THE AMERICAN BOY

August 1922

MARBLES A NATIONAL SPORT NOW

Who'll Be the Champion in 1923?

By ARMSTRONG PERRY

 NEXT YEAR there will be an American champion who will not be over sixteen years of age. He may be as young as ten.

He will not be a "junior champion" in a sport whose real champs are older, but a real master of a real game. If college athletes challenge him he will meet them on equal terms and probably defeat them. Perhaps that champion will be yourself.

The game in which this national champion will be as well known and as popular as "Babe" Ruth is in baseball is called by different names in different places. In New York they call it "Yorkers." In Newark it is "Miggles." Philadelphians say "Commons Down" or "Aggries Down" and in Baltimore the word is "Hoodles." The name by which the sport is recognized throughout the United States is "Marbles."

It has been played for so many centuries that no history records its beginnings. Cain and Abel may have made clay marbles, baked them in the sun and scratched in the dirt outside of Eden the first ring around which boys ever knuckled down. Psychologists and that kind of people say the sports of childhood prove that among the earliest playthings of the human race were objects formed like the balls we use in sports to-day-baseballs, footballs, basketballs, golf balls and marbles. The size, materials and accessories used depended upon whether the gang that played were juniors, leaguers, or has-beens, but in all the best games the most necessary article has always been a sphere that could he rolled, thrown, caught, shot, or batted. Old fellows who could not sit on their heels and get up again without ripping a scam or puffing like a porpoise developed a game in which they chased a pill around a ten-acre lot` and walloped it now and then with a bagful of high-priced clubs, so they could continue to play with the younger fellows. The boy whose pennies have not 1-et grown to dollars and who can bend, kneel, or stand on his head without straining anything chooses a game so simple that it can be played by any number, vet so skillful that no adult ever yet has been able to win consistently, if at all, from a player half his age. Such a game is marbles.

Until this year shooting marbles was looked upon by adults as a sort of disease that broke out and spread like measles between the hockey and the baseball seasons. Like everything else that boys go crazy over it was often discouraged by their elders. Mothers sometimes used shingles in persuading their sons not to play "for keeps." That feature of the game is still in disfavor. But suddenly, at the beginning of the season for 1922, America discovered that marbles was a real game.

Playground directors had been running marble contests for some time. Jersey City discovered that these local contests could be used as elimination trials for a city-wide tournament. A city champion having been developed by such a tournament, of course the next step was to stack him up against the champions of other cities. Just as the city fathers were trying to decide what city to pick on first, along came a challenge from Washington, D. C., the marble capital of the U. S. A.

The Rotary Club and the Park Commission of Jersey City laid the proposition before Charles "Buster" Rech who had won from all the thousands of boys who entered the city tournament. "Buster" was willing to take on Congress and the Supreme Court if they wanted him to. That was in effect what they said in the telegram they shot back to The News, the paper that forwarded the challenge and promoted the Washington tournament to select the capital's champion.

The playground directors of Washington went about the selection of their champion in a big way. There are twenty-seven playgrounds in Washington. On each of these a series of games was played to bring out the neighborhood champ. The playground stars were brought together in district tournaments. In one of these a girl, Anna Topley, who had defeated 150 boys in the preliminaries, went all the way through to the semifinals and the boy population of the District of Columbia quaked with fear lest Washington's representative should go to Jersey City in skirts. As her last opponent set his muscles for the final shot he heard, close to his car: "Fella, if you kill her, we'll get you and we'll run you ragged." Anna had masculine friends. The threat, however, did not spoil his aim and Anna did not reach the finals.

This all happened in what President Harding had set aside as Children's Week. Jersey City's acceptance of the challenge was received on the first day and put all Washington contenders on their mettle. Two circus

tickets were offered as prizes for each of the twentyseven winners of the contests on the individual playgrounds. The Playground Association of America gave a year's subscription to "Playground" to each. This is the magazine that prints the news of all the playground, in the country. Those who won second places received tickets for a local theater. The Rotary Club of Jersey City offered to entertain the Washington representative during his visit to their town and provided a silver loving cup as the prize for the match.

The playground directors, in order to qualify to act as referees, played the game until they understood all the fine points. A reporter rashly volunteered to play an exhibition match with the director of boys' activities. Here is his paper's account of the game:

It was a shame ! After half an hour, The News reporter got up, dusted his knees, and offered to beat Kirk at dominoes. One of the young ladies asked, if his thumb was sore. It was !

Here's - how it went: They "pinked" for first and the reporter won. It was the last thing he won. He picked up his shooter and was about to fire away, when Mr. Kirk called: "Fen Inchin!'' The reporter backed away. "Fen Histing," said Mr. Kirk. "Fen everything," said the reporter, and popped at the ring. No justice!

Mr. Kirk rubbed his shooter on his knee in the professional manner and made a clean hit, knocking one marble from pati. His next missed.

The reporter knelt and shot carefully; his shooter rolled feebly into the ring and stopped. Mr. Kirk calmly swept up the remaining marbles and pint them in his pocket.

"What's the matter?" asked the reporter.

"You're dead."

"Oh, is that it? I knew something was wrong."

Tell your mother that this man was Alan Rinehart, son of Mary Roberts Rinehart. She knows Mrs. Rinehart.

The newspaper accounts of the championship games began to take as much space as the baseball stories. "D. C. Boys in Hot Race for Chance to Meet Marble Champ;" "Here's How Joseph Poisoned His Pals;" "Lefty Lucile Killed by Shot from Jack Kelley's Knee;" "Historic Marble Battle To-day;" such were the headlines that woke Washington to the fact that important events were in progress.

The Mike and Buster Match

THERE WERE FOUR CONTESTANTS in the final game but one was "poisoned" early. Each of the others knocked a marble from the ring, and were then free to either shoot for other commies or try to put each other out of the game. Back and forth across the ring flew the aggies. The strategy was to hit the mark but also to direct the shot so that in case of failure the shooter was safe from attack. Sometimes they pretended to fall short, but it was only a ruse to get the other fellow to pluck and place himself in danger. One was caught in his own trap and killed. That left it but two. For a half hour these played the game of their lives. Safety first was the motto. Then one lad saw an opening. A moment he sighted, then his alley flew to its mark.

When all was over but the shouting Mike Troiano, fourteen, son of a shoemaker and brother to seven boys and girls, shook hands with his last opponent and hurried home, forgetting that he was supposed to call at the newspaper office for his prizes. The next day he was accompanied to the Union Station by a special guard of seventy-five pals, all of whom went without their luncheon to see him off. Boxes of candy were showered upon hint but his trainer said, "Let it alone till after to-morrow," and Mike passed up the sweets. In marbles, even, one must train.

When Rome was in her glory her warriors went forth in battle with the determination to come back with their shields or on them. Only the changes that civilization has wrought kept Mike from coming home on a stretcher with a lily in his hand. He played two games. Behind Buster Rech, his opponent, were the governor of New Jersey, the mayor of Jersey City, a brass band, forty newspaper reporters, and thousands of Jersey rooters. With him was only Rinehart of Washington.

Mike kept a stiff upper lip and played his game. It was to be two out of three. The first round he lost by a trick of fate. His aggie struck a pebble and stopped where Buster couldn't miss it. In the second game Buster took a chance, shot from twenty feet away, and won. Mike knew that it was a possibility but the sudden ending of his hopes left him stunned for an instant. Then he braced up, strode across the ring and stuck out his hand. "Nice shot!" he said.

But even a loser has something coming to him, in marbles. Mike was banqueted by various organizations and driven about New York in a car with a flaming sign: "Marble Champion, Washington, D. C."

"Fat" a Warlike Game

WHILE the Jersey City-Washington match was brewing, Philadelphia came to the front with an equally pretentious plan for supremacy in the national sport. A city-wide tournament was conducted and William "Red" Stoddard proved himself to be the logical wearer of the Quaker City's colors. Other cities were inivited to send their champions to meet him in the concluding event of a thrilling Boy Week.

Baltimore selected its champion by a process of elimination similar to that used in the other cities. Frank McQuade was the winner. How seriously the great city took the matter is shown by the fact that McQuade and his five nearest rivals were the guests of honor at the Rotary Club, the Advertising Club, the Kiwanis Club, and the Civitan Club, eating four swell dinners within the four days immediately preceding his battle at Philelphia. New York sent Nickey Markoff who carried the aggie with which Mayor Hylan had fired the first shot in the Manhattan tournament. From Newark went Marjorie Ruth, who responded to her mayor's s call for volunteers and thus became the first girl who ever took part in a national marble shooting contest.

The game played in Philadelphia was different from that used at Washington and Jersey City, which is called "fat," "pati," "pattie," or "poison." "Fat" is a warlike game. The players put two commies each into a small circle, from one to two feet in diameter. From a line twenty-five feet away they pink for first shot. The one whose aggie rolls nearest to the ring shoots first and the others follow in order of their distance from the ring. After a player knocks a commie from the ring he is "poison", which means that he may shoot at the other players' aggies and, if he hits one, that player is out of the game. If his own aggie stops in the ring he is out of the game. When there is but one marble left in the ring it must remain there until all but one contestant has been retired. If it is knocked out it is immediately replaced.

The Quakers specified for use in their tournament a different game, called "Ringers" and other names. There is a thirteen foot circle from the edge of which the players make their first shot. Concentric with this is a two-foot circle in which each player places five marbles. The object is to knock as many commies out of the ring as possible. The opponents' aggies are not attacked except for the purpose of driving them farther from the inner ring.

The prize was a silver loving cup, on which the winner's name would be engraved and which he would keep for one year. Any boy who wins it in three annual tournaments may keep it for good.

The interest centered on Stoddard and McQuade. Both, so the papers said, came from long lines of marble-shooting ancestors. The Baltimore Sun, which engineered the tournament in that city, said of McQuade: "He is really Frank J. McQuade, Jr., and his father shot a wicked agate before him. His grandfather, Wm. Mabers, was an employee of The Sun for a generation and was the cat's whiskers when it came to shooting marbles." But Frank's father who, after letting his son set out alone for Philadelphia, couldn't resist the temptation to see him play and followed on the next train, confided to a spectator that Frankie had not relied on heredity to win for him. He had done some real training, all he could do without getting a sore thumb.

"How long has he been playing marbles?" asked the spectator.

"Ever since his thumb was strong enough," replied the father.

"Does he play much?"

"Never more than twelve hours a day," was the answer.

"Red" used a greenish agate, Frank a moon agate. They fingered them nervously as they and the other two contenders mounted the officials' platform and sat down.

The band played, a cordon of police pushed the three thousand crowding spectators back from the circle, the referee led the contestants into the arena and introduced them.

The players blew on their aggies, polished them on their clothes, limbered tip their thumbs and dobbed in five commies each. The referee tossed a coin for first shot. Frankie won, got the first marble and annexed the first game. In the second game, "Red" vs. Ruth, "Red" won 9 to 1, but the young lady came back and soon had three games to her credit. The victory went to the" player who in all the games knocked the greatest number of marbles out of the ring. The final score stood McQuade, Baltimore, 57. Stoddard, Philadelphia, 55. Ruth, Newark, 35. Markoff, New York. 33.

Jersey City claimed for Buster Rech the national championship. When Frankie McQuade heard of it he said: "How does he get that way? All I can find out about Buster is that he beat a boy named Mike Troiano of Washington while I was beating the Baltimore bunch."

Then he was told that "Red" Stoddard wanted another chance at him.

"When?" he asked. That was all he said, but the way he said it was enough.

National Tournament Next

BY THIS TIME marble championships where getting to be hot dog all over. Even Boston had one. In a match between Washington and Tidewater, Virginia, one newspaper measured the two contestants like a pair of prize fighters, published the measurements and said that on account of the shapes of their hands one player would win at "fat" and the other at "ringers" and it came out just as the paper predicted. The Scripps- McRae organization, which has a string of twenty-eight newspapers, called a hundred editors together for a conference about this time and they all began to talk about marbles. Before they finished they had spent a half a day discussing the game and had decided to organize a national tournament for 1923 to decide whether Buster Rech or Frankie McQuade is the real national champion or whether the title belongs to some boy in San Francisco, New Orleans, or elsewhere

The Strategy of Marbles

THE AMERICAN Boy in order to prepare its readers  for the contest decided to investigate the different games and the different styles of play used by the champions and give them the best information available. As to games, there seem to be but two that are recognized anywhere as tournament games: "Fat" and "Ringers." These have been described. Local rules differ somewhat. In some cities players shoot from any position. In the Philadelphia contest they had to knuckle down except when shooting from the rim of the big circle. "Sneaking", "trolling", "hystings", "everys", "inching" and the like are subject to the rules made for any tournament.

The strategy varies, of course, according to which game is being played. When the player knows that his opponent can put him out of the game by hitting his agate he naturally keeps it as far away as he can. But if the only danger is that of having his shooter knocked away from the ring for a longer or shorter distance lie is more willing to take a chance. 

The champions have as many styles of shots as a good billiard player. They use "English" and "reverse English" and they draw or follow by putting a back-spin or an over-spin on the agate.

There are two general styles of shooting. Some good players use the thumb nail in making a shot and some use the first knuckle. As Buster Rech is one of the exponents of the latter style I went to interview him.

I asked a boy in the neighborhood where Charles Rech lived, that being the name given me by the playground director.

" `Buster' Rech, yuh mean," he answered, pointing. "In dat house, dat's where the champ lives."

"Is he home?" I inquired.

He grinned mysteriously and answered "Sure!"

Two other boys came up and said Buster was not at home but the first stuck to his story.

I went in and knocked on the door on the first floor that was pointed out to me. After a time a boy came to the door. I asked if Charlie Rech lived there and he said he was out. I asked when I could see him and he said: "Maybe to-morrow."

"That will be too late," I said, and I explained what I wanted to see the champion about.

"I can tell you anything you want to know, I'm Buster's brother," he said.

He was about 5 feet 6 inches tall, weighed about 130 pounds, and was sturdy, husky and neat

appearing. His eyes were brown. His light hair was parted on the side. He answered my questions but volunteered no additional information.

"How old is Buster?" I asked.

"About fifteen."

"Do you both live here with your parents?"

"Yes, sir."

"How long has Buster been playing marbles?"

"Oh, like every boy, ever since I can remember."

"Did he go to the Philadelphia tournament?"

" No, Philadelphia didn't ask Jersey City. I guess they wanted to keep the championship in Philly."

"Does Buster go in for athletics?"

"Yes. Plays football, baseball, basketball and everything."

"Pretty good?"

He admitted it, modestly.

"How does he train?"

"Oh, he drinks a quart of milk every day and gets lot, of sleep, especially on Saturday and Sunday."

"How many different marble games do you know about?"

"Another reporter asked me a lot of trick names. All I know is `aggies' and `reefers.' "

"Let's see, what else is there to tell about marbles?"

"Oh you can put in a lot of other stuff like the rest of the reporters did!"

Then I came to the main point of my interview - the secret of the knuckle shot that carried Buster to victory. "Why does Buster shoot with his knuckle instead of with his thumb nail?" I asked.

Believing that there might be some secret to conceal I watched him closely, but he answered promptly and frankly

"Gee, because he wore a hole through his thumb nail one time!"

As I reached the street the boy who had told me Buster was home came up. "Did youse see de champ?" he asked.

"No," I answered. " Buster' wasn't home but I saw his brother."

Again he grinned, not mysteriously but pityingly.

"Gee but youse is a bum reporter!" he ejaculated. "Buster ain't got no brother--dat was him'"

HOME    MAIN SITE MAP     CONTACT US