Dashing Dagos and Walloping Wops: Media Portrayal of Italian American Major Leaguers before World War II

Dashing Dagos and Walloping WopsMedia Portrayal of Italian American Major Leaguers before World War II Lawrence Baldassaro (bio) Imagine opening your latest issue of your favorite sports magazine and seeing a story entitled, "Watch Those Walloping Wops." Such language is inconceivable today, yet that story, by noted baseball writer Dan Daniel, appeared in 1938, at a time when terms such as "wop" and "dago" routinely appeared in coverage of Italian American ballplayers, even in such distinguished publications as The Sporting News and the New York Times. The use of such ethnic epithets was only the most obvious indication of the ambivalent media treatment in the twenties and thirties of Italian American ballplayers, who were then entering the Major Leagues in unprecedented numbers. Stories that claimed to celebrate the sudden surge of Italian players were sometimes written in a style that was at once patronizing and slightly derogatory. In other words, praise mingled easily with a barely masked smirk that was betrayed frequently by stereotypical depictions that suggested that these athletes, talented though they may be, were not yet fully assimilated Americans. While other players of eastern and southern European heritage, who were also entering the big leagues in unprecedented numbers, were subject to stereotypical portrayal, Italians were the most frequently targeted group. For example, in the 1936 edition of Who's Who in the Major Leagues, which provided a brief biographical sketch of each player, very few references are made to the ethnic background of any but the Italian players. Ernie Lombardi is "one of numerous Italians who won Major League renown." Joe DiMaggio is "a giant Italian," Lazzeri a "lanky Italian," Hank Coppola "a rangy Italian," and Mel Mazzera a "husky young Italian."1 Players of Italian descent received greater media attention because they represented a significant percentage of the newcomers, both in baseball and in society as a whole, and because their names made them more readily recognizable. Italian names, in fact, were often a source of curiosity and confusion for writers. [End Page 98] A story that appeared in Collier's magazine during Joe DiMaggio's rookie year of 1936 begins with the following exchange between sportswriters at spring training: "He says you pronounce it Dee-Mah-gee-o," one of the sports writers said gloomily.Another added, "That's a very tough name to pronounce and also tough to spell."One writer said in disgust, "DiMaggio sounds like something you put on a steak."2 Italian names posed a problem for writers from the time the first Italian American appeared in the majors. Ed Abbaticchio, who made his debut in 1897, was routinely referred to as "Abby" and "Batty." Some players chose to mask their ethnic identity completely, presumably to avoid discrimination. Francesco Pezzuolo played as Ping Bodie, Eugene Mercantelli became Gene Rye, and Louis Bevilacqua became Lou Bevil, to name a few. Some players shortened their names to accommodate writers and typesetters. Rinaldo Paolinelli became Babe Pinelli, while Michael Pasquariello played as Mike Pasquella. Others anglicized or changed their first names. Sabato Mele became Sam Mele. Phil Rizzuto's given first name was Fiero. "I just took Phil because it sounded more American," he said. "A ball player has to be as American as the Statue of Liberty, is the way I figure."3 The bias against "odd" names was so blatant that in a story that appeared on May 12, 1918, New York Tribune reporter Wood Ballard could write of Bodie: "Ping needs a stage name. Pezzolo wouldn't look well in a box score." "Benign" Stereotypes The sudden increase of Italian American ballplayers in the 1930s led to more extensive media coverage, but stereotypical portrayal was nothing new. From the time the first Italian American appeared in the Major Leagues, sportswriters adopted catchy ethnic epithets. In a New York World article in 1908, Ed Abbaticchio was identified as "the son of Caesar," a title that would be bestowed on several other players over the years.4 In one of the most overworked cliches in the history of baseball journalism, Italian American ballplayers were routinely described as the "sons of sunny Italy." In fact, there was apparently an unwritten journalistic rule that anytime...

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