“Black Saturday”: Philadelphia’s Deadliest Sports
Disaster
By Bob Warrington
 “From
the lips of a frightened little girl came a cry of terror yesterday
afternoon that lured hundreds of panic-stricken men to death and
injury at the Philadelphia Base Ball Grounds.” So begins the
front-page story in the Philadelphia Inquirer describing
the collapse of part of the top left field bleachers’ balcony
at the Phillies’ ballpark on August 8, 1903 that hurled hundreds
of people headlong to the pavement and street below. Twelve people
died and 232 were injured. This article tells the story—100
years later—of Philadelphia’s deadliest sports disaster,
and its far-reaching, dramatic consequences for baseball, its fans,
and the city.
Background on the Ballpark
The origins of Philadelphia Base Ball Park date to 1887 when the
team’s owners, Alfred J. Reach and Col. John I. Rogers, wanted
a new ballpark for their Philadelphia Phillies, a team which had
come into existence just four years before. Recreation Park—the
team’s first home field located at 24th Street and Columbia
Avenue—had been constructed hastily of wood and held only
6,500 people. The site selected for the new structure was in North
Philadelphia—about three miles north of Independence Hall.
The first base foul line ran parallel to Huntingdon Street, right
field to center field parallel to Broad Street, center field to
left field parallel to Lehigh Avenue, while the third base foul
line paralleled 15th Street. The seating capacity was 12,500. The
most modern and advanced ballpark of the era, it incorporated some
brick in its construction and had a pavilion for seating.
Philadelphia Base Ball Park still contained a great deal of wood
in its construction, however, the drawback of which became apparent
on August 6, 1894. That morning, the Phillies were preparing for
an afternoon game against the Baltimore Orioles when, at 10:40 AM,
one of the players noticed a fire in the grandstands. The fire quickly
spread and largely consumed the ballpark. Its cause was never determined.
Although there were no fatalities and only minor injuries, the fire
caused $250,000 in damage and destroyed everything with the exception
of part of the outer brick wall that enclosed the ballpark. The
Phillies played their next six games at the University of Pennsylvania’s
University Field at 37th and Spruce Streets, winning five of the
match-ups. On August 18th, the team returned to its home field where
temporary stands seating about 9,000 people had been built to finish
out the season.
Determined to avoid such catastrophes in the future, Reach took
the bold step of creating a new ballpark at the same location using
mostly steel and brick in its construction. It contained no wood
except for the floors and seats of the grandstands. Dubbed National
League Park when it opened in 1895, the ballpark was stilled referred
to often as Philadelphia Base Ball Park and, less frequently, the
Huntingdon Street Grounds. It seated 18,800 and featured a cantilever
pavilion—a radically new architectural technique in stadium
construction. By building it, according to baseball historian Michael
Gershman, Al Reach “created the first modern ballpark.”
National League Park remained essentially untouched until 1903.
By that year, Reach and Rogers were no longer the owners of the
Phillies. They had sold the team for $170,000 following the 1902
season to a coterie of “millionaires” from Philadelphia
and Cincinnati who together had formed the “Philadelphia Base
Ball and Entertainment Company.” James Potter, the chief stockholder,
became the club’s president and led the new owners—numbering
a remarkable 24 in number. Reach and Rogers, however, retained ownership
of the ballpark itself. This arrangement would become important
in sorting out the torrent of law suites, verbal recriminations,
and accusations of responsibility and liability that were to follow
in the disaster’s wake.
The Deadliest Disaster
A doubleheader was scheduled between the Phillies and Boston Braves
on Saturday, August 8, 1903. A crowd of some 10,000 saw the Braves
take the first game in 12 innings, edging the Phillies by a score
of 5-4. In the second game, the teams were locked in a 5-5 tie in
the fourth inning. At 5:40 PM, the Braves’ Joe Stanley was
at the plate with two outs. However, the attention of the fans who
had each paid 25 cents for seats in the bleachers down the left
field line had been drawn to an incident occurring below on 15th
Street outside of the ballpark.
Two drunken men were walking slowly down 15th Street followed by
a small group of boys and girls who were teasing them. Suddenly,
one of the men turned toward the children and grabbed one of the
girls by the hair. In doing so, he stumbled and fell on top of her.
The child, who was later identified as 13-year-ol Maggie Barry,
shrieked in terror as did her companions. They cried, “Help!”
and “Murder!” The commotion drew people in the ballpark
to the top of the bleachers to see what was happening below.
They congregated on an overhanging wooden balcony at the top of
the outer wall that ran along 15th Street and continued around the
corner on Lehigh Avenue. The balcony was seven-to-eight feet wide
and protruded beyond the wall by about three feet. It was intended
as a footway for people to use for entering and exiting the grandstand
and bleachers. The balcony had a handrail but was not independently
braced underneath.
Instead, the same joists that were used to support the grandstand
and bleachers held up the balcony. The joists extended through the
top of the wall to provide support. According to newspaper accounts
of the time, an estimated three hundred people jammed onto the balcony
to witness the incident that was unfolding approximately 30 feet
below on 15th Street. The Inquirer described what happened
next in a headline story that ran the following day:
Suddenly, jammed with an immense, vibrating weight, the balcony
tore itself loose from the wall, and the crowd was hurled headlong
to the pavement. Those who felt themselves falling grasped those
behind and they in turn held on to others. Behind were thousands
still pushing up to see what was happening. In the twinkling of
an eye the street was piled four deep with bleeding, injured, shrieking
humanity struggling amid the piling debris.
The crash was as horrifying as it was deadly. In an instant, 15th
Street was piled high with almost 200 bleeding, injured, and shrieking
individuals struggling amid the ballpark debris. More people continued
to fall off the balcony as those still in the bleachers who heard
the noise and screams started pressing forward to see what the commotion
was all about. One of the first police officers on the scene, Sergeant
Bartle, told reporters:
There must have been one hundred men and boys, and every one
of them was covered with blood. Some of them had their clothing
almost torn from their bodies, while others were so bespattered
with blood and mud as to be almost unrecognizable. Under the debris
were the forms of those who were unconscious. You could not tell
whether they were dead or alive. Timber, rubbish, and bricks were
piled everywhere.
The alarm for the accident was turned in almost immediately by Policeman
Coin who was walking down Lehigh Avenue, saw the disaster, and ran
to the station house one block away. Within minutes, patrol wagons
and ambulances were rushing to the ballpark, but the extent of the
calamity was simply too great for them to handle. Streetcars were
emptied of passengers and loaded with the injured. Delivery wagons
and automobiles were commandeered by police to rush victims to local
hospitals. The injured were taken initially to Samaritan and St.
Luke’s Hospitals. When they became overwhelmed tending to
150 people, victims were sent to the Jewish Hospital.
Back at the accident scene, the best and worst of humanity were
on display. Neighbors opened their houses to the wounded, Good Samaritans
tried to give comfort to the fallen, and doctors rushed to the ballpark
when they heard of the disaster. At the same time, pickpockets sought
to loot the injured and dying while curiosity-seekers simply looked
on without offering any relief to those in need.
The game stopped immediately when the calamity occurred. Shock quickly
turned to panic as people in the leftfield bleachers started jumping
onto the field fearing that addition sections of the ballpark would
collapse. Some players armed themselves with bats to keep from being
overwhelmed by the wild stampede. The game was canceled.
Aftermath and the Deadly Toll
The break started along the bleachers about 50 feet from the intersection
of 15th and Huntingdon Streets, continued north along 15th Street,
and stopped at the point the stands curved toward Lehigh Avenue—a
distance of between 100-150 feet. It was customary during the era
for men to wear hats to baseball games, and over a hundred were
gathered up and placed in the window of a grocery store on 15th
Street waiting for their owners to reclaim them. Some never would.
Immediately after the collapse, ballpark employees were ordered
to remove the debris and clear the site. This was done by 7 PM.
Even the jagged ends of the timbers that once supported the balcony
and still jutted out from the wall were cut off and taken away.
While the clean up was in progress, a city building inspector named
Kessler arrived on the scene, secured pieces of the joists and specimens
of the brick and mortar, and took them with him to City Hall. They
were impounded as evidence to be used in the inquiry that was sure
to follow to discover the cause of the disaster and affix responsibility
for it.
The final count showed that 12 had been killed and 232 injured in
the catastrophe, and it remains Philadelphia’s deadliest sports
disaster. The youngest fatality, 24, was William J. Graham who lived
with his parents. His 18-year-old sister had died of illness in
May, and the double blow left the family prostrated by grief. The
oldest victim was Edward Williamson, a 63-year-old Civil War veteran
who had been wounded at the Battle of Antietam and endured the misery
of incarceration at the South’s notorious Andersonville Prison.
What about the drunks? Efforts were made to find them once an investigation
into the accident began. There were at least four versions of the
drunken men story circulating, and authorities wanted to talk to
the individuals whose actions had started the ruckus that drew ballpark
spectators to their fate. Neighbors said that after the accident
they saw the two men lying in an alley near 15th Street. The police,
however, were so busy tending to the needs of victims that they
paid no attention to the drunks. During the excitement the men apparently
recovered sufficiently to amble off and disappear into the black
hole of history. They were never identified.
Finger-Pointing and Lawsuits
Phillies’ Business Manager William Shettsline was in charge
of ballpark operations when the disaster struck. In the immediate
aftermath of the accident, according to an Inquirer reporter,
he “was so badly prostrated by the shock that he could scarcely
tell a coherent story.” By the next day, Shettsline had recovered
sufficiently to issue a statement in which the owners of the club
asserted their claim of having no culpability in the matter. While
expressing sympathy for the victims, the statement explained:
The accident was in no way due to any lack of proper precautions
or neglect on the part of officials of the club…When the present
management assumed control of the grounds, the pavilion and stands
were in perfect condition, and, for the purposes intended were safe
and reliable, but the simultaneous rush of several hundred persons
to one concentrated point weakened the structure and precipitated
several hundred unfortunate persons to the street below…Over-anxiety
on their part resulted in the regrettable accident.
Club president Potter was vacationing outside the city but returned
to Philadelphia quickly when informed of the disaster by telegraph.
Accompanied by National League President Harry Pulliam, Potter appeared
before the press on August 10th and echoed the defense offered the
day before by Shettsline. The statement he read said, in part, “I
feel that no precaution was omitted on the part of the company to
protect the patrons of the ground. It was one of those unfortunate
accidents that occur when large numbers of people, actuated by a
common impulse, do something they are not expected to do.”
Colonel John I. Rogers, co-owner of the ballpark along with A. J.
Reach, also returned hastily from a vacation in Cape May, NJ. He
released a lengthy statement to the press in which he recounted
the ballpark’s construction and noted that it was inspected
each spring by “experienced mechanics” to confirm its
soundness and ensure the safety of ballpark patrons. Rogers observed:
The inspection usually lasted for weeks, and always entailed
a large expenditure for maintenance and replacement. Three years
ago we appointed an experienced carpenter as our park superintendent,
so that inspections could be daily instead of annually, and we firmly
believed that nothing of doubtful strength or fitness escaped his
attention. The new club owners who took possession on March 1 followed,
as Mr. Shettsline informs me, the same rule last spring and spent
a large sum for maintenance and repair before their opening game.
One thing is certain, that the mad rush of an excited crowd suddenly
jumping to the balcony and pushing everything irresistibly before
it, would have crushed any similar structure, no matter how strongly
or recently built. It was a football center rush, multiplied indefinitely,
that few, if any, walls could have withstood.
Rogers also commented that R. C. Ballinger & Co. had done the
original construction of the ballpark, and he emphasized that “all
the details were left to their superior skills and judgment.”
Rogers added, in an apparent effort to distance himself and Reach
from any culpability in the accident, “They submitted outline
plans to the Building Inspectors and to us, and went ahead with
their tasks and on their own responsibility, just like every other
first-class firm.”
R. C. Ballinger immediately shot back in a comment to newspaper
reporters stating, “The fault, if it lies anywhere, is theirs;
not mine.” He praised the quality of the original construction
but also cautioned that eight years had since passed, and that “the
best timber, when subjected, unprotected, for eight years to the
effects of the sun, wind, snow and rain may become rotten.”
Ballinger declared emphatically, “My responsibility ended
when the grounds were opened and the tests made.”
“Rotten timbers!” was Philadelphia Mayor John Weaver’s
opinion of the cause of the balcony crash when he inspected the
site along with other city officials two days after the accident.
He opined, “I am not a builder, but he looks to me as if the
construction of the balcony was faulty.” When asked who was
responsible for the rotten timbers, Weaver replied, “The people
whose duty it is to keep the stand in repair.” With an eye
toward insulating the city from any culpability, Weaver commented
that under present law, “building inspectors were not under
obligation to inspect buildings, except theaters, after they had
been completed unless some complaint was made.” He further
noted that the city did not have enough building inspectors to inspect
all such structures regularly.
By the time Weaver spoke, charges about the decrepit condition of
the balcony’s support structure had become common currency.
Reporters at the scene immediately after the accident observed the
problem at once. An Inquirer reporter wrote:
A cursory glance at the debris before its removal by the ball
park employees showed that much of the timber was in a badly decayed
state. While the main body of the wall looked firm, the bricks about
the top, where the joists protruded, were loose and some of them
looked as though the mortar had been worn out or washed away.
The efforts by Potter, Rogers, Ballinger, and Weaver to absolve
themselves from any fault can be well understood. The first lawsuit
filed as a result of the accident was submitted on 10 August. Attorney
John R. K. Scott, as counsel for Walter Mariner and Harry Quigley—two
of the men injured in the collapse—issued summonses from Courts
of Common Pleas Nos. 1 and 5, respectively, against the Philadelphia
Base Ball Club and Exhibition Company (Potter’s group) to
recover damages for the injuries they sustained. It was alleged
in the statements of claim “that the defendant company was
negligent in maintaining the overhanging promenade in a condition
which was unsafe for the patrons of the ballpark.”
Another lawsuit—the third one filed—asked for $5,000
in damages for James E. Dwyer, who was amongst the injured. While
the amount is a pittance compared to claims for damages in personal
injury suits filed today, it was a considerable amount back then.
The average annual salary for a major league baseball player in
1903, by comparison, was less than $3,000. The suit alleged that
the Philadelphia Base Ball Club and Exhibition Company was negligent
in not providing a safe passageway for patrons, and that the company
further rendered itself liable by not providing a sufficient number
of “special officers” at the ballpark to control the
crowds.
As the days passed, additional lawsuits were initiated, and eventually,
over 80 were filed. Later suits were expanded to also include the
Philadelphia Base Ball Club, Limited—the company headed by
Rogers and Reach—which owned the ballpark and from which Potter’s
group leased it for Phillies’ ball games.
The Coroner’s Inquest
Coroner Charles Dugan began his inquest into the accident on August
18th, and all six members of the jury were builders. The first witness
called was R. C. Ballinger, whose company had erected the balcony
and bleachers at the ballpark. He said the balcony had been constructed
only to accommodate those fans passing to and from the bleachers.
It was not intended, he explained, to “withstand a mob,”
and he added, “I can’t see where any one has any reason
to blame any one but himself. If an accident of the sort had happened
while they were seated, then they might have complained.”
Ballinger noted that the supporting joists were built of the “best
yellow pine lumber,” with an average life of seven-to-nine
years. The foreman in charge of the construction, David S. Lockwood,
appeared on the stand and testified that the building materials
and construction quality were good, and that the structure had been
subjected to extensive testing before the park was opened in 1895.
Colonel Rogers appeared as well and described in great detail the
story of the construction of the ballpark. He emphasized that there
had been no indication that the timbers extending from the wall
to support the balcony—which had been covered in tin for protection
when put in place—had rotted. Shettsline appeared next and
said that the special officers on duty at the ballpark had done
their best to control the crowd and return the curious to their
seats but had been simply overwhelmed by the mob.
Finally, James Potter took his place on the witness stand and testified
that when his corporation took over the Phillies in February 1903,
he had asked Colonel Rogers if there was anything that needed to
be done to improve the conditions in the grandstands. According
to Potter, Rogers replied, “You cannot spend a cent in the
way of repairs, for no repairs are needed.”
An Inquirer reporter offered this interpretation of the
cumulative testimony of the first day’s witnesses, “The
impression seemed to prevail that the fatal balcony might have withstood
ordinary usage for some time, but the great weight of the mob that
rushed upon it on the day of the accident was too much for even
an iron-braced balcony.”
The most sensational commentary during the second and final day
of testimony came from Edward Clark, an engineer of the Bureau of
Building Inspection who had examined the accident scene. He found
that in the area of the balcony that had collapsed, 50 of the wooden
support joists were “rotten and worthless,” 10 were
75% bad, and 14 were 50% bad. Only two of the joists were in good
condition. Disputing Ballinger, Clark said that the lumber used
for the joists was hemlock—not pine—and that water seeping
through nail holes created when the tin capping was affixed to the
joists had rotted the timber over the years.
The chief of the Bureau of Building Inspection, Robert C. Hill,
corroborated Clark’s testimony and pointed out that under
current law, inspectors had no right to enter a building after the
inspection following its completion except on complaint. Hill confirmed
that since the ballpark’s 1895 opening, it had not been inspected
by the bureau. He also condemned the use of hemlock in building
construction noting, “From what I have seen in the last two
weeks, I would not consider an application for a permit for any
stand of a permanent character in which hemlock forms the main foundation
or its component parts.”
The Coroner’s jury deliberated for two and one-half hours
after testimony on the ballpark disaster had concluded and announced
three principal findings:
The jury finds that the falling of a balcony on the left field
stand on 15th Street which caused the deaths of Joseph Edgar and
eleven others at the Philadelphia Base Ball Park was due to the
rotten condition of the supporting timbers. We further find that
the Philadelphia Base Ball Club, Limited (Rogers and Reach) were
responsible in not having a thorough examination made of those timbers
throughout the time of their ownership, and in stating at the time
of the transfer (to Potter’s group) that the buildings on
the grounds were in first-class condition.
We also find it our duty to recommend that the staff of the
inspectors for the Bureau of Building Inspection should be increased,
and that a number of inspectors should be assigned whose sole duty
it should be to inspect all places of amusement, ball parks, race-track
pavilions, external fire escapes, etc., and that they should be
empowered to enter upon the premises of any place at any and all
times to make such inspections as should insure the safety of the
patrons or employees thereof; and that a permit be issued and publicly
posted stating when the inspection was made and the condition of
the place.
The jury also recommends that the Bureau of Building Inspection
allow no hemlock lumber to be used in the stands of a permanent
nature or in buildings where big assemblages congregate. The jury
also recommends that there shall be no seating capacity allowed
under any stand of wood construction unless a permit is first secured
from the Bureau of Building Inspection.
The Disaster’s Legacy
The lawsuits wended languidly through the court system for six years,
reaching all the way up to the US Supreme Court. The Court largely
accepted the defense offered by the owners of National League Park
and the Phillies, ruling that an extraordinary number of fans had
congregated at a location where many of them should not have been,
and consequently, that neither the ball club nor the ballpark’s
landlords were responsible for the accident. Both were absolved
of all blame and financial responsibility.
By the time this ruling was handed down, Potter was long gone as
president of the Phillies. His tenure lasted just two seasons—1903
and 1904—and the team went from bad to worse during that time.
The Phillies finished in seventh place in 1903, posting an anemic
49-86 record. In 1904, the club finished in eighth and last place,
carving out a 52-100 record. This was the first time the Phillies
lost 100 or more games in a season, but certainly not the last.
A blue-blood and socialite of considerable status, Potter was out
of place in his role as Phillies president. Baseball historian Rich
Westcott has noted that had Potter bought “a polo franchise
instead of the Phillies in March 1903, maybe it would have all worked
out for the best.” The stockholders elected William Shettsline—an
experienced baseball man and long-time official with the Phillies—as
the new president. The syndicate organized by Potter sold the team
early in 1909 leaving him, in the words of baseball author David
Jordan, “very happy to be freed of any further connection
with baseball.”
The Phillies’ 1903 season changed abruptly because of the
accident. Shettsline attempted to restart games at the ballpark
on August 10th, saying that the left field bleachers would be roped
off and only the grandstand and right field bleachers would be used
to seat fans. City officials blanched at the proposal until the
entire ballpark could be thoroughly inspected. Potter canceled all
future games until an inspection could be done and repairs made.
A conference was held on August 17th between Potter and Ben Shibe,
the president of the American League’s Philadelphia Athletics.
It was agreed that until the Phillies’ ballpark was ready
to reopen, the team would continue its season by playing at the
Athletics’ home field—Columbia Park—located at
29th Street and Columbia Avenue. Forebodingly, a continuous rain
forced nine straight postponements of Phillies’ games at their
temporary location. When the team finally did get to play, it posted
a 6-9-1 record at Columbia Park before returning to National League
Park.
The arrangement between the Phillies and Athletics was a portent
of things to come. During the 1938 season, the Phillies finally
abandoned their ballpark—called Baker Bowl after one of the
team’s former owners William F. Baker—which by then
had come to be regarded as a “pitifully down-trodden heap
that always seemed on the verge of collapsing.” The team moved
down Lehigh Avenue to Shibe Park—the home of the Athletics—and
it remained their home field until after the 1970 season.
Before they were able to leave National League Park for good, however,
an additional collapse of part of the structure occurred during
a game. The Phillies were playing the St. Louis Cardinals on May
14, 1927 when it began to rain in the third inning. Hundreds of
fans from the bleachers swarmed into the lower deck side of the
first base grandstand trying to squeeze in under the pavilion roof
to keep dry. In the sixth inning, the Phillies exploded for eight
runs, and with each one scored, the fans cheered louder and stamped
harder on the wooden grandstand floor. Without warning in the seventh
inning, two sections of the stands—that had seats for about
300 fans—suddenly collapsed. Panic gripped the ballpark as
fans swarmed onto the field, and the head umpire responded to the
chaos by quickly calling off the game. Fifty spectators were injured,
but only one died, and it was later determined that his death had
been caused by a heart attack.
The legacy of “Black Saturday,” as the 1903 disaster
came to be known, included a profound influence on the future of
ballpark construction. In its wake appeared the classic American
ballparks that would dominate the 20th century, and their arrival
coincided conveniently with the use of reinforced concrete as a
building material. The first and most notable of these palaces was
Shibe Park—the home of the Philadelphia Athletics—which
opened in 1909. The souvenir program sold at the inaugural Opening
Day provided a detailed description of the ballpark’s construction,
and the unmistakable influence of the 1903 tragedy was apparent
in the text:
In the construction of the seating provisions of previous ballparks
the use of wood was general. Several unfortunate accidents called
serious attention to the need of something more durable than wood
for the safety of the enormous crowds which thronged parks where
winning baseball was being played…In the evolution of building
construction vast strides have been made, and daring builders experimented
with various materials to overcome the corrosive influences of time
and the elements. Up to the present time nothing has been contrived
which form a more lasting combination than wrought steel and cement.
Technically it is known as reinforced concrete…The bleachers
and grandstand and walls (at Shibe Park) are solid beds of concrete.
Philadelphia’s building inspection laws were also fundamentally
affected by the disaster. Taking up the recommendation of the Coroner’s
jury, Mayor Weaver called immediately for more rigorous and extensive
inspections of buildings in which the public gathered, declaring,
“I shall insist that provisions be immediately made that hereafter
all places where crowds congregate shall be thoroughly inspected.”
As the Inquirer noted at the time, Mayor Weaver’s
admonition, coupled with the recommendations of the jury, were “expected
to revolutionize the existing laws on building inspection.”
They did. The staff of inspectors at the Bureau of Building Inspection
was increased significantly, and legislation was soon enacted that
made more rigorous, frequent, and intrusive than heretofore had
been the case, the inspection of public buildings in Philadelphia.
The most visible evidence of these changes was the requirement that
owners of establishments where the public gathered post openly the
permits they had received from the inspection bureau attesting to
the soundness of the structure.
The most poignant measure of a disaster like the one that visited
National League Park on a hot August day in 1903, however, is in
human terms. This sad and all-too-obvious point is highlighted in
the fate of Joseph Edgar, one of the fatalities, as described by
the Inquirer:
Edgar had been in poor health and went to the game at the advice
of his physician, who advised open air recreation as a remedy for
his ailment. In starting for the base ball park he invited his son
Robert, aged 15 years, to accompany him, but the boy had an engagement
and did not go. The death of Joseph Edgar leaves a widow and five
children destitute.
Sources:
The Philadelphia Inquirer, August 9-12, 18-20, 1903
Michael Gershman, Diamonds: The Evolution of the Ballpark,
(Houghton Mifflin Co., 1993).
David M. Jordan, Occasional Glory: A History of the Philadelphia
Phillies, (Jefferson, McFarland & Co., 2002).
Lawerence S. Ritter, Lost Ballparks: A Celebration of Baseball’s
Legendary Fields, (New York, Penguin Books, 1992).
Rich Westcott, Philadelphia’s Old Ballparks, (Philadelphia:
Temple University Press, 1996).
Rich Westcott and Frank Bilovsky, The New Phillies Encyclopedia,
(Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1993).
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