Catcher

1. CHARLES LEO "GABBY" HARTNETT

2. RANDY HUNDLEY

3. JODY DAVIS

4. JOHNNY KLING

5. BOB SCHEFFING

BEFORE Ernie Banks, the shining light of Chicago Cubs baseball was Charles Leo Hartnett, who picked up the ironic nickname "Gabby" because as a Cubs rookie in 1922, he was shy and reticent in the presence of such hardened veterans as Charlie Hollocher, Bob O'Farrell, and Grover Cleveland Alexander.

Gabby was the oldest of 14 children in an athletic family. His father was a streetcar conductor and a semipro catcher who was a legend in New England because of an exceptional throwing arm. Three Hartnett sisters barnstormed with a women's team, and three brothers played semipro ball, but Gabby was the only one to make it to the major leagues. He replaced O'Farrell as the Cubs' regular catcher in 1924 and held down that post until 1940, when in his third season as manager of the Cubs, he turned the catching chores over to veteran Al Todd, acquired in a trade with the Dodgers.

In a 20-year career, Hartnett caught 100 or more games 12 times, led the National League in putouts 4 times, led in assists and fielding percentage 6 times, had a career batting average of .297, belted 236 home runs, and drove in 1,179 runs.

Until Roy Campanella, Yogi Berra, Johnny Bench, and Carlton Fisk came along, the debate over who was the greatest catcher in baseball history always centered on three names: Mickey Cochrane of the Detroit Tigers and Bill Dickey of the New York Yankees in the American League, and Hartnett in the National League. Joe McCarthy, who managed both Dickey and Hartnett and against Cochrane, called Hartnett "the perfect catcher."

Hartnett made the All-Star team six times and was the starting catcher for the National League three times, including the 1934 game at New York's Polo Grounds when he was behind the plate as Carl Hubbell struck out, in succession, future Hall of Famers Babe Ruth, Lou Gehrig, Jimmie Foxx, Al Simmons, and Joe Cronin.

I regret I never got to meet Hartnett, but I have heard so much about him from old-time Cubs fans and former players that I feel as if I knew him. They say he was the best at his position, a great defensive catcher, and, ofcourse, there was the famous home run. You can't live in Chicago as long as I have and not have heard a lot about the great Gabby Hartnett.

In 1935, Hartnett was named the National League's Most Valuable Player when he batted .344, third in the league, and had 13 home runs and 91 RBIs. But his most productive season came five years earlier, when there was no MVP selected. In 1930, Hartnett batted .339, had 37 home runs (a record for a catcher that stood until Campanella slugged 41 23 years later), and drove in 122 runs. But he was overshadowed by the Giants' Bill Terry, the last National Leaguer to bat over .400, and by Hartnett's Cubs teammate Hack Wilson, who led the league with 56 home runs and a record 191 runs batted in.

Hartnett's greatest moment in baseball is one that is revered by Cubs fans to this day, almost seven decades after it happened. Hartnett, 37 years old and on the downside of his career, had replaced Charlie Grimm as manager of the Cubs in the middle of the 1938 season with the team in third place. On September 28, the Cubs met the first-place Pirates in Wrigley Field with Pittsburgh holding a half-game lead on Chicago. With darkness falling rapidly (remember, there were no lights in Wrigley Field) and the score tied, 5–5, in the ninth, Hartnett came to bat with two outs and nobody on base. The count went to 0–2 when Hartnett blasted his famous "homer in the gloamin'" to give the Cubs a 6–5 victory. With the victory, the Cubs moved into first place to stay, and they finished two games ahead of the Pirates to win the National League pennant.

When the Cubs slipped to fourth place in 1939 and fifth in 1940, Hartnett was fired as manager and replaced by Jimmie Wilson. Gabby would play a final season with the Giants in 1941, batting .300 in 64 games at age 40.

In 1955, Hartnett was elected to the Baseball Hall of Fame, joining Ray Schalk of the White Sox as the seventh and eighth catchers so honored (six other catchers have since been inducted). A native of Woonsocket, Rhode Island, Hartnett is one of only three natives of the smallest state in the union to be elected to the Hall of Fame. The others are Napoleon Lajoie, also a native of Woonsocket, and Hugh Duffy of Cranston, another former Cub, who both started their careers before 1900.

I regret I never got to meet Hartnett, but I have heard so much about him from old-time Cubs fans and former players that I feel as if I knew him. They say he was the best at his position, a great defensive catcher, and, of course, there was the famous home run. You can't live in Chicago as long as I have and not have heard a lot about the great Gabby Hartnett.

My old teammate Randy Hundley told me he once met Hartnett at a banquet and had a nice conversation with him — the two best catchers in Cubs history side by side on the dais. Hundley said he noticed a big ring on Hartnett's finger and Randy asked him, "Is that a World Series ring?"

"No, son," Hartnett replied. "That's a Hall of Fame ring."

Randy said he was so embarrassed, he wanted to crawl under the table.

Speaking of Randy Hundley, the best compliment I can pay my old buddy is that he's a guy you would want with you in a foxhole. "Rebel" — that's what we called him because he's from Virginia and has a deep voice and a Southern drawl — is a born-again Christian. He doesn't drink, and he doesn't smoke, and he never cussed. Never. But he didn't wear his beliefs on his sleeve, and he could get mad. He was a guy who would not turn the other cheek.

Rebel was tough and aggressive. Very aggressive. He'd sit behind the plate and pop his fist into his mitt right in a hitter's ear. We had a brawl with Pittsburgh one day, and my roommate, Glenn Beckert, was in the middle of it. I went in there and tried to pull him out, and I saw this body go over me. It was Hundley. He had jumped right into the middle of the melee — literally flew over me to grab a Pirate.

The Cubs have been criticized over the years for some of the bad trades they made, like Lou Brock for Ernie Broglio, but they made some good trades, too, and one of the best was when they sent Lindy McDaniel, Don Landrum, and Jim Rittwage to the Giants after the 1965 season for two young, unproven players: pitcher Bill Hands and Hundley. That trade helped the Cubs work their way to becoming contenders over the next seven years.

Hands won 54 games in the three-year period from 1968 through 1970, and Hundley became the Cubs' best catcher since Gabby Hartnett. He was a great receiver, had a good arm, and was an iron man behind the plate. He set one major league record by catching in 160 games in 1968, and another by catching in 150 games or more for three consecutive seasons, 1967–69.

Hundley won the Gold Glove in 1967 when he committed only four errors all season, a National League record. He also was the first one-handed catcher. He developed a catcher's mitt that was a lot like a first baseman's, loose and flexible. It allowed him to catch with one hand and keep his throwing hand behind his back to avoid getting hit on his right hand by foul tips. A lot of catchers catch that way now, but Rebel was the first.

And Hundley was a much better hitter than people give him credit for. When he was young, he could run, and he had power. In that ill-fated 1969 season, he was a key guy in our lineup. He batted .255, hit 18 home runs, and drove in 67 runs, so he was a guy opposing pitchers had to respect.

Unfortunately, Rebel began to wear down after the 1969 season from catching all those games. Then he hurt both his knees, and he never was the same again. But he had the great pleasure of watching his son, Todd, set a major league record for catchers (since broken) when he hit 41 home runs for the Mets in 1996.

Today, Randy operates the Cubs' Fantasy Camp in Arizona, and many of us from the 1969 team get together in January to reminisce about the good old days, tell stories, and have a ball.

Jody Davis was an outstanding defensive catcher. A thinking man's catcher, an excellent receiver with a great arm, and a leader. Jody was a lot like Hundley in his demeanor. And he was a good hitter. In a five-year period with the Cubs, from 1983 to 1987, he hit exactly 100 homers and drove in 361 runs. Twice he hit more than 20 homers, and his 94 RBIs in 1984 is second to Gabby Hartnett's 122 in 1930 for the most by a Cubs catcher.

In the 1984 NLCS against the Padres, Jody came up big, batting .389 with two homers and six RBIs, and he hit a huge home run in the fifth game of that series. At least it was huge at the time. It came in the second inning, and it gave the Cubs a 3–0 lead. Unfortunately, the Padres came back to score six runs and win the game, 6–3, and once again the Cubs were denied a chance to go to the World Series.

Catching is such a tough job, such a physical grind, there have been very few in the history of baseball who produced big offensive numbers, and the rigors of catching took their toll on Davis.

Jody was traded to Atlanta late in the 1988 season and finished out his career with the Braves, but he never came close to putting up the numbers for the Braves that he did for the Cubs in that five-year stretch.

The great Cubs teams in the early 1900s had so many stars, it was easy for an excellent player to be overlooked and that, apparently, is what happened to Johnny Kling, who was Chicago's catcher from 1900 to 1911.

Although a fair hitter — he batted .272 for 13 big-league seasons — Kling was known mostly for his defense and was considered the premier defensive catcher of his day. Ed Reulbach, who won 181 major league games, called him "one of the greatest catchers who ever wore a mask."

Kling led the National League catchers in fielding four times, in putouts six times, in assists twice, and in double plays once. In one game in 1907, he threw out all four Cardinals runners who attempted to steal second, and in the World Series that year, he held Ty Cobb, at the time baseball's greatest running threat, without a stolen base.

As good a catcher as he was, Kling was more talented in another area. He was a world-champion pocket billiards player and quit baseball in 1909 to concentrate on billiards. When he was defeated in his attempt to retain his world billiards title, he returned to the Cubs in 1910 but could not regain his starting position from his replacement, Jimmy Archer.

Like Kling, Archer was an outstanding defensive catcher with a powerful arm and was regarded as the best-throwing catcher of his time, which merits his inclusion among the list of greatest catchers in Cubs' history.

Bob Scheffing was my first manager, although I never played for him. He was managing the Cubs in my first spring training in 1959. I was sent to Double A San Antonio that first year, and when I got to the Cubs the next year, Scheffing had been replaced as manager.

Although he was a fine defensive catcher and a .300 hitter with the Cubs in 1948, Scheffing is known more for what he accomplished after his playing career than for what he did during it. After he was let go by the Cubs, he managed the Detroit Tigers, and his 1961 Tigers won 101 games but finished second to the Yankees in the American League. Two years later, he was fired by the Tigers and moved upstairs into the broadcast booth alongside the great Ernie Harwell. Later, Scheffing became general manager of the Mets, and his 1973 Mets team, with Yogi Berra as manager, won the National League pennant.

They don't make my list; nevertheless, I want to make mention of two others who caught for Chicago in the early days. One is Roger Bresnahan, the second catcher elected to the Baseball Hall of Fame. But, typical of Cubs' bad timing, he was in Chicago only before and after his Hall of Fame years.

The other is someone I know nothing about because he played before 1900, but how could I completely ignore a guy with a name like Silver Flint?

First Baseman

1. ERNIE BANKS

2. CAP ANSON

3. PHIL CAVARRETTA

4. MARK GRACE

5. BILL BUCKNER

HE'S "Mr. Cub," and deservedly so: the most popular player in the team's 100-plus-year history. Nobody else is even close. He's No. 1. There is no No. 2.

Ernie Banks is "Mr. Cub" for the 512 home runs he hit, the 1,636 runs he batted in, the 11 All-Star selections, the two MVPs (in consecutive seasons, 1958 and 1959), the two home-run championships, the two RBI championships, the 19 major league seasons, the 2,528 games he played — every one of them in a Cubs uniform — and his election to the Hall of Fame. And more. Much, much more.

He's "Mr. Cub" for his warmth, his loyalty, his sunny disposition, and his perpetual smile. He's "Mr. Cub" because he has never forgotten his roots; because he is a one-man advertisement for Wrigley Field, day baseball, and the city of Chicago; and because he makes you feel good just being around him.

I have known Ernie Banks for more than 45 years, and he is the same person today as he was on June 26, 1960, when I joined the Cubs as a frightened-to-death 20-year-old rookie. I was sitting in the dugout, and Ernie came out and sat next to me and said, "You nervous, kid?" I said, "Gosh, yeah."

I have known Ernie for more than 45 years, and in all that time, I have never heard him say a bad word about anybody (or anything), and I have never heard anybody say a bad word about him.

People who meet him for the first time, who hear him expound for the first time on the beauty of baseball, the Cubs, Wrigley Field, and life in general, think it's all an act, a façade. They keep waiting for him to drop his guard, but he never does. I have known him for more than 45 years and I, too, have waited for him to drop his guard, to be anything but upbeat, positive, and optimistic. I'm still waiting.

With Ernie, what you see and what you hear is what you get. His enthusiasm, his optimism, his goodness — I can honestly say it's all genuine.

You would think, somewhere along the line, you would get up in the morning and come to the ballpark and maybe things aren't going well, you're not going to be in a good mood. Not Ernie. If anything was bothering him, you would never know with Ernie Banks. Never! If it was raining, he'd walk in and say, "let's play two today." It's pouring down rain and we'd all say, "Oh, Ernie."

I played my whole career with him and saw him almost every day. He was always the same cheery guy.

What a hitter he was! Ernie Banks had a beautiful swing, and some of his home runs were simply majestic. He could hit the ball onto Waveland Avenue, but most of his home runs were these vicious line drives that would get out of there in a blink of an eye. He wasn't very big, just 6'1? and 180 pounds, but he had lightning-fast hands and powerful wrists.

Our lockers were near each other's. It was Ernie, then Billy Williams, and then me, all in a row. If Ernie hit a home run to win a ballgame, or hit two home runs in a game, the Chicago writers and the visiting writers would all come in and crowd around his locker for a story, and the first thing he would say, every time, was, "Do you guys know Billy Williams and Ron Santo?"

The writers would ask their questions — "Did you hit a fastball?" — and Ernie would just smile at them and say, "Ohh, I don't know what I hit."

That's Ernie. We'd go out to dinner and he was the same bubbly guy in public that he was in the clubhouse. He was funny to be around. A good sense of humor. Talking all the time. People would come up to him, and he would talk to all of them. He'd never blow anybody off. I'm convinced that if he had run for mayor of Chicago, he would have won in a landslide.

Ernie was a great teammate, and he's a great guy. He's still one of my dearest friends. Ernie is a guy who has never forgotten where he came from, and I think that's so important in life. I don't care how successful you are, you have to remember how you got there. Ernie has.

He was born and raised in Dallas, and he was a high school star in basketball, football, and track. He preferred softball to baseball, but when he was 17, he signed to play with a Negro barnstorming baseball team for the money, $15 a game. The Kansas City Monarchs spotted him and signed him to a contract, but he soon left the Monarchs to spend two years in military service. After the army hitch, Ernie returned to the Monarchs, where the Cubs scouted him and offered him a contract.

Banks went right to the Cubs and became their regular shortstop (I'll talk more about that later in the chapter on shortstops) without ever playing a game in the minor leagues, and he was their first African-American player, which had to be difficult for him back in 1953. Knowing Ernie, his sunny disposition helped him get through the rough times and won over his teammates. His booming bat didn't hurt, either. In his first full season, 1954, he hit 19 home runs. The next year, he belted 44, then the most ever for a shortstop.