The Tacoma times. [volume] (Tacoma, Wash.) 1903-1949, 1911-09-27
CHAPTER |.
THE. CRAR.

It was Charlie Brydon who
christened Henry Gilman 1.-THE
| Crab" Charlie, who is the, dean
of all baseball scribes, possesses
the fatal gift of humor and acute
characterization in dealing with
his victims. and the first week that
Gilman appeared with the Pink
Sox, Charlie branded him with the
name which chung to him to the
end of his service. And Gilman,
having no more sense of 'shumor
than a cigar-store Indian, never
spoke to a newspaper man, after
Ithat-which was the very worst
thing he could have done.
The baseball fans took to the
name instantly, and Poor Gilman
never had a chance to be anything
but "The Crab" during the entire
ten years he played third base for
the Pinks. A silent, thoughtful
young man, he retired into his
shell, and never came out again.
The other players made a few at
tempts to show friendly interest
in the quiet, black-browed fellow
but met with no success, and even
on that lively, cheerful team. GIL
man never had pal, or made an
Intimate friend. il
1t was not that the Crab had a
lquarrelsome disposition; it was
merely that che couldn't seem to
loosen up" as the players express
ed it.
After the first few months, the
ID l.; hni In
daily schedule. They knew that
after he laced his street shoes, and
parted his thin, dark hair with tho
little red comb which he always
carried, they would see little more
of him until the next day at the
ball park.
He was seldom seen at a thea
ter; he could not play billiards or
pool; he would not play poker or
shoot craps; and it was common
rumor that when on the road he
saved his entire salary check.
Most of his evenings were spent
in his room at the hotel, and the
Sox used to say that he wrote a
long letter to his wife every night.
Joe Holmes, the manager, knew
that the Grab always carried pic
lures of his wife and two children
with him, and put them up on the
dresser in his hall bedroom.
During the winters, the Crab
worked hard upon his farm in
Kansas, and among ballplayers
there was a settled belief that the
Crab was almost wealthy. This
was not true, for he had never
drawn large salary, as big
league salaries go.
Hes got every dollar he ever
made in his life," some of the
young bloods used to say. "He
must have, because he never spent
lone!"
This was also a mistake, but the
Crab did have sixty acres of good
land and a comfortable home =
something to go back to when his
lplaying days should be over.
Joe Holmes never had any trou-
BILE with Gilman when it came time
to sign a new contract. Gilman
was a business man. He knew, to
cent, what he was worth to the
club, and always compromised for
a little less.
Each spring the baseball report
ers at the training camp sent in a
few lines after this fashion,:
Henry Gilman, the Demon
Crab, turned up this morning,
nursing his same old crouch. He
wintered as usual on his Kansas
ranch, and seems fit as ever"
baseball copy, for he never told
any good stories, and 1t was be-
lieved that he did not know any.
He was as much a fixture at third
base for the Pinks as the bag it
self, and just about as reliable,
| but for some reason or other, Gill
man was never a popular player,
even in the home town.
Funny thing" Holmes used to
say, but Gilman hasn't the
knack of catching on with a
crowd. Lots of fellows do it who
aren't even in the same class with
him as a player; lots of third
baseman get applause for pulling
off stuff that Henry gets away
with every day of his life, and the
crowd seems to take 1t as a mat
ter of course. IL you ask me, l
think he's the best third baseman
in the world-and I'm about the
only man who thinks So"
Gilman never was rated as a
sensational performer. He had
but one steady gait from opening
day to the end of the season, and
he never varied 1t hairs
breadth. This was because he
was always doing the best that
was in him; he could do no
more, and he would do no less.