The World Series of 1919 pitted two of Chase's former teams, the Chicago White Sox and the Cincinnati Reds, against each other. The White Sox were favored but the Reds were victorious.Their victory became tainted however, when it was revealed that seven White Sox players had conspired to lose the Series. In return for throwing games, the seven players received $100,000 from gambling interests. In light of this, it is a bitter irony that Chase had once starred for both these teams. In 1921, as he walked out of a movie theater in San Jose, California, Hal Chase was arrested. He was implicated in the "Black Sox" scandal and a warrant had been issued in Chicago. He was released on a $3,000 bond. As with his disbarment from organized baseball, many versions of Chase's involvement, or lack of it, in the scandal have been recorded. His own story differs, of course, from all other incarnations: "The investigators sent for me. I announced that if they wanted me, they'd have to pay $500 for my time and transportation. I said I would be willing to go because I had nothing to fear. Finally, my name was dropped from the discussion. It was felt apparently, that it wasn't worth $500 to bring me to Chicago. They couldn't have wanted me very badly if they weren't willing to put up that small guarantee." In fact, the state of California refused extradition of Chase to Chicago on the technicality that his arrest warrant was not issued correctly. Chase eventually revealed much more about the Black Sox scandal and himself, but, those revelations would come at the end of his days. He still had much more living to do, though not in the public eye. The commotion caused by Chase's arrest was the last time a casual observer would hear of him. Chase migrated to Arizona, as playing any organized ball in California was impossible due to his disbarment. His career on the baseball diamond began anew in Arizona and New Mexico, in many small desert border towns. Out among the sand and scorpions, Chase, at age 42, was far removed from his glory days challenging Nap Lajoe and Ty Cobb.

Art "The Great" Shires, who played with Chase in the early 1920s Border leagues, remembered that Chase's still showed the fielding sparks that marked his early years..." When I was sold to his club, he moved to second base so I could play first base. I didn't believe a lefthander could play second base until I played alongside of him. I know he was the greatest first baseman there ever was. I believe he could have been the greatest second baseman if he wanted to. When the ball was hit to the shortstop, for instance, with a man on first and the throw was made to second base, Hal could cut over there, take the throw with his left hand, and backhand it to me to complete a double play without even stopping to look in my direction."

S.L.A. Marshall, for whom Chase played during these lost seasons in the desert, felt that Chase was not inherently criminal, but mentally ill. His story about "Prince Hal" follows...

AN AMORAL MAN There is an old song about the maiden who was "more to be pitied than scorned" and someone ought to make that as the epitaph on Hal Chase's tombstone. It fits the case. He was a strange one in every sense of the word. A natural left-hander who insisted on batting right-handed, a beautiful base runner who continued to go into the bag head first as long as he remained in baseball, a fielder who won praise as the finest defensive first baseman in the history of the game ... such was Chase. All of his life he insisted on doing things the wrong way, but he could do them that way so well that he made all other men appear mechanically imperfect by comparison. He used to pitch once in a while with nothing on the ball but a prayer, but (his) brain was keen enough that that he could mow down a row of .300 hitters, capable of playing in as good company as himself, with the ball coming up there as big as an ostrich egg.

Yet that brain was good for nothing else. Chase was completely and congenitally amoral. The man was born without any sense of right and wrong. Many years ago a doctor should have taken him in hand or he should have been committed to some kind of institution. There was that difference between Chase and most of baseball's other black sheep. Most of them were either racket men, like Chick Gandil ... Chase was a mental case. I remember him coming to my office one day sobbing like a baby. His son in San Francisco had given a statement to the newspapers saying: "I want to forget that I am the son of Hal Chase." Hal hadn't lifted a finger for the boy in years, but he couldn't stand the indictment. "You don't believe any boy would say that about his father do you?" he blubbered. I assured him that no boy would, that the story was a newspaper trick. Within two minutes he had forgotten the whole affair. That incident was quite typical of him. There was no question (that) his mind was greatly disordered. You will recall that he was shunted out of the big leagues by Christy Mathewson. He had been losing ball games for Cincinnati on plays where the pitcher covered first base. Chase would time the throw in such a way that the play would always miss in such a manner that the pitcher looked bad. The fans blamed the pitchers, but Mathewson knew too much of his own art to be deceived. Without having ever pinned the fault on Chase, and on the strength of his personal conviction about what was going on, he cast Chase adrift. Subsequently, he drifted to the Southwest, and I gave him his chance to return to baseball. We poverty stricken sage brushers then had an outlaw league which covered West Texas, New Mexico and Arizona, and I was the president of it. The Douglas (Ariz.) club wanted to sign Chase as manager and I sanctioned it. Buck Weaver, Chick Gandil and Lefty Williams signed with the same club. Of Buck and Lefty I can speak only in the highest terms. Both appreciated the fact that they had been given a break, and their conduct was always exemplary. If I were ever in a bad spot I would gladly rely on such men.

Of Gandil the less said the better. There was a bad streak in him that ran from his toes to his crown. The unforgivable offense in my book is complete disloyalty, and he embodied it. I doubt if he could take a drink straight. But Hal was a different story. Weaver came up to me one day preceding the opening of the Douglas-Juarez series. He said: "Watch Hal, I think there's something up but I can't tell you why." Sure enough, Chase went sour. In the field he looked impossible on at least four easy plays, and the game was saved for Douglas only by extra sensational fielding on the part of a youngster who later went to the Cardinals. I went to Hal after the game, and said: "You tried to throw that one." He said: "Sure." I then asked him why, and he replied: "You know that Chinaman from Lordsburg? (one of the local gamblers) well, he came up and asked if I wouldn't boot a few and try to help Juarez. He's a nice fellow, and I said sure, but I didn't have any money on the game and he wasn't paying me." And the funny part of it is, as I afterwards made sure, that Chase was telling the absolute truth. There were many other stories such as this one and all to the same end. Some of them would make for much racier reading but aren't fit for a sports page. I am certain from what I knew of him that any good psychiatrist would have agreed that Chase was insane. The year after the Chinaman incident, a group of the boys were celebrating with a wild ride through the hills near Tyrone, N.M., after a game at Fort Bayard. The car went over a cliff. The other boys crawled out of the wreck but they had to drag Prince Hal out. He had gone through the windshield — sliding feet first for the first time in his life, and the glass had severed the Achilles tendon in both feet. He tried to come back in the spring. The first time up he clouted a triple over the left fielder's head, but he fell down three times running to first, and the ball was retrieved before he got there. He walked off that base path into the shadows — a crippled bum at last totally unfitted for the only thing at which he was ever useful. He was crying like a kid and there were many other eyes on that field and in the stands which were suspiciously moist.

We all knew that Chase was through and that we would never see his like again. The modern ball players who are at sometimes compared to him aren't fit to hold his glove. I think he was the most beautiful thing in action that I have ever seen on a sport field, and the deep pity of it is that the world thinks of him as a hoodlum rather than as a man who was mentally ill."

In 1925, Chase ended up in Mexico. He was trying to organize a league in that country. This would never materialize. Sad to read in retrospect, it was reported quite seriously at the time: "Banished from organized baseball for alleged participation in the World Series scandal of 1919, Hal Chase, formerly first baseman for the Cincinnati Nationals, and now proprietor of a cafe in Agua Prieta, Mexico...is preparing to organize a National baseball league in Mexico on the invitation of the Mexico City government. Chase said that the plan, proposed by a high Mexican official, would make him a (Judge) Landis in Mexico, heading an organization to be known as the Mexican National Baseball League. He said he is working on organization plans; that the money has been raised and that the league will be in operation in several of the larger Mexican cities as soon as parks can be provided. "It won't be but a year or two now," Chase added, "when any baseball team, before annexing the title of world's champions, will have to beat our best team. The Mexicans are natural ball players and are developing a love for the game. I feel I will have an opportunity here in Mexico of placing baseball on a sound an honest foundation and demonstrate to baseball fans in the United States that I was the Dreyfuss and not the Benedict Arnold of organized baseball." Ban Johnson, who shielded Chase from controversy when the first baseman starred in his league, was a friend of the Mexican president. He prevailed upon the president to deport Chase in the "best interests" of Mexican baseball. Thus ended Chase's south of the border baseball experiment.

Chase spent the remaining years of his life drifting through towns in Arizona and California, selling an automobile called the Marmon, tending bar, and drinking heavily. Chase gave various interviews during these waning years of his life. All of them find him contrite and full of regret. Among his comments: "You know, baseball was good to me, but IÕm afraid I wasn't very good to baseball Most of the grief I had during my career as a player was of my own making. At least, if it wasn't of my own making, I could have prevented it, had I acted more wisely." In 1930, Chase moved to Oakland, California. He met a mining prospector who convinced Chase to move into the foothills. During weekdays he mined for gold. Shortly thereafter, Chase returned to Williams, Arizona. There he ran a pool hall. The year 1934 found Chase back in Oakland, and he lived there for three years with his niece. The articles written about Chase in his final years seem even more hyperbolic and reverential than any that appeared during his playing career. These stories also condemn Chase for his behavior. An offering by writer Harry Grayson of the New York World-Telegram describes just how far "Prince Hal" had descended from his throne. The following article appeared on January 4, 1934:

One-Time Prince Hal in Taters

TUCSON, Ariz.- A disheveled and broken figure stumbled into the gorgeous lobby of the Hotel El Conquistador here. "I'd like to see Doc Barrett," he told the clerk. Charley Barrett is the veteran trainer of the Columbia University football team (on a stopover for the New Year's Day game with Stanford. "Chase," muttered the man in filthy clothing, "Chase, tell Doc it's Hal Chase" Barrett couldn't believe it and came down to the lobby to ascertain who the imposter was. But it wasn't a pretender. Although Barrett scarcely recognized him, there stood once glamorous Prince Hal, the baseball immortal considered by many to be the greatest first baseman who ever lived. Barrett trained the old New York Yankees, with whom Chase played some years ago, when he was at the height of his fame. Tears poured down the cheeks of both as they embraced each other.

The sight for Barrett brought back happy memories and no doubt bother regrets to Chase, who was ostracized from baseball. After being outlawed, Chase drifted back to San Jose, Cal. but but couldn't break the habit that drove him out of the majors and soon found himself barred from parks in his native state. He drifted down to this section of the border after the Black Sox scandal and got by for a time with a team representing a town in a wildcat copper league. He made a living until the bottom dropped out of the copper mines. He couldn't return to California. The home folks looked upon him with askance, so he remained out here in the desert. He gets a CWA (Congress Works Administration) job now and then and washes automobiles in a Tucson garage at 50 cents a copy. With his wife he lives in tourist camps. "What was your biggest thrill in baseball?" Barrett asked him. One would think it would have come to Prince Hal when he was knocking 'em out of their seats (in the major leagues). But it didn't. "Oh, I guess the day I caught a bunt single off Doc StrubÕs bat while I was in college," said Chase. And he related the story that the wealthy Dr. Charles Strub frequently tells on himself. "How old are you Hal?" inquired Barrett. "Forty-six" replied Chase. They again shook hands. The tramp who was once Prince Hal shuffled out into the blazing desert sun. "Why, only the other day he told me he was 48," said the local sports writer. "Well, I happen to know that he's 51," said Barrett. "Even though he is down and out, he's still Hal." Grayson also remarked... "Chase was a pleasing personality. Speaking with him you would not suspect that he would do what he did. He had no moral sense; toyed with the laws of baseball, was suspected and caught. Hal Chase was a rogue whose genius carried him through to big things against a handicap that would have carried an ordinary criminal to silent obloquy."

In 1937, thanks to the Works Progress Administration instituted by President Franklin Roosevelt, Chase found temporary work. He handled tasks as a plumber and carpenter's helper. More financial help, badly needed by Chase at this point in his life, came from California's State Relief Administration. One of Hal Chase's last public appearance was at a softball game in the town of Williams, Arizona in 1939. Chase's diet began to consist mostly of alcohol and his health was eventually destroyed. In 1941, he was stricken with beriberi, a disease caused by vitamin defeceincy. He also suffered from kidney, liver, and heart ailments, all exacerbated by the gallons of alcohol he had consumed. Around this time, he consented to an interview by the Sporting News. It is not surprising that the magazine sought him out. In his later years, Chase was just as enigmatic and interesting a character as he was during his playing days. He spoke with typical candidness and intellect on many issues. Chase discussed the subjective label of "great" being attached to baseball players throughout the years. He presented a totally logical argument and one that, considering the changes that baseball has undergone since the interview, is even more prophetic when read today...

I could name a hundred great players, and in the judgment of my neighbor, who probably knows as much about it as I do, I'd be wrong on every one of them. Times and conditions change, in baseball as in everything else. There are no constants. There is no standard for measuring baseball abilities. There are so many factors involved in the term "greatness" that it's with difficulty that we can even define it. Babe Ruth, for example, was great, in a certain sense of the term. Was he necessarily a greater player than, say Joe Jackson or Joe DiMaggio or Ty Cobb ? Or any one of dozens of others ? We can't decide the matter by the record books.

Anyone who has seen half a dozen games knows that the figures don't even partially define a player's greatness. With the changes in the rules, the different emphasis on certain types of plays and certain offenses and defenses, the changes in baseball equipment, the change in the ball itself, how could one possibly say that the Yankees of today are greater than or inferior to the Athletics of another generation, or the Red Sox of twenty-five years ago, or the pennant-winning Giants of the days of John McGraw? Even in the present day, experts can't decide whether Ted Williams is a greater hitter than Joe DiMaggio...or vice versa. Some people say 'Time will tell.' But time won't tell. Time probably will confuse the issue even further. I hear people say that Bob Feller is as good as Walter Johnson - or better than Johnson. The statement to me is as inane as an opinion which holds that Johnson was greater than Feller."

Chase became a patient in a Colusa, California hospital in 1947. While at the hospital, Chase was again interviewed by the Sporting News. Sensing that time was running out for him to give his version of the events during his amazing career, he was eager to speak. It was then that Chase explained in detail just what he knew about the Black Sox scandal and the remaining cloud that hung over his exit from professional baseball. Chase was well aware of the "fix" but the exact nature of his involvement is in dispute.

"The first man to approach me about fixing the 1919 World Series was William Burns. He had been selling oil stock and was a gambler. He came to my hotel room in Chicago and brought along another man (supposedly a lightweight boxer named Billy Maharg).

Burns did all the talking and he said ,'Would you like to make a lot of easy money?' " Chase contends: "I told Burns someone ought to make a lot of money if he could fix the Series, but that I didn't want to get mixed up in it because I had enough trouble at the moment, including another run-in with my second wife. I swear to God I kept out of the fixing of the games, but Burn's companion took over from there, and I have always said he was the ring leader and man who led in the fixing. The courts didn't prove this." Author/historian Eliot Asinof, in his book Eight Men Out, states that Chase was much more positive than this, and suggested that Burns should visit a gambling acquaintance of Chase's. This man was supposedly Abe Attell. The visit to him was necessitated by the fact that Arnold Rothstein, the first gambler approached by Gandil, balked at putting up any money. Chase continued: "Some of the boys in the plot wanted to back out and did. My name was tossed around and I received much of the blame for plotting the fix. That is a lie. Had I gone to President Heydler or to Manager McGraw, I could have helped baseball and myself. Later, it was too late. My name, because of my past, was implicated, and no one wanted to believe my story. I didn't get a dime out of the fixed Series, and many of those indicted didn't either. They were paid, sure enough, but look at the scrape they got into. Their payoff went into legal fees for lawyers and their bad name broke them. Any form of gambling in baseball is bad and any player who thinks he can get away with it is badly mistaken. I'd give anything if I could start in all over again. What a change there would be in the life of Hal Chase. I was all wrong, at least in most things, and my best proof is that I am flat on my back, without a dime."

Despite being painted as the "go-between" of the players and Abe Attell, Chase's involvement in the Black Sox Scandal was only peripheral. Proof of this is the fact that none of the implicated players named Chase as their ring leader. According to the court testimony of Joe Jackson, the most celebrated player of the tainted White Sox crew, first baseman Chick Gandil launched the plot. Judging by Gandil's comments to Jackson, it can be safely assumed that the scandal would have materialized with or without Chase's help...

BEFORE THE GRAND JURY OF COOK COUNTY September, A.D. 1920 Term.
Joe Jackson, called as witness, having been first duly sworn, testified as follows:
Q: Who do you think was the man they (Bill Burns and gambler Abe Attell) first approached ? A: Why, Gandil. Q: What makes you think Gandil ? A: Well, he was the whole works of it, the instigator of it, the fellow that mentioned it to me. He told me that I could take it or let it go, they were going through with it. Q: Didn't you think it was the right thing for you to go and tell Comiskey about it ? A: I did tell them once, "I am not going to be in it," I will just get out of that altogether. Q: Who did you tell that to ? A: Chick Gandil. Q: What did he say ? A: He said I was into it already and I might as well stay in. I said, 'I can go to the boss (Comiskey) and have every damn one of you pulled out of the limelight." He said, 'It wouldn't be well for me if I did that."

In light of his past misdeeds, Chase simply became a convenient scapegoat for what was an embarrassing and unfortunate moment for baseball. Though claiming innocence in the Black Sox incident, Chase was well acquainted with the proliferation of gambling during baseball's early days ...

Chase admitted that he participated in more than his share of games of chance:
"I wasn't satisfied with what the club owners paid me. Like others, I had to have a bet on the side and we used to bet with the other team and the gamblers who sat in the boxes. It was easy to get a bet. Sometimes collections were hard to make. Players would pass out IOUs and often be in debt for their entire salaries. That wasn't a healthy condition. Once the evil started there was no stopping it, and club owners were not strong enough to cope with the evil."

Hal Chase died at California's Colusa Memorial Hospital on May 18, 1947, at the age of 64. His quiet funeral took place in San Jose, California. None of his former teammates or any baseball executives were present. However, baseball luminaries Casey Stengel and Lefty O'Doul did attend. Chase was laid to rest in in his hometown of Los Gatos at Oak Hill Cemetery. "Prince Hal's" baseball career certainly could have unfolded much differently. No one recognized this more than Chase himself. As he lay dying, Chase provided the epitaph for his career as well as his life...

"You note that I am not in the Hall of Fame. Some of the old-timers said I was one of the greatest fielding first baseman of all time. When I die, movie magnates will make no picture like "Pride of the Yankees", which honored that great player, Lou Gehrig. I guess thats the answer, isn't it? Gehrig had a good name; one of the best a man could have. I am an outcast, and I havenÕt a good name. I'm the loser, just like all gamblers are. I lived to make great plays. What did I gain? Nothing. Everything was lost because I raised hell after hours. I was a wise guy, a know-it-all, I guess."