and Hartford rivalry was heated. Bad blood dated back to the 1800s when Hartford outlobbied New Haven to be named the state’s permanent capitol. Residents of two cities simply didn’t like each other. A Hartford newspaper once ran an item offering to buy a drink for the unknown motorist who accidentally ran over a dog that served as the New Haven mascot.

Essentially, it was a feud every bit the equal of today’s Yankees-Red Sox rivalry.

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Associated Press 

The story that appeared in the Register in 1911

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“Shoeless” Joe Jackson was a rookie outfielder with the Cleveland Naps of the American League when he arrived for an exhibition game at New Haven’s Lighthouse Point Park in September 1911.

Obviously, he had a ways to go before cementing his legacy as one of baseball’s tragic yet iconic figures.

At the time, he was such a relative unknown that Harry Robinson, the Register’s assistant sports editor, butchered Jackson’s fabled nickname in print. The future legend was denoted in the game recap as “Stonewall” Joe Jackson. (Say it ain’t so, Harry!)

While “Shoeless Joe” wasn’t quite a household name yet, Robinson hardly deserves a pass for his blunder. Jackson, in his first full season, was pushing Ty Cobb for the batting title and well on his way to stardom on the day of the exhibition with the Eastern League’s New Haven Murlins. Only 18 regular season games remained and Jackson would finish the year at .408, a rookie record that stands 101 years later; likely for eternity.
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To understand how much the baseball community loved “Wild” Bill Donovan, the ex-major league pitcher who managed the New Haven Profs to the 1922 Eastern League title, just look at what New Haven did to honor him prior to his sudden death in a train crash.

Donovan had been hired by team owner George Weiss to replace another beloved, ex-major league player/manager, Charles “Chief” Bender. Shortly after Donovan led the team to a pennant, fans threw him a testimonial dinner, presenting him with a solid gold watch and a large bonus check, funds taken directly out of their own pockets.

Judge Kenesaw Mountain Landis, the commissioner of Major League Baseball, was among those in attendance.

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Who hit the longest home run in New Haven history? It’s a question that can’t be answered with any degree of accuracy. But there’s plenty of juicy urban legends.

Honus Wagner, just before being called up to the majors, allegedly hit the longest ball at old Hamilton Park in 1896. While the tape measure had been patented in New Haven 29 years earlier, no one had one handy that day.

Ted Kluszewski crushed an epic blast to right-center field at Quigley Stadium in 1950. The distance is unknown. Perhaps because it never landed. The next day’s Register said of the ball, “it’s still going.”

One of the few shots with a documented distance may indeed have them all beat. Anthony Sanders, playing with the New Haven Ravens, cleared the 25-foot center field wall at Yale Field in 2003, a ball later measured to have traveled 505 feet.

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Mike Ferraro came to Quigley Stadium on a major league scouting assignment in 1974, and wasn’t sure what to make of the rail-thin, almost sickly looking left-handed pitcher for the West Haven Yankees.

But once Ron Guidry started throwing, it became clear the gangly kid from Louisiana had other-worldly stuff.

“I saw him make four appearances, all in short relief,” Ferraro once told the Register. “I remember he faced 11 batters and he struck out all 11 guys. Now that was impressive, and I gave New York my evaluation.”

Guidry was clearly the most celebrated player in the 11-year history of Double-A baseball at Quigley. Four years after leaving, he’d already won two World Series championships, the Cy Young Award and turned in one of the greatest single-season performances by a starting pitcher in Yankees history.

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