Character Letters
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One would imagine that the recent controversy involving a certain Hollywood celebrity being convicted of terrible crimes, and certain other Hollywood celebrities volunteering to write letters to the court about the sterling character of their newly-convicted friend, would have nothing to do with baseball.
One would imagine. Alas…
Let me tell you the story of Sam Crane, erstwhile shortstop of the A’s, Reds and a couple of other teams. Also, a double-murderer.
Born in Harrisburg, PA, in September, 1894, Sam Crane was tall and thin, and earned a reputation as a good-fielding shortstop in the amateur and semipro leagues around his hometown. At one point, he started being called “Leaping Sam” after his ability to jump up for high line drives. He was also sometimes called Lucky, but most commonly was known as Red.
In 1914, when he was still just 19-years old, he signed to play with the Greensboro Patriots of the North Carolina State League. He displayed that great glove, as always, and enough offensively (23 steals, a stunning total of FIFTY sacrifices) that Connie Mack of the A’s took a chance and drafted him when Greensboro’s season ended. Just turned 20, Crane made his major league debut that October, once the A’s had clinched the pennant, playing in two games and going hitless.
Still, he impressed Mack enough to invite him to Spring Training the following year, hoping to revamp his hitting. He spent most of the season in the minor leagues again, this time for the Richmond Climbers, where batted an unspectacular .257 with little power. His glove got him called up to the A’s in August, but between an illness and his terrible hitting, he appeared in only eight games.
He appeared to have the shortstop job won the following spring, and was in the A’s Opening Day lineup, but he injured his leg the next day, lost his job to Whitey Witt, and was shipped back to the minor leagues.
This is pretty much how it went for Crane the rest of his baseball career. He was traded to the Washington Senators in 1917, played terribly, and was sent to the minor leagues. He spent all of 1918 bouncing between three different minor leagues teams, and then spent all of 1919 in Double A. Traded to Cincinnati, he finally spent an entire season in the big leagues in 1920, but batted just .215 and got less than 200 plate appearances. Still, his glove allowed him to ride the bench the following season, but then he was traded again, this time to Brooklyn. Crane played only three games for the Dodgers before his contract was sold to the Seattle Indians of the Pacific Coast League.
Crane never played in the big leagues again. He stuck with Seattle for four seasons, the most stability he had during his baseball career. He even met and married his wife, Thelma, while playing there. But in 1926, his contract was sold to Buffalo, then it was sold again the next year to Reading back in his home state. After batting just .196 for the Keystones, it was clear his playing days were done.
Here’s where Crane’s life took an interesting, sad turn.
In 1928, still living in Reading, Crane met a woman named Della Lyter, a stenographer for the state highway administration. The two began an affair, which was quickly discovered by Thelma Crane. Not surprisingly, she filed for divorce, as Crane found himself so obsessed with Lyter that he mortgaged his mother’s house in order to set up an apartment love nest for the two of them.
Lyter, however, didn’t see things quite the same way. The following year, she began dating a prior boyfriend, John Oren, and ended the affair with Crane. Between the breakup, the divorce, the end of his baseball career, and heavy drinking, Red Crane pretty much lost his mind. On August 3, 1929, Crane got very, very drunk, and it appears he went looking for Lyter and Oren.
He found them at a hotel bar in Harrisburg. They went into a side room off the bar and Crane followed, pulled out a pistol, and fired five times. Two shots hit Lyter, and another two hit Oren, who was attempting to hit Crane with, of all things, a ukulele. Crane ran, and might have gotten away, but when he sobered up later, his conscience got the better of him and he walked into the police station and turned himself in.
Oren died the next day, and Lyter died on August 7.
At the ensuing trial six weeks later, Crane testified in his own defense, admitting to the shooting but claiming temporary insanity as a result of being drunk and heartbroken. The jury was unconvinced, and convicted him of Lyter’s second-degree murder. Six months later, he was also found guilty in Oren’s murder. Though the death penalty was sought in both cases, his life was spared and he was sentenced to a term of 18 to 36 years in Graterford Prison.
After just five years in prison, Crane was eligible for parole. He’d been a model prisoner, working in the superintendent’s office and playing on the prison baseball team. The warden liked him, and endorsed his release, saying he deserved a second chance.
Beginning in 1935, Connie Mack testified to the parole board about Crane’s character every year. “While a member of our club,” Mack said, “there was not a finer young man than Sam Crane.” Mack went on to say that Crane’s crime shocked all of his friends, and that he feared for Crane’s sanity if he wasn’t released. “If something is done soon he will be in the asylum,” Mack said, adding that he had a job waiting for Crane upon his release. “I hope you will see your way clear to release him so he can return to his dear old mother.” Mack didn’t mention the part about Crane mortgaging his mother’s house so he could carry on an affair with his mistress.
The parole board didn’t grant Crane’s release until 1944, after he’d served 15 years of his sentence. Mack testified about his character every year for the last ten years of Crane’s term, and did offer him a job, as promised. Crane turned it down for a better-paying job in a defense plant.
So, apparently, you don’t have to be a C-list actor to have famous friends tell judges what a wonderful person you are. You can also be a light-hitting, philandering, murdering shortstop and still rely on Hall of Famers to tell the authorities that you’re a swell guy.
