Kirk Alyn and Bob Hope

We were never quite sure of who first suggested the idea, but the effects were certainly far reaching. Basically the plan was to send forth from Hollywood two baseball teams-- one composed of comedians, one of leading men-- on a nationwide tour of the country’s main ball parks. Everyone who participated would benefit from the publicity and the proceeds would be a Bonanza for the City of Hope Hospital fund. The exhibition games were expected to draw capacity crowds and they didn’t disappoint the planners. As Superman I was invited to join the group, not in either category, but it was suggested that there might be some special angle to my performance. I was delighted to be along; in pictures an actor misses the live audience he is used to if his background has been on the stage.

The first game was scheduled for Soldier’s Field in Chicago. Hopalong Cassidy was the umpire, and the bleachers were filled with wildly cheering fans of movie folk as well as baseball buffs. They had come to see such "Greats" as Bob Hope, Buddy Rogers, Sonny Tufts, Wayne Morris, Roddy McDowell, and Anthony Quinn. There too was a bevy of beautiful girls like Ava Gardner and assorted startlets acting as bat girls and as a cheering section.

The action moved along through its innings with an ever increasing hilarity as the far-from-expert actors clowned to the point where the comedians were trailing by just one run. The bases were loaded and there were already two strikes on the man at bat. A real crisis! After a big huddle-for general effect-somebody yelled, "Pinch Hitter!" Then Gary Moore of "To Tell the Truth" fame, who was serving as a kind of narrator of the game, announced loudly, "A pinch hitter-who will it be? Is it a bird? Is it a plane? Oh No! It’s Superman," and the crowd blew its collective stack as I emerged from the pit with the now well-known cape flapping in the breeze behind me.

As I strode toward home plate the news reel cameramen closed in around me, and if I had had presence of mind enough to mention the probable risks, the story would have had a different ending. They were crouching low to catch the exact impact of the ball with the bat, and the pitcher, not sensing the problem, let fly with the "special" ball. It was constructed to fly all apart o contact to give the impression of having been hit with super-human strength, but alas, it wasn’t hit at all. In being sure the cameramen were unhurt, I had missed the ball entirely, and Superman, Like the Mighty Casey, had struck out. For a second or two I knew for sure how Casey felt that day at Mudville.

I never expect to hear another roar such as came out of those bleachers that afternoon. I looked around to see people fairly falling out of their seat with laughter. They whooped and yelled and big tears were rolling down their faces from laughing so hard. Such pandemonium! It went on more than five minutes without decreasing even one decibel. During the uproar the bat girl had plenty of time to get another "Special" ball for the pitcher. In the meantime, Hopalong Cassidy called the managers of both teams together and they decided that I should be allowed another pitch on some technicality or other.

As the cause of all the uproar, I had plenty of time to think about what to do next. Happily I recalled Babe Ruth’s brilliant solution to a similar dilemma. He had had a strike-out streak and the fans were howling with dismay at the latest. He had raised his arms dramatically in the direction of the bleachers, pointed to a spot far over the fence and beyond the horizon, then proceeded to knock the next ball precisely where he had pointed. Jeers immediately turned to cheers, so I decided to give it a try. Summoning all the dramatic effect of the Superman "Uniform," I followed the Babe’s famous gesture, and as the fans quieted to see what was going to happen next, the pitch came, I whacked the ball, and it shattered with a most satisfying splatt. Up went the roar again, but this time there was a difference.

The newsmen had a field day with the story of Superman’s striking out, and the next day’s game in Pittsburgh was an early sellout. After seeing the newsreels of the Chicago game, I guess they thought there might be a chance of a repeat performance. But it was about then that I began getting letters and telegrams from the Comic Syndicate which owned the rights to the Superman name. They claimed his "image" was being ruined. With the help of the studio officials we finally got the whole thing straightened out and the tour went on. But with no more strike-outs.