Chicago's own predecessor to home run record holders Babe Ruth and Barry Bonds languishes in a pauper's grave 2 miles from Wrigley Field. Ned Williamson lived only 9 more years after cracking the single-season home run record - dying at age 36. His record stood for 35 years, until it was broken by Ruth. Chicago Cubs owner Albert Spalding's mistreatment of Williamson for his role in sports' first union, contributed to the popular shortstop's demise, and was a catalyst for the most dramatic revolt by athletes since Spartacus - when every National League player bolted their club - to form their own league. Williamson is the subject of the 2015 movie Deadball.
In 2000, I heard that Williamson was buried in Rosehill, and though I live a few miles away, I had never visited the lush cemetery with its exquisite monuments. One glorious summer day I was driving by, had a few minutes to spare, and thought I'd pay my respects to Ned, a man I'd come to admire, while writing the first biography of his close friend the Baseball Hall of Famer, John Montgomery Ward. Rosehill's staff had never heard of Williamson, which didn't surprise me. I enthusiastically related some of Williamson's sad story. Initially, they could find no record of his grave. A few days later Rosehill called back, saying that they'd found a record of Williamson's burial, but didn't know of his baseball career. Ned is buried in a section of newborns and others who died unclaimed at the county hospital over 100 years ago.
The strong feelings I'd evolved for Williamson and other trailblazers who battled the baseball establishment found an outlet in my biography of Ward, Baseball's Radical for All Seasons. David Stevens
In 2000, I heard that Williamson was buried in Rosehill, and though I live a few miles away, I had never visited the lush cemetery with its exquisite monuments. One glorious summer day I was driving by, had a few minutes to spare, and thought I'd pay my respects to Ned, a man I'd come to admire, while writing the first biography of his close friend the Baseball Hall of Famer, John Montgomery Ward. Rosehill's staff had never heard of Williamson, which didn't surprise me. I enthusiastically related some of Williamson's sad story. Initially, they could find no record of his grave. A few days later Rosehill called back, saying that they'd found a record of Williamson's burial, but didn't know of his baseball career. Ned is buried in a section of newborns and others who died unclaimed at the county hospital over 100 years ago.
The strong feelings I'd evolved for Williamson and other trailblazers who battled the baseball establishment found an outlet in my biography of Ward, Baseball's Radical for All Seasons. David Stevens
Chicago's own predecessor to home run record holders Babe Ruth and Barry Bonds languishes in a pauper's grave 2 miles from Wrigley Field. Ned Williamson lived only 9 more years after cracking the single-season home run record - dying at age 36. His record stood for 35 years, until it was broken by Ruth. Chicago Cubs owner Albert Spalding's mistreatment of Williamson for his role in sports' first union, contributed to the popular shortstop's demise, and was a catalyst for the most dramatic revolt by athletes since Spartacus - when every National League player bolted their club - to form their own league. Williamson is the subject of the 2015 movie Deadball.
In 2000, I heard that Williamson was buried in Rosehill, and though I live a few miles away, I had never visited the lush cemetery with its exquisite monuments. One glorious summer day I was driving by, had a few minutes to spare, and thought I'd pay my respects to Ned, a man I'd come to admire, while writing the first biography of his close friend the Baseball Hall of Famer, John Montgomery Ward. Rosehill's staff had never heard of Williamson, which didn't surprise me. I enthusiastically related some of Williamson's sad story. Initially, they could find no record of his grave. A few days later Rosehill called back, saying that they'd found a record of Williamson's burial, but didn't know of his baseball career. Ned is buried in a section of newborns and others who died unclaimed at the county hospital over 100 years ago.
The strong feelings I'd evolved for Williamson and other trailblazers who battled the baseball establishment found an outlet in my biography of Ward, Baseball's Radical for All Seasons. David Stevens
In 2000, I heard that Williamson was buried in Rosehill, and though I live a few miles away, I had never visited the lush cemetery with its exquisite monuments. One glorious summer day I was driving by, had a few minutes to spare, and thought I'd pay my respects to Ned, a man I'd come to admire, while writing the first biography of his close friend the Baseball Hall of Famer, John Montgomery Ward. Rosehill's staff had never heard of Williamson, which didn't surprise me. I enthusiastically related some of Williamson's sad story. Initially, they could find no record of his grave. A few days later Rosehill called back, saying that they'd found a record of Williamson's burial, but didn't know of his baseball career. Ned is buried in a section of newborns and others who died unclaimed at the county hospital over 100 years ago.
The strong feelings I'd evolved for Williamson and other trailblazers who battled the baseball establishment found an outlet in my biography of Ward, Baseball's Radical for All Seasons. David Stevens
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