They called him “Dummy,” but William Ellsworth Hoy outsmarted them all.
Anointed with an insulting nickname because he was a deaf-mute, made fun of because he couldn’t talk, belittled because people resisted giving him a chance, Hoy grew up in the less-sensitive American 19th century.
Yet through his own skill, cleverness and perseverance, he skirted obstacles, made believers out of doubters and emerged as a Major League Baseball star for the Cincinnati Reds and other teams between 1888 and 1902.
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Click here to purchase photos from this galleryA member of the Reds Hall of Fame, seemingly destined for a quiet life on the family farm and a side career as a shoe cobbler in Houcktown, Ohio, the determined Hoy proved to be a brilliant fielder and baserunner, a solid hitter and a borderline candidate for the National Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, New York.
If only for inspiration, Hoy merited consideration, though he was also involved in the innovation of umpires calling balls and strikes by signaling with their hands.
Deprived of hearing and speech, Hoy adapted, astutely toting a small notebook and pencil with him wherever he traveled to carry on conversations with managers, teammates and others.
Hoy would not be silenced. Fate sought to silence him, but he would not stand for it. He always got his message across. Not able to hear cheers for his performances, Hoy said, “I see the crowd roar.”
How he started
Hoy was born May 23, 1862, and when he was 3, he lost his hearing because of an attack of spinal meningitis. There was no other hearing loss in his family, and in Civil War-era America and soon after, there were limited facilities for educating the deaf.
Eventually, his parents discovered a school in Columbus, Ohio, and Hoy proved to be a very adept student. He was also incidentally introduced to baseball, watching older boys play the game at his school.
Initially, he was shooed away from the games because he was too young and small (he never stood taller than 5-foot-6 and weighed about 160 pounds in his prime), but he practiced intensely and made himself into a ballplayer. His family offered no encouragement, instead emphasizing he should learn a trade.
Hoy did so, becoming a respected cobbler. But his passion was for baseball and when a passing scout observed him playing in a local game, the door opened.
It was no smooth ride. Hoy faced prejudice because of his hearing problem. He had not developed speech but possessed a high-pitched squeaky voice. He took to writing notes to make himself understood, a scenario re-enacted in a documentary about Hoy called “Dummy Hoy: A Deaf Hero.”
Hoy did not give journalists long interviews since they did not know American Sign Language, and it is not exactly clear how much time he spent penning notes and letters.
However, the National Baseball Hall of Fame does have some of his handwritten correspondence, including an exchange in 1935 with Ford Frick, then the National League president. Hoy was thanking Frick, who later became commissioner of baseball, for sending him a lifetime pass to big-league games.
“This is to thank you and the National League for remembering me so handsomely,” Hoy wrote in part April 22.
Hoy had distinguished, neat penmanship; however, this letter was probably more precisely written than the quickie notes he thrust in front of managers when he argued for more playing time.
Although some have said so, Hoy was not the first deaf player in the majors. He was preceded by pitchers Ed Dundon and Tom Lynch, and some say Dundon and umpire Bill Klem played as large a role in bringing balls and strikes hand signals to the majors as Hoy.
In the Hoy documentary, there is a scene when the center fielder steps into the plate to face the pitcher. The opponent is Luther “Dummy” Taylor, another deaf big-leaguer. The two men offered brief, satisfactory and lighthearted greetings to one another.
“I’m glad to see you,” Hoy signed to Taylor and Taylor responded in kind.
Hoy and Taylor did meet on the field May 16, 1902, in a game between Hoy’s Reds and Taylor’s New York Giants. Taylor pressured his teammates to learn sign language.
The nickname “Dummy” was commonplace for someone who could not speak, even if the recipients may not have appreciated the broader implications. Taylor was neither easily insulted nor worried about defending himself and his honor. His youthful aspiration was to become a professional boxer.
“In the old days, Hoy and I were called Dummy,” Taylor said. “It didn’t hurt us. It made us fight harder. Nobody ever felt sorry for me.”
Over the decades, more people admired rather than felt sorry for Hoy, too.
Hoy finds playing time
Hoy’s biggest problem starting out was public relations. He had to sell himself to franchise operatives who thought it might be too much bother to have a deaf player on the teams.
When Hoy obtained a tryout, he shined. When scouts and managers saw the way he could throw and how well he could field (gloves were still not worn at all times as regular equipment), they were impressed. Hoy often sealed the deal with his speed. He could track down balls hit far, and he was elusive on the base paths.
His detour from baseball in the shoe repair world meant Hoy did not receive a professional baseball chance until he was 24. He signed with a team in Oshkosh, Wisconsin.
After other players and spectators got used to what they considered to be Hoy’s quirks as someone who could not hear or speak, he developed a supportive fan base.
Once, Hoy made a catch so deep in center field it took on the aura of the fantastic, at least, and fictional at its most extreme. The deep section of the outfield served as a parking lot for the horse-and-buggy crowd that rode to the late 1880s games.
It was said Hoy retreated “back, back, back,” as former ESPN commentator Chris Berman used to say, on hard-driven fly balls, placed his foot on the shaft of a buggy to propel himself upward and speared the ball.
Though there was no video, the story, as it would be said these days, went viral, gaining mythic status. The catch may or may not have played out that way, but something unusual and spectacular definitely happened.
“I was as surprised as anyone else in the park when I looked into my glove and found the ball finally came to rest in my clutched, padded fingers, much to my astonishment and to the astonishment of the onlookers,” Hoy said.
Hoy was in the majors with the Washington Nationals by 1888, and he batted .274 and stole a National League-leading 82 bases as a 26-year-old rookie.
Before the American League came into existence in 1901 and brought some stability to the sport, there were challenges to the National League from the Players League and the American Association, both considered major leagues. During the span of his career, Hoy wore uniforms of teams representing all four leagues, including the AL.
Lifetime, Hoy batted .288, three times hitting over .300, accumulated 2,048 hits and stole 596 bases. A smart, top-of-the-order man, twice Hoy led leagues in base on balls. He scored more than 100 runs in a season nine times. He set fielding records for putouts and chances.
Beginning early in his professional career, hometown fans clued in that Hoy could not hear their applause. Instead of shouting to praise him, they stood up and waved their arms.
Hoy made a mark with the Reds between 1894 and 1897 and again in 1902, the last season of his career when he was 40.
A plaque honoring Hoy is mounted on a wall in the Cincinnati Reds Hall of Fame and Museum adjacent to Great American Ball Park. He was inducted into the team’s Hall of Fame on Aug. 3, 2003. Among Hoy’s credentials listed, in addition to those those prime statistics, was the phrase “Deaf and Used Amer. Sign Language.”
Hoy earned respect from other good players and baseball officials, who felt he should be in the National Baseball Hall Fame, due to such performances as throwing out three men at home plate in one game in 1889.
“From the outfield, I mean,” said star outfielder “Wahoo” Sam Crawford. “And still they don’t give him a tumble for the Hall of Fame. It’s not right.”
Veteran Tommy Leach roomed on the road with Hoy and shared the outfield in Louisville in 1899. Leach said he could never call for a fly ball because Hoy could not hear him, but if Hoy thought the catch should be his, he made a “little squeaky sound.”
Enduring fame
Educational opportunities for the deaf are more comprehensive in the 21st century than they were for Hoy in the 19th. However, Gallaudet University in Washington, D.C., founded in 1864 as a grammar school for the deaf and blind, has changed with the times.
The school has a fully developed athletic program, including a baseball team. Hoy Field, where the Bison play their home games, is named after William Ellsworth Hoy, and a plaque onsite explains his Major League career.
In 1961, about a month before Hoy’s 99th birthday and eight months before he died, he was asked to throw out the first pitch at a Reds game. He still had a good enough arm.
William Ellsworth “Dummy” Hoy could not hear those fans cheering for him, either. But he could still see the crowd’s roar.