In episode three of this series, I began a two-part exploration of the encounter between Toronto’s George Bell and Boston’s Bruce Kison on June 23rd, 1985. Having visited Kison side of things, we will now consider the life and times of George Bell.
In the late 1970s scouts all around major league baseball began descending upon the Dominican Republic, which had suddenly been identified as highly lucrative territory. The DR was home to countless talented young ball players and those ball players due to the country’s dire economic conditions were highly exploitable.
With the unemployment rate around 40% teams realized they could sign players for a lot less than American prospects asked for. And if those Dominican players did happen to get signed by a major league team, they were sent to the states socially isolated by the language barrier and dependent upon agents who were often crooked and looking to swindle ’em all over again.
A cruel irony recalled by George Bell, one of those young Dominican players, was that while navigating this labyrinth of shameless exploitation, he was the one looked at with suspicion. American players found any reason they could to dislike him. His English wasn’t polished enough, he was too this, not enough that, didn’t play the game the right way.
In 1982, while playing for minor league Syracuse, Bell stepped in against Lynn McGlothen, an 11 year Major League vet pitching in AAA ball in the hopes of one last call up. In a game years earlier while pitching for the Cardinals, McGlothen beamed one New York Mets batter then brushed back another three innings later, then hit that batter too. The intent was so transparently clear that the Mets Dave Kingman charged the mound straight from the dugout.
McGlothen did not hesitate to throw at a batter if he had the inclination and he seemed to resent George Bell for the same superficial reasons everybody else did. Bell was a hotdogger. It was decided. McGlothen drilled him in the face, fracturing his cheek and jawbones. While his teammates stormed the field to exact revenge, Bell arrived on the ground certain that his career in baseball, his one chance at a better life was over.
“He’s dead,” Bell thought of McGlothen, not because Bell would kill him or because his teammates would, but because fate would one day catch up with him.
Two years later, McGlothen lost his life in a fire. His friend was also killed with everyone else escaping the home. Bell who’d fully recovered and made his way to the majors, addressed the tragedy sometime after seemingly unprompted. He expressed his sympathies for the friends and loved ones of those who died then said in McGlothen’s fate, “People like that decide it. They have a bad heart. No way they can stay alive.”
You might find those words to be callous, even cruel. I mean I do. Then again, I doubt either of us have persevered through the circumstances Bell did only for somebody to break his face and potentially ruin his life just for playing baseball with a little bit too much swagger.
Baseball was George Bell’s one and only chance at a better life, the sort of life we’d wish for anybody, and he was fiercely, sometimes even violently protective of that chance.
