[SelzShoes]

Beginning in 1875 a series staring Frank Richardson was published in magazines and newspapers across the county. The hero, a college going youth of sober body and spirit, really only shared the name with the real Frank Richardson. But the writer of these tales, which always carried a valuable moral lesson for the children, knew they would sell better if the stories stared the most popular player in the country. Frank Richardson knew making children fans of not just base ball, but him personally, would be good for his pocketbook.

The series became incredibly popular during it nearly 10 year run. Young boys across the country would carefully remove the pages (with parents permission of course) and collect them in crude homemade bindings—creating covers with the image of their hero. The most popular of the series eventually were sold as professionally bound editions for a dime, complete with illustrations. The series started in 1877 was oddly prophetic.

From Chapter 17
The Swarthy hoods held Cappy back. “If he refuses our money to throw the game, we’ll keep him here until the game is over,” the Boss cowed.

“Blackguard,” Cappy struggled to free himself from the dark grasp of his captors. The championship game was less than an hour away and without Cappy, victory was not assured. The more the hero of the diamond struggled, the tighter the grips became. “This will not stand villain. I shall lead my team to glory.”

“In that case, ply him with dark rum! Even if he gets away, he will be in no condition to play!”

“Never,” shouted the most gallant of men. He broke away and lit towards the door, only to be felled by a cowardly blow from behind. The hoods pulled his head back and begun to force the brown liquid sin into his mouth. But Cappy refused to swallow the poison, spitting it defiantly onto the floor. Bested in their evil machinations, the fiends knocked his head with a blackjack and bound his hands. They then tossed Cappy into a corner of the dank basement.

The Boss laughed as evil men do in these situations. “In three-quarters an hour, we can begin to count our money. . ."

Bound and beaten, Cappy needed his superior intellect to devise an escape. Slipping his bonds over his spikes, the skilled batsman sawed quickly through the ropes. The gamblers, confident of victory paid no mind to his action, preferring count their tainted coin and speak of loose women.

The rope broke, and Cappy was free. He calculated the distance from his corner to the door. “It will be easier than taking an extra base,” he thought to himself. Waiting until the villains’ backs were turned, Cappy suddenly sprinted to the door. Caught unaware, the small-minded criminals watched slack-jawed as their booty made for freedom. When finally they arose from their chairs, it was too late; the hero had left the building and made his way to freedom. . .

Stopping a hack, Cappy made way to the ball field to play. The driver, recognizing Cappy from his portrait in the Sporting Pages, agreed not to spare the horse, and get our hero to the big game. “I’da been a-wantin’ to see the game, but feered my rounds would prevent it.”

“Get me there before the first pitch, and you good sir, shall sit on the bench with me!”

The nag rode the cobblestone as if a fine stallion. Even God’s creatures were desirous of defeating the dark syndicate trying to influence the championship. The pedestrians jumped out of the way of the blazing hack. At first they began to curse the driver, but seeing Cappy in the back, they tossed their hats in the air and bid him “Godspeed.”

Seeing the black cab of the gamblers in pursuit, the good people started to litter the way, slowing the hoods progress. When the milk and bakery carts blocked the villains from further chase, Cappy saluted the citizens who help him. “Fear not good people, I shall thank you all with victory!”
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There had been rumors gamblers had effected the end of Philadelphia’s season as much as they had affected Brooklyn’s entire year. Frank Richardson would have none of that, “I have no use for a man who gives less of himself than everything on the pitch.” Given wide control of the club, Richardson began to cut players with little regard for their numbers or public opinion. “With the common crank reads I have let Pannell leave for Brooklyn, they will only see champion’s average and runs. I see a traitor’s heart and soul.” First baseman Baptist Woodard and pitcher Boris Seekill found a new home in Cincinnati, and centerfielder Ted Revard in Boston as Cappy cleaned up the roster.
But while the club was honest, the were unable to perform as hoped; falling into last place early in the season. Frank was doing his part, apparently rebounding from his down year in Cincinnati. But the youthful trio of “Smiling” Charley Tweed, Leghorn Sapp and Chester Jackman were a combined 0-15 a full quarter into the season.

“We may lose, but we lose honestly and with honor,” Cappy told the Philadelphia Almanac “I desire victory, but the man who lays down a hard earned coin, deserves to know everyman on the field in giving his all. Last year, despite what the totals tell you, this was not the case.”

With Brooklyn, Chicago and Cincinnati battling for the lead, 1877 felt a long time ago in the City of Brotherly Love.