Paul Eames is a character, no doubt.  He's got a great sense of humor and loves to tell stories about his playing days.  Paul was also a fine catcher, playing throughout the south from 1947 through 1955. Paul spent a season with the Albany Cardinals, and hung around after his playing career was over.  The Cardinals' ballpark is now known as Paul Eames Stadium, a testimony to great old school ball player.  Paul was the keynote speaker at the 2003 Moultrie Reunion, and the following excerpts are from the presentation he gave that evening.  I found it amazing to  talk to someone who got to meet the Hall Of Famer, Hugh Duffy.  Here are just some of the great stories that make up the baseball  life of Paul Eames...

I was 15 years old living in Worcester, Massachusetts, when I saw in the paper that the Red Sox were holding a tryout camp at Fenway Park.  This was 1945, and most of the good players were already in the service.  The notice said that players between the ages of 17 and 23 were welcomed to tryout. I decided that I was going to go despite not being old enough.  I had some relatives that lived in Newton, which is right outside of Boston, so I could stay there and take a bus into the park.  So, I went to the tryout and there were 500 kids out there on the first day.  After the first day, they cut maybe 100 or so kids.  Some of these guys really couldn't play.  The next day, they'd cut maybe 50 to 100 more, etc.  The last 20 guys that made it through all the cuts were going to get minor league contracts.  I kept coming back and making it through the cuts, and finally there were just 20 kids and I was still there. We went out that day and we were supposed to sign contracts.  Hugh Duffy, the Hall Of Famer, was running the camp, and he called me over and said, "Hey Eames, do you know a guy named McClusky?"  I said, "Yes". Then Duffy asked, "How about a guy named Gary?"

Well, I knew where he was going with this because McClusky and  Gary were the principals at my school in Worcester.  Duffy said, "Well, I talked to these gentlemen last night, and they said you're only 15 years old".  I told him, "Aw, them darn people don't know anything! Don't listen to them. You should see the way they run that school! Really, I'm 17!"  Duffy started laughing and said, "Paul, I know your 15".  Well, at this point, I figured I'd play my last card.  I told Duffy, "I'm a hardship case", to which Hugh replied, "Paul, your hardship case begins in two years, when you're 17."   I guess it was a good try, but Duffy sent me home anyway. Later on that year, I played on a team that was put together to play exhibitions to raise money for high school ballplayers that were now in the service. We'd make $20-$30 a ballplayer and we'd send it to them. Those boys were really thankful for the consideration. We'd travel around and play teams, and eventually we were winding down and were finishing up with a double-header.  Gabby Harnett, the Cubs great catcher, happened to be at those last two games watching us play. Gabby was through playing and was managing Jersey City in the International League at the time.  Well, over the course of that double-header, I hit 7 doubles and a home run.  I was just hitting the heck out of the ball.  Afterward, Hartnett had gotten my phone number, and a short time later he called me up.  Gabby said, "Kid, if you ever want to play pro ball, you give me a call".  I went back to high school and during the year, my folks split up.  I ended up living on a farm, milking cows at four in the morning and setting pins in a bowling alley until late at night, then having to hitchhike more that tem miles back home.  That got old real quick.  I was playing basketball in school, and during a scrimmage, I went up to bring down a long pass and I landed on another guy's foot.  I had a severe sprain, and my foot just about doubled in size.  I managed to get over to the stage behind the basketball goal and sat down. My best friend came over and looked at my foot, and it was really swollen, so he yelled to the coach to come over and look at it. The coach was some 4-F guy, as a lot of coaches and teachers were at that time, and he took a look at my foot and said sarcastically, "Someone give Eames a Purple Heart".  I didn't like that much, so I told him, "What the heck does a 4-F'er know about Purple Hearts?"  Well, he slapped me across my face.  Now, I was only about 17 at the time, but I wasn't going to take that.  Since I was sitting on the stage at the time, his head was just about at the right level, so I hauled off and decked him, then jumped on him, bad foot and all.  I was determined to beat him but good.  The end result, of course, was that I was expelled from school. The day after they booted my out of school, I called Gabby Hartnett up.  The Jersey Giants were in spring training at Lakewood, New Jersey that year, because they were not able to travel down south for training because of the war or budget, or something.  I told Hartnett that I had quit school and I wanted to play ball. So he said great, and invited me to come down to Lakewood.  Unfortunately, at that time, I didn't have any money, so I went around to my relatives and bummed what I could from them.  I managed to get about $12, which allowed me to take a bus down to New York, and then to Lakewood.  I got into Lakewood about 3:00 am and found a cabbie, and I asked him, "How much will if it cost me to get to Rockefeller Park?"  He told me that it would cost about $3.25, and I had only $1.75 left. So, I get my stuff together and start lugging my gear to the park on foot. The park was 3 miles away, and I get there about 7:30 am, just when the team bus is loading up to take the player to go eat downtown. I told some of the players who I was and they told me to go ahead and get on the bus.  Hartnett was on the bus already.  He evidently couldn't remember my name, but he remembered where I was from.  He said, "Hey Oxbridge, good to see you. Come on over here".  I went over and he started writing on a folded paper napkin.  He told me, "When we get back, take this over to the office and they'll get you your expense money".  Well, I didn't even look at it; I just folded it into my pocket.  When we got back to the camp, I went over to the team secretary and gave her the note.  She wrote out a check and told me to sign it, and then she'd cash it for me.  I didn't even look at the amount, just signed it and gave it back to her.  She comes back and starts counting out money: 20, 40, 60 ,80, 100.  She kept going!  She counted out $300, which is more than I'd ever seen in my lifetime.  I thought there was some kind of mistake, and I told her that I couldn't take that money, it only cost me $12 to get there.  She told me, "Gabby Hartnett says to give you this money, you'd better take it".  On the first day of training, Gabby figured he'd have some fun with me. I was a catcher, as was he, so he was training me to catch high pop-ups.  He could really hit them way up there.  The first one he hit was so far up that I couldn't judge it an missed it by 30 feet.  He came over to me and said, "Son, if you're going to catch a pop-up, you've got to do it this way", and he showed me how.  After I got the hang of it, every time a sportswriter would come by, Gabby would tell them, "Take a look at this kid.  Let me show you what I taught him".  Then he would hit a ball with his Fungo and it would go a mile high, and I'd catch it.  We traveled around playing exhibitions in the area, especially for the troops.  Once we were in Lakehurst, New Jersey, at an army camp, and the planes were flying over, bringing in wounded soldiers.  All of the sudden, bodies started flying out of a planes from about 2000 feet up and hitting the runway just a few hundred yards from where we were playing.  What had happened was that the planes' bomber hatches had been boarded up with plywood and the soldiers who were getting excited to be landing back home and had put too much weight on the boarding, and it collapsed.  I've never seen such a horrible thing ever.  You can imagine, these guys had been over there fighting, and finally they get home to America and die just before they can get back on home soil.  It's still hard to think about that.

Well, we went to a lot of army camps, and the soldiers really liked me and another player because we were both just 17-year olds, and these soldiers had lost that opportunity to enjoy being a teenager playing baseball. They were happy for us. That other 17-year old player was Don Mueller, who played quite a few years with the New York Giants.  Things were going great through spring training, and then I got a notice saying that since I was just about to turn 18, I was to report to the draft board.  The Giants said that there was no use in signing me up at that point since I would have to go into the service.  They told be to serve my time then look them up when I got out.  I went into the army and was getting ready to ship out overseas when a sergeant pulled me out of the morning roll call.  He took me aside and said, "I'm Sergeant Holke, I played for Wake Forrest last year.  I'm going to Camp Lee in Virginia to play baseball. We're trying to recruit the best ball players, and I see where you were with Jersey City last spring.  How would you like to go with me?"   Well, I couldn't have been happier about that. The rest of the guys in my unit went to Italy, and I went to Camp Lee.  We were the number one service team in the nation, with 8 major leaguers on the team, plus 4 outstanding Negro league players.  We had Granny Hamner, Bob Shack, Johnny Nease, Bob Kelley, Johnny Lindell and others, and the four Negro league players were good enough to play in the majors too.

I stayed in the army until 1947.  After I got out, I found out through the army that the Phillies were holding a baseball camp in Cocoa Beach, Florida. I applied to get into the camp and was accepted.   It worked out great because I made the camp's all-star team and was signed and sold to Smithfield, North Carolina, who had a working agreement with the Phillies.  I had a good season there and we had a great manager named Sam Narron.  Sam was probably the strongest man I ever met in baseball.  Sam was a great player, and Branch Rickey really valued him.  So much so, that Rickey kept Sam in the minors rather than allow another team to have him. Rickey wanted Sam available should something happen to his either of his major league catchers. The Red Sox had offered $100,000 for Narron in 1939, and Rickey turned them down.  Sam could hit for average and power, plus he was a great defensive catcher.  Being a catcher myself, he taught me a lot about the game.  I ended the season batting about .255, but I had struck out 55 times.  I realized that I had to cut down on the strikeouts to get anywhere.  This became a big thing for me and I worked at being more patient at the plate.  Over the next 9 years, I never struck out more than 31 times a season.  I made sure that I made contact with two strikes so the umpire could call a third strike.  I didn't trust any umpire, in fact, I hated them.  In my era, a lot of umpires hadn't played ball before taking the job.  They were all blind as far as I was concerned.

I was back in Smithfield the next season and I improved my hitting a bit.  I ended up batting .303.  I started to hear that the Athletics were interested in me, as were a couple other organizations. Things were looking pretty good, and then I had a little bit of trouble:  We used to get bonuses for reaching certain performance levels, much like they've got today.  I had signed a contract that gave me $1000 if we made the playoffs, and a week before the playoffs began, I pull a groin muscle.  I was so bad that I couldn't every get down in a crouch. I still played, but I had to signal for pitches a different way than normally.  We had a double-header to finish off the season and I went to get a shot in my groin.  I got the shot from a dentist, and he gave me a shot of Novocain in my hip.  I played, and I went 7 for 9, drove in 8 runs, hit a three-run homer to win the first game, and we made the playoffs.  The crowd passed the hat for me and I collected $450 from them for my performance.  After the game, the owner, a guy named Maitlin, came up to me and said, "Paul, that $450 you collected tonight is part of your bonus.  You'll get the remaining $550 from us".  I said, "Like Hell, you owe me $1000.  The fans gave me this money, not you". After the season ended, I got ready to head home.  Maitlin came up to me and said, "I'm getting the bonus money together and I'll send it up to you in about 2 weeks".  Well, two weeks past, then two more.  I called and Maitlin said that they'd get it to me by Christmas.  Of course, it didn't come.  I kept calling and each time he promised to get me the money, and each time nothing became of it. Then in the spring, I got a telegram from the Dodgers, offering a spot at their Vero Beach training camp. The problem was, I didn't have any money to get me there.  My mother and I shared a place, and she was only making 55 cents an hour.  I was working at a gas station, and I was only pulling in 75 cents an hour; so, I had to bum my way there.  I hitched my way into Durham, North Carolina, where Maitlin, lived.  He still owed me that $1000.   I got to Durham around four in the morning, with maybe $5.00 on me, and I got a cab to Maitlin's house.

I rang the doorbell, and he came to the door with a nightshirt on, the kind old men used to wear.  He says, "Paul, what are you doing here at this time in the morning?"  I told him, "I want my $1000".   He says, "Well, this is no time to collect it", and I replied, "It is as far as I'm concerned".  Well, Maitlin said he didn't have any money there; it was all down at the gas station that he owned.  I saw some keys on the table near the door and I grabbed them.  I said, "Are these the keys to the station?"   He told me they were, and I replied, "Well get in the cab because you're taking there right now".  He suggested that I allow him to dress first and I suggested that he come as he was.  We got to the station and he opened the cash drawer, and there was $350 inside.  That was all he had, and I took it all.  This was the way we were treated back then:  I had to force him to pay me what he owed me and I still couldn't collect it all.  Those owners would gyp you out of every penny they could.  Well, I got the money, and then I got to thinking that he could call the cops on me and I'd be in a real jam, so I tore the phone out of the wall, locked him inside the service station, and threw the keys out near the pumps.  I got in the cab and said, "Take me to the nearest truck stop".  I knew if he got out and called the cops, they'd look for me at the bus station, so I figured the truck stop was safer.  As I got there, I saw a truck just starting to pull out and a flagged down the driver.  I asked where he was going and he told me he was headed for Jacksonville.  I ask him to ride along, but he said he wasn't allowed to take on riders.  I said, "How about $50 for the ride?" and he replied, "Get in!"  He took me to Jacksonville, and from there I bummed into Vero Beach.  As soon as I got into camp, the Dodgers told me to throw on some gear.  I caught 6 innings right away, and I was dead on my feet.  By afternoon, I was starving and beat.  I was on my way to the camp lunch and I here, "Catcher Eames, report to Dodger batting practice".   This was the big leaguers' batting practice.  I reported, and Burt Shotten tells me to get in there and catch.  They were practicing bunts, and I had to get out in front of the plate and field every one of those bunts.  There was a player there by the name of Sam Jethroe, a former Negro League player who could run like the wind.  He had set track records for running.  The Dodgers wanted to teach him to bunt so that they could take advantage of his speed.  He couldn't bunt worth a lick, so pitch after pitch he'd foul tip balls into my mask, chest protector, arms, you name it. I caught batting practice for over two hours that afternoon, and this was still my first day of camp.  I was so sore, I couldn't practice for the next three days. 

After I recovered, I had a great spring training.  I hit over .500 that spring, but because I was a low-level invitee, the Dodgers didn't even look at me.  What I found out later was that a pitcher named Andy Foote and I were sent to the Dodgers in exchange for a working agreement between the Dodgers and Smithfield! That was the reason I had been invited to the camp in the first place. "Footy" and I were Dodgers in name, but Branch Rickey didn't care to take a serious look at us.  As the camp broke, Ed Head went up to manage A ball in Ashville and wanted me to go.  I couldn't go with him because of the status of my contract.  Pepper Martin went to Miami.  He really wanted me but couldn't take me either. I was upset at being jerked around like that so I wrote a letter to George Trautman. It was part of a standard contract that you couldn't play ball with any club other than the one you were signed with as of March 1st. Here it was, March 18th, and I'm property of a team that doesn't want to give me a chance. I told Trautman that since my contract was preventing me from playing, I wanted to be released. A couple days later, Branch Rickey was watching pitchers warm up from behind the backstop of the practice field and I was getting ready to take my turn at catcher. We used to have to announce ourselves when we came on the field, so I announced,  "Eames catching".  "Footy" was pitching and I was catching, and Rickey says, "Oh, you two wise guys! You're the ones that wrote to Trautman.  I guess you don't want to be Dodgers".  They used to say that Branch Rickey never cussed, but he did then:  He says, "Who the hell you do think you are?".  I turned to him and said, "Sure I'd like to be a Dodger.  Give me my release and we can talk turkey".  Rickey got angry and said, "You got a big head, don't you?"  Well, I mentioned something about the size of his head and that was the end of me as a Dodger.

So I returned to Smithfield for the 1949 season and I was having a great year, batting .457 for the first month, and the Sporting News had me listed at the top of all the minor leaguers in batting average.  The day after the Sporting News came out, I got hit with a foul tip and in broke my finger.  I couldn't catch, so I played in left field until my finger healed, then I went back to catching. In my first game back at catcher, I came up to bat against a guy who had just finished serving a sentence in the state pen for killing his wife.  This guy was about 6'5" and 250 pounds, and man, he could throw.  First time up, I ripped a shot over the first baseman's head for a single.  He glared at me while I stood at first and said, "You won't get another one of those today.  You better stay loose next time up".   Well, I knew he meant to hit me next time up, so when I came to bat I was expecting pitches in close. I tried to plunk me with the first pitch, but I ducked away.  On the next pitch, the ball tailed up a bit and it caught me on the thumb and broke it.  Since I wasn't able to play a headed back to Massachusetts.  Once  I got there, the Smithfield manager called me and said, "What do you think your doing?  If you expect to be paid, you better get back here and coach first base ".  So, I came back and coached.  Then Smithfield hired a new manager, and he was a catcher, so my days were numbered.  I was sold to Kinston, where I played until the season was about over.  Kinston then sold me to the Goldsboro Gold Bugs, who were about to start their playoffs.  Goldsboro was a Cardinals farm team at the time, so I became Cardinal property.  In 1950, I came into the Cardinals spring training camp in Albany, Georgia.  I did well enough that I broke camp with the Montgomery Rebels, who were a Class B team at the time.  I went to Montgomery and one of our first games was against the Cleveland Indians, who were on their way up to Cleveland for the start of the season.  We had a manager by the name of Charlie Metro, who had one of the best outfield arms I ever saw.  Well, during the game our outfielders make two horrible throws. Charlie went crazy, cussing up and down, the worst I ever heard. Charlie was our regular  right fielder, and he was determined to show these guys what a great arm he had, so late in one of our first games, the opportunity came to throw a guy out at the plate.  The throw was so wild that it landed 15 rows up in the grandstand.  When Metro came back to the bench after the inning, nobody wanted to say anything to him.  We had a pitcher named Goslin and as Metro was sitting there, Goslin said, "Hey Charlie, maybe you should give those guys in the grandstands some gloves".  Charlie looked back at Goslin and said, "Guess what, you just got a ticket back to Class D ball".  When the season began, I sent back to Albany, which was the Cards' Class D ball.  Our first game against Moultrie, I went 5 for 5 including a grand slam in the 9th to win the game.. The next day, I went 3 for 3.  That's 8 hits in a row.   A few weeks later, Bill Curry, a former Washington Senator, was pitching against us in Albany, and since Billy was from a nearby town, it was  "Billy Currie Night" at the ball park.  Billy pitched a 3-hitter, and all three hits were mine:  Two homers and a double, and we won 2 to 1.  I was playing great, but it didn't matter to the Cardinals.  The other catcher on our team couldn't hit, but he had been signed with a $30,000 bonus, so the Cards listed him as a big-time prospect and me as no prospect at all.  That's the way baseball works, even today.  The best players don't always get the breaks

Well, I moved around a bit but I came back to Albany, in fact, I got married before a game there. You know what I did?  I caught the game on my wedding night.  I didn't get a hit all night and the next day the newspapers read, "Eames doesn't get to first base on his wedding night".  The hotel there donated the "Honeymoon Suite" as a wedding gift. Some suite: There was no air conditioning and twin beds!